Pulling the Moves (4 page)

‘Yeah. But I like it.’

‘Junk this heap, get that Ford over there.’

‘Nah. We’ll milk another car. Come on.’

I finally figure it. We’re out of juice. The V8’s greedy: sucks it like a thirsty man in a desert. I should know. Steve’s always complaining about the cost of petrol.

Zac turns and starts walking towards the van. I slide down and lie flat on the rug.

‘Hey, Cola,’ says Zac.

He leans into the car and picks up the steering lock. ‘If Sammy moves, hit him with this. Hard. We’re gettin’ some juice.’

Great. I really need my brains splattered all over the van. Plus Steve won’t like mess on his panel work. I lie still. Very still.

Macca and Zac bail. Cola hums tunelessly under her breath, the latest Jam and Spoon number, “I’m Going to Die on the Highway”. Couldn’t she choose something else?

‘So. What’s your story?’ she says suddenly.

I shrug.

‘Got into the van for a few zeds. What’s it to you?’

‘Nothin’.’

She whacks the steering lock against the seat. ‘What’s your name?’ she goes.

‘You know already. Sam.’

‘Sam what?’

‘Sam Studley. What’s yours?’

‘Cola. Short for Ficola Vanetti.’

‘Vacola Finetti? What sorta name’s that?’

I deliberately stuff it up to annoy her.

‘Better’n Sam Stud
ley
.’

She drawls it out. I decide to act friendly. Plus I don’t want my head pulped, although I’ve noticed that her hand’s wobbling. She probably couldn’t hit a fly. She’s not the type to bash someone’s head in: too unsure of herself.

‘So, Cola. What’s happening?’

She shrugs.

‘What’s it look like? We’re on the run.’

She pauses and looks at me.

‘How old are you, anyway?’

‘Nearly fifteen,’ I lie.

‘Yeah? I’m fifteen.’

‘You don’t look it.’

That gets up her nose. She raises the steering lock. Ooops. Maybe I’ve misjudged her.

Then I hear brmmm, brmmm brmmm. They’ve hot-wired another car. They bring it alongside and I can hear them messing about, probably with a length of hosepipe. I hear liquid gurgling into the tank as I lie on my back staring at Cola staring back at me. She turns away, moves out of my vision.

‘We need a full tank,’ says Macca. ‘Grab another car, will ya?’

More engine noises. Where are we? I raise my head just a bit. Cola’s got her feet up on the dash. She senses my movement and lifts the steering lock menacingly. I sink back, but I’ve caught a glance at where we are: a car yard. Cars full of juice for the taking, like overripe grapes on a vine. The chain around the yard hasn’t stopped this lot. No way.

‘Would’ve been easier to swap cars,’ grumbles Zac, who seems to be doing most of the work. ‘Plus the cops’ll be lookin’ for
this
car, man.’

‘Told ya. I like this unit.’

Macca sounds tired. Starting to come down off the goey. Zac’s already on a downer and sounding testy. I know everyone reacts differently to speed. Some get edgy, some get tired. I wouldn’t like to cross Zac when he’s out there. He’s the sort of guy who’s likely to chuck a psycho. I’ve got to get outa here. I wriggle
slowly towards the door. If I wait till they both get back in the van, I can do a quick exit, run like hell, hide amongst the parked cars, raise the alarm …

I slide carefully down towards the rear till I’m just about …

Wham!

The steering lock misses me by centimetres. I freeze.

‘Don’t even
think
about it,’ says Cola, as more petrol gurgles into the tank.

Where the hell is Steve? Where’re the other cops? Haven’t they radioed ahead? Where’s the helicopter? Where’re the roadblocks? We rumble out of the car park and back onto the highway.

‘Better take a back road for a while,’ says Zac. ‘Pigs’ll be on the alert, eh. Here, Macca, turn off. We’ll hit the highway later.’

‘Where we goin’?’ says Cola.

‘I’ve decided. Adelaide.’

Adelaide? As in the capital of South Australia? I don’t want to go to
Adelaide
. I’ve got to go to a wedding!

I don’t want to get ready for the wedding yet. I think about sleeping in, then look at my bedside clock. 8:00. All right, all right, I’m getting up. I grab my walkman.

‘Right, Sam, hit the deck,’ I yell as I walk past his room. I want to bags the bathroom first: I’ve got major defuzz work to do on my armpits and legs. Then Mum and I have to hit the hairdresser’s.

