by Murray, Lee
Awarriorx: Kieran. You there? [ENTER]
KCClarke: Yep. [ENTER]
Awarriorx: You still getting in some hours at Domino’s? [ENTER]
KCClarke: Not so much. A few. Why? [ENTER]
Awarriorx: Could you lend me some cash? A couple of hundred? [ENTER]
KCClarke: Why? What’s going on? [ENTER]
Awarriorx: Little trip to Aussie. [ENTER]
KCClarke: You’re kidding? Who with? [ENTER]
Awarriorx: My girlfriend. [ENTER]
Adam smiles when he types those words. He imagines the look on Kieran’s face.
KCClarke: You sly bastard. Skye, right? Tell me everything. [ENTER]
Awarriorx: Can you lend me the money? [ENTER]
KCClarke: No problem. I know about girlfriends. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, right? When are you going? [ENTER]
Awarriorx: In a week. Middle weekend of the holidays. [ENTER]
KCClarke: What about boot camp? [ENTER]
Awarriorx: Not going to make it. What are you doing now? Can you come over? I’ll tell you all about it, but it’s STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL. [ENTER]
KCClarke: Intrigue! Awesome. Mum and Gary have gone out. There’s only me and Kayley home. I can be there in ten. [ENTER]
Awarriorx: Great. Stop at the money machine to get the cash first. [ENTER]
KCClarke: Okay. [ENTER]
Awarriorx: You still get a staff discount at Domino’s? [ENTER]
KCClarke: Yep. [ENTER]
Awarriorx: Get some pizza too. [ENTER]
Chapter 28
Lying awake, studying the patterns in the curtains, I reflect on my day. This morning, I met my girlfriend in town.
My girlfriend. Cool.
The chemist had only been open ten minutes when we ducked in to get Skye a couple of passport photos. Then we whipped back to the flat so Skye could get her neighbour to sign the back of the photo as a witness. We stuck the forms and the photos in a courier bag and sent it off to Wellington with the fee for processing. Now we just have to wait, fingers crossed, for Skye’s passport to arrive in time. Skye says the post comes mid-morning while Aroha is at work, so she should be able to intercept the package before her mother sees it.
This girlfriend thing is tricky. I didn’t realise girls were so random. One minute Skye was all keyed up about going, and the next minute she was biting her lip and fretting about lying to Aroha. And although she didn’t say anything, I think she’s pretty nervous about how her dad will react when she turns up out of the blue. To top it all off, she’s miffed at me because I told Kieran about our plans. Well, I had to. I explained to her that he had to be in on it because I needed to borrow some money from him. For her passport. I think she understood—we’d agreed that to keep the secret from Aroha, we couldn’t use too much of Skye’s savings—but she still wasn’t happy. She doesn’t think Kieran can keep a secret. I told her we could trust him because he’s my best mate, and she made that little snorting sound she sometimes makes. I wish Mum were here. I bet she could tell me what those little noises mean.
This afternoon, after I dropped Skye back home AND KISSED HER GOODBYE, I went into town with Gran to shop for a gift for Grandpa’s birthday. As expected, Gran had me traipsing around your typical granny stores like Postie Plus and Hallensteins, and we were on our way into Farmers when we saw Mum’s friend Maria coming out. She was clutching her handbag to her side, as if she was trying to disappear into it, and her eyes slid away from us. It was mega-clear she wanted to avoid us. If it’d been me on my own, she might’ve slipped past, but avoiding Gran is like evading a battleship in a bathtub.
‘Hello, Maria!’ Gran enthused. ‘How lovely to see you, dear!’
‘Oh, hello, Wynn, Adam. I didn’t see you there.’ Like hell.
Then Gran said, ‘We’ve come into town to buy John some bits and bobs. It’s his birthday coming up and we like to make a wee fuss of him. Brightens him up.’ I watched for Maria’s reaction. Grandpa’s birthday is two days before Mum’s. Generally, we’ve celebrated both birthdays on the neutral day in between, and several times Maria’s come along to the family party.
‘Oh, really?’ Maria said. The words come out in a high-pitched squeak. ‘Didn’t that come around quickly? You’ll give him my regards, won’t you? Well, I must dash. Things to do, people to see. You know how it is.’
