The Minnow (11 page)

The drive to Fiske Point takes about twenty-five minutes and it takes at least that long again to drag the boat from the car park across the small sand dune to the creek. I was so hungry. My stomach started rumbling. It got louder once we started rowing upstream. I can't believe I had forgotten that.

I want to go to the boatshed. I'd like to find my sweatshirt and gumboots, but I really want to poke around Bill's stuff.

If it wasn't for the Minnow, I could sneak over on my own.

‘Thanks a lot,' said the Minnow.

‘Listen, I'm getting really sick of the lack of privacy,' I said to her.

‘Well, I'm glad you can't go. Sergeant Griffin thinks it is unsafe.'

‘I know. But I want to see if I can find out what Bill has been up to.' And if I could go alone I wouldn't have to explain what I was doing.

‘We could go when Jonah's at the pie shop.'

‘Alone also means without you,' I replied. Harsh but true.

‘But Dr Patek would freak,' said the Minnow.

She was right, of course. I promised to be extra careful, and walking seven kilometres with the Minnow probably breaks that promise.

It was quiet for a moment. ‘What if we borrowed the tinny?'

One thing was certain: the Minnow was smart.

I'd forgotten—but she had remembered—that the tinny was still tied up to the pier at the inlet. Bill had rowed to the inlet yesterday afternoon, and had escaped leaving the boat behind. What's more, I didn't think he would be in any hurry to collect it.

The tinny made getting to the boatshed a real possibility, because rowing along the river to Jessops Creek is a shortcut. And Bill has his own pontoon, so there would be no risk of missing our stop.

Yep, the Minnow was brilliant.

‘I heard that,' she said.

And annoying.

Later that night, the Minnow and I hatched a plan. It had to seem casual, nothing out of the ordinary. ‘I'm just off to the inlet,' I practised.

The Minnow pretended to be Jonah. ‘You should wait for me to take you.'

‘It's okay,' I replied, ‘Sergeant Griffin didn't say I couldn't go to the inlet.'

‘Ahhh, but what about the FishMaster? ' said the Minnow.

‘Dammit,' I said, jumping out of the role-play. ‘How will I get out of that one?' I drive Jonah nuts about the FishMaster. He'd smell a rat if I didn't insist on taking it.

The Minnow and I lay there in the quiet, trying to think of a solution. But it was a waste of time.

I had no choice but to hassle Jonah about the skateboard. The Minnow and I agreed that I would suggest it first thing, over breakfast. If I used the Minnow's whiny voice, Jonah would probably offer to rig it up for me there and then.

‘Night,' said the Minnow.

‘Bed bugs bite,' I replied, patting my stomach.

But I was too churned up to sleep. I lay awake, listening to the noises outside, thinking how different my life would be if my family hadn't drowned.

At dawn, I thought of Sarah. She loved mornings and, ignoring my protests, would always climb into my bed as soon as she was awake. ‘Tommy,' she'd whisper, resting her head on my chest, ‘listen to the ferspers with me.'

Every morning began with snuggling and ferspers till Mum called us for breakfast. Sarah always sucked her thumb, and she refused to take her thumb out of her mouth to speak, so it took me years to realise that she was actually saying ‘first birds'.

As it turns out, I didn't have to whine at all. Jonah said he had been thinking about the FishMaster and reckoned his old go-cart would be much sturdier than the skateboard. It only took Jonah a minute to find it stashed behind the garage door.

With the steering column unclipped and pulled forward, the go-cart was transformed into a tray with a long handle. Jonah checked the wheels while I got the tackle box from the house. Then we positioned the FishMaster at the front of the tray and secured it with an old belt in case I hit any bumps.

‘Voila, madam!' Jonah said, when it was done.

‘Mademoiselle. I'm not married.'

Jonah is not happy about me going to the inlet alone, but he isn't able to come up with an argument good enough to stop me. I wish I could tell him what I am planning to do, but he would tell his grandfather who would call Sergeant Griffin, so I say nothing, biding my time until he has left for school.

I watch him cycle down the drive, then wait an extra five minutes in case he comes back. Once it feels safe, I undo the strap and drag the FishMaster up the steps and back into the house. It's too big to fit under my bed, so I hide it behind the door.