That’s weird. Sam usually gives this peculiar sort of pig-grunt when he gets woken up. I turn and poke my head into his room. His bed’s empty. Well, maybe he got up early and got his boy-bones organised for a change.

I get in the bathroom and do my stuff as the
Melonballs are singing “All Loved Out”. I wonder what I’d be like as a rock singer? You don’t need to be able to actually
sing
, just belt out words with a raspy voice. The Divynyls belt out their latest number. I give it a go while I’m under the shower, singing along with Chrissie Amphlett. There’s a pounding on the bathroom door.

‘Vaporise, germ,’ I yell to Sam.

‘Leanne! Stop mucking around and get out of that bathroom. You’ve been in there for an hour,’ says Mum.

‘So? Didn’t know I was on a time clock.’

‘Just get out!’

‘Okay, okay, don’t get your tits in a tangle.’

‘LEANNE!’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘Don’t use that tone of voice with me, young lady. I’ve got enough problems.’

‘This is your mother’s special day,’ says Steve’s voice.

What am I, some sort of emotional waste disposal unit? And what’s
he
doing here? I thought it was unlucky for the bridegroom to see the bride. Don’t tell me he’s slept over. How
gross
. I storm out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

‘Don’t strut around the house naked,’ screams Mum.

‘
This
is naked!’

I drop the towel and Steve goggles.

‘
Leanne
!’

I wiggle off to my room and slam the door while Mum screeches about the state of the bathroom. I drag on some gear then stroll out to have breakfast. Mum and Steve are sitting at the table holding hands over their cornflakes. I pretend not to notice. I hope they’re not going to carry on like this after the wedding or I really will do a runner!

‘Where’s Sam?’ says Mum.

‘Dunno.’

‘Strange. He doesn’t seem to be here. When did you last see him, Leanne?’

‘Come on, Mum, when did you last see
your
brother?’

‘When
did
you!’

‘Last night.’

‘Leanne, this is important. Sam’s bed doesn’t look like it’s been slept in at all,’ says Steve the Supercop, Detective Supreme.

‘Yeah. Right.’ I shove some bread in the toaster.

‘Did Sam tell you where he was going?’

‘Reality check. Sam doesn’t tell me what he’s doing or where he’s going. He’s my brother, remember?’

‘You don’t know where he is?’ says Steve.

‘No. I told you already. The kid’s nearly fifteen, he can go where he likes for all I care. I’m not his keeper.’

‘So he didn’t say anything?’

‘He’s going to consult me?’

‘LEANNE!’

‘I friggin’ don’t know where the frig he is, right? Stop going on, will ya?’

‘LE … ANNE!’

‘All right, all right,’ says Steve. ‘This squabbling isn’t getting us anywhere.’

‘
She
started it,’ I go, pointing at Mum.

‘And I’m finishing it. If you don’t know where Sam is, that’s fine. Just eat your breakfast,’ says Steve.

Mum jumps up from the table and goes outside.

‘Sam. Sam!’ she yells, like she’s calling a lost dog.

I butter my toast then spread it thickly with peanut butter and honey, my favourite mixture. Steve gapes at it then pretends not to notice when I scowl at him. Mum trolls back inside looking worried.

‘He was upset last night,’ she says. ‘You don’t think he’s run away, do you?’

‘Who? Sam?’

I choke on my toast.

‘He wouldn’t have the guts, Mum. It takes guts to do a runner.’

‘You’d know.’

‘That’ll do,’ says Steve, as the phone rings.

Mum goes to answer it.

‘Steve. It’s for you.’

Steve goes out to take the call. Mum leans forward so that her face is centimetres away from mine and looks me straight in the eye.

‘Leanne, if you wreck my wedding day I’ll never forgive you, do you hear me?’ she hisses.

I keep chewing and stare right back.

‘Well? Do you hear me?’

‘You need to pluck your nose hairs,’ I say calmly. She looks like she’s going to lose it right there in our kitchen, but just then Steve comes back looking agitated.

‘The van,’ he says, and races out the back door.

Before we can follow he’s back, looking grim.

‘Last night the guys tried to pursue a van that was speeding but they abandoned the chase. Too dangerous. Got the first two rego numbers though, and the computer’s come up with my vehicle as a possibility. Look’s like it’s mine: the van’s missing.’

I’m stunned. My gooby little brother’s nicked Steve’s van? And been chased by some cops? Wow, he’s got more guts than I thought!

