by J. C. Jones
She wished she could go back to her school. After Sully being well again and Mr Blair being cleared, it was what she wanted most of all. She missed it, really missed it. By now the rest her class would have had the results of their spelling tests, they would have learnt about microbes in science class – something she’d really been looking forward to – and they would have played softball against 5B. She’d been looking forward to Sal, 5A’s crack softball player, ‘whipping their puny backsides’ like she promised.
Pip cheered herself up with the thought that she was going to talk to Sully today. After nearly a week, surely he would be well enough to speak. She sure hoped so, considering she was risking her very freedom to check up on him.
Back in Elliott Street, Pip stood in front of the mirror, scowling as she hacked at her hair until it wasn’t just messy, it was ugly. She wasn’t sure if she looked more like a boy, but one thing was certain – she looked nothing like a girl. Matilda would be horrified if she ever saw her.
When she’d finished and swept the bathroom floor, Pip got the other thing she’d bought at the pharmacy: a cap. It was too big, with a tendency to fall over her eyes, but now she definitely looked like a boy. She looked at her reflection and grinned.
Before showing her face – and hair – at the hospital, Pip practised a boy-style swagger in a private corner of the park near town. It was important to convince people she had a bad attitude, like the cockroach kids.
Flexing her knees, Pip let her swaggering, rolling walk take her across the park, through the hospital gates and up the steps to the sliding doors.
Even though she didn’t have an iPod, she tapped her fingers and nodded her head to make it look like she was plugged into her own little world as she crossed the waiting room and made her way down to Sully’s room. It was difficult keeping up her confident appearance when her insides felt like a bucket of worms. What if Sully had gone to rehab already? Or worse, what if he had got sicker? Before she could stop it, a picture of a body covered in a white sheet flashed through her mind.
Fortunately, Sully was still in the same room and looking better. He looked up from a plate with a muffin that he was trying to pick up with his bad hand. To her shock, he didn’t recognise her.
A bed across the room was empty and another held a man even older than Sully who was fast asleep. The only person in the room paying any attention was the woman opposite, and her eyes widened when she saw Pip’s hair. ‘Oh my!’ she said.
Pip whipped the curtain closed around Sully’s bed and sat down next to him. He said something that was a little slurred which sounded like, ‘Blithy sthupid arm!’
‘Sully,’ she said quietly, touching his other hand. ‘It’s me. Pip.’
His head jerked up, and he looked at her blankly for a second until he saw beyond the hair.
‘Pipshqueak, what’v’y’done, grl?’
‘It’s a kind of disguise, Sully. I wanted to visit you, but if anyone knows I’m here they’ll call the welfare.’ She helped guide his hand to the muffin and up to his mouth.
‘Blithy social workers. Ashking queshions.’
‘They were here?’ Pip asked. ‘Asking questions about me?’
‘Tol’m t’pish off!’
Pip grinned. You could rely on Sully not to dob. ‘Cool! Anyway, let’s not talk about them. You look much better, Sully.’
He hurrumphed a bit, which was a sign that he was feeling something close to normal, and gave her a smile that only curled one side of his mouth.
‘A nurse said you have to go to rehab. I’ve got some money here for you.’ She pulled most of the money from her pocket and set it down on the table next to the bed. ‘Do you think that’s enough?’
He shook his head and said something she couldn’t understand. He seemed agitated, though, his gnarled old fingers holding on tight to hers.
Just then, Pip heard footsteps coming briskly down the corridor. Wrenching her hand from Sully’s grip, she ducked under the curtain, across the room and into the spare bed under the avid gaze of the old lady opposite Sully.
A Close Shave
The footsteps – two sets of them – were right outside as Pip yanked the sheet up and over her head.
‘Mr Sullivan,’ said Senior Constable Dunlop as she came into the room. ‘Sully. Hello! You probably don’t remember me, but I’m Senior Constable Molly Dunlop. I brought your . . . Pip to the hospital the day you had your stroke. You look much better today, I’m pleased to see. Ah . . . this is Inspector Carozza.’
