Chapter Five
Snakes fall out of the sky in Cabramatta, residents grateful of food
NZ accepts a million more refugees
PM abandons us, new home in Wellington
We’re trapped! Airport shuts down for good
Tamworth Country Festival to go ahead
The L82 Camel Express stopped to poo beside Tuesday at the blacked out Ocean St lights and she caught a lift to Vaucluse. Even though Tuesday smelt of camel breath and rancid porridge, the passengers pretended they couldn’t smell anything at all.
Tuesday walked the last two hundred metres to Anthea’s home, crept up to the garage door, and listened for Anthea’s horse. The garage was silent. Thank God for small mercies. Tuesday stole in through the wrought iron gate and tip-toed up the terrace steps to the sliding doors. Sure enough, one of the panes was open on its tracks and covered in a small child’s fingerprints.
Tuesday poked her head inside. The curtains were drawn and it was dim and silent. “Helllloooo? Anybody home?”
There was a violent snarling in reply and Tuesday jumped. The Dobermans! Black and brown shadows jumped at the corner of her eye and Tuesday screamed as two large, angry Dobermans raced into the room. She was about to sprint back down the stairs, leaping over the balustrade if she had to, when she noticed there was something odd about the dogs. They seemed strangely fuzzy. Weirdly 2-D. The dogs crouched down and bared their teeth, preparing to attack. Tuesday looked above her. A projector hung from the curtain rail. She was watching a film of two angry dogs projected onto the living room wall. Clever. The dogs continued to pace and drool and Tuesday took the time to look about her.
How curious. Just like Level Seventeen there was not one stick of furniture in Anthea’s massive warehouse-like mansion but unlike Level Seventeen it had been habited very recently by humans.
Chinese takeaway cartons and empty Turkish pizza boxes littered the room. Cushions were scattered about and dozens of dreg-filled tea cups were tipped over onto the floor. Greasy kebab papers with lettuce and tabouli residue had been walked into the carpet and opened cans of soft drink had been tossed aside and were covered with moving lines of ants.
From the mess, Tuesday could see a little history in the chaos. Before Uncle Bob had become an artiste he had been a very good tracker and perhaps a little bit had passed onto Tuesday.
Everything seemed to encircle the television. The cushions were still indented with the thigh marks of crossed legs and full ashtrays sat within easy access of them. The lettuce dribbled over to the kettle and back again. Burnt out matches sat on top of the fridge and ash was ground into the floor creating dusty black footprints from spot to spot.
Tuesday estimated that around ten people had recently sat in Anthea’s living room over the course of four or five days, at least one of them a man due to the fact that a broken pair of size sixteen thongs poked out from beneath a piece of battered fish.
“Tonto!” Tuesday whispered into her walkie talkie.
From the kitchen came the faint sound of SOS being tapped out in Morse code.
Tuesday slunk inside, closed the ranch slider door, and drew the curtain across. Two minutes tops, she told herself, pulling off her face mask. Release the great Tonto from her misadventure and hightail it to safety. She hung her mask on the ranch slider door handle and tip-toed over the discarded food.
Family photos hung on the wall. Tuesday paused to look at them. There was Anthea aged 3, 5, and 10. How sweet she looked! In one photo she sat cross-legged with her school class beneath a Pohutukawa tree, pigtails and pinafore and striped knee-high socks, a pony bending to sniff the Johnson’s Baby Shampoo that shone from her dark golden hair. The magnetic board propped up in her teacher’s lap read ‘Standard Four, Mangonui Primary School.’ One of the children held a chicken.
Tuesday bent down to look at the names but instead of Anthea Yialousis it said ‘Robynne Hayward’. Could this be true? Was Anthea once a smiling, rosy-cheeked farm girl from a rural New Zealand town? Tuesday wondered what had turned Robynne from an innocent cherub into the dastardly evil woman who had pushed them down a fire chute.
There was a rattling noise from the kitchen and Tuesday whirled around. The kitchen was an enormous stainless steel space about the size of Tuesday’s house. It was divided from the living room by only a slight change in the timber floorboard pattern and a series of overflowing rubbish bins.
One entire wall was filled with cupboards and Tuesday began to open the ones from where Esther seemed to be knocking. Most of them were empty. One cupboard held a Juica-Dicer-Splicer with the remnants of some type of red liquid inside, suspiciously resemblant of blood. Another was stuffed with plastic bags.
