‘Mum,’ groans Bibi. ‘Are we there yet?’
Mum doesn’t reply for a while. In the darkness I can feel her taking a deep breath and trying to stay calm. This is the millionth time Bibi has asked.
‘No dear,’ says Mum. ‘Be patient.’
It’s hard being patient lying here under these smelly old sacks in the back of this lurching, noisy, cold truck. I know it’s a mountain road, but you’d think the driver could manage to avoid a few of the potholes. Specially as he’s been paid all the money Dad got for the taxi.
‘Ow,’ says Bibi. ‘My knees hurt.’
‘Here,’ says Mum, rustling in the dark. ‘Have another lolly.’
I’m tempted to nag Mum and Dad myself. These sacks are really itchy. They smell like they’ve had goats in them. And I wouldn’t mind another lolly. But I don’t say anything. Bibi needs the lollies more than me. And we all need to be under the sacks in case a government patrol stops the truck.
‘I want to do a wee.’
‘Bibi,’ says Mum crossly. ‘I told you to go before we left.’
‘We can’t stop now, flower,’ says Dad. ‘You’ll just have to wait.’
The truck hits a big hole. I wish it wouldn’t do that. All this jolting is making my bladder feel full too. I have to get my mind off it. I decide to ask the question I’ve been too scared to ask.
‘Dad,’ I say. ‘Where exactly are we going?’
I’ve wanted to ask since we left the city, but I’ve been worried about what the answer might be. I so much want it to be somewhere that has a famous soccer team. Like Barcelona. Or Brazil. Or Manchester.
Dad isn’t answering. Perhaps he’s concentrating on his bladder muscles. I feel Mum reach over and touch Dad.
‘I think we should tell them,’ she says.
‘Alright,’ says Dad.
He goes silent again. For a second I wonder if he’s forgotten where we’re going, but he hasn’t. When I hear his voice again I realise he needed that bit of time to control his emotions.
‘Mum and I have decided,’ he says, ‘that we should all live as far away as we can from the government. We’ve decided to try and go to Australia.’
Australia?
If my chin wasn’t on the floor of the truck, my mouth would be falling open. And if my chest wasn’t on the floor too, my heart would be sinking even further than it is now.
I’m not even sure where Australia is. If we did Australia in geography at school, I must have been daydreaming about soccer at the time. I think it’s a big place down the bottom of the globe somewhere. All I know for sure is that Australia hasn’t got a team in the English Premier League.
‘Where’s Australia?’ says Bibi.
‘A long way away,’ says Dad, and in his voice I can hear how much he wishes we could stay at home.
‘Australia is a wonderful place to start a new life,’ says Mum. Her weary voice is struggling not to sound sad, but it does. ‘People in Australia are safe and happy. And it’s too far away for the government to find us.’
Suddenly the truck gives a huge lurch and starts to slow down.
It stops.
I can hear men’s voices shouting.
‘Lie still,’ whispers Mum. ‘Not a sound.’
Luckily the truck engine is still rumbling and the sides of the truck are still rattling, so the men outside can’t hear the air strikes going on inside my chest.
Mum’s hand feels its way to mine and squeezes gently. It helps. I hope she’s doing the same for Bibi.
Outside, the men are having a conversation with the driver. I can’t hear everything they’re saying, but money is mentioned a fair bit. Nobody mentions opening the back of the truck and shooting the sacks, but some of them are probably thinking about it.
I reach over with my other hand and grip onto Dad’s.
We lie here, waiting, terrified.
Then one of the men thumps the side of the truck.
I pray they’re not trying to break in.
I pray it’s just a signal to the driver.
Suddenly the truck jolts and moves off, the engine whining as the driver changes gears.
I start breathing again. Even though the air is freezing, our hands are all hot and sweaty. Dad holds onto mine for a long time.
‘Goodbye,’ he says finally, in a choking voice.
At first I think he’s saying it to me. Then I realise we must have crossed the border and he’s saying it to our country.
Mum starts to sob quietly. Dad lets go of my hand to comfort her.
I feel like crying too, but instead I reach out and touch my rucksack. I want to check that my soccer ball is still packed safely. Just because I’ve never heard of any Australian soccer teams doesn’t mean there aren’t some good ones. I want to get all the practice I can on the way there, so I’m ready.
The ball feels fine.
My hand brushes against Mum’s rucksack. I can feel the candlestick inside.
‘Thanks,’ I whisper to Mum’s ancestors. ‘I won’t let you down.’