I've decided to take the cart. It will come in handy if I find anything. It also means I can take a bottle of water and some food without having to carry them.

By nine o'clock, the Minnow and I are pushing off from the jetty. The cart was too awkward to lift into the boat so I left it behind. It means I'll have to carry stuff from the boatshed to the pontoon, but I'll deal with that when I get to it. The cart should be safe. I left it at the entrance to the jetty, tucked behind some bushes.

Rowing is not that easy with the Minnow, but I'm in no rush—the water's calm, the breeze is gentle. With each stroke, the tinny glides through the water.

It only takes about twenty minutes to reach the bend. Once I'm around it, the pontoon will be in sight. But that means I'll be visible. I realise I'll be less conspicuous if I row closer to the bank.

I turn the boat with one oar and row towards a group of trees about twenty metres this side of the bend. Now that I'm getting close, I start to feel nervous. What if Sergeant Griffin is right and it's not safe at the shed? What if the men at the jetty were hit men? What if Mr Handsome knows about the identikit? Will that mean they're looking for me? And what if Bill is there, hiding out? How will I explain myself if he catches me rummaging around?

I reach the trees. I lift the oars out of the water and into the boat. I need to think. I wish I'd brought the binoculars.

‘Check under the seat,' says the Minnow.

Of course. Bill keeps a pair in the tinny. I stand carefully and lift the seat. There are two plastic containers. One is a holdall for spare fishing line, hooks and sinkers. It also contains a fishing knife and a rusty can opener. The other container holds the binoculars. I take them out, lower the seat and sit back down. In place of the strap, Bill has tied a piece of blue rope and I put it over my head. I check that the rope's knots are secure, then unbutton the case, remove the binoculars and take a look around.

First I look back towards the inlet. It seems remarkably close. I scan the jetty. Then I sweep back and forth across the water. When I'm sure no one has followed me, I turn my attention towards the bend. Again, I check for any movement on the water. Just to be sure, I adjust the focus and search up and down the bank. Nothing.

I want to see exactly what I'm heading into, so rather than rowing in the normal way, I reverse my position on the seat so that I'm facing the boat's pointy end. Push rowing is odd, but not impossible. I lean forward and grasp the oars and swing them around in a wide arc so that they enter the water in front of me, rather than behind. I then reach forward, pushing the oars from front to back. It feels strange at first, but I soon find a rhythm.

Rounding the bend, I quickly lift the oars into the boat and use the binoculars to check my destination. There is no sign of anyone. I continue rowing, stopping once, only briefly, when something catches my eye.

I reach the pontoon without incident and tie the boat to one of the railings. I climb out of the tinny, walk up the floating ramp and across the pontoon to the steps. The steps are made of old tyres filled with gravel. The gravel makes a crunching sound which is quite loud, but not loud enough to be heard from the shed.

It is steeper than I remember, so I take my time.

‘I should have left the binoculars in the tinny,' I say to the Minnow when I realise they're still hanging around my neck. I look around for somewhere to stash them but it's no good; if I leave them here I'll never find them again. I'm annoyed with myself. The last thing I needed was to carry something unnecessarily. Thankfully, the rest of the walk to the shed is a flat dirt path.

‘Shhh,' says the Minnow, stopping me in my tracks.

There are voices up ahead. Male voices. I crouch down and try to hear what they're saying, but they're too far away. I crawl a bit further up the path. The Minnow's extra weight means that crawling hurts my knees—but I'm too scared to stand up in case I give myself away.

I look around for somewhere to hide. To my left there is an entrance to a smaller track. It is quite overgrown and normally I would avoid it, but right now I need to get off the path in case they come this way.

The track turns away from the voices and seems to curve around in a semi-circle. I keep following it until it finishes behind the old chook pen. I'm not sure what to do next. My knees are aching and my legs are starting to cramp. I can't hear or see anyone, so I decide that it's safe to stand up. I stretch my legs and try to get my bearings. I think the chook pen was to the right of the boatshed but, if I remember correctly, it had an old rusty roof. This one looks new.

‘Maybe there's a second chook pen,' suggests the Minnow.

