As soon as I walked in the door after training, Dad sent me up to water the fruit trees. It was a hard job. The water had to be collected in buckets from the creek then carried uphill about fifty metres to the orchard. Good training, I suppose. If I wanted to be a weightlifter.
On my third trip, I spotted a patch of mauve flowers growing on the sunny side of the creek bank. Curious, I set the buckets down to take a closer look. I realised they weren’t flowers at all.
Once, when I was little, Mum had visited Uncle Julian in Brisbane. It was about the only time she went on a holiday and left us at home with Dad, one of the rare times he hadn’t been drinking. While Mum was in Brisbane, she’d gone to the markets and brought me back a carnivorous plant called a sundew, with long, sticky red tendrils designed to catch its insect prey. I’d never seen anything like a sundew before and I loved it. Of course, I soon killed the plant from over-watering, but I always remembered it.
The plants at the creek didn’t have tendrils like the sundew, but they must have been related. Their insect traps were mauve wheels that looked like flowers and which were beaded with clear, sticky plant glue, or whatever it was. The plants weren’t flat like a sundew, either. Instead, their stems were tall and slender, with branches ending in clusters of sticky purple discs. One of these delicate predator plants would make a cool present. It wasn’t a dragon book, but it was unusual.
After I finished watering the fruit trees I dug out the tallest, healthiest sundew I could find, making sure I kept plenty of soil around its roots. Cupping it in my hands, I carried it back down to the house then hid it in Mum’s fernhouse before traipsing inside. After dinner, Mum took the girls to bed while Dad watched TV. I had a shower then read a book at the kitchen table, wondering when the smash-em-up movie Dad was watching would finish so he’d disappear.
Mum came to say good night, a Mills and Boon novel tucked under her arm. ‘Don’t stay up too long, Eb.’ She kissed my forehead then left.
It was late when Dad stumbled off to bed. Grabbing the torch, I bolted out to the fernhouse and fossicked around. ‘Bingo!’
I found an undamaged terracotta pot then snuck into Dad’s shed to locate the lavender paint left over from decorating the girls’ second-hand beds. For once, I was grateful Mum and Dad were hoarders. When the lavender paint had dried enough, I overlayed it with four apricot suns. It was a simple design, but with my zero artistic ability, it may as well have been a masterpiece.
Back in the fernhouse, I potted the sundew, being careful not to spill dirt on the damp paint. Then I watered the plant and hid it behind Mum’s orchids.
Satisfied with my night’s work, I crept into my bedroom and reached under my mattress for the dragon.
I couldn’t find it.
Panic crushed the breath in my throat. My hand floundered. Then I felt the familiar cold, smoothness and relaxed. I crawled into bed, cradling the dragon and praying I wouldn’t look like a total failure at the party tomorrow.
‘Open ours first,’ Chloe and Miranda demanded as they shoved a heavy, gold, precision-wrapped rectangle at Teena. Pink ribbons and bows sprung out from all over the place.
Everyone crowded around the kitchen table to see, the twins jostling for position in new outfits they’d wasted no time telling us about. Quicker than you could say ‘Birthday Girl’ the paper came off. Out tumbled a book. The pink cover had embossed gold coins, a dark, mysterious cave and a fierce fire-breathing dragon on it. My heart thudded dully. It was the exact same book I’d wanted to buy Teena.
‘Puke!’ Jake sneered.
‘Get a life!’ Miranda snapped.
Teena ignored them both as she flicked through the richly coloured pages.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ breathed Sophie.
‘Amazing,’ agreed Emma.
I didn’t argue. I’d fallen in love with the book months ago, the moment I’d spotted it in the bookstore.
‘Do you like it?’ Chloe said.
‘It’s great. Thank you.’ Teena smiled politely and sat the book on the table.
‘We’ve got one each, too,’ Chloe said. ‘So now we’re the same.’
Something told me Teena wasn’t overly impressed with the book. I couldn’t ask her right away, though. Not in front of everyone.
‘Mine next.’ Emma pressed a large package into Teena’s hands.
Monopoly.
‘Boring!’ Kyle declared.
Emma’s face crumbled.
‘I love board games,’ Teena said quickly, ‘and I always win.’
‘That’s because you cheat,’ Luke teased her.
