The Tunnels of Tarcoola (8 page)

The smell grew stronger as she got closer to the shaft. Her candle flared up, and a shadow loomed menacingly on the wall in front of her. Andrea gasped and shrank back. The shadow shrank too.

Andrea looked around carefully, then blew out her candle. It was quite dark now, and her heart was pounding. She moved slowly, groping her way out. David had left the trapdoor open, so there was some illumination as she climbed the ladder. Trembling with relief, she scrambled up towards fresh air and freedom.

MARTIN
spotted Andrea eating lunch with Tammy and Michelle. They were sitting on a patch of grass, skirts pushed up to get the maximum amount of sun on their winter-white legs. Shouts and the thump of a ball could be heard from the nearby basketball courts, and the warm breeze brought a whiff of cigarette smoke from a little hollow behind them.

Andrea's friends started whispering behind their hands as Martin approached.

‘My sister wants you to meet her at the Balmain library,' he said gruffly.

‘Oh, yeah?' said Michelle, raising an eyebrow.

‘If you want to see Andrea, just say so,' advised Tammy. ‘She won't bite you.' Both girls giggled.

Martin scowled and walked away. Andrea picked up her things and followed him down the steps towards the playing fields.

‘I don't know why I hang out with them,' Andrea muttered.

Martin said nothing. It was a mystery to him too. Andrea had told Kitty that she hated Tammy and Michelle, but she spent a lot of time laughing and giggling in the school grounds with them, acting as if they were her best friends.

‘What's this about the library?' asked Andrea.

She brushed some leaves off a bench and sat down. Martin sat next to her, not too close, and took his lunch out of his bag. A few seniors were kicking a ball around on the grassy oval. Beyond them the Harbour sparkled in the sunlight.

‘Kitty wants you to meet her there after school. She thinks they might have old newspapers that'll tell you when some guy killed himself. I don't know what that's got to do with anything. She said it was because of bombs in the war, but that wouldn't have happened here, in Australia, would it? And why would it make someone kill himself?'

‘I don't know,' said Andrea. ‘This old lady of Kitty's, Miss Gordon, is pretty rambly, but she said there were bombs, and yesterday David and I found this amazing bomb shelter under the house. It's got food, and blankets, lots of really old stuff, and gas masks!'

‘Wow! Any weapons?'

‘No, Martin.'

‘Anyway,' said Martin. ‘Doesn't it show that she and this “What's the time, Mr Wolf” were both crazy right from the start? They'd have to be, like, paranoid to want a bomb shelter, wouldn't they?'

‘It is weird. I mean, Australia's never been invaded.'

‘Why don't we ask Miss Tenniel?' suggested Martin.

‘Oh, sure.'

‘Yeah, go and ask her. It's for your assignment, isn't it?'

‘Enough already!' shouted Andrea. ‘Why is everyone on my back about that stupid assignment?'

‘Okay, okay!' Martin put up his arms as if to fend her off.

‘I just want to find out more about the house,' said Andrea emphatically. ‘The house, right?'

‘All right, all right.'

There was a silence for a while.

‘We could still ask Miss Tenniel,' said Martin hopefully.

‘I'm not going to the staffroom. Someone might see me!' Andrea took a banana out of her bag and started to peel it. ‘You ask Miss Tenniel.'

‘Hey, it's not my assignment!' said Martin cheekily. Andrea beat him about the head and shoulders with her banana until he pleaded for mercy.

‘Now look what you've done to my banana!' she cried.

‘I'll have it. I like them mushy.'

‘Oh yuk, Marty!' She watched him eat it. ‘Anyway, what did you do your assignment on?'

‘My great-grandpa. He used to have a farm up past Bathurst, but there was the Depression and a big drought, and he had to go on the wallaby.'

‘On the what?'

‘You know, being a swagman. I wrote five pages, with footnotes.'

‘You don't have to do that much!'

‘My parents get all keen, and they hang around and say “Put this in” and “Put that in”. You don't know how lucky you are. If I missed doing an assignment I'd be grounded for the rest of my life.'

‘Poor you.' Andrea scuffled her feet on the ground. ‘So when are you going to see Miss Tenniel?'

‘What's it worth?' grinned Martin.

‘I've got a bag full of mushy bananas at home.'

They went to the staffroom together. Andrea stepped back out of sight as Mr Blythe, the head of History, opened the door.

‘It's a boy,' he said in his lugubrious voice. ‘Go away, Boy.' He began to close the door.

Martin could see Miss Tenniel at her desk in a corner. He waved frantically. After a moment she came out, smiling.

‘What can I do for you, Martin?'

