Alana Oakley (19 page)

Hours later, Judge Debnham sighed, shook her head and tutted as she read the report. Every now and then the words “Communication Skills,” “Team-Building” and “Nurture Nature Project” were thrown into the air like clay pigeons and shot down with snorts of disbelief and disgust. Frustration rolled off her back like waves. Emma looked at the clock on the wall for the seventeenth time.

“I hope I'm not keeping you,” Judge Debnham said sweetly, breaking into Emma's jumbled thoughts.

“Oh no, not at all,” Emma said with a nervous smile, which died the moment she looked into the steely eyes of the magistrate.

“Good, because I am only going to say this once, so you had better listen very closely. In the interests of society I hereby absolve you of any further Community Hours with the Second-Chancers of the Newtown Police Boys' Club and,” her eyes bored into Emma's, “if I hear of you going anywhere near them, I shall put a restraining order on you. Is that clear?”

“I, I don't understand, Your Highness … I think I'm making real progress,” Emma protested.

“No doubt you are, but not in the direction this court intended,” Judge Debnham intoned. “Stay away, Ms Oakley, and KEEP away.” Before she banged her gavel to dismiss her, the judge gave Emma a piercing look that pinned her to her chair. “I'm also very curious about these items we found in your handbag.” She retrieved a flashlight, a butane torch, and a monkey wrench – presents from one or all of the Second-Chancers – from Emma's favourite handbag, and then her Mexican
sombrero
(packed in readiness for another ‘ride' on the Harley), a crowbar, a mask and a rubber chicken. Each item was placed on the court's bench for display.

The
ding! ding! ding!
from a mobile phone shattered the leaden silence. The ringtone was a jaunty jingle that promised soda-pop. Hugo! Somebody in the courtroom had Hugo's jingle as their ringtone, Emma realised, amazed. What a coincidence! She had only heard it as a ringtone once before…

The judge snapped at the bailiff, who rushed to confiscate the offending device. Emma turned to see who it belonged to. A weedy figure in a baggy leather jacket handed over his phone. Their eyes met. The expression in them changed as realisation dawned. You! They both seemed to say.

Emma's mind spun as it made a series of mental connections. She was transported back in time. Back to a shivery night in Darlinghurst when she'd almost been tattooed with a cute little bunny rabbit with Fierce Teeth. Back to a time when she'd translated a robber's intentions to a shopkeeper who couldn't understand English. A robber who had threatened them all with a rubber chicken…

Hugo's jingle. Robbery.
Rubber chicken
.

Judge Debnham read out the message on the phone. “It appears your mother would like a box of tampons, young man,” she informed him with relish. “The…”

“…silky, cotton kind,” Emma said to herself in a daze. How could she not have realised it before? Well, he
had
been wearing a mask, she conceded. But why hadn't he recognised
her
? Then Emma remembered she had been wearing that ridiculous Mexican
sombrero
and the robber a mask, the corner shop
had
been poorly lit, and maybe all Asians
did
look alike…

The “
waaah!
” of the rubber chicken broke through Emma's thoughts. “I repeat, Ms Oakley. Do enlighten me about these curious items in your handbag.”

Emma exchanged a look with the youth and then turned to the judge. “I'm doing some improvements at my home, Your Honouress,” she forced a smile, “I'm the kind of person who likes to …
fix
things,” she said with a pointed look behind her. The youth appeared to squirm. Emma turned back and said sweetly, “I'm happy to help out at
your
home, if you want.”

The judge looked at her keenly. She drummed her neatly manicured fingernails on the bench. She looked at the mobile phone, the boy (who was holding his breath) and, lastly, the rubber chicken, which hung limply in her other hand. “Thank you, but if I catch you anywhere near my home, Ms Oakley, rest assured you will be arrested for trespassing.” Then Judge Debnham was struck by another thought, and motioned for the bailiff to bring Emma's bag for re-inspection. “Ah ha!” she exclaimed in victory, shaking a small plastic container of painkillers like a guilty maraca. “Have you seen to that tooth of yours yet?” She leaned forward in suspicion.

Emma, relieved at last to tellthetruththe wholetruthandnothingbutthetruthsohelpherGod, pitched forward and opened her mouth as wide as she could to display four gaping holes.

