Chase’s house is huge, and has a tower, a long driveway, a beautiful garden, and a honey-coloured cow looking at us over a fence. My little brick house would fit in the letterbox.
‘Where do your parents live, George?’ Chase shuts the gates.
‘Near Melbourne University,’ I say, as we walk up the drive. ‘Behind the Research Centre for Hopefully Useful Scientific Programs, where they work. What do your parents do, Chase?’
‘My mother designs extremely overpriced hats and clothes,’ Chase tells me. ‘And my dad runs an international hedge fund.’
I know what a hat is, but I have no clue about an international hedge fund – although I bet it has nothing to do with hedges.
‘It’s an investment thing,’ Chase explains, ‘that uses other people’s money. The idea is to make as many hundreds of millions of bucks as quickly as possible without screwing the world economy. But sometimes that just happens. Then you start all over again. With someone else’s money. It’s a lot of fun when it goes right.’
‘Golly,’ I say. ’Anyway, will your parents mind my being here?’
‘No.’ We climb the front steps. Chase takes a key out from under the doormat. ‘They’ve actually gone into hiding, because there’s a little problem with the hedge fund’s money. Which happens now and then.’
Chase’s life seems very exciting compared to mine. All I do is get up, use the appropriate face washer, fold and box my pyjamas, write some maths poetry, think about chess, go to school, eat tea, look at the stars, then sleep.
‘Harriet the housekeeper will make dinner,’ Chase says. ‘And we’ll go up into the tower. It helps to think when you have a decent view.’
I see a flag flying from the tower. It’s pink and features a black skull-and-crossbones with gold dollar signs for eyes.
‘My mum designed that flag,’ Chase explains. ‘She felt the last one wasn’t politically correct.’
‘What was the last one?’ I feel it would have had to have been pretty bad if this one is better.
‘A picture of my great-grandfather shooting a unicorn.’ Chase opens the door. A five-metre-wide stairway leads upwards. ‘I’m going to change the culture of this family, George,’ he adds. ‘I’m sick of people trying to hijack the private jet. Or asking for their diamonds back when we no longer have them. I’ll be wanting your input.’
Oh, dear. As I’ve said before, neither input nor output are my strong points. I follow Chase into a room bursting with flowers.
‘My mother has the flowers flown in,’ Chase explains. ‘Even when no one’s home.’
Chase takes a green bottle from a silver ice-bucket.
‘Non-alcoholic champagne, George.’ He pops the cork. ‘We have it made in France for occasions that aren’t that special. Care for a flute?’
I nod, even though it worries me how the bubbles might leave my body after they’ve gone into it. Chase pours us a glass each.
‘Cheers.’ We tap glasses. ‘To us and our mission. Let’s hope it doesn’t end in total disaster.’
I certainly agree with that. ‘Chase,’ I say timidly, ‘if you want to do the right thing, why don’t you cancel the flowers when your mum’s away? Then you could sponsor a child in a poor country. It’s like five dollars a week. It would be win-win.’
‘Good thinking.’ Chase opens his phone, Googles something and sends a text, then looks at me. ‘Now, one kid for five dollars, Parkie. How many kids for five hundred and fifty dollars?’
‘One hundred and ten,’ I answer.
‘I’ll take two hundred.’ Chase hits buttons then pockets his phone. ‘Done. Right. To the tower. We’ve got things to consider. Very serious things.’
The view from the tower is amazing. Below us, Melbourne spreads in all directions.
‘I have a twin sister,’ says Chase. ‘Isobel. She hit her head in a mystery ice-skating accident at a nine-star Alaskan wilderness lodge last year. She’s always been incredibly intelligent, but since then, no one can work out if she’s still smart because she’s only said three words in the last twelve months. She’s in an institution in New York City, which is where you come in, George.’
‘I’d prefer not to be put into an institution, Chase,’ I say. ‘If you don’t mind.’
Chase puts his feet up on a velvet stool.
‘Negative to that,’ he replies. ‘The idea is that because you’re also extremely intelligent, George, you can work out if her memory can be recovered. And if that’s your diagnosis, then we’ll rescue her.’
‘Chase,’ I say desperately, ‘I’m not a doctor. I can’t diagnose anyone.’
‘No,’ Chase agrees. ‘But you’re a fast learner. Apparently. So I’ve ordered a pile of medical books for you to study on the jet.’
I feel like I’m trapped on a runaway train that’s speeding towards a bridge built by delinquent teenagers who have no mechanical aptitude or understanding of gravity.
‘We leave tomorrow,’ Chase says. ‘Do you think you’ll need a stethoscope? No need to think about operating quite yet. You might have to work up to that.’
‘Perhaps, Chase,’ I stammer, ‘we’ll wait and see what medical supplies I’ll need. What will we do with Amy, by the way?’
Chase looks puzzled. ‘Take her with us, of course. Animals can be very helpful in the treatment of all sorts of illness.’
I do know that. It’s just that taking a pet across the world isn’t generally allowed.
‘By the way,’ Chase adds. ‘The last words Isobel said were, Ursus arctos horribilis! Her team of neurophysiologists says she’s speaking rubbish. Those words, George? Mean anything to you?’
‘It’s the scientific name of the grizzly bear,’ I answer. ‘Who doesn’t know that?’
Chase laughs. ‘I knew it!’ He pours me another drink. ‘You’re the man, GP!’
That night, lying in a massive bed, I feel lonely. If not for Amy wagging her tail against the side of a nonalcoholic champagne box, I’d even consider myself unhappy. But then I think of Isobel, perhaps locked in a room with bars on the window, in a strange city, alone and a long way from home.
Maybe I might be able to help her?
After all, I did assist Chase in sponsoring those two hundred African kids, and that was a good thing.
‘Well done, George,’ I whisper to myself. ‘Well done.’
