“What do you mean?”
He looks over at the library, eyes twinkling. “I had trouble remembering the phone number. I might have left a digit off.”
“Way to go. I’ll text Mum to pick us up.”
“Ask her to collect us from the Visitor Centre. We need to check whether there’s a security system.”
“Better still, I’ll get her to pick us up from Lucy’s house. Otherwise she’ll ask a million questions about what we were doing there.”
I send a text to Mum and one to Lucy, warning her to expect a surprise visit from Kenichi. She would never forgive me if we turned up and she was wearing her favourite old tracksuit.
great. see you soon
“My turn.” Kenichi reaches for the knocker.
The bell rings its approval for our plan, following us all the way to the end of the first block.
“Do you think Coralie will take us to Orange tomorrow after school?”
“We can’t go tomorrow. We need to get Masaki’s photo.”
The silence echoes louder than the bell did.
“We could do both,” he finally says.
“To get to the Visitor Centre we need to stay tomorrow night at Lucy’s place. Mum wouldn’t agree to Orange and a sleepover on the same day. We need to grab the photo first and then we can spend Friday in Orange. We can leave straight after your goodbye assembly. Mum will write a note.
He shakes his head. “What if we get caught getting the photo? We won’t be going anywhere on Friday then.”
“We’re not going to get caught.”
“I can’t risk it.” He stops walking. “I’m going to ask Coralie to take me tomorrow. You don’t have to come with me.”
I turn and face him. “I’m not going to. And you don’t have to come with me. I’ll get the photo by myself.”
I’m not interested in his answer. I run, leaving him to chase behind.
I don’t hesitate at the door like I did last time with school. I head straight for Masaki’s photo.
It’s not there. I look around, my eyes mine-sweeping the room. Does Miss Beadle know what we’re up to? Has she already arranged for it to be hidden away?
That’s ridiculous. She can’t possibly suspect anything. I take a deep breath and listen for the changes. The columns and rows line up in a matrix, sorting the exhibition items into boxes. None of the boxes are empty so I know nothing is missing. Masaki’s photo is here somewhere. My synth sense of order knows it is.
The girl at the reception counter looks up from her book.
“What happened to that photo?” I point to the unfaded patch on the wall.
“The glass shattered yesterday. It was like an explosion. A class had only just left, so maybe one of the kids had something to do with it. I had to buy a new frame from the hardware store.” She retrieves Masaki’s photo from under the counter. “Not as fancy as the old one but at least it can go back on the wall. Do you mind hanging it for me?”
My hands tremble as I return the photo to its hook. I’m supposed to take it away from here.
“It won’t be long. I know your name now,” I whisper. “I’ll be back tomorrow night to help you escape.”
I shudder as voices explode inside my head, ricocheting like machine gun bursts. Screaming and shouting. Sharp. Hurtful. I push my hands against my ears. The photo is going home, so why are the voices so angry?
I feel Kenichi’s presence beside me.
The voices diminish into a murmur, then fade to nothing. I get the message. Kenichi and I need to work together to do what needs to be done.
“I’m sorry I was snarky before,” I say. “We’ll go to Orange tomorrow and come back here Friday night. We can leave in the morning. Mum told me you don’t have to go to school every day if she arranges something for you.”
Inside my head, the drums are soft and gentle, announcing there’s more to know. I need to share this with Kenichi. When I rest my arm on his, he startles, but doesn’t pull away.
The Camp kitchen is a large room, with pots and pans hanging from the overhead rafters. Bags of potatoes and rice are stacked under the table. A man sits straight and tall, his back braced against the bags.
His eyes are closed. His face is calm. He’s somewhere a long way away from Cowra.
I smell the sea and its gritty saltiness settles on my tongue. Masaki’s thinking of home.
The photo on the wall is glowing with a cherry-blossom pink aura.
I let go of Kenichi’s arm.
“Thank you, Shallot.” He sniffs, puzzled. “I can smell cherry blossom.”
