‘Oh. So they . . . So if they . . . ’
‘Don’t worry, Andrea. They regard themselves as pretty fortunate. We all are, even you, compared to most of the people in the world.’
Back in the dining room, he spread out the two books lovingly on the table. They were about a young girl growing up in the Australian bush in the early 1900s, and Andrea was struck by how foreign the world that they described seemed, especially in the spidery illustrations that showed a determined-looking girl cavorting around on horseback; but she couldn’t really concentrate. Did the kidnappers know David’s parents really weren’t rich? If so, what could they be after?
‘You’ll find some quaint attitudes in here,’ murmured Moshe, ‘but you’ll like the stories. She was from Gippsland, in Victoria.’
‘Is that where David is?’ blurted Andrea.
‘David?’
‘You said he was interstate. Is he in Victoria?’
‘Oh – not exactly. It’s more like – I couldn’t say exactly where he is.’
‘Are you sure he’s all right?’ asked Andrea. ‘Is there something I can do?’
‘Don’t you worry about David,’ said Moshe gently. ‘He’s fine. It’s just . . .I t’s a family matter.’
Andrea packed up her things, more mystified than ever, and Moshe walked into the hallway with her.
‘Now, I expect a verdict on Seven Little Australians by this time next week,’ he said.
‘Oh, sorry. I think I left it on the table.’
Moshe put his reading glasses down on the pile of papers and unopened mail that teetered on the hall table and hurried back to the dining room. Andrea waited by the front door. Through a little gap in the patterned glass she could glimpse the path and the front gate, where a movement caught her eye. A man had stopped outside, and now he was looking around quickly, as if to check for observers. She froze. The man turned back and bent briefly over the letterbox. She heard a click as it opened and shut, then he glanced at the house, looked around once more and hurried away.
Moshe came out with her book.
‘Here you are,’ he said.
‘Thanks.’ She quickly stuffed it into her bag. ‘See you.’
Outside, Andrea bent down and fiddled with her shoe for a second, waiting until she was sure Moshe had gone. Her mind was racing and she was trying to make sense of what she had just witnessed. She had seen the man’s face clearly when he looked towards the house, and she had recognised him.
She reached the letterbox and looked around cautiously, just as the man had done. A car was pulling up nearby, so she stopped and fiddled with her shoe again. The car door slammed and she heard a familiar voice.
‘Hello, Andrea.’ It was David’s father. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Oh!’ she looked around desperately. ‘Yeah. I’m just . . . ’ At that moment, Sam appeared at the end of the street. ‘Just waiting for my friend.’
As Andrea raised her hand, Sam waved back joyfully and bounded up to her.
‘Hi!’ she said.
‘Hi!’ said Andrea, mentally grinding her teeth. ‘How about showing me the book about Arachne and stuff?’
She looked back in frustration as David’s father retrieved the contents of the letterbox and walked inside, tearing open a brown envelope.
SAM chattered excitedly as Andrea trailed along beside her.
‘It’s just down here, in these awful flats. Promise me you won’t look. I had an awesome room in our old house, I wish you could have seen it. Now I have to share a pokey little hole with my brother. Can you imagine? I had to give up my beautiful four-poster bed and go back to a single, because my bed wouldn’t fit, and my mum sold it on eBay. And now all I’ve got is one measly little shelf for all my things . . . ’
She tapped in a code to open the door of the apartment building and they went down a long corridor. Sam opened a big door, which wasn’t locked, and called out cheerily, ‘I’m home!’
A pretty, very slim blonde woman in tight white jeans was standing in the middle of a vast, white-carpeted living room, with a mobile phone glued to one ear. She waved and gestured towards the gleaming kitchen.
‘Come on,’ said Sam. ‘I’m starving, aren’t you?’
There were plates on the kitchen bench, one piled high with little savoury tarts, another with what looked like chocolate-chip cookies. Andrea’s mouth watered. Sam pulled a big jug out of the fridge and lined up two tall glasses.
‘Orange juice?’
Andrea nodded dumbly. She took the full glass and a fistful of food and meekly followed Sam into a large, messy bedroom with a huge window.
