by J. C. Jones
Mr Blair at The Bean
Pip pulled her spelling test from her bag, and read Mr Blair’s note again. He didn’t say she had to meet him, only that she could if she wanted someone to talk to. In fact, it was almost like he’d understood, even before she had, that this was not as simple as missed homework.
Of course, he might show up with Senior Constable Dunlop or the welfare in tow. Pip didn’t think he would, but she wasn’t going to walk right into The Bean Café until she was sure. If the coast looked clear, then she would go in and tell him that she was fine, and ask him to let the cops know that she would take care of herself until Sully was out of hospital and they could both go home to Greene Lane.
Happy with her decision, she strolled casually through the park towards the shops. She skirted the main street, not wanting to bump into any classmates who’d gone for a milkshake or ice-cream after school.
By ten to five, she was sitting on the kerb between two cars opposite The Bean, which was half empty, being away from the main street. Mr Blair arrived shortly after. He looked around, flung his jacket over the back of a chair, and went to the counter. He came away a few minutes later with a cup of coffee. By that time, Pip was sitting at the table.
‘Oh,’ he said as he turned around and spotted her. ‘Hello. I wasn’t sure you were going to turn up.’
‘Me neither,’ Pip said.
‘Would you like a drink and something to eat?’ Mr Blair asked, putting his coffee on the table.
Pip thought of her dwindling funds. ‘Just a glass of water, please,’ she said.
Mr Blair turned back to the counter and she heard him order a glass of water, banana milkshake, sausage roll and iced bun. He must be hungry, she thought.
‘So,’ he said, returning with her water. ‘I thought “Xenophobia” might catch you out.’
‘I’d read about it in the paper,’ Pip said, surprised that he wanted to talk about spelling rather than the reason she hadn’t been in class. ‘It was about the boat people and how some people are scared of them because they don’t know them.’
‘Well put,’ Mr Blair murmured. ‘A lot of people are scared of things or people they don’t understand.’
They looked up as the roly-poly woman from behind the counter brought the shake, sausage roll and bun to the table and put them in front of Pip.
When she’d gone, Pip said, ‘She must have thought this was for me.’
‘It is for you,’ Mr Blair said.
Pip looked at him. This was a disaster. After paying for this, she wouldn’t even have enough money to get to the races, let alone bet on Tall Poppy.
‘What’s wrong? Don’t you like banana? I should have asked you if you’d prefer chocolate or strawberry. It was just that it was my little girl’s favourite.’
For an instant he looked so sad that Pip thought he might cry, and she remembered that when Mr Blair hadn’t come to school for two weeks last year, Spiro had told everyone it was because his wife and little girl had been killed by a drunk driver. She’d only half believed him but maybe he had been telling the truth.
‘No, I love it,’ she said instantly. She took a long and noisy slurp, thinking that she’d have to find some other way to get the money for the races.
Mr Blair seemed to shake himself free of the past. With obvious effort, he smiled. ‘I hear Mr Sullivan is improving in hospital.’
Pip nodded. ‘Sully has to go to rehab when he’s feeling better.’
‘You visited him?’
‘Not today. A nurse told me on the phone.’
‘I see.’ He looked at her over the top of his glasses and tugged his beard. ‘You know, the police were at the school today.’
‘Senior Constable Dunlop?’ Pip asked.
‘I’m not sure. They spoke to Ms Mooney. And Spiro.’
‘What did he tell them?’ Pip asked.
‘Just that he’d spotted you outside before school started.’
‘Someone needs to shut his big mouth for him!’
‘Pip.’ Mr Blair sighed. ‘Look, everyone is concerned about you.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Where were you last night?’
‘In a safe place.’
Mr Blair nodded. ‘I’m glad about that.’ He sighed again. ‘Ms Mooney said the police told her Sully won’t be able to go home for some time. In fact—’ He stopped as grown-ups often did when they were on the point of saying something useful or truthful.
Pip looked up. ‘What? Is he going to be okay?’
