Riddle Gully Runaway Page 6

  ‘Why not? It’s months since you saw your dad.’

  ‘Clive rang just as we left Riddle Gully,’ said Will above the clanking of the train. ‘He says he’s got the flu so camping’s off. Tiff came on and said it was only a man-cold and I should come anyway, but if my dad doesn’t want me around …’ Will’s voice trailed off.

  ‘Some people feel sickness more than others,’ Pollo offered, rubbing her goosebumpy arms. ‘They can’t help it.’

  ‘Yeah. He’s one of them — a wuss.’ Will unzipped his backpack and drew out a fleecy jacket. He plonked it on Pollo’s lap. ‘Here, take this. I’m warm enough in my windcheater.’

  Pollo pulled on Will’s jacket eagerly. ‘Thanks!’ She prodded Will’s sagging backpack with a foot. ‘Do you even have a change of clothes in there?’

  ‘Nup. I was going on a father-and-son camping trip, remember? The stinkier the better. Plus, I needed room for my art stuff.’

  ‘Always the artist,’ said Pollo.

  Will smiled wryly. ‘Always the artist with overdue art assignments.’

  ‘How did you even know we were on the train?’ said Pollo, pulling her beanie down to her eyebrows.

  ‘Huh! You ran off at Riddle Gully like you had a lizard in your daks, so I guessed something was up. Then when I got off at Two Wells I heard Shorn Connery. It all came clear what you were up to — and it was totally clear that I wasn’t going to call Angela and mizzle back to Riddle Gully just ’cos my dad’s a wimp. I figured the more people looking for Benson, the better.’

  ‘When will you tell your mum and HB you haven’t gone to Canberra?’

  ‘Hmm …’ Will drummed his chin with his fingers. ‘I might forget to mention that for a while.’

  Pollo tucked her knees to her chest and grinned. ‘That’s what I like to hear!’

  *

  The train rattled onward, crops and sheep paddocks swishing by. ‘So, what’s your plan?’ said Will.

  Pollo peeked through the slit between beanie and jacket. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t ask. I’m ashamed to say, I haven’t got one.’

  ‘But when you jumped on the train at Riddle Gully it was to find Benson and tell him we knew he was in the clear, right?’

  ‘And to say sorry for ever printing that stuff about him.’ Pollo picked at a thumbnail. ‘I still don’t understand why he told us he’d done the robberies,’ she said. ‘That was crazy. I’d never have written my story if he hadn’t said that stuff.’

  Will pulled a sandwich from his backpack. He picked out the tomato and tossed it to Shorn Connery, who swallowed it in one sniff. ‘Maybe not so crazy,’ he said. ‘More kind of sad.’ He bit and chewed. ‘Look at it from his side. Maybe he’s already feeling like a scumbag for stealing whatever it was he stole at school. Then we come along and he thinks, “I’m already a scumbag — what difference does it make if I’m a bit bigger one?” You know, like when you start on a packet of biscuits and eat more than you mean to — and then you think, “Well, I’m already a pig — I may as well finish the packet.”’

  ‘You do that, too?’ said Pollo.

  ‘Plus, he gets to stir us up at the same time,’ said Will. He took another bite, and added through his mouthful, ‘Course, he didn’t know it would end up in the newspaper.’ He held out the squashed sandwich remains to Pollo. ‘Want some?’

  ‘Err, no thanks.’ Pollo folded her arms. ‘I still don’t get why it’s Benson who gets to feel sorry for himself.’

  ‘Haven’t you ever done something you wished you hadn’t?’ said Will.

  ‘I get cranky with Dad sometimes,’ mumbled Pollo.

  ‘Well, what if, instead of coming back into your real un-cranky self afterwards, something happened and you got stuck being cranky?’ Will leaned towards Pollo, his eyes spooky-wide. ‘It’s like a nightmare. You know the sort of person you really are but no one else seems to. Soon everybody’s treating you like you’re a crank, even though you know deep down you’re not.’ Will popped the last of the sandwich into his mouth. ‘You’d be pretty keen to get your old self back, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I’d definitely want my old self back.’ She pulled out her notepad and pencil. ‘So your theory is that Benson got this idea of himself as a thief —’

  ‘A scumbag.’

