Gladys Smith lowered her outstretched arm as Fitchett’s Flyer wheezed to a halt outside RAGS.
‘You almost missed one, Errol,’ she grinned, bustling Tim forward.
‘Afternoon Glad,’ Errol Fitchett showed off his few remaining teeth. ‘Afternoon Tim.’
On the step, Tim turned and thanked her.
‘No sweat,’ she winked. ‘Call in again sometime.’
Tim boarded the bus and found himself staring at a sea of awed faces. In the course of a single day his reputation as a quiet inoffensive know-nothing city kid had been transformed into that of a wild and unpredictable rebel. He’d called Snotty Millais a moron to his face, thumped a Thuggut brother, and then taken the afternoon off school, apparently spending it with just about the coolest person in town, wildcat and rebel Gladys Smith.
Quite how the owner of RAGS had got such a reputation was unclear. No one on the bus really knew. She just was, and that was that. It had something to do with her age — comparatively young — and that she was a local kid who’d gone off to the ‘big smoke’ and then returned. (Not many did.) It also had something to do with her success as a rally driver, and that she’d given it all up to return to Rata with her infant son.
This early in the return journey it was standing room only on Fitchett’s Flyer, but Tim got a seat. The packed bus melted before him with admiring nods, grins of recognition or, on some of the younger faces, slight trepidation. Marty Martin — wedged on a seat beside Coral halfway down the bus — clambered to his feet.
‘My man!’ he said giving Tim a low-five and offering him the seat. Tim muttered his thanks. Marty Martin bowed graciously then turned Romany Jones out of the seat opposite.
Coral stared at him in disbelief.
‘I thought ... Where’ve you ...?’
‘Tell you later,’ he whispered.
* * *
In his room that night Tim watched and waited for the mice to return. He tried to concentrate on his essay but the words wouldn’t come and he kept tugging open his shirt pocket to check on the tiny calculator. It had caused an awful lot of trouble over the last twenty-four hours.
There was a tap on his door. Coral again. For the twentieth time tonight she popped her head round the jamb and gave him a quizzical look. He shook his head and she disappeared again. It probably wasn’t a good idea for her to wait with him, he’d explained. It might scare the mice off if there were strangers about. But he’d fetch her as soon as they arrived. Promise.
He sharpened another pencil and snapped off the lead. That made three. More than enough. He went back to his essay and tried to concentrate.
Then all of a sudden they were there, scurrying along the top of the old kauri desk. The fawn one paused to rear up on its hind legs and wave before scuttling after its silvery-grey companion. Tim watched, his heart racing, as they clambered down the drawers and cubbyholes at the back of the desk, and skidded to a halt on the blotter.
‘Coral,’ he half-whispered, half-called, unwilling to take his eyes off them for a second in case they disappeared again. ‘Coral!’
Unable to think of any other way of attracting her attention, he took off one slipper and hurled it as hard as he could against the wall that separated their bedrooms. It landed with a dull slap. She probably had her stupid headphones on again. The fawn mouse, who was meanwhile scribbling
Hi frend!
looked up, startled.
‘It’s OK,’ Tim explained. ‘It’s just my sister. She wants to meet you. She helped me get your calculator back.’
The mice exchanged looks.
Is ok? U find?
‘Yeah, here.’ Tim took out the small plastic bag and gently tipped its contents on to the blotter. ‘I hope its all right. It’s been in my pocket all day.’
The grey mouse scurried over, inspected it and flicked some of the tiny switches with its paw. They conversed for a few seconds then the fawn mouse stood up and held out both paws. Tim peered close. Mice don’t have thumbs but fawn was doing the best impression of a double ‘thumbs-up’ it could manage.
‘Cor-ral!’ he called again over his shoulder, hurling his other slipper. That wasn’t such a good shot. It clipped a picture hanging on the adjacent wall making it over-balance. The picture tilted sideways, its lower edge caught an empty china piggy bank on the dresser below and knocked it to the floor. The piggy bank shattered.
Down the passage a door was snatched open and the distant sound from the TV in the lounge suddenly became louder. Someone was coming.
‘Hide!’ Tim hissed, racing for the door.
He snatched it open to find Aunt Em advancing down the hall.
‘What was that?’ he said quickly, beating her to it.
‘I was going to ask you. Are you kids throwing things around?’
‘Not me,’ Tim lied.
Coral’s door was slightly ajar and she was leaning on one elbow at her desk, staring at her homework while nodding her head and tapping her biro to an inaudible beat. Catching movement from the corner of her eye she straightened and pulled out one headphone.
‘What?’
‘What was that crash?’ Em demanded.
‘What crash?
‘Just now. Don’t say you never heard it.’
Coral looked from one to the other. Tim, behind his aunt, gestured wildly.
‘Oh ... um ... that must have been me I think. I ... just knocked my chair over. That was all.’
‘Are they back?’ she demanded when their aunt had gone. Tim nodded and they hurried to his room.
The desk was empty and there was no sign of the mice. But there was another message:
Thank u, thank u, thank u frend!
U big hear-o. Save us. We very great full.
‘Where are they?’ Coral demanded.
‘I don’t know,’ Tim looked around helplessly. ‘They must have run off.’
‘Oh Tim!’ Coral was furious. ‘Now we’ll never know what that was all about!’
With a sinking heart he looked back at his sister, fearing she was right.
‘Idiot!’ she snapped and stomped back to her room.