Mr Blair covered her hand with his and squeezed. ‘Eat your sausage roll,’ he prompted and Pip took a bite. It was good. ‘Sully’s left arm is partly paralysed.’
‘I know. But rehab will make him better. The nurse told me.’
‘Rehab should help him. But he may not be able to use his arm much in future.’
‘That’s okay. We’ll manage.’
‘Have you thought about what it means if he can’t go back home?’ Mr Blair asked.
‘No!’ Pip stood, wrenching her hand from his and pushing her chair back. ‘The hospital said he’d be okay.’
Mr Blair glanced towards the roly-poly woman, who was watching them suspiciously.
‘Calm down, Pip,’ he said sternly. ‘It might not happen, but if it does—’
Pip shook her head. ‘It’s always been Sully and me.’
‘I know, and you’ve been a great team. But he’s getting older. Look, do you have any other family that you might be able to stay with – at least for a few days?’
Pip thought of the woman who’d left her in the apple crate ten years ago. She shook her head. ‘No. Only Sully.’
Mr Blair frowned. ‘In that case, we really need to get a welfare worker involved.’
‘Not the welfare!’ Pip grabbed her bag.
‘Pip, you’re only nine and—’
‘Ten! And I can look after myself!’ She felt in her pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar note.
‘Pip . . . what’s that for?’
‘The water and milkshake and sausage roll. I didn’t eat the bun.’
Mr Blair smiled. ‘So independent. Put the money away, Pip. It’s my treat.’
Reddening, Pip shoved her hand back in her pocket. It was humiliating, but she needed to save the money for tomorrow.
Her teacher sat back in his chair and looked at her. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision. He took a pen from inside his pocket, wrote something on a paper serviette and wrapped it around the bun. ‘That’s my mobile number. You can call me anytime.’ He handed it to her.
‘I’ll pay you back when I have some money,’ Pip said. She put it in her bag.
‘Never mind about that. Have you got somewhere safe to stay tonight?’
Pip thought of Number 78 Elliott Street. She would be fine there as long as she could avoid the Brownings. ‘Yes.’
‘Okay.’ Mr Blair watched as she picked up her bag. ‘I mean it, Pip. Call me anytime.’
‘Thanks. Bye.’ Pip ran out of the café and across the street. She ran for a long time until she was breathless. By that time, she had no idea where she was, and she was panting and red-faced and her throat hurt at the thought that Sully might never return to Number 3 Greene Lane.
He’d always been there, smelling of cigarettes and the damp that spotted the cottage walls, even in summer. He was her safety and security, her only link with the past – with the woman who had left her behind.
Deep in thought, she didn’t notice the blue car until it slowed in front of her. The passenger door opened. For a moment, Pip thought Mr Blair must have changed his mind and was going to turn her in to the welfare, but it wasn’t him.
‘You look upset.’ A middle-aged man in a smart suit leant across the passenger seat. He smiled at her but there was something hot and disturbing in his eyes that made Pip recoil.
She kept walking, feeling sick and scared. The car kept moving, keeping pace.
‘I know your mum,’ the man said, still smiling. �
��She sent me to give you a lift home.’
Pip’s heart was beating so fast she could hear it drumming in her ears. She stopped and so did the car. ‘How do you know my mum? Where is she? Where does she live?’
‘That’s a lot of questions.’ He patted the seat. ‘Hop in and I’ll tell you all about your mum. And I’ve got some chocolate for you. And movie tickets.’
Pip took a step forward. ‘Where is she?’ she whispered.
The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t be silly, you know that.’
‘Tell me!’
‘Get in and I’ll tell you anything you want.’
Pip stepped back, saw him unbuckle his seatbelt. ‘Go away!’
‘She told me you were a good boy, an obedient boy.’ He opened his door and stepped out.
Pip’s feet wouldn’t work. She tried to scream but she couldn’t do that either. All she had was her bag. She reached inside, hand searching for anything she could use to defend herself. All she found was the bun, wrapped inside the serviette with Mr Blair’s number.
He stopped. ‘What’s that you’ve got?
‘Ph . . . phone . . .’
