Disharmony (5 page)

Esmeralda’s first-born, Mirela, looked up from the pot into which she was dropping pieces of a carrot hidden in her hand. Each orange disc fell from her fingers as she expertly sliced it with a small silver knife. Although only thirteen, Mirela was a great cook, was wanted by the Gaje police, and was Sam’s best friend in the whole world. Well, not counting Birthday Jones …

When she bent to pick up another carrot from a bag at her feet, Mirela gave Samantha a big wink from beneath her heavy black fringe. Sam grinned back.

She spotted Lala scolding Bo and Hero over by the main town-car. While Esmeralda was busy with the rice, Sam bent to a foil-wrapped package at the feet of little Shofranka and gave her a can-I-steal-some-bread? raise of her eyebrows. Shofranka gave her a sure-of-course-you-can smile in return. Sam reached quickly into the foil and tore a chunk of bread from a warm, flat loaf within. She raised it to her nose and breathed, then scoffed it quickly. Smiling, she drew closer to Esmeralda.

‘You’re not buying this gypsy king crap, are you, Esmeralda?’ she said. ‘I mean, as if he’s coming out
here
.’

She made a game-show hostess sweep with her hand around the camp. Her favourite place in the world it may well be, but this was no Romani palace.

Esmeralda stopped stirring the huge pot.

‘I’ll tell you what I am doing, Samantha White,’ she said. ‘I am preparing the most important lunch that you’ve ever seen in your life. And I have no tables set up. And there is no band, no menfolk, and I have no roasted meat. I’ll be very
lucky to find some whisky. It is a complete disgrace. Lala came to me just a half-hour ago with the news, and I
was
planning only chicken and rice for all of us.’

‘He’s not coming,’ said Samantha.

Esmeralda wore her favourite bright red skirt. It cascaded past her toes and into the dirt. Printed gold cherubs bearing harps and violins cavorted around the hem as she moved. The mud and oil smudges from the campsite only added to the cherubs’ party scene.

‘You are only a child,’ Esmeralda said, quietly.

‘What?’ said Samantha. Esmeralda
felt
funny. And she never spoke quietly.

‘Samantha,’ said Esmeralda. ‘I love you.’

Mirela was watching intently, her silver knife stilled.

‘I love you like a daughter,’ continued Esmeralda. ‘Like a child from my womb. I will always love you. But you are not Romani. I don’t know what you are. All of us have always known that the day would come when you would draw attention. I don’t know whether today is the day. I don’t know what is going on.’

Esmeralda put her cigarette back between her lips and spoke around it, the smoke trickling into her squinting, glinting eyes. ‘But what you do need to understand is that the gypsy king will be here shortly. And he’s coming to see you.’

Esmeralda threw the last of her cigarette into the fire. She reached down to the grass for her trademark knife, standing in the soil where she’d stabbed it. She wrenched it into the air – a curved, heavy machete that made short work of any animal the men brought for her attention. The pendulous chandeliers in her ears swung riotously with the movement. She gripped her knife waist high.

‘I can tell you, though, Samantha,’ she said. ‘We’ll be ready.’

Samantha felt her tongue dry around the last of the bread in her mouth and she coughed. Whether the king was coming or not, Esmeralda sure believed he was.

Sam squatted next to a bundle of corn still in their husks, and began wrapping them in aluminium foil. When she had a pile, she poked them into the ash at the edges of the fire. The sun beat down on the back of her neck.

‘Where is that lazy boy?’ Esmeralda suddenly shouted. ‘Tamas! Tamas! Get over here now!’

Mirela found Sam’s eyes and smirked. Samantha poked her tongue out just as Tamas loped around the corner of the truck, Oody at his feet.

‘Lunch ready?’ he said, flashing his grin.

His white teeth were perfect, and he wore a silver charm around his neck on a thick black cord. Samantha had made them for everyone last Christmas, first blessing each with gypsy luck with a midsummer’s night spell. It shone dully against his tanned bare chest. She dropped her squat and sat down hard on the grass, staring up at him. She’d known him all her life, but she’d never get sick of that view.

‘Go and put a shirt on right now!’ said Esmeralda.

