The Tunnels of Tarcoola

by Jennifer Walsh

  ‘See,’ he said triumphantly, as his torch beam caressed the stone edges. ‘There’s a reason for this.’

  However, at the top of the steps he was disappointed to find a short ladder with steel rungs, leading nowhere. There was no trapdoor, just earth, roots and a jumble of rocks. He looked down at the others in disgust.

  ‘Well, this isn’t right,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t make sense at all.’

  ‘There must have been an exit once,’ said David. ‘Something’s collapsed and the stones have filled the hole, then dirt and stuff must have kind of piled up on top.’

  ‘Well, let’s dig it out,’ said Andrea. ‘I saw some tools in the bomb shelter. What’s the quickest way back, Marty?’

  ‘Wait,’ said David. ‘We can’t do it from below. If we start hacking at that soil the rocks’ll just fall on our heads. We’ve got to figure out where the entrance is up top and dig down.’

  ‘Okaaaaayyyy.’ Martin sat down and studied his map. The others looked at him expectantly.

  ‘What are you looking at me for?’

  ‘Well,’ said Andrea. ‘What sort of a mapmaker are you?’

  ‘Well, come on. It’d be different if I had a GPS or something.’

  ‘I’ve got a GPS on my phone!’ David pulled it out. They all crowded around.

  ‘I’ve got a good signal. We must be close to the surface. Come on, come on. Stop jiggling, Kitty. I can’t see it properly. Ah, here it comes . . . Hmmm. It says we’re in Ultimo.’

  They sat down at the foot of the ladder, dejected. Kitty handed around some apples.

  ‘The next model’s better, apparently,’ said David. ‘Much more accurate.’

  ‘That’s good to know,’ said Andrea drily.

  ‘We could use Andrea’s and David’s phones, though,’ said Kitty. ‘See, we could have one down here, and one up top. And one lot of us could make a loud noise, and the others could call on the phone when they hear it, and when it gets louder, and so on.’

  ‘Hey, that’s not a bad idea!’ Martin brightened immediately.

  ‘You’d have to call me,’ Andrea said. They all chorused with her: ‘I’ve got no credit.’

  She took David’s phone. ‘You wouldn’t have my number,’ she said, a little shyly. ‘I’ll put it in your contacts.’

  ‘It’d have to be a pretty loud noise, though,’ Martin went on. ‘What have we got to make a noise with?’

  ‘Maybe we could shout?’ offered Andrea.

  ‘Maybe,’ said David doubtfully, taking his phone back. ‘It’d be good if we had a whistle or something. Marty, doesn’t your dad do some umpiring? Wouldn’t there be a whistle at your place?’

  ‘What, you want me to go all the way home and look for a whistle? Why do I have to—’

  Andrea’s phone suddenly shrilled.

  ‘Sorry,’ said David. ‘I hit the call button.’

  ‘Whoa, Andrea,’ cried Martin, putting his hands over his ears. ‘Could you make it a bit louder?’

  The others all started laughing as Andrea shut the phone off, and he looked at them in bewilderment. ‘What? What did I say?’

  Once they had worked out the details of the plan, the boys made their way back, picking up a mattock and shovel from the bomb shelter on the way. Martin had a rough idea of the general direction, and they agreed that they were looking for a spot in the garden at the side, rather than the front of the house. There would have to be trees, to account for the roots they had seen, and possibly some kind of stone structure.

  The girls were left in semi-darkness, with just Martin’s torch. Andrea had suggested that they also get some spades, but David was adamantly against it.

  ‘Bad idea!’ he had said. ‘Remember what we said before? You don’t want to be anywhere near the ladder when we start shifting that dirt.’

  When they made the first phone call to Andrea, Martin could hear Kitty in the background plaintively asking: ‘Is that it? Have they found it?’

  ‘We’re close,’ he told Andrea. ‘David thought he could hear something when your phone started ringing.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Near a rose garden.’

  ‘Any ruined buildings?’

  ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘Hey, what about the naked lady?’ said Andrea. ‘That was all broken around the bottom. Go and have a look.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘David knows.’

