“Why?”
“I don’t know, to tidy them up, I suppose. It’s a bit like Halloween, I think, only in the spring. It’s about dead people.”
Dead people, that’s just terrific, I thought. As if Hal hadn’t got enough problems.
“Maybe that’s why witches have broomsticks,” I said. “For sweeping graves.”
“It’s not spooky,” Hal said. “It’s in the spring. It’s fun.”
Well, if sweeping graves was Hal’s idea of fun, he was weirder than I thought.
But the weirdest thing of all was the way Hal was suddenly chattering away about Alec, as if they were old mates. The man he couldn’t even say “Pass the sugar, please” to last week.
“Tell me, Hal,” I said, “how are you getting on with Alec these days?”
“Er, well, I dunno, I—”
“Put it this way,” I said. “Have you put any pebbles in his shoes lately?”
“Um,” he said, “no. I sort of … went off that idea.”
“That’s good,” I said. “Is he, you know, looking after you properly and everything?”
“Well, I suppose … yeah. He cooks, you know. And washes. He’d washed my school sweatshirt, that’s why I couldn’t find it.”
“Oh, so that’s why you had your blue one on.”
“Yeah, he noticed I’d got toothpaste on it, so he put it in the wash. He thought I’d have a spare. It’s dry now, I’ll be able to wear it today.”
Well, well, well, I thought to myself. Alec noticed toothpaste on Hal’s sweatshirt, and he washed it. Curiouser and curiouser. And Hal must have shown that piece of paper to Alec, the one with the Chinese words on it, his precious clue from Sonya. That sounded as if they were practically pally, didn’t it? And then Alec had gone to the trouble of looking it up for him. He’d woken Hal up at the crack of dawn to show him some Internet site he’d found. Thick as thieves, they were.
Then I had another thought. A tiny suspicion of a thought. About Hal’s mum. About what was going on. Thick as thieves. Maybe … could it be? Maybe that was the whole plan. It couldn’t possibly be true, could it? And yet … I’d need to think it through, but it was the only thing that made sense. In the meantime, I wouldn’t ring the police just yet. I’d wait and see.
“I’ll see you at school, Hal,” I said. “But now I really have to catch a bit more sleep before it’s time to get up.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry I woke you, I was just excited. See you later.”
Chapter 18
Larry’s tattoo began to fade. I noticed it at breakfast. At first I thought I was just bleary-eyed, after being awake so early, but even after I’d blinked and rubbed my eyes, it was still very fuzzy-looking.
“Larry!” I shrieked. “Your tattoo, it’s disappearing.”
He grinned.
Something had happened to Larry since he’d been to Paris. Things didn’t seem to get him down so easily. Maybe he’d fallen in love. I hoped so. I am dying for him to fall in love, because I want to see what it looks like when a boy is in love, so I will know what to watch out for if anyone falls in love with me. When I am older, of course. I don’t think I am quite ready to be fallen in love with yet.
Mum was doing something at the sink. I could see her spine stiffening, but she didn’t turn around.
“Tattoos can’t fade,” I said. “They’re there for life, under your skin. They cheated you, Larry, it’s a dud. You were done! You are such a twit.”
Mum half turned at that, one hand raised and covered in soapsuds, the other one still in the sink.
“It’s not a dud,” Larry said. “It’s a Mehendi design. It’s supposed to fade.”
“Me-what?” said Mum. “What’s that?”
She dried her hands and came over to us at the table.
“It’s an Indian thing,” Larry said. He had rolled up his cuff and was examining the fading design. “They do it with henna.”
“Henna?” I asked. “Like for hair?”
“Yes. They squeeze this squidgy stuff out of a sort of icing-bag thingy and it goes hard, like icing, and then they scrape it off. There was this place in Paris that does it, and all the girls were getting themselves covered in leaves and flowers and things. It’s mostly girls that get them done, but they dared me to get one done as well, so I did, for a laugh. It’s only temporary, Ma.”
“Oh!” Mum said, and she sat down with a thunk.
“If you were a Mehendi design, Mum, would you be a flowery one or an animally one?” I asked her.
She glared at me. I was only trying to be light-hearted. Seems I can say nothing right these days.
“Animally, I’d say,” I said under my breath. “A dragon.”
“But why did you let me think it was a real tattoo, Larry?” Mum was almost wailing. “What you put me through!” She put her head in her hands, as if she had the most appalling children in the world. She does exaggerate, even if it’s only by gestures.
“I never said a word!” Larry protested. “You just started moaning and freaking out. You didn’t give me a chance to say anything.”
“But you could have explained.”
Larry shrugged. “Yeah, well, now you know,” he said.
“And there isn’t a hasp in the house,” I added.
Larry grinned. My mother frowned.
“You two,” she said, but she never did add what it was about us two.
I had a sudden moment of inspiration. Why had I not thought of it before? It was staring me in the face, and it just hadn’t occurred to me. Here was Mrs. Psychology sitting in front of me, and I hadn’t thought of tapping into her great wisdom.
“Mum,” I said. “I need your advice.”
She stared at me, as if I had said, “Mum, there’s a large pink elephant with green ears standing behind you, and it’s about to eat your apron.”
