Mr Romanov's Garden in the Sky Page 12

  ‘Maybe you can share with your brother then?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘I’d rather sleep on the floor.’

  ‘We’ll take it,’ said Davey.

  ‘Okay, then . . . And a name?’

  The timing couldn’t have been worse. For some reason I went with Smith and Davey went with Jones.

  ‘It’s hyphenated,’ explained Davey. ‘Our parents are divorced.’

  ‘Smith-Jones, it is, then. And can I interest you in a meal? The dining room’s open.’

  I glanced down at the Weight Watchers book on the desk in front of us.

  ‘Have you got fish and chips?’ I asked.

  ‘Certainly have.’

  ‘All right then, we’re dining in.’

  The rooms were located in a separate red brick building a short drive from reception. After finding a park out the front of number seven, the three of us collected our bags from the car and gathered on the verandah. Davey slid the key into the lock then pushed the door open.

  Despite the smell of air freshener and the pinkish tones, the room itself seemed cosy enough. I dumped my bag against the wall beside the single bed and clapped my hands.

  ‘Let’s eat,’ I said. ‘I’m starved.’

  After a quick freshen up, the three of us made our way back along the driveway to the empty dining room and sat ourselves down at a table set for four. A mute TV screen fixed high on the wall did the impossible and made Days of Our Lives look serious and intense. While the others studied the menu, a teenage girl, a younger version of the lady at reception strolled through the door with a pen and paper in her hand. She was missing the friendly smile and her nametag said Mel.

  ‘Youse ready to order?’ she said.

  Before I had a chance to answer Mel’s mobile phone began to ring.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I need to get this.’

  After backing off a little, Mel retrieved the phone from a pocket of her tight-fitting jeans then pressed a button and lifted it to her ear.

  ‘Hi . . .’

  It wasn’t good news.

  ‘She said what . . . ? That bitch . . . Of course not . . . As if I would, I don’t even like him . . . I’m serious . . . I was not drunk . . . I had three wines, maybe four . . . And she’d know, would she . . . ? I don’t care what she saw . . . I wouldn’t do that, Rosie, you’re my best friend . . . Rosie, you there . . . ? Rosie . . . ?’

  Mel wasn’t happy. She came back to the table and caught me staring.

  ‘What? So I kissed him, big deal. It didn’t mean anything.’

  I’m not sure why Mel felt the need to justify her actions to me. Maybe she was thinking ahead, trotting something out to see how it sounded before her confrontation with Rosie.

  ‘Can I ask what the fish is?’ said Davey.

  Mel cocked her head then glanced over her shoulder to the kitchen for inspiration.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  ‘I mean, what is it?’ said Davey.

  ‘I dunno. It’s fish.’

  ‘Yeah, but what type of fish?’

  ‘The type with scales,’ said Mel. ‘The type that swims in the sea.’

  Davey threw me a tiny smile then screwed his face.

  ‘I’ll have a burger,’ he said.

  Mel scratched the order down then fixed her eyes on Mr Romanov.

  ‘What about you, Pops?’

  ‘Vodka,’ said Mr Romanov. ‘And lasagne.’

  ‘And I’ll take a punt on the fish and chips,’ I said.

  ‘So that’s a vodka,’ said Mel. ‘A burger, fish and chips and a lasagne.’

  When Mel disappeared into the kitchen, Davey filled us in on our progress.

  ‘So we’re in Gundagai,’ he said. ‘The good news is we’re about a third of the way there, give or take. One more overnighter and we’ll be there.’

  Mr Romanov looked exhausted. Despite all the miles we’d driven in the heat, he was still wearing his thick grey coat.

  ‘How are you feeling, Mr Romanov?’ I asked.

  ‘I am tired, cowgirl.’

  ‘Do you think you can keep going? A few more days?’

  ‘Yes. I can try.’

  Mel was in damage control. When she returned with the vodka she had the phone pressed to her ear, working the numbers and getting people onside. She placed the vodka onto the table and ambled off to the empty fireplace as if ten metres made things private.

  ‘I know . . . she’s a slag, right? She’s just jealous . . . What, you mean now?’

  It seemed as if a plan had been hatched. Mel glanced over her shoulder and threw us a look.