‘This is nice,’ said Andrea. ‘You can see the water.’
‘Huh,’ sniffed Sam. ‘At my dad’s place we were on the water. You could see yachts going past, and windsurfers and those big boats that have parties on board with music. Dad’s got his own boatshed with this awesome speedboat.’
She waved an arm.
‘There, you sit on Oliver’s bed. It would be worse, but the cleaner was here yesterday.’
Andrea crammed food into her mouth, then surreptitiously checked her phone. She had to tell Kitty about the man at the letterbox, but as usual, she didn’t have enough credit to make a call. Sam pulled a big book of Greek and Roman myths from a shelf beside her bed.
‘Here it is,’ she said. ‘Have a look.’ She darted out of the room, and Andrea flipped through the glossy pages. The illustrations glowed with colour, but she couldn’t concentrate.
Sam came back and plonked a plate with more cookies on the bed. She opened the other hand to reveal a fistful of one-and two-dollar coins.
‘What’s that?’ asked Andrea.
‘Tidying up.’ Sam grinned. ‘Shrapnel, Mum calls it. She leaves this stuff lying round all over the house, and I’m supposed to collect it. I just take the gold coins, the ones and twos.’
‘What do you do with them?’
‘They all go in my piggy bank.’ Sam pushed some clothes off a big, brightly decorated china pig and dropped the coins into a slot in its back.
‘That’s really pretty,’ said Andrea.
‘Yeah, I love my pig. We went to England when I was ten, and my granny over there gave him to me. I had to bring him back as carry-on so he wouldn’t get broken, and Dad grumbled about it the whole way.’ Sam stroked the pig’s back. ‘He’s nearly full now. See how heavy he is.’
Andrea could hardly lift the pig. It made soft clunking noises as she set it down again.
‘How do you get the money out?’ she asked.
‘You can’t really,’ said Sam. ‘It’s a proper piggy bank. When the time comes, you have to smash it.’
‘You can’t smash it!’ Andrea was horrified.
‘Only on a rainy day, my mum says. Only if I really need the money.’
Sam’s phone rang.
‘Oh, hi Marty,’ she breathed. Andrea groaned inwardly.
Sam rattled on for a while, then Andrea managed to get her attention and signal that she wanted to talk to Martin.
‘Hey!’ he said. ‘Hanging out with your bestie?’
‘Yeah, sure. Listen, could you get Kitty to call me? It’s important.’
‘I think she’s home now. Do you want me to put her on?’
‘No, it’s kind of . . . private. Tell her to call me in half an hour.’
‘Yeah? Private? Well, I’ll tell her.’
She made her escape from Sam and listened for her phone all the way home, but Kitty didn’t ring. Too distracted to watch television, Andrea spent the evening waiting for Kitty’s call, the face of the man at the letterbox flashing through her mind. To make the time pass she fossicked through Sam’s book. She read the story of Midas, who wished that everything he touched would turn to gold; but when his wish came true it was a nightmare. He couldn’t eat or drink, because the food and water turned to solid gold as soon as he touched it. He couldn’t touch any other people for fear they would become statues, and even his nice soft bed tu
rned hard and shiny when he lay on it. Andrea pictured Sam’s father wearing the same robes as Midas in the pictures. His vast sums of money didn’t seem to make him happy, either.
The phone remained stubbornly silent and she turned to the story of Pandora. The main god, Zeus, had a grudge against Pandora’s husband Epimetheus, so he gave Epimetheus a special locked box and told him never, never to open it. Zeus was sure this would make Epimetheus so curious he would have to open the box, and Zeus was probably right. However, it also made Pandora unbearably curious, and as soon as her husband was out of the way she stole the key and opened the box.
Andrea’s heart went out to Pandora, who was very beautiful in the pictures with a face framed by dark hair. Andrea ran her fingers through her own spiky hair.
