Valoura Karuna and the Cake Stall Kerfuffle Read online

  ‘Tony, give it a rest mate, I just need you to calm down’. The constable sounds really firm like ice.

  ‘Jimmy, the man is an idiot, he’s got &$^% all in his yard and his kids are bloody maniacs.’ This was the man Constable Carey had his hand on, pushing him back slightly.

  ‘What a load buddy, listen, I never stole yer dish and me kids ‘aint maniacs. You are a stupid old bugger.’ This was Dave Lamb shouting at the top of his voice.

  Constable Carey was threatening to take them all down the station and was about to get on his radio for help. Tony (Mr Angelopolous) was walking back into his big brick house and Dave Lamb was swearing to himself and muttering stuff about ‘bloody satellite dish’ and ‘as if I would’ and other things I best not mention.

  I am a bit disappointed. I really was hoping Constable Carey was here to ‘nick’ (which means arrest, another term I stole borrowed from British TV) the Grater and her dim brother. But no such luck.

  ‘Oi, Karuna, what do ya think yer doin’?’

  I hear the rattle of wheels and I turn around slowly because I know who it is and I am not in the mood for his taunts.

  ‘Nothing, I just want to talk to Constable Carey is all’.

  ‘Yeah right, you’ve just come to gawk at me dad gettin’ arrested, aint ya’.

  ‘No Carter, I haven’t, I couldn’t care less about your monkey dad’. Well, he does look like a monkey. More an ape really.

  Then The Grater comes out of the house and starts shouting at her dad that he is a beeping idiot because he did not pay the electricity bill and now the heater isn’t working. She sees me and Carter standing at the end of the driveway and goes ‘ARGH!’ really loudly and slams the door.

  ‘Wow, she’s in a bad mood. I’m outta here’. And Carter lays his skateboard against the bitumen and swooshes away.

  Uh-oh. Constable Carey has seen me. I guiltily turn my bike around to pedal off as fast as my legs will take me but he grabs the back of my bike seat so I am pedalling but not going anywhere.

  ‘Karuna, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I… um… I was just riding my bike around, you know, not doing anything in particular’, wow, my mum would be livid if she knew I was lying to Constable Carey. She’s big on being ethical*. I have stopped trying to pedal now as it is getting me no where.

  *Ethical means that you don’t do things that would make other people hurt or upset because you would be sad to do that and wouldn’t want anyone to do it to you.

  ‘Right, ‘cause it looks to me like you are either tailing (a cop word for following) me or watching the Lambs, the latter of which you really should not be doing.’ Constable Carey raises his eyebrow at me. There is fluff in it.

  ‘Constable Carey’, I say in a tone of pretend shock, ‘how could you say such a thing, you know me sir, I am a good girl and I would never interfere in your investigation’. Then I drop the act because it is obvious that the police officer is not buying it. ‘There is an investigation, isn’t there?’ I add quickly and I give him a searching and eager look which is a bit of a slip up because I am trying to play it cool.

  I know Constable Carey is starting to steam because he is lost for words. He wants to tell me to butt out and go away, to stop being like a blow fly on a rotten piece of meat in the middle of summer and buzz off, but he just makes one of his noises instead.

  ‘Hurrrrrrrrumph’.

  And turns away to deal with Dave Lamb who is now muttering about the tirade his daughter just flung at him from the house.

  I am feeling like I have just had a narrow escape because the police officer is ignoring my meddling. Instead of thanking my lucky stars and taking the opportunity to high-tail it outta there however, I can’t back off because I am so determined to prove that Emmerllee and Carter stole the cake stall money.

  I am debating with myself what to do and I look up and down the street. It is an ordinary suburban street with cars parked along each side, houses on biggish yards littered with garden gnomes or toys or bird baths. The Lambs place kind of sticks out like a sore thumb though. It is very shabby with the front gutter falling down, the driveway is all cracked. There are broken down cars in it, and the front screen door is hanging on by one single hinge. The garage door has been tagged with graffiti – I have a feeling it was done by Carter as it has a picture of a man with a fat belly and an angry face with the words ‘the ape man’ next to it. See, I was right, Mr Lamb does look like a primate.

