Adults Only

  Jake was having trouble hearing anything now, the blood was pounding so hard in his ears.

  ‘Jake Robinson to 5F,’ he said, gripping the microphone. ‘Please identify yourself.’

  ‘Haven’t got a clue what that means,’ said the voice. ‘I just wanted to say I know how you feel.’

  ‘Is that you Kelsey?’ said Jake, his voice sounding strange and squeaky in his headphones. ‘Jody? Nicole? Leanne? Zoe?’

  Even over the radio, the girl’s voice didn’t sound like anyone in his class.

  ‘Got to go now,’ she said. ‘I’m starving.’

  A friend, he realised suddenly. She could be a friend staying with one of the class for the holidays. Or a cousin. Or a trainee testicle-remover.

  ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk.’

  Silence hissed in his headphones.

  ‘Jake Robinson to person who agrees with me. Come in.’

  Nothing.

  Jake tried for ages, but she’d gone. Finally he turned the radio off and slumped back in his chair. He’d never felt so alone.

  Or so hungry.

  Power of suggestion, he thought dully. She said she was starving, so now I am. Plus, he remembered, he’d dumped his dinner in the bin.

  He crept up the cellar steps and along the passage to the kitchen. He could hear laughter and merry voices coming from the dining room.

  Kevin and Fiona must like the chocolate liqueur. Mum and Dad sounded as though they quite liked it too.

  Jake wondered if they’d drunk enough for him to creep in and grab Crusher without them seeing. Probably not. He’d have to wait till they were all sleeping it off and go and get Crusher then.

  Jake slipped into the kitchen. He didn’t plan to hang around. Grab the steak and chips from the bin, rinse them under the tap if necessary, quick burst in the microwave, and back in his room before Dad had finished saying, ‘A toast to the best travel magazine in the southern hemisphere’.

  But he didn’t do any of that. Instead he stopped dead and gaped.

  The kitchen was a mess.

  Cupboard doors were open, packets and jars had been flung around, half the stuff in the fridge was on the floor. There was a trail of flour or something running out of the kitchen and along the passage.

  And, he saw when he followed it, up the stairs.

  Jake stood at the foot of the stairs and looked at the white trail, a dusty trickle on each step.

  For a second he thought one of the magazine people must have got drunk and had an urge to make a cake and decided to do it in their room.

  Then Jake realised it couldn’t be that.

  The magazine people were both still in the dining room. He could hear them laughing with Mum and Dad.

  There must be someone else in the house.

  11

  Jake followed the white powdery trail past the Blue Room and along the passage to the Pink Room. He crouched and looked closely at the floorboards.

  The trail definitely ended here. Whoever made it must have gone into the Pink Room.

  Probably was still in there.

  Jake pressed his ear to the door.

  Nothing. All he could hear was the distant sound of laughter from downstairs.

  Then Jake realised what must have happened. He stood up, feeling silly. Of course. Mr Goff. He was always out fishing at night. He must have taken refuge from a storm or an angry whale. Mum and Dad must have offered him an empty guest room as long as he took his boots off before he got into bed.

  Jake scuffed the floury trail with his shoe. Talcum powder probably. Mr Goff probably needed it. Cold seawater could give you a rash in some pretty uncomfortable places.

  Jake turned away from the door.

  Good old Mum and Dad, he thought sadly. They’ll provide a bed for anyone who needs it. Even a kid they don’t want.

  ‘You coming in, Jake?’

  Jake spun round.

  The voice had come from inside the room.

  It wasn’t Mr Goff’s. Mr Goff didn’t have a girl’s voice.

  It’s happening again, thought Jake. Loneliness is making me go mental again. First I start seeing things, now I’m hearing them.

  ‘Thought you said you wanted to talk,’ said the voice.

  Jake took a step towards the door. He wasn’t imagining this. There was someone in there.

  ‘Please yourself,’ said the voice. ‘No skin off my bum.’

  Jake blinked.

  It sounded like the voice of the girl he’d just been talking to on the radio.

