The trouble with a plug-in landline is that you can’t take the phone off somewhere private. Various adults including my parents would be home when Shona rang back. I shuddered. I could absolutely see the scene: furious, disappointed parents, plane tickets to Wellington coming right up.
Shona! Ring now! Why haven’t you bought a new phone?
Then the solution hit me in the face. Duh! Talk about obvious!
I rang the hospital and asked to speak to Greer Carradine’s mother or sister.
I got Shona. ‘Lyla? Did your mum manage to get it?’ There was so much hope in her voice.
‘Yes. It’s here. Tell her everything’s fine.’
She burst into tears. ‘Thank you! Oh, thank you so much – you don’t know how much this means.’
‘Glad to help,’ I said. ‘Do you want me to send it down?’
‘No. It’s okay. We can organise for somebody to pick it up.’ She spent some more time thanking me. I was relieved she didn’t ask for the full story. She’d be horrified if she knew what I’d done. I just hoped she wouldn’t pour gratitude all over Mum.
‘Quakes haven’t killed all your brain cells,’ Matt said when I hung up. He didn’t bother opening even one eye this time.
I went to the sink and turned the tap on. Maybe the universe had taken pity on us. Maybe water would gush into the sink. Make that a no.
I thumped my hand on the bench. ‘I want a shower. I want to get warm and dry and clean.’
‘Typical girl,’ Matt said, eyes still shut.
I wanted to kick things too, him especially. I stomped off to my bedroom. I needed my friends. If Shona and Katie were here we’d sit down and have a good hate session on the earthquakes. We’d all feel better and the world wouldn’t seem so hideously horrible.
I should dump my dirty clothes in the laundry before they started stinking the place out.
Idea! I laughed, collected them up, stuck my raincoat over my head and ran outside to peg the mucky gear on the clothesline. They’d have to end up cleaner than they were now, even if it would take at least a hundred rainstorms to do it properly. I don’t know why, but the sight of my filthy jeans and sweatshirt getting washed by the rain cheered me up amazingly.
I’d just shed the coat when the landline went. I’d have to get it. Matt wouldn’t be leaping off the sofa to answer it and it had better not be his mother.
It was Myra. ‘Oh Lyla, I was worried you weren’t home. Listen, we had a group of students arrive with food. Could you come and help us bring it to your house? There’ll be enough for everybody. Clemmie and Geoff too, if they’re hungry when they get home.’
Food? Enough for all of us? My stomach rumbled. ‘I’ll come right now. We’ve run out of everything. Thank you so much.’ My voice got shaky – the worry about how to feed people lifted.
Myra came over all grandmotherly – told me I was a real soldier, they were so pleased to be able to share with us, I had no idea how much it had meant to them the day we turned up to help clear their yard.
It made me feel warm inside – although still hungry. People were kind.
As soon as the phone went down, Matt said, ‘They’ve got food?’
‘Sounds like it. See you later.’ He didn’t argue about coming, which probably meant he was pretty wrecked. Oh well, so was the city.
I sent the parents texts: Food at ours. Save you some?
It was not pleasant getting back into wet rain gear, but the lure of food cancelled out the clamminess.
Dave and Myra were all kitted out in coats and gumboots when I arrived. Myra gave me a cheese scone, dripping with butter. ‘Straight out of the oven.’ She peered at me. ‘You look as though you could use a good feed.’
I waggled a hand at her, my mouth too full to get words out. That scone was so good. I closed my eyes to savour the warm butteryness. It tasted of normal, of Sunday brunches when both parents happened to be home and Dad got the cooking urge.
Dave handed me a bag with two big foil-wrapped aluminium dishes inside. ‘Lasagne and macaroni cheese. Myra’s got chocolate cake and the garlic bread, and I believe I’ve got quiche and some sort of chilli.’
I scrubbed scone crumbs from my face. ‘This should be enough to slow Matt down. For a bit, anyway.’
Myra packed up the rest of the scones too. Off we trudged through the rain. Dave said, ‘I guess it’s the new normal to be delighted when a bunch of feral-looking students knock on your door.’
Myra said, ‘Such kindness. People all over the country want to help. All this food’s come from Rangiora.’
When we got home, Matt swore he hadn’t fallen asleep. Yeah, right. But he was fully awake enough to chow down four of Myra’s scones. I managed another one too – it would have been rude not to.
I was so glad we could cook in the kitchen again. The macaroni cheese and the lasagne were sending out gut-rumbling wafts of fragrance from the oven when Natalie and the boys blew in with Don. Leo and Henry tore into the lounge dragging their dad along between them. Natalie followed, laughing. ‘They’re a bit excited.’
That would be right. Those kids stayed glued to poor old jetlagged Don, both of them yabbering away, tugging him in different directions to show him the broken window in Blake’s room, the long-drop, a hole in the floor in their house, the pile of mattresses.
Don swooped his sons into his arms and the three of them squashed into an armchair. ‘You’ll have to help me get those mattresses back home. It’ll be great to all sleep in our own beds again, won’t it?’
That would be a no. Leo got all pale and trembly. Henry wound up like a siren, wailing, ‘No! No! No!’