  ‘— a scumbag … and then, between his uncle and us, he couldn’t get his old self back? He got stuck feeling like a scumbag?’

  Will shrugged. ‘I reckon that could be it.’

  Pollo shook her head. ‘I’d just tell my uncle or whoever to go count the holes in a crumpet.’

  ‘Not everyone’s as … as … sure of themselves as you,’ said Will.

  Pollo eyed him sideways from beneath her beanie. After a moment she huffed, ‘You might have shared all this wisdom of yours earlier.’

  Will gazed at the scenery skimming past. ‘Didn’t know I had it until now.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Benson, in a long rubber apron and rubber boots, leaned against the cyclone wire fence that cut off the abattoir from the surrounding farm. The spring sun was warm on his shoulders and the song pulsing through his iPod brought happy memories of rehearsing in Kal’s garage with the band. But the stink of the slaughterhouse nearby stuck like glue in his nostrils no matter what track was playing.

  A little way off, the workers who liked a smoke with their mug of morning tea — which, as far as he could tell, was everyone but him — huddled in a grey haze, swapping jibes and laughs, the women in a clump to one side of the courtyard, the men in a clump on the other.

  He was hungry but no one was handing out scones and jam, that’s for sure. At Gran’s place, he’d never eaten so much excellent food in his whole life — one good thing about staying there; the only thing other than Gran herself. When his mum landed in hospital just as his suspension was about to kick off, and with his dad away up north, everyone thought it would be such a great idea for him to go and stay in Riddle Gully. Everyone but him. It had turned into a nightmare. Uncle Orville collected him and lectured him all the way to Riddle Gully, shutting up only for that half hour he’d had business at Maloola. But it got way worse once they were at Gran’s place. Whenever Gran gave Benson a hug or told him a story about when he was little, his uncle got angry, or made out she was old and stupid and had her facts wrong. He acted like he was jealous … like he was worried Gran mightn’t have enough love to go round.

  Benson didn’t care what his uncle thought of him. But when he talked to Gran like that … man, it made him want to give him one. But all Benson could do was sit there and say nothing, ’cos if he did say anything to defend Gran, it just made his uncle carry on worse. He felt like a total mongrel either way.

  Nah, he just raked up trouble at Gran’s. Even without that girl writing her story in the newspaper he couldn’t have stayed. He didn’t want to run out on Gran like he had, but he was better out of the way.

  ‘Hey kid! You ignoring me?’ Benson became aware, over the music in his ears, of a gruff voice. He turned to see the Duke, as the other workers called him — a stocky man in his forties. The Duke was a few metres away and holding out a packet of cigarettes, a teasing look in his eyes under his wiry raised brows.

  Benson pulled out an earphone and shook his head — ‘No thanks’. He resumed staring at the sky. The joke was old already — they knew he didn’t smoke — but the other men bent their heads together and chuckled gleefully every time.

  ‘Into your second day and ya haven’t come said g’day. Bit posh for us are ya?’

  This was off-script, thought Benson. ‘No, course not.’ He forced a smile at the Duke.

  ‘Then come and have a chat with the boys and me.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Benson. He pushed off the fence. The Duke headed for the cluster of workers and Benson followed.

  ‘Only one rule,’ said the Duke as the men shuffled to make room for them.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You gotta have a little puff every once in a while
to come stand with us.’

  There was a round of hard, flat laughs and a few coughs.

  Benson shook his head and stretched a smile. ‘Nah, no way. It killed my granddad. Sorry.’

  The Duke took a drag and allowed the smoke to drift slowly from the corner of his mouth. ‘We got a problem then. If you stand over there all by yourself, how do we know what sort of a fella you are? How do we know we can trust you? The boys here get toey if a bloke don’t join in.’ He looked around the grinning group. ‘Don’t ya, boys?’

  The men nodded and smirked.

  ‘But we like to think we’re reasonable,’ said the Duke. He scratched the stubble of his whiskers slowly, keeping his eye on Benson, thinking. ‘How’s about …’ — the men looked at one another expectantly and giggled — ‘… a bit of a prank? Harmless. No one hurt.’

  Benson scuffed the ground beneath his rubber boot. ‘What kind of prank?’

