Doubting Thomas

  At lunch in the hospitality room, the producer came over to where Thomas was sitting with Mum and Dad and the others.

  Mum was in the middle of telling Thomas that she didn’t really want a new kitchen, not really, and that granite workbenches were a bit flash for her.

  Thomas was in the middle of having a nipple attack and a guilt attack.

  ‘So, Tommo,’ said the producer. ‘Well done. You’re a heck of a competitor.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Thomas.

  ‘He watches a lot of game shows,’ said Alisha. ‘We let him do it instead of going to school.’

  ‘Very focussed,’ said the producer to Thomas.

  ‘I help him with that,’ said Kevin.

  ‘Bit of advice, Tommo,’ said the producer. ‘Try not to get so stressed when you get one wrong. You almost look like you’re having a panic attack. Relax, buddy, everyone gets a few wrong.’

  ‘Thanks, said Thomas. ‘I’ll try to remember that.’

  ‘So,’ said the producer. ‘Two more nights for the big prize. Do you think you can do it?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Thomas.

  ‘I think so too,’ said the producer, giving Thomas a pretend punch on the chin.

  Thomas was glad it wasn’t a pretend punch on the chest. His nipples had just gone feather duster.

  The producer was lying.

  Thomas won the fourth night with seventeen out of twenty.

  As the compere led him over to the prize area, he whispered to Thomas.

  ‘Take this one, son. You won’t be winning anything else.’

  The prize was a pair of jet skis and a pair of laserguided harpoons.

  When Thomas said no, the audience cheered. All except one voice up the back that groaned loudly.

  Thomas wasn’t sure, but he thought it might have been Kevin.

  At the start of the final night, Thomas realised he had a problem.

  Hot nipples.

  All day they’d been getting hotter and hotter under the studio lights. Plus, each time a contestant buzzed true or liar, the wall of lights around the set flashed to show if the contestant was right or wrong.

  Thomas felt like an all-beef patty being slowly grilled.

  Sweat was trickling down his back. The microphone cable under his shirt was making him itch all over. The TV make-up powder on his face felt like baked mud. His chest was getting so overheated he could hardly tell when it was itching or not.

  Plus he had nipple fatigue.

  Each time a lie was told to a contestant, Thomas’s nipples went into itch mode. They’d been double feather duster so many times over the last few hours, they were tingling almost full-time.

  Concentrate, Thomas begged them. Don’t let me down now.

  The first round began.

  The first contestant’s Liar Liar was an Aussie Rules footballer wearing a cricket outfit.

  Liar, liar, true, liar, true, buzzed the first contestant, and the wall of lights behind Thomas flashed as hot as ever. Thomas wondered if the cameras would spot him if he stuck his head down the front of his shirt and blew hard.

  Probably.

  The first contestant sat back in her seat. Thomas glanced at the scoreboard. Fifteen out of twenty.

  I can beat that, he thought. As long as my nipples don’t explode.

  The compere introduced the second contestant.

  A bloke in a tracksuit who was a member of Australia’s Olympic team.

  The studio audience applauded as contestant two’s Liar Liar appeared. She was a lady with big bosoms wearing only a very small bikini.

  Lucky thing, thought Thomas. At least she’s dressed for the climate in here.

  The compere asked contestant number two if he’d ever met his Liar Liar before. It was the same question every contestant was asked.

  ‘No,’ said the Olympic athlete.

  Thomas nearly fell off his stool.

  His nipples were on red alert.

  Contestant number two was lying.

  This isn’t fair, thought Thomas indignantly. If contestant number two has met his Liar Liar before, because she’s a member of the Australian Olympic swimming team or something, he probably already knows what she’s going to say and whether it’s true or not.

  That’s cheating.

  Thomas felt a powerful urge to dob.

  A very powerful urge.

  But he didn’t. The producers had asked all the contestants to remember that they were on a family TV show, and not to do anything that would upset family viewers. Thomas was pretty sure that included dobbing.

  Plus, Thomas reminded himself, there’s the little matter that, technically, I’m cheating too.

  He kept quiet. He hoped that the Olympic athlete had a bad memory and would only score sixteen or seventeen.

