Authors: Siobhan Parkinson
Blue Like Friday (9 page)
I
was wrong. Hal didn't come to school on Tuesday. I couldn't imagine what was going on in his family. I didn't even want to think about it.
was wrong. Hal didn't come to school on Tuesday. I couldn't imagine what was going on in his family. I didn't even want to think about it.
Gilda and Rosemarie had had a tiff over the weekend, and they both spent Tuesday trying to get me on their side. The two of them take a lot of energy. I spent the day trying to be nice to each of them exactly the same amount, so they couldn't use me as some sort of an excuse in this row they were having. Something about a bottle of nail varnish. I don't really see the point of nail varnish. I did try it once, but it made my fingernails feel all tingly. I didn't like it. But they ended up both blaming me anyway, even though their stupid row had nothing to do with me. It's funny how people do thatâblame someone else for their own rows. I've got used to those two, though, and I didn't let it bother me.
I'm not allowed to phone Hal's mobile from our house phone because it's too expensive, so when I got home after school that day, I phoned his house, but I kept getting the answering machine. I didn't leave a message, because I didn't know who might listen to it.
Nothing happened at school on Wednesday, except that neither Gilda nor Rosemarie would talk to meâby trying to be equally nice to them, I'd somehow managed to offend them bothâand Hal didn't come in again.
On Wednesday evening, Larry came home, looking very sheepish. His passport had turned up in the bottom of his rucksack, where he'd hidden itâin case it got lost.
“I spy with my little eye something beginning with
p
,” I scoffed.
p
,” I scoffed.
He didn't think it was funny.
What my parents didn't think was very funny was that he'd got a tattoo while he was away. That was a fairly Gothic sort of move for an old dyed-in-the-wool Romanesque like Larry, I thought. Showing a bit of spirit at last. It was quite a nice one, a sort of birdy creature, a peacock maybe, or a phoenix, winding around his wrist, very dramatic, but it was in a stupid place because it crept right down onto his hand. It would be on show all the time; you couldn't hide it even with a really long-sleeved shirt.
My mother threw a conniption. She wailed, “Where did I go wrong?”
“You didn't go wrong, Mum,” I explained to her. “It was Larry's own idea. Don't go blaming yourself. You did your best with him. You can't take responsibility for how he has turned out.”
“Turned
out
!” she snarled, as if I had accused him of being the leader of a chainsaw massacre, when all I was doing was being nice to her, trying to get her to feel better
about Larry's little failings, even though I was secretly thinking that, according to her own theories, Larry had probably got the tattoo because of something that had happened to him when he was younger that made him want to be nasty. Though I must say, getting a tattoo is a fairly mild sort of nasty, in my own opinion, but I suppose from Mum's point of view it is a Big Deal.
out
!” she snarled, as if I had accused him of being the leader of a chainsaw massacre, when all I was doing was being nice to her, trying to get her to feel better
about Larry's little failings, even though I was secretly thinking that, according to her own theories, Larry had probably got the tattoo because of something that had happened to him when he was younger that made him want to be nasty. Though I must say, getting a tattoo is a fairly mild sort of nasty, in my own opinion, but I suppose from Mum's point of view it is a Big Deal.
I tried to think of something helpful to say. “A body piercing would be worse,” I said eventually. “Even one in a place you couldn't see.”
My mother squealed when I said that. “Take her
away
!” she screeched at my dad, as if I were some sort of a mangy cat or a plague rat or something. And there I'd been, congratulating my family on not screeching. It just goes to show, doesn't it?
away
!” she screeched at my dad, as if I were some sort of a mangy cat or a plague rat or something. And there I'd been, congratulating my family on not screeching. It just goes to show, doesn't it?
“But I only
said
â” I said.
said
â” I said.
“That's quite enough, young lady,” my dad said.
All in all, I was not having a good week. Life is not very fair, sometimes, is it? And that's just my life, which by and large is not too bad. It's not even Hal's, which pretty well stinks, really, when you compare.
“And there's not a hasp in the house,” Larry muttered in my ear, in a silly, squeaky voice, as I turned on my heel to leave the room, with my chin up and a defiant expression on my face.