When Pandora opened the box there was a great whoosh, and all sorts of strange things flew out. Somehow Pandora knew what they were: all the bad things in the world, like hate, anger and sickness. By opening the box she had let them out and created all kinds of suffering. As soon as she realised this, she slammed the lid down again, just before the last bad thing escaped – hopelessness. So the one thing Pandora had saved was hope.
It was too late for Kitty to ring now. Andrea went to bed playing the scene at David’s house over and over in her mind: the man at the letterbox, his face as he looked up, David’s father retrieving the package. She could only think of one explanation, and she didn’t think Kitty was going to like it.
15
KITTY was leaning over the breakfast table, putting some finishing touches to her English homework, one eye on the clock, when Martin came downstairs in his pyjamas.
‘You’re going to be late,’ she said.
‘Nah,’ he said. ‘School’s crazy at the moment. They’re obsessed with the Premier’s visit and they’ve got squads of kids doing a big clean-up. The bell rings later and later every day.’
‘You’re lucky, then.’ She gathered up her things. ‘I’d better get going.’
‘Oh, sorry – forgot to say. Andrea wants you to call her.’
‘Marty! When did she tell you that?’
‘Yesterday. Sorry.’
Kitty looked at the phone in the hall, chewing her lip, but it was nearly time for the school bus. She grabbed her bag and made a dash for the door.
Friday mornings were nice: History, Visual Arts and a session in the library. Skender was also in the library, working on some English grammar. He smiled at her and she smiled back, longing to offer some help, but not wanting to be pushy. In any case, when she sneaked glances at him across the table, it seemed he was doing the work quite easily.
When the bell rang and she stepped outside in the sunshine, pulling her lunchbox out of her bag, Skender was beside her.
‘Nice day,’ he said.
‘Yes, isn’t it lovely?’ She started to move towards some seats under trees, a good place to eat lunch. It really seemed that he was coming with her, but just then the same two girls appeared out of nowhere.
‘Chess time, Skender!’ said the tall one. Her wild red hair was escaping from a couple of mismatched hair slides.
‘Sorry,’ she looked at Kitty, as if seeing her for the first time. ‘We’re always dragging him away.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘You’re in our English class, aren’t you? I liked what you said about Dickens the other day. Have you read Nicholas Nickleby?’
‘Oh, it’s my second favourite,’ said Kitty, ‘after Great Expectations.’
Kitty had been dragged reluctantly into a discussion about two children’s books thought suitable for her age group. The teacher had suddenly asked her who she thought wrote the best books for children, and she had blurted ‘Charles Dickens’.
‘I’m Hephzibah,’ said the red-haired girl. ‘Why don’t you come and play chess with us?’
‘I’m Kitty. I’d love to, but I’m not very good.’
‘You can’t be worse than Ngoc.’
Her friend squealed in mock indignation. ‘Skender!’ she demanded. ‘Who got Hep-cat in a stalemate the other day. Who?’
Kitty trailed along with them.
‘How do you say your name?’ she asked the Asian girl.
‘Don’t even try, Western tongues can’t make the right sound. I’m gonna change it to Jade.’ Ngoc was even smaller than Kitty, with lively black eyes behind her glasses. Kitty wondered how she got her hair so shiny.
‘Jade is a beautiful name.’
‘Yeah. That’s what Ngoc means in Vietnamese, so I reckon it’s about time I changed.’
An odd assortment of Year 7 students were waiting in a classroom where half a dozen chess sets were spread out on the tables. Kitty recognised a mouse-like girl from her Science class, a few Asian boys and a skinny boy with a pale face and very black hair who turned out to be her first opponent.
‘Hi,’ she said to him. ‘I’m Kitty. I’m not very good.’
‘Aiden,’ he mumbled, splotches of fiery red appearing all over his face and neck. To her annoyance she blushed too, or was her face just reflecting the intense heat that radiated off his?
As they played, she was intrigued to see that any friendly remarks caused a repetition of Aiden’s incandescent blushes, though he could stay perfectly cool when saying things like ‘Your turn’, ‘Check’ or ‘Checkmate’, which came rather quickly.