“Today you’re a little bit synth, like me.” I look along the wall. “There are so many photos here. I wonder what makes returning this one so important? It’s like a jigsaw piece is still missing.”
“We don’t need to answer every question.” Kenichi’s mouth crinkles into a smile. “The missing bit might be just a piece of sky.”
Very funny. That doesn’t help at all.
“Let’s investigate the security system,” he says. “I’m more worried about that.”
“What are we looking for?”
“Cameras. Switches. Anything with little lights flashing.”
That sounds too hit-and-miss for me. No pattern at all. We’d never know if we’d found everything.
“I’ve got a better idea. Wait here. I’m going to ask.”
“You look familiar,” I say to the girl behind the counter. “Did you go to Cowra High?”
“I left last year. This is my first job.”
“Really? You must be doing great. You’re in charge already. I’d be worried about someone trying to steal stuff or forgetting to lock up. I suppose there’s some sort of alarm.”
She laughs. “I lock the door every night. There’s nothing of any value in here. Just a lot of tourist trash.”
“I can see that.” I pick up a snow globe and shake it. “Can I drop my resume in to you? Maybe you’ll need some school holiday help.”
She laughs again. “Sure, but try other places too. There’s not much holiday demand here. You’d be better off trying your luck at McDonald’s.”
“Thanks for the advice. I’ll give it a go.”
I find Kenichi surreptitiously looking behind the hologram show curtain.
“Discover anything?” I ask.
“Nothing yet,” he says.
“That’s because there’s nothing to find, Sherlock.”
“How do you know?”
“I asked.” I nod towards the counter. “She locks the door at night. There isn’t even an alarm. We just have to work out how to get past a locked door.”
Kenichi wriggles his fingers. “Maybe I can learn a little lock-picking magic from YouTube.”
“You can do more than that. I’ve had a brilliant idea. You can take a photo of the photo. Let’s see if your fancy camera can help us make a forgery that’ll fool Miss Beadle.”
He grins. “I wouldn’t have thought of that.”
I check my watch. “I told Lucy we’d be there by five. We might have to run part of the way.”
“That’s okay. You can catch me this time.”
Lucy makes the best hot chocolate ever. White Belgian chocolate with a pink marshmallow drowning in the middle. If Kenichi doesn’t remember her, he’ll remember this. I inhale the taste and roll it around my brain.
“How did it go with Nana Ruth?” she asks.
“It was like we’d never been separated. I’m so glad you convinced me to visit her. And we might have found Kenichi’s great-grandfather. In Orange.”
“Amazing. What are the odds of that?”
“Less than zero.” I pick the marshmallow out with my fingers and lick off the chocolate. “It gets even more amazing. Kenichi’s great-grandfather gave Elsie the photo. I saw him give her a note and Nana Ruth had it. It was written in Japanese and when Kenichi translated it, everything fell into place.”
“I’m going to ask Coralie to take me to Orange tomorrow.” Kenichi
sucks up his marshmallow in one mouthful.
“This week is going so fast.”
“Too fast,” Lucy agrees. “You haven’t even walked around town.”
“What if Kenichi and I spend the night at your place on Friday? We can grab a coffee after school and hang at the park. Kenichi should spend at least one afternoon in cosmopolitan Cowra.”
“I’d like that,” he says.
“Me too.” The air around Lucy sparkles sticky with pink fairy dust and strawberry cupcake icing sugar.
“There’s something else Kenichi and I need to do Friday night.”
“Top-secret stuff we need your help with,” he adds.
She leans closer to Kenichi. “I’m in. You can count on me.”
“Thanks, Luce.” I huddle up too. “A photo might go missing from the Visitor Centre.”
Her eyes widen. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Nana Ruth’s note asked my great-grandmother to return the photo to Masaki’s family. Great-nan Elsie didn’t know because it was in Japanese, but now I do and so I have to return it.”
“Who’s Masaki?” Lucy asks. “I thought the man in the photo was called Shin.”
“Masaki is Shin’s real name,” explains Kenichi.
