by Des Hunt
‘No! I don’t care who hears. I’m not going!’ She climbed to her feet, throwing back the chair. ‘And nobody’s going to make me.’ Before any of us could react she was gone, running from the room.
Mum moved to go after her.
‘Leave her,’ said Dad quietly. ‘Let her calm down a bit.’
Mum picked up the fallen chair and tucked it under the table before sitting down again.
After a long silence, I asked, ‘When does this happen?’
‘April,’ said Dad. ‘You’ll be able to finish the term out.’
‘Are you going to live at Nana’s farm?’
‘Yes. A granny flat will be moved in for Mum. It will sit next to the pond. We’ll be able to keep an eye on her, with us all still having some privacy.’
I’d been to the little farm several times and could picture the set-up. What I couldn’t picture, though, was me living there.
‘Why couldn’t you get another Aussie job?’
‘There weren’t any. Not in this salary range. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.’
Mum took Dad’s hand. ‘We were always going to move back to New Zealand at some stage,’ she said. ‘It’s just come a little sooner than we’d planned.’ A pause. ‘You’ll soon get used to it, Pete. After all, you are a Kiwi.’
That was true, except I didn’t feel like a New Zealander. I’d been in Australia since I was two. As far back as I could remember I’d been an Aussie, and I’d always thought it would stay that way, despite what it said on my passport. ‘Where will I go to school?’
Dad’s face brightened. ‘Ah! That’s one of the best features of the package. Both you and Aimee get free entry to a private school. There are several in the district. You’ll be going to Franklin Collegiate. It’s rapidly becoming New Zealand’s top boys school. You’ll get a much better education there than you would if we stayed back here.’
‘And there’s a bus that goes right past the gate,’ added Mum. ‘The whole thing couldn’t be better.’
I said nothing. The enormity of the shift was just starting to sink in. I now understood why Aimee was so upset. This was not just a matter of shifting from one place to another; this was a life-changing event. It not only involved a change in schools, lifestyle and culture, it would require a change in friends, and it was that which frightened me the most.
Chapter 3
‘We’ve got to fight this thing,’ said Dean, angrily. ‘We can’t let it happen.’
It was lunchtime at school the day after dinner at the club. I’d just told Dean about the planned shift to New Zealand. I thought he might be upset, but the anger I was now seeing came as a surprise.
‘No one,’ he said, grimly, ‘absolutely no one messes with the Steel Pelicans like this.’
‘What can we do?’ I asked.
‘We’ve got to change your father’s mind.’ He thought for a time. ‘Maybe I could get Dad to offer him more money?’
‘But money’s not the only reason for the shift. A lot of it’s about my Nana. She needs looking after.’
‘Let’s hope she dies,’ said Dean.
I looked away. Dean sometimes talked like that. He didn’t really mean it.
‘I don’t want her to die,’ I said quietly.
‘Then maybe you should convince her to shift over here?’
That was a good idea. We could probably fit a granny flat on our place. It would be crowded, but it was not as if it would be forever. While I was processing this, Dean had another thought.
‘Or you could shift in with us,’ he said slowly. Then he brightened. ‘Yes!’ he shouted. ‘That’s it! You can live with us. Then we’ll have heaps of time to do things. It’ll be perfect. What could be better than the Steel Pelicans living together?’ He grabbed my arm in excitement. ‘What do you think?’
Fortunately the bell went at that moment. By the time it had stopped ringing we were surrounded by other students moving back to class, and the chance to answer passed. Just as well, for I had no idea what I would say. One part of me thought it was a great idea. But another part wasn’t so sure. Having Dean as a friend was one thing; living with him was likely to be something altogether different.
I never did get around to giving my opinion about living with the Steeles. It didn’t make any difference, for Dean went about organizing things as if he had my permission.
The Steele family was quite different to ours. First, Dean was the only child. I sometimes wondered whether after having Dean his parents must have thought that children weren’t such a great idea and so they stopped trying. More likely it was because they were too busy to have time for children. Certainly, they didn’t seem to spend much time with Dean. Most often, when I was at their house, the only adult around was Julie the housekeeper.
Dean began his campaign the next weekend. His strategy was the same as that used to get a particular gift for his birthday or Christmas. The golden rule was never to ask for anything directly: they had to think it was their idea.
It started with a sleepover at the Steeles’ house. At the first mealtime where we were all together, Dean told them that we were off to New Zealand.
David Steele nodded. ‘Yes, I did know that,’ he said in his managerial voice. ‘Brendon handed in his resignation yesterday.’
This came as a bit of a shock to me. While I knew that he’d have to resign to take up another job, the fact that it had happened made the whole thing seem too real. Now there was no going back.
‘We’ll be sad to see him go,’ continued David, ‘but it’s a very good move for him. It’s a more senior position, one that will inevitably lead to greater things.’
Dean looked at me, as if urging me to give my opinion. I didn’t know how to begin, so I just sat there looking dumb. Sarah Steele rescued me.
‘How do you feel about the move, Pete?’ she asked.
‘I don’t want to go.’
