Being a vagrant meant having to think differently about things you took for granted when you had a home and school to go to, as Pip was starting to realise. Even something as simple as peeing had to be planned in advance.
After yesterday, she didn’t dare go to Fast Eddie’s. In the end, because she was busting and it was the nearest place she could think of, she snuck into the town hall. Or at least she tried to sneak in.
An older lady with tightly curled hair spotted her as she passed the desk. ‘Shouldn’t you be in school, young man?’
Pip opened her mouth to tell the busybody she was a girl and then changed her mind. If anyone came looking for a runaway girl, the woman wouldn’t connect her with a scruffy-looking boy.
She smiled politely, trying not to cross her legs. ‘My civics teacher has told us to use our initiative to find out about local government.’ It was true, although Mrs Ricci hadn’t said they were allowed to wag school in order to do their research.
The lady’s fierce expression melted in an instant. ‘What a good idea!’ she beamed. ‘Most students aren’t interested enough to come and visit us personally. They just look on the interweb.’
‘Internet,’ Pip said politely.
The woman looked exasperated. ‘Internet. They keep telling me I have to learn how to use it but I’ve told them you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.’ She huffed. ‘I’ve worked here for thirty-eight years and now they say there are new policies and procedures I have to follow. Ridiculous! When I ask them where these new policies and procedures are, do you know what they say?’
Pip shook her head. She was nearly dancing now with the urge to pee.
‘On the web! What good is that to me?’
‘It isn’t very helpful,’ Pip agreed. She glanced around and spotted the toilets. ‘Um, I’ll be back in a minute.’
When she came out, the woman was gone, replaced by a young guy with red hair gelled into a spike and a ring through his nose.
‘Yeah?’ he said, nodding his head rhythmically. He had ear buds in and Pip could hear the tinny beat of his music.
‘I’m looking for the lady who was here a minute ago?’
‘What?’ said the man, detaching the ear plug from his right ear.
‘I’d like to speak to the lady who was here before you, please.’
His bored look turned into a scowl. ‘Whatcha want her for?’
‘My civics project,’ Pip said. As she was here, she might as well make use of her time.
‘I can help you. Why would you think I can’t help you?’
‘Um, well—’
‘Everyone wants Mrs Helen Bloody Gordon.’ Putting on a fake voice, he said, ‘“But she’s soooo good with customers! ” Well, I’d be good with customers if someone showed me, wouldn’t I?’
Pip nodded. ‘It’s very hard to do something when you don’t know how.’ A brainwave struck as she watched him deftly change the track on his iPod. ‘You know, I think Mrs Gordon would be very happy to show you how to help customers if you could help her learn how to use the internet.’
He frowned at the next track and chose another. ‘Everybody knows how to use the internet, man!’
‘Mrs Gordon doesn’t. Well, not properly. She needs someone to help her find things.’
‘Yeah?’ This time he looked up.
Pip nodded.
The scowl lifted. ‘Can’t believe there’s any dinosaurs left who aren’t web-savvy, but I’ll ask her when she takes over here at lunchtime. If she bites my head off, I’ll blame you, man.’
‘No problem,’ Pip said. ‘Um, now about my project . . .’
‘Right,’ the guy said enthusiastically. ‘We’ve got a brochure here about what the council does. Stuff like garbage collection, road repairs, parking meters, planning permits and the rest. And you can find more info at the library or online.’
‘Thanks.’ Pip took the brochure and flicked through it. ‘What about other stuff?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like . . .’ Pip scrambled mentally for something that might actually be useful. ‘What happens to kids who haven’t got anywhere to live?’
‘Oh well, that’s the state government, not local. Community Services. Hang on.’ He tapped a few keys on his computer and a printer on the desk spewed out a page. He handed it to Pip. ‘That’s the department you need to talk to, with their phone number.’
Pip took it. In big bold letters at the top it said CHILD PROTECTION.
‘Thank you.’ She managed a small smile and put the information in her bag.
‘Wait!’ said the man, brandishing a piece of fabric. ‘Your bag’s about to split. Here’s one with the council number. You can call me anytime between eight-thirty and five. Ask for Smurf.’
Pip fingered the small supply of cash in her pocket. She couldn’t really afford a fancy new bag. ‘Does it cost a lot?’
‘It’s free!’
‘Wow! Thanks, Smurf.’ Pip took it and tipped all her stuff in as she walked to the exit. At the doors, she turned and said, ‘You know, you’re already very good with customers. With Mrs Gordon’s help, you’ll be ace.’
