Six kilometres was a lot further than it sounded on a street sign.
After a drink of water and sharing the last of the dog biscuits (which, with a bit of imagination, she could pretend were Tim Tams), Pip and Houdini set off in the direction the sign had pointed as the streets came alive around them. A few joggers and dog-walkers emerged first, then people left for work and school by cars and bus, and later, older people emerged to inspect their gardens, and babies were pushed in their strollers to the park.
Pip should be at her desk in Mr Blair’s class right at this moment, next to Matilda, in front of Brittani Burt and across the room from Spiro. They had already decorated the classroom for Christmas, and everyone would be bragging about what they were doing and where they were going for the holidays.
All her life, Pip had had nothing much to say on the matter. For her and Sully, Christmas had been much like any day, although they sometimes got takeaway for lunch if they had enough money and could find somewhere that was open. A few times when she was younger there had been a small present.
This year, she’d thought it would be different. Mr and Mrs Browning had booked a beach house south of Sydney where they would stay with Matilda’s aunt, uncle and cousins from Canberra. She’d hoped to go for a swim – something she hadn’t done since school swimming lessons three years ago – and to sit down to Christmas dinner at a table instead of in front of the TV, and pull her first Christmas cracker. Matilda had assured her that there would be presents.
That wouldn’t happen now. But at Byron Bay, she would at last do more than just see the sand and the ocean. She would swim and get sand all over her. At least it would be something to remember if she gave herself up to the authorities.
A couple of times, far in the distance, she thought she glimpsed the ocean, blue and hazy, and it was enough to keep them going. But as the day became hotter, their steps slowed to a crawl.
Outside one house a small, rusty bicycle with a basket over the front wheel was propped up. A FREE sign was tied around the seat. A scratched bike helmet was looped over the handlebars.
The bicycle was smaller than Matilda’s, which Pip had ridden, wobblingly, a couple of times, but rather worse for wear, with a noticeable dent and a couple of deep scratches. To Pip, it was as though the best Christmas present of all had just dropped in her lap.
Holding her breath, Pip put on the helmet. It fit perfectly. Houdini wasn’t happy about sharing the basket with Pip’s backpack, but after a few grumbles, he settled, and Pip set off. She nearly capsized them more than once, but before long, she found her rhythm.
She cycled mostly on the footpaths, but occasionally she was forced out onto the road, which was scary when big cars and trucks passed by. But they made good progress, and Pip’s spirits – so low just hours before – began to soar. Glimpses of the ocean became more frequent, and she could smell the salt on the breeze and hear the cry of seagulls.
An hour and a half later, her luck finally came to an end when the bicycle’s back tyre went flat. There was nothing Pip could do but wheel it to edge of the footpath and prop it against a wall. She took off her helmet and hooked it over the handlebars. Houdini shook himself indignantly when she lifted him to the ground. Pip shouldered her backpack and off they set off again on foot.
Fortunately, a Byron Bay bus appeared half an hour later, and that was when Pip discovered that it was, in fact, seventy-six kilometres to Byron Bay, not six at all. Either she hadn’t seen the seven, or it had dropped off the signpost. But she had enough money for a ticket, and the driver took pity on Pip and Houdini when he saw how tired they were, saying dogs were welcome as long as they behaved.
Two hours later, they stood in the middle of Byron Bay. Pip blinked at the number of people wandering down the street with sand in their hair and tans on their faces. They all looked as if they didn’t have a care in the world. It felt as if she was on a different planet. Five teenagers walked past, two girls and three boys, carrying surfboards and drinking brightly coloured bottled drinks – the sort that Mrs Browning didn’t allow in the house because she said they made your teeth rot and fall out.
She found a quiet café with a water bowl for dogs. While Houdini drank, she bought a small bottle of water with the last of her cash. The man at the counter didn’t give her a second glance, even though she knew she must look like a sorry sight after four days in the same clothes.
On an empty bench overlooking the beach, she sat down to rest, while Houdini kept a wary eye on other dogs nearby. Pip picked up a discarded copy of yesterday’s Sydney newspaper, and the headline on page six jumped out at her.
