While they were still waiting at the stall Andrea noticed that the big family had settled under one of the spreading trees near the rotunda. The mother was distributing food from a collection of plastic containers while the smallest boy jumped up and down with excitement.
Kitty paid for their own food and looked around.
‘David’s still waiting in line,’ she said. ‘Let’s go over there and join him.’
As they moved off, the oldest boy from the family reappeared at Kitty’s side.
‘I finished Emil and the Detectives,’ he said to her. ‘You were right, very good, but maybe a bit silly.’
‘Oh, sure,’ said Kitty. ‘But I’m glad you liked it.’
‘My teacher says maybe I should read Killing Mockingbirds?’ said the boy.
‘To Kill a Mockingbird? Oh yes, it’s great, and kind of more serious. I could lend it to you, if you like.’
Andrea cleared her throat.
‘Oh!’ Kitty had gone pink again. ‘Andrea, this is Skender. He’s in my year at school.’
‘Hello,’ said Skender, not looking at Andrea.
‘Hi,’ said Andrea, turning on her friendliest smile.
One of the younger brothers came over and stood several metres away. He hissed something in a foreign language at Skender, who ignored him.
‘My teacher has given me a list of books,’ he said to Kitty. ‘Maybe I’ll show you some time.’
‘That’d be great,’ said Kitty. ‘There might be some others I can lend you.’
The younger boy repeated his words, louder this time. Andrea stiffened.
Skender sighed. ‘I must go,’ he said. He said something to his little brother and cuffed his ear as they walked off.
Andrea watched him go, frowning.
‘What language was that?’ she asked.
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘Well, where does Skender come from?’
‘I don’t know – I think someone said he was Italian.’
In the distance, David was pointing and beckoning. His parents had found a spot with a view of the rotunda and he was going over to join them.
‘Kitty,’ said Andrea, clutching her arm. ‘You’ve got to find out what he said.’
‘Why on earth . . . What’s up?’
Andrea gazed into space, concentrating.
‘There’s a word that little boy said. It’s what one of those men was saying – the ones in the lane. He was yelling it at the one with the . . . the one who tried to grab me.’
‘Oh Andrea, are you sure?’
Andrea shuddered. ‘Vyzair. That’s what it sounded like. Didn’t you hear the kid saying something like that?’
‘I don’t know . . . ’
‘It’s the same word,’ insisted Andrea. ‘You’ve got to ask Skender what it means.’
‘Okay,’ said Kitty doubtfully. ‘I’ll try. What did you say the word was?’
‘It sort of sounds like vyzair.’
‘How do you spell it?’
‘I don’t know, Kitty! Just ask him!’
They walked with David towards his parents. David’s mother, Linda, was making herself comfortable on their woollen rug on the damp grass, and his father had managed to find some takeaway coffee.
‘Kitty and Andrea!’ called Linda. ‘Come and see what I’ve bought. Alex says he won’t be seen with me if I wear it out of the house.’ She fluttered an unrecognisable garment. It was red and silky, and Andrea reached for it.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ she said, ‘whatever it is.’
‘That boy you were talking to,’ said David. ‘He’s at our school, isn’t he? I’ve seen him on the bus.’
‘That’s right,’ said Kitty. ‘Do you know where he’s from? Is he Italian?’
‘I wouldn’t think so. Why?’
They all followed David’s gaze towards Skender and his family. The boys were playing with a soccer ball, the smaller ones running around Skender and shrieking.
‘It’s just that Andrea thought they were speaking the same language as those men who tried to grab her.’
Andrea gave Kitty a little frown and a tiny shake of the head, but it was too late.
‘Tried to grab her?’ said Linda. ‘When was this?’
‘A few days ago,’ stammered Kitty, noticing Andrea’s frown. ‘Outside your house.’
‘Our house?’ David’s father Alex rarely entered these conversations as his mind was usually on other things, but now he was staring at Andrea. ‘Someone tried to grab you outside our house? Why wasn’t I told?’
‘Oh,’ said David, ‘it wasn’t . . . I didn’t . . . ’
‘David didn’t believe me,’ said Andrea flatly.