She opened a corner cupboard and a saucepan revolved around to meet her with an Esther sitting in it. Esther was covered in grime and food scraps and smelt worse than Tuesday. Tuesday pushed her back around and Esther disappeared once more behind the cupboard door.
“Tuesday!”
“I’m sorry, but you smell!”
“I was investigating the rubbish bins. That’s what you do for clues. Maybe we should take the rubbish home with us.”
“That’s it. I’m going to leave you here.”
“Tuesday! Let me out! Besides, you’ll never guess what I found.”
Tuesday pushed the cupboard back around with her toe. “What?”
“A…”
“Shhhh! What’s that noise?”
A click-click-click rattled the ranch slider and Tuesday’s mask swung back and forth. Someone was tugging on the handle.
Esther squeaked and pulled Tuesday half-way into the cupboard with her.
“I’m not going to fit in here!” Tuesday hissed, pushing Esther’s apple peel covered head away from her.
Esther grabbed hold of Tuesday’s butt cheeks and pulled with all her might. “Yes…you…will!”
Tuesday clenched her teeth. “Will you let go of me?”
Esther released her, puffing. “You know, your bottom’s really soft. I’ve heard Pilates is good for-“
Tuesday planted her feet on the ground and grabbed hold of Esther by her trench coat lapels. She hauled once and Esther shot out of the pot and onto the kitchen floor on top of her. The saucepot wobbled and clanked in the cupboard in circles and Tuesday halted it mid-motion with her foot. There was silence outside on the terrace and Tuesday and Esther held their breath.
The ranch slider handle clicked again and suddenly broke free.
“This way!” Tuesday hissed, dragging Esther down the hallway by the hand.
There were only empty bedrooms on either side of the hall but at the very far left was an open door to a furnished study. They ran inside and closed the door behind them.
Two leather armchairs sat in front of a large mahogany desk in the middle of the room. An original Brett Whitely painting covered the entire south wall. They flew past the desk and pulled the louver door knobs on the opposite wall but the doors were locked.
Tuesday glanced at the computer. The screensaver displayed the same words over and over – ‘Ye are doomed all ye who enter here’. Esther bumped the mouse and the screen changed back to a plain blue desktop covered with icons.
In the living room someone tripped over a pizza carton and swore. That’s funny, Anthea’s voice had deepened.
“In here,” whispered Esther.
The last louver door behind the desk was partially open. Inside was nothing but a musty old overcoat hanging on a rod. They dived inside, Tuesday kneeling on the floor and Esther climbing over her shoulders and putting her legs around her neck. Tuesday pulled the bottom of the door closed with her fingertips and through the louver slats they watched the study door intently.
Someone padded across the living room floor, into the kitchen, and down the hallway towards them. There were barely audible clicks as the adjoining bedroom’s wardrobe doors opened and closed.
Why would Anthea check out her own house? Tuesday frowned then remembered she’d read in Marie Claire magazine that women could only frown 1000 times - after that their frown lines developed. This was her 649th. She rubbed her brow. Then slapped her forehead. Her face mask! And not only that, Esther’s sticky fingerprints!
Anthea knew someone was in the house! If you ever follow me again, she’d said, you’ll suffer a fate much worse than the fire chute.
The footsteps stopped outside the study door.
“I think I’m going to sneeze,” whispered Esther. Her chest took one gasp inwards. Two. Tuesday’s hands flew up and clamped Esther’s nose and mouth shut with an iron-clad grip. There was a tiny poof! and Esther’s head jerked back violently into the wall from the inwards explosion.
The study door opened slowly. Tuesday struggled to get a glimpse of the figure through the louver slats. All she could see were two big feet. It was a man!
Whoever he was, he had taken off his shoes and was wearing Sydney Swans socks. If he was a killer, he was at least reasonably cultured and could read.
Tuesday’s eyes moved upwards to the next slat. Above the socks he wore cargo pants. She stretched her head up higher. Above that he wore a tight black t-shirt. Tuesday shoved Esther’s knees away from her ears and strained her eyes up to the next slat. Above that he wore a balaclava.
“Uh oh,” whispered Esther, holding her nose.
