Dog Gone (13 page)

‘So good to see you, Dad,' I puffed.

‘Likewise, Ish,' he grinned, but still looked concerned. ‘You're as white as a sheet, son, you'd better come over here and sit down.'

‘Thanks.'

‘Gran's made you a hot chocolate,' he said, pushing a mug into my hands. ‘Get that into you and you'll feel better.'

I sat on the step of the fire truck, just below the driver's cabin. The hot chocolate tasted good and the mug felt warm in my hands. Gran and Molly sat either side of me, and Dad squatted down in front, resting his hands on my knees. His dark blue eyes smiled as they looked into mine. He'd obviously just got up, because his shiny black hair stuck out at all angles. I wondered when he'd arrived at Gran's.

I felt the hot chocolate warming my insides as it slid down my throat. Nobody spoke as I drank. They watched me blow across the frothy top and take little sips. It was as if the chocolate was a magical potion, and they were waiting to see if I'd turn into a frog. I didn't mind them watching me. And even though no one speaking was kind of weird, it was okay. I felt safe.

As soon as I finished the last mouthful, Gran took my mug and passed it to Dad, then put her arms around me. Her coat smelled of mothballs, but she felt soft and warm. Quietly, she said, ‘The ambulance officer wants to check you over before they take Brody to hospital, love. Come into the kitchen where it's warm. I've lit the wood fire.'

The firemen were packing the ropes and harness back into the truck. The ambulance was parked just behind it. I caught a glimpse of Brody in the back, just before an ambulance officer closed the doors.

‘Can I say goodbye to Brody first?' I asked, as Gran helped me to my feet and led me in the direction of the house.

‘Can't see why not,' said Gran. ‘Go on, then.'

As I walked over to the ambulance, I was surprised at how wobbly my legs felt. I had to concentrate to walk in a straight line.

‘How you doing, mate?' asked the ambulance officer. ‘Come to see your friend, have you?'

‘Yes.' I didn't mind him calling Brody my friend. I watched as he swung the rear door open again. Sitting next to Brody was the other ambulance officer. Brody was hooked up to a plastic tube and his leg was in a large, white splint.

‘How's your leg now, Brody?'

‘Not so bad, I s'pose,' he replied. ‘They say I'll have to have an operation to set it.'

‘They'll look after you.'

‘Come and visit me?'

‘You bet. I'll bring the joke book.'

Brody groaned as the ambulance officer clunked the door closed again and turned me in the direction of the house. ‘Come on, young man – let's check
you
out.'

I lay in bed and stared at the wall. Gran hadn't quite closed the curtains, and a small patch of light appeared and disappeared next to the wardrobe, as clouds passed in front of the sun and moved on again. I didn't feel sleepy, but Gran and Dad had insisted I have a rest in my room until lunchtime. I heard the murmur of their voices coming from the kitchen.

My head was spinning with everything that had happened. Gran had said that even though I'd had a nasty experience, I still had a lot of explaining to do. When I got up, I'd be facing the judge and jury, now that Dad was here, too.

I got out my journal and wrote the day's Lucky poem. It had been going round in my head in the well. When Brody had fallen asleep, I'd also tried to make the time pass quicker by thinking about all of Lucky's funny ways.

Day 11 - Picnic Lunch

We're at the park

Lucky and me

I'm teaching him

to walk without his lead

some people are

on a rug in the sun

a boy has a remote control plane

it whizzes over my head

and I watch for a minute

then there's a scream

the people on the rug

are yelling

and chasing after Lucky

he runs past

with their whole chicken

Now that Dad was here, he could come with me to visit Nelly Arnott. Dad would be able to convince her to give Lucky up if she'd kidnapped him. And if she didn't have Lucky, Dad would be able to convince the police to do a door-to-door search. Lucky couldn't have just disappeared into thin air.

I didn't want to spoil the time with Dad, so I decided I wouldn't mention anything about the ghost. I didn't want him worrying about me. He'd think I'd gone crazy. Now I only had to work out what to tell Gran and Dad about being found in Miss Beech's office, then all my problems would be solved.

A face appeared at the door. ‘Hungry?' asked Gran, twirling a tea towel in the air.

‘A bit – what's for lunch, Gran?' I had my fingers crossed it was Gran's shepherd's pie, my absolute favourite. Mum never had time to cook home-made stuff. Our meals at home usually came out of a packet or tin.

‘Shepherd's pie, of course,' she said, stepping into my room. ‘But I thought you might've had a sleep.'

‘Nah, I told you I wasn't tired, Gran.' I put my slippers on and slid under her arm. She tucked it around me, then draped the tea towel over my head so I couldn't see.

‘Come on, your Dad's got a surprise for you and the pie's getting cold. Think you can find it by following your nose?' Gran tickled me under my arm all the way into the kitchen.

‘
That's a stupid idea!
And it's not even a surprise!' Molly's voice echoed down the hallway and seemed to blast into the kitchen just before she did.

Dad was right behind. As he came in and slumped onto the chair next to Gran, he looked like a balloon with a slow leak. You could literally see him deflating – his shoulders drooping, his chin dropping to his chest and the shine fading from his eyes. ‘I thought you two would enjoy paddling the canoe. You always used to when you were little,' he said.