  David grinned and led Martin through the roses to a statue on a broken base. The white lady gazed modestly downwards. They searched around her feet, but there was nothing but dead grass and cracked earth. David called Andrea again.

  ‘Good guess!’ he said. ‘We definitely heard your phone this time. Yeah. Yeah. No, we’re sort of at the side. There’s nothing here.’

  He looked up at Martin.

  ‘She says we should try around the back. Makes sense.’

  There was a narrow space between the statue and the trees. The base was badly damaged on one corner. They pulled a couple of large stones away and called Andrea again.

  This time they heard the phone ringing loud and clear, and they exchanged a high-five, whooping with glee. Andrea picked up immediately.

  ‘Hey, we heard you yelling!’ she said. ‘Better start digging!’

  The two boys worked hard and as carefully as they could, but as soon as a gap appeared there was a yelp from below.

  ‘Stand back!’ called David.

  ‘Sorry,’ came Andrea’s voice. ‘I see what you mean.’

  Eventually the hole was big enough and Martin lowered himself down.

  ‘Come on!’ he called to the girls waiting below.

  Andrea and Kitty climbed up and emerged into the sunlight. The entrance was well hidden in a tangle of undergrowth, and they arranged the broken stones to look undisturbed, but so they could get in again without too much effort.

  ‘Brilliant!’ Martin kept saying. ‘Brilliant!’

  Kitty gave him half a banana and he scoffed it down.

  ‘This is great,’ he said, looking around. ‘We can come and go from the lane. If there are security guys in the house they won’t see us.’

  ‘So how will all this appear on your map?’ asked Andrea.

  ‘Dunno. I’ll have to think up a sort of puzzle for this entrance. You know, kind of “Speak friend and enter”. Have to give it some thought. What food have you got left, Kitty?’

  To his dismay, Kitty’s backpack was empty.

  ‘We have to go, anyway,’ said Kitty. ‘We can come back tomorrow.’

  ‘Okay.’ David picked up the mattock and shovel. ‘Let’s leave the torches in the bomb shelter with the tools. My folks have got people coming to lunch tomorrow, and they’re kind of expecting me to be there. So Marty, can you come round at about two-ish with a really complicated maths problem? As in, a whole assignment?’

  ‘I reckon I could do that. Earlier if you like.’

  ‘No, I want a chance to grab something to eat before you tear me away.’

  ‘David,’ asked Kitty, ‘will Moshe be making one of those cakes?’

  ‘A kugelhopf ? You can bet your life on it.’

  ‘Any chance you can smuggle some out?’

  ‘I’ll give it a go. We could be lucky.’

  They separated, feeling they had done a good afternoon’s work.

  Kitty was quiet on the way home. Still, thought Martin, no use worrying about her. The only thing that would make her happy was finding her so-called treasure. As if that was ever going to happen.

  MARTIN rang the doorbell at two o’clock sharp the next day, but there was no sign of David, only a hubbub of conversation and laughter from the back of the house. He rang again, leaning on the bell for a long time. Finally a young woman in a flouncy off-the-shoulder dress threw open the door, a glass of wine in her hand.

  ‘Well, helloooo,’ she crooned. ‘Either Linda’s latest PA really is twelve, or you’ve come to see David.’

  She tottere
d back up the hall in her high heels, and Martin followed. The courtyard at the back of the house was crammed with people, all waving wine glasses and talking at once. Martin stood on tiptoe and waved to David, who was pressed up against the side fence. Looming over him was Roger Mason, the local historian and antique dealer, a portly man in shapeless corduroys, a grubby shirt and a big red bow tie. Mason was talking animatedly, waving his arms around at great peril to other guests. David had a plate in his hand, and was shovelling food into his mouth as fast as he could. He noticed Martin, but gave a minuscule shake of the head and turned his gaze back to Roger.

  David’s mother materialised.

  ‘Hello, Martin! How nice to see you! Grab yourself something to eat.’

  ‘Oh, that’d be good, thanks . . . But actually, I kind of need Dave. There’s this maths assignment I have to hand in tomorrow.’

  ‘Well, take some food with you. And maybe you can both come back afterwards.’