She nodded. ‘I can understand that. It’s a big shift, moving away from all your friends. Still, you’re young and you’ll soon make new ones.’
‘What about the friends he leaves behind?’ asked Dean. ‘I don’t want him to go either.’
‘You have other friends,’ said David.
‘None as good as Pete,’ replied Dean, sadly.
Nothing more was said, but Dean’s campaign was underway. The technique was simple: whenever I was around the house, Dean was happy and helpful; when I wasn’t, he was morose and rude.
Of course this strategy meant that I had to spend a lot of time at the Steeles’ house. That was good, because it kept me away from the battle between Aimee and my parents. If Dean’s technique was to nibble away in the background, Aimee’s was a full-frontal, teeth-bared attack. At any mention of the shift, she would launch a strike at whoever was around. While there was often yelling, there was also a lot of logic behind her argument.
Aimee was in Year Twelve, her last year at school. By the time we left, there would be only two terms of classes left before the exams in October. It made sense that she stayed and finished the year. She’d already sorted out that she could live with her best friend, Cleo Harrison. To add pressure on Mum and Dad, she got the support of the principal at school. He wrote a letter outlining the difficulties Aimee would have in switching education systems so late in her schooling. This proved to be the turning point, for after the letter arrived I noticed that the arguments became less vicious.
Around that time came an incident that affected Dean’s campaign and many other things that followed. Once again I was staying with the Steeles for the weekend, and, as usual, we went down to the local super market to stock up for an all-night session of game-playing.
Along one of the aisles, Dean picked up four packets of matches — they’re the wrapped ones, with each containing 10 boxes. That didn’t surprise me, as I knew that match heads were the main ingredients in his fireworks. It was what happened next that was unexpected.
He looked up and down the aisle, and when he saw it was clear, he grabbe
d hold of my trousers and stuffed a packet into the pocket. Then he reached to the other side and put one in that pocket. The other two packets went into his trousers.
It was over so quickly that I really didn’t have a chance to react. But as we moved around the shop collecting other items I became increasingly scared of what would happen when we got to the checkout. By the time we reached the last aisle, I had made up my mind. I pulled the trolley into a corner, took the packets out of my pockets and dumped them on top of the drinks and food.
Dean glared at me. ‘What are you doing?’ he growled.
‘I’m not stealing,’ I said.
‘Why not?’
I shook my head. ‘I’m just not doing it.’
For a while it looked like he was going to argue further. Then he gave a little shrug before removing the two packets from his pockets and dumping them in the trolley.
‘You happy now?’ he demanded.
Without answering I pushed the trolley towards the checkout, hoping that nobody had seen us.
At first it seemed like we’d be all right. The items were scanned and paid for as usual. It was only when we were about to go out the door that a big bloke stepped in front of us. A photo ID badge on his chest said he was store security.
‘Could you come with me, please?’ he asked politely, but in a way that could not be refused.
‘Why?’ replied Dean. ‘We haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘Just step this way, please, sir,’ said the security guy, indicating stairs to an upper level. ‘The manager would like to speak to you.’
‘Good!’ said Dean, ‘Because I’d like to speak to him, too.’ He then led the way, marching up the stairs to the manager’s office.
The manager was a her, not a him. She paused her telephone conversation long enough to indicate that we should each take a chair. The security guy took our shopping bags and put them on her desk before moving to stand outside the door.
It soon became clear that the telephone conversation was about us, and the manager was asking somebody else to come around. When the conversation finished, she carefully replaced the telephone in its cradle. ‘The police will be here shortly,’ she said. Then she began shuffling through papers as if we didn’t exist.
The police! Now I was really scared. I looked across to Dean and saw that he was tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair, a sure sign that he was worried.
We must have stayed like that for ten minutes before a man arrived. There was no telling from his clothing that he was a policeman. He wasn’t even particularly big.
He and the manager must have known each other, for they just nodded before the policeman pulled up a chair and sat facing us.
‘Good afternoon,’ he said in a friendly enough voice. ‘I’m Detective Constable Wilson, and you are?’
We each gave our name.
‘Right, I’m here because of what you’ve got in this bag here.’ He opened the bag and fished around for a while, before extracting each of the four packets of matches which he stacked on the desktop. ‘These,’ he said. ‘Why do you need so many matches?’ He looked from one of us to the other.
When his eyes settled on me, I shrugged, unable to think of a suitable lie. He turned to Dean. ‘And you?’
‘They’re for my technology project at school,’ said Dean without blinking.
DC Wilson clearly wasn’t expecting that answer. ‘Please explain,’ he said.
‘I’m making a coffee table that will be inlaid with a design made from matches. I need thousands of them. I buy some each time I come shopping. Am I doing something wrong?’
‘Not necessarily,’ replied the policeman. He thought for a while, weighing up how much he should say. ‘The problem is that matches can be used for things other than lighting fires and cigarettes. We’ve asked the managers in all the super markets to contact us if they’re suspicious about the purchase of large quantities of several items. Matches are one of those.’
‘What can matches be used for?’ asked Dean in his most innocent voice.
