Stuck in the Mud

by R. A. Spratt

  About the Book

  Chaos parachutes into Currawong when the annual mud run hits town. The Peski kids are soon swept up in the festivities. Or in April’s case, strapped to a vision-impaired competitor in the race.

  Can Joe beat the fierce opposition? Can Fin hit Joe with a giant mud ball? Can April make it through a school day without getting expelled? Who knows?

  But when the prize money goes missing someone has to figure out what really happened under all that mud!

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: ONE WEEK EARLIER

  Chapter 2: THE NEXT DAY

  Chapter 3: THE BIG ANNOUNCEMENT

  Chapter 4: DRAMATIC ENTRANCE

  Chapter 5: DENIAL

  Chapter 6: PRESSURE

  Chapter 7: DEEP IN THOUGHT

  Chapter 8: DIFFERABILITY

  Chapter 9: BEGGING AND PLEADING

  Chapter 10: HOME FRONT

  Chapter 11: MOTIVATION

  Chapter 12: A QUIET WORD

  Chapter 13: THE COURSE MASTER

  Chapter 14: NOT A GOOD LOOK

  Chapter 15: IN THE OFFICE, AGAIN

  Chapter 16: TRAINING

  Chapter 17: MUD THERAPY

  Chapter 18: THE BUILD

  Chapter 19: COUPLE STATUS

  Chapter 20: THE COMPLAINING

  Chapter 21: MORE PRESSURE

  Chapter 22: PREPARATION

  Chapter 23: AND SO IT BEGINS

  Chapter 24: I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE

  Chapter 25: THE HEIST

  Chapter 26: PHOTO FINISH

  Chapter 27: THE INVESTIGATION

  Chapter 28: IDENTITY PARADE

  Chapter 29: WHAT HAPPENED?

  About the Author

  Books by R. A. Spratt

  Friday Barnes

  Nanny Piggins

  Imprint

  Read more at Penguin Books Australia

  To Zoe and William

  Dr Banfield was sitting in the interrogation room. Like everything else in this former Soviet prison, this room was grey and damp. She had not eaten for three days. She had not slept in all that time either. Her interrogator was trying to break her.

  No food, no water, no rest – classic interrogation techniques. But Dr Banfield had been trained to endure all traditional forms of interrogation. They would not break her. She could tune out hunger and thirst, and the delirium almost made it easier. It was as if her mind was floating separate to her body. She hadn’t spoken a word in three days. It was quite restful really.

  How naive of her interrogators to think lack of sleep and food would wear her down. She was a mother of three, she’d had to put up with sleep deprivation and exhaustion for years. She didn’t crack when April spent three months begging for a drum kit, she didn’t crack when Joe looked up at her with his big blue eyes and asked for a dirt bike, and she didn’t crack when Fin rationally explained all the logical reasons why he should build a catapult in their backyard – so she wasn’t going to crack now. These interrogators were nowhere near as devious or unscrupulous as her own children. They would never break her. But the evil minds in charge of the Kolektiv didn’t know that, so the interrogator kept up the questions in his relentless, emotionless monotone.

  ‘Who were you spying for?’ asked the interrogator. ‘Who was your contact in Bucharest? How did you infiltrate the Department of Defence?’

  Dr Banfield focused her mind on simple things. The cold of the metal handcuffs against her wrists. The smell of disinfectant about the room. The periodic flicker of the neon lights. She could ignore her interrogator completely.

  Then the door opened. The interrogator had not been expecting this. There was a slight flicker in his eyes, and a small flush to his cheeks. Dr Banfield noticed and understood. The interrogator was momentarily confused. But by what?

  Dr Banfield did not turn to see who had entered the room. She would find out soon enough. She kept watching the interrogator to see his reactions. Raised pulse rate, averted eyes, hasty hand movements – he was more than confused. He was scared. Scared of whoever had just walked in.

  ‘May I have the room?’ the new arrival asked politely in accented English.

  The interrogator left without a word.