‘Yes, dear, we do,’ Gran said cryptically. She had her eyes fixed on Maria when she said it.
‘Okay. Right. Lovely to see you. Bye, then.’
‘Well!’ Gran said, after Maria had hurried away. ‘You’d think the hounds of hell were on her heels, wouldn’t you?’
‘She didn’t mention Mum,’ I said. ‘Not even to ask how the investigation is going.’
‘You know what? I think it’s time for a cuppa, Adam. An old lady like me can’t go charging around the shops without keeping her fluid levels up. Yes, I think a cup of tea’d be just the ticket.’
Gran and I joined the small queue at the tearoom located inside the department store and separated from the merchandise by a table-height brick wall. I chose a smoothie and a slice of carrot cake from the cabinet, and Gran ordered a pot of tea. We sat down at a table I’d picked out at the back with a view over the aisles of pastel babywear. Kind of glum, I ate my carrot cake. Gran waited about a minute before starting in. One thing Gran has never been is backwards in coming forward.
‘I must say I’m a bit surprised about Maria’s reaction,’ she said.
‘I’m not,’ I replied. ‘Not really. We haven’t seen her since Mum went missing.’
‘Not at all?’ Frowning, Gran took the lid off the teapot and looked in. Then she replaced the lid and gave the pot a swirl.
‘Well, Dad called her that night we realised Mum had disappeared. I called her the next day, and another time after that, but she didn’t answer the phone.’
‘Very odd,’ Gran said, pouring a dribble of tea into her teacup. ‘I would’ve thought she’d have called.’
‘Nope. She hasn’t even offered us a cottage pie or anything.’
‘I find that hard to believe. Maria’s been Tiff’s best friend forever. Those two used to meet most days, or if they didn’t, they’d be on the phone gassing to each other. She must be missing your mother almost as much as you are.’ Finally satisfied with the strength of the brew, Gran filled her cup.
‘Do you think she’s staying away because she knows something about Mum? Mum might have confided in her,’ I said.
‘Have the police spoken with her?’
‘I think so.’
‘Then it’s unlikely.’
‘But they used to tell each other secrets all the time. What if she knows where Mum is?’ I insisted.
‘Adam, if Maria knew anything, then Detective Pūriri would surely have unearthed it. No, I suspect Maria’s problem is a nasty case of awkwarditis.’
‘That’s not a real disease,’ I said.
‘No, but it’s real enough, let me tell you. When your grandfather was first diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, our friends and neighbours were lovely, so sympathetic, calling on us to offer their support. As time wore on, certain people started to drop away, and you expect that. But it’s a shock when the ones that vanish are the very people you thought you could count on through hell or high water. No, that year I learned who my true friends were, that’s for sure. The Dalziels, do you remember them? We went on three overseas cruise trips with them. I would’ve said they were our closest friends. Ha! I got that wrong! Severe case of awkwarditis. As soon as your Grandpa’s memory got a bit wobbly and he started repeating himself, they made themselves scarce. Couldn’t be bothered making even the slightest effort. Sometimes, it makes my blood boil when I think of all the things John would do for them.
‘One time, while they were away, John saw their trailer was due for a warrant. He knew they were going to need it when they got back because their daughter Julie was about to move house. She was a student at the time, went back to sc
hool after she split with her husband, so to save her some money, the Dalziels had promised to help move her and the kids. Knowing this, John hitched their trailer up to our car and took it in to the vehicle testing station himself. Paid the fee and everything. Even replaced a worn out tyre. And they grumble that your grandfather has a short memory!’ Gran sighs deeply. ‘I hardly see them now, and if I do, they’re like Maria: all cooee and can’t get away fast enough.’
Embarrassed, I brushed the cake crumbs off my lap. Lately, I’ve been so busy behaving like Eeyore, I haven’t stopped to think how Gran might be feeling. She’s always a tower of strength, more your armoured tank than wilting daisy, but she’s been dealt a double whammy losing two family members: Mum and Grandpa. Technically, Grandpa is still here, but it’s obvious he isn’t the same man Gran married. And Aunty Mandy, although her heart’s in the right place, well, she’s not the easiest person to get on with either.
Rolling over in bed to find a comfy spot, I resolve to spend more time with my Gran.