“You want my advice?” she said wonderingly. “Why, certainly, Olivia, what’s the problem?”
I should ask for her advice more often, I thought. It makes her happy.
“It’s to do with Hal,” I said.
“Ah, poor Hal,” she said. I might have known that’s what she’d say. “Tell me about it.”
So I did. We had quite a long chat, as it happens. A very interesting long chat.
Chapter 19
I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Hal. I was going to have to tell him the truth, or at least make him work out the truth for himself. And it wasn’t going to be easy.
He was wearing his proper school sweatshirt that day, and he was looking almost cheerful. His face was pinker than it had been for a long time, and roundier. How was I going to tell him what was really going on?
“I told him,” he announced at break.
This threw me. “What? What did you tell who?” I asked. “I mean, whom. Whom did you tell what?”
“Alec. About Saturday. I feel much better about it now that I’ve owned up.”
That gave me a bit of encouragement. I’d feel better too in a minute, I told myself. It was just a case of doing it, and then it would be all much better. Or not. That was the problem. It might be all much worse.
“What about Saturday?” I asked evasively.
“About the mortuary and the paint and everything. About how it was really us.”
“And what did he say?”
“He laughed,” Hal said triumphantly. He smacked the flat of his hand down on a desk—we were in the classroom that break, because it was raining outside. “He laughed and laughed. He said I was a gas ticket. He said it was the best prank he’d heard of in a long time. It reminded him of the old days, when kids had spirit.”
“So, you didn’t explain that you did it on purpose to create a row between him and your mother?” I thought I’d better mention his mother before he went off on some other track.
“Er, no, I didn’t think I needed to go that far.”
“And now you’re friends, you and Alec?” Well, that would be something. At least the plan woul
d have worked.
“I wouldn’t say friends exactly,” Hal said cautiously.
“But you’re not enemies?”
“Yeah, I suppose we’re not.”
“Well, then,” I said, relieved. “All you need to do now is find some way to let your mother know that you two’ve worked things out, and I’d say she’ll come galloping back, won’t she, all delighted?”
“How do you mean, let her know? … galloping back? … delighted? What are you talking about, Olivia? She’s missing, remember?”
I gritted my teeth. I was going to have to do this.
“Hal, it’s staring you in the face. Think about it. You can’t really believe she left home because she was angry about Alec not going to the golf tournament. How daft is that?”
(This is what my mother had said at breakfast, but it was exactly what I’d been starting to think myself.)
“Er …”
“On a scale of one to ten, Hal, how likely is it that a woman would storm out of the house and leave her only child with a person-not-his-father and not come back for five whole days just because the person-not-his-father wouldn’t go to a golf tournament? I mean, is this reasonable behavior?”
“Er,” he said again. “When you put it like that …”
“On a scale of one to ten, Hal, how likely? Assuming the woman is your mother, who, let’s face it, is not exactly given to grossly irresponsible behavior. I mean, she’s not a raving alcoholic or anything, is she? Or completely crackers?”
“But she might have had an accident,” Hal said. “She might have lost her memory. She might have been kidnapped. Or arrested. She might be sick.”
“On a scale of one to ten, Hal,” I said firmly.
He caved in. “Um, about two, I suppose.”
“Right, so when you get a likelihood score of two out of ten for anything, Hal, what would you think?”
Hal squirmed a bit and looked doubtful, but he was following me, I could see.
“I’d think … maybe there was some other explanation?” he said.
The penny hadn’t quite dropped, but I could see it was starting to hover on the edge; it was losing its footing.
“Now you’re talking,” I said. “And listen, think about this, too: how likely would you think it is that Alec would sit around for days, doing nothing about finding your mother, if she was truly missing? Do you think he’d just drift along washing sweatshirts and cooking waffles and not bothering to report her as a missing person? I mean, for one thing, he’d be under suspicion for murder if she didn’t turn up.”
“Mu-u-urder?” squeaked Hal. He was white as a sliced pan.
“She hasn’t been murdered, Hal. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying if …”
“So what’s going on?” asked Hal.
I leaned over and whispered in his ear, “It’s a conspiracy, Hal.”
“What? You mean, she’s been kidnapped by a … a consortium ?”
“Hal, you have an overactive imagination. Of course not. The conspiracy is between the pair of them. Alec and Trudy.”
“Alec and my ma? What sort of a conspiracy?”
This was heavy going.
“A conspiracy to bring someone to his senses.”
“Who?” said Hal.
“You know who,” I persisted.
“Me?” said Hal, and he pointed his finger into his chest, as if he thought I mightn’t know who “me” was in this case. He screwed the finger around, as if he was trying to make sure he was really there.
“You,” I said, and I jabbed my finger into his chest as well.
The bell rang.
“But that’s … ,” said Hal.
“Hal!” rapped Kate as she came bustling in. “The bell has rung. Put away your lunch box now, no more talking. Sit down. I mean, sit up. Take out your workbooks. Pay attention.”
“ … cruel,” Hal finished in a whisper.