  Dr Banfield was not alarmed. The interrogation had not been going well. It was inevitable that they would change tactics. She wondered what their new strategy would be. Intelligence agencies rarely used the ‘good cop/bad cop’ technique. They usually preferred bad cop and much badder cop. The game had just changed up.

  ‘Dr Banfield,’ began the new interrogator, as he slid into the chair on the opposite side of the aluminium table.

  Dr Banfield inspected him. Approximately forty-three years old, dressed with precision. Ironed shirt, perfectly tailored jacket, understated tie and neatly combed hair. He smiled at her. At least two of his teeth were false. He wouldn’t like that. It was an imperfection. And they were front teeth. Not the ones you lose from tooth decay. The teeth you lose from being punched in the face. This man was a contradiction. Controlled where once there had been no control. A dangerous man.

  ‘Tsk, tsk, tsk,’ said the new interrogator, shaking his head but still smiling. ‘Such a shame, Dr Banfield. We thought you would want to get home to your children. But clearly not.’ The interrogator shrugged. ‘Our mistake. We misjudged you. We assumed you would love your children.’ He opened his file and glanced at the paperwork. Dr Banfield did not move her head but she permitted herself a quick glance. Photos of April, Fin and Joe were pinned to the front page. Close-up photos. Dr Banfield refocused her mind on the handcuffs, the smell, the light bulb. She would not let them goad her with crude tricks. ‘Our mistake. We underestimated your professionalism. Of course, Joe, Fin and April were merely part of your cover identity. They mean nothing.’

  Handcuffs, smell, light – she would not react.

  ‘But we did think you would want to get home to see your husband,’ said the interrogator.

  Dr Banfield could barely hear the interrogator. She was focusing her mind, trying to separate it completely from her body. To mentally disengage herself from reality.

  ‘Obviously your marriage to him is over,’ continued the interrogator. ‘You have no feelings for him anymore, if you ever did. But we did think you would want to see him again. To wish him luck on his remarriage.’

  Dr Banfield did not move. Her eyes did not even flicker.

  The interrogator pulled out a photograph from the thick file. It was a large colour photo of a very beautiful young blonde woman.

  ‘He’s a lucky man,’ said the interrogator. ‘Such a beautiful woman, and Swedish. The Swedish are such a calm people. Men like that, I believe.’

  And that is when Dr Banfield shattered. First her temper, then the interrogator’s remaining front teeth as she swung her leg over the table and kicked him in the face.

  Dad was down on one knee. The gravel from Loretta’s driveway was biting into his kneecap. But the pain in his knee was nothing compared to the painful awkwardness of the situation.

  Dad had just proposed marriage to the staggeringly beautiful Swedish au pair who lived next door. And he had done so in front of his own children, Joe, Fin and April, plus several armed federal police officers and their beautiful yet sociopathic fifteen-year-old next-door neighbour, Loretta Viswanathan.

  To top it off, Ingrid had then surprised them even more by responding with a ‘yes’ in perfect English, a language she had spent years pretending she did not speak. Unsurprisingly, Joe, Fin and April were still in shock. April was not reacting well to the news that she was getting a new stepmother.

  ‘You can
’t get engaged to Loretta’s babysitter!’ cried April.

  ‘Well, actually,’ said Dad, ‘I’m pretty sure I can.’

  ‘But you’re married to Mum!’ accused April, grabbing her father by the shirt front as she said this to emphasise her point.

  ‘Um, no,’ said Dad. ‘It’s quite complicated …’ He thought about it for moment. ‘Well, actually no, it’s quite simple. A marriage is a contract. And if one of the people entering into the contract is not who they say they are, then the contract is void.’

  ‘Huh?’ said April.

  ‘You can’t be married to someone if you don’t know who they are,’ explained Fin in a grim monotone. He always spoke in an expressionless monotone, but he was extra especially expressionless when he was feeling really emotional, and that was how he was feeling right now.

  April turned round and shoved Fin for good measure. ‘Now is not the time to be pedantic and right. It’s just annoying!’

  ‘I apologise for my accuracy,’ said Fin.

