Riddle Gully Runaway Page 10

  Benson folded his arms. ‘Even if I did go back to Riddle Gully, how am I meant to prove I didn’t nick anything anyway?’ He looked at Pollo. ‘People won’t just take your word for it.’

  ‘That’s easy!’ said Will. ‘Get up that tree and look inside that ravens’ nest.’

  ‘What if you two are wrong? What if the only things in that nest are baby ravens?’

  ‘Then you’ll be no worse off than now,’ said Pollo. ‘We lend you the fare home and you pay us back sometime.’

  ‘You’ve only got your old self to lose,’ added Will.

  ‘My what?’

  ‘Your old self,’ said Will. ‘The kid you want to be, like you said before — not this thief-person you’re acting like, that everyone’s treating you like.’

  ‘Plus, you can get your mobile back from your uncle!’ said Pollo, suddenly remembering the conversation on Mayor Bullock’s doorstep.

  Benson’s eyes lit up. ‘My phone? Why didn’t you mention that before?’

  They laughed, hunching into the squalling wind. ‘Come on,’ said Will. He pointed up the street toward the playground. ‘Our castle’s this-a-way — and there’s room for three.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  They huddled in the cubbyhouse in a pile of fleece, Benson’s torch hanging on a loose nail, its beam shining and shadowing their faces. Wind keened through the gaps and knotholes in the wooden planks. A hundred metres away, the ocean pounded the shore. Benson, his head lowered, was talking.

  ‘His name’s Kal. He’s my best mate. We’ve got a garage band — borrowed gear and stuff. His family has trouble making ends meet, even though they work really hard. Kal hasn’t got a cent to scratch himself with — gives it all to his family. He’s only got a phone ’cos the boss where he works Friday and Saturday nights gave him one when he found out Kal was walking home after midnight.

  ‘So the music camp at school is coming up — three days in the hills somewhere — and aside from the fact that Kal plays lead guitar like it’s wired straight into his brain, he’s fallen like a sack of spuds for this girl who plays cello. Kal wanted to go on that music camp like crazy. But there was the money, see. It cost more than he earns in a month.

  ‘So this girl in English is bragging about how much she’s made on-selling jewellery at school — stuff she’s bought on the internet. And she shows everyone her fat shiny wallet. Meanwhile Kal’s down in the dumps ’cos the money for music camp has to be in that day. So me and Kal are walking to Maths. We go past the library and on the rack outside is this girl’s bag — you can tell it’s hers by all the little teddy bears and stuff dangling off it. Sheesh! It’s not even zipped up. So I make this smart-alec joke about the answer to all Kal’s problems being right there. Funny, huh?’

  Benson winced. ‘I think I was joking but, looking back, maybe part of me wasn’t. I dunno.’ He was silent a while before continuing. ‘Anyway, I keep walking and … next thing I know Kal’s next to me, opening his bag and showing me. He’s got it — her wallet. It’s just sitting there on top of his books. And he’s white and sweating.

  ‘I grab the stupid wallet and talk some sense into him, and we’re about to put it back. But right then the principal comes round the corner so, course, I chuck it into Kal’s open bag. But she must have seen. She checks our bags and when she holds up the wallet, I dunno, I just blurt out that it’s mine, I took it. And I stick to my story —’ Benson looked at Pollo and Will, ‘— until now. Hell, it was my fault, wasn’t it? I gave him the idea. And I figured Kal needed a break — I’ve got things so much easier than him. So the principal did what she had to do. She suspended me, “effective Monday”.’

  ‘What did Kal do?’ asked Pollo.

  ‘He tried to tell everyone it was him who’d taken it, not me. I heard on the grapevine he apologised to the girl. That must’ve taken some guts. But Kal’s the kind of soft-spoken dude no one listens to much. Talks more through his music than conversation. His mum and dad thought he was wanting to get suspended so’s we could hang out together.’

  ‘So neither of you went on music camp,’ said Will.

  ‘Nup,’ said Benson. ‘It was last week.’

  ‘And now everyone thinks you’re a thief,’ said Will.

  ‘Everyone except Kal — and maybe Mum and Gran.’

  ‘And us,’ added Will and Pollo.

  They listened to the gusts of wind outside and hunched under the fleece against the splinters of rain pushing through the cracks. Will found the Ginger Nut packet and felt its ridges. Two left. He passed the packet to Benson who ripped the wrapper and, one after the other, popped both biscuits into his mouth. Will’s eyes widened.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Benson, his cheeks bulging, ‘did you want one?’