‘Sam wouldn’t steal your van,’ says Mum. ‘He can’t even drive.’

‘Mum, even an untrained monkey can drive,’ I go. ‘You don’t have to be a genius.’

‘No, not my Sam.’

Mum’s shattered. Her beloved son who can do no wrong has done a runner in her bridegroom’s V8.

‘I’d better go down to the station,’ says Steve.

‘I’ll drive you,’ goes Mum.

They belt outside and I can hear Mum revving the guts out of the Falcon. I hope they don’t stuff round forever at the cop shop: we’ve got to get our hair done.

They’re back, and Mum’s bawling again. Steve looks frazzled. There’s an APB out on the van. Sam’s on Victoria’s Most Wanted. Unbelievable.

‘What about our hair?’ I go.

‘Can’t you think about anything else?’ sobs Mum.

‘Life has to go on,’ I say. ‘You’re getting married in six hours’ time.’

‘Married? I can’t, not with Sam missing!’

‘Mum. You can’t cancel. What about the church?
The reception? The cake? Well, forget the cake. But you can’t jilt Steve …’

‘I’m not jilting Steve,’ snaps Mum. ‘This is an emergency. We have to find Sam!’

‘Mum, we can’t drive all over Victoria looking for the little gooba,’ I go.

‘Leanne’s right,’ says Steve. ‘There’s a whole police force networking to find him, so go and get your hair done, love. The wedding’s going ahead because we’ll find Sam soon, okay?’

‘I’ll
kill
him when I get my hands on him,’ says Mum grimly, drying her eyes.

She drives like a maniac to the hairdresser’s.

‘Mum. Slow down, will ya?’ I go, as we narrowly miss another car.

We scream to a stop outside the mall.

‘Mum, I want to show you these cute new tops in “Top Down”, I say as we tear along the street. ‘They’re really cool, and …’

‘Shut up, Leanne,’ grates Mum. ‘How you can think of clothes at a time like this is beyond me!’

‘I’d have to be dead before I didn’t think of clothes. And speaking of dead, if you intend driving like a speed freak again I’m getting a cab.’

We reach Andrea’s Hair Salon and collapse into our
chairs. Mum stares grimly at her reflection as Andrea gets to work. I’ve got Sharon.

‘Your hair would look gorgeous if you put a copper rinse in it,’ she goes.

‘Mum?’

‘NO.’

‘She’s having a bad hair day,’ I go. ‘And she’s wired for weird because my dumb brother’s done a runner in her boyfriend’s car.’

‘LEANNE!’

Mum looks scandalised. I don’t know why. I think it’s cool having a brother with an APB out on him. Sharon’s all eyes, wanting the gory details.

‘Your brother Sam’s done a runner? I don’t believe it. And nicked a car? I didn’t think he was that type of kid. Always seemed a bit … well …’

‘I know, gooba material.’

‘It’s always the quiet, silent types, Leanne.’

Yeah, right.

Finally our hair’s done. Mine’s piled up like a sand castle, with mauve ribbons wound through it which Mum produced from her bag. At least I’ve persuaded her to let me to have a strand dangling across one cheek. But I still look too posh.

‘All I need’s a friggin’ tiara,’ I mutter.

‘LEANNE!’

I hate my name, ’specially the way Mum says it. I wish she’d called me Madison, or Tiana, or Mirage, or something original.

Mum looks quite nice really. The hairdo suits her, piled up on her head. Her hair’s shorter than mine, but Andrea’s managed to make her look sophisticated.

‘Let’s have a coffee or something,’ I say, when we stand outside the salon.

‘How can you think of coffee at a time like this?’ says Mum. ‘Your little brother’s missing, maybe critically injured, and all you can think of is your stomach.’

I sigh. I’m starting to wish that he’d hurry up and be found.

Mum gets in the Falcon and we take off with a jerk because she’s changed gears too quickly. But at least she doesn’t plant the foot this time till we reach our street. She guns it and we roar up the driveway.

‘Steve?’ Mum calls as she bursts through the back door.

Silence.

‘Maybe he’s gone to get his hair done,’ I go. Steve’s practically bald.

Mum puts the kettle on and drags out a packet of Tim Tams.

‘I thought you were too upset to eat,’ I go, as she starts munching.

‘I always eat when I’m upset, you know that.’

‘Well, slow down. You’ll pop your wedding dress.’

The phone goes and Mum jumps up like she’s been poked by a cattle prod. I follow her to the phone. ‘Steve? Any news?’