‘Shush, you!’ Teena said, while everyone laughed. ‘Don’t tell all my secrets. Now, who’s next?’
Teena got some fabulous presents. DVDs, chocolates, a butterfly cushion, nail polish. Nothing could beat the book, though. Not in my eyes, anyway.
‘Well, that’s it. Thanks, everyone,’ Teena said.
‘Wait. There’s one more.’ Nervously, I retrieved the sundew I’d hidden in the kitchen cupboard when she wasn’t looking and handed it to Teena.
Miranda clapped her hand to her mouth.
Someone whispered, ‘What is it?’
Years passed as Teena inspected my present. ‘Did you do this yourself ?’
My face burned. She hated it. ‘Yeah. It’s a sundew.’
‘I know what it is. I had one like it when I was little.’ Her eyes locked with mine. ‘Mum gave it to me.’
‘Oh.’
Teena stared at the plant while everyone talked at once.
‘Is that one of those cadaverous plants?’ Kyle said. ‘You know, that eat flies and stuff.’
‘Carnivorous, dummy,’ Chloe corrected him.
‘Whatever. So, is it?’
‘Yeah,’ I said.
‘Cool present.’ Jake slapped me on the back.
‘Not sure about the poxy painting,’ Miranda said, curling her lip.
Teena’s eyes glistened. ‘How did you know?’
I shrugged. ‘I didn’t.’
‘What’s going on?’ Angus said.
Teena gave a crooked smile. I could tell she was trying not to cry. ‘I’ll explain later,’ she said. ‘Right now, it’s party time.’
‘Woo-hoo!’ Kyle hollered. ‘I was hoping someone would say that.’
Teena led us out to the backyard. As we passed through the lounge room, I saw the milk crate under the TV had been replaced by a cabinet and there was a new rug on the floor. The rest of the furniture – what there was of it – was the same.
Outside, plastic tables and chairs with ‘Gordon’s Soft Drink Factory’ printed on them were arranged beneath a large gum tree. Streamers and balloons hung from the patio rafters. A stereo pumped music into the garden while a barbecue sizzled nearby, seasoning the air with the tummy-grumbling aroma of frying sausages and onions.
While the boys set upon the food like pigs at a trough, Teena introduced me to her dad, who was sweating over the barbecue.
‘Dad, this is Ebony.’
Mr Costaleena sat his tongs down and shook my hand. ‘At last we meet. Did you know you’re a household name around here?’
I laughed. ‘No, I didn’t, Mr Costaleena.’
‘Call me Nick.’
‘Ebony gave me a sundew,’ Teena said.
‘A sundew?’ Nick nodded thoughtfully.
‘Yep. She painted the pot herself and everything.’
‘You’re an artist, too, Ebony?’
‘No way. Not like you and Teena. The murals on her walls are fantastic.’
‘Yeah, one day we might get around to finishing them.’ Nick offered Teena a guilty look.
‘Don’t worry about it, Dad.’ She patted his arm. ‘Ebony’s good at writing stories.’ I looked at Teena in surprise. I wasn’t that good. I think she was trying to change the subject.
‘You two should collaborate on a picture book,’ Nick said. ‘You’d make millions.’
Teena rolled her eyes. ‘Get real, Dad.’
<
br /> ‘Speaking of books,’ I whispered to Teena, ‘did you like the dragon book the twins gave you?’
‘I got it for Christmas last year,’ Teena said. ‘It’s not that great. Most of the stuff in it is wrong.’
‘Oh,’ I said, relieved I hadn’t been able to buy it for her after all.
‘Hey,’ Nick interrupted us, ‘how about I turn these sausages down and we have a game?’
‘Sure.’
‘Gather round!’ Nick yelled. ‘Who wants to play pin the tail on the donkey?’
Everyone groaned.
‘Dad, that’s so lame,’ Teena said, her cheeks flushing red.
‘Very kindergarten,’ Miranda said.
‘Now, now. You’re never too old for party games.’ Nick unrolled a sheet of butcher’s paper with a donkey drawn on it. The donkey looked very funny with buck teeth and crossed eyes. Nick taped the picture to the fence. ‘So, who’s going first?’
No one stepped forward so Nick grabbed Miranda.
‘Don’t mess my hair,’ she warned as he blindfolded her.
‘Your hair’s fine. Really.’ He scrunched her hair on her scalp playfully, making her squeal.