  But how? The only two-way radio on the island was in his room. How could she have been talking back to him on it?

  Jake tried to get a grip on himself. The voice in the room couldn’t be the girl. It must be Mr Goff with a squeaky throat from too much yodelling.

  There was only one way to find out.

  Hands trembling, Jake pushed the door open. The worst that could happen was that he’d see Mr Goff in his undies and have to apologize.

  He didn’t.

  The girl was sitting on the bed, cheeks bulging, chewing fast. Cradled in her arm was a plate piled with food. Between her knees was a leaking box of icing sugar.

  Jake stared as she picked up a lump of chicken with grubby fingers, dipped it into the icing sugar and stuffed it into her mouth.

  She was about his age, and she was wearing a faded pink dress with puffy short sleeves. Her dark hair bobbed up and down as she chewed.

  Jake blinked again.

  It was the girl he’d seen on the beach.

  He tried to speak, but he couldn’t.

  She looked at him for a moment, then glanced down at her dress and brushed bits of food and clouds of icing sugar off it.

  ‘I’m making a mess,’ she said through her mouthful. ‘Sorry. Haven’t had chicken for years. Or cake. Or fruit. Or ham.’

  Jake watched speechless as she dipped a slice of ham into the icing sugar and crammed it into her mouth.

  ‘Or this’ she said, holding up a lump of fish. ‘What’s this?’ She plonked it into the icing sugar and squeezed it into her mouth.

  ‘It’s a sardine,’ croaked Jake. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Gwen,’ she said. ‘G’day.’

  Jake’s mind was racing. Another e-mail must have gone to the wrong address. To Gwen’s parents, whoever they were. They must be camping somewhere on the island. With a two-way radio. But why hadn’t they made contact with Mum and Dad? Why hadn’t Mr Goff mentioned he’d brought them over?

  First things first.

  ‘Please don’t get me wrong,’ said Jake, ‘because I’m really really pleased you’re here, but there’s a bit of a problem at the moment with you being in this room.’

  He strained to hear if Mum and Dad and the magazine people were still distracted by the chocolate liqueur. It sounded as if they were.

  The girl stood up and pushed the plate into Jake’s hands.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t be here stuffing my face.’

  She pulled something off the bottom of the plate and popped it into her mouth and started chewing. Jake saw a flash of pink.

  Bubblegum.

  Then he saw how troubled her dark eyes were.

  Relax, he said to himself. Don’t get panicked and scare her away. It’s not such a big deal. You’ve got a whole island to hide her from the magazine people.

  ‘I got carried away,’ she said. ‘It was being near so much food. I should be looking for my sister.’

  Sister?

  Jake gulped.

  He knew he should have been ecstatic to hear there was another kid on the island, but at that moment all he could think about was explaining the important stuff to Gwen. Why she and her sister had to stay out of sight of all adults with funny shoes.

  Before he could start, she looked him directly in the eyes.

  Hers, he saw, were suddenly very sad.

  ‘They did want you,’ she said softly. ‘They really did.’

  At first Jake wa
sn’t sure he’d heard right.

  Then, when he decided he had, he realised she’d slipped out the door.

  ‘Wait,’ he said, and flung himself after her.

  The passage was empty. Jake looked in both directions, heart thumping. Not a sign of her. She must be an incredibly fast runner.

  As Jake hurried down the stairs, he prayed she wasn’t a noisy one.

  The adults in the dining room didn’t seem to have heard anything. Not judging by their loud singing.

  Jake sat on the bottom stair, breathless and dazed, Gwen’s words still buzzing in his head.

  They did want you.

  Did she mean Mum and Dad?

  How did she know?

  He had to find her.

  First, though, he had to clean up the mess. If Mum and Dad saw the kitchen looking like the fridge had thrown a tantrum and the stairway looking like a dandruff-sufferers convention had just passed through, they’d go ballistic.

  Jake mopped and swept as fast as he could.

  Lucky I’m experienced at quiet cleaning, he thought.

  This was just like all those early mornings Mum let him help her while the guests were still asleep. Except at that hour Dad wasn’t usually in the dining room singing the theme song from Annie.

