chapter 8

"Laaannnceee!" Colleen grimaced. "You sound like a dying fish!"

Lance stopped mid-gargle and practised one more low note before turning to his mother, puzzled. "But dying fish flap, Mum."

"Not at the bottom of the ocean they don't," Colleen said firmly, placing two small cartons of juice in a large plastic container and snapping shut the lid.

Lance's brow creased into a bewildered frown. "But how do you know what a dying fish at the bottom of the ocean sounds like?"

"Never you mind. You sound like one and that's that. Now," Colleen added, with an air of brisk efficiency as she pressed the plastic container into her son's hands, "You won't go hungry because I've packed you tuna and mayo or cheese and onion sandwiches, an apple and a huge slice of my special chocolate cake. And you won't go thirsty because I've packed you two cartons of blackcurrant juice and plenty of water. So you just get out from under my feet while I do the cleaning. This place is like a pigsty." And Colleen looked round the bungalow-sized caravan, shaking her head at her son's untidiness.

Lance smiled, unoffended. Although he was twenty years old, his mother still treated him like a child but they had an easygoing relationship and a genuine affection for each other.

"You know, Mum, some folk reckon I got a real good voice."

"So you have, Lancey," Colleen said proudly, patting his cheek though she had to stand on her tiptoes to do so. "It's all that gargling that sounds like the dying fish. Can't think how it helps myself."

"It lub...lub..." Lance searched for the word in vain; "oils the vocal chords." He grinned. "And that's very important 'cos there's a new gal to impress."

Colleen sighed. "I might have known there'd be a girl behind all this. Now come on, Lancey, out, out! (She passed him the fishing gear that she'd borrowed specially from Alf Stewart and, pressing her hands on both his shoulders, pushed him along) And if you're very good and stay out of my way, I'll make your favourite for tea tonight and you can tell me all about it this girl then."

"A fry-up? Like brekkie?" Lance asked, his eyes lighting up in delight. "Double eggs, heaps of bacon..."

"We'll see," Colleen said, closing the door behind him and the droning sound of the vacuum cleaner soon piercing the air.

And that was how Lance Smart, who'd planned to spend the morning rehearsing his singing, and who had never been even remotely interested in fishing, came to be standing at the bottom of the caravan steps carrying everything the modern angler needed to land a massive haul and looking every inch an expert fisherman.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Guys, guys!"

Sally jumped for a moment, Tom's voice slicing into her thoughts, before she realised he wasn't talking to her.

Frank and Steven were fighting again. Steven had mentioned he was going to help out at the annual Summer Bay talent contest so couldn't mow the grass round the caravan site till later. Frank, who'd been about to leave for his Saturday job at the garage, had turned round and demanded to know, "What use is a geeky swot to a talent contest? Going to wow them all with mathematical formulas or something, Einstein?"

"Keep your nose out of my business, El Thicko, and it was your turn, not mine, to tidy the bedroom yesterday," Steven fired back, reverting back to the still unresolved difference of opinion they'd had the previous day.

"Perhaps you could take your little sister with you to the beach?" Pippa suggested to Carly and Lynn, while Tom was busy sorting out the boys' latest blue.

Sally cut a forlorn figure staring miserably into her glass of orange juice. Maybe she'd asked for it for Milko though her foster mother had a strong feeling that the little girl had only agreed to a second glass to please her. And Pippa was baffled. Sally was still shying away from herself and Tom so it didn't make any sense that she should care about Pippa's feelings. Perhaps, Pippa thought, Sally felt she wasn't really part of the Fletcher family. There was a vast age difference after all and the poor little mite was often unintentionally overlooked by her older brothers and sisters.

Carly and Lynn exchanged unhappy glances as Lynn rinsed the knives, forks and spoons and Carly polished them dry, both wishing now that they hadn't been so talkative about their plans. Everyone, except Sally who was considered too young, had to take their turn at chores and today Lynn was on dish-washing duty, with Carly helping out because they were in a hurry to get out in the sun.

"I guess," Carly said reluctantly.