  ‘No, no!’ said Will, cradling the wrapper tenderly and salvaging the corner crumbs with a licked finger. ‘You go right ahead. Plenty more where they came from … in the shop.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Benson mumbled through his mouthful.

  ‘You know,’ said Pollo after a moment, ‘maybe it doesn’t matter what you did or didn’t do at school so much as how you feel about it now.’

  ‘What are you getting at?’ said Benson.

  ‘Well, you and Kal are both really sorry for what happened, right?’ said Pollo. ‘And you two have a garage band, right?’

  ‘Yeah … go on.’

  ‘Well, maybe you could give a Sorry concert.’

  ‘A Sorry concert …’ said Benson. ‘To, like, tell everyone we’re sorry for what we did?’

  ‘That’s the general idea,’ said Pollo.

  ‘And that we’d like to make up for it,’ Benson added, nodding slowly.

  ‘And I guess,’ chipped in Will, ‘that when everyone comes along and has a good time, it’s their way of saying, “Hey, we all make mistakes, we forgive you, let’s start over”. I’ve gotta say, the times I’ve decided to forgive and forget, it’s been a load off.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve been there,’ said Benson.

  ‘Like I forgive you for taking the last Ginger Nut,’ grinned Will, ducking a cuff from Benson.

  ‘I’ve got it!’ cried Pollo. ‘You could make it a benefit concert and give the money you raise to a good cause.’

  Benson sat forward. ‘After the last few nights, I wouldn’t mind helping out homeless people,’ he said quietly.

  ‘People who have to sleep in playground cubbyhouses every night,’ said Will.

  ‘Or clapped-out sheds behind pubs.’

  ‘I can help with publicity,’ said Pollo, her mind whirring. ‘What’s your band called?’

  Benson shrugged. ‘We haven’t got a name. We’ve never needed one.’ His eyes twinkled in a grin. ‘How about The Ravens?’

  They all laughed. ‘The Ravens,’ said Will. ‘That’s neat! If you want, I can design your logo for you.’

  ‘I can see the headline now,’ said Pollo. ‘Riddle Gully Link to Homeless Benefit; Concert Dubbed a “Raven” Success!’

  ‘It could work,’ said Benson. ‘It’d be scary, but it could work.’ He leaned back against the wall, a smile spreading across his face, his head bobbing to a rhythm only he could hear.

  *

  A dirty grey light was spilling over the playground when Shorn Connery and Ear’s bleating drew Pollo, Will and Benson from the cubbyhouse. The three groaned and stretched, bits of Shorn Connery’s wriggly fleece clinging to their clothes and their sticky hair. The air was cold and still. Seaweed was massed on the beach in dark shoals, its sulphurous smell wafting on the air. The sea looked sullen but exhausted. On the horizon, shafts of sun burned the rims of the clouds.

  Shorn Connery and Ear stood side by side a few metres away, roped to the dew-covered seesaw.

  Baa-aa-aah!

  Meh-eh-eh!

  They fixed the three humans with glassy stares, blinking their stiff white eyelashes. Buttoning the jacket she’d borrowed from Will snugly around her neck, Pollo walked across and scratched Shorn Connery’s nose. ‘G
ood morning, old buddy! Morning, Ear! Thanks for the alarm call! What would we do without you?’

  Benson looked up from the water fountain where he was slurping from a cupped hand. ‘Sleep in maybe?’

  ‘H-how long d’you reckon we’ll h-have to w-wait till a ute c-comes along?’ said Will, his teeth chattering.

  ‘Farmers get going pretty early,’ said Pollo. ‘And if a farmer doesn’t come, there’s always the bus.’

  Benson pointed at Shorn Connery and Ear. ‘Get real! No way am I getting on a bus with those two!’

  ‘H-hanging out with P-pollo, you f-find yourself d-doing a lot of s-stuff you don’t ex-p-pect.’ Will jogged on the spot, his hands tucked into his armpits.

  ‘I’m just kidding,’ laughed Pollo. ‘Give us your phone, eh, Will. I think it’s time to call Dad.’

  ‘But he’s m-miles away at that w-wedding, isn’t he?’

  ‘Miles away from Riddle Gully maybe,’ said Pollo, ‘but only just down the road from Princeville.’

  ‘W-what? You mean, while we were ch-chasing sheep and f-fighting dogs and f-freezing our ch-cheeks off, he was … r-roast beef … p-pavlova … w-warm?’