  On the way out, nicely laden with containers of food, Martin said to David, ‘You didn’t seem all that keen to get away.’

  ‘Tell you outside.’

  Kitty and Andrea, who had been hovering discreetly a few doors up the street, joined them. As they walked towards the park, munching barbecued chicken legs, David explained. ‘Roger Mason was telling me about the coal mine. Did you know there used to be a coal mine here?’

  ‘What, right here?’

  ‘Yes. The entrance and the above-ground stuff were right next to Tarcoola until they closed the mine, then they built the factory there.’

  ‘They closed the mine!’ said Kitty. ‘That’s exactly what she said. Miss Gordon’s father used to work there. The Pit, she called it. But I didn’t know it was in Balmain. I always thought coal mines were . . . I don’t know, somewhere far away.’

  ‘So the shafts and all the tunnels . . . ’ began Martin.

  ‘You got it,’ said David.

  ‘That day we went exploring,’ said Martin. ‘David’s Leap. Do you remember? There were – I saw something like railway lines way down below us. That’s what they have in mines.’

  ‘And when my candle went whoosh and burnt my hair,’ said Andrea, ‘that was methane, wasn’t it? There’s methane in coal mines.’

  ‘You’re right!’ David looked at her in surprise.

  ‘Well, what do you think I’m doing in Science?’ she challenged. ‘I haven’t exactly got an iPod in my ear.’

  David made an ‘I surrender’ sign. ‘Methane’s one of the reasons they closed it,’ he said. ‘People would get poisoned, or they’d light those lanterns they had and, you know – kaboom! Roger told me.’

  ‘They had canaries, didn’t they?’ said Martin. ‘They kept canaries in those mines, and if the canaries died, you know, from the gas, because they’re so little . . . ’

  ‘That’s where she hid it!’ Kitty ran ahead and stopped in front of the others, blocking their way.

  ‘You have to take me seriously now, you have to. It all fits. Her father worked in the mine. She said he knew where everything was. She said all the canaries died. She said that. Andrea, you know her. She’s not mad.’

  Martin groaned quietly. The others looked at each other.

  ‘She said, “The wolf boy can’t go there. It’s safe.” Now I know what she meant.’

  Still nobody spoke.

  ‘Well, if you’re not going to go into that mine, I am!’

  ‘Wait, Kitty!’ David grabbed her arm. ‘I believe you. But you can’t just go charging in there. We need a map of the mine, at least. He said there’s information on the internet. Maybe there’s a map?’

  Kitty stamped her feet in frustration. ‘It’ll take too long!’

  ‘Sounds like there’s only one way in,’ said David. ‘Roger says if the development goes ahead they’ll build over the last access to it, and the mine will be sealed forever. He says that means losing our history, and they shouldn’t be allowed to do it.’

  Now Kitty had tears in her eyes.

  ‘Listen, Kitty,’ said David gently, ‘let’s just do a search. We’ll find out as much as we can, then go in and have a proper look, see if your old lady’s got something hidden down there. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Now, we can’t go back to my place, or we’ll get sprung. So let’s go to yours. We can eat this kugelhopf when we get there.’

  ‘Right.’ Kitty brightened.

  The O’Briens’ house was tidy and quiet, except for the low humming of the dishwasher and the rhythmic thwack, thwack of the printer. They went into the study, where there were open books and piles of printouts.

  ‘One of your parents has been busy,’ remarked David, sitting down at the screen.

  ‘It’s Mum,’ said Martin. ‘She’s doing this course. Just leave all her stuff and switch to my login.’

  On Martin’s page, the New Mail icon was flashing. At the top of the list was a message titled ‘Ha ha ha look what my brother snapped’.

  Andrea leaned in for a closer look. ‘Who’s Sam?’

  Too late, Martin snatched at the mouse. Andrea had it in her hand and had clicked the message before he had fully taken in the situation.

  The message itself was brief: ‘Hey lover my brother took this picture with his new iPhone. Nice or what? Catch up soon. Sam.’

  The picture, which was right there in the body of the message, in full colour with sharp detail, showed a foolishly smiling Martin being kissed by the lovely Samantha Buckingham.