For their second game, she decided to use a manoeuvre that Moshe called ‘the hustle’. It was a bit like cheating, because it depended on the opponent assuming that she had no idea what to do. She lined up her strategy, sacrificing both bishops and a rook, and Aiden walked straight into the trap. Kitty lifted her queen high into the air and pounced.
‘Checkmate.’
If anything, Aiden’s face went paler. ‘Wow,’ he said.
Hephzibah came sauntering over. ‘Time to switch,’ she said. ‘What’s she like?’
‘Pretty good,’ said Aiden. He looked at Kitty. ‘Did someone teach you that trick?’
‘Yeah, there’s this old man called Moshe. He’s the grandpa of one of my friends.’
‘Moshe?’ said Hephzibah. ‘David Newman’s grandfather?’
‘Yes, do you know him?’ Kitty was pleased.
‘Oh sure, everyone knows Moshe. And my uncle works with David’s dad.’
‘Where exactly do they work?’
‘It’s – um – I think it’s called Special Prosecutions. Where they build their cases against the really bad criminals.’
‘Really?’ Kitty was alarmed. ‘Like axe murderers?’
‘No, not bad like that. The ones who steal lots of money, like bosses who cheat all the people who work for them, that sort of thing.’
‘Oh,’ said Kitty. ‘I’ve never really understood what David’s dad does. I just know he works all the time.’
‘Yeah, tell me about it. My cousin says his dad’s never home.’
The lunch break passed far too quickly. She gulped down her sandwiches while playing with Ngoc, who chatted merrily with only half an eye on the chessboard but won the game nevertheless. Still, Kitty managed to put up a respectable fight.
As they were packing the chess sets away she heard Skender making arrangements to meet his opponent, a Chinese boy called Piao, at the Punch Park tennis courts next morning. They were going to sign up for something together, and she envied the ease with which boys could make friends. Still, things did seem to be improving for her, and she went off to her afternoon classes with a light heart.
When she got home she remembered to call Andrea.
‘Kitty! Where’ve you been?’
‘Sorry. Did you find out anything? What did Moshe say?’
‘Nothing, but I saw something, and I think I know what’s going on. When I was leaving their house yesterday, I saw this man putting something in the letterbox.’
‘In the letterbox? What was it?’
‘I can’t be sure. It was something in a brown envelope, and David’s father got to it before I could have a look.
But Kitty, the man – he was the man from the park. Your friend Skender’s father.’
‘What! Skender’s father?’
‘It all adds up, doesn’t it? David really has disappeared, and his family won’t say anything because they must be scared of something, and then they finally get this brown envelope, and I reckon it’s the ransom note, and it’s Skender’s father! Well, they speak the same language as the kidnappers, don’t they?’
‘What are you saying?’
‘He’s got to be one of them. Skender’s father.’
‘No!’ Kitty sat down heavily on the chair beside the phone table. ‘No, Andrea. He can’t be.’
‘It all checks out,’ insisted Andrea. ‘He looked around, Kitty, like he didn’t want anyone to see.’
‘I don’t believe it.’ Kitty remembered the father playing with his little girl, her shrieks of delight.
‘Listen, Kitty, we have to do something. Do you know where Skender’s family lives? They’re somewhere in Balmain, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, but I don’t know where.’
‘Well, can’t you find out? We’ll have to watch the house. Maybe David’s there. Or maybe we can follow Skender’s father.’
‘I can’t . . .I ’m sure you’re wrong.’
‘Kitty, this is David. If he’s in trouble, we have to help him.’
‘I guess so. Of course. Okay, I’ll see what I can do.’
She hung up and sat staring into space, all her pleasure in the day turned to dust.
16
SOMETHING’S up with Kitty, thought Martin. She had refused a second helping of dessert at dinner last night, and now she was having only one piece of toast for breakfast!
Their mother was preoccupied. ‘I’ve got to get to the hairdresser’s, then I’ve got to wrap the present,’ she said. ‘Kitty, are you sure you don’t want to come with me and get your hair put up?’
Kitty shook her head morosely.
‘Well, give it a good brush, and you kids had better stay around here this morning. We’re leaving at twelve on the dot.’
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