  There are no curtains in the windows, just old newspapers taped over them with cardboard stuck over a pane with its glass missing. I guess curtains are the kind of thing that a woman would think of adding, to make a home more homely. But Mrs Lamb is what my grandmother would call ‘AWOL’, that means she is gone.

  I feel a bit uneasy, I realise it is because Constable Carey is flinging a massive ‘if you don’t get out of here now Karuna I will call for the paddy wagon and you will be inside until Chirstmas’, kind of glare at me. I am not taking any chances because I know the constable is a man of his glare.

  Up head I can see the place where the river branches off into smaller creeks leading through farmland and scrubby bush. For some reason I feel compelled to explore in that direction, so I hop on my bike and glide off along Stampson Street and into River Lane.

  Along the river bank there is the usual mix of willows and river gums and at the wide bend we call Mrs McGinty’s Deep there are some home made swings and jumping platforms for people to commit ‘feats of derring do’ into the water.

  Celia told us it’s called Mrs McGinty’s deep because at the town picnic a hundred or so years ago, a wealthy woman drowned. They say she was only ankle deep in the river because in those times they were never allowed to wear swimmers or anything and had to keep their bodies covered, but the legend goes that the disgusting swampy hand of a bunyip reached from the murky water and pulled her in right in front of everyone. I look across the river and I can see the scratches people say she left in one of the rocks as she desperately clung on for dear life. Although looking at them now, they seem like they were made by some kind of tool, because there is no way fingernails can make such gaping furrows.

  Celia was trying to scare Bas and me to death that night because she also said that Mrs McGinty’s spirit wanders the river bank and helps the bunyip to claim more victims. Bas was trying to act all tough, he said, ‘yeah, but I would totally just do a flying ninja kick and like wallop the bunyip back into like a branch or a rock and he would like sink into the mud and drown’. Then he demonstrated by kicking a pillow propped up on the sofa but he missed and kneed himself in the head. It was well funny! I was laughing so hard fizzy drink came out my nose. Celia just rolled her eyes at us and said ‘but you know, the indigenous people of this area called this place ‘wandering spirit valley’ and didn’t come here too much, they were too scared.’ Celia’s eyes went wide, ‘they said all the spirits of the people who died in a sudden or violent way walk about talking to people, trying to get them to do bad things’.

  Then she gasped real loud and her hand flew to her mouth as she stared all round-eyed at the window, ‘I just saw a ghost, I just saw McGinty!’She shouted. Bas nearly pooed his pants with fright and ran up to mum’s room screaming. I think he spent the night in mums’ bed, what a loser! Then Aunt Cranky Pants appeared at the window! Celia and I screamed and covered ourselves with pillows and blankets. We could her sarcastic mumble of ‘very mature girls’ as she came in the side door.

  Now, with the warm wind scented with peach blossoms and the gentle lapping of the water at my feet you’d never think bunyips or vengeful spirits live here.

  ‘What you doin’ here, this is my place’.

  ‘Argh!’ I nearly fall in the water as I turn and see Carter standing above me on the bank. He has a fishing rod over his shoulder and a takeaway container with worms in it.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to murder fish here?’ I throw at him as I wipe mud off my bum.

  ‘Y
eah, so what?’

  ‘So, that’s so cruel’.

  ‘Is not, fish don’t feel anything’.

  ‘Of course they do, they’re alive aren’t they, just like you, how would you like it if I stuck a big hook in your mouth and pulled you around on a bit of string’. Carter scratches his head because he can’t come up with a clever reply. Hee hee.

  ‘Yeah, well, I don’t give a rats what you think ya hippie, why don’t you run along and eat some mungbeans ya loser.

  ‘Original’, I snort derisively.

  ‘I gotta eat somethin’.’ He says quietly as I clamber up the bank towards him. I look into his eyes and he seems really sad.

  ‘What do you mean? It’s not like you’ve gotta eat fish or you’ll starve’.

  ‘What do you know, livin’ in yer big house, eatin’ all yer hippy food. You don’t know what it’s like to be hungry’. He starts off to the waters edge and spears a live worm on to his hook, I can’t watch and I feel like I’m going to be sick. But what he said is ringing in my ears like a church bell on Sunday.

