Grabbing one of Felix’s old backpacks from the hall cupboard, she swept the whole load of coins and notes inside. And then she heard a window smashing. The window by the laundry sink maybe—just low enough to crawl in or to reach a hand around to unlock the back door.
‘Luke!’ she screamed, taking the stairs two at a time.
When she reached the landing, he was standing in the hallway in a pair of grey boxer shorts.
‘Someone’s trying to break in. Call the police.’
‘You phone the police. I’ll go down and scare them off.’
‘No, I don’t think—’
He was gone before she could finish her sentence.
She threw the backpack into Felix’s wardrobe, praying that a robber would never imagine the loot was hidden in a teenager’s messy bedroom. Dialling 000 with shaking fingers, she begged the police to come as quickly as possible.
‘You know there’s been a string of robberies in Wirriga,’ she screeched to the operator. ‘They’re here in my house—now!’
Armed with Felix’s bass guitar—the only weapon she could find—Allison stationed herself outside the bedroom where Gracie was sleeping.
14
Another crash from downstairs. Allison gripped the neck of the guitar. Bloody hell, she needed a better weapon. If she hit someone over the head with this, it’d simply snap in two.
Were they the same robbers who had been breaking in all summer? Had they been staking out her house in a green sedan? Last month, Nadia had brushed away Allison’s concerns, but maybe it hadn’t been her paranoia from being alone in the house.
What if they hurt Luke? He shouldn’t have gone down to the laundry. He needed to stay safe for Gracie. Hurry up, hurry up. The police station was in Manly, ten minutes away. Saturday night. Were they busy dealing with the drunk and disorderly on the Corso? When would they come?
Straining to hear noises from the floor below, Allison couldn’t work out what was real and what she was imagining. A clicking sound. The shrieking of bats. Another thump. People moving around. Why wasn’t Luke saying something?
Finally, she heard the sound she’d been waiting for: a siren echoing off the houses, coming closer and closer. As the police car parked outside her house, the walls of the corridor reflected a blue tinge from its flashing.
Doors opening and slamming.
She crept to the top of the stairs and peeked down.
Every room was flooded with light. Luke must have switched them on to startle the robbers. Two police officers strode through her lounge room in the direction of the back door.
‘Ally, you can come down now. The police are here.’ Luke’s voice from the kitchen.
Slowly, she made her way into the laundry. A half-brick lay on the washing machine, shattered glass glittered across the sink and floor. A piece of wire had been pushed inside and was looped around the door handle. They’d been trying to open the door through the window.
‘Don’t come in here without shoes,’ one police officer warned.
Luke had managed to scare them off. The only description he could give was two males in black beanies. They’d been outside in the dark and he couldn’t see their faces. The officers went to check the entry and exit points. Nothing had been damaged out there—the men must have clambered over the back fence.
While the officers were interviewing Luke and writing up a report, Allison called a twenty-four-hour glass repair service. But, even with the window fixed, she doubted that she’d sleep tonight. Would the men come back and try again?
‘They must know we have the fundraising money,’ she told the police. ‘It’s too much of a coincidence.’
‘We’ll look at any connections to Wirriga school.’
Could it really be a parent from school?
Three hours later, the police had taken the brick as evidence, Allison had swept up the shards, and the glazier had finished putting in a new panel. She paid extra for reinforced security glass. Assessing her windows now, Allison could pinpoint the weak spots: the sliding doors that led from the kitchen onto the deck, and the window in the downstairs toilet. All accessible from the back, where an intruder could lurk without being seen. Sixteen years in the house and they’d never had anyone climb into the backyard. Not even kids.
Luke checked on Gracie again; she had slept through the whole commotion. Before going up to bed again, he made hot chocolate for Allison.
‘I’ve hidden the money,’ she said. ‘I’ve got the keys for school so I can put it in the safe there tomorrow, then transfer it into your account on Monday.’
As long as no-one was watching her.
They left the lights blazing downstairs. The police said they’d circle back during the night to keep an eye on the place. Allison hoped it wasn’t an empty promise.
She had no illusions that she’d actually fall asleep. But then she popped a night-time cold-and-flu tablet and floated away.
On Sunday morning, Gracie refused to get out of bed.
‘My head hurts,’ she whined. ‘My throat’s sore.’
‘I’ll get you some warm milk with honey,’ Allison said. ‘And you should have some cough medicine.’
‘No, it doesn’t work.’ Luke glared at her. ‘It just masks the symptoms.’
‘Sorry, I’m overstepping again.’
With the little girl living in her house, Allison had automatically reverted to a mothering role. Every so often, irritation would flash across Luke’s face and she’d have to pull herself back. While Allison didn’t want to argue with him now, the medicine had definitely made her nose clearer and her head less woolly. She was sure it would make Gracie feel better too.
With Gracie in bed, they weren’t able to go together into school and put the money in the safe. Even though daylight lessened the threat, Allison preferred not to carry the money around by herself but she didn’t want it in the house again that night. She called Nadia and her husband to accompany her as bodyguards. They stood in the playground while Allison took the cash into the admin area and locked it up.
‘Do you really believe it was a targeted break-in?’ Nadia asked.