‘G’day Mr Sullivan,’ said the inspector cheerily. ‘I hope you’re feeling well enough to answer some questions about Pip. You know she’s missing? I understand a case worker stopped by.’
‘She’s awright,’ mumbled Sully.
‘Have you heard from her, Mr Sullivan?’
‘Mebbe. Mebbe nosh. Smartsh grl, Pip.’
‘I know she is,’ Senior Constable Dunlop’s voice said soothingly. ‘She’s very smart. But she is only . . . ten and we want to be sure she’s safe.’
Under the sheet, Pip grinned. If they knew she was ten, they must have received her note.
‘We also want to ask her about her teacher, James Blair, and another individual who may be of interest to police,’ added Inspector Carozza importantly.
‘Pip’s awright,’ Sully slurred and for once Pip was grateful he was such a stubborn old coot.
‘I can hardly understand a word the old bloke’s saying,’ said Carozza in a whisper that Pip – and therefore Sully – heard quite clearly.
‘Sir!’ Senior Constable Dunlop’s voice was sharp. ‘Perhaps you’d like to speak to staff at the desk further down the hall while Sully and I talk.’
‘Very well,’ he answered. He didn’t sound very happy. ‘I’ll see you back at the car in ten minutes.’
Pip heard Carozza walk out of the room and down the corridor, and gently tugged the sheet down so she had a glimpse of what was happening across the room.
‘Sorry,’ Senior Constable Dunlop apologised to Sully. She sat on the side of his bed where Pip had been moments before. ‘Pip sent me a note today. She wasn’t very happy with the inspector either.’
Pip heard Sully snort and saw Senior Constable Dunlop grin.
‘I agree,’ she said. ‘Now, in her note, Pip told us that you had looked after her since she was born. Is that right?’
‘Yesh.’
‘And you’re not her grandfather? Or another family member?’
Sully shook his head. ‘She’sh my grl now.’
‘I know she is. You two are very close. Do you have any idea where she is?’
‘Yesh.’
Pip froze.
‘Where?’ the police officer asked.
‘Closh. Very closh.’
Senior Constable Dunlop’s shoulders slumped and she smiled tiredly. ‘Yes, you are very close and I’m sure Pip is lucky to have you.’ She stood up, noticed something and peered at Sully’s bedside table.
‘There’s a lot of money here, Sully. It’s probably not a good idea to leave it lying around. I’ll put it in this drawer.’
She tucked the cash away, shook Sully’s hand and walked out of the room. Pip waited to be sure she’d really gone before she flung back the covers, jumped out of bed and went to Sully.
‘You nearly gave me a heart attack – and then we’d both be in here!’ she laughed. ‘That was really mean.’
Sully’s laugh was more like a wheeze. Pip kissed his cheek. ‘When do you go to rehab?’
‘Foo daysh.’
‘Okay. I’ll try and come back soon. Do you need more money?’
‘Don’ worry ’bout that,’ Sully said.
‘It’s okay. I think I can get some more. But I’d better go now.’
The lady opposite was watching them with interest, looking not at all scared of Pip now.
Pip grinned at her. ‘Thanks for not telling,’ she said, and waved goodbye.
‘That’s all right. It’s been the most inter
esting thing that’s happened since I got here,’ the old lady said. ‘There’s no free beds on the girls’ wards, and it’s not much fun sharing with two old men who sleep all day.’
The next day, remembering from the newspaper advertisement that Number 78 Elliott Street was open for inspection on Saturday morning, Pip carefully tidied up before she left the house.
As she waited for Ginger at the Randwick racecourse entrance, she began to realise what a scruffy sight she must make. Almost everybody was ‘dressed up to the nines’ as Sully often said with a sneer whenever famous people were on the news. The men were in navy or dark grey suits with a flower through the buttonhole and natty waistcoats beneath. Some even wore top hats, and without exception their shoes were polished to a high shine. Embarrassed by the state of her scuffed sneakers, Pip discreetly rubbed the toes against the legs of her pants – not that it made the slightest improvement.