  ‘You really mean to tell me that if you don’t catch a fish, you won’t have anything to eat?’

  Silence. I watch his back as he casts his line into the sandy water.

  ‘Really?’

  He tugs on the rod, swishing it into position.

  ‘Yup’.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Me dad drinks. A lot. He forgets stuff like bills and food. Sometimes Emmerllee goes to the charity shop and gets a voucher but she was caught stealin’ clothes so they won’t give her anythin’ anymore. If I don’t get this fish, all I eat today is a potato.’

  ‘So, potatoes are nice, chips are like the best food ever’, I say incredulously, ‘I would much rather eat a potato than a living breathing being.’

  ‘Yeah, but I’ve had potatoes every night this week and if I eat one more I’ll puke.’

  I can’t think what to say now. I am torn between hating Carter for wanting to kill something, but I also don’t think it’s nice that he is so hungry. Then I remember that he is a suspect in the thievery of our cake stall money.

  ‘You and Emmerrllee took our cake stall money,’ I suddenly shout angrily. ‘You should have plenty of money to buy food.’ I put my hands on my hips and glare at him. ‘You are a liar’.

  ‘What are you talking about ya crazy person’.

  ‘The money my mum made for the animal sanctuary, you and your sister stole it, you just want to fish ‘cos you’re a murderer. A murderer and a thief!’

  I don’t want to stay and listen to his rubbish any more. As I turn to get on my bike I can see him standing there with his rod in his hand, his green eyes wide. His mouth is opening and closing as if he wants to say something but can’t find the words. Funnily enough, he looks just like a fish.

  I am steaming as I swing my bike around and head back towards Mayne Street. I mutter to myself as I ride along, which is something I do a lot. Aunt Stacey says that she would think it was the first sign of madness if she didn’t already know I was a loony.

  ‘That stinking fish killer. What a bald faced liar. Making out he is all poor and has to fish or he’ll starve when he has our cake stall money all along.’

  But as I murmur this, a thought starts to creep into my head. I want to push it away because it seems, at the edges, the tiny whisper that is seeping through my anger, that it is too sensible to be not at least a little bit true.

  Chapter 5

  After going to Sago’s to get a drink, (Watermelon and Blackcurrant) I get a brainwave, it hits me like a supernova. Jacinita Rebus was our neighbour when we were kids, well, we are still kids, but you know what I mean. We used to like watching Star Battles and playing hide and seek with a twist. The twist was a bit evil; if you were found first you’d have to climb into Jacinta’s well (they had an old well in their yard with a bucket and winch and everything) and stay there for ten whole minutes. It was wet, dark and full of spiders. Cee Cee didn’t mind at all but Bas was really little and he hated it, he used to scream at the top of his lungs.

  The point is, Jacinta goes to high school with The Grater and she could do some recon for me. But her house is a bit of a ride out to Lyre Bird Swamp. How can I con someone in to taking me out there? There is no way Aunt Stacey would do it, and mum has enough on her mind. I may as well just ride out there.

  It is hot now in the midday sun, I am sweating like a pig on a sunbed. The tarred bit of road ended ages ago and I am riding down a rough bush track. A rock wallaby shoots out in front of me and I have to do a mad BMX-y style skid to avoid hitting her tail. She stops at the edge of the bush and gives me a look like ‘what did ya do that for?’

  ‘Watch where yer going!’ I bark at her as she hops away, oblivious.

  Ten minutes later, hot, sweaty and panting I turn up at the Rebuses gate.

  ‘Valoura love, is that you?’ Jacinta’s dad is working on some posts near the front gate. He has his Akubra hat pulled over his tanned hairy face and wipes dirt on his slacks.

  ‘Hi Mr Rebus, I’m here to see Jacinta, is she about?’

  ‘Her mum and her have taken the horses down to the lower paddock to check some fences, but they should be back soon. Chuck yer bike in the ute and jump on, I’ll take you up to the house.’

  ‘Thanks! I am as hot as a monkey in an oven’.

  Mr Rebus finds that image highly hilarious and cracks up laughing. The sound of his laugh makes me laugh – it’s like a cross between a donkey and a jackhammer.