That did it for the chin up and the defiant expression. I exploded into giggles.
My mother totally overreacted: she threw
three
cushions at me, flink, flonk, flunk. She must have thought that I was giggling at
her
.
three
cushions at me, flink, flonk, flunk. She must have thought that I was giggling at
her
.
“Get
out
!” she roared.
out
!” she roared.
It wasn't my fault, it was Larry being smart, and there I was getting the blameâagain. My family doesn't understand me.
One of the cushions hit me on the ear. If it had been a book or a teacup or something, it could have knocked me out. Lucky it was a sofa she was sitting on and not a bookcase or a coffee table, or I'd have to report her to the social workers.
O
n Thursday, Hal finally turned up at school.
n Thursday, Hal finally turned up at school.
He wasn't wearing his school sweatshirt. We haven't really got a uniform in our school, but we do have a school sweatshirt we are supposed to wear. It's wine colored, pretty icky, but teachers have absolutely no taste in kids' clothes. You'd think they'd teach them stuff like that at college, wouldn't you? Like, “Look, it's simple, read my lips: kids don't like wine-colored things. Blue, turquoise, red, yellow, orange, silver, purple, even black would do, at a pushâjust not wine, OK? Or not navy or gray or brown or that shade of green that is trying to be brown.” But no, and that is why you have a country full of children who hate their school uniform. I am sure it is bad for us to be made to wear stuff we hate all the time. We will probably turn into fashion slaves when we grow up, and spend all our money on Gucci shoes, trying to make up to ourselves for our childhood misery.
Hal had on a blue sweatshirt, with the elbows out, and he was even thinner and smaller and paler than usual. His hair looked as if he hadn't combed it for days. He had a cold sore at the side of his mouth.
“Hal, what's wrong?” I asked him as we were walking home. That was the first chance I got to talk to him all day.
“What do you mean?” he mumbled.
“Hal, you're not yourself. How come your mum let you wear that sweatshirt to school? You're lucky Mrs. Moriarty didn't see you, or you'd have been in trouble.”
Mrs. Moriarty is our school principal, and she is medium scary, about five or six on a scale of one to ten. Her scariness is not because she is exactly horrible, apart from being utterly obsessed with the school sweatshirt, but mainly because she is very tallâand tall is scary when you are a small person. She makes it worse by wearing high heels, really noisy ones. Kate, now, our teacher, is not scary at all, about minus two, and she doesn't give a fig about the school sweatshirt. I don't know why it is a fig that people don't give about things, never a plainer fruit, like an apple or a banana.
“I couldn't find the right one,” Hal said, meaning about the sweatshirt.
“Have you been sick?” I asked.
He shook his head.
I had to ask the awful question. “Hal, is your mum still away?”
He nodded.
“So, it's just you and Shiny Face at home? Since
Saturday
?
”
Saturday
?
”
He said nothing. This was not good, I thought. This was not good at all. I tried to imagine my mother not being
there, and I managed to feel quite sad at the thought, even though she had thrown not one but three cushions at me yesterday.
there, and I managed to feel quite sad at the thought, even though she had thrown not one but three cushions at me yesterday.
“And ⦠when is she coming back?”
“Dunno. Dunno where she is.”
“Does Alec not know either?”
“Doesn't seem to.”
“Hal, you can't just not know where your mother is.” It didn't seem reasonable. It wasn't the way things
were
.
were
.
“Well, I don't.”
“Maybe she's lost her memory,” I said.
“Maybe.”
“Or been in an accident,” I said. I didn't want to mention anything worse than that. “Or both. If you have an accident, you can sometimes lose your memory. It's always happening on
ER.
Sometimes it even happens on the news, so it must be true.”
ER.
Sometimes it even happens on the news, so it must be true.”
“Yeah.”
There was silence for a while. We walked on slowly. We came to my estate and I jerked my head toward our house. Hal understood that I was inviting him home to my house for a while. He nodded and we dragged on around the corner and in my front door.
“Hi, Mum!” I yelled as I opened the door. It was one of her days for being home early.
