Hostage (6 page)

October

Friends were a pain in the butt, Tully reminded herself again. Nathan was taking his time coming back for them and she wished she had enough money for a taxi. By the time Nathan parked the car near the girls, Desi had stopped throwing up and was shivering violently. Tully had draped her jacket over the girl and continued to rub her back. ‘Here he is,’ said Tully, as Nathan pulled up.

Nathan lay Desi in the back seat of his car and buckled a lap sash seatbelt across her. Tully hopped into the front seat.

‘Do you think she’ll be all right?’ he asked.

‘Just make sure her head is turned to the side,’ said Tully. ‘You don’t want her choking on her own vomit. Not that I think she’s got anything left to vomit.’

‘Do you mind if we go to Desi’s sister’s first?’ asked Nathan. ‘I think I’d better drop her off there.’

‘Sure.’

Nathan drove through some side streets, crossing over Alexandra Parade and back into some more side streets.

‘What’s the difference between them and us?’ asked Tully.

Nathan flicked Tully a glance then looked back at the road. ‘What?’

‘Them and us.’ Tully pointed to the midnight blue BMW in front of them.

‘My car not good enough?’ Nathan gunned the motor a little.

‘You know what I mean,’ said Tully.

‘Money,’ said Nathan. ‘The difference between them and us is money.’

They fell silent for a while as Nathan concentrated on weaving in and out of the traffic.

‘Moron,’ he shouted as a car pulled out in front of him.

‘Maybe we should get some,’ said Tully. She bit at the flaking skin on her bottom lip.

‘What? Some beamers?’

‘No.’ She laughed. ‘Money. If I had money my life would be totally perfect. But I wouldn’t be driving a BMW. I’d have a Porsche. Or you know, those cars where the doors lift up.’

‘A Lamborghini?’

‘Sure. That’s what I’d drive. A Lamborghini. I’d drive it down the coast and people would wonder who I was to have such a flash car.’

‘Why not a Porsche
and
a Lamborghini?’ said Nathan.

‘Okay.’

‘Except you can’t drive,’ said Nathan.

‘So I’d just park it in the street. I’d sit in it and pretend I didn’t notice people staring at such a cool car.’

Tully struck a pose, lips pouting, her head leaning on a jaunty angle. ‘What, this old thing?’ She laughed. ‘Why, this is just my weekend car.’

‘You’re crazy.’

‘So?’

Nathan changed down through the gears until the car was at a complete standstill at a set of lights. Both sides of the road were flanked by large houses with landscaped gardens. Desi groaned.

‘She lives!’ said Tully dryly.

‘I’d have a big house,’ said Nathan. ‘And a cleaner. So my mum wouldn’t have to do anything except cook.’

‘Get a cook too.’

‘Mum’s a good cook. So that wouldn’t work. I’d still make her cook for me.’

‘What sort of house would you have?’ asked Tully.

‘White. I’d have a white house, with a pool and ten bedrooms—’

‘And ten bathrooms?’

‘Sure. And a cinema and a gym. I’d have a personal trainer.’

‘And cars,’ said Tully.

‘Lots of cars. I’d have a whole collection.’

The car inched forward as the lights changed to green.

‘What else?’ asked Nathan.

‘I’d hire someone to find my mum,’ said Tully. She leaned forward to turn up the music and felt the thump thump of the bass beat through her seat.

Nathan leaned forward and turned it down, after pointing to Desi in the back.

Tully pouted. ‘So all we have to do is win the lottery,’ she said.

‘Or get work as a doctor or lawyer,’ said Nathan.

‘Like that’s going to happen,’ said Tully.

‘Maybe we should just rob a bank,’ said Nathan.

‘Or mine for gold.’

‘Or make a movie.’

Desi groaned from the back seat again and they fell silent.