‘I just wanted to ask you something, Miss. About history.'

‘Is it more medieval stuff? Knights and castles?'

‘Not this time. It's about – um – World War Two.'

‘Yes?'

‘Well – our side won, didn't it?'

‘Yes, of course. If you can say anyone ever wins a war.'

‘So have we ever been bombed?'

‘Oh, no. Well, I mean yes. Darwin was bombed. And Broome.'

‘But what about here? Has Sydney ever been bombed?'

‘Well – there were some submarines. I think they blew up a ship in the Harbour.'

‘They did?' Martin's eyes lit up. ‘When was that, Miss?'

‘I couldn't tell you for sure. Let's see . . . ' Miss Tenniel's eyes took on a faraway look. ‘It must have been fairly early. Late forty-one maybe? No, it was after Darwin.' She put her head back inside the staffroom door and called above the hubbub inside. ‘When were those Japanese mini-subs in the Harbour?'

Mr Blythe's voice boomed out: ‘May thirty-first, nineteen forty-two. Send that boy away, Miss Tenniel. Mr King has made some magnificent coffee and I propose that we enjoy it.'

KITTY
marched into the Balmain library and looked around. There were a few pensioners dozing over magazines in the lounge chairs and some older kids clustered around the computers. Kitty checked her watch. She wandered around the shelves for a few minutes, then went outside again and looked up and down the street. Finally she spotted Andrea lurking in the bushes.

‘What are you doing there?' Kitty hissed. ‘Come on, I haven't got much time.'

‘I can't go in,' Andrea said sullenly. ‘I've lost my card. Anyway, I got some books out once and never brought them back.'

‘Don't be silly,' said Kitty. ‘You don't have to borrow. We're just looking for information.'

‘They might recognise me.'

‘Course they won't. You were probably about six the last time you came here.'

The librarian was deep in conversation with some middle-aged ladies. Kitty waited patiently to be noticed while Andrea pretended to browse at a nearby shelf.

‘I was wondering if you keep old newspapers,' said Kitty.

‘How old?'

‘I was looking for the local paper, from World War Two?'

‘I'm not sure if there was one that long ago.' She tapped on the computer in front of her for a while. ‘No. There've been a few different local papers over the years, but there wasn't one for this specific area during the war.'

‘Oh. Where can we find out about local history, then? Stuff about local families, and . . . and things that might have happened to them?'

‘We don't keep any real source material here. You'd have to go to the main library, at Leichhardt. They might be able to help you.'

‘Thank you.' Kitty was crestfallen. She moved away from the desk.

‘See?' said Andrea. ‘It's just too complicated.'

‘Right, you win. I give up,' snapped Kitty.

She walked out of the library and down the street, tears prickling her eyelids. She imagined Andrea stalking off in the opposite direction, but a moment later she felt a hand on her arm.

‘Sorry,' muttered Andrea.

‘It's okay.'

‘So,' said Andrea. ‘We'll just have to go to Leichhardt, right?'

‘It's not that easy. Mum would never let me.' She cheered up all the same. Her brain was already at work, weighing up her chances.

She approached it casually while helping to make dinner.

‘Mum, did you know all the local history stuff is in the Leichhardt library now?'

‘Well, I suppose that makes sense. It's kind of central.' Her mother handed her some tomatoes to cut up.

‘There's some information there I need. You know, for my project.'

‘Oh Kitty, I wouldn't have time to take you to Leichhardt this week. Maybe on Saturday . . . '

‘Mum, I could just get the bus after school. Straight there and straight back.'

‘On your own? I don't think so.'

‘If I get into a selective school next year I'll have to go on the bus.'

‘We'll worry about that when it happens.'

Kitty slid the tomato pieces into the salad bowl, considering her options. Well, nothing to lose, she thought.

‘What if I go with someone else?'

‘Who?'

‘Well . . . Andrea?'

‘Andrea?' Her mother nearly dropped the pot she was carrying. ‘Are you still hanging around with her?'

‘Mum, you like Andrea, remember?'

‘Yes, but Kitty. As she gets older, you know . . . she . . . '

Kitty was prepared for this. ‘Mum, she's not a bad influence on me,' she said firmly. ‘I'm a good influence on her.'

‘All right,' said her mother, recognising a match point when she saw it. ‘But all the same, you're not going to Leichhardt on the bus with Andrea or anyone else except me or some other parent, and that is final.'

KITTY
sat at the dining-room table, working on her project. It was just amazing how much information had come out of one little interview. Now that David and Andrea had found the shelter, and Martin had discovered that there really were bombs, she was determined to follow up every single thing Miss Gordon had said. Andrea had better not have given up on the idea of going to Leichhardt. Martin was printing all her photos right now, two copies, and Kitty would have to pay by doing his share of the washing-up for three days.