“Hi, Liv!” My mother's voice came from upstairs.
“Will you help me to find her?” Hal asked at last, in his
tiny little caterpillary voice, as we took off our school bags in the hall.
tiny little caterpillary voice, as we took off our school bags in the hall.
“Hal, how could we do that?”
“Will you help me, Olivia?” he said again. “Please.”
Well, what could I say? There is always no, of course, but how can you say to your best friend that you don't really feel like helping him to find the most important person in his life? I do exaggerate sometimes, but you know, a person's motherâthat's kind of mega, isn't it? I didn't really have much choice in the matter.
“Here,” I said, handing him my comb. “Do something about your hair. I can't be seen going about with something that looks like it slept in a hedge.”
“Will you?” he pleaded again as he ran the comb through his hair.
“Well, we'll see,” I said, which is one of those infuriating things my mother says when she doesn't want to answer a question. Sometimes I get these worrying little moments of understanding my mother. Sometimes you just can't answer a question.
“Have you tried ringing her?” I asked as we trailed through into the kitchen.
“What kind of an eejit do you think I am?” Hal asked.
“Well, I thought it was a good idea,” I said. I didn't see why he had to be so aggressive.
“That's what I mean.
Of course
I tried phoning her. But I can't get her. She's always forgetting to charge up her
phone. I've rung her about twenty times. First she didn't answer, then I started getting her voice mail. Now it just goes
boooop.”
Of course
I tried phoning her. But I can't get her. She's always forgetting to charge up her
phone. I've rung her about twenty times. First she didn't answer, then I started getting her voice mail. Now it just goes
boooop.”
The way he said
“boooop,”
it was a very sad sound, like a wail. I suppose it would be a very sad sound, if your mother wasn't answering her phone for days. I can't imagine it.
“boooop,”
it was a very sad sound, like a wail. I suppose it would be a very sad sound, if your mother wasn't answering her phone for days. I can't imagine it.
“Oh,” I said.
We didn't say anything for a long time after that, just thought and thought. At least, I did, but maybe Hal had given up thinking. He must have been worn out with thinking.
“The thing is,” I said, “you can't ⦠we can't do it by ourselves. Find your mother, I mean, and bring her back. We're only kids.”
“But what else can we do?”
“I think you'll have to get Alec to help you.”
“Him?”
said Hal.
said Hal.
“Yeah,” I said. “He's an adult. If you work together, you might think up a plan.”
He shook his head.
“Well then,” I said next, “in that case, we'll have to ring the police.” That was the result of all my thinking, you see.
Hal didn't look too impressed. “What for?” he asked.
“Well, your mother is a missing person, isn't she? You report those to the police. It's not like when we thought we'd lost Mr. Denham at the hospital. This is for real.”
Hal looked wretched. “I can't report my
mother
to the police. What do you take me for?”
mother
to the police. What do you take me for?”
“You're not reporting
her
, Hal. You're reporting that she's missing. That's different. I mean, she has been gone for days.”
her
, Hal. You're reporting that she's missing. That's different. I mean, she has been gone for days.”
“But ⦠she's gone off and left me with a person I am not even related to, Olivia. Would you think that's OK? It might be against the law. She might go to jail. I might get taken into care.”
I hadn't thought of it that way.
“I'll get us some orange juice,” I said.
We had the orange juice, and then I said, “Look, Hal, we
have
to report it. I mean, she could be in a hospital or anything.”
have
to report it. I mean, she could be in a hospital or anything.”
“No!” said Hal.
Then I had a flash of inspiration. I get these sometimes. I am very lucky like that.
“Hal!” I said. “We don't need to ring the actual police. We can ring Sonya.”
“Sonya?”
“Guard O'Rourke, with the ponytail. She'll know what to do.”
“She is the actual police, Olivia.”
“Yes, but she's friends with us. It's different. She will tell us what is the best thing to do. She might have some ideas we could follow up ourselves.”
Hal brightened up a bit. He liked Sonya, I knew that.
“And she said to ring her if we were ever in trouble again,” I said. “I can't think of any bigger trouble than this.”
“OK,” he said. “But suppose a different guard answers.”