‘Well, we're not little anymore! Haven't you noticed?' Molly sat in the remaining chair, which was between Dad and me, and swept her plate and cutlery away from his. She practically knocked me off my chair as she stood up. She slid her own chair as far from Dad's as she could, and thumped down again. ‘No, well I don't suppose you
could have
noticed, when
you
live in Sydney and
we
live in Melbourne.'

‘Molly – that's enough,' said Gran, serving the shepherd's pie and spilling peas all over the table.

‘It'd do you good to get some fresh air and exercise,' persisted Dad, ‘and anyway, I've spent an hour dusting it off and getting it ready.'

‘No way! I'm not sitting in a canoe with you.' Molly slid to the very edge of her chair and almost sat in my lap.

‘I want to go, Dad,' I said, moving my chair along a bit.

‘Traitor!' Molly stood up and glared down at me. ‘How could you want to be with
him
after what he's done to Mum – leaving her like that and going to live in Sydney?'

‘Molly!' said Gran, standing up and resting her hands on the table.

‘It's all right, Maggie,' said Dad, ‘if she wants to get it off her chest, let her.'

Molly didn't need to be asked twice. ‘You don't care about me and Ish. You hardly ever ring us up like you said you would and you didn't even remember my birthday! All you care about is your stupid new job. Now Mum has to go to work every day and she never has time to help me with my homework because she's always doing the washing or something, and it's all your fault! I hate you!' Molly pushed her plate into the middle of the table and ran out of the kitchen and down the hall to her room. She slammed the door so loudly the windows rattled.

Lunch should have been delicious, but Molly ruined it. Nobody really felt hungry after her performance. Dad went down to try and coax her out. By the time he came back, his pie had gone cold. I noticed Gran only ate half of hers and I could only manage about the same. The only good part about it was neither Dad nor Gran brought up the topic of Miss Beech's office.

While I'd been stuck in my room, Dad had been out in the shed getting the cobwebs off Grandpa's old canoe. It now sat on Gran's car. When Dad finally gave up on changing Molly's mind, the two of us piled in and headed off to the river.

Gran stood in the driveway, waving. ‘Be careful, you two,' she called after us, ‘we've had enough drama in this family!'

We chugged off at top speed, which, in Gran's car – a Hillman Minx, built in the
Stone Age
– was 40 kilometres an hour. It always amazed me that it could still run.

We pulled in to a quiet spot by the river and Dad had the canoe in the water before I'd even finished doing up my life jacket. He let me sit in the back, so I could practise steering. We headed upstream first, so we could paddle with the current on our way back.

It was so peaceful out on the river. For the first ten minutes or so, Dad and I hardly spoke. I think we were both enjoying the sound of the paddles plopping into the water, and the occasional call of a galah or parrot. Every now and again he'd tell me to paddle on the other side, or do bigger sweeps like the shape of a letter ‘j', until pretty soon I'd got the hang of it, and I was steering the canoe by myself.

Every so often I'd stop paddling to rest my arms. Dad would take over and do all the work. I watched his arms pull the paddle through the water as if it was no effort at all. They were so strong, and his back so straight. Every now and again the clouds would break up and his black hair shone in the sunlight.

I watched him from behind, noticing everything about him – the shape of his shoulders, his ears, the side of his face when he turned to look at something. I tried to keep the picture of him, like this, in my head, so I could remember it when he'd gone.

Then suddenly I asked, ‘Dad, can I come and live with you in Sydney?'

He didn't answer.

Had he heard me? The sound of the paddles faded into nothing and the only thing I could hear was the answer I'd heard in my imagination so many times before. I'd had this conversation with Dad hundreds of times, mostly as I lay in bed at night, waiting to go off to sleep. It varied a bit, the way he'd say it, the words he'd pick, but the answer was always the same.
Yes, son. Of course you can live with me in Sydney. We'll talk Mum into it.

He seemed to be paddling faster, stronger. He was sitting up straighter. I knew my paddling wasn't making a scrap of difference now, but I kept going anyway.

I waited for him to answer.

Maybe he'd been practising too, and he wanted to find just the right words to tell me that I could live with him.

I waited. And I waited some more.

Then I couldn't wait any longer.

‘Dad? Did you hear me? Can I live with you in Sydney?'

‘No, son.'

The Star Hotel's
dining room reminded me of a scene from an old movie. Everywhere you looked, you saw dark-coloured wood; and the yellowing walls needed a fresh coat of paint. It smelled old, too, as if the smell of every bacon and egg breakfast for the last hundred years had seeped into the furniture and carpet.

It wasn't such a bad smell, really. And I was looking forward to my bacon and eggs. Dad was treating me to breakfast at the hotel he was staying at in Mount Selview. He'd moved in last night, even though I'd begged him to sleep in my room at Gran's. I wouldn't have minded sleeping on the floor at all. But he'd said that Gran and Molly needed some breathing space and, besides, he loved old hotels. They had a great feel to them.

As I waited for him to serve our bacon and eggs with sausages from the breakfast buffet, I tried not to think about what he'd said in the canoe. Last night I'd cried myself to sleep.