Tuesday stared at him. Was he one of Mr G’s sons who would chop them into little pieces? Or just a plain old cat burglar?
His clear blue eyes wandered around the room.
Esther tapped Tuesday on the shoulder and gasped inward.
Wait a minute! Tuesday knew those eyes!
Esther leant back and her chest expanded. “Tuuuuuesday!” She hissed.
Uh oh. His clear blue eyes seemed to blink right at them. He peered closer at the louver door. He frowned. Tuesday didn’t expect he’d read Marie Claire’s advice.
“AAAAAAAAACHHHOOOOO!” Esther’s snot flew forward along with Esther. She swung over Tuesday’s head and downwards into Tuesday’s lap, bumping her head on the louver door. The door popped out of Tuesday’s fingers and slowly creaked open.
Tuesday couldn’t see a thing. Esther’s trench coat fell over her head like a tent and Esther’s knees were squeezing the blood supply from her face. She scrabbled at the coat in the darkness but it was impossible to find the beginning or end.
“Huh.” She folded her arms. “Are you going to help us or not?” She called out.
There was a smothered laugh from the other side of the room and two big feet wandered leisurely over to Tuesday and appeared beneath the coat in front of her. He wriggled his toes.
“Do you need a hand?” He pulled the coat off Tuesday’s body and stared at Tuesday’s face, squashed like a puffer fish between Esther’s trembling knees. He gasped.
“Tuesday!” He ripped off his balaclava.
“Toasty Tom! I mean, Mr Welsh Tom Toast! I mean Tom Rabbit. Er.”
“What are you doing here!”
“What are you doing here!”
“I asked you first.”
“We’re….cleaning.”
“No you’re not. You’re hiding in a cupboard.”
“Tuesday?” Mumbled Esther from upside down, her face buried in Tuesday’s lap.
“Oh yeah. Bless you.”
“Tuesday!”
Tuesday sighed and pushed Esther’s legs off her shoulders. Esther fell onto the floor at Tom’s feet. “Tom!”
“Esther!”
“Tuesday!”
“Tom!”
“You know him?”
“He’s my brother!” Uttered Esther, as if he were the most regrettable thing in her life.
Tom looked even more handsome, if it were possible, without a Welsh Rabbit suit on. He had wavy brown hair that flopped over his eyes, the palest skin she had ever seen and a broad chest that made her shiver. He smiled at her.
Tuesday smiled back. She stood up and pulled at her tracksuit top, inflating her breasts just a little.
“You have apple peel in your ear,” whispered Tom. He walked very close to her, wrapped his finger in the peel and pulled gently. His skin briefly touched Tuesday’s lobe and Tuesday instantly felt very hot and bothered. She giggled.
Tom shuffled his feet and smiled.
Tuesday smiled and shuffled her feet.
“Oh, God.” Said Esther.
Tuesday and Tom leant casually against the wall and glanced shyly at each other. Tom put his hands in his pockets, fiddled with his lint, and bashfully swung his big toe in a line across the floor. Tuesday bit her lip, clasped her hands behind her back, and swung her body from side to side girlishly.
There was a soft clicking noise and Tuesday felt an odd sensation.
As if Tom were lifting her off her feet. As if they were floating off the floor together in a cloud of lustful euphoria.
As if they were falling backwards through a Brett Whitely painting.
“Ahhhhhhhhh!”
The Whitely wall they were leaning on had swung open and Tuesday and Tom were tumbling backwards down a flight of stairs.
“Tue…!” But the wall slammed shut above them and Esther’s voice was abruptly cut off.
Tuesday landed with her face between Tom’s groin. She perhaps stayed there a little longer than she needed to.
“Er, Tuesday?” said Tom.
Tuesday jerked her head away. “Oh sorry. I had a bit of concussion.”
They sat up and looked around them. They were in a large room with no windows. The walls were painted black. Dim light came from a square hole in the floor. Stacked against the walls were water coolers filled with a pink liquid. On a table in the centre a map was spread out and held down by rocks.
“Wow.” Tom stood up and went to examine the map.
Tuesday crawled over to the square hole in the floor and stuck her head down. She was almost too afraid to call out.
“Hello?”
But there was no answer and in the dim light Tuesday noticed a harness hanging on the wall.
“What is it?”