‘I don't think so,' I answer. ‘Bill has replaced the old roof.'

I'm trying to decide whether to stay put or sneak back to the pontoon, when I'm interrupted.

‘You're sure it's here?' says a man's voice.

‘Positive,' replies a second voice, also male. Neither man sounds like Mr Handsome. There is a crunching sound and suddenly someone appears in the small clearing about ten metres in front of me.

Sarah and I hardly ever played hide-and-seek. Mum said it was an unfair game because Sarah always ended up in tears when she couldn't find me. I absolutely loved hiding and it never bothered me if Sarah wouldn't play, because I had just as much fun hiding on my own. Dad said I could hide in plain sight. I'm not sure how I did it, but I could stand flat against a wall and Mum would walk straight past and not notice I was there.

It took a few years of practice—and a lot of help from Papa—to hide from Dad. Papa said Dad's army training was our biggest hurdle. I tried asking Dad about it once, but he just walked away from me.

The trick, according to Papa, was to stay perfectly still and
never
look at anyone directly. Eyes are so powerful, he told me, that other people can sense when they're being observed. ‘But that's just the beginning,' said Papa. ‘The only way you'll ever hide from your father is if you master the art of invisibility.'

I retraced my steps back along the track to the main path. Even though the men had left, I walked as quietly as possible. I kept expecting to hear Bill's voice.

The boatshed door was open. The place was in such a mess, a cat could lose its whiskers (Nana again). Upstairs, the loft was empty, except for the bed and an old rug that used to live on the veranda. It was a sad little room and it didn't look like it had been slept in since I left. It was hot and stuffy, so I unlatched one of the doors to let in some air.

‘Jesus, you're a nosey little shit.'

It was Bill. Even though I was half expecting him, I got such a fright that I banged my head on the beam and a loud yell escaped from my mouth.

‘That would've hurt,' he said.

I turned to face him. ‘Papa says you're a sneaky bastard, and he's right,' I said, rubbing the sore spot. It felt like it was bleeding.

‘Your Papa's dead,' Bill replied with a sneer.

‘And you will be, too, if those men find you.'

‘What do you know about them?'

‘Nothing much,' I said, wishing I'd kept my mouth shut, ‘except that they were here.'

‘I'm more interested in what
you're
doing here,' he said.

That was the trouble with Bill. He wasn't easily distracted.

‘I came to see you,' I lied.

‘Liar,' he said, edging closer.

‘Tell him you rowed over to see him, but those men were here, so you hid and waited for them to leave,' said Papa.

‘You left the tinny at the inlet,' I said. ‘I thought you might want it.'

‘Even better,' said Papa.

‘Thought you'd snoop around, you mean,' said Bill.

‘Why would I snoop?' I said. ‘I was just looking around because the men had left the place in such a mess. I was worried.'

Bill thought about this, weighed it up.

‘What's with the go-cart?' he asked.

The question caught both Papa and me off guard. Bill must have hiked to the jetty with the intention of collecting the tinny. Shit.

‘It's all right,' said Papa, reading my thoughts. ‘Bet he doesn't know you tried to bring it with you.'

‘The go-cart is Jonah's idea,' I said, keeping my voice steady. ‘It's my new wheels for the FishMaster.'

Bill gave me a look that meant he needed more information.

‘So I can walk to the inlet without Jonah,' I explained.

I watched him digest this.

‘Well, your fancy-pants tackle box has been stolen,' said Bill.

My heart was beating so hard, it felt as though the Minnow was kicking me in the chest. ‘I left the FishMaster at home,' I said, explaining away the empty go-cart. ‘I hadn't planned on fishing today, just taking the tinny out. Thought I'd give the go-cart a road test.' I gave him my best smile. Everything's fine, my smile said. ‘Anyway, I'm glad you're here,' I added, still smiling. ‘Those men were pretty hectic.'

Bill just stared at me. I could tell he wasn't buying it.

‘What's with the binoculars?'

Shit, shit, shit.

‘Sightseeing,' suggested Papa. It was pretty lame, but I had nothing else.

‘I took my time rowing here,' I said. ‘Dr Patek says I have to take it easy. So I did a bit of sightseeing.'