  ‘He can’t marry Ingrid,’ said April, wheeling back around to confront her father again. ‘Because he just can’t.’

  ‘I can,’ said Dad with uncharacteristic decisiveness. ‘Because I want to.’

  ‘Say something.’ April turned on Joe now.

  ‘W-w-what?’ asked Joe.

  ‘Tell him he can’t,’ ordered April.

  ‘But Ingrid is n-nice,’ Joe pointed out.

  ‘She secretly speaks English!’ said April.

  ‘We all have secrets,’ said Fin.

  ‘Yeah, but not like …’ April stopped mid-sentence when she realised that Fin was entirely right. They did all have secrets. The type you shouldn’t yell about in front of immigration officials and federal police officers. Not when your whole family was in hiding from an evil international spy organisation.

  ‘This is all immaterial, sir,’ said the senior officer, grabbing hold of Ingrid’s arm again. ‘The expulsion procedure has gone too far. Ms Bjorg will be flying back to Sweden this afternoon. You can pursue your legal options independently, but I don’t like your chances. It’s very hard to gain readmission for an illegal alien who lied on her visa application.’

  ‘She’s an alien?!’ exclaimed April. ‘I thought she was just Swedish. Now you’re saying she’s from outer space!’

  ‘He means “alien” in the legal sense, to be an alien is to be an “outsider”,’ explained Fin.

  ‘Shut up,’ said April. ‘I’m sick of you being such a know-it-all.’

  ‘You asked a question!’ protested Fin.

  ‘Yeah, but I’m sick of you always being able to answer them,’ said April, grabbing her brother.

  ‘I’m sick of you,’ said Fin, grabbing her back. They started scuffling about, trying to pull each other over on the gravel driveway.

  Pumpkin barked excitedly and launched into the fray to help April by biting Fin hard on the bum.

  ‘Ow!’ cried Fin.

  ‘Take it back!’ demanded April.

  ‘Take what back?’ asked Fin. ‘The factual truth?’

  The argument was almost brought to an end in the most grizzly of ways when a navy blue Mercedes swept up the driveway and skidded to a halt just centimetres from where April and Fin were wrestling.

  ‘What now?’ demanded the senior officer.

  As it turned out, it was his worst nightmare. The driver’s door swung open and a short, immaculately dressed woman in a dark suit stepped out. She would have barely been above five foot tall, but she wore three-inch stilettos which added to her air of authority. She took in the scene, then focused on the senior immigration officer, glaring at him hard.

  The immigration officer gulped.

  ‘My name is Henrietta Klaus, and I demand that you release my client immediately,’ said the short woman.

  ‘Client?’ asked the immigration official.

  Ms Klaus took out a business card and handed it to the immigration official. ‘Henrietta Klaus of Klaus and Klaus Attorneys at Law.’

  ‘She’s the lawyer who costs $800 an hour,’ said Loretta gleefully. ‘I called her when you first pulled up.’

  ‘It’s outrageous that you are physically manhandling my client when she has been an exemplar as an immigrant, has committed no infractions, and has been a peaceful, law abiding member of this local community,’ accused Ms Klaus.

  ‘But she lied on her visa application,’ protested the immigration official.

  ‘We contest that,’ said Ms Klaus, taking a letter out of her folder. ‘I petitioned the immigration court and we have a hearing date scheduled for next month. I insist that you release her pending that hearing.’

  ‘I can’t just let her go,’ said the immigration official.

  ‘The Viswanathans will post her bond and assure her presence in court,’ continued Ms Klaus, handing the immigration official another sheaf of papers. ‘The Viswanathans are pillars of the community. In fact, Mrs Viswanathan performed open-heart surgery on the head of the Department of Immigration just two months ago. I’m sure he’ll see it our way.’

  ‘And her fiancé will look after her,’ said Loretta excitedly. She turned to explain to the lawyer. ‘Mr Peski has just proposed to Ingrid. I suspect that they have been in love for some time.’

  Dad looked startled by this statement, but he dutifully nodded.

  ‘And it’s wonderful for Joe, Fin and April too,’ continued Loretta. ‘They are sadly in need of a mother figure.’