‘Little pest!’ the man snarled. He jumped back in his car and slammed the door shut. Still frozen to the spot, Pip watched as he took off with a screech of tyres.
It was a long time before she could stop shaking.
A Day at the Races
As Pip showered the next morning in the empty house on Elliott Street, she thought how if she had money left after paying for Sully’s rehab, she would spend it on a new bathroom for Number 3 Greene Lane. And it would be as white and shiny as this one, with as much piping-hot water as she could get.
Even though she had been restless during the night and woken feeling tired and headachy, the shower revived her. Afterwards, she sat on a stool at the long kitchen bench, legs dangling, and ate another orange, followed by the now-stale bun Mr Blair had given her, as she went over her plans.
Tall Poppy wasn’t running until later in the afternoon, so she had plenty of time. Pip took care not to leave the house until late morning, well after when Matilda would be going to school. To be extra sure she wasn’t spotted, she walked through the park to the station. It took a while, but it saved her the bus fare. At the station, she handed over three dollars fifty for a return ticket. She had to change once, but she’d studied the platform maps, so she knew what to do.
The mid-week crowds at Rosehill Gardens were smaller than on the weekend, but there were still plenty of people around, including some kids not much older than her who must also have been wagging school. She waited close to the gates, hoping Ginger would show up. Inside, the races had already started, and she could hear the familiar shouting and cheering.
She was beginning to think he wouldn’t show when his familiar carrot-top head appeared from the midst of the crowd.
‘Ginge!’ she hissed.
Startled, he looked up. His eyes glanced over Pip once before he found her. His open, friendly face cleared and he grinned as he sauntered over, hands shoved in baggy pants to keep them from sliding down to his knees.
‘Hey, mate. Haven’t seen you in a while.’
‘Sully’s been sick so we had to stay home. Then he had a stroke on Sunday.’
‘Too bad,’ he said. ‘So how come you’re here? Never seen you mid-week before. School out?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Don’t tell me ya waggin’ school!’ He laughed. ‘Bad as me. ’Cept ain’t really waggin’ when you never go to school at all.’
‘I suppose not,’ Pip said. She started to tell Ginger again how he might like school if he just tried it, but now wasn’t the right time – especially as she needed his help.
‘Comin’ in?’ he said.
‘I don’t think they’ll let me in without a grown-up.’
‘No prob. We’ll let ourselves in.’ He jerked his head away from the gates, and they set off to the right, away from the crowds. They hadn’t gone far when Ginger looked around, peeled back a loose piece of wire fencing and slipped inside.
‘Hurry up!’ He held it open and Pip followed him.
‘Thanks.’
‘Right, then,’ Ginger said, as they weaved through the crowds to the main stand. ‘Well, I gotta get to work.’
‘Do you have to?’ Pip asked. She knew what kind of work Ginger did, and that one day he wouldn’t be quick enough or smart enough to get away with it.
‘Don’t you worry.’ He flexed his fingers. ‘Learnt somethin’ after the last time, didn’t I?’
‘What’s that?’
‘Don’t get caught again!’ he whispered, laughing.
‘But how do you know you’re not stealing money from poor people?’ Pip whispered back.
He gave her a look of pity. ‘You should see how much dough some of these folks have. Way I see it, they’re gonna blow it anyway. Might as well go to me.’
‘But I bet and I’m poor,’ Pip pointed out. She looked at the queues of people at the betting office. ‘Look, what if I could help you get some money . . . without stealing?’
‘Legit?’ Ginger said. ‘How you gonna do that?’
‘By telling you what to bet on,’ Pip said. ‘I study the horses. I can be your . . . adviser.’
Ginger cracked up. Howling, he bent over double. ‘Me ad . . . ad . . . adviser! Hahahaha!’
‘It’s not funny.’ Pip flushed with embarrassment. ‘I know the good ones to go for.’
Standing upright, Ginger wiped his eyes. He stuck his hand out and ruffled her hair like she was some stupid kid. ‘Yeah, right!’