Oh no, don’t do that, thought Samantha.

‘And then get back here immediately. I want you to set up three tables and twelve chairs under the trees over there.’

Esmeralda pointed her wooden spoon towards the copse of trees where Sam had spotted Tamas earlier.

‘What for?’ he said. ‘It’s too hot to move everything over there. We don’t need the tables today. Let’s just eat here.’

For a woman her size, Esmeralda could move fast.

She was by Tamas’s side in a second. Gripping him by
the bicep, she started slapping her wooden spoon against the backside of his jeans.

‘Grandson of Nuri, son of Besnik! It is only for my love of your angel mother …’ Esmeralda took a deep breath and landed a slap with each of her next words: ‘May. She. Rest. In. Peace. That I do not use this spoon on your head!’

‘Argh! Aunty, what are you doing?’

Tamas swung his hips away from the blows. Samantha knew that although those shoulders could have picked Esmeralda up and carried her easily, he did not dare pull away from his aunty when she was in a mood like this. Although the spoon couldn’t be hurting him much, Oody raced around madly, barking like a machine gun, weaving in and out of Esmeralda’s legs.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’ Tamas yelled. ‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’

Oody’s barking drew Hero, the tiny dog racing in as quickly as his name would imply. Bo followed, waving a stick with a hanky for a flag, hollering at the top of his lungs, just because he could and everyone else was. Lala limped along behind them, shaking her fist in the air, yelling at Bo to calm down. Samantha hid her laughter behind her hands as Mirela stood up and did a special belly dance for her cousin, mimicking Tamas’s attempts to dodge the spoon. Mirela shouted with laughter and her black hair streamed around her face like ribbons.

Samantha’s chest felt warm, like her heart was smiling too. The Gaje might telephone the police if they were watching a scene like this, but this was her crazy family and they’d die for one another.

Luke sat in the locker room, wrapped in his towel, squashed between Zac and Jonas, all waiting for their turn in the shower. Rain hammered down on the tin roof above them, drowning the voices of the other boys also wrapped in towels, shivering, waiting.

Even with the noise of the rain, no one dared speak much above a whisper. Dorm Four had been told that in addition to no TV tonight, they were in ‘silent mode’ – no speaking until morning. Not that many people were talking to Zac and Luke.

Jonas moved to scrunch even closer to the strip heater on the wall. ‘It’s friggin’ freezing,’ he said, his lips blue.

Luke turned to Zac. ‘What classes have you got today, Zac?’ he asked.

‘Metalwork,’ said Zac, swimming in one of the towels that barely met in the middle around Jonas’s waist. ‘And um, landscaping, I think. You?’

‘Same,’ Luke grinned. ‘You must be in Section Six too.’

‘Man, Holt
hates
you guys,’ said Jonas.

‘What’s wrong with Section Six?’ asked Zac. ‘Metalwork
doesn’t sound that bad.’

‘All the Sections get to do metalwork, idiot,’ said Jonas. ‘And everyone gets computer lab too – well, except Black, here. He could probably teach that class, but he’s banned from the lab. But that’s not what you need to understand about Section Six. Section Six is where they put all the crabs.’

‘Crabs?’ said Zac.

‘Yeah,’ said Luke. ‘Losers who don’t do what they’re told.’

‘People who screw everything up for the rest of us,’ said Jonas, frowning. ‘Do you know that
Terminator III
is on at eight-thirty? You guys better watch your backs tonight.’

‘Holt’s not on tonight,’ said Zac.

‘Holt’s not the only one you need to worry about in here, Nguyen,’ said Jonas. ‘Holt gets other people to do his
counselling
for him.’

‘What’s counselling?’ asked Zac.

‘What Luke got last night,’ said Jonas.

‘From Jason Taylor?’ said Zac. ‘And that fat Toad? Whatever.’

Luke laughed. His lip split a little and he tasted metal. He wiped the smear of blood with the back of his hand.

‘At least we got metalwork next,’ he said. ‘Best class of the week. Landscaping’s gonna suck in this weather, though.’

‘I don’t know …’ said Zac, standing as Hong Lo, Kitkat and Barry walked into the locker rooms, faces red from their hot showers. His eyes met Luke’s. ‘I’m pretty good with plants.’