‘It must’ve been.’
‘What does Luke think?’
‘He didn’t really say. He’s a bit distracted because Gracie isn’t well.’
And that’s my fault. Maybe even doubly my fault. Had the allergic reaction compromised the girl’s immune system further? Made her more susceptible to a common cold?
At two o’clock, the gym rang Luke to see if he could take a weights class—the regular instructor had torn a muscle. Allison encouraged him to go.
‘I’ll look after Gracie,’ she promised.
‘But will you be okay home alone?’
‘As long as you’re back before dark.’
Allison and Gracie curled up under blankets and watched Mary Poppins together in the lounge room.
‘Are you my Mary Poppins?’ Gracie asked. ‘Are you my nanny?’
‘Sort of,’ she answered. ‘But you know I’m not allowed to give you any sugar to help the medicine go down!’
They both giggled and Gracie waved her empty ice-cream bowl above her head.
Now that Gracie had finished chemo, she could take regular medications—that was what the doctor had said yesterday. Although the doctor, a parent at the fundraiser, probably didn’t realise Allison was acting on her advice. She’d asked the question without going into too much detail about ‘the patient’. Gracie was starting the immunotherapy trial at the end of April—in exactly four weeks. Allison had to make sure that the little girl was well enough.
She’d bribed Gracie with ice-cream to take the cold-and-flu syrup.
‘Don’t tell Daddy,’ Allison whispered. ‘It’s our little secret.’
15
LUKE
Another week, another twenty-five thousand dollars. Luke couldn’t believe how one dedicated schoolteacher had set the ball rolling for all this fundraising. The newspaper article had been sha
red far and wide, and they’d run out of purple bracelets to give to the new members of Gracie’s Gang. The librarian at school had started a lunchtime club for other children to help make them.
Whenever he thanked Ally, she shied away from his praise; clearly, she wasn’t one for attention. Unlike his special girl Gracie, who was thriving on it.
After spending last Sunday in bed, Gracie had felt well enough for school on Monday. Even though Luke had played a prank on her first thing.
‘It’s the cross-country carnival today, Gracie. You need to wear your house colours—I’ve bought you a special blue wig as well.’
Obediently, Gracie put on her blue shorts and top, and he fitted the crazy wig onto her scalp.
‘I look like Thing One from The Cat in the Hat!’
She wandered down to the kitchen where Ally had asked, ‘Why are you wearing that outfit?’
‘Daddy said it’s cross-country.’
‘April Fool’s.’ Luke clapped his hands. ‘And it’s only three sleeps until your birthday!’
Gracie had insisted on wearing the wig all day. She accompanied them to the bank at lunchtime to deposit the money. When the cashier learnt about Gracie’s campaign, she handed over some fluffy toys and money boxes to be used as prizes. In much detail, Ally told the cashier about the break-in. It was the first of many times that week. Luke noticed she didn’t share the story about the sesame oil; all her guilt was being driven into the fundraising.
By Wednesday, Gracie had stopped sneezing, and Luke thought she’d recovered from a minor cold. She’d taken cupcakes to school for her birthday on Thursday and they’d had an afternoon tea party at home. Maz brought balloons and streamers, Ally got an expensive fairy cake from the patisserie, and Curtis popped over to take more photos for a follow-up story. Gracie only mentioned her mother twice. Luke’s birthday present was exactly what she’d asked for: a Barbie dream camper. She put her plastic dinosaurs inside to take them on a holiday to the beach. Presents flooded in from classmates and grownups; one of her favourites was an art easel from Ally.
But then, on Friday morning after all the excitement, the cold returned with a vengeance. Headache, sore throat, stuffed-up nose. Gracie stayed home from school watching Frozen yet again, but she didn’t sing or dance along with the music. She sat still for an hour.
Gracie wanted to stay in bed on Saturday too, but Maz dropped in and urged them to come down to Manly for some fresh air. As they strolled towards the playground by the beachfront, Gracie stopped to pat an energetic black Labrador.
‘When I’m all better, I’m getting a puppy,’ she told the dog owner.
‘Good for you,’ the man said.
‘I’m going to call it Marmalade.’
For two years, Gracie had been asking for a dog. An animal that needed feeding, walking and regular attention. Impossible in the midst of all this.
Before Gracie had even clambered onto the seesaw, one of the mums began speaking to her.
‘Oh Gracie, it’s so nice to see you out and about. I’m one of your gang!’ The woman held up her wrist to show off her purple bracelet. ‘Have you had a good week? How are you feeling today?’
His daughter chatted with the stranger while Luke considered her question. Would it turn into a full-blown cold? Ally had told him that at this time of year—the lead-up towards winter—coughs and snotty noses spread rapidly around the school.
‘You must be Luke.’ The woman beamed at him as she pushed her toddler on the swing. ‘My son is starting at Wirriga next year. We’ll be at the same school as you.’
‘It’s a good school.’ Luke smiled; he’d had so many of these conversations with strangers.
‘I can’t imagine what it must be like for you.’ She nodded down at her own child. ‘Heartbreaking.’