  ‘What?!’ exploded April. ‘You’re as nutty as a fruitcake!’

  ‘You see,’ said Loretta. ‘She desperately needs a feminine influence.’

  Ms Klaus quickly took in the situation. ‘Then there are clearly abundant grounds for my petition. It’s remarkable that you had the audacity to pursue this vexatious claim in the first place. I insist that you release her immediately. Family relationships are essential to integration into the community. Ms Bjorg, soon to be Mrs Peski, needs to build her relationship with her stepchildren.’

  ‘She does not!’ yelled April.

  ‘You see,’ said Ms Klaus. ‘She has a lot of work to do. She has a lot of hostility to overcome. She doesn’t have time to be locked in immigration detention. You will release her into Mr Peski’s custody, pending the hearing in four weeks.’

  ‘This is all fabricated,’ argued the immigration official. ‘What if their relationship is a sham?’

  Dad realised he should do something. He put his arm around Ingrid’s shoulders. It wasn’t very convincing. He wasn’t a man who was comfortable with physical affection. ‘I need Ingrid. And she needs me,’ he said with a quaver in his voice.

  ‘There will have to be interviews to establish that they really are a couple,’ threatened the immigration official petulantly.

  ‘Not a problem for our soon-to-be newlyweds,’ said Ms Klaus. ‘Now, if you could leave as swiftly as possible. These four impressionable youths are no doubt suffering irreparable psychological damage from being exposed to this level of police brutality. I would hate to have to sue for psychological damage as well as the outrageous abuse of immigration powers.’

  ‘It’s true,’ said Loretta, holding her palm to her forehead. ‘I can practically feel the emotional scarring taking place.’

  The immigration official clearly did not want to back down, but no one fears getting in trouble more than a public servant with a cushy, super safe job. With minimal grumbling, the police and immigration officers soon got in their vehicles and left.

  ‘Well done!’ said Loretta happily, clapping her hands with delight as the officials pulled away.

  ‘This is only the first stage,’ said Ms Klaus. ‘They’ll be watching you like a hawk until the hearing.’

  Ingrid nodded.

  ‘But we’ve got nothing to hide,’ said Dad.

  The Peski kids all turned to look at him. Apparently, their father had forgotten that he was literally in hiding from the Kolektiv, that their mother was imprisoned in a secret European jail, and t
hat Professor Maynard, the operative in charge of looking after them, had threatened to withdraw all protection if they didn’t start behaving sensibly.

  ‘Okay, maybe I do have a couple of things to hide,’ conceded Dad.

  ‘They can’t disprove what’s not there to disprove,’ said Ms Klaus. ‘It would be best if the wedding took place as quickly as possible. And, of course, Ingrid will have to reside in your house.’

  ‘What?!’ exclaimed Dad.

  ‘If you’re not already living together,’ said Ms Klaus, ‘you should start now. It will look better.’

  ‘Dad can’t have his girlfriend move in,’ protested April. ‘We’re impressionable children.’

  ‘If you’re going to marry an illegal alien,’ said Ms Klaus, ‘you can’t be seen to be reluctant to live with the illegal alien. Especially when said alien is incredibly good looking.’ Ms Klaus turned to Ingrid. ‘Sorry to objectify you in that way.’

  ‘Quite all right,’ said Ingrid with her characteristic Scandinavian calmness. ‘I know this is true.’

  ‘But what about me?’ asked Loretta. ‘If Ingrid moves in with Mr Peski, who will look after me?’

  ‘Your p-p-parents?’ suggested Joe.

  Loretta, Ingrid and Ms Klaus paused for a beat, then burst out laughing. It took a while for them to compose themselves again. Ms Klaus even had to dab away tears.

  ‘I love Mummy and Daddy,’ said Loretta, ‘but there is no way they are capable of, or indeed interested in, looking after me.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Ms Klaus. ‘Even I would have a hard time arguing that they are responsible guardians, and I once convinced a judge that he had committed the bank robbery my client was on trial for.’