Judge Debnham recoiled. “Thank you. That will be all. Good day,” she said, banging her gavel at last.

…

Judge Debnham had been more than clear –
Stay away, Ms Oakley, and KEEP away
– which was why, outside the courtroom, Emma was giving a stone pillar a Good Talking To. “‘Teacher's apple' my eye! That's it! No more robberies! No more, ‘Stick'emupgivemeallyourmoney' crap,” she fumed.

“But Miss,” a nearby voice protested as it addressed a massive shrub, “you said, ‘No swearing'.”

“I said no swearing from YOU, and
stop
trying to change the subject. You need to work out what your gift is in life and start using it for the benefit of others, because deep down you
are
good, and you
are
smart, and you
can
do better.” Emma said passionately. “I
believe
in you,” she told the impassive rock.

Office workers enjoying their lunch on the courthouse steps shuffled away from Emma and the boy. Talking to the shrubbery or stone pillars might be contagious.

The silence was interrupted by a sniffle. The tiniest kind. It was a sniffle trying very hard to be snuffed. Nobody had EVER told him he was good. Nobody had ever called him smart. Nobody, much less himself, thought he could do better. Emma
believed
in him?
Him
?

He squared his shoulders and stood up straighter. “Okay, I'll try,” he told the leafy bush thickly. “And Miss Emma?”

“Yes?”

There was a damp snuffle and a smear, like a glistening snail trail, as the leather jacket's sleeve was used as a tissue.

“Thanks… for everything.”

“You're welcome.” Emma wiped away a small tear of her own. “And please… say goodbye to the others for me.”

“Sure.”

Emma waited until the footsteps had died away before turning. She could just make out the writing on the back of the leather jacket, which replaced the original embroidery. ‘The Imbécile', it now read. “Good luck, Boris,” she whispered.

CHAPTER 31

A blindfold. A birthday. And a BIG boo-boo.

Alana prepared for her fourteenth birthday with care. Unlike other girls her age who agonised over which clothes to wear and what hairstyle to choose, Alana's preparations included updating her First Aid kit, reading a compendium of anti-venoms, and completing a refresher course in CPR. Not that she knew where she was celebrating her birthday yet. All she'd been told was to dress in comfortable sports gear. Alana threw on a
Dead Dogs Rotting
t-shirt and faded, grey spotted shorts.

Emma's smile slipped only for a moment when she saw Alana in the explicit t-shirt. “You look … nice, Alana.”

“Yes. Your outfit goes perfectly with the blindfold we've brought,” Ling Ling enthused.

“Blindfold?” Alana protested, turning to face her mum. “What do I need a blindfold for?” Her mind raced.
What next? A firing squad?

“Oh, sweetheart,” Emma said, “relax. If you knew where we were going, you'd guess right away. You know how I like to surprise you.”

“You got that right,” Alana muttered.

“Never mind, Lana, we've got your back,” Khalilah said with a wink. After seeing her friend's photo album, she knew what a fiasco Alana's birthday was each year and understood Alana's trepidation.

“Yes, now open your presents before we go,” Sofia squealed excitedly. “This one's from the three of us.” Sofia held out a small, thick package which Alana shook and rattled close to her ear.

“Hmm, it's a bit big for a good-luck charm,” she teased as she tore the paper. “Oh,” she gasped, “thanks, you guys,” holding up a set of Shakespeare's graphic novels, a new guitar pick, and a t-shirt with the word: “Hard-core” written in bold below a picture of a half-eaten apple. “They're awesome.” She gave each of her friends a quick hug. “I'll wear it now.” Emma threw Alana's friends a grateful glance as she watched the rotting dogs disappear beneath the new t-shirt.

Ling Ling pushed forward a large, heavy box which, Katriona muttered, was from them. Alana handled it as if it had the potential to explode. Never be deceived by packages wrapped up in pink butterflies and curly hearts. The paper was difficult to tear, but when she did finally get through, Alana was very surprised by what was there. Inside was a pair of boots with their own personality and attitude. They clearly said
‘stomp!'
in capitals and an exclamation mark at the end.

“You wear
those
for soccer and nobody's gonna mess with you,” Ling Ling declared confidently.

