Screw Loose

by Chris Wheat

  The poor thing’s eyes were red in the torchlight.

  ‘Dinner!’ said Matilda.

  ‘You have to be kidding.’ Craig panicked. ‘Get it out of here.’

  ‘Come on, Craig and Arnold. We’ll slaughter it now!’ she cried enthusiastically.

  Craig grabbed his backpack and, shoving it down the secret path, he fled into the dark.

  YOU ARE IN

  CANADA!

  CHELSEA’S HOUSE IN Sydney was not unlike the one the Deans owned in Kew, noted Zeynep Yarkan. This was a house for movie stars. Clearly rich people all went in for the same type of house: ultra white, wall-size windows, sparkling ensuites, views, intercoms, espresso machines and sloppy bright paintings.

  This house, Mr Dean’s and Lindy’s, was also immaculate: there was no dust beneath the rugs; in the kitchen the handles on all the saucepans faced the same way; and outside, the pool sparkled. With no means to clean anything, Zeynep was becoming periodically anxious, and Chelsea had warned her that it was rude to clean your host’s house. Still, Lindy was her soul sister. Unfortunately, Chelsea didn’t seem to feel the same way.

  Zeynep gazed down at the little boats bobbing below in the moonlight; an orchestration of squeaks and pings rose from the water to the balcony as the waves slapped against their hulls. It was like Hollywood up here in Sydney, and she wanted a house just like this when she became rich. The house made her feel sad for her hard-working parents, though, and black guilt seeped into her heart. She had done something terrible to them.

  It was Chelsea’s idea: Zeynep should fly to Sydney on the ticket her parents had bought her for Turkey, then cancel the flight. After a pleasant week in Sydney, she would come home and pretend she’d been in South America. Chelsea needed to escape her unreasonably strict mother, so it was a perfect solution for them both. Angelo had strongly supported the idea.

  Zeynep’s first ever trip in a plane had not been a success. Chelsea had given her six travel-sickness tablets and told her to take them with a small bottle of Drambuie. She had, and had felt quite joyful as she’d boarded the plane, but once she’d sat down everything went into slow-motion, like in a nightmare, and the next thing she knew the cabin crew were carrying her off the plane in Sydney and had called a doctor.

  That was three days ago, and things had picked up since then. Lindy was a very nice person; she’d asked Zeynep twice if her room was okay, and had thrown out all the food in the fridge when she found a fly in it. Zeynep had watched Chelsea do a lot of shopping, and they’d eaten dinner with Mr Dean and Lindy at a different restaurant each day. It had been very sophisticated, except the night she fell off a stool in a Japanese restaurant.

  For a while, Zeynep had forgotten the terrible thing she had done. Now she had to ring her mother and father and tell them she had taken the wrong plane and was accidentally in Brazil. Zeynep rehearsed her story: she’d been daydreaming and somehow caught the wrong plane, and she’d found herself in South America. Accidents did happen. Luckily, she’d met a really nice girl on the plane, who was looking after her – Concetta Cantina.

  She activated her phone and waited, her heart beating hard.

  ‘Oh, hi Mum!’

  Her mother made an explosive sound of relief and started shouting for her father.

  ‘Mum, guess what? I caught the wrong plane. I’m in Brazil.’

  She tried to make it sound like a great place, lifting her voice excitedly.

  Her mother was silent for two seconds, then began yelling.

  ‘BRAZIL! WHERE?

  ’

  She could hear her father yelling in the background: ‘ Brazil!

  Crazy girl!’ Mehmet seemed to be cheering. She waited, hoping they would calm down.

  ‘YOU COME HOME NOW!’ her mother screamed.

  ‘I am. There’s a plane next week. I’m fine. I’m in a hotel in Brazil. I’m with this nice girl I met on the plane, who’s looking after me. And the girl’s father and stepmother are here, too.

  It’s fine. They’re rich.’

  Her mother continued screaming. ‘HOW DID YOU GET THE WRONG PLANE? CHECK-IN CHICK NOT CHECK? ’

  ‘Don’t worry. The girl’s father is very kind. This is one of the best hotels in Brazil. It’s by the sea. I have a balcony. It’s really lovely. There are boats and lights and things.’