Over the woman’s shoulder, Luke watched small groups jogging down the promenade. Maz was no longer in sight—she’d set off sprinting in the direction of Shelly beach. Beyond the joggers and the power walkers, the kids on scooters and skateboards, the ocean sparkled on this bright autumn day. The surfers were out in force, black shapes in their wetsuits balancing on the waves.
‘It’s very difficult.’ Luke sighed.
Strangers expected him to spout the right platitudes and shed a few tears on demand. Curtis wanted more and more photos, more emotions. Was that the deal Luke had made for going public? The punters paid to see the pain. As if by giving money, they were insuring their own children against the same fate. There but for the grace of God, go I—was that what they were thinking each time they pressed the donate button?
It wasn’t something he could discuss with anyone, not even Ally. He’d sound ungrateful. But the psychology intrigued him. What made strangers give to Gracie rather than to a thirteen-year-old boy from Parramatta? When Maz had been setting up Gracie’s page, they’d looked at the big fundraising sites. Clicked on various kids with cancer, including that thirteen-year-old boy. He needed five thousand for a wheelchair but he’d only received six hundred dollars.
Maz had figured that Gracie should have her own page, rather than being on the fundraising sites, to stand out from the crowd. And so far, her theory seemed to be working. When Maz checked it earlier this morning, the figure had reached $53,219.
‘It’s flipping awesome!’ She’d bounded off the kitchen stool, picked up Gracie and spun her around. Gracie didn’t complain about her sore head. Then Maz pulled Luke into the hug with them. Gracie had been giggling as Maz dropped dozens of little kisses all over her face.
‘Give Daddy a kiss too,’ Gracie instructed.
Her lips were hot against his cheek.
‘Another!’ Gracie said. ‘Another!’
And so Maz had peppered his face with kisses too, the last one landing softly on his lips.
Luke had known for weeks that Maz was keen. Now Gracie seemed to be encouraging it. And Ally too. She’d already gone on a second date with Emmanuel, even though she’d said she wasn’t ready.
With a new bloke on the scene, Ally had said less about her husband’s new woman. When Luke first moved in, she’d tried to hide the stalking from him but Felix had brought it up over dinner. Ally was forced to explain. ‘I was bit crazy and it was only once or twice. I’m done with all that now.’
Except Luke guessed she’d been there on other nights since. Had she been down there lately? Had she been seen by Tony?
How obsessed was Ally now?
As obsessed as Maz with her supplements?
Maz wasn’t the only one. Some people who donated wrote long suggestions about the power of alternative therapies, natural products, herbal solutions, prayers and positive thoughts. Their messages promised magic.
—My mother’s cancer disappeared four weeks after taking these green tablets.
—We prayed away my daughter’s tumour.
—This Chinese healer made my brother healthy again.
When the comments had started coming in, Ally had gathered Luke and Curtis together on a Thursday night.
‘We need to do a blog post to stop people giving advice on natural therapies,’ she’d said. ‘It takes away from the focus on the clinical trial.’
Luke figured he could write his own posts but Ally said he’d be too busy in Chicago and it was better to get Curtis started now. So Ally researched it and Curtis wrote it. Luke knew that Ally believed in science and nothing else. He’d met her mother, Barbara, a former physics teacher. Her father had been a civil engineer. Her family had no time for solutions that weren’t backed up by medical science.
‘Won’t a post like that put some people offside?’ Luke had asked.
‘You don’t want those people on your side,’ Ally snapped.
So Luke had posted their efforts on the website:
Thank you to everyone who has contacted me with suggestions and therapies for Gracie. I appreciate your kindness and passion. But everyone’s cancer is different. The smart thing is to work with your own medical team. Gracie’s medical
specialists are the experts in her care.
We need to be wary of those promising an expensive ‘miracle cure’. We’re in a vulnerable place and, of course, we’re hoping for a wonder drug. But if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. And it’s not just on the internet. A hundred years ago, back in 1916, Clark Stanley was fined $20 for selling his Snake Oil Liniment which contained no actual oil from snakes but lots of false advertising. He claimed his snake oil was the best liniment for pain, lameness, rheumatism, neuralgia, bad back, lumbago, contracted cords, toothache, sprains, swellings, frost bite, chilblains, bruises, sore throat, bites of animals, insects and reptiles. One cure for everything, right?!
Nope. These days, scientists know the best way to treat an individual’s cancer is by individualising the treatment, through things like cell therapy, personalised vaccines, gene editing and immunotherapy. We’re so lucky that Gracie has been accepted for a new immunotherapy drug. It’s at the forefront of research and will change how the Big C is treated.
Ally had gone on and on about Clark Stanley, the snake oil guy. And then, she’d compared Stanley to a cure-all centre just outside Los Angeles.
‘It says it can cure everything from asthma to cancer to diabetes by using light and music therapy. Have you ever heard anything so stupid?’
The website pictured a teenage girl who was now proclaimed cancer-free.
‘But what if it works?’ Luke had asked, knowing he was entering a minefield.
‘Don’t fall for it. There’s no scientific proof.’ Ally stabbed a finger at the girl’s face. ‘They’re just tricking desperate patients to pay thousands of dollars.’
‘What about the power of belief?’
The Good Teacher Page 11