Nancy Business

by R. W. R. McDonald

  ‘I’m trying to blend in a bit more,’ he told me, as he pinned on a black rose brooch. ‘Like a local.’

  I smiled and nodded. I’d never seen anyone in Riverstone wear anything like that.

  Uncle Pike came out of their bedroom dressed like a shearer wearing a sheep, in a black singlet, camo shorts and a huge sheepskin-lined jacket.

  Devon went to kiss him but pulled back. ‘Eeew. Why are you wearing that?’

  Uncle Pike shrugged. ‘I’m hot and cold at the moment.’

  Devon pulled his blanket around him tighter. ‘Tell me about it.’

  We left our stinky, and now traffic-noisy and rattly, Airbnb and headed home for breakfast. I yawned all the way there, which was tricky while trying to hold my breath over the bridge. As we parked by our mailbox, Devon grabbed Uncle Pike’s hand and kissed it.

  I hopped out and grabbed this morning’s Bully. The front page had a huge photo of the bombed-out town hall and above it a large headline: WE WILL REBUILD.

  We walked through the garage. I opened the door into the hallway, and as soon as I heard the news blaring from the living room, I knew something was up. Mum never let us watch TV in the morning. I hurried in and found her slumped on the couch.

  ‘Mum?’

  She faced us slowly, her eyes puffy in the tiredest face I had ever seen. She seemed barely awake. Mum patted the cushion beside her. ‘Come sit down, honey.’ She had that bad news look.

  ‘What is it?’ As I sat, I ran through all the people I knew. No, not NaiNai.

  She held my hand. ‘Dad’s friend, Angus … Mr Henderson.’

  I nodded. Instant relief that NaiNai was okay.

  ‘He died.’ I pulled back a little and felt guilty. Mum licked her lips. ‘He was trapped.’ My heart began to race. I thought she might cry. She cleared her throat and nodded towards the TV. ‘He was in his building when the bomb—’ She took a deep shuddery breath.

  Uncle Pike put his hand over his mouth.

  ‘Trapped in the fire,’ Mum said. I thought about the raging fire in Henderson Lawyers and the burnt paper falling like black snow. He had been inside that. Mum’s warm hands gripped mine. I looked down and had a flashback of her charred fingers clutching the steering wheel.

  ‘No!’ I cried, tearing my hands away. I shook my head. It wasn’t fair to add any more people. And not Mr Henderson. He was sweet and kind, and always smiled and said hello. At Dad’s funeral he had given me white tulips. He told me, ‘When you’re ready, come see me. I’ll tell you about your Dad.’ I had liked knowing Mr Henderson had memories and stories about Dad, but now they were gone, too. I buried myself into Mum. White tulips. Did he get them from the man who killed him one year later?

  The news update had finished and Uncle Pike and Devon sat down. Mum switched channels and Hornblower filled the screen, a large picture of the damaged town hall behind him.

  ‘—in a network exclusive, we have been given access to previously unseen security-camera feed from the surrounding area on that fateful night.’

  We waited for him to continue. He bowed his head and was silent.

  ‘Seriously?’ Devon said to Uncle Pike. ‘Your boyfriend is awful. And he’s using the same pink lipstick as last time.’ Devon unpinned his brooch and ripped off his stinky blanket, dumping it on the carpet. ‘Where’s the remote?’

  ‘He does seem to be milking it,’ Uncle Pike said.

  Mum sniffed and frowned at the blanket on the floor.

  Hornblower raised his head and stared into the camera. ‘But due to the sensitive and shocking nature of what occurred, and out of respect for the families of the victims, we are unable to show it at this stage.’

  ‘All that for nothing,’ Devon said. ‘Channel it.’

  Hornblower looked smug. ‘So that is why we are choosing to show an animated version of events instead, based on the exclusive Riverstone security-camera footage we have received.’

  ‘Motherfucker,’ Mum said, under her breath.

  I put my hand on her back. ‘It’s okay.’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s really not.’

  A cold chill washed through me and I pushed myself back into the couch.

  Uncle Pike leaned over and gave my shoulder a squeeze. ‘You’re safe, honey.’

  I nodded. We watched as the screen went black. White lines appeared, making a see-through 3D wire map with outlines of the streets and buildings, including the founding tree and Riverstone Town Hall.