Sally was a nice enough kid but that was the problem. She was a kid and they couldn't have kids hanging around today of all days. But it would be skating on very thin ice to refuse. They had only escaped a grounding by the skin of their teeth because Sally had been so shaken by last night's storm and Tom and Pippa didn't want any more disruption for her.

"Thanks," Pippa smiled. "Don't forget, kids - sun cream so you don't get burnt and heaps of water so you don't get dehydrated. Oh, and make sure Sally wears a hat."

"Sure, Pip," Carly sighed, forcing a smile back.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"He's awake! He's awake!"

Actually, Kane and Scott didn't need telling, much less telling twice. They had looked up to the ceiling in sick apprehension the moment they heard the bed springs creak, long before their mother's loud, frightened whisper (frequent blows to her head had left Diane Phillips slightly hard of hearing) as their father's heavy tread pounded across the room above and water gurgled through the ancient pipes.

All three were trying to gage by his movements whether Richie Phillips was in a good or bad mood. If it was a good mood, Scott and Kane got pocket money and maybe too, if he happened to have some, a packet of chewing gum or mints. Most of all, if he was in a good mood, they wouldn't be bashed. (Richie either chose to forget, or genuinely did forget, his regular Friday night threats to kill them.) But if it was a bad mood...

Diane Phillips hastily snatched up their breakfast dishes and swilled their bacon-greased plates under the tap, frowning as she realised the water wasn't hot enough yet to wash up and therefore hide the evidence that they'd helped themselves to what Richie regarded as his food and nobody else's. So she stacked them, unwashed, in the broken cupboard under the sink and, taking a bottle and tumbler from out of the same hiding place, poured herself a generous amount of vodka, which she downed in two or three gulps.

Then, with a nod to her sons to stay quiet, she called up the stairs in conciliatory tones, "Richie! Richie, tea or coffee?"

Kane closed his eyes in relief. If Mum called Dad by his hated nickname of Gus, as she occasionally dared to when blotto, it meant she was sparring for a fight and all hell broke loose then, with everybody in the line of fire. But when she called him Richie, she had no intention of rocking the boat.

Receiving no answer to her enquiry, Diane pursed her lips and went reluctantly up the stairs. Kane and Scott listened closely to the voices, the first solicitous, the other little more than a snarl. They knew it wasn't looking good. The snarling voice was growing louder, the solicitous voice more afraid.

And then came the thud of a shoe or boot clattering to the floor and, as if chased by the hounds of hell, their mother ran downstairs, hastily wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her old faded cardigan, and frantically clicked on the kettle and re-lit the gas under the frying pan.

"You best get off, kids, and don't come back for a few hours," she advised, without turning around.

Tears sprang to Kane's eyes. The little boy's hunger pangs had gone now but he was tired, having hardly slept a wink last night, being frightened and bothered by the rats but even more frightened of waking Scott and incurring his older brother's wrath. His head banged from both a lack of sleep and from having Scotty crash land a dinner plate on it. He yearned to simply curl up and rest.

"But I don't wanna..." He began wearily.

A crack like a pistol shot suddenly struck the side of his face, leaving four red lines streaked across his cheek. Even the hardened Scotty, making full use of their last few minutes by cramming toast into his mouth and swigging from the milk carton so fast that milk dribbled down his chin, sucked in a breath.

"Had...had Milko, Fred and Deefa better come too?" The little boy blinked back the tears, looking blearily eyed at his invisible friends who seemed as unhappy as he was, and looking back up at his mother.

"Yes, Kaney, they better." Diane always used the baby name when feeling maternal towards him. She didn't have a clue what her small son was babbling about and she was hardly listening.

Richie had demanded breakfast: bacon, sausage, egg and tomato, and two thick buttered slices of toast served up with a mug of black coffee, and if it wasn't all on the table immediately he came down, she'd likely be used as a punchbag as would anyone else who didn't get out of his way. Better Kane felt a short, sharp blow now rather than his father's fists later. Her youngest son had to learn life wasn't a bowl of cherries.

"H'okay," Kane said, his voice thick with tears. Scott had decided it was high time he moved things along and had begun dragging him away, but Kane was sure he would understand if he appealed to his better nature. "The guys are heaps tired, Scotty, so we can walk real slow, can't we?"

