Too Small to Fail

by Morris Gleitzman

  She gave a snort.

  ‘Doesn’t work like that,’ she said. ‘A Swiss bank account has tighter security than a Wiggles concert. You can’t just help yourself.’

  Oliver could have booted himself up the bum. In his hurry to get away from the beach house, he’d totally forgotten to find out Mum and Dad’s Switzerland pin number.

  The sound of laughter came from outside.

  Oliver and Nancy looked out the window again.

  Barclay was standing on Moo’s head, and Rose was laughing.

  ‘What I wish I could help myself to,’ muttered Nancy, ‘is that dog. I should never have given him away.’

  Then it hit Oliver. A way to make Mum and Dad do the right thing. A way that didn’t involve any pin numbers at all.

  ‘You can take Barclay to the farm if you like,’ said Oliver. ‘But you have to take me too.’

  Nancy stared at him.

  ‘Your parents’d have views about that,’ she said. ‘Strong views.’

  ‘I left them a note,’ said Oliver. ‘They know I’m with you.’

  Oliver admitted to himself that was a slight exaggeration. But it wasn’t a lie. In the note he’d said he was going to see a housekeeper. He just hadn’t said which one. There were nineteen possibilities and Nancy was one of them.

  ‘Why would you want to go to the desert with us?’ said Nancy. ‘A woman who does desperate mongrel things and a girl who hates you.’

  Oliver took a deep breath.

  ‘Mum and Dad are planning to run away overseas,’ he said. ‘They can’t if I’m not with them. Plus if I go with you, I think I can get your money.’

  He looked at Nancy pleadingly.

  She looked at him thoughtfully, then glanced out the window again at Rose and Barclay.

  ‘I suppose I owe you,’ she said. ‘But you have to let those idiot parents of yours know exactly what’s happening.’

  Oliver grinned.

  It was exactly what he was planning to do.

  18

  Oliver nodded awake.

  Nothing had changed from the last time he’d woken up.

  He was still in the front of the ute, speeding along the dark highway with Barclay snoring softly in his lap.

  Next to him, Rose was still asleep, slumped against Nancy. Oliver wasn’t surprised Rose was exhausted, the amount of time she’d spent whinging about him coming on the trip.

  Nancy was still gripping the steering wheel, still staring at the road ahead, still looking like her thoughts were a thousand kilometres away.

  They weren’t happy thoughts, Oliver could see that. They probably involved burying camels.

  Oliver looked at his phone to see if anything had changed there.

  One thing had. The signal was even weaker than the last time he’d looked. But there was still no reply from Mum and Dad. Not a text or a voice message or anything.

  For the squillionth time, Oliver checked the text he’d sent them to make sure it had actually gone.

  dear mum and dad

  i’m with nancy

  if you want me back pay her a million dollars ring for details

  oliver

  Yes, it had definitely gone.

  Hours ago.

  Mum and Dad must have got it by now. He’d sent it to both their phones, and left a voicemail.

  Maybe they’re having a long walk on the beach, thought Oliver. And maybe they’ve left their phones in the house.

  Mum was always saying she wished they had more time to relax.

  An hour later Oliver woke again.

  He checked his phone.

  Still nothing.

  Why hadn’t they replied? It was only eleven o’clock. Mum and Dad never went to bed before midnight.

  ‘You won’t get much of a signal this far out in the bush,’ said Nancy, not taking her eyes off the road.

  ‘I know,’ said Oliver.

  ‘Hope you sent a message to your dopey parents,’ she said. ‘So they know where you are.’

  ‘Before we left,’ said Oliver.

  Rose wriggled in her sleep and grunted crossly, ‘Mum, Dad, be quiet.’

  Nancy glanced at Rose and stroked her head.

  ‘Poor kid,’ she said. ‘Still dreams about her dad every night.’

  Oliver didn’t know what to say.

  He stroked Barclay’s head and tried to imagine what it would be like not to have a dad.

  Or a mum.

  He couldn’t.

  Gently, careful not to wake Barclay or Rose, Oliver put Barclay on Rose’s lap. He didn’t think Barclay would mind.