  Hornblower narrated: ‘Monday, 18 April, Angus Henderson was working late in his office.’ A small fuzzy yellow blob with a red middle, like a heat signature, appeared inside Henderson Lawyers. Connected to it, like a balloon on a string, was a line to a small square photo of Mr Henderson with his name. ‘Work that lasted into the early hours of Tuesday morning. And cost him his life.’

  Mum gripped my hand. ‘I don’t think you should see this.’

  I gave her a quick smile to show I was fine and pulled my hand away. I turned back to the TV. A fuzzy blob sped across the screen along the street beside the pub, then over Main Street.

  Hornblower’s voiceover continued. ‘Then, in the darkness, destroying that silent night and changing the town forever, came Willem Jansen, driving his fateful package.’

  The blob weaved into the town hall carpark, then stopped.

  ‘He sounds like he’s doing a terrible job at narrating an audiobook,’ Devon said. ‘And not a well-written one.’

  ‘Shhhhhhhh!’ we all cried. Devon huffed and crossed his arms.

  A photo of Mr Tulips and his name popped up attached to the blob.

  ‘Then what happens next,’ Hornblower went on, ‘is something we will never forget.’ Mr Tulips’ blob entered Riverstone Town Hall. His blob expanded and contracted. In the carpark, the van glowed with a yellow ‘X’.

  ‘What time is this?’ Uncle Pike asked. ‘Why aren’t they showing the times?’

  On screen, speeding along the same route as Mr Tulips, came another fiery blob, past the pub and across Main Street, stopping at the edge of the town hall steps. I glanced at Uncle Pike. His eyebrows were raised. This was something new: so far we had only seen the footage of Mr Tulips getting out of the van and it exploding.

  ‘The Councillor’s wife, Raewyn Dalrymple,’ Hornblower’s voiceover said. ‘A late-comer to this deadly party.’ Her name and photo-balloon appeared as her blob entered the town hall. Mr Tulips and Raewyn Dalrymple’s blobs orbited each other, pulsating, like they were breathing or about to multiply, which I found disturbing. ‘The Councillor’s wife,’ Hornblower said. ‘Next-door neighbour to both Jansen and Henderson. There, perhaps, to stop a maniac from committing an atrocity. Bringing Neighbourhood Watch to a whole new level.’

  I groaned.

  His voiceover continued. ‘And finally, completing this quartet, and its only survivor, Detective Sergeant Brenda Graham.’ I felt Mum stiffen beside me. I hooked my arm through hers and watched as DS Graham’s blob appeared, moving over the bridge behind the town hall, and then turning the corner onto Main Street.

  ‘Responding to an emergency call placed by Willem Jansen at 3.47 a.m.’ Her blob stopped at the end of the town hall building, her picture and name flashing up before the screen turned white. Shattered glass sounded and the white screen cracked into tiny pieces and fell away, revealing Hornblower behind it, his back to the camera.

  ‘So tacky,’ Devon said.

  Hornblower spun around. ‘And there you have it,’ he said, trying not to look pleased with himself. ‘An exclusive to—’

  Mum switched the TV off. We sat there, no one saying anything. Those poor people. Tears pricked my eyes. Mum hugged me and then stood up, groaning just like Uncle Pike. ‘Better get ready.’

  ‘Lennie, you’re joking?’ Uncle Pike said. ‘You can’t work; you need to rest.’

  ‘Yeah, Mum.’ She looked like she would crumble.

  ‘I promised,’ she said. ‘It’s only a couple of hours, then I’ll come home to sle
ep.’

  ‘You better,’ my uncle said, and hugged her. He asked about borrowing stuff for Number Four.

  ‘Help yourself to whatever,’ she said. ‘There are even some camp chairs and a table if you want.’

  ‘Thanks, Lennie.’

  Devon punched Uncle Pike on the arm. ‘You’re a camp table.’

  ‘Ow!’ My uncle rubbed his arm. ‘You are.’

  ‘And you can take that fucking horrible jug as well. It’ll force me to finally buy a new one,’ Mum said, then headed off to get ready for work.

  ‘Bye!’ we all yelled together.

  Mum stopped.‘Hmm. Clearly spending too much time together. Be good and no Nancy business.’

  I wished we had a mystery to lie to Mum about. There is the bomb threat.