Nick winked at the rest of us, then spun Miranda around three times. He slipped a donkey tail in her hand and steered her towards the fence. Miranda pushed her pin into the donkey and lifted the blindfold. The tail was sticking out of the donkey’s eye.
‘Way off,’ said Nick. ‘Okay, who’s next?’
Kyle stepped forward. ‘I’ll have a go.’
‘Good lad.’
Nick blindfolded Kyle and spun him around six times. Really fast. Kyle teetered about the yard, not knowing which way to go. ‘Help!’ he cried.
All the boys joined in, shoving him with rough hands towards the fence. He pushed the pin into the donkey’s belly then whipped the blindfold off. ‘Hey, I demand a re-spin!’
Nick and everyone else immediately shouted him down. Eventually, it was my turn.
‘She won’t even go close,’ I heard Miranda whisper a little too loudly.
As Nick spun me around, I realised the blindfold hadn’t been tied tightly enough and I could see out through the bottom. I thought about owning up, but after Miranda’s nasty comment, I wanted to win. Badly. To whistles and applause, I whipped off the blindfold, pretending to be surprised when I saw where the tail was.
‘Ebony wins!’ Nick cried, presenting me with a giant-sized Kit-Kat. He leaned in close. ‘That should shut that snooty Miranda up, eh?’
I blushed, embarrassed and grateful he’d set me up. ‘Thanks, Mr, er, Nick.’
‘You’re welcome, Ebbs.’
I grinned at my new nickname. Teena’s dad was so cool. I couldn’t help wishing he was my dad.
Nick turned away. ‘Now, who’s hungry?’ he asked everyone to shouts of ‘Meeeee!’ all around.
While we all ate, Nick took photos. Teena asked for one of us two together. We stood on the plastic chairs with a sausage sandwich in one hand and an arm draped over each other’s shoulder, beaming at the camera.
The flash was still burning in my eyes when there was a commotion and Kyle ran towards us. ‘Does anyone own a beat up old station-wagon?’
My skin suddenly felt hot. ‘What colour?’
‘Green.’
I groaned. ‘My dad.’
‘It’s coming up the road now.’
Everyone ran out the front, Nick striding behind. Sure enough, it was our old bomb. Dad was driving while Mum sat in the passenger’s seat. The car pulled up. Dad didn’t bother turning the engine off. In the back, May and Rose giggled and waved.
‘Oh … my … goodness.’ Miranda was horrified. ‘The entire tribe’s turned up.’
Everyone laughed. Except me. It’s hard to laugh when you’re dying inside.
Nick squeezed my shoulder. ‘Never mind, Ebbs. It’s been great having you.’
Mum wound down her window. ‘Hello, Mr Costaleena. Hi, kids. Dad finished work early, Eb.’ She shot me a guilty look. ‘Time to come home.’
I glanced past Mum at Dad. He was staring straight ahead, tapping the steering wheel. By the look of thunder on his face you’d have thought I’d committed murder, not been enjoying myself at a birthday party.
With Nick’s help, I shoved my bike in the back of the car then hugged Teena. ‘Have fun.’
‘I’ll save you some cake,’ she said. ‘Thanks for the sundew. I love it.’
Dad honked the horn.
‘Bye, everyone.’ I slid onto the back seat beside May and Rose, feeling like I was two years old.
‘Did you have a good time, love?’ Mum asked as we drove off.
‘Yes, thanks.’
I could tell Dad was furious, I could feel the anger vapours steaming off him. His jaw was clenched and he refused to look at me, but he never said a word. Even when we got home, he never spoke. He just marched up the back to brood in his shed.
Needless to say, the girls went nuts over the Kit-Kat.
The next few days passed in a blur with everyone focused on the sports carnival. At school, we talked of little else. Mrs Murcher even arranged for extra training sessions during school hours.
At home, it was the opposite. No one mentioned training or the carnival. I didn’t volunteer any information, either. What was the point? Training counted for nothing. Talking about winning counted for less. In Dad’s eyes, only winning counted. At least, that’s what I hoped. Maybe if I made it to the state finals things would improve. Maybe. And if.
The Wednesday morning before the carnival, I waited on my bike in the usual spot for Teena.