  Then Oliver saw the screen on his phone was lit up. For a moment he thought it was a reply. But it wasn’t. Barclay’s paw must have touched the screen.

  Oliver told himself to be patient. Mum and Dad wouldn’t just ignore him.

  There was one bar of signal left.

  He wasn’t giving up yet.

  Six or seven or whatever hours later, Oliver gave up.

  While Nancy and Rose and Barclay went for a walk up a hill, Oliver sat on a rock next to the ute, shoulders slumped, staring at the sunrise.

  Along the vast rim of the outback horizon, dawn was creeping into the sky.

  It reminded Oliver of an old TV ad for Mum and Dad’s bank. In the ad, the whole sky had turned gold, with big silver letters saying We Care.

  This sky was starting to turn gold too. It was starting to look even more beautiful than the one in the ad.

  Oliver wasn’t interested.

  He didn’t want beautiful sights. He just wanted a message from Mum and Dad. But they hadn’t sent one, and now his phone was out of range.

  Oliver could hear the faint sound of Rose sobbing. She’d woken up crying for her dad, which was why Nancy had taken her up the hill. Oliver could also hear the soft murmur of Nancy’s voice, comforting her.

  He closed his eyes, trying not to think about Mum and Dad.

  In a way, they had sent him a message.

  We Don’t Care.

  It was what he’d feared, all the nights they’d worked late. A measly million dollars was more important to them than he was.

  Suddenly Oliver heard something moving in front of him.

  He opened his eyes. For a second he thought he was seeing things. A huge shape was blotting out the sky.

  It was a shape Oliver recognised. He’d seen one like it yesterday on the front of a newspaper. A financial graph that looked like a big hump.

  What was the shape doing here?

  Oliver wondered if sadness could make you hallucinate.

  Then the shape moved. And grunted. Big puddle eyes glinted in the gloom. Warm damp breath blew on Oliver’s face.

  It was Moo.

  She was standing silhouetted against the dawn, looking at him.

  Oliver jumped up in alarm.

  Nancy had let Moo out of the float and tied some ropes loosely round her legs so she couldn’t run off while she was eating bushes. She must have escaped.

  Moo leaned towards him.

  Oliver flinched. But then he felt her strong muscular neck gently rubbing his head.

  It was nice.

  ‘Thanks, Moo,’ he whispered.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said a voice behind Oliver. ‘She won’t bite.’

  Oliver turned.

  Rose was coming down the hill, dress flapping in the breeze, boots kicking up clouds of dust. Nancy was next to her. Trotting close to them was Barclay.

  ‘I know she won’t,’ said Oliver.

  ‘I wasn’t talking to you,’ said Rose. ‘I was talking to Barclay.’

  She bent down and Barclay jumped into her arms.

  ‘I need a nap in the ute,’ said Nancy. ‘Rose, can you get Moo back in the float, please.’

  Oliver decided to go up the hill himself. Partly for a pee and partly to get away from Rose.

  But Rose came over and stood in front of him, blocking his way.

  ‘Mum told me how you used to visit Barclay in the shop window
,’ she said.

  Oliver nodded, waiting for her to mock.

  Rose looked down at Barclay for a moment, then squinted at Oliver.

  ‘Thanks for sharing him,’ she said.

  Oliver blinked. When you hadn’t had much sleep, your brain could play tricks. But Rose wasn’t smirking or sneering.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he stammered.

  ‘I only said that cause I’m sorry for you,’ said Rose. ‘Cause your parents have dumped you.’

  Oliver started to say they hadn’t, then stopped.

  What was the point in defending them?

  ‘My parents haven’t dumped me,’ said Oliver. ‘I’ve dumped them.’

  19

  The roadhouse cafe was air-conditioned with tinted windows. Perfect for travellers seeking cool and shade after a long morning of highway heat and glare in a ute.

  Oliver hardly noticed.

  The only thing he was aware of was the TV on the wall. It was showing a news channel. He’d been staring at it for ages.

  Nothing.

  Not a single mention of a missing kid.

  Oliver couldn’t believe it. Mum and Dad hadn’t even been to the police. It was twenty-nine hours since he’d left the beach house. No, twenty-seven. Well definitely over twenty, and they hadn’t even reported him missing.

