Two Wolves (6 page)

Ben leapt quickly from boulder to boulder, heading further downstream, trying to get away from her.

‘Leave me alone!'

‘No. It was my idea to come down here,' Olive said. ‘Then you just . . . poopsnaggled off by yourself.'

‘There's no such word as poopsnaggled. Get a dictionary. And go away!'

‘What were you writing?'

‘Nothing.'

‘You wrote “bag full of money” and “sold the wreckers”. Who sold the wreckers?'

‘Nobody,' he said.

‘Then why was Dad so cranky with you?'

Ben continued to make his way across the boulders on the creek bank, scanning the rocks for snakes.

‘What did he hide in the roof?' Olive asked, struggling to keep up with Ben, jumping from rock to rock.

‘Olive! GO A-WAY!'

‘One day I'm going to steal your stupid notebook and read the whole thing and show my friends and laugh and – owww!'

Ben turned. Olive had slipped on a rock.

‘Aaaaaarrrgggh!' she cried.

‘Serves you right.'

‘He-e-elp, Ben!' She was lying, legs in the air, face twisted in pain.

Ben wanted to be strong and continue up the creek bank, but he couldn't. He sighed, made his way across the boulders and helped her up. Her palms were scratched and stinging like his. He scooped his hands under her armpits and helped her down to the creek.

‘Dip them in the water,' he said.

‘No, it'll sting, you idiot!'

‘Does it sting now?'

She looked at him for a moment, then slowly, carefully, slipped her hands into the water.

‘Ow,' she said quietly.

‘Is that better?'

She nodded and sniffled.

‘You'll be okay,' Ben said.

She took her hands out of the water and shook them.

Ben looked around. He massaged his hands together like he did when he felt like making something. ‘You want to help me?'

‘Do what?' Olive asked.

‘I d'know. Build something maybe. Come on.' He stood and helped her up to flat, dry ground. ‘Watch out for snakes.'

‘Where?' Olive said. ‘I love snakes.'

Ben shook his head. He walked up to the edge of the pine trees. He found a long branch and dragged it down to the boulders. Olive saw another branch about the same length and picked up the end of it, grappling and struggling to drag it down the hill.

Ben had never built anything before. Nothing life-size. Just his movie sets and characters. And half a model aircraft carrier with Dad when he was seven. Dad always promised to finish it with him but he never did.

Ben and Olive searched for a long time, dragging together the best branches they could find. Most of them were straight and brown, about three metres long, with a few twigs sticking out near the ends which were easy to snap off. The branches had fallen from the tall pines above.

‘Hoop pine,' Olive said.

‘What? How do you know that?'

‘They just look like the ones I saw in a book at school.'

‘Really?' he said. He liked the sound – ‘hoop'. He whispered the words ‘hoop' and ‘pine' as he worked. He noticed Olive quietly saying ‘hoop pine, hoop pine' to herself too. They became lost in searching and dragging.

After a time, Olive counted the logs.

‘Sixteen!' she announced. ‘Six-
teen
logs. See! Count them. There's sixteen.'

‘I believe you.'

‘What can we build?'

Ben stopped and looked at their haul.

A fort?

Another cabin?

A teepee?

A raft.

The logs were almost laid out like a raft already.

‘A raft,' he said.

‘Yes!' Olive said. ‘You're so smart. And we can take off and go discovering! We'll be bushrangers! I'll be Olive Kelly, Ned Kelly's pretend sister, and you can be Captain Thunderbolt and . . .' Olive went on to list all the good things about having your own raft, including plundering treasure and sailing the seven seas and saying ‘Arrrrrrr, me pretties' a lot. Ben tried to point out that bushrangers did not say ‘Arrrrrrr, me pretties', but she ignored him and said, ‘Olive Kelly has a rosella sitting on her shoulder like a parrot and she's the driver of the ship. Captain Thunderbolt can be the first mate if he wants to be. Or a servant. When I grow up I'm not going to have a husband. Just a servant and a gardener.'

Ben wondered what they could use to hold the raft together. He set off along the creek bank, Olive prattling happily next to him about a shipwreck and needing to fix the hull.

For the first time since they had arrived Ben started to relax. With just the two of them down by the creek it actually seemed a bit like a holiday. Ben wanted to go barefoot like Olive but he was too scared of snakes.

He scanned the ground for long, thin vines that might work as rope to weave between the logs. Across the creek there were vines snaking down the rock wall but he would have to get to the other side of the creek first. And, for that, he would need a raft. He could swim across but the water was cold and running fast. He didn't know how deep it was and he was not a good swimmer anyway.

They wandered for half an hour, the sound of water flowing by gently washing the past few days out of Ben's head.

‘Imagine we're lost,' Olive said, ‘and we've got to survive and we need to finish our raft so we can get food. And if we don't find food we've got to eat each other.'

Ben smiled.

‘I wouldn't really eat you,' Olive said.

‘Thanks.'

‘You'd be disgusting.'