  ‘WHO’S THIS GIRL? ’

  ‘Concetta Cantina. Her stepmother is an events organiser.

  Tomorrow we’re going shopping.’

  ‘NO SHOPPING IN BRAZIL! COME BACK NOW! ’

  ‘Next week! I’ve already booked.’

  Her father was on. ‘Come home now! What city in Brazil?’

  Her father knew cities. He’d worked in Germany.

  She thought of Honolulu, Christchurch, San Diego.

  ‘I think it’s Christchurch,’ she answered. Brazil was a Catholic country, she remembered from Study of Society, so Christchurch sounded right. ‘But there are no more planes until Wednesday!’

  ‘Christchurch!’ her father exploded.

  Her mother was chanting: ‘CHRISTCHURCH! CHRISTCHURCH!’

  ‘Christchurch is not in Brazil. Crazy girl. You are in Canada!’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘Crazy, crazy girl!’

  ‘I have to go now. It costs a lot. I’ll ring again tomorrow. I’m very safe. Bye!’

  She turned off the phone and held back tears. Her poor parents had taken out a bank loan to punish her, and this was how she treated them. Her mother would now be ringing all the relatives in Turkey and telling them what had happened.

  She had wasted their money. She stared at the harbour, but although it was a wonder, she could only think of her parents.

  She had to ring back now and confess. Anyway, she was missing her laundry.

  Chelsea appeared on the balcony. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I phoned Mum.’

  ‘Did she go right off?’

  Zeynep nodded.

  Chelsea laughed. ‘It’s karma. What goes around comes around. Put it out of your mind. You’ll be back there in four days anyway. We’re going to have fun. My father is taking us to another luxurious restaurant – without Lindy, so we won’t have to go blind looking at her cheap jewellery. Such a bling queen.’

  Zeynep bit her bottom lip. ‘My poor mum won’t sleep now.’

  ‘Well, she’s just going to have to deal with it. She didn’t care about your feelings. You need to be more assertive, Zeynep!’

  It did serve them right for forcing her to go to Turkey. She was an Australian girl, not a Turkish girl. ‘I know.’

  ‘You let people walk all over you.’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘I hope you’re not going to ruin dinner! I’ve convinced my father to take us to Centrepoint Tower for a revolving meal. It’s so Sydney.’

  ‘The plane ticket cost them so much money. I feel really, really bad now, Chelsea. I’m going to ring them back and tell them the truth.’

  ‘No you are not! You can use the ticket within the year. Think of what you have had to suffer because of their feudal ideas. Where’s your inner warrior princess, for heaven’s sake? You’ve got an inner cleaning lady! Stop it!’

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘The world is not fair, Zeynep.’

  Zeynep stared out across the dark water at the lights in the distance. ‘How fast does the restaurant spin?’

  ‘My heaven, you’re worried about that now! Well, not so fast that the food is thrown off the plates. But fast. It is Sydney.’

  Her inner warrior princess took charge. ‘I don’t want to go. It will make me sick.’

  Chelsea’s inner warrior princess responded: ‘Don’t be so Melbourne, Zeynep. If you feel sick, just do what Sydney people do – open a window and vomit.’

  Zeynep nodded weakly. After all, she was here to have fun. One day in the future she would go to see her grandmother and look after those donkeys. But not yet.

  TRUTH OR DARE

  KHIEM DAO LE
D Penny across the grass and through the trees that surrounded his flats. He had finally succumbed to her wish and brought her to see the place. The foyer and the lifts were deserted, and there was a silence in the tower; it was the first day of spring, and most people were out. His aunt was at the shop, just like every other Sunday.

  Penny stepped into the lift first, and the doors slid closed. It smelt of strawberry milk.

  She was quiet, watching the floor indicator.

  ‘Do you live in a big house?’ he asked. She hadn’t mentioned the incident at Mary Magdalene. Perhaps she really did think he was on his Ps.

  ‘It’s not like Chelsea Dean’s place; my parents aren’t rich.’

  ‘I thought everyone at your school was a millionaire.’

  She shook her head. ‘My parents both work.’

  ‘What do they do?’

  Her hair was shining and he wanted to touch it. Or to just very, very gently lean in close and let their clothes touch. That would be perfect.