A few women wore black and white, but most were as colourful as peacocks. Dresses shimmered in a rainbow of colours from coolest blue to deepest magenta, and most were super-short. The hats were like creatures from some fantasy world, made from feathers and flowers and sequins, and the shoes almost as outrageous, each pair so high they required the balancing skills of a trapeze artist.
‘Yow!’ Ginger said when he spotted her. ‘Hope you didn’t pay to get hair like that, mate?’
Pip shook her head. ‘Even Sully didn’t recognise me yesterday.’
‘Not surprised. Even your own mother wouldn’t . . . sorry, I forgot.’
‘S’okay. It’s not like she did anything mean to me.’ She just hadn’t thought a baby was a good enough reason to stick around.
‘Do you ever see your mum, Ginge?’ Pip asked as they tried to blend in with the crowd.
‘Every now and then I give her a call. Just to let her know I’m okay.’
‘Does she miss you?’
‘I think so.’ He nodded. ‘I mean, she cries sometimes. And sometimes she’s angry that I stay away. But she knows we can’t live together.’
‘That’s sad.’ Pip thought about it for a moment. ‘When Sully comes home I could ask him if you can come and live with us.’
‘Aw, thanks partner.’ Ginger tugged on her hair. ‘But I’m okay.’
‘But where do you sleep?’
‘Oh, the hostels are real good if I can get in. They usually find a bed for me on account of my age. Sometimes I have to kip at a station or in the park. What about you?’
‘I found an empty house, but someone might buy it soon.’
‘Do you think they’re gonna let us in?’ Ginger said, looking down at his T-shirt and jeans.
‘I hope so,’ said Pip. ‘But there are security people everywhere.’
Ginger bought tickets because there was no way in without one, but once they were through the gates no one spared them a glance, and a few minutes later they were rubbing shoulders with people who looked like they lived in a totally different world.
‘Do you think they dress up like that every time they come to the races?’ Pip murmured, transfixed by a woman wearing a shade of orange so vibrant she looked like the setting sun.
‘Forget the threads,’ Ginger said. ‘Get your mind on the gee-gees. Who are we going for today?’
Tall Poppy wasn’t racing at Randwick, but Pip knew enough about three of the other horses to back them. As usual, Ginger followed her lead and they got a first, second and last, which was good but not as good as Pip had hoped.
At lunchtime, they jostled their way into a café where they had to queue for overpriced sandwiches that they had to eat standing up as all the seats were taken.
The afternoon’s races Pip sat out as she felt there were no standout runners. Ginger, on the other hand, took a chance on two horses and blew almost everything he’d made earlier.
By mid-afternoon, some of the men and women who had looked so fine this morning were looking the worse for wear. One couple rolled on the ground shrieking uncontrollably, and Pip even saw a man peeing in public. Gross!
Ginger saw her grimace. ‘Worse than the guys at the Cross,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
‘Are they like that because they drink too much?’ Pip asked, thinking of how Sully used to talk too loudly when he was drunk.
‘Yeah.’
‘You ever tried it?’
‘Yeah. Didn’t like it.’
‘I don’t think I’d like it either,’ Pip said, darting out of the path of a staggering drunk.
Ginger shrugged. ‘Plenty seem to.’
‘Still, it’s been a pretty good day.’
‘Better if I’d’ve stopped while I was ahead,’ Ginger groaned.
They made their way slowly towards the exit. The crowd had thinned out and those left were in a good mood.
Pip wasn’t sure what it was about Ginger that made her follow his line of sight. Someone moved and then she saw it. A wallet was clearly poking out of a jacket pocket in front of them.
Surely Ginger wouldn’t . . . not with . . . everyone . . .
He did, fingers reaching out just as she tugged on his shirt to stop him. She couldn’t stop the ‘No!’ that burst from her mouth. People turned. Ginger dropped the wallet like a hot potato and bolted, leaving Pip standing amid a circle of accusing faces.