  A thought dribbled across Jake’s mind like sardine oil across a kitchen floor. Maybe that was why Mum and Dad put up with him, because he was a good cleaner.

  Jake wiped away the thought and the sardine oil, rinsed the cloth, hung it under the sink, and slipped silently out the back door into the moonlight to look for Gwen and her family.

  First he went to the main beach.

  If I was camping and wanted to stay hidden, he thought, I’d get in among those big dunes at the far end.

  He went up the far end and shone his torch between every dune, listening carefully for the sound of voices or bubblegum popping.

  Nothing.

  Then he went to the high part of the island, where it started to drop away to the south. It was much windier up here for a campsite, but the view in the daytime was better if you could do without a fire.

  Perhaps that’s why she was so hungry, thought Jake as he checked behind the rocky outcrops. Perhaps the whole family’s living off cold tinned soup.

  ‘Gwen,’ he yelled, but the wind and the crashing waves swallowed his voice.

  Nothing. Not a tent, not a sleeping bag, not a billy can, not even an empty soup tin.

  Jake didn’t give up. But she wasn’t in the forest near the jetty either, or on his beach, or in the cave.

  OK, thought Jake as he plodded back up the cliff path. I give up. I must have missed them in the dark. I’ll get up at first light and find them then.

  Even though he was tired and cold and worried, he grinned.

  Two kids on the island.

  It felt good.

  He knew Crusher would be excited too.

  The good feeling didn’t last long.

  As he crept along the kitchen wall towards the back door, Jake heard voices coming from the dining room. He saw the dining room window was still a bit open, the way he’d left it earlier. Mum and Dad and the magazine people must have got sick of singing and gone back to conversation.

  Jake peeped in to make sure they weren’t about to head off to bed. He didn’t want any tragic collisions in the hallway. Not involving him, anyway.

  What he saw froze his guts.

  The magazine woman was holding Crusher in one hand and a cheque book in the other.

  ‘OK,’ she was saying, slurring her words. ‘Antique teddy bears are worth a bit, I know that, so I’m not going to insult you. Two hundred dollars.’

  Jake stared, horrified.

  She wanted to buy Crusher.

  He saw Mum and Dad look at each other doubtfully.

  ‘No,’ Jake wanted to scream. ‘Don’t do it.’

  But he couldn’t risk being seen.

  The magazine woman leant forward and whispered loudly to Mum and Dad. ‘It’s for Kevin’s birthday. It’s perfect for him cause he’s a teddy bear too.’

  ‘Grizzly bear,’ mumbled the magazine man. ‘I’m a grizzly bear.’

  ‘Three hundred dollars,’ said the magazine woman.

  Mum and Dad were still looking doubtful.

  They won’t do it, thought Jake. Even though they’d do anything to keep the magazine people happy, they know how much Crusher means to me.

  His chest ached.

  He tried to catch Crusher’s eye, to let him know it was going to be alright, but he could only see the back of Crusher’s head.

  He did some silent whistling, but he was pretty sure Crusher didn’t hear it.

  While the magazine people were distracted with Crusher, Dad signalled to Mum to follow him across the room to the drinks cabinet.

  Jake shrank as small as he could. The drinks cabinet was right next to the window he was crouched under. He strained to hear what Mum and Dad were saying while they fiddled with the ice bucket.

  ‘We can’t,’ muttered Dad. ‘What about Jake?’

  Good on you Dad, thought Jake.

  Mum looked at Dad. Then she looked over at the magazine people, who were both kissing Crusher.

  Jake shuddered. Poor Crusher. Jake wished Crusher had real stomach contents so he could throw up on them. He wished there were police on the island so the magazine people could be arrested for unlawfully kissing a family member.

  ‘Jake’s nearly a teenager, love,’ Mum said unhappily to Dad. ‘He’s got to say goodbye to his teddy bear sometime.’

  Before Dad or Jake could react, Mum went back over to the magazine people.