  ‘I dunno . . . There’s three just ordered . . . I’ll hurry them up and sneak out . . . Yeah, yeah, on the corner, I’ll meet you there . . .’

  Things were looking up. With a new-found spring in her step, Mel bounced her way towards the kitchen. When she was gone, Mr Romanov tipped a pill into his hand and washed it down with a slug of vodka. Days of our Lives ended in tears and when the credits finished rolling, a serious looking woman appeared behind a studio desk. The screen to her right said ‘Breaking News’.

  Davey was the first to speak.

  ‘Hang on, is that . . . us?’

  It was us, all right. It was me and Davey with the word ‘MISSING’ above our heads.

  ‘God, do I really look like that?’ asked Davey.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ I said.

  With the TV on mute we were missing out on what was being said so I jumped quickly from my chair and hurried to the wooden dresser against the wall. After snatching a look at the kitchen door, I picked up the remote control and turned it up just enough to hear. A reporter, holding an umbrella appeared on the screen, dwarfed by the commission tower behind him. The camera zoomed in and he raised a microphone up to his mouth and spoke.

  ‘Eyewitnesses say the two teens, Davey Goodman and Lexie Quinn may have been forcibly removed from the commission grounds . . .’

  I looked at the others and gasped.

  ‘Forcibly removed?’

  Davey raised a hand up and shooshed me.

  ‘The suspect,’ continued the reporter, ‘a Sergei Romanov, an elderly resident of Russian descent, is described as a loner with a history of mental health issues.’

  The next person to appear was Davey’s mum. She moved into shot beside the reporter and blinked at the burning lights.

  ‘We just want to know they’re all right,’ she said. ‘Davey? If you hear this, please call home. Just a call, sweetheart. I need to know you’re all right.’

  When the camera shifted back to the reporter, a blurry figure wearing a baseball cap and hoodie was lurking in the background, inching himself onto his toes so he could be seen.

  ‘Gordo,’ said Davey. ‘The prick dobbed us in.’

  The next voice belonged to the newsreader in the studio.

  ‘And their whereabouts, Simon?’

  The reporter reached for the earpiece in his right ear, pressed it with a finger then nodded.

  ‘At this stage, Jen, their whereabouts are unknown and investigations are continuing. Of course, anyone with information is urged to call Crime Stoppers.’

  Jen the newsreader reappeared at her desk and shifted a piece of paper to the side.

  ‘That’s Simon Brenton, reporting from Fitzroy.’

  I was in shock. I hadn’t expected to see our faces on the news. I switched the TV off and tossed the remote back onto the wooden sideboard. My heart began to race as I tried to make sense of what it all meant. When I dumped myself back down in my chair, Mr Romanov took a healthy slug of vodka.

  ‘I think we are in trouble,’ he said.

  I looked at Davey who’d folded his napkin in half and had it placed across his face like a mask.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ I said. ‘We’re in trouble, big time, but they have to find us first.’

  I was relieved when Mel arrived soon after with the meals. I was itching to get out of there. She placed them do
wn in front of us and glanced at the clock on the wall to her right.

  ‘Dining room’s closing in ten,’ she said. ‘Eat up.’

  The food was packet fare, reheated in the microwave with loving care.

  Mel stayed with us while we ate, hovering about with her mobile phone in hand. It made talking difficult so we got stuck into our food and helped it down with mouthfuls of water. When Mr Romanov set his knife and fork back onto his plate, the three of us rose up from our chairs, thanked Mel for nothing at all and headed back to our room.

  Clearly, we needed to talk. When Mr Romanov began to prepare himself for bed, Davey and I left him to it. We said our goodnights and headed outside for the table and chairs under a tree not far from our room. When the two of us sat down, Davey retrieved his mobile from his pocket and tossed it onto the table in front of him.

  ‘Forgot my charger,’ he said. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Same.’

  The two of us sat there, staring at his mobile’s shattered glass.

  ‘Should we ring?’ asked Davey. ‘A public phone, I mean?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I replied.

  ‘My mum looked pretty upset.’

  It was hard seeing Davey’s mum on the TV and not mine.

  ‘What about a quick call?’ he said. ‘Just to say we’re all right?’

  ‘What would you say?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m not sure, but you heard what that reporter said on the news. They think he has mental issues. Which he does, by the way.’