Alana was touched. There was no way she would be allowed to wear the boots on the field, but no reason she couldn't wear them to school. As Ling Ling had said, nobody would dare mess with her if she did. Road-rage drivers included.

“Wah, I such a stylo milo one!” Alana said with a wink at Ling Ling, who gave her a
damn right
high-five in return.

“Now it's my turn! Time for your blindfold,” Emma sang, dangling a piece of polka-dot fabric. “We're meeting James at the…
oops
, almost let it slip,” she giggled. “Come on. I don't want to be late.”

Alana succumbed to the blindfold with great reluctance. The girls tittered with excitement in the background. They had no idea where they were going either. As soon as the car started, Alana tried very hard to figure out their destination by what she could hear and smell. She heard planes flying overhead and smelt the distinctive aromas of South King Street's exotic restaurants. From the stops and starts, she guessed they were travelling the length of King Street in traffic. She felt the car turn a corner after the railway station, after feeling a train's distinctive rumble through the bones of the battered ute. If Alana's deductions were correct, they were heading for Gibson High. But why would her mum think going to school could possibly be a fun place for a birthday?! The ute came to a shuddering stop. Alana's friends had gone strangely quiet. It was not a good sign.

“We're here!” Emma announced brightly. She guided Alana out of the car.

Judging from the sounds – basketball, swearing, the
clang
of a hoop – Alana's fear reached a new level. They walked forward and through a door. The sounds got louder and a foul aroma assaulted her nostrils. This wasn't school. It sounded and smelt like the Police Boys' Club!

“
Da-dah!
” Emma whipped off Alana's blindfold. Alana was right. She
was
in the Police Boys' Club. Why did her mum bring her here? The answer was right behind her. Just when she thought her fourteenth birthday couldn't get any worse, Maddie prodded her urgently.

Alana swung around. She looked, first at her mum and then up at Coach Kusmuk, who was in the kickboxing ring, warming up with roundhouse kicks and vicious jabs in the air. Nurse Cathy, who had volunteered to be on stand-by, stood beaming next to James, who was waving his camera.

“Between you and me,” Emma confided to Alana, “I think Coach Kusmuk has forgotten all about that little boo-boo with my yo-yo.”

As Alana gazed into Coach Kusmuk's eyes, which were like cold, hard chips of steel, she had to disagree. Apparently it had taken Coach Kusmuk
six weeks
to restore the contents of the Confiscation Cupboard after Emma's ‘little boo-boo'.

“Mum –” she began, but Emma stopped her short and squeezed her hand.

“I know. You don't have to say it. You're welcome.”

The lie she had told her mum months before poked out its tongue and blew a raspberry.
Interested? I love kickboxing! It's the most exciting sport ever.
Not.

Ding! Ding! Ding!
A bell sounded. Nurse Cathy was so excited she began pacing. The pads of a defibrillator hung on her back like rectangular skillets. Alana couldn't help but notice that the nurse's arms were twisted and confined by a new fluffy, white sweater – a present from Mrs Snell (“Not sure Mrs Snell followed the knitting pattern properly,” the nurse had confessed to colleagues in hushed overtones) – and as a result, Nurse Cathy looked like a contortionist with her head on backwards. Contrary to what Nurse Cathy thought, Mrs Snell had been very pleased with the finished
straitjacket
. The design was perfect!

Alana felt as if she was in a dream as Sofia and Maddie tied the laces of the massive boxing gloves, which secured her hands in a heavy cocoon. Khalilah massaged her shoulders. Alana sat blankly in the corner. “It's Coach Kusmuk. It's Coach Kusmuk. It's Coach Kusmuk,” she muttered. “It's Coach Kusmuk!” Her eyes grabbed Maddie's as reality finally sunk in.

“You can do this, Alana,” Khalilah said urgently, peering down at her from upside down.

Sofia took off all of the good-luck charms around her neck and placed them over Alana's head. Alana's shoulders dropped. They weighed a ton!

Maddie scooped them all off again and handed them back. She then grabbed Alana's chin so they were forced to look into each other's eyes. Maddie's cousins did kickboxing, and they had taught her a few moves for fun. Maddie noted with a quick glance over her shoulder that Coach Kusmuk didn't look like she was here for fun, though. She looked like she was here to even the score. If Alana was going to come out of the ring alive, Maddie had to teach her some moves. Fast.