‘Bamps says he doesn’t know where Mum is,’ Tully said finally. ‘I think he’s telling the truth. I’m pretty sure that Laney knows where Mum is but she won’t tell me. It takes a lot of money to hire a detective. I’ve checked it out. But it would be worth it. As soon as I have some money that’s what I’m going to do with it. And we’ll get our own home. With a real garden. Maybe invite Bamps, if he wants to come. Laney can stay where she is.’

One song slid into another on the radio before Nathan finally said, ‘Maybe your mum doesn’t want to be found at the moment.’ His eyes shifted sideways to catch Tully’s expression.

‘Maybe you should shut up when you don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Tully.

‘I’m just saying, she knows where you are. If she wanted to see you—’

‘What would you know? You’re so stupid you can’t even spell the word loser!’

‘Hey, what, no ... I just meant—’

‘Let me out.’ Tully grabbed at the door handle.

‘Tully, no!’

‘Stop the goddamned car.’

Even before the car was stopped, Tully wrenched the door open and tumbled out into the street, giving the finger to a car that swerved to miss her.

‘Do you want to kill yourself?’ screamed Nathan as Tully wound her way through the traffic to the roadside.

‘Maybe I do,’ she screamed back.

And then she disappeared from his view.

Tully’s Story

So yeah, money and stuff is just a waste of time. Saying please and thank you, ironing clothes and knowing how to spell and maths and other school stuff—these are also a waste of time. And friends. Sometimes I think friends are a waste of time. They’re so much work. You can’t just tell them what you think. You have to be careful. Be around when you’d rather be doing something else. Forgive them when they make you sad.

I think having enemies is a much easier job.

But I used to believe in friends.

There was this girl I knew once—Amanda—who had, like, the perfect life. Everyone at school loved her. I mean not just the girls but even the guys and the teachers. Even my mum liked her and she doesn’t like anyone.

Amanda had an amazing house with nice carpet and those little crisscross white see-through curtains at the windows. I was always bugging Mum for some of those in my room, but she just didn’t see the point. I mean, when you’re living in rentals you don’t want to go wasting your money on making someone else’s place look good.

Amanda’s dad was nice enough, though I didn’t see a lot of him. He had something to do with the local council and spent a lot of time at work, or talking to people on the phone about work or travelling because of work.

Amanda’s sister Missy—I’m pretty sure that wasn’t her real name—was always nice to me, though she and Amanda would fight at the dinner table about who got the salt first or the drink or who had to say grace. I’d never been in a house that said grace, so I always hoped they never asked me to say it. And I was jealous that Amanda had a sister. I asked Mum once if I could have a sister, but she said I was all she needed.

Amanda’s mum was like ... like one of those perfect TV mums who don’t try to dress like they are hanging out in the teenage section at Just Jeans, and whose car always has enough room to drop everyone home and who always has something great cooking in the kitchen. Not just out of the freezer stuff, but like, stuff she made with flour and eggs and that. She even made vegetables taste okay.

But the really amazing thing about Amanda, the most amazing thing of all, was that she picked me to be her best friend. We met when I was eight. The first day I walked into class, Amanda made space for me next to her chair and showed me around the school at lunchtime. It wasn’t a huge school. But it was nice. Nice having someone show me around instead of just trying to remember where everything was from my school tour.

Amanda was into pink, so that got to be my favourite colour too. She had this way of laughing that kind of ended on a hiccup. I practised to get it right. I learned to dot my i’s with a curly flower just like she did. She always gave me money at recess for tuck shop and I taught her how to swear in Greek.

Every Saturday, Amanda would come to my place and we’d hang out. The place was a dump—it was officially on the dump side of town, on the pub side of the main road—but it had a great garden. Our house perched at the top of a huge block and our back garden bordered a creek. We loved that creek. Every Saturday morning Mum would tell us to stay away from it. By lunchtime, Amanda and I would have our shoes off and our jeans rolled up to our knees.