She looks worried as she hangs up.

‘They think they’ve found him,’ she says.

‘Well, what’s the problem, then? You don’t look too happy about it.’

Then I get a terrible thought.

‘He’s not … dead, is he?’

‘LEANNE!’

‘What, then?’ I yell, as Mum starts sobbing.

‘They lost him. He’s somewhere near Portland.’

Portland? That’s the arse end of the world. Why would my dumb brother want to drive to Portland?

‘How come they lost him?’ I yell. ‘What’s wrong with the police force? You think they could round up an old white panel van with a fourteen-year-old-kid driving it. What sort of dipsticks are they?’

‘LEANNE!’

‘Oh, stuff it. I’m going to watch TV.’ I go into the lounge and switch on the set. Mum comes and plonks herself beside me. We both stare at the screen. Mum munches away, holding the biscuit packet like it’s a life raft.

‘Mum, what was your first wedding day like?’ I ask, when the commercial comes on. I’ve gol to try and distract her or she’ll eat the whole packet and throw up all over her wedding dress.

Mum sighs. ‘It was lovely,’ she says, as the first raindrops start to splatter against our lounge room window. ‘A beautiful, sunny day, not a cloud in the sky.’

‘Right.’

‘Of course I only had an eighteen inch waist in those days.’

‘Right.’

I think to myself how much that is in centimetres.

‘We had two white Mercedes to drive us to the church. Your Aunty Paula was the bridesmaid, and we carried tuberoses and stephanotis.’

‘Right.’

Mum jumps up, goes over to the sideboard and drags out her wedding album. She starts turning the pages and showing me the photos. I’m not sure
whether it’s cool to be gawping at your first wedding photos when you’re lining up to get married a second time, but it seems to be taking her mind off Sam and the biscuits. We go through the ceremony, the reception, and leaving for the honeymoon while I try not to yawn. I glance at my watch. Nearly twelve.

‘How about I make us some scrambled eggs or something?’ I offer.

‘What? Oh, no, Leanne, I couldn’t eat a thing.’

There’s a knock on the door. Mum leaps up like she’s been stung, but it’s only Mona the florist with the flowers.

‘Sam’s done a runner,’ I tell her.

‘What? Oh, deary me. I thought he was happy about this wedding,’ she says, putting the bouquets and buttonholes on top of the Tim Tams on the coffee table.

Mum starts bawling again. Mona puts her arms around Mum, bursts into tears, and they both hug and rock and sob together. There’s another knock on the door. I go and open it and it’s Bin’s mum, Mrs Strachan, holding the wedding cake in a box.

‘I wanted to show you before I take it to the Scout Hall,’ she says.

‘It looks lovely,’ I lie. I think it looks gross, mountains of cream, not like a wedding cake at all.

‘Oh, Beth,’ shrieks Mum. ‘Sam’s run away. He’s stolen Steve’s van.’

‘What? Not little Sam?’ says Bin’s mum.

Little Sam? Oh, please!

‘It’s just awful,’ says Mona. ‘Awful.’

‘Maybe he’s gone to find his dad,’ says Beth.

That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard. Portland’s nowhere near Noosa, which is up north. Noosa’s light-years away. I just know that Sam hasn’t done a runner to find Dad and lost the way. After my experiences on the run to Noosa and the hassles I had with Dad, he’s the last person Sam’d be trying to find! He’ll probably be driving round searching for some surf down on the southern beaches, knowing him.

‘Oh, I can’t bear it,’ Mum cries. ‘He could get horribly injured. Or what if they shoot him?’

‘Reality check, Mum,’ I snap. ‘The cops aren’t going to shoot him. It’s SAM we’re talking about, not some crim.’

‘I feel so helpless,’ Mum groans. ‘I want to go to Portland right now and find my son.’

‘I know, I know,’ says Beth.

The three of them grab each other and start wailing and moaning. This isn’t a wedding; it’s a funeral!

I sigh and stare at them.

This is horrible.

Another knock on the door. Is this Visit the Studleys day? I walk back down the passage and open the door. It’s Bin and Cathy, her friend.

‘Hi,’ says Bin. ‘Is Sam home?’

‘No.’

‘Oh. Well, do you know where he is? We have to talk to him.’

‘So do we!’

‘Huh?’

‘Come in. You may as well, everyone else in this town’s here.’

Bin stops short when she sees the wailing crew in the lounge room.

‘Mum! What’s wrong?’