‘Mr Blainey is one of the reasons that metalwork is the best class of the week,’ said Luke to Zac, pointing with his chin at the crumpled-looking man at the front of the cold room.

They were sharing the back work table, Luke ensuring he
got there first, just as he did for every metalwork class.

Zac studied their teacher: his glowing crimson cheeks and nose; his oversized, stained woollen jumper. ‘So he’s good at metalwork?’ he said, frowning.

‘Oh, he’s a
great
teacher,’ said Luke. ‘You’ll see.’

‘Okay, Section Six, what are you up to today?’ asked Mr Blainey, flipping a page on a clipboard. ‘Ah, that’s right, still on toolboxes. Have to stay basic for you boys, don’t we? Clarkson, get up here and unlock the supply cupboard. Those of you who’ve got a toolbox started can approach single file and take your project. If you haven’t started making a toolbox yet, you’ll find instructions and equipment in the boxes on my desk. Take only one kit. And please remember, any screwing around and you’ll have no visitors this weekend and no privileges for the rest of your stay here. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, Mr Blainey,’ chorused Section Six.

‘And don’t forget – it’s two people only on the grinder at a time. Fifteen-minute shifts.’ Blainey positioned himself back behind his desk.

Luke queued for the supply cupboard while Zac collected his starter kit from the teacher’s desk. He figured that he should be feeling a thousand times worse after the run this morning, but for some reason the exercise and the hot shower had actually helped. At least it didn’t hurt so much to breathe, but he figured that he wasn’t going to be seeing much out of his eye for a while.

When he’d collected his half-constructed metal toolbox, he made his way back to the desk where Zac waited.

Zac ran a finger down the instruction sheet in his hand.

‘Seems pretty lame,’ said Zac. ‘Who wants to make a toolbox? What am I gonna do with that?’

‘You’re right,’ said Luke. ‘I much prefer the actual tools myself.’

He reached carefully under the workbench, eyes on Mr Blainey who had reclined further in his chair and put his feet up on the desk.

‘Good old Blainey,’ he said. ‘Almost asleep already. He’s a drunk, you know.’

From under the bench he pulled out two pieces of metal: an oversized nail and a flat narrow piece that was as long as his hand.

‘What are they?’ asked Zac.

‘Not finished yet, is what they are right now,’ said Luke. ‘But what they will be is a pick and a torque wrench.’

Zac raised his eyebrows, his face a question.

‘A lock-picking set,’ Luke smiled. ‘I stashed these here last week.’

Zac looked sceptical. ‘How are you gonna pick a lock with them?’

Luke glanced around. Everyone was bent over their desks, filing. Clarkson and Hooley were on the grinder. Luke was up next. He checked his watch. Five minutes to go.

‘Have you ever even seen a lock-picking set, Nguyen?’ he said.

‘Ah, no. It’s not the kind of thing we had hanging around my house.’

‘Well, it’s exactly the kind of thing we had hanging around my house. Well, the house of Foster Parents Number Six, anyway.’

Good old Dick and Frances. I wonder whether they’re happy with their new kitchen, he thought. They never did thank me for setting fire to their old one.

‘My foster father was a locksmith,’ he said. And a violent bible-basher who flogged me every night to beat the devil out of me. ‘Best foster placement I ever had. I used to practise with his tools every night, and when I left, he donated them to me.’

Well, maybe not exactly donated.

‘Cool,’ said Zac. ‘So how do you do it?’

‘With a lot of practice. But once you get it, you just get it, and it’s so easy. See this nail? Watch this.’

He used a pair of pliers to bend the top quarter of the nail over to a ninety-degree angle. Then he tossed it high in the air, caught it, and twirled it in his fingers in front of Zac’s eyes.

‘See, now it’s a torque wrench. And now I’m gonna grind this other bit of metal so that this end bends up a little, and that’ll be my rake. You use the rake as your scrubber.’

‘You use the rake as your scrubber?’ Zac snorted. ‘What the hell language are you speaking? What are you talking about?’

Luke used the tools to demonstrate his words.