‘I can do it,’ Pip insisted. She looked at the odds for the next race. ‘You got five bucks?’
The last of Ginger’s laughter vanished. ‘You wanna fiver?’
‘To show you,’ Pip told him. ‘I’m going to put it on Blue Moon. If he wins, then you have to promise not to pick any pockets today.’
‘How much’ll I get if he wins?’
She started to point at the board but remembered Ginger couldn’t read very well. ‘If he wins, you’ll get twenty-something back.’
‘Twenty ain’t much for a day’s work,’ he grouched. ‘Better off putting the fingers to work.’
Pip sighed impatiently. ‘Well, I can place more bets for you. Maybe make you some more. And it’s nearly legal. You look eighteen, so no one will know you’re not.’
Ginger reached into his pocket and showed her the five-dollar note. ‘All right,’ he said reluctantly.
‘Okay, go and put it on Blue Moon.’
Ten minutes later he was screaming, ‘Bluey, Bluey, Bluey!’ as his horse finished a nose in front. Soon after that, he had almost thirty dollars in his hand and was looking at Pip with new respect.
‘No wonder Sully used to bring you to the races with him,’ he said.
‘Well, we didn’t win every time,’ Pip admitted.
For the next race, she had Ginger place two bets on the same horse, one with her money and the other with his. The horse pulled up lame. Ginger shrugged. He still had some of his winnings left, but Pip was down to her last ten. Everything rested on the next race. If she lost, she wouldn’t even have the money to get home, let alone wager on Tall Poppy.
‘Okay,’ she said to Ginger, who was waiting for instructions. ‘Let’s go for Foxtrot.’
‘Trot?’ he said dubiously. ‘Ain’t no names with “gallop” in them, I s’pose?’
Pip grinned. ‘Names don’t matter. It’s guts that count.’
‘S’pose. All right.’
Pip watched the race with her eyes half closed but she knew what was happening from Ginger beside her. In the end, Foxtrot led from start to finish, and she had forty-five dollars. She had Ginger put it all on Tall Poppy in the next race.
It was a close-run thing and Pip thought until the very end that somehow Tall Poppy would run down the favourite, Hot Legs. When she came in second, Pip thought she would vomit. She’d bet it all and lost. ‘Oh no,’ she w
hispered.
‘Never mind, couple more to go,’ Ginger said, and Pip didn’t have the heart to tell him she was out.
Just then a murmur went through the crowd, and a moment later an announcement came over the PA system. Hot Legs had been disqualified and Tall Poppy was the winner. While Ginger whooped, Pip was silent in relief, and when Ginger handed over her winnings, she decided she’d had it for the day.
‘Okay, me too,’ Ginger agreed. ‘You did great! Can’t believe it. Come on. I’m gonna buy us some tea.’
Pip felt so exhausted she would rather have gone home right then, but he looked so happy that she let him buy her fish and chips on the way to the station. As he talked, her mind was only half on what he was saying.
Tomorrow, she thought, she’d go to the hospital and see if Sully was well enough to talk. She would ask him if ninety dollars was enough for rehab. If not . . . well, there was always another race day.
‘Are you going to the races at Randwick on Saturday?’ she asked Ginger as they said goodbye at the station.
‘Course!’ he said, patting his pocket. ‘Wouldn’t miss it.’
‘I might see you there,’ she told him. ‘Can you get me in?’
He grinned. ‘Is the Pope Catholic?’
Sully often said the same thing to questions he thought were stupid. It meant ‘yes’.
Person of Interest
As it was, Pip didn’t get to the hospital. She woke late, after a night of dreaming about horses that didn’t get out of the starting gates or who turned into donkeys halfway through a race. When she opened her eyes, it was broad daylight and she could hear a garbage truck at the end of the street.
Sluggishly, she got up from the couch. She had finally thought to check out the bedrooms last night. While all three were furnished with wide, comfortable-looking beds, on peeking beneath the satiny coverlets she had discovered a complete absence of sheets. Just another strange thing about this house. As a result of this perplexing discovery, she had stayed put on the couch.