RUNAWAY ELUDES POLICE, WELFARE Ten-year-old runaway Pip Sullivan is still on the loose, after leaving her foster family’s home in Sydney three days ago.
This is the second time the girl has caught authorities flat-footed. Police and social workers were left red-faced just weeks ago when the illness of a family member prompted her first disappearing act.
Foster carer Michael Browning had no comment for reporters when asked for his reaction outside the family home in Spring Hill. His wife, Lindsay Browning, appeared very distressed when asked how she was coping
While there have been no confirmed sightings of the runaway since she disappeared from her foster home, a girl matching Pip Sullivan’s description was seen at the site of a motorway accident last Tuesday. According to witnesses, she helped to free the drunk driver from his burning car after he collided with another vehicle.
Pip didn’t know what to think. She hated the thought of Mrs Browning being upset, and wondered if perhaps the newspaper wasn’t exaggerating. Tomorrow, she would phone again and hopefully be able to reassure them that she truly was fine.
Right now, the sun was shining, the ocean glinted temptingly and at last she had an opportunity to dip her toes in, and maybe even the rest of her.
This time there was nothing to stop her…except a sign that said in large letters:
NO DOGS ON BEACH
Rats! She could leave Houdini up by the picnic area, but what if he was abducted again by well-meaning rangers? There seemed to be quite a few of them patrolling the busy beach. No, it was better to keep him in her sight.
She asked one of the teenagers if there were other beaches where dogs were welcome, and the boy told her to head for a quiet surfing beach past the lighthouse where no one would care if an alien landed, let alone a smallish dog.
Pip and Houdini followed the boy’s directions up the hill. The beach with its rollicking waves and racing surf was on the left, the street with its busy cafés and shops on the right. As they left the centre of town, she caught glimpses of small timber cottages, some painted in bright colours of orange, yellow and blue – as well as big modern houses with wide balconies and their own swimming pools.
They were just a couple of blocks from the lighthouse when her eyes fell on a street name at the corner: Brilliant Street. It was the street from the address Cassandra had written on the postcard to Sully, after she’d come looking for baby Pip and Sully had told Cass that he’d given Pip up.
Although she knew the police had already checked for Cass at the Brilliant Street house, Pip found it impossible to pass by without seeing the place her mother had lived back then. In Brilliant Street, the houses weren’t quite as bright and shiny as some others she’d passed, and the front yards featured old cars, some with the bonnets up, and broken toys and garden furniture. Right at the end of the street was the worst house, and somehow she knew it was where Cass had once lived. It was the kind of house that had been a specialty of Greene Lane where she’d lived with Sully in Spring Hill before he’d died.
Made of old dark brick, it sprawled long and low as if trying to sink into the ground in shame. A sheet made a makeshift blind at the front window, and on the shady porch, an old pot plant had shrivelled long ago to a brown stalk and crispy leaves.
There was no number on the door, but the neighbouring house was Number 43 so this had to be Number 45.
Even knowing police had already confirmed Cass wasn’t here, Pip was about to knock on the door and ask, when Houdini suddenly got up from where he’d been sitting and trotted into the front yard of Number 43.
‘Houdini,’ Pip hissed. ‘Come away.’ But he ignored her, happily lifting his leg to gift the parched plants some liquid.
Pip marched around to Number 43, which was comfortably shabby rather than dilapidated, with a picket fence and a wooden bird-feeder hanging from a tree. Hoping no one would spot her, Pip trotted over to Houdini and snatched up his lead. ‘Let’s go before anyone sees us,’ she muttered.
They were almost off the lawn when a plump-cheeked old lady with flyaway white hair came around the side of the house with a basket full of flowers. Music came from a small radio looped over her wrist.
‘Oh!’ She stopped stock still and stared at Pip.
‘Sorry…um, my dog…um, excuse me.’ Pip hurried Houdini towards the street.
‘That’s all right,’ the woman called after her. ‘I was just surprised to see you there. For a moment, I thought…well, I almost thought you were someone else.’