“It’s Anthea’s garage.” Drag marks from the coolers led to the hole.
“Come and have a look at this, Tuesday.”
Tuesday joined Tom at the table and they bent their heads together over the map. It was a map of Sydney. Throughout the city, crosses had been marked in red crayon and next to them little evil laughs – ha, ha, ha, ha !
“What do you think it is?” Asked Tuesday.
“I’m not sure,” Tom murmured. He looked at Tuesday quizzically, picked up her fingers from the bottom of the map, and held them in his hands gently. Tuesday’s heart accelerated. Tom put her fingers back on the table. He pointed to where they had covered up the map’s label.
They peered down at the tiny writing. ‘Secret Plans of Evil Plot’.
Tom whistled. “Doesn’t look good, Tuesday. We’d better get out of here pretty quick.” His eyes met hers.
Was that a touch of disappointment Tuesday could hear in his voice?
This could be their only chance to be alone in a darkened room under the excitement of the threat of death if they were discovered.
It was like the time she and Goodie Murrurundi got too stimulated watching The Rocky Horror Picture Show in her dark living room when they were thirteen and his braces got entwined in her pubic hair and her mother had walked in and poured them both a glass of milk and handed it to them. Goodie had even said thank you although it was a slightly muffled reply.
“I suppose we should try and get out of here,” Tuesday said reluctantly. She removed the walkie talkie from her pocket.
“Wait a sec.” Tom glanced up at the light bulb above the table and removed a miniature tool box from his back pocket. “I have to do what I came for first.”
“And what’s that?”
“Plant a bug,” he nodded at the ceiling. “This looks like it would be the best place.”
“Is that what you do for a living? Are you like a PI or something?”
Tom laughed and it sounded like gentle rain falling from heaven. “Nothing so glamorous. I’m a model maker. In fact, I’m the disappointment of the family. My two brothers are architects.” He smiled at her. “I make the miniature buildings for Mr G’s god awful display centre but he’s paying me a little extra to bug Anthea’s house. The stupid oaf’s wild with jealousy over her new lover, wants to know who the hell he is.”
“So it was you! You made the little dancing rats and the cat - the cat that was being, uh…”
Tom stood up on the table and Tuesday came face to face with his groin.
“Yep, that was me.” Tom reached for the bulb and his t-shirt rose over his stomach.
Tuesday stared upwards. “Very nice.”
“Thanks.” He laughed. “I usually do a lot of freelance work for museums but in the current climate,” he jumped down off the table, ”there’s not much work.”
“But it was fantastic. The amount of detail was incredible.”
Tom nodded, pleased. “Real rats’ fur. And the outside of the buildings? Three inch matchsticks with straw fill and rendered with cement. I make all sorts of things, cave men, miniature canoes, dinosaurs. It’s a really specialised field.” He looked down at his hands. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you actually, I wanted your advice on a couple of wild Koori ideas.”
Oh. He wanted her advice. He wanted her in a professional capacity. Not even that, he wanted her in an Aboriginal capacity.
Tuesday nodded stiffly. “Oh?”
“Listen, I’m sorry about Swan the other night. She’s…” he shook his head, “a little insensitive sometimes.”
At the mention of Swan’s name, they stepped back from each other. Tom looked guilt-stricken.
“Well, she seems very nice,” Tuesday lied through clenched teeth, furling her hands into fists.
Tom shrugged, avoiding Tuesday’s eyes. “She used to be a lot more fun but she’s a bit caught up in the A list scene. You know…” He wanked his hand in the air.
Tuesday nodded gleefully. There was hope! There was potential! There…
“Anyway, I shouldn’t be telling you this, it’s between Swan and I. I’m confident we’ll sort it out.”
…there were voodoo dolls.
Tom and Tuesday stood looking at each other awkwardly.
Tuesday sighed. Give up now, she told herself. But not before she’d played her trump card.
“I’m sure you’ll work it out. Perhaps have a holiday away together. Remind each other why you first fell in love.”
Tom brightened.
“After all, she must be really proud of you - being so talented in such a specialised area. She’s a lucky woman.”
Tom’s face fell. “Er, actually, she thinks it’s…well, she says it’s immature. Thinks it’s a little silly. Her father’s offered to pay for my architectural studies.”