  ‘All we want you to do,’ said the Duke, ‘is come back here tonight and take the boss’s family portrait from his desk.’

  ‘Here — at the abattoir? But I’d have to break in, wouldn’t I? I’m not breaking any laws for you,’ said Benson.

  The Duke laughed. ‘You’ve been breakin’ laws sleepin’ in the shed out the back of the Royal Arms the past two nights,’ he said. ‘Yeah, that’s right. Tony’s missus is a cleaner there. You’ve been spotted, kid. Lucky no one’s put the law onto you already! A door jimmied open here, a lock smashed there — it’s all the same to a copper.’

  Benson shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground.

  ‘Frankly, young fella,’ said the Duke, ‘you’re a bit on the nose. You wanna warm shower and a nice soft bed, am I right?’

  Before Benson could stop himself, he nodded.

  ‘Well, take the photo from the boss’s office tonight and Tony’s missus will square it so’s you get a free room at the pub for a few days — no questions asked.’

  Benson imagined the dirt and stink of the abattoir swirling down a plughole. ‘Sounds fair,’ he mumbled.

  ‘It’s more than fair.’ The Duke turned to his workmates. ‘It’s downright charitable of us, wouldn’t you say lads?’

  The men nodded, smirking.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Benson flatly.

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ said the Duke. ‘And then, like I say, we’ll know we can trust you. You’ll be one of us.’

  A siren sounded and the workers began stubbing their butts on the gravel and drifting toward the abattoir door. ‘One little thing,’ said the Duke.

  Benson paused. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘On your way out, if you happen to see any cash that looks like it needs a good home, it’d help if you were to relocate it with us. It might stop tongues slipping if the boss asks questions. Know what I mean?’

  Benson jammed his earphones back in. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I do.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The moment the train hissed to a halt at Maloola, Pollo jumped down. Will shoved Shorn Connery’s rear end and they soon had him on solid ground, sniffing the salty air of the seaside town. They scurried along the narrow gap between train and fence until they were close to the platform. As soon as the coast was clear, they scrambled their way up and fell into step with the other passengers. They would have blended right in if they hadn’t been accompanied by a sheep.

  As they wove through the crowd in the station building, Will kept his eyes on the chequered linoleum floor and dropped back several paces. With a bit of luck, if someone from art school were to spot him, they might not connect him to the girl trying to control the excited ram. Will felt the blood pulsing in his temples at the very thought of it. He’d be as red as a chilli pepper by now. Knowing this, he blushed even more.

  ‘Will! Will Hopkins!’ Pollo’s voice squawked through the air. ‘Why are you all the way back there? Come up here and help me, quick!’

  He cranked up his line of sight to see Pollo slithering on the concourse — a newspaper kiosk to one side of her and a flower stall to the other. She was leaning back on Shorn Connery’s rope as the sheep, his hooves doing wheelies on the smooth floor, drove full-tilt for the stall, eager to wrap his hairy lips around its juicy spring display.

  People edged past sideways, giving them dirty looks. As Will looked on, aghast, Pollo’s feet slid from under her. Slowly but surely, Shorn Connery was dragging her — on her backside and gripping his lead — toward the fragrant bouquets in their bright buckets.

  Baa-aa-ah! The few people in the station not already staring at them turned around.

  ‘You! Get that animal out of here!’ The stationmaster was striding toward them. ‘Go on! Skedaddle!’

  Will sprang forward and tugged on the rope with Pollo. They stemmed Shorn Connery’s charge with his snout millimetres away from a bunch of daffodils. They hauled him to the exit, his hooves leaving four deep gouges in the linoleum, and hurried away from the station.

  At the war memorial overlooking the grey ocean near the edge of town, they found a bench where the grass grew long around the nearby trees. Shorn Connery set about mowing it, while Will and Pollo flopped down, looking out at the white-tops being whipped up by the stiff breeze.

  ‘Do you think anyone saw you?’ asked Pollo.

  ‘Pollo, everyone in the whole station saw me!’ cried Will.

  ‘I mean, anyone who knows you weren’t meant to be coming into Maloola today, dummy — like a teacher from your art school.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ muttered Will.

  ‘That’s good. I wouldn’t have wanted there to be a scene.’

  Will shook his head. Pollo’s idea of a scene clearly differed from his.