  ‘Of course,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘May you find someone to drive their “fateful package”—’

  ‘Too soon,’ Mum yelled back.

  We waved her off from the garage. As soon as her car was out of sight, I turned to Uncle Pike and Devon. ‘We need to help the town.’

  ‘Absolutely, that’s an excellent idea,’ my uncle said. ‘But for now let’s get all the gear for Number Four on the truck.’

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Just need to get something from my room first.’ I went back inside and pulled out my tablet. I sat on my bed and searched online for the recording of the emergency call. It wasn’t hard to find. I downloaded the audio file to listen to later and stashed my tablet in my backpack.

  Under the house was crammed with junk, cardboard boxes, old furniture from Gran and Grandad, and even my cot and baby stuff. When I was little I loved playing down here. Dad would help me move boxes around to make a cubby house and a little village. My old best friends, Sam and Todd, had played down here with me, too. I wondered what they would think of the bombing.

  ‘Right, let’s look for some basics until we refurnish,’ Uncle Pike said. He spotted Gran’s floral lounge suite, sitting on wooden pallets. ‘This will do.’ He and Devon lifted the couch and took it out.

  Further up the back, under an old duvet cover, I found a small beer fridge. I showed Uncle Pike and he nodded. He came and took it while Devon carried out an armchair.

  Past the fridge, the dirt floor sloped upwards, following the hill our house was on. I hadn’t gone this far into the basement since I was really little. I crouched and crab-walked up past a concrete pillar, squeezing between old tea-chests and cardboard moving boxes. Above me were wooden beams. It amazed me that Mum and Dad had filled it all the way to the back here. Ahead was a clear spot. I squatted and searched for anything else that might be useful. Near my head, something dark was wedged between a beam and a concrete pillar.

  I shuffled under it and looked closer. A small wooden box, a bit bigger than a shoebox. Uncle Pike and Devon hadn’t spotted me. The little kid in me got excited, thinking it could be treasure. I wiggled the box and it came out of its spot easily enough. Luckily, it wasn’t heavy as I lowered it. ‘Shit.’ Pain stung my finger and I dropped the box on the ground. A splinter. I shook my hand.

  ‘All right, Tippy?’ my uncle called out. ‘We’ve got a full load now.’

  ‘Coming,’ I said, pulling out a sliver of wood and sucking my finger. I needed to know what was inside the box first.

  I kneeled down and opened it. Inside were business papers, photos and letters. I pulled out a colour photo of Mum and Dad from their uni days in Dunedin. I smiled. They were so young. It was great to see Dad’s face again. He hadn’t really changed much from those days, but Mum had. I giggled. Her hair was in tight ringlets and she looked like a cocker spaniel. It took me a second to realise who was in the next photo—a teenage NaiNai, with a man, both in green uniforms. I recognised my grandad from a photo Dad had shown me. He had died when Dad was a kid.

  I flicked through the papers to get to the bottom. Underneath was a white Mahjong tile keyring and another photo: a group shot of Dad, Mr Henderson, a ruddy-faced giant stranger with thick lips, and Duncan Nunn. They all stood in a paddock toasting the camera with champagne glasses. I smiled. Dad looked really happy. I remembered him saying we would be rich one day and he would buy me anything I wanted. At the time, all I wanted was a smart-phone. He’d laugh and tell me I needed to think bigger. ‘Dream big, Tippy. Always dream big.’

  It was good to know some of Dad’s personal things were still around, especially after Mum had destroyed all evidence of him after he’d died. I took the photos and carefully put the box back up where I’d found it. On the way out, I picked up Gran’s old two-bar heater and joined Uncle Pike and Devon outside, with the photos hidden under my T-shirt. They would be my secret for now. I wasn’t going to lose any more memories of Dad.

  Back up at Number Four, we arranged all our new-old furnishings in the living room. Uncle Pike and Devon had placed Gran’s floral sofa so it faced the sash windows, with the big floral armchair across from it. We even had an oval wooden coffee table. I unpacked tea and sugar, and put milk inside the little refrigerator plugged in near the exposed kitchen sink. I filled up Mum’s jug and switched it on while Uncle Pike and Devon tested out Gran’s floral sofa. I suddenly felt nervous about sharing the emergency call. I hoped they wouldn’t think I was a ghoul, I just wanted to know why Mr Tulips had done what he’d done. After making everyone a cup of tea—which as a P.A. felt like part of my job description, but also sexist—I perched on the armchair near Gran’s heater, which glowed orange and smelled of burnt dust. Close to it, like nearly touching, it felt like the surface of the sun, but one step away and you couldn’t feel any heat at all.