  ‘My mum works in a hospital and my dad—’

  The lift doors had slid open and there, looking right into his eyes, were Bruno and Pham.

  ‘Khiem,’ said Bruno. ‘Where’ve you been, man?’

  This was the worst thing that could happen. His old life was standing right in front of him. He’d hoped he’d rid himself of them when he’d finally chucked their stupid DVDs into Merri Creek at three o’clock in the morning last Thursday, after the Mary Magdalene principal had flung herself at the Mercedes. He’d stood in the murky dark and watched them float off and pile up in the reeds in a gridlock, their covers glinting faintly in the distant streetlight, and he’d felt free at last.

  But he’d been dumb. They were here for them now, of course. After all those months when he’d wanted them to come and they hadn’t shown up!

  ‘Can’t talk right now. Talk later,’ he answered.

  ‘Hey, nice,’ said Bruno, looking at Penny. ‘We come for the stuff.’

  ‘So see you later,’ Khiem said, burning up with frustration and anger. He wanted to chuck them into the lift and push Basement.

  ‘We got another proposition,’ said Pham.

  ‘Not interested right now.’

  Bruno’s voice altered. ‘So when will you be interested?

  When you finished with her?’

  Khiem felt his whole body tighten. He’d beat them up – but not in front of Penny.

  ‘I’ll ring you later. Why don’t you piss off,’ he said quietly. He took his key out of his pocket. They could read his anger. He glared at them.

  Bruno’s eyes zigzagged from him to Penny. ‘Okay. We’ll be downstairs. See you in ten minutes,’ he said.

  ‘No. Later.’

  Bruno was silent for a moment. ‘Okay – we’ll be back,’ he said finally.

  ‘Fine.’ Khiem unlocked the security door. Then he went over to the lift and pressed the down arrow.

  ‘Okay, Khiem.’ Bruno flashed his ferret smile. ‘Have a raunchy afternoon.’

  Pham murmured, ‘Going for the classy ones now?’

  ‘Piss off,’ Khiem muttered, and the lift doors slid open with a clunk.

  ‘Tonight,’ Bruno repeated.

  Penny had moved away to look out the small window by the lift. He glanced at her back.

  ‘Peace bro,’ Pham said as he and Bruno stepped into the lift.

  The doors closed.

  Penny turned around. ‘Friends?’ she asked.

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘I think I am out of my comfort zone.’

  Khiem unlocked the door to his aunty’s flat. Penny followed him inside. The place was neat, because he and his aunty were neat people.

  ‘This is it. Not much to see,’ he said, indicating the lounge.

  ‘Don’t know what you could write about it.’

  She did what everyone did – went straight to the window and looked out.

  ‘Who were they?’ she asked after a moment.

  ‘Ex-mates,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You can’t control your ex-mates,’ she answered.

  He felt his face flushing. He didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Great view,’ she said, which was what everyone said.

  ‘You can see your school and my school,’ he said, coming up to her and standing close.

  She didn’t move away from him. ‘This is so beautiful. It must make you feel good.’

  It did now. He thought about the view and realised that he’d become used to it.

  ‘Yeah,’ he answered and shifted just a little closer. He thought about telling her that she was nicer to look at than the view, but he didn’t. He really needed to explain Pham and Bruno; tell her he wasn’t eighteen; ask her if she knew the whole truth about him.

  She turned and started looking around the flat. ‘I think you can learn a lot about a person from the way they live.’

  ‘I thought you said you weren’t going to judge me.’

  ‘I’m not going to judge you, and I know this is your aunty’s place, not yours. It’s very nice: spacious and quiet and the view’s amazing.’

  ‘It’s quiet now but that depends on the Skips next door … the Aussies.’

  Wrong thing to say. But she ignored the comment.

  ‘You know this formal? Chelsea Dean’s formal next weekend?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure. Chelsea’s made me a bouncer and I have to film it!’

  ‘Do you have a partner?’ she asked. She was walking around the lounge looking at things as she spoke. She peeped into the kitchen. His bedroom door was closed.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Would you like to go with me?’