Don looked stunned. He was not in the best shape to cope with two hysterical kids. Welcome to our world, Don Brunton.
Natalie knelt in front of her family. ‘Boys, listen to me. If it’s okay with Lyla we’ll stay here, but only if you’re quiet.’
‘Really?’ Leo squirmed round to look his dad in the face. ‘You promise?’
‘We both promise,’ Natalie said firmly. She eyeballed Don until he said, ‘Yes. We both promise.’
Blake and Robert Chan arrived together – both of them hungry and dirty.
Myra and Dave helped me serve the food to the starving troops. The ten of us only just fitted round the table. There was silence, except for the scrape of cutlery on plastic and enamel, until Leo said, ‘Yum!’ Which set off a Mexican wave of yums around the table.
Then Matt held up his fork. ‘Hear that? Quake approaching.’
And what did we do? Every single one of us, except Don, picked up our plates, slid under the table and kept eating while the earth shook.
Leo pulled at his father’s trouser leg. ‘Dad, you’ve got to drop, cover, hold.’
The aftershock and the one that followed it didn’t put us off our food. Between us, we demolished all the macaroni cheese and lasagne.
‘Boys! Don’t lick your plates!’ Don sounded disgusted but you could tell he was trying not to show it because he added more gently, ‘An earthquake doesn’t mean you have to become savages.’
Matt grinned at him. ‘Sorry, Don, it’s what we do to help clean the plates. Water’s a scarce commodity around here.’
Don leant back and shut his eyes. You could just about see the big speech bubble above his head: I give up.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Dad. I’m well fed. Love you, hon. Thanx for keeping things afloat.
I re-read the words and was getting all misty-eyed when Robert said, ‘Hush, everyone. Hear that? Water’s getting in somewhere. Leo, Henry – we need your sharp eyes. We’re going on a leak hunt.’
Of course, they shrieked with laughter. So much better than crying and panicking.
Leo found the ‘leak’. ‘Lyla, look! There’s water coming out of the tap!’
Really? It wasn’t dripping through a hole in the roof? I couldn’t believe it till I saw it with my own eyes. ‘Oh, wow!’ I held both hands under the tiny dribble of water squeezing its way out of the tap. ‘Hey, it’s real water!’
The kids and I did a mad whirling dance around the kitchen table. Blake hunted through the cupboards for a bowl to put under the dribble.
Mum arrived home in the middle of the mayhem. I hauled the kids over to the mattresses and dumped them. ‘You hungry, Mum?’
She came over to hug me. ‘No, I’m all good. The army’s great at feeding people.’ She turned to Don. ‘Glad you got back okay, Don.’
He lifted a hand but, by the look of him, didn’t have the energy to get even one word out.
There was a hammering on the front door. Robert went to answer it and came back with a guy I didn’t recognise. He introduced himself. ‘Wayne Carradine. Greer and Shona’s dad. I’ve just got here from Darwin.’
Please! Don’t say anything that’ll make Mum ask awkward questions. I jumped up. ‘Have you come for Greer’s laptop? Hang on, I’ll grab it for you. Do you want some food? We’ve got quiche and cake.’
‘No, I’m fine, thanks. I want to get on the road.’
Mum got stern. ‘You’re not going to drive all the way to Dunedin tonight, are you? Not on top of the travelling you’ve already done to get this far?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Just to Timaru. They say Greer’s doing much better since she got the news about her laptop. I can’t thank you enough for helping her, Lyla.’
‘It wasn’t a problem. Glad to help. Tell her to get better.’ I made sure my back was to Mum as I frowned at him and tried to get across that if he said any more I’d be in trouble up to my ears.
Mr Carradine was clearly puzzled, but he shut up and just reached out to give me the shoulder squeeze. I grinned at him. ‘Please, will you tell Shona to get another phone and message me?’
‘I’ll buy her one myself. That’s a promise.’ And off he went.
I shut the front door behind him and returned to the lounge in time to cop the Mother-Gaze. ‘What?’ I asked.
‘Where did you get that laptop, Lyla?’
I shrugged. ‘Mum, don’t stress. It was in one of the places she cleans, right where she said it would be.’
‘I went with her, Clemmie,’ Matt said. ‘Made sure she didn’t do anything stupid.’
Mum flopped down at the table and did some deep breathing. ‘I don’t believe either of you. So listen up and listen good. If you pull a stunt like this again – and I’m talking to you too, Matt – then that’s it. We’ll ship you both out of town. Understood?’
Matt saluted. ‘Aye aye, Sergeant Sherwin.’
‘I hear you, Mum.’ I wondered if she’d noticed that neither of us had actually promised to be good and obedient and sensible. I got the look. Yep, she’d noticed.
I hid out in my bedroom away from Mum’s worried frown and suspicious glances but also to avoid ending the day with a catalogue of doom and disaster. It could all wait until the morning. Thank goodness for Facebook. Even if I couldn’t be with my friends, we could still hang out in cyberspace.
But Facebook didn’t have good news either. Seven girls in my class wouldn’t be coming back to school. Their families were leaving for places where the ground didn’t shake itself to bits – Auckland, Nelson, Dunedin, Hamilton, Adelaide.
Would the bad news never stop? I logged out without talking to anyone.