  Liar, liar, liar, liar, true, true, liar, liar, true, liar, true, liar, true, liar, liar, liar, liar, liar, true, liar.

  The Olympic athlete scored nineteen.

  Thomas felt panic prickling his skin along with the sweat and make-up powder.

  Nineteen was a lot.

  To beat nineteen, he’d have to get a perfect score.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ whispered the compere.

  He was in shock.

  So, by the look of him, was the Olympic athlete.

  ‘Never before,’ said the compere, finding his voice again, ‘in the history of this show…’

  The studio audience was cheering and hollering.

  Thomas felt embarrassed. He hadn’t wanted to get a perfect score, but he hadn’t been given any choice.

  Now he just wanted to choose his prize and go home.

  After what seemed like an eternity of applause, with the compere talking so excitedly that Thomas was sprayed with saliva, they got to the prizes.

  The grand prizes.

  A beautiful brand-new shiny car that Thomas was surprised to see was here in the studio. It did look very nice. Thomas was pretty sure it wouldn’t ever cough or lurch.

  The other grand prize was on the TV monitors hanging from the studio ceiling. Exotic travel destinations. An all-expenses-paid trip for four to anywhere in the world.

  ‘Which will it be?’ asked the compere.

  Thomas tried not to see Mum and Dad, but there they were, in the corner of his eye. Mum was mouthing ‘car’. Dad was frantically moving his hands as if he was clutching a steering wheel.

  Thomas looked away.

  The compere was beaming at him, waiting.

  ‘The trip, please,’ said Thomas.

  15

  ‘Do planes crash much?’ asked Kevin.

  Thomas opened his eyes wearily. A flight attendant was leaning across his and Holly’s seats, handing Kevin yet another can of lemonade.

  ‘No,’ said the flight attendant. ‘Not much.’

  As the flight attendant made her way back along the aisle, Thomas saw that Kevin was looking at him, waiting.

  He knew what Kevin was waiting for.

  ‘True,’ said Thomas. ‘She’s telling the truth.’

  Kevin looked relieved.

  Holly sighed.

  ‘This is getting ridiculous,’ she said to Kevin. ‘Give Thomas a break.’

  Thomas could see what Holly was thinking. That there might be worse things than plane crashes and serious nipple conditions. Like having to sit next to Kevin for another nineteen hours.

  Kevin was looking indignant.

  ‘What do you mean, ridiculous?’ he said.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ said Holly. ‘We’ve only been flying for two hours. So far you’ve asked about the fuel consumption of the plane, how much pilots earn, whether the in-flight movies have the rude bits edited out, and what happens to the poo in the toilets while we’re in mid-air.’

  Kevin looked hurt.

  ‘I was doing it for all of us,’ he said. ‘So we’d know the truth.’

  ‘Thomas’s nipples,’ said Holly, ‘are not toys. They’re a rare and historic medical condition and we’re travell
ing to Paris to find a cure, not to discover how the plumbing works on the plane.’

  ‘It’s alright for you,’ said Kevin. ‘You don’t live under a flight path.’

  Thomas sighed.

  Even though it was still daytime, he was feeling strangely weary. And a bit ill. Could jetlag hit this quickly?

  ‘Are you OK?’ Holly asked him. ‘You look sort of pale.’

  ‘Just a bit tired,’ said Thomas.

  ‘You’ve been looking tired for two weeks now,’ said Holly, concerned. ‘Ever since the TV show. I reckon it took heaps out of you, winning all those nights in the one day.’

  Thomas nodded. She could be right.

  ‘Which is why, Kevin,’ said Holly, ‘you have to give Thomas a break.’

  ‘You’re not the boss of me,’ said Kevin indignantly.

  ‘You wouldn’t even be on this trip if Thomas’s sister wasn’t staying behind to keep an eye on her boyfriend and if the TV show hadn’t agreed to swap two business class tickets for three economy ones and if Miss Pearson hadn’t told our parents that travel is an important part of education and if –’

  ‘Neither of us would,’ said Holly, glaring at Kevin. ‘What’s your point?’

  Thomas closed his eyes.