‘It’s not that.’ David spread his arms as though the answer was floating past and he might catch it. ‘I just thought . . . ’
‘It’s all right.’ Andrea gave him a little push. ‘There were some scary-looking men, and I ran away from them. It all happened so fast, I’m not really sure now what they were going to do. It all turned out okay.’
‘Still,’ said Alex, frowning. ‘I should have been told. What did they say?’
‘It was some other language,’ muttered Andrea. ‘Maybe Italian.’
‘Can you remember any words?’
‘Ummm.’ Andrea fidgeted, feeling the intensity of Alex’s gaze on her. ‘There was something that sounded like vyzair? And, um, fermiya?’
‘Famiglia?’ asked Linda.
‘Nooo . . . Not really.’ Andrea concentrated hard. ‘And maybe one of them said budalla. Yes! Skender said that to his brother too, didn’t he, Kitty?’
‘None of that sounds like Italian,’ said Linda.
‘Budalla rings a bell,’ said Alex. ‘It’s not Italian, but I think I’ve heard that word somewhere.’
He gazed around, lost in thought. In the distance, Andrea could see Skender’s family. The father was tossing the baby up in the air and catching it while the little girl bounced and fidgeted beside him.
They could have been put on a poster – the perfect image of a happy family.
8
MONDAYS were dreary days for Martin, because he didn’t have any classes with Sam. He was in the middle English and Maths classes, but she had gone into higher groups. The work had been much harder at her old school, she told him, and there had been hours and hours of homework. She wasn’t in his History class either, and she had chosen some weird electives.
He made a point of getting to school a bit earlier than usual in the hope that he could at least sit with her for Monday morning assembly, and he was in luck. She waved and beckoned him to an empty seat beside her.
‘I wish it could be the weekend all the time!’ she whispered as he sat down.
‘Me too.’
‘My friends all thought you were really cool. I got so many posts on my Facebook wall!’
‘Yeah?’ The day before, they had gone to a birthday party for one of the girls from her old school. Pretty boring, to tell the truth, with a lot of silly party games and girls gossiping, but there was an enormous swimming pool at the house and the food had been amazing.
‘My mum says you should come to the Gold Coast with us for Easter,’ said Sam.
‘The Gold Coast?’
The teachers had taken their places on the platform and the Principal had already started mumbling through the usual announcements. Sam dropped her voice to the tiniest whisper, straight into Martin’s ear.
‘Yeah, we’re getting an apartment right on the beach. It’s got an infinity pool. It’ll be so cool. And we’ll have to go to Dreamworld and all those places for Oliver, but you know, they’re kind of fun.’
‘But I don’t know if my parents . . . ’
‘Just ask. The plane fare’s not much. Oh Marty, I’ll just die if you can’t.’
The Principal’s voice rose sharply. ‘Simmer down! Let’s have some SILENCE!’
Martin flinched, but the rebuke was not directed at them. He became aware that throughout th
e hall there was a growing babble of excited whispers. Even after the Principal banged on the rostrum it took a moment for the murmurs to die away, like the last rumbles of a thunderstorm.
‘If you have questions,’ the Principal said, ‘you can ask your teachers in class. I’m quite sure the person sitting next to you knows even less than you do, so there is NO NED for all this TALK!’
Martin shut his mouth firmly, and Sam rolled her eyes and grinned at him. The Principal droned on about timetables while Martin half-dozed and thought about the Gold Coast. That was Surfers Paradise, wasn’t it? He had heard his father say disparaging things about it, but it sounded pretty exciting. How could a plane fare be ‘not much’, he wondered.
When the assembly was over Martin caught up with Lee and Ashneel, the boys he usually sat with in History.
‘What was Mr Fox going on about?’ he asked. ‘What did he say that woke everyone up?’
‘Except you,’ observed Lee.
‘They’re all going crazy because we’re going to be on television,’ said Ashneel.
‘We are?’
‘The school,’ said Lee. ‘There’s going to be a big debate here between the Premier and that guy – what’s his name? The one who’s going to be Premier when they have the election.’