Chapter 29
When Adam comes downstairs on Friday morning, Dad’s at the table drinking coffee and reading last night’s paper. He’s still in his pyjamas. Adam sees him glance at the clock above the door.
‘You’re up early,’ he says. Normally, by the time Adam tumbles downstairs half-asleep, Dad’s either just leaving or has already left for the yard.
Adam runs a hand through his hair. ‘Gotta pick up some of the other guys. They’ve got no transport out there, so I said I’d drive.’ Well, the driving part is true. Adam does have to make a dog-leg out to Pukehina and back to pick up Skye from Donna’s.
‘Uh-huh.’ Dad turns to the sports section while Adam gets some bread out of the breadbin and makes himself a peanut butter sandwich. ‘You’re not taking much gear,’ Dad says, inclining his head in the direction of the backpack that Adam’s left leaned up against the breakfast bar.
Shit! When is Dad this observant? Quickly, Adam opens the fridge, hiding his face and his confusion in the cold interior.
‘Yeah... I already put a bag in the car yesterday. That’s just my toilet gear and some stuff I needed last night.’ Taking out the cheese, Adam puts it on the bench and cuts himself a chunk, quickly cramming it in his mouth.
Speak no evil...
‘Got your phone?’
His mouth half full of cheddar, Adam says, ‘Yeah, I’ve got it, but it probably won’t work. The camp’s out in the bush, remember. There might not be any cell coverage.’
Dad folds the paper and stands up. ‘That’s okay. I... um... might be a bit tied up myself. What time will you be back?’
‘Sunday night.’ Things going well, Adam should be back from Brisbane late on Saturday. But the camp doesn’t finish until mid-afternoon on Sunday so Adam plans to stay the night at Pukehina with Donna and Skye, then drive back to Tauranga around the same time as the team. He’s given himself a day in hand in case of any travel delays. Airlines aren’t always reliable.
‘Well,’ Dad says. ‘Better get my glad-rags on. Think you’ll still be here when I come down?’ Adam swallows the last of the cheese.
‘Nah, I’d better push off. I’m gonna be late.’
‘Right-o. Have a good camp. See you Sunday night.’ Then, leaving the paper on the table, Dad goes upstairs to take his shower.
Later in the day, Adam squeezes Skye’s hand.
‘That’s our call, Skye. Once we walk through those gates, there’s no turning back. You ready?’ Her shoulders are bunched. She looks tense.
She swallows. ‘Okay, let’s do it.’ Adam had half-expected her to back out. He grabs her hand and leads her through the gates. It’s another twenty minutes—when they’re 25,000 feet up and fifty kilometres out over the Pacific Ocean—before she starts to relax, distracted by the novelty of her first flight. Watching her is like seeing a puppy with a squeaky toy. Adam loves the way she gasps when the aircraft banks as it climbs into the sky and that delighted squeal of hers as she peers through the cabin window pointing out familiar Auckland landmarks. And when they’re up in the blue, looking down on the clouds, she grabs his arm and says, ‘Look Adam, it’s like we’re hovering over a giant cappuccino!’ Later, she’s a toddler: mucking with all the buttons, adjusting her seat, scrolling through the entertainment options, farting around with the headphones and accidentally calling the flight attendant whose stern look sends them into a fit of giggles.
Adam’s glad they ate at the airport because the price of the in-flight snacks is flipping outrageous. Five bucks for a mince and cheese pie! Even pot noodles are $4.50. But regular drinks are free and the flight is only three hours, so they should be able to hang on. Adam flicks through the free entertainment and finds a rerun of Two and a Half Men, an old one with Charlie Sheen in it, and, his hand in Skye’s, settles down to watch. A couple of hours later, he gets his first glimpse of parched landscape as the aircraft descends.
So far, the trip’s gone without a hitch, but two teenagers travelling together could provoke questions, so at Immigration they split up, Skye taking one line and Adam another. They’ve already agreed on Skye’s story: her parents are divorced and her dad has recently moved to the Gold Coast for work. This will be Skye’s first school holiday with him since the breakup. It’s inspired. It explains Skye’s new passport, and it’s not too far from the truth so it’s easy to remember. If only Adam felt inspired. Almost at the front of the line and he still hasn’t come up with a plausible story for travelling alone.
‘Next, please!’