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t accept your very generous offer,’ she said. ‘Crusher’s been a part of our family for a long time, and it wouldn’t be right to accept money for him.’

  She took a deep breath and Jake wanted to leap through the window and hug her.

  But she hadn’t finished.

  ‘So,’ she said to the magazine people, ‘we’re going to give him to you.’

  Jake lay on his bed, face pressed into his damp pillow.

  Even though his tears had stopped, he still couldn’t believe it.

  How?

  How could they have done it?

  The thought was too painful, so he went back to planning the rescue operation he’d be mounting first thing in the morning.

  He needed something to distract the adults while he grabbed Crusher.

  Three possibilities.

  One, burn the house down.

  Two, blow up the island.

  Three, create a giant tidal wave offshore and wash the magazine people all the way to Antarctica.

  Jake liked the third possibility best. Even though he was feeling sleepy, he thought for a long time about the best way to create a giant tidal wave.

  Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  He rolled over.

  Gwen was standing there looking down at him.

  Her dark eyes were shining. In the light from his bedside lamp Jake could see she was still wearing her pink dress, which he thought was strange as it was about three in the morning and she should be wearing pyjamas.

  He also noticed her legs were covered with bruises. He saw why. Her shoes were thin and flat with only a wonky strap holding each one on. The soles had no grip. And the thin white socks bunched at her ankles looked hopeless for shock absorption.

  That’s criminal, thought Jake. Letting a kid come to an island like this with footwear like that. Poor thing must go flat on her face every time she steps on a rock.

  He saw she was holding something out to him.

  ‘This is for you,’ she said. ‘It cheers me up when I feel sad about not being wanted.’

  Jake saw it was a doll.

  He reached out and took it.

  Looking at it closely, he saw its body was made from cardboard and curtain material and its arms and legs were wooden clothes pegs and its face was drawn on with crayons.

  It w
as smiling at him.

  He felt himself smiling back. Not at the doll, at Gwen. So this was what it was like to have a real live friend.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, looking up at her.

  But she was gone.

  That’s impossible, he thought sleepily. She couldn’t have gone that quickly.

  Then he realised what must be happening.

  I must be dreaming, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

  I must be dreaming.

  12

  ‘Jake, wake up.’

  Jake opened his eyes and squinted in the morning light that spilled down the cellar steps.

  Mum was standing over the bed, shaking him.

  ‘I need your help,’ said Mum. ‘It’s an emergency’

  Jake sat up, half awake.

  ‘What?’ he said. ‘What’s happened?’

  Fragments of dreams or memories or something flickered in his mind. An explosion. A fire. A huge wave with a pair of pimply shoes floating in it. Then his head cleared and he saw the distress on Mum’s face.

  Suddenly he was completely awake.

  ‘Is it Dad?’ said Jake, grabbing her arm. ‘Is Dad OK?’

  Horrible images flooded into his head. Dad lying at the bottom of a cliff, surrounded by fragments of the rock ledge that had collapsed under him when he was picking herbs. Dad slumped in the kitchen, terribly disfigured by burning truffle oil that had ignited when he was stir-frying sea slugs. Dad writhing in agony with food-poisoning after tasting a furry green cheese Easter egg.

  ‘Dad’s fine,’ said Mum, her face white with anxiety. ‘It’s the magazine people. They’ve wet the bed.’

  Jake stared at her.

  ‘Me and Dad are taking them for a walk,’ continued Mum. ‘I don’t know how long we can keep them occupied. You’ve got to get the sheets changed as quickly as you can.’

  Jake kept on looking at her. He didn’t understand.

  ‘The crucial thing is,’ said Mum, ‘they mustn’t feel embarrassed. They haven’t said anything about it and they obviously don’t want us to. What they want is a dry, freshly made bed so they can all forget about it as quickly as possible and get on with writing nice things about us.’

  Jake understood. If there was one thing more embarrassing for an adult than nearly drowning, it was weeing in the bed. The only thing worse than that, thought Jake as he swung his legs onto the floor, would be weeing in the bed and nearly drowning in it.