‘Why would they have it here?’ said Martin. ‘And why would anyone want to watch it?’
In the classroom, Mr Blythe had given up trying to introduce the history topic for the day, and was at the whiteboard sketching out the basic facts about the state government and the upcoming election.
‘You were supposed to learn about this in Year Six,’ he grumbled. ‘Who can tell me which political party is in power?’
Blank looks greeted him.
‘Well, what political parties are there?’
Summer put up her hand. ‘The Hunters Party,’ she said. ‘My mum says they shoot bushwalkers in the national parks.’ Someone tittered.
‘My dad says all the parties are the same now,’ contributed Martin. ‘He says none of them are worth voting for.’
‘Well,’ said Mr Blythe, ‘whatever these esteemed experts may say, there is an election coming up, and there’s some serious campaigning going on.’
‘Sir,’ said Martin. ‘We won’t have to listen to this debate, will we?’
‘I suspect it will be more of a publicity stunt than a serious debate,’ said Mr Blythe. ‘Both sides just want to show that they’re concerned about education, and they’ll probably both promise not to sell this school.’
‘Why would they sell this school?’ asked Alice. ‘Where would we go?’
‘Neither side is saying,’ said Mr Blythe, ‘because they won’t admit that they’re considering it. But the state government is desperately short of money, and this school is on very valuable waterfront land.’
‘It’s not fair,’ said Craig. ‘I don’t want to catch a bus to some other suburb. This might be a crap school, but at least we can walk here.’
‘Now then,’ said Mr Blythe. ‘A bit of school spirit, if you please. Now, both leaders will be pressed to reveal their intentions in this debate, so it’s pretty important for us. Mrs Buchanan has hinted that she will make sure the school is retained, in the unlikely event that she’s voted back and remains Premier. Mr Yu, on the other hand, has not stated his position, but he’s known to be sympathetic to the school because of course his kids are pupils here. Indeed, his daughter Natalie is our school captain.’
‘Sir,’ said Ashneel, politely raising his hand, ‘which party is Mr Yu?’
‘No party,’ said Mr Blythe. ‘He’s an independent. Let me explain a bit about the balance of power . . . ’
Martin did try to listen, but his brain wandered off all by itself to muse about the Gold Coast. There must be great beaches there, if it was called Surfers Paradise. He had heard kids raving about Dreamworld and there were other Worlds too, weren’t there: Sea World, Movie World and so on. He imagined flitting from one to another with Sam and her easygoing mother. Someone had told him about a great water ride that was like going over a waterfall. He gave a little shiver of pleasure at the thought.
9
BY the time Andrea got to her History class the buzz over the debate had died down, and Miss Tenniel was handing out textbooks.
‘Good of you to join us, Andrea,’ she remarked.
Andrea gave her a little bow, but her grin froze when she realised that the only empty seat was next to Sam. Sam beckoned enthusiastically.
‘I saved a seat for you in assembly,’ she whispered. ‘Where were you?’
Andrea shrugged. ‘Slept in.’
‘Could I have some quiet, please?’ requested Miss Tenniel mildly. ‘Now, class, we’re going to look at some Greek myths and legends before we move on to ancient Rome. Open your books to chapter eight and see what you can find on these . . . ’
She turned her back and started writing on the whiteboard. Covered by the rustling of pages and the squeak of the whiteboard marker, Sam whispered, ‘Have you been detecting? Have you found out what those men were doing?’
‘Getting there,’ whispered Andrea. ‘You’d better keep watching your back, but. It looks like the Mafia, and they might have spies in the school.’
‘No kidding!’ gasped Sam, her eyes wide.
‘Yeah, there’re a couple of boys in Year Nine who’d do anything for money. There’s one called . . . ’
Miss Tenniel interrupted her.
‘So sorry to break in on your conversation, girls. Maybe one of you already knows the story of Arachne, and would like to tell the class?’
‘I do, Miss.’ Sam half stood up, but Andrea pulled her back down. ‘Arachne was a beautiful maiden who used to weave. She made these fabulous tapestries, and she was getting really famous, like, all over the place. So the goddess Minerva heard about it, and she came and said, I hear you’re pretty good at weaving, who taught you?’ Sam smiled around the classroom. Bored faces greeted her.