  Martin stood paralysed in the silent room as the others stared at the screen.

  ‘That’s Samantha Buckingham,’ said Andrea. ‘Jeez, Martin!’

  ‘She’s all right,’ said Martin. ‘She asked me out.’

  ‘You can’t go out with that snooty, stuck-up bitch!’

  ‘What! Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?’ Stung, Martin spoke louder than he intended. His words hung in the air, then there was a flurry of movement and the front door slammed. Andrea was gone.

  ‘Andrea’s right, Martin,’ said Kitty. ‘I think Sam Buckingham’s father might be the wolf boy. See, the other day I went to visit Miss Gordon, and . . . ’

  Martin turned on her.

  ‘I’ve had enough of you and your fairy tales!’ he shouted. ‘All this buried treasure and the Big Bad Wolf. Grow up!’

  ‘Come on, Marty,’ started David.

  ‘No, that’s enough. Enough!’ Martin stormed out, ran up the stairs to his room and slammed the door.

  He threw himself down on the bed. Who did David think he was anyway, always right about everything? And as for Andrea – there she was at school with those slutty girls, all sniggering at him, skipping Maths with the moronic boys from 7B who were always smoking down by the bike sheds.

  He picked up the fantasy novel he had been reading, the fifth in the series, but he couldn’t get into it. Resentment seeped through him like acid.

  How could a good day turn bad so quickly? Nobody had asked if any of this was his fault. He couldn’t really blame Samantha, though. She wasn’t to know what an unreasonable lot of friends he had.

  His thoughts strayed to the food they had picked up at David’s house. Would Kitty think to keep a piece of kugelhopf for him? Probably not, he thought, feeling extra sorry for himself. She and David were probably polishing off the rest of it right now.

  DAVID walked the streets in a daze. A minute ago he had been having the time of his life, surrounded by friends and full of purpose. Now, suddenly, he was alone, with nowhere to go but home, where his parents’ party would still be in full swing. He wished there was a secret entrance into his house, so he could get to his room without being spotted.

  KITTY sat in front of the computer, eating kugelhopf and trying to make the internet work. The cake was usually such a treat, with its layers of lighter-than-air pastry shot through with gooey chocolate, but today she ate mechanically, without enjoyment.

  Nothing was going right. Whenever she tried to connect to a we
bsite she got that horrible error message with a list of pointless suggestions. Marty knew how to fix it. He had a special method of unplugging things and plugging them back in, then turning everything on again in a particular order; but she wasn’t game to try that and it was no use asking him. She knew what a slammed door meant.

  The extra piece of cake sat on the desk, still in its plastic container. It was meant for Martin, but why should he have it? He’d been down on her all weekend, making it obvious he didn’t take her seriously. Losing his temper and shouting at her was just the last straw.

  She jabbed again at the internet icon on the computer screen, but the result was the same.

  She frowned at the cake. Well, she thought, there’s one thing I can do. She picked up the cake and went out in search of Andrea.

  ANDREA was pushing her way out through one of the overgrown paths in the Tarcoola garden, twigs in her hair. She had gone in through the factory grounds and spent some time sitting by the fishpond, throwing stones into the water, but it didn’t help much. There was still something tight in her chest that wouldn’t let go. She thought about going down into the bomb shelter and curling up on one of the narrow beds, far away from people, and staying there for a long time; but at the thought of approaching the house on her own her courage failed.

  It wasn’t even that she cared so much what Martin did. When they were little, being friends was all about swinging on the monkey bars and jumping out of trees, and that was great. They’d never really had that much to say to each other, and that was okay too. But girls like Samantha made her feel like she was rubbish. Samantha and her friends, with their shiny hair and designer clothes, looked down their sneering noses at her and saw all the things that were wrong with her life. Why did Martin have to say in front of the others that he cared more about Samantha than her? Now her friends made her feel like rubbish too.

  The path swung round and ran parallel to the lane, separated by some overgrown shrubbery. She made her way through to the gap in the fence, but when she peeped out into the lane she spotted a small figure trotting purposefully in her direction. It was Kitty, carrying something.