“It’s too dangerous,” Lucy says. “Miss Beadle knows you’re interested in the photo and she sounds like a real bull terrier. She’ll be on to you.”
“Hopefully she won’t notice. Kenichi is going to make a copy with his sci-fi camera. The exhibition doesn’t need the real thing. But we still need you as an alibi, just in case. And your house is close enough for us to walk to the Visitor Centre.”
“Of course you can stay here.”
Lucy settles against the back of her chair. “Ken will have to share a room with George. Sorry, Ken. My little brother is a pain. We’ll need a rock-solid background story to fool both our mums. What if we tell them it’s a special group assignment and we want to do some extra work so Ken gets a really good mark to show his parents?”
“That’s brilliant. Extra work and helping Kenichi ticks all Mum’s boxes.”
“There’s no going back now,” Lucy says.
Kenichi and I look at each other. Going back was never an option.
“We shouldn’t get too excited. It might not be him.” Mum packs lunch into the esky like she’s playing a game of Tetris. A high score effort.
I clear the breakfast table. Kenichi is in Eli’s room updating his journal. I’ve never seen anyone eat so fast.
“I’ve rung the school and told the Principal you’re going to Orange today where Kenichi’s great-grandfather might be living. It was lucky Grace stumbled on this information before Ken went home,” Mum says.
I don’t have the courage to tell her it was Nana Ruth who told us. I’m happy to let her think it was Miss Beadle. It’s not really lying when I didn’t say it. I already feel uncomfortable about not telling her I visited Nana Ruth.
“If it is his great-grandfather, he almost missed seeing him. That’s too awful to think about, isn’t it?” Mum snaps the lid in place.
What about me? Nana Ruth lives in the same town and Mum doesn’t think I need to see her. I know this is the wrong time, but I have to say it.
“Just like it’s awful for me not to be able to see my grandmother who lives in the same town.”
Mum’s face hardens.
“It’s the same thing,” I persist.
Like a twisted strand of DNA, we belong together. Not just Nana Ruth and me, but Mum too, except she won’t admit the biology staring her in the face. I want to say all this to Mum, but the words won’t come out.
“It’s different.”
“But Mum . . .”
“Not now, Charlotte,” she says.
I stomp off to my room and slam the door so hard it bounces back open. Mum’s words revolve and echo inside my head. I bury my face in my pillow to muffle the noise.
“Can I come in?” Kenichi asks.
I sit up and nod.
He comes in and sits on the end of my bed.
“I like your room.” He doesn’t mention the door-slamming. “I’ve never seen a room like this.”
I like my room too. There are fractal posters on the walls and some drawings I did that are not too bad, and some Lucy did that are brilliant. Luckily, I’ve removed the calendar I was using to count the days until Kenichi left. That would’ve been hard to explain. I’ve got three bookcases full of things I collect, and a bed with a canopy. I feel like Anne Boleyn sleeping in there. When she still had her head.
One wall is purple, another yellow, one green and the fourth I painted in rainbow ripples. The ceiling is cobalt blue and splattered with silver stars. Lucy says the colours press in on her and make her want to scream. We always sit outside on the verandah together and Lucy insists on sleeping on the couch. No one ever sits in here with me, until today.
“I heard you and Coralie arguing. Was it about going to Orange? It wasn’t fair of me to ask when we have to go back to the airport there on Sunday.”
“I tried to talk to her about Nana Ruth. Orange isn’t a problem. She’s thrilled to think that you might have found your great-grandfather. Orange is a regular trip for her. It’s the nearest decent shopping centre. Mum likes to drive.”
“Do you think I have?”
“I don’t know, but I’m crossing my fingers and toes. Everything except my eyes.”
“I’m so hopeful,” he says. “It’s like a gap in my family is closing.”
It’s not as simple for me, but my gaps are closing, too, like wounds healing. It doesn’t hurt as much to think about Eli, Nana Ruth is back in my life and I know, no matter how many tantrums I throw, Mum will always be there.
Blinking fast usually holds back any tears but, this time, a big one manages to escape, running down my nose.
