Just two days away from the school holidays, Adam and Skye hang out at her place after school, a stack of glossy leaflets and guides spread out on the coffee table. Today the entire senior school was bussed in to the annual Careers Expo in town. The Expo hall had been set up in a grid, the booths animated with moving displays and colourful banners. Loudspeakers boomed out Beyoncé and the Black Eyed Peas. Adding to the noise, the aisles were crammed with rowdy students enjoying a break from their regular lessons. Most of the universities were represented at the show, their youngest staff members enjoying a day away from the office hanging out with the students, handing out free fridge magnets, lanyards and canvas bags, and while we’re at it, why not have a copy of our undergraduate prospectus? Larger organisations like power companies, the military and some local authorities were there too, trawling for top students for their fast-track career programmes. There’d been too much to take in in one go, so Adam and Skye had collected up material from the places that interested them, intending to look through it later.
Skye flicks through the pages of a student budget planner.
‘Look, they’ve even given us a meal plan for flatters with shopping lists and tips for saving. There’s a whole heap of recipes: Tuna and Potato Bake, Sausage Pasta, and here’s one for Baked Bean Fritters.’
Adam looks over the top of the Accommodation Guide for Victoria University.
‘Well, that can go straight in the bin. Kieran and I think we might go flatting together, so for obvious reasons, I’ll be banning baked beans from the menu plan.’
Giggling, Skye discards the pamphlet. She rummages through the stack for Massey University’s prospectus. When she finds the booklet, she leafs through the pages, eventually stopping near the centre.
‘If Aroha and I can get the money together, this is the course I want to do.’ She points to the page. ‘ A Bachelor of Natural Sciences.’ She reads from the prospectus: ‘Students will have a strong foundation to conduct basic or applied multi-disciplinary research in the physical and biological sciences. Potential fields include marine science, sustainability, managing and protecting the natural environment...’ Laying the open prospectus on her knees, she says, ‘I’ve always wondered where my interest in natural sciences comes from. Aroha hates anything to do with the outdoors. The closest she wants to get to nature is the garden centre café. She acts as if every mosquito ever spawned has a personal vendetta against her. And even wearing jandals she manages to get prickles in her feet. Don’t ask me how.’
Adam shrugs. ‘Maybe you inherited your outdoor gene from your dad?’
‘Maybe,’ Skye replies. She gazes a moment out the window, then says, ‘You’ll probably think I’m stupid, but I have this fantasy of my dad as an environmentalist or an eco-warrior or something. Imagine if he were under arrest in a Japanese prison. He could’ve been hauled in during an anti-whaling march, I wouldn’t even know.’ Skye colours. ‘Silly, huh?’ Dropping the accommodation guide on the table, Adam stares hard at Skye.
‘What’s silly is that it’s just a fantasy.’
‘I know. You’re right. People always think their absent parents are amazing, don’t they? It’s like people who claim to be reincarnated. You never hear them say they used to be a Roman scullery maid or a Celtic farm labourer, do they? When they remember their former lives, it’s because they used to be a sultry Egyptian princess, or a misunderstood way-before-his time inventor. Nobody imagines Joe-ordinary.’
‘Ever google him?’
‘Who?’
‘Your dad.’
Skye looks surprised. ‘No. I never thought about it.’
‘We could do it now. My phone plan has run out, but we could go to the library. It’s only a five minute walk.’
They leave the car at the flat and walk into town to the public library. There’s a fifteen minute wait to use the internet. Adam signs the booking sheet. Afterwards, they sit on floppy oversized cushions on the floor facing each other, their backs against the stacks of books. Adam pulls his refill out of his backpack and turns to a fresh page. Then he rifles around in the bottom of his bag for a pen, which he clicks on and off a few times with an exaggerated press of his thumb. He leans forward.
‘What’s your dad’s name?’ he says, his voice low.
‘Michael Whitworth.’ Adam writes it down.
‘Middle name?’
Skye shakes her head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Maybe he hasn’t got one.’
‘There isn’t one listed on my birth certificate.’
‘What else do you know? Where was he born?’
‘In Hamilton. Aroha used to say I still had some family there on my father’s side. It peeved her off that they never bothered to find out what happened to us.’ Adam makes another note on his refill.
‘How old do you reckon he is?’
‘A bit older than Aroha. Say forty-one or two?’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah. Aroha said he was smart. He went to university. I think that used to annoy her too, the fact that he’d had all those advantages. She planned to study fashion after working for a bit to get the money together, but then I came along and that was the end of that. Now, she tells people she got her education in the “University of Life”.’
‘Did she mention which university your Dad went to?’
Skye shrugs. ‘Waikato?’
‘Maybe. If he was still living in Hamilton that’d make sense.’ Adam adds Waikato to his list of clues.
‘Any idea where he is now?’
Skye runs her fingers through the ends of her pony tail.