Adam shoulders his backpack, steps off the red line and up to the counter. He presents his passport to the officer, his fingers leaving moist crescents on the cover. Packed dense with the noise of hundreds of waiting passengers, the air in the hall is stifling.
Relax!
‘Look at the camera, please.’ Adam attempts to look laid-back. The officer holds the blue-grey booklet open and considers Adam’s face, his head ping-ponging to and fro as he compares the live version to the image in his hand. ‘Travelling alone, are we?’ he says, his bushy eyebrows coming together slightly.
‘Er... no. Um, I’m travelling with...’ Adam is casting around for an answer when he spies an elderly lady emerging from the Ladies Room at the far end of the Immigration Hall ‘... my grandmother. She’s over there,’ he says, pointing over the maze of travellers at the old lady. Catching the movement, old dear looks up. ‘Nana’s not big on flying,’ Adam continues. ‘She had to make a stop at the Ladies. I told her I’d come through first. Get our bags sorted and meet her on the other side.’ Adam gives the woman a deliberate wave, then turns back, shrugging and smiling at the officer in a ‘ya gotta love a granny’ kind of way. But the officer mustn’t have a granny because he doesn’t look convinced. He cranes his neck for a better look at the woman. Adam’s starting to feel uncomfortable. This is taking too long.
Just stamp the damn thing. Please.
Then something amazing happens: Adam’s imaginary nana lifts a wrinkly arm and waves in their direction. Seeing her wave settles it for the officer.
‘Okay, that’s fine,’ he says. He stamps Adam’s passport and passes it back over the counter. ‘Enjoy your stay.’
Skye rushes over as Adam is pushing his passport into his backpack. ‘You took so long to come through, I nearly died of fright. Who were you waving at?’
‘My nana.’
‘What?’ Adam explains as they make their way through the terminal, following the signs to the shuttle departure area.
‘That old lady must’ve thought I was someone else. It’s lucky she did because I think she saved my arse!’ he laughs, hoisting himself into the coach and showing his e-ticket to the driver.
After a coach drive into town, Skye and Adam find themselves a café where they use the customer bathroom to wash up before sitting down to share a pizza. Over lunch, Adam looks up their final destination on Google Maps, and a fifteen minute walk later here they are: standing on the footpath, their necks craned upw
ards at Whitworth’s Gold Coast office building.
Adam grins. So far, Operation Walkabout has been a runaway success.
Chapter 30
Whitworth’s office is one of those places with more glass than wall; that expensive, impenetrable glass with the lightest green tinge. Where there are walls, they’re high, reaching to vaulted ceilings, and made of plain old-fashioned concrete blocks, re-invented as hip and trendy. The floors are slippery polished concrete, and a concrete counter, shiny enough to see your face in, separates the receptionist from the riff raff. Co-ordinated with the office interior, the receptionist’s outfit is perfect news anchor Barbie. Adam wonders if she knows that a real-life Barbie would be a total freak, measuring over two metres.
‘Um, excuse me?’ Skye says. ‘I’m looking for Michael Whitworth.’ Here, in this place, she looks small and fragile. Adam feels a sudden qualm. Maybe they were wrong to come? Shaking off the feeling, he looks over the counter. On the other side, Barbie is reading a Harlequin paperback. The spine is folded backwards, and there’s a ruler wedged in the seam holding the pages open. Dragging her attention from the heroine’s wistful sigh, Barbie acknowledges Skye with expert economy, only her eyes darting upwards.
‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘Oh, but... I didn’t think... I didn’t realise we’d need one.’ The receptionist looks up, properly this time, with her entire head. A wave of acknowledgement crosses her face, as if she’s remembered something.
‘Oh, you must be friends of Katie’s? From school?’
‘Yes,’ Adam says immediately. ‘We’re Katie’s friends.’ He puts his hand in the small of Skye’s back, willing her to play along.
‘School Workday time again then, is it?’
Adam throws his eyes to the ceiling, then nods slowly. He should have taken drama instead of physics because Barbie is completely taken in.
‘Well, at least you get a day off.’ Adam feigns a grimace. ‘Look, why don’t you take a seat over there...’ she waves at a seating area where two or three impossibly low backless benches are arranged around the blob of plastic doubling as a coffee table ‘... and I’ll page Mr Whitworth for you.’