" ---- off!" Scotty said in answer, helping him out the door with a kick.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"But I don't want to take Mrs Martha! I don't want to take anything! I don't want to go!" Sally protested.

"Kids like playing with dolls," Carly shrugged absently, throwing the rag doll in the beach bag after the sketchbook and coloured pencils and glancing round Sally's little bedroom for anything else that might be used later for distracting Sally's attention.

Sally stared at the carpet's small burn-hole where the lighted match had died last night and wrung her hands in despair. Carly didn't understand. Sally couldn't take Mrs Martha. Mrs Martha would think Sally liked her and - well, she did, but Mrs Martha couldn't know that. It wouldn't be fair on her when Sally left. Sally knew how awful it was and how much it hurt when people who loved you left you. And anyway Sally didn't want to tag on with Carly and Lynn, who obviously didn't want her, just because Pippa said they should take her with them to the beach.

"Carly," Sally said, close to tears, reverting to her grandmother's old-fashioned politeness of speech as she always did when anxious. "Carly, I do greatly appreciate your kindness and it's so very thoughtful of you, but I'm afraid sea air doesn't agree with Mrs Martha's health."

"What?" Carly stopped dead in her tracks, taken aback by the lofty words and the stiff way in which they were delivered, suddenly feeling like she was the child and Sally was a grown-up.

"Oh, they don't argue," Sally explained. (Old Mrs Bellamy, before she and her funny cats died, had once told Sally that onions didn't agree with her and had thought it very funny when Sally thought she meant onions could talk.) "Sea air can't talk, you see. I don't think Mrs Martha can either."

"Right," Carly said, baffled.

"Onions can't talk either," Sally added helpfully.

"Ri-ight!" Carly said again, more baffled than ever.

Lynn suddenly appeared, her grin as broad as a Cheshire cat's, waving a mysterious parcel at Carly. "I got everything, Carl! You guys ready?"

"No," Carly sighed. "Sally's...um...not quite sure whether she wants to come with us like Pippa said and I don't know how to persuade her."

"Easy!" Lynn declared breezily, throwing the mysterious parcel in the bag and peering in, "Come on, Sal, Milko's already in there."

"He is not!" Sally said indignantly. How dare Lynn even think she would put Milko in a bag where he couldn't breathe? It was bad enough that poor Mrs Martha had been flung in there and a parcel flung down on top of her head!

"Oh, okay. My mistake. He climbed out. Look, there he is, waiting for us over there!" Lynn jabbed her finger at the far wall.

"He is not!" Sally said hotly, her hands on her hips.

Lynn was very seldom at a loss for words but she was stumped. "Well, where is he then?"

"He's..." Sally narrowly stopped herself from saying "kidnapped" and putting Milko's life in danger. "Somewhere," she finished lamely.

"Oh, come on, Sal. Please. We've arranged to meet these guys..."

"Ssshhh!" Carly warned.

"Sally won't dob us in," Lynn said. "She's a mate. We never lagged on each other at the Home, did we, Sal?"

Sally shook her head in agreement and then thought maybe she should nod in agreement and then couldn't make up her mind which should be which so ended up doing both several times. Life was very confusing without Milko to tell her what to do.

"Is she okay?" Carly whispered to Lynn uncertainly.

"It's Sally!" Lynn said, as if that explained everything. She put her arm round her young friend's shoulders. "Okay. Sal. Carl and me, we've been hanging out with this cool new crowd and there's these two spunky guys, Pete and Spencer. And they like us, I mean really like us...And you know we're in heaps with Tom and Pippa over the electric fire? We're on a good behaviour bond and if you don't come, Pips'll think we said you couldn't and we'll probably be grounded for, like, a thousand years! So, Sal, please, please, please...?"

"Okay," Sally said solemnly, and smiled politely as Lynn and Carly shouted "Yes!" and high-fived each other and then showed Sally how to high-five too, which she did, quite gravely.

"Let's go, guys!" Carly announced happily, picking up the beach bag.

It didn't matter, Sally told herself. Once she had run away from Summer Bay no one need ever worry about her again. She brushed away a solitary tear and followed on after the two older girls.