  ‘He has dementia, Davey.’

  ‘Exactly. And what if Gordo mentioned the gun? He could get into serious trouble, Lexie.’

  ‘He hasn’t done anything wrong, Davey.’

  ‘We know he hasn’t, but I’m not sure the cops would agree. You need to think about that, very carefully.’

  ‘They’ll make us go home,’ I said. ‘If they catch us, they’ll take us back to the commission and we’ll never get to Surfers. All this driving, all this effort will be for nothing. I have to see it, Davey. I have to.’

  Davey shifted on his seat then looked back towards our room.

  ‘He’s getting worse, Lexie.’

  ‘He’s okay.’

  ‘He’s not okay. He shouldn’t be driving. He’s off with the fairies.’

  ‘He can still drive.’

  ‘To Leningrad, you mean?’

  ‘And what’s wrong with that? Why can’t it be Leningrad?’

  ‘Because it’s not.’

  ‘It is to him. Maybe Leningrad is his dream, maybe it’s his Surfers Paradise.’

  ‘Come off it, Lexie.’

  ‘No, Davey. You don’t have the right. When he thinks of Leningrad, it makes him happy. It’s where he met Izabella.’

  ‘Okay, and what happens when we get to Surfers Paradise, if we get there, I mean? What happens when he realises it’s all in his head?’

  ‘Like Star Trek, you mean?’

  ‘Don’t even go there, Lexie.’

  ‘You’ve got a Worf doll stuck to the dash, Davey.’

  ‘And you’ve got your snow dome right beside it.’

  ‘And that’s exactly my point. He’s lost everything, Davey, his wife and daughter and his dog. Everything that mattered in his life has gone and now he’s losing his memory as well. Leningrad might not be the right memory but at least it’s a happy one.’

  I traced my finger over a love heart carved into the wooden table. I felt Davey’s eyes on me and looked up.

  ‘What?’

  Davey smiled.

  ‘You like him a lot, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, I do.’

  ‘So what are we going to do, then?’

  ‘I’ve got an idea.’

  ‘And why does that worry me.’

  ‘I’m serious, Davey. The way I see it, they didn’t have a recent photo of Mr Romanov, that’s why they didn’t show his face on the news. But I reckon someone’s given a description to the police. So they’re going to be looking for the three of us, right?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Well, what if we were different?’

  ‘What do you mean, different?’

  ‘What if Mr Romanov was someone else, what if we weren’t those two kids on the telly?’

  ‘Are we talking makeover again?’

  ‘You bet we are. I know it’s risky but we’ll crash here the night. Then tomorrow, Davey, the three of us cease to exist.’

  ‘Awesome. I think.’

  Pink walls?

  I didn’t know where I was when I woke up. A row of spotlights lit the room and splashed across an empty double bed beside me. I heard noises behind the closed door on the other side of the room, someone gurgling and spitting into the bathroom sink.

  ‘I’m hearing your KGB,’ said Davey. ‘But as far as I’m concerned they’ve got nothing on the CIA. Like, the whole JFK thing. Lies. See, what I don’t get is the distance. The shot was impossible from the Book Depository building. And a moving target, as well. Got him right in the head. And what about after? Jack Ruby taking out Lee Harvey Oswald. I mean, come on? Kind of convenient, don’t you reckon . . .? Wait a sec, I think you’ll find that’s body wash not toothpaste. Seriously, can you hitch that towel up a little?’

  We’d slept in. I went back to last night, to the empty dining room and the TV news. It was pretty clear that Gordo was to blame. God knows what he’d told the police, what he’d said about Mr Romanov. I’d been unsure about the phone call last night. I’d thought that any communication might be a risk not worth taking. But now I wasn’t so sure. There’d be no shortage of residents to confirm the crazy old man stories, and maybe a quick phone call might straighten things up. If we told them we went willingly, that there was no gun, that it was me and Davey who planned the whole thing, maybe they’d understand and leave us alone.

  Short hair was a bonus sometimes. After hurrying the others up, I showered quickly then threw on a pair of jeans and a loose fitting top. I packed my bag and checked the room one last time before heading outside. Like me, Davey seemed to be thinking ahead.

  ‘I reckon we should do a runner,’ he said. ‘What if they’ve seen the news?’