Ben pinched her arm.

‘Ow. What about that?' Olive said.

She was pointing at a clump of tall, tough-looking grass. Ben climbed onto a rock and jumped to the next, then pulled on a couple of the long strands. They did not budge. He pulled again and his finger slipped along the sharp edge and opened up, bleeding. He sucked on the finger, swallowing the river of blood. He bent down low where the stem was round and white and juicy. He snapped it off, then gathered fifteen stems, passing them to Olive.

They ran along the bank, in and out of shadows, back to the branches, where Ben began winding the reeds through the logs. Up and over, down and under, up and over.

‘Can you tell me now?' Olive asked.

‘What?'

‘Why you got in
trouble
,'
she said.

‘Doesn't matter,' Ben said.

‘Does to me.'

Ben thought about the money, about Dad's reaction. And his mother's lie. He knew it was a lie. They had not sold the wreckers.

Police. Uncle Chris. The money.

‘Do you think Dad killed somebody and he was hiding the body up in the roof?'

‘No!' Ben said. ‘Why would you say that?'

‘Just joking,' Olive said, smiling and doing a spin like a ballerina. ‘You're too serious sometimes, Benjamin.'

‘Don't call me Benjamin. And where do you hear stuff like that?' Ben asked. He tied another reed to the end of the first piece of grass and continued weaving it through the logs.

‘At school,' she said. ‘We play dead dog where you have to shoot a dog with a barrenarrow –'

‘Bow and arrow,' Ben corrected.

‘Then you have to hide the dog somewhere in the playground and kids have to find it.'

‘Real dogs?' Ben asked, smiling.

‘No. Pretend dogs. I usually choose a poodle because they're not very heavy. I picked a Labrador once and nearly died from dragging it over to the bushes behind the swings.'

Ben wanted to ask how a pretend dog could be heavy and how the others find the dogs if they are invisible, but he could see the conversation going on for hours.

‘So what was he hiding? Tell me or you're not coming to my birthday party.'

‘I don't want to come to your birthday party,' Ben said. ‘And you're probably not having one.'

‘Yes, you do . . . And yes, I am!'

‘No, I don't and no, you're not.'

‘Fine, I'm going on a cruise around the Caribbean, finishing up at Walt Disney World with a cake that has blue icing, but whatever.'

Cake. Food.
Hunger.
Ben could taste the icing.

‘Don't worry about it,' he said. ‘It wasn't import­ant. Just Dad getting angry like always.'

He continued weaving reeds through the logs at four different points along the raft. It was slow work but the shush of creek and call of birds made them forget about time. After an hour they stood back and looked at their creation. Ben had used nine logs. It was a bit rough and wonky.

‘Not bad for a first raft,' he said.

They lifted the end of it and dragged it down over the slick rocks. The raft was heavy and awkward to carry, the centre of it sagging. Ben worried that the grass ties might snap. He took three or four breaks before he was finally able to drop one end of the raft into the creek.

He sent a prayer up into the trees and sky that it would float. There was a shrill whistle from up the hill.

‘You two! Come!' Dad's voice echoed through the tall timbers.

Ben was snapped out of his dream state. His bubble was punctured and the last couple of days rushed in.

‘Olive? Ben?' Mum called. ‘Food!'

He wanted to pretend he didn't hear, but it was past lunchtime and he was so hungry.

‘C'mon,' he said.

‘I want to see if it floats,' Olive whined.

‘Later,' Ben said. ‘We need to eat.'

They dragged the raft up the rocks. Ben found some bushy branches and covered it.

‘Ben!' Mum called again.

‘Keep your pants on,' he muttered and started to make his way up the hill. He could feel the creek flowing out of his body, and fear flowing in. Would Dad still be angry about what Ben had seen? He used to think that there were two of his dad, the nice one and the angry one. Lately the nice one hadn't been around much.

As he climbed the hill, Ben made a promise to himself that he would work out where the money had come from and why they were lying to him. He was sick of being treated like a child. He was going undercover. He would find the truth.

Ben and Olive came over the rise and into the sandy clearing in front of the cabin, crossing back into the real world.

‘Detective,' Ben whispered, reminding himself.

‘What?' Olive asked as they headed toward the cabin.

‘Nothing. Don't tell them about the raft, okay?'

‘Why not?'

‘It's our secret.' He stopped outside the cabin. Olive grinned. He knew that this would make her feel big and special. She probably wouldn't keep the secret but he could hope.

Detective.

He pushed open the door.

‘Here they are!' Dad said. He sounded almost chirpy.

Mum and Dad were seated at the table on new camping chairs. There was other camping gear strewn around the cabin – esky, blow-up mattresses, gas cooker. Ben dared to look into the open roof area. The bag and black plastic were no longer there.

‘You've been gone for hours,' Mum said. ‘Thought you two were dead.'

‘No. Still alive,' Ben said.