She thought of Miss Gordon sitting in her chair at the nursing home, gazing, gazing out over the trees. Did the trees remind her of the view she once had from her own window at Tarcoola?

Kitty pictured the lovely young woman in the photograph Andrea had found. The mysterious Mr Wolf must have been very much in love with her. And yet he betrayed her: first by marrying her when he already had a wife, then by committing suicide. That was a cruel thing to do. But even when it all came out, after he was dead, Miss Gordon still insisted that she was his wife. Why did she believe in him? He had ruined her whole life.

Kitty leaned on her elbows and closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to the lids until she could see dancing green spots in the blackness. When someone died, they left a will, and in their will they could give their money to anyone they liked, couldn't they? It didn't have to be their family – she knew that much. So even if Mr Wolf had another wife, he could still have made a will leaving everything to Miss Gordon. Why didn't he?

When Miss Gordon was upset the other day, what was it she had said? ‘We won't let the wolf boy get it.' What was ‘it'? The will? Maybe the wolf boy, whoever he was, wanted to destroy it so she couldn't have the house.

But no, thought Kitty. None of that made sense, because if there was a will like that she wouldn't have hidden it.

Could there be something else in the house, a sort of treasure chest? Kitty's heart beat faster. She pictured handfuls of diamond necklaces, sparkling like icicles, worth lots of money. Maybe enough to buy the house back from the other Mrs Wolf. But then, why hadn't Miss Gordon done that?

Maybe it was just the old lady's mind wandering. Mr Wolf had left her with nothing, but she didn't want to believe it.

Anyway – a thought struck Kitty – if there was a treasure chest it might not be in the house. Andrea had told her that there was not much there, and Miss Gordon herself had described the house as having gone to ‘rack and ruin'. The best hiding place would be somewhere in those tunnels.

But what would happen if the house was demolished? The picture of it flashed into Kitty's mind – the dull roar, the collapse inwards, rubble flying in slow motion, clouds of dust. All collapsing and falling into the shaft, filling it, blocking the entrance for ever and ever.

Kitty jumped up. Her mother was in the garden, as usual.

‘Mum,' she called. ‘Can I pick some flowers and take them to Miss Gordon?'

‘That's a sweet idea, darling. Don't be long, though.'

Together they made a bouquet of daffodils, scented freesias, some daisies and a few red bottlebrushes. Kitty found some coloured paper in a drawer and carefully wrapped the flowers. Then she ran through the streets to the Sunset Home.

There was no one in the quiet entrance hall. Kitty ran lightly up the stairs. Miss Gordon was hobbling along the corridor outside her room. When she saw Kitty she pressed a finger to her lips.

‘Shhhh!' she whispered. ‘Don't let him see you!'

Kitty looked around in alarm. There was no one in sight.

‘Who?' she asked.

‘The wolf boy.' Miss Gordon leaned against the wall. Her face was white and dry, like handmade paper. Kitty took her arm.

‘Look, I've brought you some flowers,' she said. She gently guided Miss Gordon back to her room.

‘Oh, you're a good girl. But don't let the wolf boy see you. He tried to make me tell. Don't let him see you.'

‘It's all right,' said Kitty soothingly. ‘He can't see me.' She helped Miss Gordon onto the bed. The old lady was bony and fragile, and Kitty could feel her trembling.

‘He'll never find it,' Miss Gordon mumbled. ‘And Father's gone now. He has gone, hasn't he?'

‘Oh yes, he's gone.' Did she mean her father or the wolf boy?

Kitty wondered how to broach the subject that was on her own mind. ‘Did the wolf boy want your . . . your . . . the thing your husband gave you?' she ventured.

‘He's always wanted it!' Miss Gordon clutched her arm, her eyes staring. ‘He's at me and at me. But I won't tell!'

‘Listen,' started Kitty. ‘I think your treasure might be in danger. Maybe I can help—'

‘Shhhh! They're listening.'

Kitty looked around nervously.

‘Best not to talk about it, dear.' Miss Gordon took the bouquet from Kitty and buried her face in it. ‘The lovely flowers. Mother had freesias.'

‘I'll put them in a vase for you.'

Kitty went out into the corridor. A door opposite led into a sort of kitchen. She found a glass jar and filled it with water.

‘Here you are!' She arranged the flowers and put them on the locker by the bed. They made the grey room almost cheerful. Miss Gordon smiled, but there were tears in her eyes.

‘I don't want the wolf boy here,' she said. ‘Tell them not to let him in.'