  ‘Don’t forget wedding cake,’ said Pollo.

  ‘And scoffing w-wedding cake! He was f-five minutes up the r-road the whole t-time?’

  ‘More like ten,’ said Pollo. ‘But I don’t know why you’re squeaking, Will. Firstly, like I said before, I could hardly ask him to spoil his first real date since I can remember. He might not go on another one for ten years. And Wanda, his lady-friend, would have had to come too because he drove her to the wedding. Secondly, we weren’t expecting to find Benson till morning, remember? We had to stay here. Toughen up! What’s a night outdoors in lovely spring weather like this?’

  Will opened his mouth to argue then shut it again. He dug his phone from a pocket and handed it to Pollo, looking out over the grey ocean and the misty cloudbank bringing a rainshower their way. ‘I just want a b-big, hot p-pie.’

  ‘I’m with you there, Punk,’ said Benson. ‘But make it two.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Shorn Connery, Ear, Will, Benson and Pollo stuffed themselves into the back of Joe di Nozi’s four-wheel drive. Far from being tetchy about his daughter’s surprise phone call at six in the morning, Pollo’s father had seemed almost cheerful at the prospect of checking out early from his motel. Wanda sat in the front seat looking out the side window, her lips pressed together, a horizontal finger sealing her nostrils. She hadn’t seemed at all pleased to meet any of them.

  ‘The land looks beaut in the morning mist, don’t you think, Wanda?’ said Joe hopefully as they rolled along. ‘Your cats will be glad to see you home early, I’ll bet. Hope you don’t mind clearing up this business in Riddle Gully on the way. It takes seventy-odd k’s off the trip.’

  Wanda lifted her finger from under her nose. ‘The sooner you get rid of … I mean, drop off this lot, the better.’ Her finger resumed its position.

  ‘Excellent. Right.’ said Joe, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and rustling up a tune to hum.

  ‘So, how was the wedding?’ asked Pollo.

  ‘Terrific!’ said Joe. ‘The band had everyone up dancing!’ He glanced sideways at Wanda. ‘Well, nearly everyone.’

  ‘If you could call it dancing,’ said Wanda. ‘That kind of music always gives me a throbbing headache — all that rhythm. And the beef was tough, didn’t you think, Joe?’

  ‘Me? Can’t say I noticed,’ said Joe. ‘My bit was nice.’

  ‘Tough and oversalted,’ said Wanda.

  Pollo studied Wanda from the back seat. She hadn’t picked it up on the dating service photos but, seeing her now, it was as plain as day. Wanda was beige — beige hair, beige skin, beige lipstick, beige jumper and jeans, even the toenails in her high-heeled beige sandals. In fact — Pollo swung around to check — she looked quite a bit like Shorn Connery. But worst of all, Wanda acted beige. I’ll oversalt you, thought Pollo, her mind running over the other ladies she and Sherri had seen on her dad’s dating site.

  Benson interrupted her sabotaging train of thought. ‘This tree with the ravens’ nest in it — how high is it? If you guys couldn’t climb it, how am I meant to?’

  ‘Perhaps we could tape a bunch of long poles together and tie a mirror to the top,’ said Will. ‘Then we could see inside the nest.’

  ‘As long as we tied a whole lot of magnifying glasses underneath the mirror so we could see what it reflected,’ said Pollo.

  ‘A fire truck?’ said Pollo’s father over his shoulder.

  ‘HB says they’re for emergencies only, especially on weekends,’ said Will.

  ‘Fire trucks aren’t the only things with long ladders,’ said Benson. ‘The rollercoaster guys use ’em too. The one we had at the Riddle Gully fair broke, though, and we had to borrow one from a window cleaner.’

  Pollo and Will looked at one another. ‘Mr Squeaky!’ they yelled.

  As they trundled along the highway towards Riddle Gully, Will rang Angela who called Mr Squeaky the window cleaner — and said she’d speak to Will later as to why he was gallivanting around the countryside instead of going to Canberra.

  Benson then rang his mum in hospital who rang her brother, the mayor, to tell him he’d been sacked as Benson’s temporary guardian.

  And Pollo rang Sherri. ‘Drop everything and meet us at the car park near the cemetery!’ she shouted into the phone. ‘And bring a camera! Oh … and Benson’s gran!’ She hung up, then quickly redialled. ‘Please!’ she added, and hung up again.