  ‘So … to Benson?’ he said.

  ‘And his old self,’ said Pollo.

  ‘Where the heck do we start looking?’

  ‘Where would you go if you were him?’

  ‘Definitely the bakery first,’ said Will. ‘And then Game Zone, maybe.’ He frowned. ‘But what if he’s just gone on home?’

  ‘If he wanted to go home, as his uncle claims, he wouldn’t have hitched a ride down this way,’ said Pollo. ‘He would have caught a train to Two Wells and changed trains up to the city. All the big trucks take the route that bypasses Two Wells. It’s possible, I guess, he jumped off the sheep truck along the highway somewhere and hitched a different ride into Two Wells. But it’s more likely he came straight here, I think.’

  Will rubbed his stomach. ‘Well, I know I wouldn’t mind going to the bakery.’

  ‘That’s our first stop then. We can ask around.’

  ‘We can’t bring Shorn Connery with us though!’ blurted Will. ‘He’ll … you know … draw attention. And if Benson sees us coming he won’t hang around to have a chat.’

  ‘Good point,’ said Pollo. She huddled into her jacket, thinking. ‘Hey, I know! Mr Mallard! He’s a retired sheep farmer from Riddle Gully who lives close by. One of Dad’s old customers. We might be able to leave Shorn Connery with him.’

  *

  As Pollo, Will and Shorn Connery walked up the footpath, Mr Mallard tipped back his hat and leaned on his spade. ‘Pollo di Nozi!’ he called. ‘That’s a fine young specimen of a ram you’ve got there, girl. Reminds me of one I had in the nineties. Won Best Fleece in Show four years running.’

  ‘This here’s Shorn Connery!’ beamed Pollo. ‘Oh, and this is Will. We’ve got a bit of business to do in Maloola, Mr Mallard. We were hoping we could leave Shorn Connery with you for a while.’

  The old farmer nodded. ‘Sure thing! You kids leave the young fella with me and come back for him when you’re ready. I’ll be going off to bowls later but you kids go on round the back. Side gate’s never locked.’

  A little later, Will and Pollo emerged from Maloola bakery with a lamington each and no further clue as to where Benson might be hiding. They walked up the main street, eating and keeping a lookout for Benson, asking at any place he might have visited and where a shopkeeper might remember him
. No one knew anything nor seemed too fussed at being unable to help.

  ‘I guess he might have changed his mind and made his way home some other way,’ said Pollo, looking at the brochures and timetables in a travel agent’s window.

  ‘No, I reckon you were right before,’ said Will. He looked up and down the street. ‘I’ve got a hunch he’s around here somewhere. He’s probably down in the dumps, remember. It figures he’d want to get lost from everyone for a while.’

  ‘If you say so,’ said Pollo.

  They trudged on until they came to the big glass doors of Game Zone. They stepped inside the cave-like room that flickered with flashing lights. Although nearly empty, it was raucous with sirens, bells and whooping sound effects from the gaming machines.

  ‘What was Benson’s favourite machine again?’ yelled Pollo above the racket.

  ‘Monster Mash!’ said Will.

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Through there, behind that wall.’

  They wove between the machines keeping as close to the walls as they could, and peeked around the corner. Monster Mash’s lights pulsed, but no one was there to appreciate them.

  Pollo sighed. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  ‘No, wait!’ said Will. He fished in his pocket for some coins.

  ‘Will! We don’t have time for that now!’

  Will ignored Pollo and walked trance-like across to the machine.

  ‘We’ve got to keep going!’ shouted Pollo.

  Will fed a two-dollar coin into the slot, shrugging off Pollo who tugged on his arm. The big panel of lights shimmered into action.

  ‘I can’t believe this!’ Pollo turned to go. ‘I’m going to keep looking for Benson. I’m not standing here while you —’

  ‘Pollo! Look!’ cried Will, pointing to the screen. ‘Highest score! Bragger Bee!’

  Pollo looked. ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘Bragger Bee. Bee-for-Benson Bragg! That’s got to be him. And according to this, he posted twelve-thousand-seven-hundred-and-ninety-two on this machine the day before yesterday. Wow! My best’s only five-thousand-and-forty. I told you the guy’s a magician!’