She waved goodbye and hopped down the steps, swinging her smart new bag. Then she hugged it close. She’d never had a brand-new bag of her own.
The clock tower chimed eleven. It was a bit early for lunch but with only an orange for breakfast, Pip was starving. Food – that was her next problem. All the burger, fried chicken and pizza places were risky for her because they were where the older kids hung out and she wanted to avoid any more hassle. But anywhere else, she’d stand out.
After giving it some thought, Pip decided on the food hall at the local mall. Mid-morning it would be reasonably busy, so it was unlikely anyone would pay her any attention. Then, as soon as she had fed her belly, she had to find a phone so she could ring the hospital and find out how Sully was today. After that, she needed to decide what to do about Mr Blair and read up on the horses racing tomorrow. It was going to be a very full afternoon. Anyone who thought homeless people were idle had to be kidding!
By mid-afternoon, Pip had accomplished pretty much everything she had planned to do. She had lunched on pasta salad, which had been marked down, and orange juice. She had even bought soup for dinner tonight, which she could heat up easily in the microwave at Elliott Street.
When she had phoned the hospital from a phone booth in the mall, Pip had spoken to three different people before learning that Sully was awake and grumpy and having some problems moving his left arm.
‘Is it broken?’ she had asked, thinking of Felix.
‘Why no,’ the nurse had said. ‘It’s paralysed. Very common in stroke patients.’
‘Is he going to die?’ she blurted.
‘Oh well. It’s early days.’ The nurse had sounded flustered. ‘He’s not very strong. If he does recover he will probably need to go to rehab for a few days when he leaves hospital. The doctor can go through that with you when you next visit. Sorry, but I have to go now.’
Pip had put the receiver down slowly. Rehab! She was pretty sure that was where famous people went, which meant it was probably very expensive. The twenty-nine dollars and change left in her pocket would not be anywhere near enough, she was dead certain of that, and Sully always claimed he ‘never had a brass razoo’, which meant he was poor.
Now, as she walked down the street, all she could think about was where on earth they were going to get the money from.
As she passed a shop selling fruit and vegetables, she noticed an advertisement in the window that said ‘HELP WANTED. GOOD PAY. ENQUIRE INSIDE’. But she reckoned they would want a grown-up, and in any case Sully would not approve of anything to do with broccoli.
She had heard that some kids delivered newspapers. Maybe she could do that. But when she asked at the newsagency, a man said they didn’t take kids under fourteen. She didn’t think Sully could wait four years for rehab.
Disappointed, Pip was about to turn away when she noticed the scratchie cards at the counter.
‘I’ll have one,’ she said to the newsagent.
When she’d paid for it, she held it tightly as she walked out of the shop.
‘Please, please, let me win,’ she muttered to herself as she found a fifty-cent coin in her pocket and began to rub at the card. She needed three of the same picture to win, and when she saw she had two monkeys, she thought it was going to be her lucky day.
But then the last picture turned out to be a giraffe, and she hadn’t won anything at all. Worse! She was now two dollars poorer!
Annoyed with herself, Pip started the walk back to Elliott Street. There was nothing clever about scratchies, she thought. Not like horse racing.
The races! If she couldn’t make money for Sully’s rehab any other way, maybe she would have to go to the racetrack, although she’d never been on her own before. Tall Poppy was racing mid-week at Rosehill Gardens. Trouble was, without Sully there was no way Pip would be allowed inside to watch the race, let alone place a bet. She needed to figure out a way to get in.
She’d bought a paper in the supermarket and spent the afternoon reading the racing pages and deciding on the horses to back. Getting to the racecourse meant taking public transport, so she’d have little more than twenty dollars left for betting. She was going to have to be very, very smart.
Now it was a quarter to five and if she was going to meet Mr Blair, she would have to make a move. Pip got up from the spot on the grassy lawn of the park where she’d spent the afternoon, and brushed herself down. She didn’t want to be late. Mr Blair frowned on unpunctuality.
Suddenly it struck her that she didn’t have to go. At school, Mr Blair was the boss, no doubt about it. But this wasn’t school. This was . . . what?
Pip thought about it as she slowly picked up her bag. This was real life – not school life, controlled by timetables and bells and rules. It was about having no regular place to pee, avoiding hassle from older kids and finding money for Sully’s rehab. It was about trying to work stuff out as she went along, and hoping she made the right choices.