  ‘I hope you’re right about this,’ said Benson, as they drove down the hill on the outskirts of town, the fields, the cemetery and the adjacent low hills and forest spreading ahead of them.

  ‘We will be,’ said Will. ‘I’ll bet you ten games of Monster Mash!’

  Twenty minutes later, as Joe di Nozi’s car bumped up to the cemetery gates, there was quite a mob there to welcome them — Benson’s gran, Sherri, Angela, HB and, best of all, a sprightly fellow in blue overalls who, as Riddle Gully’s window cleaner, boasted the longest ladder in the district. They all piled out of the car, except for Wanda, who said she prefer not to ruin her sandals, thank you all the same. Off to one side, Mayor Bullock leaned against his big black sedan, hands on his hips, scowling at his good-for-nothing nephew hugging his grandmother. Shorn Connery and Ear galloped away to Shorn Connery’s favourite lupin patch, kicking up clods of dewy grass.

  Mr Squeaky sprang forward. ‘I hear you young’uns are in urgent need of a set of rungs. People want a ladder, they straight off think fire truck, when they should be thinking Mr Squeaky!’ He handed a business card to Pollo. ‘In case you want to write something in the newspaper,’ he said with a wink. Pollo read the card — Mr Squeaky’s Window Washing. Squeaky Clean or Your Money Back. No Job Too Small or Too High — and tucked it in her pocket. You never knew when a long ladder might come in handy.

  Everyone except Wanda and Mayor Bullock helped unload Mr Squeaky’s longest extendable ladder. Arms hooked over it, they marched like a giant centipede through the cemetery, Mayor Bullock trailing grudgingly behind. They passed Mrs Turner’s grave and crossed the meadow to the forest near the head of the Diamond Jack hiking trail, where the giant red gum spread its knotty branches.

  They could hear the ravens cawing as they approached. Arp-arp-aaah!

  The group leaned the ladder against the gnarly trunk and Mr Squeaky tested its hold. It locked firmly.

  ‘Up you go, Benson,’ said Pollo.

  Benson quietly shook his head. ‘But what if …’ He looked from Pollo to Will. ‘One of you should go.’

  From above, they heard the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of wings as the ravens took to the sky.

  ‘Whoever goes, we’d better be quick,’ said Will. ‘We don’t want to disturb their nest any longer than we have to.’

  ‘Okay,’ mumbled Benson. ‘I guess I’ll go. Like you say, nothing to lose.’

  He had
just hoisted himself onto the first rung, when Pollo shouted to him. ‘Wait! We need evidence!’ She grabbed the camera from Sherri and passed it up to Benson. ‘Good luck!’ she whispered.

  Nine heads craned as Benson climbed one rung at a time up the ladder. He pulled himself onto the branch and edged along it till he reached the untidy clump of woven sticks, bark, grasses and odds and ends that formed the ravens’ nest. For a long time he sat there, quiet as a ghost, on the branch staring out across the cemetery, unable to look inside.

  On the ground, Mayor Bullock shuffled impatiently. Everyone else watched Benson in the tree, so breathless and silent you could hear seeds splitting.

  ‘This is a lot of hoo-ha!’ Mayor Bullock snorted. ‘A ruddy waste of —’ But the chorus of shshshsh! was so fierce he shut his mouth.

  Benson looked at the people below who had faith in him; at his gran waving her skinny arms, giving him a double thumbs up. He leaned sideways over the nest … and saw the soft plant and animal fluff, tufts of his uncle’s toupée, an old cat collar and glints of the gold and silver jewellery amongst which three speckled ravens’ eggs nestled. He smiled, feeling the return from a hiding place deep inside of a weary friend — his old self, the person he wanted to be, the person he knew he was.

  EPILOGUE

  In the silvery dusk, Shorn Connery and Ear grazed peacefully behind Mrs Turner’s tombstone. Pollo sat on the granite base, half reading a book, half watching the bats from the forest flitting over the cemetery meadow and listening to the ravens bedding down for the night. Suddenly she heard thudding footsteps. She turned to see Will running toward her, waving his mobile.

  ‘Lucky we bought tickets!’ he panted. ‘We just got a text from Benson!’

  Pollo took the phone, her smile widening as she read:

  Hey Fuzzball & Punk. Life is one scary rollercoaster. Tickets sold out with 3 days to go! Heap $$$ raised already. RAVENS ROCK!!! (and so do you.)

  THE END

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS