‘Was she?’ asked Sam. ‘I mean, we never saw anything – she didn’t have anything with her when we found her.’
‘Well, she did, as a matter of fact,’ said Charles. ‘Remember the atlas you and George found washed up on the beach? Her father had copied the names into various parts of the atlas.’
‘No wonder she never let it out of her sight!’ said George.
‘So what happens now?’ asked Tess.
‘Well, Mahsoud has broken enough laws to keep him locked up for quite some time. We don’t let anyone, including foreign diplomatic staff, wave guns at people. And Interpol would like to speak to him about a few other matters, not to mention the Afghanistan police when he eventually gets home again. Don’t worry,’ he said to Uncle Mungo. ‘He won’t be flying first class anymore.’
Spiros, Jaz and Kalila returned from the hospital in time for some lunch, Kalila beaming from ear to ear. She went up to Sam and gave him a quick, shy hug, which made Sam blush a very deep shade of red. She looked at Jaz, and Jaz said, ‘Kalila wants to say thank you, Sam. She understands what you’ve been trying to do, and she’s very grateful.’
‘She’s not the only person, either,’ said Spiros, and he switched on the tv in the living room. ‘There should be something interesting on the midday news right about now.’
Everyone found a place to sit as the tv newsreader turned to her next topic: ‘… and it seems that pressure from the general public over this issue has really hit a nerve. The government is now moving to take all women and children out of detention centres, and house them in the general community. It will allow the children to go to school, and to lead relatively normal lives while their parents’ identities and claims are examined.’
‘So we won?’ said Sam faintly. ‘We made the government change its mind?’
‘You sure did. And you did it, Sam, with the help of George, Tess and Darcy of course. In spite of all the adults telling you what was supposed to happen, how the system worked, and to let them handle things, you spoke up about something you believed was wrong, and you made people listen. That’s pretty terrific stuff, Sam. Kalila was a lucky kid when she washed up on your beach.’
Sam blushed an even deeper shade of red than he had before.
Sam and George were packed up and ready to go back out to the station a couple of days later. Kalila and her father had been moved into a hotel in Darwin while he recuperated, and the refugee support people were already helping them with their future plans. Jaz had offered to stay behind for a week and look after Kalila while her father recovered. She would stay with the Munros and visit the Tariq family each day at their hotel.
It was time to go home, to try and get some normality back into life, Sam thought. He and George had spoken to their parents every day while they were in town, and Mac was getting stronger all the time. Sarah had wanted to fly straight up to them when she heard about Mahsoud and Abdul at the station, but the two boys insisted she stay and look after Mac.
‘We’re fine, Mum,’ Sam had said. ‘We really are. No one’s hurt or anything, and we’ve got heaps of people looking after us. You stay there and hurry Dad up. He’ll get better faster with you there.’ But he felt a little sad and lonely at the thought of arriving home to a house with no parents in it.
Just as Tess and Darcy were helping to load their bags into the Land Cruiser to start the journey back with Uncle Mungo, a car pulled up at the Munros’ front gate. Charles unfolded his lanky frame from the driver’s seat, and ambled towards them in his dark blue Customs uniform.
‘Hello, everyone. Looks like I’m just in time. Leaving already?’
‘Yeah,’ said Uncle Mungo. ‘Time to get home and back to normal, I reckon. Besides, we can’t leave poor ol’ Jock out there on his lonesome forever. I think we’ve had enough of town fer a while too, just quietly.’
‘Well, there might be a change of plan for two young gentlemen.’ Charles pulled an envelope out of his pocket, and handed it to Sam.
‘The Afghanistan ambassador heard about your father’s accident, and he thought maybe you could use these.’
Sam opened the envelope and pulled out two plane tickets to Adelaide.
Uncle Mungo looked over his shoulder, whistled admiringly and said, ‘Well, someone gets to fly first class after all, eh?’
Many thanks to Anthony Parker for his personal opinion on practical information about border enforcement agency operations. Any errors or judgements about Customs or Immigration policies are solely the author’s.
Warmest appreciation to Linsay Knight, Roberta Ivers and Sarah Hazelton at Random House, to editor Jo Jarrah, and to my agent Selwa Anthony.
And as always, love and thanks to my wonderful husband Lex for his unflagging support and enthusiasm.
Have you read Brumby Plains?
Here’s how it starts:
The child was running for his life. His feet were a blur over the uneven ground as he dodged and weaved his way through the tangled scrub. Although branches snatched at his skin and tore at his hair, he was oblivious to everything but the terror that drove him on.
His right arm dangled limply by his side, blood dripping from an ugly gash that ran from his elbow to his wrist. He tripped, sprawling full length among the roots of a big tree, and lay there momentarily stunned and gasping for breath. Then, with a strangled sob, he scrambled to his feet, and began to run as he had never run before.
Sam yawned hugely and looked at the schoolroom clock again. Still more than an hour to go before morning tea. He could hear his brother on the radio at the other end of the room, answering a question from his teacher, his voice rising with the effort to be heard through the static. The heat was mounting in the caravan that served as their classroom, and it was only 9 am.
Just as he was trying to decide whether to pretend to be sick, or simply to fall asleep over his desk, the door opened and his father’s tall figure compressed itself into the van.
‘G’day, Sam. Workin’ you too hard, are we?’ His father grinned at his sleepy face. ‘Where’s George?’
The governess poked her head round the radio room door. ‘Hi, Mac. We’re just finishing George’s lesson here – won’t be long.’
Mac nodded and looked back at Sam. ‘Reckon you could tear yourself away from your books for a bit and come and give us a hand?’
Sam had his books away in three seconds flat and was out the door and halfway to the ute before his father had finished speaking. He perched in the open tray back not quite believing his good luck as his father and younger brother George emerged from the caravan. George grinned up at him, and clambered into the truck with a look on his face that matched Sam’s. Their father gunned the engine, and they left the schoolroom behind in a cloud of dust.
‘What’s up?’ George shouted into Sam’s ear.
‘Dunno! Maybe they haven’t finished the muster yet. Anyway, who cares?’
The boys clung to the railing in the back and swayed with the bumps and the jolts. Sam, at thirteen, was tall and skinny. His hair was bleached almost white by the sun, and his grey eyes often disappeared under a deep frown. Sam was a worrier. If there was anything that could ever possibly go wrong, it would. Or so he believed. He worried about schoolwork, he worried about accidents, he worried about storms and cyclones and freak asteroids hitting his family’s house.
His brother George was totally the opposite. Nothing worried George, except maybe missing out on dessert. He was two years younger than Sam, and had red hair and freckles and green eyes, but without the temper that is supposed to go with them. He was shorter and stockier, and wasn’t afraid of anything. When Sam was worrying about the Mir space station crashing on their house the year before, George was working out how much money he could make from selling bits as souvenirs in the event that it did hit their house.
But right now, having just escaped from a few hours of correspondence lessons, even Sam could find nothing to worry about …
Joanne van Os first came to the
Northern Territory in 1976, and has spent most of the years since then living in the bush on stations not unlike Brumby Plains, and in remote Aboriginal communities. Sam and George are an amalgamation of a lot of the children she has met out bush, including her own two sons. Joanne now lives in Darwin with her husband and daughter. Castaway is her third book.
For more information visit www.joannevanos.com
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