  He’d been going to ask her, and she’d beaten him to it! Joy whizzed and sparked in his chest like a catherine-wheel. She didn’t care about Pham and Bruno. She didn’t mind about the flat. She wasn’t suspicious.

  ‘Sure. Love to.’

  ‘Have those guys ever been in trouble with the cops?’ she asked.

  The interrogation. Tell the truth.

  She was standing in the middle of the living room now, looking so perfect. He wanted to kneel before her. This girl in his ’hood.

  ‘What guys?’

  He’d see them tonight. Tell them his aunty found the things and threw them in the skip downstairs. It had been emptied only last night. Really sorry. I have to go quiet for a while; my aunty’s onto me. Threatening to call the cops. Don’t contact me. If they tried to go him – at least he had Vo Vietnam.

  ‘Khiem?’ Penny cocked her head to one side and smiled.

  ‘Come on. Truth or dare.’

  ‘They probably have … They have for sure.’

  ‘I thought so.’ She sat on the couch. He sat on the chair opposite.

  ‘How old are you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m sixteen.’

  She said nothing. She was looking at the carpet.

  ‘It was a dumb thing to do. The car ... I just wanted to see you.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s quite true.’

  He felt so miserable. ‘It’s true.’

  ‘Did Chelsea force you?’

  ‘No.’

  Penny was a bit like a cop, but the sweetest possible cop.

  ‘What happened to your dad and mum?’ she asked.

  ‘Mum got sick and dad was in an accident, but it was in Vietnam. What about your parents?’ he asked quickly. ‘What does your mum do at the hospital? Is she a doctor or a nurse?’

  ‘A nurse.’

  ‘And what about your dad?’

  She was silent. ‘Dad is…’ She hesitated. ‘You probably wouldn’t want to know.’

  ‘I would.’ He got up and sat on the couch, then edged a little closer.

  ‘Dad’s a cop, actually.’

  His body jolted. ‘No kidding?’ he said.

  ‘Detective Inspector Daniel O’Neill.’

  ‘Cool.’ He didn’t mean that at all.

  ‘Are you still into anything illegal yourself?’


  He fell back against the sofa. It was time to tell her everything.

  SUBTLY, EVERY

  AEROPLANE IS

  DIFFERENT

  CHELSEA DEAN LOOKED at Zeynep sitting beside her in the plane. The engines were purring, but the plane hadn’t begun to move. Zeynep’s face was grey, and her eyes were staring blindly ahead. Without travel-sickness pills or Drambuie, she was not coping well.

  It had been a wonderful time in Sydney, and Chelsea had almost forgotten the unforgivable manner in which her mother had spoken to her back in Kew. She’d shopped extravagantly, and her father had paid for everything. She had enjoyed the house, too – except for the way the Queen of Bling ordered her father around. Once she’d even had the gall to tell Chelsea to shake a leg!

  Of course, to make up for the rude way she had treated her Melbourne guests, Lindy had bought Chelsea a quite nice pair of Manolo Blahnik shoes, and Zeynep a sweet little top, but Chelsea could see straight through these sad little bribes.

  They were waiting for clearance to take off. Soon Sydney would be slipping away below them, and she would return to the slum conditions of her own house and life with the despicable Ryans. She sighed. If it wasn’t for the formal, she might just have become a Sydneyite.

  Zeynep was clutching the Phoenix Air sick bag and the safety instruction card, which she had homed in on as soon as she’d sat down. This flight was not going to be easy.

  Zeynep had been quite a handful in Sydney. On the first day, mesmerised by the little plates circulating on the conveyor belt at a sushi-train restaurant, Zeynep had fallen off a stool and bruised herself. In the Centrepoint Tower revolving restaurant several nights later, she’d abandoned her meal to walk around the restaurant in the reverse direction to try to unwind her dizziness, and the management had asked her to return to her table. She had also suffered endless unnecessary guilt and a constant desire to phone home. Finally Chelsea had simply confiscated her phone.

  Now Zeynep was reading the Phoenix Air safety instructions obsessively.

  ‘Frequent fliers never read the safety instructions,’ Chelsea explained to her. ‘If we start to crash, take off your shoes, get to the nearest exit, then go down their slide. There’ll be cabin crew standing beside the exit to assist you with any concerns.’