Screw Loose (31 page)

And it was inflated.

‘I can't get it off!'

Two frowning cabin crew, a man and a woman, were striding up the aisle. Chelsea considered closing her eyes and pretending to be asleep.

‘What seems to be the problem, miss?' said the man.

‘I can't get the life jacket off.'

‘You're not supposed to have it on.'

‘She has high levels of anxiety,' Chelsea explained. ‘But she's quite harmless.'

The other steward was checking the passenger manifest. ‘Is your name Zeynep Yarkan?'

Zeynep nodded. Chelsea could see that her friend was becoming teary.

‘She's a bit anxious at the moment. No way is she a terrorist.

You don't have to worry. She's just nervous about a crash.'

Both the steward and the stewardess were frowning.

‘I'm going to have to ask you both to accompany me to the front of the plane,' said the steward.

‘Don't be ridiculous – she's never hurt a flea.'

The female flight attendant was looking very intolerant.

‘If you wouldn't mind accompanying us right now,' she said sternly.

‘She's not a threat. You can't treat her like a terrorist on the basis of her name. That's racist.'

The man grimaced. ‘Those sorts of remarks are not appropriate,' he said sternly.

‘This wouldn't happen on Qantas!' Chelsea shouted.

‘Terrorist?' said the passenger across the aisle with a hint of anxiety.

Zeynep turned to him. ‘I was just trying on the life jacket to make sure it works. It isn't a bomb.'

‘Bomb!' cried the woman sitting next to him.

‘This is ridiculous! She's a young woman with obsessivecompulsive disorder; that's a life jacket, not a bomb! ' Chelsea announced loudly to everyone in the vicinity.

A number of people stood up suddenly, and someone screamed.

‘Get the captain and I'll explain!' ordered Chelsea as she noticed another member of the cabin crew running towards them.

Both the steward and the stewardess were now on walkietalkies.

The steward running up the aisle suddenly pulled a gun from his jacket. Several people dived out of his way, and others crouched. There was now a great deal of screaming and yelling.

‘Tackle her!' someone called.

The steward fired.

Zeynep shrieked, gasped, and fell heavily into the aisle. She bounced on her life jacket, then she rolled over and was motionless. The cabin crew jumped on her and bound her hands and legs with duct tape.

‘
You've killed her?
' Chelsea screamed.

‘I'm the air marshal. We've tazered her with fifty thousand volts. Nothing to be concerned about, miss,' he said, then turned to the other passengers. ‘There's no reason for alarm, ladies and gentleman. We have her subdued. The federal police have been informed, and they'll be waiting at Melbourne Airport. Relax and enjoy your flight.'

A WHOLE LOT WEIRDER
Wayward Rookie Detained at Airport

Angelo Tarano is escorted from Melbourne Airport by federal police.
Photo supplied by airline passenger.

A
ngelo Tarano, young Hobart Cockatoos recruit and acclaimed young Cocka toos star, was whisked away from Melbourne Airport by federal police yesterday afternoon for questioning. Tarano is the exboyfriend of Zeynep Yarkan, alias Candibelle Brown, the notorious terrorist suspect detained at Melbourne Airpor t yesterday and held by police overnight.

The entire Hobart Cockatoos Football Club is now under a cloud. A spokesperson for the team said that so far as the club knew, Yarkan and Tarano were no longer seeing one another, and that Yarkan acted alone. The troubled Tarano has been romantically linked since late July to Dingo Girl Matilda Grey, who attends Tarano's school and is currently listed as a Missing Person.

However Yarkan, who was bound and gagged by cabin crew on a flight from Sydney, has now been exposed as the mysterious figure Tarano was sighted kissing in early August in a Melbourne McDonald's. She was heavily disguised in male clothing, leading to speculation by this paper that Tarano may be gay.

Yarkan is currently being questioned by federal police in Melbourne. Tarano was released yesterday after several hours. Both the federal police and the Attorney- General have declined to comment.

Angelo was staring blankly at the photo of himself when his phone rang. He looked at it, hesitated, then lifted it to his ear. It was Paul Vasilevski from Hobart, of course.

‘Yep.'

‘You're at home?'

‘Yep.' He was wagging school.

‘We've been contacted by the federal police. You're cleared, and so is Candibelle.'

‘Zeynep.'

‘Whatever. You're a bloody twit, aren't you, son? Lying to us like that. We told you to stay away from her. Trouble with a capital Z.'

‘Sure.'

The police had questioned him for two hours.

‘What's this about her dressing up like a bloke?' Paul's voice had a distinctively
don't fool with me
tone to it.

‘She was in disguise. Long story.'

‘Disguise? I thought you told us you didn't like disguises.'

‘I don't care if girls dress up as guys. I
told
you that.'

‘You prefer your girlfriends to dress like males?'

‘No! Why is it any business of yours what kind of girl I like?

Butt out, mate.' He hung up.

Why not be rude? His football career was definitely over anyway; he'd just hung up before Paul had the chance to say it.

Too bad
. The season was over for the Cockies: they were tenth on the ladder. Stuff it all.

Poor Zeynep. She was the one everyone should be worrying about. They'd shot her, not him.