  I turned my head and looked towards the office.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘They would’ve rung the cops if they’d seen the news. Drive the Merc out and wait for me down that side street over there. I’ll go in and pay.’

  As Mr Romanov and Davey bundled into the car, I grabbed some money from my purse and peeled off three fifty-dollar notes. I tucked them into a pocket and headed along the driveway towards reception. At the top of the stairs, I stopped for a moment and watched the Merc pull out onto the road and duck down a side street. I opened the reception door and stepped inside.

  A familiar voice drifted out from the room behind the front desk. It was the lady from last night.

  ‘I rang the police,’ she said. ‘Yeah, that’s right, the police.’

  I was halfway across the room when I stopped walking. I froze, tried to turn myself around but the floorboard creaked under the weight of my right foot.

  ‘Settle down, Mum,’ said another voice. ‘I don’t know what the big deal is?’

  ‘The big deal? It was two o’clock, Melinda. And, you were drinking.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So you’re sixteen. Your dad and I were worried sick. Where were you?’

  ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘Well, maybe you can explain yourself to Sergeant Acocks, then.’

  ‘Sergeant Acocks?’

  ‘That’s right. He’s calling in for breakfast. In fact, he should be here any minute.’

  ‘You asked Sergeant Acocks to breakfast? I hate you.’

  Like Mel, I was shocked, but for a different reason. After the news last night and my conversation with Davey, bumping into a policeman was the last thing I needed. I began to panic. I held my breath and retreated towards the door behind me. I took small steps and went as quietly as
I could but my feet seemed to hit the floor like a stampeding elephant.

  ‘Checking out?’

  I was reaching for the door handle when I heard the lady’s voice.

  ‘Um, yeah. I . . . I thought I’d forgotten the money Grandpa gave me.’

  I pulled out the fifties from my pocket and made my way back to the desk. When I got there, the lady craned her head to the room behind her.

  ‘Girls,’ she said. ‘God, it’s like bamboo under the fingernails sometimes.’

  I went back to last night and remembered the way she looked at me the first time we met.

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ I said.

  The lady rolled her eyes and moved on.

  ‘I take it everything was all right, then?’ she asked.

  ‘Perfect,’ I said.

  ‘Good to hear. And you’ll be paying by cash?’

  ‘Yep.’

  I dropped the fifties onto the desk and glanced over my shoulder at the door. I must have looked nervous.

  ‘Are you all right?’ said the lady.

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ I lied. ‘We’re in a bit of a hurry, that’s all. Grandpa’s keen to get going. I’d better go.’

  ‘Hang on, you’ve got some change coming.’

  I stopped for a moment at the door, peered through the glass then looked back.

  ‘Keep it,’ I said. ‘And thanks.’

  The timing couldn’t have been worse. As I made my way out onto the street, a blue and white police van motored up the road towards me. I went down on one knee as it approached and pretended to tie the laces on my right shoe. As soon as the van turned into the Golden Palms, I shot up and bolted towards the side street about ten metres further up the road. The Merc was parked against the kerb a little way down, spewing grey smoke from its rusted exhaust. When I got there I opened the front door and dived inside. Davey must have seen the panic in my face.

  ‘What the hell happened?’ he asked.

  ‘Sergeant Acocks happened,’ I said. ‘Drive, Mr Romanov.’

  It felt good to be back on the trusty old Hume. According to Davey, the next big town was a town called Goulburn, about one hundred and eighty kilometres north. I tried to settle into my seat as we drove but the close call with Sergeant Acocks had me on edge. If it had been a few seconds later, he would have found me in reception and our trip would have ended right there in the Golden Palms Motor Inn, and all the kilometres would have been for nothing. Halfway there didn’t count. Three quarters didn’t count. I couldn’t bare the idea of not getting there. Even if Surfers Paradise turned out to be a shithole like Davey had said, I needed to see it for myself. Of all the places in the world I could have chosen on the map, I chose it. I chose it because of him. It was the place my father picked on the very first night we camped and I fell in love with it the second I heard its name. I fell in love with the idea of Paradise and although my father encouraged me to look further on the map, I couldn’t bring myself to go anywhere else. Surfers Paradise made things seem possible. Surfers Paradise gave me colours and it gave me space to breathe.