‘So anyway,’ continued Sam. ‘What Arachne should have done, she should have been all modest, and said oh yes, actually it was the gods who taught me, Your Worshipfulness, and I’m not really that great. But instead, she said, I taught myself and I can weave as well as any goddess. Bad idea.’
‘Bad idea,’ agreed Miss Tenniel.
‘So Minerva said right, there’s going to be a contest, between you and me. Let’s see which one of us can weave the best.’
‘Sort of a challenge?’ ventured Michelle, interested in spite of herself.
‘Exactly,’ said Miss Tenniel. ‘So they both got busy weaving.’
‘And of course,’ Sam went on, ‘Minerva wove a fantastic tapestry, with beautiful threads in silver and gold and oh, colours people hadn’t even heard of. But then Arachne wove hers, and it was . . . like, it had all this detail, and every story she’d ever heard, and there wasn’t a single mistake.’
‘So, Tammy,’ said Miss Tenniel. ‘Who do you think won?’
‘Ummmm – the goddess?’ Other hands shot up.
‘Why do you think she won?’
‘Well – um – they’d be too scared to give it to Arachne, wouldn’t they? Even if hers was better?’
‘You’re right to think they were scared,’ said Miss Tenniel. ‘Who do you think won the contest, Andrea?’
‘Arachne?’ hazarded Andrea.
‘What do you say, Samantha?’
‘Arachne won,’ said Sam. ‘And that was a bad idea. She should have made some mistakes.’
‘So she should,’ agreed Miss Tenniel.
‘Why?’ demanded Andrea. ‘What happened next?’
‘The goddess Minerva tore up Arachne’s tapestry, and turned her into a spider, and made her hang upside down from one of her own threads,’ said Sam. ‘That’s supposed to be where spiders come from, and why they weave webs.’
‘That’s right,’ said Miss Tenniel. ‘Thank you, Samantha. Yes, the scientific name for spiders is arachnids. Now, does anyone else know any
Greek myths or legends?’
The class fidgeted, careful not to meet her eye.
‘Well, see if you can find some for the next lesson, please. You could start by checking out some of the stories in the Iliad. You must have heard of Helen of Troy?’
Sam sat back and grinned at Andrea.
‘I hate spiders,’ whispered Andrea.
After school she walked the long way round, across the top of the park that sloped down to low cliffs and on one side the pool, screened by big trees. From up here you could see into the water, the roped-off swimming lanes half in shadow. She could see two swimmers – one bald head, and a smaller dark one, possibly David’s, forging up and down. It had rained again, and little puddles on the darkened boards around the pool reflected the grey sky. High up in the trees a huge spiderweb, a-glitter with thousands of tiny droplets, caught the light and flashed golden. Its maker slumbered head-down in the middle, and Andrea wondered if she was dreaming of her former life as a beautiful maiden.
Andrea wandered into David’s street, thinking about the spider. Halfway to the house she looked up and noticed a white van.
Her heart lurched. The van was parked across the entrance to the lane, several doors past David’s house, facing her. Was it the same van? It didn’t look as dirty as the one she’d seen, but they could have washed it. She couldn’t remember any other details, and she couldn’t see from this angle whether there was anything written on the sides. The windows seemed to be tinted, making it hard to see inside, but she thought there was at least one person sitting motionless at the wheel, watching her.
She walked steadily towards the house, ready to run. The van sat there, still and silent. She was shaking as she rang the doorbell.
Moshe was a little quiet, which made her nervous, but he cheered up when she told him about Arachne.
‘Ted Hughes,’ he said. ‘He really nailed it. “She plunged with all her giddy vanity into destruction.” Now, where did I put that book?’
‘I think we’ve got enough books,’ said Andrea. ‘Are those all for today?’
‘Yes, yes.’ He put a loving hand on the pile that teetered on the dining-room table. ‘Let’s get started.’
Crooked Leg Road Page 3