George stared blearily at the window. A dull pink glow crept through the bars. It was morning again.
He sat upright. His eyelids were gummed with dirt, his stomach rumbled. He remembered. The girl was still here. In their house.
He looked at his bedroom door. The shelf that had been propped against it was now lying on the floor. He checked Beeper’s mattress. It was empty.
George jumped to his feet. He heard a murmur of voices from the day room. He quietly made his way towards the bedroom door and listened. Beeper and the girl were talking, but George couldn’t make out what they were saying. He pushed down gently on the handle, but the door made a loud scraping sound as it swung in its warped frame. The voices stopped.
George stepped into the day room with two sets of eyes watching him. ‘Don’t talk to my brother — ever,’ he said. ‘You have all day to get home before the curfew. So push off.’
‘Why don’t you go out instead?’ the girl said with a smile. ‘Find your father.’
‘And leave you here? Yeah, sure.’ George turned to his brother. ‘What were you telling her?’
‘He wasn’t telling me anything.’
‘I wasn’t asking you.’
‘Nothing, Torgie,’ Beeper said sheepishly.
‘Don’t say another word to her!’
‘Torgie?’
‘What!’
‘She’s right. We should go to the new hospital. Dad might be there.’
‘After what happened yesterday? No, we need to wait. I need to think. And I can’t do that with her in the house.’
‘You said you had worked out a better way to find him, Torgie. When we were out.’
‘Not now!’ George snapped. ‘I’ll tell you when I’m good and ready.’ Damn Beeper for remembering everything. The only thing George had worked out when they were outside was that they had no real chance of doing anything. The city was too big, too dangerous.
The girl stayed sitting at the table. Beeper walked down the hall and fetched the red chair from their father’s room.
George slumped on his seat. He couldn’t bear to look at his brother, nor the girl. ‘Put my mother’s dress back,’ he barked in her direction.
Beeper carried the red chair to the front door, knelt on it and stared through the peephole.
‘Come to our room, Beeper,’ said George. ‘We’ll have some breakfast.’
‘I’m checking if Dad’s out there.’
‘No! Do as you are told!’
The boys sat on the edge of George’s bed. George opened the first of two small tins of Orange Segments in Syrup. The second tin felt light. As George prised the lid off, the stink of rotten fruit hit him. He saw there was a small puncture on the side of the can, and he threw it against the wall.
Nothing would go right. George dropped his head into his hands. He knew he would only make it worse if he lost control. He had to be calm. He had to be strong. He stomped across his mattress and picked up the tin. He took the towel he used to plug the gap under the door, and tried to wipe up the stinking mess he had made. Then he sat still and chose his words carefully.
‘After everything I’ve said to you … why did you talk to her?’ George asked, as he opened some peaches. There were now just five tins left. ‘What did you tell her?’
Beeper refused to take the bowl George handed him. He shook his head.
‘Well?’ George said.
‘Leave me alone.’ Beeper’s cheeks and ears were bright red. He slid off George’s bed, sat down on his own mattress and curled up with his hands around his knees.
George was too angry to ask any more questions. He heard the floorboards squeak as the girl headed from the day room towards the bedroom she had claimed as her own. He listened for the next ten minutes but heard nothing more. He had to find a way to get rid of her.
Beeper stayed curled into a ball. George put his hand gently on his arm. ‘It’s going to be all right, Beep, I promise. Now eat this, please.’
Beeper sat up and accepted the bowl.
‘We’ll get rid of the girl,’ George said, passing him three small biscuits. ‘Dad’ll be back soon, and it will all go back to the way it was. And then the rain will come. That’s what Mum used to say a long time ago: “The rain will come when you least expect it. And that will make it all the sweeter and cooler.”’
Beeper stayed silent.
‘I’m sorry I yelled at you, okay.’ George was trying to sound like his father. ‘I know you’re only six. Tell me the thing in the world you most want to do and I’ll do it. I promise.’
‘To see Dad.’
‘Other than that.’
‘Not sure.’
‘Well, think harder.’
‘Maybe …’
‘Yes?’
‘Play my favourite game.’
‘We’d have to sweep up the patio and …’
‘Please!’
‘Okay, okay. Let’s go.’
George opened the back door, stepped onto the patio and then coughed and spat. He was carrying a broom and two dust masks. He swept a thick layer of dirt and debris off the patio. He used a rock to scrape some lines on the concrete surface, marking out two large squares, end to end. He pulled a tennis ball from his pocket.
The morning was already hot, and the air was dry and coarse. Beeper launched himself into the match as if they were playing the final of the World Handball Championships. He dived for shots. He shouted through his mask with glee when he hit winners. He seemed able to cover the whole court at once.
George had less natural skill but was bigger and stronger. He was still angry about the girl, and worried she was stealing their food even as they played. He hit the ball more fiercely because of it.
Every shot threw up dust. The boys wiped their eyes between rallies.
‘Your game point,’ sighed George, who served the ball as hard as he could. It bounced in the back corner of Beeper’s square. Beeper’s return was low and scudding. George forced his hand under the ball and sent it back even faster.
Beeper dived, stretched out his arm, and struck a killer shot. He sent the ball back to George before rolling two or three times across the patio and leaping back to his feet.
George tried to send back this shot but lost his balance. He ended up sitting on his bottom with his legs twisted and the ball trapped under his thigh. Beeper pulled his mask down and laughed.
‘Another game,’ George grumbled. ‘I can’t be beaten twice in a row by a six-year-old.’
From the corner of his eye, George saw the girl’s face peering through the dirty rear windows.
‘Check this out,’ said Beeper, launching his Triple Beanstalk Spin Serve. The ball bounced even higher than the eaves. The girl walked out of the house and stood at the edge of their court.
‘Wait!’ George said. Beeper’s serve flew over him, hit the fence and bounced sideways into the yard. ‘If we’re lucky she’s come to tell us she’s leaving.’
Beeper ran to fetch the ball.
‘I was coming to say you should let me play,’ the girl said. ‘I’m good at handball.’
‘This is a game for Beeper and me. Our ball, our court, our house.’
‘Can’t she play a bit?’ asked Beeper. He walked back to the patio and lifted the ball high above his shoulder.
‘No,’ said George. ‘We don’t even know her name. Serve.’
Beeper served even higher. This time George had his timing right, and he thumped it back.
‘Her name’s Emily,’ said Beeper, jumping to his left to return the shot.
‘Is that what she told you?’ George said, smashing the ball back again. ‘How would we know if it’s true?’
Beeper’s return bounced right on the sideline, and bulleted past George.
‘It’s what you can call me,’ said the girl.
‘I don’t want to call you anything,’ said George. He leapt off the end of the patio to fetch the ball. ‘Except “the girl who left and never came back”.’
‘I’ll be leaving if I please, and I’ll be staying if I want to stay.’
‘You said you’d go this morning,’ shouted George. ‘You said you’d put back Mum’s clothes. You’re a liar as well as a thief!’ In his rage, he threw the ball in her direction as hard as he could. He never expected it to hit her, but it smacked her shoulder, then bounced into the air, over the barbed wire and into Mr Carey’s back yard.
‘Now we’ve lost our last ball,’ George yelled. ‘They never come back from there. And it’s all your fault.’
‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ the girl said.
She clenched her fists, and yelled, ‘I’ll make you sorry!’ Then she stormed through the house and disappeared out the front door.