Authors: John Marsden
A narrow alley got me into the street and as soon as I came into the bright sunlight I did my best to look relaxed and at home, like I walked down this street every second day of my life. Oh yeah, this was Wirrawee, this was Stratton, this is just me everyone, don’t take any notice, it’s just little old Ellie, I mean Paula, off for a stroll.
It worked for about a millisecond.
I turned right, walked about three steps, looked up and around, and nearly panicked. There wasn’t a single other foreigner on the street but there sure were a lot of people who looked right at home. Once upon a time I would have been right at home in this town too, and not so long ago either, but it didn’t seem to count any more.
I forced myself to keep walking, but at the same time wished I were back in the middle of the haystack. My senses felt overwhelmed. The eyes were copping it, through the sight of hundreds of people, all obviously different to me. When we’d arrived the street had been quite calm and peaceful, but things had warmed up now, and the crowds were out and about. My ears copped it from the voices all around me, which sounded harsh and high-pitched, and which talked so fast that I felt like I was in a washing machine of sound. The conversations were punctuated every twenty seconds by a long blast or a series of bips from a car horn, as taxis and cars and motorbikes argued for priority. My nose copped it from a strange, slightly mouldy smell, which could have been a sewerage pipe gone wrong, or could have been just the typical lunch fragrances drifting from the restaurants.
I didn’t know, and in my narrow life I didn’t have enough to compare it with.
At least my sense of taste and my sense of touch were getting off pretty lightly, although people bumped into each other much more than I was used to. The first few times it happened to me I apologised, but no-one else seemed to bother, so I gave up.
People certainly looked at me, but not with the piercing stare of the girl on the motorbike. They glanced, looked away, and then often looked back, not suspiciously I thought, or hoped, but more like they were asking themselves, ‘Hmm, who’s she? Haven’t seen her before.’
Of course that was not the kind of look I wanted to attract. I felt myself going red every time it happened, which meant that I stayed red most of the time, as it happened so often.
My mind was in too much turmoil for me to think. Instead I ploughed on, not yet ready to form opinions as to whether I should keep going or cross the road or go back or jump up on one of the cafe tables on the footpath and dance an Irish jig.
I made myself walk to the end of the block, and cross over at the intersection, then come back on the other side. It took all that time for my heart to beat a little slower, and for my breathing to get a bit steadier. I still felt as though I were the centre of attention, and I wasn’t wrong about that. But so far nothing horrible had happened, and the attention still seemed to be curious, not threatening.
Then something horrible did happen. I was coming towards the open doors of what looked like a supermarket, and I was slowing down, thinking I’d have a look in there, and maybe even try to find the nerve to go in and buy something. Jeremy had said everyone loved American dollars, and I could use them at street stalls even. I thought it would be good for my confidence to go in and get some chewing gum or Pepsi or bananas, anything that was universal and uncomplicated and noncontroversial. Asking what size bottles Absolut vodka came in, for example, wasn’t on my agenda.
As I came to a stop, feeling the money in my pockets with one hand, wondering if I should take the plunge, a couple of young guys in uniform suddenly appeared at my right elbow. I think they had been leaning against the wall of the building, but they had been blocked from my view by a woman selling cigarettes and matches from a little trolley. One of the men clicked his fingers at me and held out his hand. I’d been warned by Jeremy that this might happen, and it was the signal to produce my ID. I let go of the money and fumbled in my other pocket, dragged out my mother’s wallet and showed him the cards that Toddy had already inspected.
There’s something about people in uniform. I don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t just apply to cops and soldiers. With me, it applies to anyone umpiring a game or behind the counter of a shop or driving a bus. I guess it’s one of the reasons companies issue uniforms to their employees. It immediately gives them authority, and makes people like me nervous. I didn’t actually need a lot more to be nervous about. I had enough stuff on my list already. So even though I’d practised in my mind many times, before I left home and during the truck ride and while I was upstairs at Toddy’s place, how I’d handle a situation like this, I couldn’t stay cool and calm and casual while these guys looked me over. I know I went red again; I found it impossible to look at either of them, and my head dropped a little, like I knew I was guilty and was willing to come along quietly to whatever cell they had reserved for me.
