Authors: Gabrielle Lord
January (18 page)
My mobile rang. Boges!
‘They’ve stopped watching me. I think I can risk meeting you. What do you need?’
‘More clothes,’ I said, ‘and more food.’
Having such a good friend meant a lot to me, and without his help I didn’t know what I would have done.
Soon all of my friends would be going back to school. I wondered what they thought of all this. Surely they didn’t believe the reports.
They’d all soon be doing those ordinary daily things that had been part of my life for the last ten years, while I was forced to live like a criminal—on the run.
When Boges arrived at the derelict house, he stared at me, pointing to the studs in my lip and eyebrow and the tattoos on my neck and arms. ‘What the hell happened to you?’ he asked.
I touched my piercings and glanced at the tatts. ‘They’re fake,’ I said. ‘I had to make a few changes. I know it’s lame, but it’s a quick fix for now.’
‘You look gross!’
‘And you’ve packed on a lot of weight suddenly!’ I said, noticing how bulky he was looking.
‘Thanks!’ Boges shook his head and laughed. ‘I didn’t want to carry a bag or anything, apart from this,’ Boges said, holding up a plastic bag of stuff he’d brought for me. ‘So I wore a few extra layers of clothes. Now I can peel them off and give them to you.’
That’s my friend Boges.
Again, we were staring at the drawings spread out on the floor.
‘See?’ I pointed out the 21 to Boges.
‘Yes, it’s the winning combination,’ said
Boges. ‘A blackjack.’
We stared at each other.
I looked more closely at my friend. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked. ‘You look really white.’
‘It’s just the heat,’ said Boges … ‘What happened in here?’ he asked looking around at the shredded wallpaper.
‘Just a bit of interior decorating.’
We’d been poring over the drawings for hours, trying to make some sense out of the blackjack drawing. But so what? A blackjack. It could have just been a coincidence. My eyes ached and my brain felt wrung out like a wet sheet.
We were never going to crack these drawings—that is, if they could be cracked. After all, I reminded myself, my dad did have a virus that attacked his brain. Who knows what he was thinking.
The drawings that had seemed so intensely exciting a little while ago, that had seemed to mean something, now failed to interest me. The angel seemed like nothing but a long-dead image from a war that had been finished nearly one hundred years ago.
‘We must be crazy to think these drawings
actually mean something.’
‘Come on, man,’ said Boges. ‘You’re just
feeling
bad. Even the doctor said these drawings meant something to your father. What about your other relatives? Would they have helpful information about the family? Who else might know about the Ormond Riddle?’
‘I don’t have that many other relatives—except for a really ancient great-uncle who lives somewhere in the country. And some old
great-aunt
that I’ve never even met.’ I only had distant memories of my great-uncle, the uncle whose love of flying had been inherited by my dad. Dad had described him as a real character.
I started rubbing my shoulder. ‘I hurt it ages ago, somehow, but it’s still aching.’
Boges took a look. ‘It’s a bit swollen.’
‘It won’t kill me.’
‘But staying here might,’ said Boges. ‘You need a country holiday. And an ancient
great-uncle
is exactly the sort of guy who’d know a lot about the family. He’s been around for a long time.’
I must have looked unwilling because Boges kept talking, trying to convince me. It didn’t work. ‘I don’t know where he lives,’ I said.
‘Tell me where I can find his address,’ said
Boges, ‘and I’ll get it for you tonight.’
I described a little book Mum kept near the telephone on the kitchen counter. I was pretty sure it would be in there.
Later that night, as I sat outside on the back verandah, wondering how I was going to get to the country, I was interrupted by a text message from Boges.
been throwing up for hours. so sorry. sick as. might be better in a couple of hours.
I couldn’t wait. I would have to break into my own house.
Huddled in the jacket that Boges gave me, I made my way home through the night. I moved quickly and quietly, constantly looking around for
watchful
eyes.
By the time I got to my street and peered around the corner, I was as jumpy as hell. Out of the dark, headlights suddenly blinded me as a car pulled out and headed my way. I dived
sideways
into the nearest garden, and crouched down until it passed. It was probably completely innocent—but I couldn’t help suspecting everyone and everything.
I crept towards my house and was relieved to see that the only car there was my mum’s.
As I came closer, I was shocked to find a ‘For Lease’ sign standing in the front yard. Mum
must have put the house up for rent. But where would she and Gabbi live? My heart sank. I could only guess where they would go: Rafe’s house. The thought of that made me sick.
I crept around to the backyard and luckily the spare key was still under the cactus pot.
Moving like a ghost, I let myself in.
Everything
was quiet and dark.
I had to go through the living room to get into the kitchen, and once there I felt my way around until I found the little book beside the phone. Holding it up in the dim moonlight, I flipped through the pages until I found Great-uncle Bartholomew’s address. I pulled a scrap of paper out of the bin and copied it down.
A low growling noise came from behind me.
Shocked, I spun around.
Did Mum have a dog now, a guard dog?
I stood immobilised. But then my eyes adjusted even more to the darkness …
There in front of me, lying along the lounge and snoring loudly, was Uncle Rafe. He’d been hidden by the back of the lounge when I came inside. If he opened his eyes now, he’d be looking straight at me!
I edged my way out of the kitchen, hardly daring to breathe, gliding silently past the
sleeping
figure, without taking my eyes off him.
I heard another noise behind me then, and turned to see the figure of my mother coming down the stairs.
I stepped backwards silently, taking cover around the corner behind a tall bookcase. I held my breath, terrified that she would hear me. She came down into the living room, past Rafe and then stopped, distracted by something on the mantelpiece. She picked up a framed photograph of Gabbi and me taken at the beginning of last year, before Dad went to Ireland. Mum stared at it for a long time. I noticed that in her other
hand she was holding the photograph of my father that she kept beside her bed.
I had to stand, silent and hidden, watching my mother’s pain and grief. Both Mum and I had lost almost everything and I couldn’t even comfort her.
I felt my own eyes sting with tears.
After a while she turned and went back upstairs, holding the photographs close to her heart.
If only I could go back upstairs too, and crawl into my own bed. Maybe I should just turn myself in and get it over with, I thought. Then my eyes fell on the portrait of my parents on the wall, the shot taken when they’d had a holiday together a few years ago. Even in the dim light it seemed that Dad’s dark eyes were looking directly into mine, reminding me that I’d
promised
myself to look after the family, that I’d promised myself to solve the mystery of the drawings and the Ormond Riddle. Standing in the dark, then and there, I made another promise to myself—that one day I’d walk back into this house, no matter who was renting it, pay them off and give it back to Mum. Then everything would be the way it once was. No, it would be better—way better than it had ever been. It would be as if Dad was back with us, because
now I was more determined than ever to discover the huge secret he’d been in the process of uncovering. Whatever it might bring to us, it would always remind us of his presence.
As I made the promise, I felt a new strength and determination in my bones. Even though the situation right now seemed hopeless, if there was a way to do this, I was going to do it.
I was awake and eating more cold baked beans. I had made myself some big promises that I needed to keep. I had my great-uncle’s address and I had to get ready to hit the road. All I needed was a map and a ride. But first, I had to see Boges.
I was packing my backpack with some supplies for the trip when Boges sent me a text.
feeling heaps better 2day. but being watched. how did you go with the address? meet tomorrow @ 2 where we used to draw with chalk. bring them with you.
Straight away I knew where Boges meant, and what he wanted me to bring. In Year 8 we used
to go to a five-storey carpark and hang out, writing stupid things on the walls.
The road trip would have to wait one more day.
got the address. cool. see you there.