He'd got home from the questioning last night and flipped between
Today Tonight
and
A Current Affair.
The Minister for Foreign Affairs had referred to him as a
naïve young man
and Zeynep as
a possible security risk to the nation
. They'd shown footage of Zeynep's mother outside the police station handbagging two reporters, and Chelsea Dean appeared on both programs to say that Zeynep had never been involved in terrorism – but that she could see how the sub-standard service on certain budget airlines may provoke an attack. They'd even interviewed Matilda Grey, who'd said she didn't like Angelo at all and had changed the subject to airport sniffer dogs.

Zeynep had sent him a text message earlier. Apparently the tazering had not permanently injured her, and the police were not laying charges, but her parents had grounded her for five years. The challenge now would be getting her out of the house. He wasn't giving her up, ever. No way. She was all he had left.

He phoned Joshua.

‘Josh.'

‘Angelo! Are you okay? I saw you on TV.'

‘I'm going crazy.'

‘Did they torture you?'

‘What?' He laughed bitterly. ‘They wouldn't dare.'

‘Do you want me to come over?'

‘Yeah, I need to talk.'

‘I'm over there.'

Angelo flipped his phone closed. A friend was someone who helped you out without expecting a payback. That was Josh.

His phone rang again.

‘Yeah?' he answered bleakly.

‘It your Nonno.'

‘Ciao, Nonno.'

‘Cockies is terrorist. You quit. Play man's game: soccer.'

‘It's okay. Thanks, Nonno, for ringing. I'm fine.'

‘Come for haircut Saturday. I give you tips like a tiger.'

‘Thanks, Nonno. Maybe. Gotta go.' He could hear knocking downstairs.

‘Josh,' he heard his mother say. ‘Yes, go and see him. Have you been running?'

‘They didn't do a phone-book bashing?' Josh panted as soon as he entered the room.

Angelo shook his head. ‘They wanted to know everything about Zeynep. The more I told them, the worse it got.'

‘Did you tell them about the shoelace boiling?'

He nodded. ‘They reckon it's all some code. And then I had to tell them about the freaking clown stuff.'

‘Well, the police know you're not a terrorist and neither is Zey, so you don't have to worry,' Josh said. He stared at
Better
Homes and Gardens
. Angelo had the sound turned off. ‘And the Cockies – I suppose it's too late? But it's good you didn't dump Zeynep. She's been shot,' he continued.

‘You're right, man. They can get stuffed. If they really wanted me on the team, they would have accepted Zey.'

The phone went again.

‘It's them. This is it.' He felt sick. He'd wanted to be an
Afl
star since he was five.

‘Yes?'

It was Paul. ‘Angelo, a deal: turn up with Matilda Grey at this social thing your school is having and kiss her for the press, and you can stay with us for next season. With tongue, Angelo. Make it convincing. Her mother just called to say she's been found; but she's gone completely feral. Turn up with Candibelle Yarkan – or don't turn up at all – and you can say goodbye to your footy career forever. This is your last chance. No more games, Tarano. Choose.'

Click.

Angelo groaned and fell back onto the bed.

STRETCHED  LIMO

T
AMSIN
C
OURT-
C
OOKSON'S
mother had been opposed to her daughter attending a social gathering like Chelsea Dean's. But Tamsin, who argued as logically as her mother did in parliament, had convinced both her parents that she would be safe, and that there would be no bad publicity. Her daughter's arguments were so persuasive that in the end Mrs Court-Cookson had even considered appearing at the Mary Magdalene function herself. It would have looked very good in the media; however she had been advised not to at the last minute, as she would almost certainly have been upstaged by Matilda Grey.

Mrs Court-Cookson was also opposed to stretched limousines. She said they were vulgar and drew attention to the occupants. Tamsin agreed but argued that they were not meant to be taken seriously. Finally her mother had conceded everything – even the tails and top hat.

The limousine arrived at her house empty. The federal police inspected it carefully, and she was given permission to climb in.

‘What's this boy's name?' her mother asked from the footpath.

‘Craig something,' she said and threw her hands up with a grin.

‘Don't allow yourself to be alone with him.'

‘We are only travelling together. It's a ruse, Mother.'

Her mother nodded. ‘I trust you, Tamsin, but please don't speak to reporters.'

‘And don't lose your grandfather's top hat. He was married in it,' warned her father. But he was smiling.

She and Georgia had decided to dress up for the occasion, although many of the Magdalene girls had decided to dress down, as a patronising signal to their Vistaview cousins that they were really all equal. Georgia and Tamsin had agreed that this was disgraceful. Her grandfather's top hat rested beside her on the seat. Three cigars nestled in her top pocket – borrowed from her father's humidor.

She waved goodbye to her parents and sat back. The federal police got into their car and the little convoy moved off from her parents' floodlit mansion. These bright-red cars, emblazoned with their yellow stripes and
AFP
logos, had followed her like family pets for the last few years. She tapped her fingers on the upholstery and smiled to herself. She'd never been out with a boy before. This was going to surprise a few people.

She had to hand it to Bunsy – her event had attracted an outrageous amount of publicity. Tickets were being auctioned on eBay for the same price as most major concerts. Much of the buzz was the result of Angelo Tarano, the notorious football bad boy, announcing he would attend with the Outback wild child Matilda Grey. Matilda had recently gone missing for eleven days; she'd been found on Thursday wandering along the river wearing a rabbit-skin hat. The photo had flashed around the world. This had coincided with Angelo Tarano's notorious brush with terrorism. The press was in a frenzy.