They didn’t say a word. One of them, the one who snapped his fingers, just seemed to be reading the data, and very slowly at that. The other one read it as well, over his friend’s shoulder. Around us the pedestrian traffic continued to move, parting like a river does around a rock, but if I was getting curious glances before, I was getting a hundred times more of them now. I suppose when people see someone being stopped or questioned, they immediately assume the person’s committed a couple of murders at least. A lot of time passed. Seemed like years. Another five minutes and I would have reached menopause. The first soldier said something, but I couldn’t understand it. I croaked, ‘What?’ and glanced up at him, our eyes meeting for the first time. I went even redder. He didn’t look much older than me, but he looked very smart, although that could have just been his dark glasses.
‘Where you live, Paula?’ he said.
I understood then why some people confess everything so easily when they get arrested. In answer to his question, I was almost ready to sob, ‘I’m not Paula, you know I’m not, I’m Ellie, and I’m probably on your ten-most-wanted list for all the damage I did during the war and all the soldiers I killed.’
Instead, I found enough sense to croak again, giving him Paula’s address.
The only thought I could summon to my brain was the word ‘Gavin’ and I kept trying to say that to myself to remember why I was here and that I was on the side of good things, positive things, nice things like saving someone who deserved a break for once in his young life. The soldier looked so sceptical when I said my address that I wondered if he knew something I didn’t, like that the house had been pulled down or my street had been wiped out in an earthquake. I had an insane impulse to run, and would have, if I’d been able to think of anywhere to go. As it was I had to push my feet into the ground to make myself stay, and squeeze my fingernails hard into the palm of my hand.
He didn’t say anything for a long time, just stood there tapping my card against his fist and looking at me. Finally, when I was about to burst, he gave me back the pass and said, ‘OK, you go.’
I’d lost interest in shopping. I walked away, trying to keep my head high, hoping I looked calm, from behind at least. I knew I didn’t look calm from in front. Heading towards the next corner I passed Toddy’s place on the other side of the street. There was no way I could go there right now, not with the possibility that two pairs of eyes were boring holes into my back. I came to the corner and randomly turned right. This road was a lot clearer. With a burst of hope I saw the two boys I’d noticed earlier about thirty metres ahead, just hanging out it seemed like. I accelerated and caught them as they rambled along.
‘Hey guys!’ I called.
They turned around. They looked friendly. I hoped I wasn’t going to get them into trouble. ‘Can you do me a huge favour?’
‘Depends,’ the black-haired one said, but he was still being friendly. I had the feeling they were those very cool kind of kids who can be friendly with girls who are older than them and girls who are younger than them and boys who are older and boys who are younger . . .
and old ladies and grandpas and people working in shops and migrants who can’t speak English and teachers and babies . . . God I love those sorts of kids, who just don’t feel threatened the way someone like Gavin does. Gavin approaches everyone like they’re holding a samurai sword behind their back and they’re about to pull it out and use it on him. Trouble is, in his life, that’s more or less exactly what’s happened.
‘I’m getting hassled by a couple of soldiers back there and I’m worried they might be following me.’ I paused. They looked at each other. ‘I just wondered if you might go and have a look around the corner. See if they’re coming.’
They looked at each other again and the red-haired one shrugged and said, ‘OK.’
It was as easy as that for them. They headed back there with no great fuss, quite quickly. Just as they got to the corner the two soldiers came around it and nearly ran into them.
Were they following me? I think so. I thought so. There was a moment when all five of us were frozen in surprise. The soldiers had to step out onto the road if they were going to get around the boys. The boys had nowhere to go except backwards. I could have gone in any direction but I was meant to be an innocent Paula on a walk through the streets, not a fugitive from justice.