The man who’d nearly lost his wallet turned and slowly picked it up from the ground. He stared at her too, and then someone cried out, ‘Police! We need the cops!’
Too late, Pip tried to run too. She got four steps before a hard hand landed on her shoulder. She was tugged around to face two very beefy police officers, both looking deadly serious.
Caught!
Up to Her Neck in Trouble
Pip had never felt as small and insignificant as in those minutes following her arrest, if that was what it was. Not that she was in handcuffs, but she was certainly in a whole lot of trouble.
‘He tried to steal my wallet!’ said the almost-victim, pink-faced in his indignation and fury, pointing at her.
‘There’s a gang of them. We saw one of them scarper,’ said someone else. ‘Big bloke with red hair.’
‘Appalling!’ said another person. ‘Not what you’d expect at Randwick.’
None of them seemed to realise she’d tried to stop Ginger.
‘And what do you have to say for yourself, young man?’ said the older cop, staring down at her.
‘I need to pee,’ she whispered, wondering if the same trick would work twice. But the cop’s eyes narrowed and she knew it wasn’t going to wash this time.
‘Try again,’ the cop said, tightening his hand on her shoulder to make it clear she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
‘Sorry.’
‘That’s better.’ He looked at the people surrounding them. Some had drifted away, but most stood avidly watching the spectacle.
‘Show’s over, folks,’ said the younger cop. ‘You’ve got your wallet, sir? No harm done then.’
‘I want him charged!’ the pink-faced man demanded.
‘How about you let us handle it?’ the younger cop said. ‘And folks, this is a good reminder to you all to keep an eye on your valuables.’
‘Come on,’ the older cop said to Pip. ‘We’re taking you back to the station. Give your mum a call and see what she has to say about this.’
At least Pip’s walk of shame from the track was short. A police car was parked right outside, and Pip was firmly strapped into the back. She noticed the rear doors had no handles so even if she’d been game to throw herself from a moving car – which she wasn’t – she wouldn’t have been able to.
This time, there was no siren, no fast speeds, no driving on the wrong side of the road. Nothing except humiliation spiked with sheer panic. What would Sully say? Mr Blair? Matilda?
‘You’re very quiet, young ’un,’ said the older cop from the passenger seat as the car edged slowly through the throng outside the racecourse.
‘Will I go to jail?’ Pip asked in a quiet v
oice.
They both laughed at that. ‘How old are you, son?’
‘Ten.’
‘Bit small for ten, aren’t you?’
‘It’s true! Inspector Carozza knows I’m ten,’ she blurted.
‘Carozza?’ The young cop glanced at the older one. ‘You’re not his kid, are you?’
‘No.’
‘You been in trouble before?’ said the older cop.
Pip wasn’t sure how to answer that. Of course she’d been in trouble. She was a kid. But she didn’t think they meant late library books and putting chewy on the soles of Spotty Spiro’s shoes so she settled for, ‘I haven’t been to jail before.’
‘Well, that’s something.’ They both laughed.
‘I know my rights,’ Pip blurted.
Their laughter turned to howls and Pip thought she had better shut up until she could lawyer up like they did on TV.
It wasn’t long before they were pulling up outside a small house with a police sign outside.
‘Home sweet home,’ said the younger cop, pulling into the driveway.
‘Do you live here too?’ Pip asked as they let her out and marched her up the path.
‘Just an expression, kid.’
‘Now come through here and we’ll get you processed, young fella,’ the older cop told her, leading her to a counter where another cop waited with a name badge that said ‘Desk Sergeant’. ‘We’ll start with your name.’
Pip frantically wracked her brain for a false name but she’d gone blank. ‘Pip,’ she muttered in the end.
There was silence. Complete silence. All three cops stared at each other and then at Pip. She looked at the well-worn linoleum floor.
Then the older cop whistled. ‘Well I never, young . . . miss. Dare say there’ll be a few people around who are glad you’ve turned up. Did you know you’ve had just about every cop in the entire city looking for you?’
Perplexed, Pip said, ‘But why would they all be looking for me when the inspector said I didn’t exist?’