“Oh, we won't ring the station. She gave you her own number, didn't she?”
“Did she?”
“Remember, she wrote it on a piece of paper, and you put it in your pocket. Are those the same jeans you were wearing on Saturday?”
They looked as if he had been wearing them since Christmas.
Hal dug into his pockets. Out came his mobile phone, with a piece of chewing gum stuck to the side of it and a lot of fluff from shredded tissues stuck to the gum.
“Yuck!” I said.
He pulled the chewing gum off guiltily and threw it in the bin. He laid the phone on the table and dug a bit more. This time he drew out a leaking pen, also with shredded tissue attached to it; half a packet of chewing gum, unchewed; a few pieces of string; a fistful of coins; some pebbles; and finally a scrunched-up piece of lined paper. Everything had sand stuck to it.
I caught the paper by the corner and shook the debris from the inside of Hal's pocket off it. Then I opened it up and smoothed it out on the table in front of me.
The pencil was a bit faded after being bunched up in Hal's pocket for days, and the paper was awfully creased, but I could make it out.
“It's in a foreign language,” I said. “It says, âqueuing ming jee.'”
I turned the paper over. No phone number, no e-mail address, nothing. Just this stupid foreign thing:
Qing Ming Jie
“Fat lot of good this is,” I said.
“I wonder what language it's in,” Hal said.
“There's a Korean girl in Larry's class,” I said. “We could ask her. It could be Korean.”
“I don't see why you think that,” Hal said. “It could be anything. Swahili or Lithuanian or anything.”
“Well,” I said, “I was trying to look on the bright side. We don't know any Swahilis or Lithuanians, but we do know a Korean. Anyway, it sounds more like Korean than Swahili.”
Hal gave me a funny look. He must have guessed I was bluffing. We did learn the Swahili for “Happy Christmas” once at school, but I had completely forgotten it, and I couldn't tell you from Adam what Swahili sounds like. It could be almost identical to Korean for all I know, though it probably isn't.
Hal picked up the paper. “It's not âqueuing,'” he said. “It's âking.'” Maybe it has something to do with my name.”
“No, it isn't âkind,'” I said, peering over his shoulder. “It's a
q
not a
k
.”
q
not a
k
.”
“Maybe that's how they spell it in Swahili. I bet that's it.”
“Or Korean,” I said.
“I'd say it's a clue,” he said. At least for five minutes he
wasn't thinking about his mother being missing. “Or a secret message.”
wasn't thinking about his mother being missing. “Or a secret message.”
I took the paper back from him and scrutinized it.
“That's not âking,'” I said. “I knew it wasn't.
Q
sounds like
kw,
not like
k
.”
Q
sounds like
kw,
not like
k
.”
“Only if there's a
u
after it,” Hal said. “There's no
u
after this
q
.”
u
after it,” Hal said. “There's no
u
after this
q
.”
“Maybe it's like the airline, Qantas. You pronounce the u even though it's not there.”
“Then it'd be âkwing,'” Hal said. “Not âqueuing.'”
“Let's face it,” I said. “We haven't a clue. We don't even know what it means, so I don't see why we are bothering to argue about how to pronounce it.”
“We
have
got a clue,” Hal said. “This is it,
this
is a clue.”
have
got a clue,” Hal said. “This is it,
this
is a clue.”
“To what, though?” I asked. “It's not going to ⦔ I was going to say it wasn't going to help us find Hal's mother, only then I thought that wasn't a great thing to say, because I didn't want to be reminding him. But it was too late.
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “You're right. It can't be a clue to where my mum is, because she hadn't gone missing when Sonya wrote this.”
He suddenly looked all miserable again, and his eyes sort of clouded over. I wanted to give him a hug, but I couldn't do that, so instead I gave him a pat on the arm, and I said, “We'll think of something, Hal. We will. We'll find her.”
That was complete nonsense. We hadn't the first clue how to go about it. This thing on the piece of paper might
mean something, but whatever it meant, it wasn't a clue to the mystery of Hal's missing mother.
mean something, but whatever it meant, it wasn't a clue to the mystery of Hal's missing mother.
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