‘Sorry,’ she said when she arrived fifteen minutes late. ‘Luke wanted to ride to school with me. It took Dad and me ages to convince him he was too young. Sometimes he’s so pig-headed.’
‘That’s okay. Let’s go.’
We pedalled off down Burnett Street. When we turned onto Clapton Street, the tarred road became gravel. Busy talking, we didn’t notice the jagged rock jutting out of the road. My front tyre bounced off it, sending me veering towards Teena. We crashed. Teena’s pedal got stuck in the spokes of my front wheel. The bikes came to a sudden stop. Teena flew headlong into the grass beside the road. I soared over my handlebars then slid along the gravel using my hands and knees for brakes.
The dust settled. I came to my senses and saw Teena hovering over me. ‘Ebony! Are you okay?’
She didn’t have a scratch on her. The grass had saved her. I was a mess. The gravel had shredded my knees, right arm, shoulder, thigh and hands. I stared at the angry red gashes that had replaced my skin. Blood seeped, red and hot out of every jagged, dusty, razory gash.
Teena gave me a gentle shake. ‘Are you okay? Ebony?’
‘I think so,’ I mumbled trying hard not to cry, even though that’s all I wanted to do. I hurt all over and the shock of what had happened was too much. Tears trickled down my cheeks and I cracked up.
Teena hugged me and said everything would be all right then she helped me to my feet. My stomach reeled. I turned my head to throw up.
Teena turned as pale as pavlova.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine. But you look dreadful.’
‘I don’t feel so good, either. Let’s get to school so I can get cleaned up.’
I wiped my tears away and told myself not to cry. We picked up our bikes, which, luckily, were okay. Somehow, I made it to school without throwing up again or fainting. Teena helped me up to Mrs Murcher’s office where we found her gazing out the window at the river.
‘Excuse me, Mrs Murcher,’ Teena said.
Mrs Murcher turned around, a faraway look on her face. ‘Yes, girls?’
I held my arm up to show Mrs Murcher the graze on my elbow.
‘Go wash it.’ She looked annoyed. ‘You know where the bandaids are.’
‘There’s more.’ I showed her my knees and lifted my shorts to reveal the graze on my thigh. Then I turned my torn hands towards he
r.
Now Mrs Murcher had turned pale. ‘Right. Well. We’d better get you some first aid.’ She ushered me into the sick bay and sat me on a chair. ‘Fetch Mrs Austen,’ she ordered Teena.
Teena scurried off while Mrs Murcher rummaged through the first aid kit. Then she supervised while Mrs Austen, the school secretary, fixed me up. She washed my cuts with saline solution, stopping every so often to pick out a pebble. Even though she was gentle, it hurt. I was shaking from the pain and shock, but I refused to cry in front of everyone, so I chewed my lip. Hard. Harder.
Once the cuts were clean, Mrs Austen dabbed Dettol cream on them then taped gauze squares over the top. Padded white squares covered my body and I was more than ready to lie down or faint or both.
‘You’re obviously not well enough to stay at school,’ Mrs Murcher said. ‘I’ll call your mother.’ She disappeared into her office and returned a few minutes later. ‘She’ll be here shortly.’
Teena and Mrs Austen helped me onto the stretcher bed. Teena stayed with me while I waited for Mum, reading to me from an old school magazine to fill the time. Half an hour later Mum showed up, looking frazzled.
I’d never been so glad to see Mum, but I tried not to show it in front of Teena.
‘Where’s Dad?’ I asked.
‘In the car with the girls. Sorry we took so long. Your father insisted on feeding the animals before we came.’ She hovered over me, checking out my bandages and groaning and gasping at them all.
‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ I told her.
‘Hmm. I’m not sure about that.’ She frowned, looking worried. ‘Come on, let’s get you home, love.’ She took my elbow and helped me up. Teena held my other arm. They steered me towards the door.
Chloe and Miranda spotted us and ran over. ‘What happened?’
‘I came off my bike.’
‘You poor thing,’ Chloe said. She actually sounded like she meant it.
‘You look terrible,’ said Miranda. ‘Are you going to be all right?’
I nodded and shuffled towards the car, waiting for Miranda to say something smart about the ‘tribe’ again. All she said was, ‘I hope you get better soon.’
‘I’ll call you tonight,’ Teena said.
Running from the Tiger Page 8