Tuesday nodded in commiseration. Walk away, she told herself, leave it in the air and walk away! She turned around and pumped the air in front of her.
Behind her Tom seemed to be thinking.
“Are you coming?” Called Tuesday gaily.
“Um, yeah.” Tom trudged up the steps behind her.
There was no reply from her walkie talkie and Tuesday beat on the wall with her fists. “TONTO!” There was no answer. There were no buttons or switches on this side of the room and they couldn’t get the wall to budge.
Tom sat with Tuesday on the steps as she fiddled with the walkie talkie.
“Your sister’s a little…”
“Weird.”
“Yeah. How come your parents leave her alone so much? Esther said her nanny doesn’t even speak English.”
“What! What nanny? Mum and Dad sent her to stay with Swan and I across the road because Esther was getting into so much trouble at school. She doesn’t have a nanny. She’s a pathological liar.” He ran his hands through his hair.
“You mean, Esther lives with you and Swan?” So Swan and Tom shared a house. A bed. Well, of course, they did. Don’t be getting ridiculous, Tuesday told herself crossly.
“Yeah. Esther’s great but she’s a handful.”
“Oh. I didn’t realise it was your house.”
“Swan’s. She loves living in Vaucluse.” Tom sighed and looked at Tuesday. “But she’s saving up for Double Bay.” They laughed.
“Well, you should really buy Esther some new clothes. That floral number…”
Tom grinned. “You don’t like Swan’s taste?”
“Oh. I didn’t know…”
“It’s okay, Tuesday. You don’t have to bullshit around me. In fact, I’d prefer you didn’t.” He smiled. “You’re funny.”
Tuesday blushed. That’s what all the boys said. Tuesday, you’re so funny. Tuesday propped her chin in her hand.
“Thanks.”
“So is this what you do for a living?” Asked Tom. “Break into people’s houses and hide in their closets?”
“No! Mr G is paying me to follow Anthea and take photographs. I enlisted Esther’s help but she decided to do a little of her own investigating and I had to come and rescue her. I’m really a freelance photographer. Magazine shoots mainly.”
“Hey, something creative, that’s great.”
“You’d be surprised how restrictive it is. Clients mostly want me to point and click and bugger the innovative stuff.”
Tom nodded. “Sounds like Mr G.” Tom narrowed his eyes. “I wanna white walls, ya understan’? Hey, ya lookin’ at me? White!”
Tuesday laughed. Tom cleared his throat. “And uh…” he examined his fingers very closely, “…what does your boyfriend do?”
Tuesday’s breath caught in her chest. “Oh, I’m just out of an amicable break-up.” Tuesday nodded. “He went overseas. War journalist.”
Tuesday crossed her fingers behind her back. Forgive me, God. Apart from Bill, the last relationship she’d had was with Stodger, an unemployed surfer, whose beaded ankle bracelet Tuesday had flushed down the toilet after he slept with Veronica ‘the tongue’ McMurphy behind her back.
“Tough. How’s he doing?”
“Dead.” Replied Tuesday without batting an eyelid.
“No! I’m so sorry! Bullet?”
“Golf ball.”
“Ah.”
Esther’s voice crackled into life. “Heathen Barbie?”
“We’re here.”
“I can’t find the wall switch anywhere. What are we going to do? It’s all my fault!” She snorted.
Tom winced. “She snorts when she cries.” He whispered to Tuesday.
“I do not!” Snorted Esther.
“Maybe we can get out via the garage,” Tuesday said. “Listen, Esther – don’t worry. Meet us downstairs by the garage door. And try and cover our tracks - pick up my mask and wipe your fingerprints off the glass.”
“Okay.” Esther grunted.
Tom and Tuesday leant over the trapdoor and peered down. It was a good ten foot drop into the murky gloom. Tom eased himself down first and jumped the last few feet. He stood in the garage and looked up at Tuesday.
“If you drop down by your fingertips, I’ll hold you.”
Tuesday couldn’t get down fast enough. She dropped herself through the hole and Tom grabbed her waist from below.
Tuesday perhaps dangled for a little longer than she needed to. Tom’s strong arms encircled her waist from behind and his cheek hugged the small of her back.
“Sorry.” Tuesday called. “Are you sure you’ve got me?”
“I’m sure.”