  So this is what it feels like, thought Oliver. To be so sad and miserable you can’t even eat.

  When he was little he’d sometimes wondered how Mum felt when she let a housekeeper go. Did she feel stressed? Unhappy? Did she have so much sadness in her guts, she couldn’t even swallow a toasted chicken schnitzel sandwich?

  Probably not. Which just went to show what a big difference there was between letting a housekeeper go and letting your parents go.

  ‘Do you want that?’ said Rose, pointing to the piece of toasted chicken schnitzel sandwich on Oliver’s plate.

  ‘Rose,’ said Nancy. ‘Stop it.’

  ‘I’m still hungry,’ complained Rose. ‘Half a sandwich wasn’t enough.’

  She pushed her wet thumb across the table and picked up a few crumbs from near Oliver’s plate and put them in her mouth.

  ‘Barclay’s still hungry too,’ she said. ‘A growing dog can’t survive on two chicken nuggets.’

  On her lap, Barclay whimpered in agreement.

  Rose leaned across the table again and got some more crumbs on her thumb and let Barclay lick them off.

  ‘For pete’s sake, Rose,’ said Nancy. ‘You know we need the rest of our money for petrol. You can eat when we get home. We’ve got sardines there.’

  ‘I hate being poor,’ muttered Rose.

  Oliver pushed his half of the sandwich across the table to her.

  ‘You have it,’ he said. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  Rose grabbed the sandwich, tore it in two, ate one piece and gave the other to Barclay.

  Oliver was wondering if she should have saved some for Moo and Nancy, when something caught his eye on the TV.

  A photo of Mum and Dad.

  ‘In financial news,’ the newsreader was saying, ‘failed bankers Owen and Rhoda Newton are today under investigation.’

  ‘Jeez,’ said Rose. ‘Is that them?’

  There was a shot of the beach house. Oliver was horrified. The beach house was meant to be secret, so Mum and Dad could have a break from work when they needed it. Only employees knew about it.

  Hayden must have dobbed them in.

  ‘The whereabouts of the high-flying couple is unknown,’ continued the newsreader. ‘Authorities say it’s too soon to determine whether the Newtons will face criminal charges.’

  Oliver stared at the TV screen, not seeing it any more.

  He shivered.

  The air in the roadhouse suddenly felt freezing.

  He stood up.

  ‘Oliver,’ said Nancy.

  ‘I need to go to the toilet,’ said Oliver, and ran.

  What he needed was somewhere to think. He locked himself in a cubicle and sat down on the toilet lid.

  Criminal charges?

  Oliver struggled not to panic.

  Mum and Dad weren’t criminals. Only angry people like Rose thought they were criminals.

  Luckily there weren’t many like her. Well there were actually. Oliver tried to calculate how many. All of Mum and Dad’s customers basically. Two hundred million dollars worth. What if a judge listened to them all? Dad would be a broken man in jail. Mum would hate it. The violence and the loneliness, plus there was nowhere to store shoes.

  Calm down, Oliver told himself.

  Try to think clearly.

  At least now I know why Mum and Dad haven’t contacted me. They’re on the run. But where?

  He knew you couldn’t leave the country if the cops were after you. There’d be photos at all the airports. And dogs.

  Oliver’s mind went into a blur, trying to imagine what Mum and Dad were doing.

  Then, after a while, he had a clear thought.

  Sometimes you had to dump your parents for a while if they were being mean and selfish. But you didn’t leave them dumped if things got really bad.

  Not when they really needed you.

  The roadhouse supervisor’s office smelled of grease from cars.

  Oliver could see some of it smeared on the screen of the supervisor’s old-fashioned computer.

  It didn’t matter.

  All that mattered was that the roadhouse had internet and the supervisor was letting him send an email.

  ‘Five minutes,’ said the supervisor, pointing to the torn vinyl chair in front of the computer.

  Oliver was tempted to try for a better deal. He was pretty sure that even in these parts, a pair of noise-suppression headphones should get you more than five minutes of non-WiFi internet access and three packets of gingernut biscuits.