  ‘If you two don’t stop arguing,’ he said wearily, ‘I’m going up the front to sit with Mum and Dad.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Kevin.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Holly.

  There was a short silence.

  ‘The TV show was my idea,’ murmured Kevin.

  Thomas reminded himself that Kevin had family problems and needed special patience and understanding as well as non-stop lemonade.

  Even so, nineteen more hours was feeling like a very long time.

  Although he was very weary, Thomas couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about the things he’d miss if he was dead.

  Mum and Dad and Alisha.

  Holly and Kevin.

  His room at home.

  His invitation to Miss Pearson and Mr Demos’s wedding.

  The more things he thought of, the sadder he felt. So he made himself think about other things.

  Why, he wondered, are planes so noisy?

  They’d been flying for a few hours now and Thomas still hadn’t got used to the faint non-stop roar that seemed to fill his head. He knew it was mostly the engines, but if he closed his eyes and listened carefully he thought he could also hear the distant sound of millions of people on the planet far below, all telling lies.

  ‘How’s it going, you three?’

  Thomas opened his eyes.

  It was Dad, crouching next to his seat.

  ‘We’re good, thanks,’ said Thomas. ‘What’s it like in business class?’

  ‘Do you get whole lobsters for every meal?’ said Kevin, taking off his earphones. ‘And champagne to wash in?’

  Dad frowned.

  ‘It’s pretty nice,’ he said. ‘The seats are very comfy. There wouldn’t be many new cars with seats that comfortable. But I’m more of a sandwich kind of bloke.’

  ‘Seen any good movies?’ asked Holly.

  Dad shook his head.

  ‘To tell the truth,’ he said, ‘I’ve been taking it a bit quietly. Having a bit of a think. Mum’s watching Toy Story 3.’

  Thomas saw a flicker of something in Dad’s eyes.

  Unhappiness.

  Worry.

  Both those things and more.

  ‘That car that was the prize on the TV show,’ blurted Kevin. ‘It’s rubbish. My dad says they’re really hard to park.’

  Thomas and his nipples knew what Kevin was trying to do, and Thomas was grateful. He also wondered if you could strap a seatbelt across a person’s mouth.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ said Dad. ‘I’m having a great time. I’m a very lucky bloke to have a genius son.’

  He ruffled Thomas’s hair.

  Thomas didn’t know what to say, so he concentrated on not scratching his nipples. They’d gone mozzie bite the moment Dad said he was having a great time.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Dad, ‘just wanted to check you’re all OK. Be good.’

  He headed back up the aisle towards the front of the plane.

  Poor Dad, thought Thomas. He’s got so much on his mind. No job. No new car. I hope this trip helps him feel better.

  Holly put her hand on Thomas’s arm.

  ‘Unemployed people often feel depressed,’ she said. ‘My mum did an article on it. Foreign travel can help.’

  Thomas gave her a grateful look.

  ‘Your dad would probably enjoy the trip more,’ said Kevin, ‘if he knew how it’s gunna save your life.’

  Thomas gave Kevin a pained look.

  ‘Kevin,’ said Holly. ‘Unemployed people have got enough to worry about without knowing their kids are sick. Why don’t you ask a flight attendant for some more lemonade?’

  Everyone on the plane was asleep except Thomas.

  And, he hoped, the pilots.

  There were two reasons Thomas couldn’t sleep.

  Leg cramp, and worry.

  The cramp felt a bit better when he wiggled his bottom and rubbed his knees, but the worry just kept getting worse.

  What if he couldn’t find Vera Poulet?

  Or what if he found her but she didn’t know why she was the only doubter who hadn’t died young?

  Or what if she did know but her survival technique was something impossible for Thomas to do, like waggling his ears or eating yoghurt?

  Thomas felt Holly digging him gently with her elbow. He opened his eyes and saw she wasn’t asleep either. She had her tray-table down and her laptop open. The screen was glowing in the gloom of the cabin.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you,’ whispered Holly. ‘But we’ll be in Paris in five hours and we need to work out what we’re going to do.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ said Thomas.