  ‘That’s a pretty lamp,’ Devon said.

  ‘It’s a heater.’ I lifted up my bag and pulled out my tablet.

  ‘Okay.’ Devon raised an eyebrow. ‘If you say so.’

  My uncle stuck his socked feet out in front of the glowing bars. ‘I guess it’s psychologically warm?’

  I waved my tablet at them. ‘Before you say anything …’

  ‘That sounds ominous,’ Uncle Pike said.

  Devon nodded then freaked out. ‘No. You’re resigning? Oh no, you’ve found another job?’

  ‘I downloaded the emergency call,’ I said.

  He slapped his thighs and smiled. ‘Phew, that’s a relief!’

  Uncle Pike’s eyes widened and he sat back.

  ‘Not in a bad touristy way. I just thought we could listen to it,’ I said to them both, ‘as the Nancys.’

  Devon’s smile froze.

  Uncle Pike rubbed his head. ‘Tippy, if you look up at the sky long enough you’re going to see something. We aren’t the Nancys anymore. We solved our case.’

  Devon glanced at the hallway and shuddered. Before my uncle could say anything else, I hit play on the emergency call and turned up the volume. A female operator answered the call.

  Next a male voice talked in a monotone. ‘I have planted a bomb on Main Street.’

  ‘Mr Tulips?’ Devon whispered.

  Uncle Pike nodded and leaned forward on the sofa.

  Devon whispered loudly, ‘He doesn’t sound very friendly. I thought he was nice?’

  I shrugged and turned the volume all the way up.

  In a calm voice, the operator asked, ‘When is the bomb going to explode?’

  Heavy breathing on the phone, then a sharp intake of breath. ‘Fuck you.’

  ‘Where is the bomb?’

  The voice was quicker this time, more natural. ‘Council’s going to pay.’

  ‘Sir?’

  A snuffling noise and groan.

  ‘Sir?’ the operator said. ‘Is this Willem Jansen? I can see your address, rural delivery 1594, Riverstone?’

  ‘Fuck.’ I heard a scuffling sound, like he had dropped the phone. The operator kept repeating ‘Sir? What type of a bomb is it?’ over and over until the line went dead.

  We all frowned at each other, then I played it again.

  ‘That was weird,’ Devon said, when it finished the second time.

 
‘I guess he really was the bomber and just wanted everyone to know,’ I said. Uncle Pike sat with his head bowed, his shaggy hair covering his face. I hoped the recording hadn’t made him sad.

  Devon sighed and leaned back on the couch. ‘Maybe he didn’t want anyone to die with him.’

  ‘But he built a bomb?’ I remembered what Mrs Brown said about Mr Tulips not being smart at school. Still, Mum had said there are all different kinds of smarts, not just book smarts. We talked about that a lot after Todd got his brain injury.

  My uncle shook his head and looked up. I was relieved he wasn’t upset. He gestured to Devon. ‘Stand up. I want you to be Mr Tulips.’

  Devon crossed his arms. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re the best at lip-syncing.’

  Devon shot up and did a hands-on-hips Wonder Woman pose. ‘Yeah, I am.’

  Uncle Pike moved in really close behind Devon. ‘Now, I want you to be Mr Tulips and imagine I’m someone really scary behind you, with a knife.’

  My uncle asked me to play the call again.

  Devon mouthed the first line. After the operator asks when the bomb is going to explode, my uncle tapped Devon on the ribs. ‘Hey!’ Devon said, at the same time as the sound of a wince of pain on the recording.

  ‘I think “Council’s going to pay” were his own words, not under duress,’ Uncle Pike said over Devon’s shoulder, his mouth close to his ear. I noticed Devon shuffle back into him a little.

  Uncle Pike then grabbed him around the waist. Devon groaned.

  ‘Then there’s a fight,’ my uncle said. ‘Mr Tulips is hurt again, causing the groan. During the final fight the call is disconnected, or the bomber hangs up before Mr Tulips can say anything off script.’

  ‘He wasn’t alone?’ Devon said.