  I toss my bike in the ute and jump in, my mum would be livid if she knew I was riding in the back of an open truck, but what she don’t know wont hurt her. Mr Rebus takes off, as my nanna would say ‘like a bat outta hell’ and we go bouncing down the track.

  Up ahead is the Rebus house. It is a peculiar house made from dark brown mud bricks, fat lumpy straw bales and compressed dirt. One wall is entirely made up of old glass bottles of different shades and sizes, all filled with water. I ask Mr Rebus (call me Marty, please Valoura!) what they are about.

  ‘They trap the heat from the sun and then when the sun goes down we don’t need the combustion stove on because the whole wall sends out heat into the house. It’s called thermal mass.’

  ‘Cool!’ Celia would love this house.

  ‘Oi there, is that you Valoura Karuna?’ Mrs Rebus (call me Jennie, please Valoura) and Jacinta are riding in on a brown stallion called Chocolate and a little white mare called Pixie.

  ‘Hi Loo! How’s it going?’ Jacinta jumps off Pixie and starts unsaddling her.

  ‘I came to ask you a favour’.

  ‘Well, I owe you one, come in for a drink’.

  We go in the house which has got to be ten degrees cooler inside. Mrs R. makes me a minty lemony drink and we sit on the veranda looking over the cleared hills dotted with thick patches of eucalyptus and pine.

  ‘Do you remember the time you rescued me from the creek?’ Jacinta asks with a far away look in her eye. ‘That was bloody scary’.

  ‘Yeah, you came off the rope too quick and fell in upside down, did you hit or head or something, I can’t remember?’

  ‘Yep. And Bas was screaming! He is such a little girl!’ She laughs at the memory, swigging from her glass. ‘Then you jumped in and pulled me out’.

  ‘By your hair!’

  ‘Yeah, my head hurt for weeks, more from your pullin’ than anything!’ She chuckles, not at all upset. ‘So what can I do for ya?’

  ‘You know Emmerllee Lamb right?’

  ‘Unfortunately’, Jacinta makes a sour face that has nothing to do with the lemon in her drink and shakes her head, her long dirty blonde hair falling in her tanned face. ‘She is bad news that one, walks about the place like she owns it, totally nice to your face, tells everyone your business and makes you look like an idiot, then she pretends not to know what you’re talking about when you confront her. A real little b.’

  ‘Jacinta! That’s not on love, we don’t talk about peopl
e like that in this house’. Jennie was listening in to our convo. ‘Those Lamb kids have had a tough life, much tougher than yours young lady. And Emmerllee is a Scorpio, so what do you expect’.

  I snort into my drink, Mrs Rebus is so funny. She’s a fortune teller down at the health food store in Gimbly, she’s into astrology and stuff. Actually, she did a reading for Aunt Cranky Pants once and said the Tarot cards pointed to Stacey going a bit loopy in the near future. I think they predicted her break down. Aunt Stacey scoffed and from then on Mrs R. called Aunt Stacey ‘The Scoffing Lady’ behind her back, which isn’t much different from what Jacinta just said really. Adults are like that: ‘Do as I say, not as I do’.

  I turn to Jacinta who is picking at a round red scab on her knee, she is a country girl through and through and not at all girly. She was never scared to jump raging rivers, swing from high gum trees or ride Marco the ill-tempered donkey bare back and back to front. I really like Jacinta and I realise I have missed having her about. Her parents used to manage the big organic orange farm next door to our house and then one day Mr Rebus had had enough of ‘working for the man’. He chucked in his job and bought a bush block and his family are now trying to live a ‘self-sufficient’ life.

  Jacinta is five years older than me, two years older than Celia and half a metre taller than both of us, but she has never been a snob. She always had a friendly word or a wet-yourself story ready to cheer up even one of Celia’s grumps, which reminds me.

  ‘Do you talk to Celia anymore Jas?’

  ‘Yeah, sometimes. I saw her down at the PCYC dance a couple of weeks ago, she was with that no good low life Carter Lamb.’

  ‘Huh?’ I exclaim incredulously. I turn to Jacinta shocked and she laughs at me like I’m a nanna break dancing at a disco. ‘What is this? Carter Lamb? There is no way Cee Cee would be caught dead with Carter Lamb?!’