Again, the DC weighed up his answer. ‘Drugs,’ he finally answered. ‘They’re used to make drugs.’
I don’t know how Dean reacted, but I know my jaw dropped.
‘Methamphetamine, to be specific,’ continued DC Wilson. ‘Or “ice”, as it’s known to criminals.’
‘You thought we were buying them to make drugs?’ I said.
‘Criminals use all sorts of people to make their purchases, including children.’
‘Not us,’ said Dean.
‘So you say,’ said the policeman. ‘And I tend to believe you. But I will have to check out your story.’ He pulled a notebook from the inside of his jacket. ‘I need a full name, address, telephone number and school from each of you.’
We gave him the details, and a few minutes later were walking away from the super market carrying our purchases, including the four packets of matches.
‘That wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been such a wuss,’ said Dean.
‘I’m not a thief,’ I replied.
He turned his head and studied me for a few strides. ‘How do you think I’ve got all of those matches in the past?’
I looked at him sharply. ‘You stole them all?’
‘It’s not really stealing. The shops are already charging for losses from shoplifting. If it didn’t happen they’d make too much profit.’ A pause. ‘Anyway it’s much more exciting than paying for everything.’
There was nothing I could say to that, and for a time we walked in silence.
‘Just as well I had a cover story, wasn’t it?’ said Dean, as we turned into his street.
‘Are you really making a coffee table?’ I asked.
He nodded. ‘Of course I am.’ Then he burst out laughing. ‘I had to do something with all the match sticks I’ve collected, didn’t I?’
Chapter 4
One of the features of our family was the evening dinner. It was always a sit-down meal which started at exactly seven-thirty.
In the weeks following the New Zealand decision, the meals had been strained. But by the time of the supermarket episode, things had settled down a bit. On the Tuesday evening, Dad said he had an announcement to make. Instantly, the tension was back.
‘OK,’ he said, placing his hands flat down on the table, ‘we’ve got a few organizational things to discuss about the shift.’
I glanced over to Aimee. She was studying the tablecloth, her face tight with tension.
‘The first thing is that the house has been placed on the market. From now on until it is sold there are likely to be people visiting at all times of the day. So that means everything will have to be tidy, including your rooms.’
‘Who’s selling it?’ I asked.
‘Kembla Realty,’ replied Dad.
‘Mrs Steele offered to do it,’ I said.
Dad shook his head. ‘There are reasons for not using Sarah Steele.’
Before I had a chance to respond, he’d moved on. ‘We’ve also set the date for shifting. It’s the fourteenth of April.’
‘That’s the first Monday of the school holidays,’ added Mum.
Aimee and I said nothing.
‘And the final thing,’ said Dad, looking directly at Aimee, ‘is that, even though it will be upsetting to the family, Jenny and I have decided that Aimee should finish her studies here.’
Aimee looked up at him with a puzzled expression. ‘Does that mean I can live with Cleo?’
Both Mum and Dad nodded.
For a time Aimee sat absolutely still. Then she exploded from her chair, punching the air. ‘Yes!’ she screamed ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’
Mum and Dad laughed, enjoying her reaction. I was happy, too. Not only for Aimee, but also in anticipation that the same thing might happen to me.
Next day, at school, I told Dean about the good news.
He nodded. ‘You’ll be staying behind, too.’
I stared at him. ‘How do you know?’
‘That doesn’t mean it’s going to happen,’ I said.
‘Yes, it does. She talked to Dad, and he’s going to tell your father today.’
‘He won’t like it,’ I said, thinking of the comment he’d made about Mrs Steele.
‘Yes he will,’ said Dean. ‘Dad will convince him. Bet he tells you tonight. Come around as soon as you find out.’
Dinner that night was just the three of us, because Aimee was celebrating with Cleo.
Before the meal, Dad and Mum had a serious conversation in the kitchen while I watched television. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I knew it was about me. It seemed like Dean had got it right.
The news was held back until after we’d finished the main course.
‘I had a phone call about you today,’ said Dad.
I nodded in anticipation.
‘It was from the police.’
The nodding stopped as my heart missed a couple of beats. This wasn’t what he was meant to say.
He looked at me grimly. ‘Why didn’t you tell us that you’d been caught at the super market buying a large quantity of matches?’
I went into disaster recovery mode. ‘They weren’t mine,’ I said. ‘They were Dean’s. He bought them for technology.’
‘Yes,’ said Dad. ‘I know that’s what he told the police. And apparently it’s true. But it’s only part of the truth, isn’t it?’ He glared at me waiting for a response.
My eyes wanted to look down, but I forced them to stay where they were.
‘I know it’s only part of the truth,’ continued Dad, ‘because I also had a phone call from your principal. He tells me that there is talk around the school that you and Dean are making explosives.’
‘They’re just rumours,’ I said, weakly.
He shook his head. ‘No, they’re not. I’ve had confirmation from another source.’
‘Who?’
‘Leo Elliot’s father.’
I lowered my eyes.
‘He tells me that you’ve already had a narrow escape from injury.’
I shrugged. ‘I wasn’t hurt.’