The willow trees along the creek were the perfect hideout. Amanda’s dad hated willows. He said they were vermin and sucked up all the water that our native plants could have been using. Where he worked at the council they’d even printed a brochure about it to get people on their side. So Amanda and I never told him about the willows near my place. We didn’t want him to come and cut down our trees that hung like green curtains down to the ground. We moved rocks under the trees and made them our furniture. We’d sit for hours and talk about what we’d do when we were older. We were going to see the pyramids and Disneyland and visit a Greek island and try out our swear words.

On my birthday, when I turned nine, Amanda gave me a tiny oval jewellery box. On the lid was a cute teddy. Inside was a guardian angel pin that had my birthstone in its stomach. ‘To keep you safe,’ said Amanda. I told her it was the best present I had ever got. We buried the box under the willows to protect our special place when we couldn’t be there.

Every Thursday I went to Amanda’s after school because Mum had the dinner shift at the pub. It was my favourite day of the week. Sometimes I even stayed the night on a mattress on the floor next to Amanda if it got to be too late.

At school, Amanda and I were pet monitors. Our class had a pair of budgies called Spot and Bluey and a fish tank with a hermit crab whose name was George. Every morning, Amanda and I could go into class early to feed the animals. It made me feel important walking past the hall monitors with Amanda giggling at my side.

So there we were BFFL—best friends for life.

But then one Thursday Amanda’s mum got a call after dinner. It was Mum asking her if she would drop me home. Amanda couldn’t come with me. She had to stay at home and brush her teeth because it was her bedtime. I remember saying something like, don’t forget to bring your glitter pens to school tomorrow. We were in the middle of a huge assignment and had only half-finished our cover sheet.

I remember talking to Amanda’s mum all the way home about nothing much in particular. She kept smiling at me but, I recalled much later, that her smile didn’t seem to reach her eyes.

‘Tell Sandy to give me a call,’ she said as I got out of her car.

I got inside to find Mum packing. My bag was already packed and standing near the door. I turned on the hall light.

‘Turn it off,’ said Mum.

I turned it off and light spilled into the room from the kitchen.

I grabbed my bag and started to unpack.

‘Tully, what are you doing?’ asked Mum.

I just shook my head.

‘Tully?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘I’m sorry, Pumpkin, but we have to go—’

‘You go. I’m not going.’ I took my shoes and put them back at the foot of my bed. They looked so right there. I lined them up perfectly against each other.

‘Tully, we don’t have time for this,’ Mum called out. ‘Come in here and help.’ I went back to find her shoving a shampoo bottle in with a box of food.

‘I can go to Amanda’s. She’ll let me live with her.’

‘You can’t live with Amanda.’

‘Her mum will let me. She likes me. I could sleep on the floor in Amanda’s room.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Mum. The she tucked her hair back behind her ears and touched my cheek.

‘Amanda is my BFFL—’

‘You’ll make another friend. Hand me that box—’

I grabbed the box and threw it at her head. She didn’t even bother to duck and it bounced off her. ‘I hate you,’ I said. ‘I don’t want another friend. Just because you don’t have any friends. No one likes you—’

Car headlights swept the living room in a wide arc and we both froze. They hung for a moment spotlighting us. It reminded me of night adventures I’d had with Mum’s friend, Craig. We hadn’t seen him for a little while. Craig was into shooting things.

The lights finally moved on down the road and Mum grabbed an empty box and scraped everything from the coffee table into it.

‘What about Bluey? What about George?’ I asked.

But even as I asked I was packing my bag. My breath was coming in bursts as I ran to the bedroom, grabbed my shoes and stuffed them back into the case. I grabbed hair ties from the bathroom and socks from under my bed and my book that I’d only half-finished. I pushed my memory tin into the front pocket. Then I pulled up the zips so they met in the middle.

It hurt to be leaving my best friend behind so I stuffed that feeling down, past the hair ties and my favourite pair of jeans and the odd socks and my dressing gown without the cord. I stuffed it down so far that I couldn’t feel it anymore.