‘I'll tell them.' Kitty took the frail hand in hers.

‘Father knew all about it. It was up here.'

She tapped the side of her snowy head. The sparse hair stood out like feathers.

‘They all looked up to him, you know. Father knew where everything was. But then the canary died, and they brought another one, and it died too. All the yellow canaries.'

She drew a daffodil from the vase and held it against her face.

‘The wolf boy can't go there, you know. It's safe. It really is safe.'

‘It's all right,' Kitty patted Miss Gordon's hand. ‘Please don't cry.' She saw again the flying rubble, the cloud of dust that the wreckers would make. How could she tell Miss Gordon about that? Here in the nursing home, with the treetops to screen Tarcoola from view, the old lady need never know that her house was gone. But Kitty had to save the treasure!

A nurse came in and bustled over to the bed.

‘Is everything all right?'

‘She's upset,' admitted Kitty.

‘Don't let him come back!' pleaded the old lady.

‘Oh dear, she's right off the air today,' observed the nurse. ‘You'd better go, love.'

‘Okay.' Kitty moved reluctantly towards the door. The nurse came with her, as though to escort her off the premises. ‘There's someone called the wolf boy, you see,' Kitty explained. ‘I think she's scared of him.'

‘Wolf boy, bogeyman,' scoffed the nurse. ‘It's all in her mind.' She tapped her head meaningfully.

‘Has she had a visitor?' persisted Kitty.

‘Only Mr Buckingham,' said the nurse. ‘You can't call him the bogeyman! He was mayor a couple of years ago. She's lucky he takes an interest in her.'

‘What sort of interest?' asked Kitty.

‘Pays all the extras here,' said the nurse. ‘This private room, for a start. He's no relation, either – just does it out of kindness. They found her homeless, you know. Sleeping rough in some ruined house. I'm surprised they didn't put her in a mental hospital.'

‘She's not mad!' said Kitty indignantly.

‘Course not,' conceded the nurse. ‘She's a dear old thing. Good as gold most of the time. But she's certainly out of it today!'

Kitty went slowly down the stairs and out into the street. Mr Buckingham. She would have to ask her parents if they knew who he was. She remembered a Samantha Buckingham who was at her school for a while, in Martin's year – a pretty girl, but a real snob.

There was a white car parked outside the Home with a man leaning against it, smoking. He was tall and thin, and his red hair glinted in the sun. As Kitty emerged, the man ground out his cigarette and got into the car. She heard the engine start up.

Sweetheart was also there, tied to a lamp-post.

‘Hello, Sweetheart!' said Kitty, offering her hand. The dog snuffled and slobbered at it, her tail thumping. Kitty looked around to see Cec emerge from the building, spruced up in a clean shirt and a fraying tie.

‘Hello, Cec!' she called.

‘Hello, little lady!' Cec made his way over to her. ‘Just been to see Ruby Walker. She won't last much longer, poor old soul.'

‘I'll take Sweetheart.' Kitty untied the dog and took the leash in her hand. Sweetheart lumbered into motion, pointing unerringly towards home.

The white car roared off with a screech of tyres.

‘Flamin' idiots!' said Cec. ‘ 'Scuse my French.'

‘I've been researching local history,' said Kitty as they walked. ‘Did you know that there were Japanese submarines right here in the Harbour during the war, blowing things up?'

‘Well now, Win's the one to tell you about that. She hid under the table, her and her sisters. They had a fine old time of it.'

‘Really? Win?'

Kitty didn't fancy asking Cec's wife about submarines or anything else. For one thing, she would have to go into the house, which was dark and smelled strongly of dog, cabbage, urine and other things she couldn't identify and didn't want to. For another thing, she had never quite got over her childish fear of Win. It was Martin's fault. He used to think it was funny to tell her that Win was an old witch who ate little children, and that was why she was so fat.

‘Oh yes, Win was born in that house of ours. Me, I've only been here since we got married.'

‘So you didn't know the person who committed suicide in the Haunted House – Mr Wolf ?' ventured Kitty. ‘Would Win have known him?'

‘Wouldn't think so. He was a Jew, you see. From – what's that place? – Checker-something. Win's Church of England.'

‘And what about his wife?'

‘I can remember some sort of to-do about that after the war. There was some lady who thought the first wife had been killed over there in Europe, but it turned out she'd been in America all along. Win was quite upset about it, for some reason.'

‘So Win did know them?'

‘She didn't say much about it. Go and ask her, if you like.'

Kitty could see she wasn't going to get any more information out of Cec. She handed over Sweetheart's leash at the corner and trudged home, lost in thought.