‘Aroha says as soon as he got wind of her pregnancy, he took off to Australia. But that doesn’t mean he’s still there. It was years ago.’
Adam checks his watch.
‘Come on. It’s our slot.’ They make their way to the workstation. The boy before them, a twelve-year old with a rat’s tail, doesn’t want to get off.
‘I’ve only got one more thing to do,’ he bleats. Adam checks out the screen and sees he’s playing Club Penguin.
‘Time’s up. Get off,’ Adam says, menacingly. The boy shuts down his game and skulks away, leaving the still-warm seat for Adam. Skye hovers behind, her hands resting on the back of the chair, her fingers soft against Adam’s back. Adam pulls up Google. Types in Michael Whitworth. There are about 300 of them. Adam clicks on one at random.
‘Let’s have a look at this one. Dr. Michael H. Whitworth, an academic working in Oxford. He’s around the right age.’ Adam pulls up a photo. Dr. Michael H. Whitworth is bald. Skye giggles. Adam scans the site for a biography, clicks on the link, and skims through the text.
‘No, this isn’t our man. This one’s originally from the United Kingdom, which doesn’t fit with what we know.’
The next one, a musician from Athens, Georgia, has sexy dark curls and a fashionable five o’clock shadow. Michael Whitworth from Athens, Georgia has recently released a single entitled Just as Surprised as You. His blog states that he is equally surprised the Six Flags group picked up his tune as its signature piece.
‘He’s way too young,’ Adam says.
‘Cute, though,’ Skye says. She leans forward and her breath tickles Adam’s ear. ‘Click on the single. Let’s have a listen.’ Suddenly, Adam is itchy with irritation.
‘Skye, we’re getting side-tracked. This isn’t helping us find your dad.’
‘Okay. You’re right,’ she says, although when Adam glances up she’s still gawping at the singer, all starry-eyed.
‘Skye!’
She shakes herself out of her reverie. ‘I think we should work systematically,’ she suggests. ‘What say we start with the Michael Whitworths currently living in Australia or New Zealand? Then weed out anyone who is too young or too old and see what we’re left with.’
‘Okay. That’ll work.’
‘And Adam?’
‘Yeah?’
She giggles. ‘Leave out the bald ones, okay?’
Eventually, they whittle the number down to just two.
‘This guy’s about the right age,’ Adam announces. ‘He lives in Perth and he’s a lawyer.’ They’re close now. Adam can sense it. He clicks on the photo gallery and pulls up an image. But Michael Whitworth, the lawyer, has polished dark skin and tight black curls that whisper of his origins in the dreamtime. Adam’s shoulders slump.
‘Try the other one.’
Adam selects the last entry, expecting more disappointment.
This time it’s him. Skye’s dad. Adam sends the image to the printer. They stare at the face for a moment. Skye’s fingers tighten on Adam’s shoulders. She leans in closer to consider the photo of her father. Adam’s aware of her: her cheek resting against the nape of his neck, her breath on his skin, her small breasts pressed firm against his back. If Adam could make a wish, he’d wish for a remote control to slow time so he could revel in the sensation of Skye against him.
No such luck. The rat’s tail boy from earlier turns up. Folding his arms across his chest, the boy taps his foot in a deliberate hurry-up. Adam calls on all his powers of concentration to scribble down Whitworth’s details.
‘Your time’s up. Get off,’ Rat-boy says with satisfaction.
Skye practically skips out of the library, her face glowing with joy. They’ve found her dad. He’s alive and living just across the ditch in the Gold Coast. She’s fizzing with excitement.
Suddenly, Adam has a thought. He grabs her by the arm.
‘Hey, Skye. We should go. To Australia. We’ve got your dad’s work address and the holidays are coming up. We could hop on a plane and you could finally meet your dad. It’ll be great.’ Skye stops still. She puts her hands over her mouth, her green eyes enormous.
‘So what do you think?’ Adam says.
‘You mean it?’ she whispers through her fingers.
‘I wouldn’t have said so if I didn’t,’ Adam replies.
That’s when she walks over and kisses him. Right there in the library car park next to the late returns chute. Adam puts his arms around her and kisses her back. It’s pretty romantic, they could be the only ones there.
On the walk home from the library, Skye holds Adam’s hand and tells him all the things she plans to ask her father. Did his decision to go to Australia all those years ago have anything to do with her? Does she still have grandparents on his side of the family? Did she get her passion for the environment from him? Had he, like Skye, been a bit of a daredevil as a kid? And does he love apples, too?
Adam listens to her chatter and smiles. He’s got a girlfriend and a goal. It’s the best day ever.
I wake with a start. 3:00am again. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I conduct a quick stock-take: desk, dresser, bag, today’s dirty clothes dumped on the end of the bed. Everything looks the same. Suddenly, I realise what it was that woke me.
I haven’t thought about Mum all day.