Chapter 20
I would have thought he’d be delighted, Hal, but he’s not exactly your normal chap, is he? I thought he’d fall on my neck, like that fellow in the Bible, and say, “Thank you, Olivia, you have shown me the truth,” or something. But there is no pleasing some people.
He frowned his way through the day, and I could see he wasn’t listening to a single thing Kate said, and when school was over, he stomped off out the door without even waiting for me, like he usually does.
“Hal!” I called after him. “Wait for me!”
So he did, but he didn’t turn around and smile or wave or anything. He just stood where he stopped and waited for me, and as soon as I’d caught up with him, he started striding ahead again.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, Hal,” I said breathlessly as I trotted along, trying to keep up with him. “I mean, it’s not my fault if your mum has taken extreme measures to make you see sense.”
“I’m not,” Hal said. “I’m just thinking.”
“You’ve been thinking all day,” I said. “I could almost hear you, you were thinking so hard.”
He didn’t say anything to that.
“If you were a think tank,” I said, “would you be a panzer or one of those glass jobs for fish?”
“What are you wittering about, Olivia?”
“Think tanks,” I said. “I am trying to imagine what it is like to be in one, and I am wondering if yours is full of water or what.”
“It’s not that kind of tank,” Hal said. “That’s just a metaphor.”
“Oh, very good, Hal,” I said. He does listen to me sometimes, even if he doesn’t look as if he’s listening.
“It’s full of thoughts,” Hal said.
“Are they good ones?”
“They are confusing,” Hal said.
“But good all the same?” I persisted.
I mean, I had more or less pointed out to him that his mother wasn’t lying in a ditch being nibbled by the rats, and she had not eloped to Tasmania with the postman, either. She was probably in, oh, I don’t know, Clondalkin, maybe, or Nobber. Someplace within a couple of hours’ drive, anyway, waiting for Hal and Alec to work things out to the point where she could come back and they could start to live like a proper family, where people do not try to get each other arrested on a Saturday morning. That’s what my mother had said, anyway, and she should know, because—
“Olivia!” Hal suddenly stopped walking and turned around to me. I almost bumped into him.
“What?” I said.
“Welcome to the think tank,” he said. “Listen, sit down for a minute.” And he sat down himself, right there, on the footpath, on the curb I mean, with his feet in the gutter. He lifted his bottom and shoved his school bag under it, so he had a sort of cushion, and then he clasped his hands around his knees.
I didn’t really want to sit in the gutter, but I put my school bag down too and sat beside him. School bags make very knobbly cushions.
“Well?” I said expectantly.
“This theory you have,” he said, “about my mum not being really missing?”
“It’s not a theory, Hal. It’s true.”
“How can you say that?” he said. “How can you possibly know?”
“Because …” Was he ready to hear this? I wondered. But I plunged ahead anyway. He had to know. It couldn’t go on like this. It wasn’t fair. “Because my mum says so.”
“Oh, and how does your mum know what my mum is doing?”
“They work together, Hal.”
“So?”
“Hal … your mother … has been at work … every day this week,” I said. “My mother told me.”
Hal jumped up off his school bag as if it were on fire and stared down at me. Then he paced away from me, with his hands in his pockets. Then he paced back. He flailed his arms about in the air, like a demented windmill. Finally he sat down beside me again. He looked as if he was going to explode, but I didn’t know if it was with joy at knowing his mum was alive or with anger at her for putting him through this or with irritation at m
e for … well, I don’t know what I was supposed to have done wrong.
“Tell me that again,” he said, through half-clenched teeth.
“My mum says—she told me at breakfast this morning—she says, of course your mum is not missing. She knows your mum is not missing, because … because … oh, Hal, she’s been at work every day this week, and she hasn’t said a word about not being at home. It’s all some big put-up job, Hal.”
I said the last bit very quietly, the way you tiptoe around when someone is sick or upset. You don’t want to make it worse. But still it was good news overall. His mum was alive, and she might even be coming home.
“But she hasn’t been at home,” Hal insisted. He couldn’t take it in.
“Well, no, obviously not,” I said. “I don’t imagine she is hiding under the stairs until you go to bed at night and then creeping out for a sandwich.”
Hal gave a crooked little grin at that. Then he frowned and said, “But why didn’t you tell me before now, Olivia?”
“I’ve been trying,” I said. “It’s hard to find the right words. I only heard this morning when I spoke to my mum about it.”
He put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands and he started to rock back and forth. I wasn’t sure if he was actually crying. I looked around. Nobody was about, so very gingerly, I put my hand out and I patted his back. He went on rocking, and I went on patting, and after a while he stopped rocking and I stopped patting, but I left my hand there, resting between his shoulder blades. After a moment he turned his body around to me, and without a word, he put his head on my shoulder, like a great big soppy Labrador or something, and I brought my other hand around and stroked his hair and we sat there like that for a little while, and it was dead nice.
After a bit he lifted his head and looked at me, and I thought it might do no harm to give him a little smile, so I did, and he gave this huge sigh, and I could feel it under my hand, running right through him.
“If you were a friend, Olivia,” he whispered, “would you be a best mate or just a good pal?”
“I’d be someone who loves you, Hal,” I said.
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