  The supervisor was looking impatient.

  Oliver decided not to bother.

  He ignored the grease on the chair, sat down, and unfolded the rego papers he’d borrowed from the glove box in the ute.

  Five minutes would be long enough. It didn’t need to be a long email. Just the address of Nancy’s farm. At least then Mum and Dad would have somewhere to hide out from the law.

  Quickly, so nobody would see him, Oliver put the rego papers back into the ute glovebox. Then, gingernut biscuits under his arm, he hurried back into the roadhouse cafe.

  And stopped.

  Over at the table, Nancy and Rose were arguing.

  ‘Do you know the penalties for kidnapping?’ Rose was whispering loudly and angrily. ‘Life in prison probably.’

  ‘It’s not that bad,’ said Nancy. ‘You’ve been watching too much TV.’

  Oliver frowned.

  Kidnapping?

  Then he saw what was on the table in front of them. His phone. He must have left it there when he rushed out.

  Had they seen his text to Mum and Dad, the one about the million dollars? Which, Oliver had to admit, did look a bit like a kidnapping demand.

  ‘The police use roadblocks to catch kidnappers,’ Rose was saying.

  Nancy stood up.

  ‘Break over,’ she said. ‘Time to make a move. I want to get to the farm.’

  Oliver hurried across. He was about to offer to send Mum and Dad an email telling them he definitely wasn’t being kidnapped, when Nancy put a hand on his shoulder.

  Ouch.

  Her grip was really powerful.

  ‘Come on, Oliver,’ she said. ‘We don’t want to lose you.’

  Rose picked up Barclay, and Oliver just had time to grab his phone before Nancy steered him towards the exit.

  As they stepped out into the blinding heat, Oliver wondered if he should explain about the kidnapping misunderstanding.

  Then he had another thought.

  A scary one.

  What if seeing the text had given Nancy an idea? What if she’d thought of a way to definitely get the million dollars? A way that explained her grim face and the very tight g
rip she had on Oliver’s shoulder.

  Oliver remembered how when Nancy was desperate, she did desperate mongrel things.

  What if he was really being kidnapped?

  20

  ‘This driving’s making me feel a bit brain-weary,’ said Nancy. ‘So I’ll leave the maths to you.’

  ‘Sorry?’ said Oliver.

  He’d been deep in thought about other things. Wondering if Mum and Dad would send his text to the police. Wondering if the police would set up an anti-kidnapping roadblock. He’d also been looking at Rose asleep with her arms round Barclay and wondering if he was ever going to get Barclay back.

  ‘I’m worried we haven’t got enough fuel to get to the farm,’ said Nancy.

  Oliver stared at her.

  ‘I see I’ve got your full attention at last,’ said Nancy.

  She certainly did.

  This shimmering strip of bitumen stretching ahead of them was the loneliest road Oliver had ever seen, even in movies. They’d been driving for hours and they’d only seen three other cars.

  Get stranded here, thought Oliver, and it doesn’t matter if you’re being kidnapped or not. The poor camels at the farm wouldn’t be the only ones dying of thirst and hunger.

  Oliver wished he and Nancy and Rose and Barclay and Moo hadn’t eaten all the gingernuts.

  ‘Here’s the maths,’ said Nancy. ‘We’re about a hundred k’s from the farm. Fuel gauge says quarter of a tank, which is about eighteen litres, except the gauge is faulty, so I’m guessing about half that. Loaded up like this and pulling a camel, we’re doing about seven k’s to the litre owing to the ute not having been serviced for a year. What I want you to work out is, are we going to make it?’

  Oliver felt the familiar grip of maths panic.

  He fumbled for his phone, praying he had enough battery left to work the calculator. Before he could check, Nancy spoke again.

  ‘Don’t bother, I’ve just worked it out.’

  Oliver sighed with relief.

  ‘We’re not going to make it,’ said Nancy.

  Oliver stared at her again.

  ‘Which is why we have to turn off somewhere along here,’ she said. ‘There’s a dirt side-road, a short cut. Bumpy, but it’ll save us forty k’s. Trouble is, I haven’t used it for years. Can’t remember which turning it is.’