  ‘We land in Paris at six a.m.,’ said Holly. ‘Your mum and dad will probably be asleep with jetlag in the hotel by lunchtime. As soon as they are, we should go looking for Vera Poulet.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Thomas. ‘It might take us several hours if we have to eat yoghurt.’

  ‘Eh?’ said Holly. ‘What’s yoghurt got to do with it?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Thomas. ‘I mean if we get lost.’

  What was happening to him? His brain felt like airline mashed potato. This was definitely jetlag.

  ‘We won’t get lost,’ said Holly.

  She clicked and a street map appeared on the screen.

  ‘I downloaded this before we left,’ she said. ‘Look, there’s the Denfert-Rochereau area where Vera Poulet works.’

  Thomas saw where she was pointing. He could see the Avenue Denfert-Rochereau and the Place Denfert-Rochereau, but the map didn’t seem to show pet-grooming parlours.

  ‘What if we can’t find exactly where she works?’ asked Thomas.

  ‘These’ll help,’ said Holly.

  Thomas watched as she clicked through several photos of French pet-grooming parlours.

  ‘Is one of those Vera Poulet’s?’ he asked, impressed.

  ‘Fraid not,’ said Holly. ‘They’re just examples of pet parlours in Paris so we know what we’re looking for. But when we’ve found Vera Poulet’s, in case she doesn’t speak English, I’ve got this.’

  Holly clicked again and the translation software window appeared on the screen.

  Thomas grinned at her.

  Incredible, he thought. And she hasn’t even studied journalism at university or after-school care.

  He was about to thank her when suddenly she clicked the screen blank.

  Thomas realised Mum was crouching down next to them.

  ‘Hi kids,’ said Mum. ‘I can’t sleep so I thought I’d come and see how you’re going.’

  ‘We’re good, thanks,’ said Thomas.

  He knew why poor Mum couldn’t sleep. Worry about the beauty salon. Worry about their old car. Worry about Alisha.

  ‘You don’t ha
ve to worry about Alisha,’ said Thomas. ‘She’ll be fine.’

  Mum frowned.

  ‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘It’s not like Alisha to put school work before fun. And I’m a bit nervous about how she’ll go staying with Tanya’s parents. They’re very nice but they’re vegetarian.’

  Thomas wished he could explain to Mum that Alisha would definitely be OK. He’d asked Alisha if she was planning to wag school or have a baby with Garth or steal Tanya’s dad’s car or break into home and have a massive party with vomiting, and she’d said no. Thomas’s nipples had stayed normal even when she’d given them several annoyed tweaks.

  There was a flurry of kicking and stretching under the airline blanket next to Thomas.

  Kevin emerged, blinking.

  ‘Are you worried about that legal document you and Mr Gulliver had to sign?’ he said to Mum. ‘The one that gets you into big trouble if Thomas cheated on the TV show? You don’t have to worry, my Dad knows some top lawyers.’

  Thomas winced.

  Seatbelt across his mouth, definitely.

  But it was OK. Mum was smiling at Kevin.

  ‘No love,’ she said. ‘I’m not worried about that. I pluck a solicitor’s eyebrows, so I know about legal stuff. And anyway, how could Thomas have cheated?’

  Thomas prayed Kevin wouldn’t say anything else.

  ‘No,’ Mum continued, giving Thomas’s arm a loving squeeze. ‘What I’ve been thinking about in my lovely comfy business-class seat is how I haven’t thanked you properly, Thomas, for winning us this wonderful trip.’

  She kissed him on the cheek.

  Thomas felt weak with relief.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he said.

  ‘Tell me one thing,’ said Mum. ‘Dad and I think we’ve worked it out, but we want to be sure. Why did you choose the trip instead of the car?’

  Thomas felt the panic return.

  He’d rehearsed this moment, and now it had finally come he couldn’t remember which answer he’d decided on. Was it the one about wanting to give Mum and Dad the honeymoon they’d never had, or the one about how Mum could pick up French beauty techniques in Paris for the salon?

  ‘Um…’ he said.

  He saw that Holly didn’t know what to say either.

  Then Kevin spoke up.

  ‘Thomas is doing it for me, Mrs Gulliver,’ he said. ‘It’s to help me get over my nan’s death.’