hell,’ replied Winston.
Typical! She’d been left in the lurch. The dangling
torch was beginning to fade too. At least the rain seemed to be easing so at a
pinch she might be able to walk back into town although it’d take ages. The old
man had started muttering again and looking up at the roof. Still on about tree
hungry, the nutty old coot.
Āmiria followed his gaze, puzzled. She hobbled
across the garage floor on hands and knees, getting closer to listen. ‘Three hundred!
That’s what he’s saying!’
‘Three hundred what, Lord?’ asked Winston.
‘Feet,’ he replied with disturbing clarity.
Dick and Leroy returned in a bit less than two
hours. They’d only made it as far as Penrith before being stopped by a policeman
who said he’d been informed a huge wave had washed all the way up the
Parramatta River. Because of the earthquake apparently, and phones and radios
were patchy. His one didn’t work anyway. He’d been told to stop anyone going east
towards the city, and no way was he going to let them past, according to Leroy.
‘Canberra,’ said Dick. ‘I speak with people
at the Mulloolaloo weather station. They’ve got seismic measures, the whole
works. We can find out what’s happened. We have to go inland.’
‘Hey dude,’ protested Leroy. ‘I told you. I
gotta get back to my flat. We be—’
‘Listen Leroy, you live in Cronulla. That’s
on the beach, which is not the direction to head right now.’ Dick spoke
patiently but firmly. Like a surgeon explaining a complicated disease to a heavily
retarded child.
The twins began crying. One blubbered, ‘We’ll
get in trouble if we go to Canberra. Our Dad said they’re all ratbags there.’
‘We will get in trouble too,’ the
other agreed.
‘Where do you live?’ asked Astrid.
‘Vaucluse,’ they replied at virtually the
same time.
She raised her eyebrows at Āmiria. ‘Manly,’
the girl said quietly. ‘But Dad’s in Tamworth for ten days. He’s a builder. Me
aunties at home though. And uncle Tamahere.’
Astrid had a sudden wave of panic about her Jack.
But how dare she! Fretting over a two-year old blue crested budgie when these
girls might’ve lost their parents? She also felt a guilty tinge of sadness that
the only thing she did have to worry about in Sydney was a creature that
didn’t even know her name and did nothing apart from eat, chirp and poo all
over its cage.
The girls were her main responsibility now,
at least until she could track down their parents. Or next of kin. What an awful
expression that was? Next of kin . She’d used it a million times in news
stories but thankfully it’d never cropped up personally. One of those phrases
you only use when something’s gone really pear-shaped. The station loved them:
the more you could cram into a story the better. Words like “genocide” and
“massacre” and “carnage”. They’re all hard to fit into a happy story and happy
stories aren’t news. When they got home from the genocide, Betty baked a
sponge. Life never happens like that.
She didn’t even know the girls names
properly. They were Natasha and Krystal, but for the life of her she couldn’t
tell which was which.
She took a stab: ‘Krystal, once we’re in
Canberra, we’ve a much better chance of—’
‘I’m Krystal!’ protested the other. Astrid
looked back and forth. Natasha had one eyebrow much smaller but apart from that
they were two peas in a pod. She wouldn’t be surprised if someone had deliberately
shaved the brow off, in order to tell them apart.
‘Mr Snow?’ pleaded Natasha, ‘do you think
Mum and Dad will know to look for us in Canberra? When will we come back?’
‘They’ll end up there for sure honey. Soon
as we get there we’ll track them down. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.’ Astrid stared
at Dick, appalled. This seemed an out-and-out lie, but Natasha immediately
brightened so perhaps it was the right thing to say.
Dick continued: ‘I’ll show you around
Typical! She’d been left in the lurch. The dangling
torch was beginning to fade too. At least the rain seemed to be easing so at a
pinch she might be able to walk back into town although it’d take ages. The old
man had started muttering again and looking up at the roof. Still on about tree
hungry, the nutty old coot.
Āmiria followed his gaze, puzzled. She hobbled
across the garage floor on hands and knees, getting closer to listen. ‘Three hundred!
That’s what he’s saying!’
‘Three hundred what, Lord?’ asked Winston.
‘Feet,’ he replied with disturbing clarity.
Dick and Leroy returned in a bit less than two
hours. They’d only made it as far as Penrith before being stopped by a policeman
who said he’d been informed a huge wave had washed all the way up the
Parramatta River. Because of the earthquake apparently, and phones and radios
were patchy. His one didn’t work anyway. He’d been told to stop anyone going east
towards the city, and no way was he going to let them past, according to Leroy.
‘Canberra,’ said Dick. ‘I speak with people
at the Mulloolaloo weather station. They’ve got seismic measures, the whole
works. We can find out what’s happened. We have to go inland.’
‘Hey dude,’ protested Leroy. ‘I told you. I
gotta get back to my flat. We be—’
‘Listen Leroy, you live in Cronulla. That’s
on the beach, which is not the direction to head right now.’ Dick spoke
patiently but firmly. Like a surgeon explaining a complicated disease to a heavily
retarded child.
The twins began crying. One blubbered, ‘We’ll
get in trouble if we go to Canberra. Our Dad said they’re all ratbags there.’
‘We will get in trouble too,’ the
other agreed.
‘Where do you live?’ asked Astrid.
‘Vaucluse,’ they replied at virtually the
same time.
She raised her eyebrows at Āmiria. ‘Manly,’
the girl said quietly. ‘But Dad’s in Tamworth for ten days. He’s a builder. Me
aunties at home though. And uncle Tamahere.’
Astrid had a sudden wave of panic about her Jack.
But how dare she! Fretting over a two-year old blue crested budgie when these
girls might’ve lost their parents? She also felt a guilty tinge of sadness that
the only thing she did have to worry about in Sydney was a creature that
didn’t even know her name and did nothing apart from eat, chirp and poo all
over its cage.
The girls were her main responsibility now,
at least until she could track down their parents. Or next of kin. What an awful
expression that was? Next of kin . She’d used it a million times in news
stories but thankfully it’d never cropped up personally. One of those phrases
you only use when something’s gone really pear-shaped. The station loved them:
the more you could cram into a story the better. Words like “genocide” and
“massacre” and “carnage”. They’re all hard to fit into a happy story and happy
stories aren’t news. When they got home from the genocide, Betty baked a
sponge. Life never happens like that.
She didn’t even know the girls names
properly. They were Natasha and Krystal, but for the life of her she couldn’t
tell which was which.
She took a stab: ‘Krystal, once we’re in
Canberra, we’ve a much better chance of—’
‘I’m Krystal!’ protested the other. Astrid
looked back and forth. Natasha had one eyebrow much smaller but apart from that
they were two peas in a pod. She wouldn’t be surprised if someone had deliberately
shaved the brow off, in order to tell them apart.
‘Mr Snow?’ pleaded Natasha, ‘do you think
Mum and Dad will know to look for us in Canberra? When will we come back?’
‘They’ll end up there for sure honey. Soon
as we get there we’ll track them down. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.’ Astrid stared
at Dick, appalled. This seemed an out-and-out lie, but Natasha immediately
brightened so perhaps it was the right thing to say.
Dick continued: ‘I’ll show you around
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