The sun stabbed at Jo’s eyes as she stepped away from the school’s cool front entrance. She stopped for a moment, thinking that what she saw had to be an illusion caused by the glare. She put down her heavy book basket and rummaged in her bag for her sunglasses. But this was no trick of light. Her car door was clearly open and someone was leaning into it from the driver’s side.
Some bastard was trying to steal her car!
She looked around. The school was deserted. Hers was the only car in the car park. There was no one she could call for help.
Without a second thought she ran down the path and vaulted the small wrought-iron fence that bordered the ornamental front garden. She wouldn’t warn him with a shout; she wanted to catch the creep red-handed.
But the thief must have heard her footsteps. He pulled his head from the car, looked at her and swore. It was then Jo realised he was a girl.
There was a pushbike leaning against the side of the car. The girl sprang on to it and took off. But in her panic to get away she skidded and the bike slid from under her.
Jo watched with a strange mixture of delight and horror as the girl shot several feet across the gravel before coming to a whimpering halt.
Jo wasted no time. ‘Serves you right,’ she said, as she clamped her hand around the girl’s wrist and pulled her to her feet.
‘Get off me.’ The girl tried feebly to yank herself free.
‘Child abuse, child abuse!’ she screamed to the deserted car park.
Jo gripped her wrist harder, ignoring the blood dripping from the girl’s elbow onto the ground.
‘There’s no one to hear you; scream all you like. I’ll let go when you’ve told me what you were doing in my car.’
‘That’s none of your fucking business, you cock-sucking . . . ouch!’
Jo took a deep breath to calm herself. ‘I suppose I’d better just call the police and get this over with.’ She moved to extract her phone from her pocket.
But the word police was like water to flame. ‘No police, please.’ The girl’s aggressive tone vanished, replaced by one of rising panic. Her free hand began to twist at the hem of her top.
Jo regarded her coolly. The girl seemed intelligent enough to realise that aggression and bad language would get her nowhere. ‘Please let go of my arm, it hurts,’ she said.
Strangely, the accent was more polished than Jo had expected. The girl’s long tanned legs disappeared into a pair of skimpy designer shorts; her top was white and lacy with spaghetti straps. She turned her head away from Jo’s scrutinising stare.
‘I’ll let go of your arm when you tell me what you were doing,’ Jo said. ‘You wanted the car for joy riding, I suppose?’
The girl looked over her thin shoulder to the flower power 1978 VW. Its surface topography of hills and valleys could have kept a mapmaker busy for a month. Baling twine kept the front bumper attached to the body, and the upholstery on the back seat was ripped down to the springs. Even the dream catcher dangling from the rear view mirror looked more like a piece of dead bird than any kind of esoteric charm. It was interesting, Jo reflected, to view one’s own precious possessions through a stranger’s eyes.
A ghost of a smile raised the side of the girl’s painted lips, as if she too could see the absurdity of the accusation. As some of the tension eased, Jo loosened her grip, but kept her hand close, ready to clamp down again should there be a sudden bolt for freedom.
‘I was just looking for . . . stuff,’ the girl said, now with more embarrassment than bravado.
‘It’s hardly a rich person’s car. Oh, I see. You saw an old bomb covered in psychedelic flowers, and you put two and two together. Well, young lady, you’ve failed your maths but I hope you have learned a good lesson in life. Appearances are often deceiving. Am I making myself clear?’
The girl looked down at her feet.
‘I’ve never seen you before. Do you live around here?’
The girl nodded, intent it seemed on watching the blood from her grazed knee trickle down her leg and ooze between her toes.
‘I’ll give you a lift home. You’d better get those cuts attended to.’ Jo moved to the damaged bike, wondering how she was going to fit it into her car. When she pulled the battered bike upright there was a distinct tinkling of glass. Her disappointment escaped with a sigh when she saw what had caused it – the photo of an eagle she’d had framed for her mother’s birthday, smashed on the ground. She took a breath, stooped to pick it up and prised at the broken glass to assess the damage.
‘I’m sorry about the picture,’ the girl said.
Puzzled by the sudden sincerity, Jo noted the care the girl used to take the broken picture from her hand.
She chewed at her bottom lip as she looked at it. ‘It really just needs framing again,’ she said.
There was something almost wistful about the way she looked at the photograph, Jo thought, as if the image of the wedge-tailed eagle had transported her to another place, another time.
‘What’s your name?’ Jo asked softly.
The girl traced the outline of the eagle with her finger and shook her head, as if trying to dispel the fog of a dream. She raised her eyes to Jo. They were electric, like the blue of spring wildflowers. ‘Ruby.’
‘Why did you want to take the picture, Ruby?’ Jo was careful to keep an accusatory tone from her voice.
After a moment the girl said, ‘I don’t know really, I just liked it. The way the light shines on its feathers, the arrogant look in its eye. It’s beautiful. It’s free. Did you take it?’
‘Yes.’
‘How?’ she whispered, as if trying not to startle the bird to flight.
‘It’s not as clever as it looks, I’m afraid,’ Jo said. ‘The bird was in a cage at the wildlife sanctuary. I scanned the original photo into my computer and erased the bars of the cage.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘See? Things are not always as they seem.’
Ruby handed back the picture and hung her head. ‘I’ll work to pay for the cost of a new frame.’ Jo saw the sincerity shining through the watery glaze of her eyes.
‘We’ll talk about that on the way back to your place. Are your parents home?’ Jo asked.
‘There’s only Dad and he’s at work.’ Ruby hesitated. ‘Are you going to tell him about this?’
‘Maybe, maybe not.’
Ruby swallowed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘That depends on you. I won’t tell if you repay your debt to me and stay out of any more trouble.’ Jo rubbed her chin and thought about her plans for tomorrow. ‘I’ll collect you at nine tomorrow morning for a three-hour cleaning session. That should be enough to pay for a new picture frame.’
Ruby agreed to the arrangement and they managed to get the bike onto the roof of Jo’s car. She had no roof rack so by the time they had finished tying it on, her car looked like something Leonardo Da Vinci had dreamed up.
They stood back to survey their handiwork. Jo reached up and spun the wheel. ‘I’ll have to drive really slowly – let’s hope the cops don’t pull us over for this.’ She was only a whisker away from getting a yellow sticker from Vince.
Ruby stared hard at the wheel ticking around. ‘They’d better not,’ she said with a puzzling degree of vehemence.