The table was filled with food. The sight and smell of it filled his mouth with saliva. Olive sat on a wooden crate. The only thing left for Ben to sit on was the old green metal trunk. He dragged it over and sat, grabbing at the food, filling his paper plate and stuffing crackers and cheese into his mouth.

‘Slow down,' Mum said. But she soon forgot and they ate like a pack of wolves, swallowing food in great chunks, desperate to fill the empty space. They didn't speak until the tide of hunger had gone out and the sugar had reached their brains.

‘Ooohhhhhhhh,' Ben groaned.

‘Good, is it?' Mum asked.

‘So goooood,' he said in a funny, croaky voice and they all laughed. Even Dad.

Afternoon sun fell in through the window. The cabin felt brighter than it had that morning. Dad reached into his pocket and banged a small box down on the table in front of Ben.

Ben looked at it and then up to his father.

‘Open it.'

Ben was suspicious. Dad wasn't known for buying presents. He left that to Mum. She even bought her own birthday presents. Ben picked up the box. It was small and plain and grey. Ben wondered if there was some kind of punishment or prank inside. He carefully opened a cardboard flap at one end and let the contents slide out onto his palm. A smile washed over his face. He clutched his fingers around it.

‘Ray!' Mum said.

‘What?' Dad asked, wiping mayonnaise from the corner of his mouth.

Mum clicked her tongue and shook her head.

It was a knife. Swiss Army. Red with a white cross. A serious one. Chunky, with metal sides that felt cold on his fingers. Ben flipped out a large blade, then another smaller one.

Mum stood to clear the plates.

‘You think you can take care of it?' Dad asked.

Ben nodded. He flipped out a saw, a tiny pair of pliers, a corkscrew, scissors, a screwdriver and some small, mysterious, pointy tools. He picked a tiny pair of tweezers and a toothpick out of the side of the knife.

‘I want one!' Olive said, sticking her bottom lip out.

‘Ah, for you . . .' Dad said, taking a large box out of one of the tall paper shopping bags sitting on the floor behind him. He gave it to Olive and she did a dance, pretending to play electric guitar with the box. This was the first interaction between Dad and Olive in over a week.

Ben was mesmerised by his knife. When every arm had been folded out he sat and looked at his dazzling red, white and silver spider. It was the best thing he had ever owned.

‘What do you say to Dad?' Mum asked, closing up containers, clearing plates, throwing them into a plastic bag.

‘Thanks,' Ben said without looking up. He was already thinking about the raft and how he could cut and screw and saw it with his knife and make it sturdier and take off downstream. He almost started talking about it but something stopped him. He needed to keep his secret world by the creek for himself.

‘Awesome!' Olive said. She was holding a skateboard with a blue plastic deck and red wheels. She had been asking for one since she was four. Ben wondered where she would ride it out here.

Dad reached into his pocket and placed another small container on the table. ‘My love,' he said. Ben looked up. He had only heard his father call Mum ‘my love' once or twice. It sounded weird and uncomfortable.

Mum turned from where she was crouched packing food into the esky. She stood, eyes wide, looking like a little girl. Dad snapped open the top of the box and Mum's eyes kindled. She took what was inside and slipped it onto her finger. It was a ring with a diamond in it.

Mum flung her arms around Dad, kissing him all over his face a thousand times. Ben didn't really like watching his parents kiss.

‘Do you realise that this is the first real present you've bought me in fifteen years?' Mum said. ‘I paid for dinner the first time we went out. Do you remember? I should have known it was a bad omen.'

Dad pulled a face at her. ‘All right,' he said, turning to the big bags on the floor again.

‘What else?' Mum asked, admiring her ring.

‘Look on the front seat,' he said. She went outside, opened the car door and gave a little shriek. Through the window Ben could see that she was holding two boxes.

Dad had bought other presents for Ben and Olive, too. Clothes for each of them in various sizes, just to be sure. Shoes for Olive. For Ben, a robotic Lego kit and a
Mad
magazine. For Olive, a pirate outfit and a hot-pink remote control pick-up truck that could drive across the sandy clearing out the front. She loved her skateboard best. She rode it around and around the cabin all afternoon.

It felt more like Christmas than any Christmas Ben had ever known. For that moment, everybody was happy. The way things were meant to be, the way they were in movies. The way Ben always imagined other families being. Maybe better.

As dark closed in on the cabin, Dad decided to try lighting a fire and they laughed at his pathetic camping skills. Only Mum managed to get a decent flame going.

Later, as Ben lay on his squeaky new air mattress in the darkness of the cabin, with a belly full of food and his parents outside laughing and talking, he wondered . . . if life was full of good things and presents and they were all happy, did it matter where the money had come from? Did it matter why his father had driven off from the police? Did it matter that his mum had lied to him about selling the business? Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe they really did sell the wreckers. Maybe that old corrugated iron office building and the broken-down machinery and all those smashed-up cars were worth that much money. And that's how they got the presents. What if it could always be like this? A million dollars could buy a lot of happy.