The dark-haired boy swung around and waved to me. ‘Don’t forget to tell Mom,’ he called. Mom? Where were they from? Then he and his friend both moved a little, like they’d planned it, so they were blocking the soldiers. It was a beautiful piece of choreography. The red-haired one folded his arms and said something to the soldiers like he was asking a very serious question. Maybe for directions. That was the last I saw. I waved back to them and walked on quickly. Coming up on the right was a coffee shop. It had a sign in English out the front:
American coffee, 20. We take cards. Relax with friend.
I dived in there. It was tiny. A very funky young woman with long black hair was sitting at a computer. She stood as I came in. There was a little bar, but I swear, there was room for about four customers. She saw my confusion and pointed to the stairs, which were also very funky, but narrow. Made of stainless steel. ‘Upstairs,’ she said. ‘Coffee upstairs.’
‘Can I use your toilet?’ I asked. I was already heading for a door behind the bar. She blushed and put her hand to her throat. ‘No, is not allowed,’ she said.
‘Sorry, I’m really busting,’ I said. Seemed like Paula had pretty bad manners. I opened the door and slipped through it, closing it behind me. I was in a very narrow corridor, made even narrower by boxes and tins. There was a big stack of Lavazza coffee. They must do good business for a tiny shop. Maybe there was a chain of them and this was the headquarters. I reached the end of the corridor and opened the next door. Behind me the girl opened the first door. I heard her start to say something, but even as she drew breath for the words I was through the next door and closing it again.
Now I was in their sitting room. God this was embarrassing. Another funky-looking girl was there and a thin pale-faced guy who looked British. Who the hell was he? ‘Just looking for the toilet, sorry,’ I said, and went on by while they looked at me like I was a complete freak. This was getting seriously surreal. Down another corridor and at last out into, well, not fresh air, but as close to it as I was likely to find in Havelock.
Their yard was about the same size as their sitting room. I scuttled straight for the back gate and was through it and gone before anyone could follow me from the building. I threw a left and headed down the alley to the street and started a long circumnavigation of the suburb. I couldn’t hear any police sirens or tracker dogs but I was playing it pretty carefully, so I went half-a-dozen blocks further round than I probably needed. My confidence to walk down the main street was gone so I kept to side streets and lanes, although at one point I cut across a big park. The only way to get through this whole thing was to look confident, but I felt like I’d turned into cheese gratings and could melt at any moment.
By the time I got back to Toddy’s he was there and not very happy. When I came through the back door he practically leapt down the whole staircase in one jump and grabbed me with both arms. ‘Where have you been? Are you all right? Did anything happen?’
I told him the whole thing, not feeling very proud of myself, and he wasn’t too happy. ‘Are you sure you weren’t followed?’ he asked me three times, till I got to the point where I wasn’t sure if I had been or not.
Ignoring the fact that he’d told me I’d be safe to walk down the street – but also ignoring the fact that he’d told me not to go out unless it was necessary – I did quite a lot of grovelling. It took us a while to get to the point where we could actually move on. The whole thing was difficult and embarrassing. Toddy now thought I was unreliable, irresponsible. It would be hard to reverse that. It’s like school – so easy to get a bad name, so hard to get your good one back. Homer could testify to that. Quite a few teachers still thought he was a complete idiot, although my books had helped to improve his reputation a bit. Trouble was that he didn’t do much for his own case. Plus so many new teachers kept turning up that there weren’t many left who had actually read the books.
There were some people Toddy wanted me to go meet. He said they had information but were slow to deliver it. He thought my being there might help push them a bit, encourage them. But now he obviously wasn’t sure if I was going to be safe out there or whether I might suddenly start singing ‘Waltzing Matilda’ in the middle of the street.
‘I know I was an idiot to go for a walk,’ I said, feeling more and more aggrieved at having to keep apologising. Funny about that, even when you’re totally in the wrong, after a while you start to resent the person who’s in the right. ‘But what’s the damage? I feel sorry for the real Paula, if those soldiers remember her name from my ID card. They might be round there now checking on her for all I know. But her parents will just have to sort that out for themselves. The worst-case scenario for me, for us, is that if they do go talk to her parents, the cops might be alerted to look out for a teenage girl with false ID papers, and that’s not good, but it’s gotta take a while before all that happens.’