Tuesday closed her eyes. She could feel Tom’s fingers through her tracksuit pants. She could feel them clasp her hips. She could feel his breath just above her kidneys.
“Tuesday?”
“Are you sure you’ve got me?”
“Let go, Tuesday.” Tom dragged her away from the trapdoor edge and into his arms. She slid down his body, over a little bump in his trousers, and onto the ground.
Tom continued to hold her from behind, his chin resting on the top of her head.
Tuesday turned her cheek against his chest which thrust her nose into his armpit. She sighed deeply. Mmmmm. Norsca.
Tuesday jerked her eyes sideways. Had she just felt movement at the station?
“Tom?”
“Are you sure I’ve got you?” He asked huskily.
A red light beeped and began to flash at the top of the garage door in front of them. “Esther!” They cried in unison, leaping away from each other.
“Gee, she sounds kind of out of breath,” said Tuesday.
Tom nodded, puzzled. “She sounds like a horse.”
The garage door whirred and rose above the ground. Four horse shoes pranced in front of the garage door and what’s more, there was a horse in them.
Tuesday and Tom looked around them wildly. There was nowhere to hide! There was nothing in the garage but hay on the floor and no way to climb back up the hole above them.
They stood dumbstruck as Anthea Yialousis waited for her garage door to rise.
“Ms Yialousis!”
Two half legs outside rushed towards the horse, tripping over the dirty hem of a trench coat. “I’ve been keeping an eye on your house just like you said.” Esther panted. “And a woman was creeping around your windows just a moment ago.”
“A woman?” Anthea snapped.
“Yeah, a black woman, hardly any hair? Really sneaky looking. She said she was your sister.”
The garage door was rising to Anthea’s thighs. Her stallion bent his head under the door and glared at Tom and Tuesday. He drew back his gums over his teeth, blew steam through his flared nostrils and bellowed angrily.
“She ran off that way,” Esther pointed towards Watson’s Bay.
Anthea roared and the little red light above the garage door went out.
“Thank you so much, Esther.” Anthea said in a voice that could curdle fruit juice. She jerked her reins hard right but her horse wouldn’t budge. He stood with his legs splayed in front of the garage, head craned under the door, his front hoof stomping the ground with rage.
“LUCIFER!” Anthea shrieked. She dug her spurs into the horse’s flanks.
Lucifer whinnied and reared. He glanced back wildly at Tuesday and Tom as he turned then raced reluctantly out of the driveway and up the hill.
The garage door began to fall and Tuesday and Tom rolled out from underneath.
“Close call,” said Tom with relief, helping Tuesday to her feet.
But Tuesday wasn’t sure whether he meant Anthea or herself. “Good work, Tonto.” She said.
Esther burst into tears. “I didn’t know whether you were still alive!” She cried. “Group hug!” She mumbled through her snuffles, yanking them together.
Tuesday was thrust into Tom. She could hear his heart beating in his chest, and feel the stubble on his chin intermingling with the stubble on her head. Tuesday’s hand rested lightly around his waist, a finger beneath his t-shirt. She liked how his skin felt. Warm and undulating.
“Right,” Tom cleared his throat, drawing back, “best we get on our way.”
“I’m not finished!” Esther yelled, thumping him back into Tuesday’s breasts. She wailed through strands of mucus but from where Tuesday was standing she thought she could detect a smile.
“There, there, Esther,” said Tom, his breath being squeezed out of his chest by Tuesday’s mammaries, “everything’s okay now.”
Esther sniffled. “Okay then.” She pushed them apart. “By the way,” she said matter-of-factly, rummaging in her coat pockets. “I found this in the rubbish.” She waved a computer printout at them and smiled.
Tom narrowed his eyes at Esther and snatched the piece of paper out of her hands. “That was a quick recovery.”
Esther grinned.
“It’s a Visa statement,” said Tuesday, running her fingers down the debits. “Look at all these entries for Honeysuckle Nursery - must be a keen gardener.”
They looked up at the lawn-less concrete fortress in front of them.
“Hmmmm.” Tom stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He folded up the bank statement. “I’ve got to set up the bug receiver at home.”
Esther threaded her arm through Tuesday’s and dragged her towards the road. “Come and have dinner with us, Tuesday! Tom’s a good cook.”