Kenichi wipes it away with his finger.
If any other boy did that, I’d thump him.
“I’m okay.” It’s the truth. Although things aren’t perfect, they feel more right than they’ve ever been. I don’t want to talk about that anymore. “Have you looked to see where we’re going?”
He opens Google Maps on his phone and turns it to show me. The screen displays the facade of an old terrace house.
“Weird to think he might be behind that door. What will you say to him?”
“I’ll tell him about my mother, his granddaughter. I’ll tell him about my father and my sisters. My grandmother told wonderful stories about him that her mother had told her. She . . .” He stops abruptly. “What if he doesn’t want to see me?”
“Trust me. This is meant to happen.” I feel so sure of it. All this can’t have happened for nothing.
“Is that a synth thing?”
I want to say it’s a friend thing, but I can’t. I don’t know why. It’s not because I don’t like him. I do. The words just don’t fit. They’re not even close. The shape is all wrong and there’s no way I can force them, even when I want to.
“It’s a team thing,” I say.
The sky is overcast, and the air is heavy with cloud. Before long, rain streams down the car windows. The dancing back and forth rhythm of the windscreen wipers makes me sleepy. That’s fine with me. I don’t need to make conversation. Mum isn’t talking to me, anyway.
She asks Kenichi lots of questions about his great-grandfather. He answers politely with brief sentences. The tension in the air makes conversation uncomfortable.
“I never even dreamed I would see my great-great-grandfather. I’m so nervous,” Kenichi says.
I’m nervous for him too. I give him a thumbs-up.
Eventually, Mum grows quiet. I hope she’s thinking about what I said. Kenichi’s hope is bright, but Mum’s mood blankets the car with silver. Her sadness is silver, it never shines. It just glimmers wistfully.
Kenichi leans back and closes his eyes so I plug my earphones in, leaving both of them alone with their thoughts. The music fills my head with col
our. Today I’m listening to country rock. It’s swirling blue and green. I don’t need to think. I can just relax and watch.
It’s mid-morning when Mum turns into Anniston Street. Even rain can’t wash away the greyness that hinges the terrace houses together in a bedraggled row. Not one looks like a home. It wouldn’t take much, a splash of paint and a few pot plants in the front yard, except no one has bothered to care.
Halfway down the street, a large tree extends across the road, veering any vehicles into one lane. I like that there’s a tree in charge, dictating where cars can and can’t go. We stop outside number 27, two doors up from the tree.
A birdwing-blue sign is tacked to the front door. “Shady Rest Boarding House. Enter and Be Welcome.” Underneath, someone has sticky-taped a handwritten note, “One room vacant. Enquire at the Office.”
“I’ll wait here. Someone in the office will be able to help you,” Mum says. “You can text me if you need me to come in. There’s no hurry. I’ve brought something to read.” She pulls a super-thick book out of her bag. “Take your time.”
“You’re coming with me, aren’t you, Shallot?” Kenichi clasps and unclasps his hands.
I’m surprised he thinks he has to do this alone. I want to support him and there’s no way I’m staying in the car with Mum.
“When we left I was certain it was him. Now I’m here, I’m sure it isn’t,” he says.
“If that’s true, you’re no worse off than before and at least you can say you’ve been to Orange. That would have to be a highlight of any visit to Australia.” I open my door. “Let’s go.”
I was wrong about plants. There’s a garden here. Two terracotta pots painted with a zigzag pattern sprout clutches of straggly herbs. They struggle for breath in the dry soil where the rain can’t reach.
“This looks like an okay place to live,” I say. “Much better than the other houses we passed.”
The door is ajar and opens with a gentle push. A long hallway runs through to the back of the house, into a small walled courtyard. The carpet in the hall is worn and threadbare but clean.
A smaller green sign hangs off the first doorway. Inside the office, an old woman with knitting needles behind her ears and overlong bright red fingernails sits behind a schoolroom desk, writing in a large notebook. How can she even hold the pen with those nails? She grins to see two potential customers.
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