Clemmy drives us out to the airport, the VW Beetle fully loaded. Amy sits on top of our bags, panting happily.
‘Are you sure American Customs, or Homeland Security, won’t put Amy in quarantine, Chase?’ I ask. ‘She might be there for months. Or worse.’
‘Of course they won’t,’ Chase says. ‘Prince Jimahl once took a pygmy hippopotamus to Miami. Everyone loved it. They thought it was a Shetland pony.’
Clementine doesn’t turn in to the airport carpark but into a place called ‘Trusty Garry’s Totally Used Cars’.
‘What we do when we fly,’ Chase explains, ‘is drop the car off and Garry sells it. Then when we come back, he sells us another to go home in. Saves time and effort.’
I don’t mean to be critical, but this sounds ridiculous.
‘Yes, Chase,’ I say, ‘but that must cost heaps.’
Clemmy stops in front of a little tin office. Out comes a man wearing purple shorts, a sea captain’s hat, and a yellow Hawaiian shirt.
‘What’s your point here, George?’ Chase looks at me. ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’
‘Well,’ I say, ‘if you park the car at the airport, you can drive home in it. You’ll save thousands of dollars. Then you could, say, sponsor an endangered tiger with the money.’
‘Sponsor a tiger?’ Chase appears thoughtful. ‘I’d prefer to adopt one, Parkie. And keep it at home. Can you do that?’
‘I don’t think so. Sponsoring is the way to go, Chase. Generally.’
Chase turns to Clementine. ‘Let’s do what George says.’ He winds down the window. ‘Sorry, Trusty Garry. We’re going to park the car and sponsor a tiger. Catch ya later.’
‘Good thinking!’ Trusty Garry gives us a salute. ‘Make sure you get a stripy one! The other ones are lions!’
‘What we could do, George,’ Chase says, ‘is get our two hundred sponsored kids to visit the tiger. I’m sure they’d all be thrilled to bits.’
‘Er, tigers are in India,’ I explain. ‘The children are in Africa.’
‘Really?’ Chase takes off his safety belt. ‘When did that happen? Whatever, let’s get to the jet. And George, you play the piano, don’t you? Because there’s one on the plane.’
I can play the piano, but it must cost a fortune to carry a piano in a private jet.
‘If we . . . off-loaded the piano, Chase,’ I say carefully, ‘we’d save thousands in jet fuel. We could then sponsor a whole family of endangered orangutans in Borneo.’
‘Well, I do like those o-rangas,’ Chase says. ‘But man, watching them eat a banana is like watching paint dry. Speed it up, guys!’
Clemmy signals with a finger. ‘Why don’t we give the piano to the o-rangas? I’m sure one of the really bright ones could pick it up in a couple of days. It might take their minds off things.’
‘It . . . might,’ I say. ‘But it would be more efficient to off-load the piano here. And simply send the money to save the orang-utans over there.’
‘Yes, that might be smart,’ says Chase. ‘But first, let’s go to the private gate and get on the jet. And you’ll still have time for a few tunes before take-off, George. Which might influence my decision one way or the other.’
Chase’s phone dings. ‘Good news, Parkie.’ He high-fives me, my first ever. ‘We’ve won a gold cup for sponsoring the most kids in Africa in one day. Boy, Mum’ll be thrilled. She can put flowers in it.’
I know it’s rude to be telling Chase what he should do with money, but really, it’s simply changing one type of wealth into another. It’s win-win! Maybe I’ll succeed at Tapley, after all!
Then we are on the amazingly comfortable jet.
‘Have you got your rabbits’ feet?’ Chase asks Clemmy, who’s fixing her make-up in the cockpit mirror.
‘Yep.’ She holds up a furry handful. ‘We’ll be right to go as soon as I can find the keys.’
‘No worries,’ says Chase. ‘They’re probably in your handbag or under the seat.’ He points at the piano. ‘Go on, Georgie. Play.’
So I strap myself into the piano and play ‘Old Man Emu’, ‘I Still Call Australia Home’, and finish with a toe-tapping Christmas carol or two.
‘You’re right,’ says Chase, when I finish. ‘We can do without that thing. I’ll call the guys to come and get it. You can eBay it.’
Then, minus the piano, we are streaking high into the bright blue western sky.
‘Oops.’ Clementine speaks over the intercom. ‘You said America, didn’t you, Chase? Not Adelaide?’
Chase presses a button. ‘Yes, America, Clemmy. The big one. Aim for the north-eastern bit. That’s where New York is.’
With that, Clemmy pulls the jet into a screaming U-turn, and our faces stretch like rubber.
‘Thanks, Chase,’ I say, when we level out. ‘For everything.’
‘Don’t mention it, dude.’ Chase brings up a photograph of a tall building on his personal seat screen. ‘That’s the John J Hospital hospital in New York, where Isobel is.’ He glances at me. ‘Correction. That’s the John J Hospital hospital that we’re going to get Isobel out of.’
‘It seems to have rather tight security,’ I say worriedly, seeing armed guards at the front doors and video surveillance cameras all over the place.
Chase stares at the picture. ‘Ever seen Spiderman, the movie?’
I gulp. ‘Er, no, Chase. I’m more of a documentary type of guy. Did you know that sea otters actually use a stone to break open shells and—’
‘Well,’ Chase says, somewhat rudely, ‘the Spiderman method won’t work then. We’ll have to work out something else, possibly more dangerous. On another subject, have you been to Paris?’ Chase hands me one of the monster muffins Harriet baked. ‘Isobel loves the old book stalls by the river. Last time, she bought a collector’s edition of Harry Potter and the Big Croissant and a thirty-metre river barge.’
A river barge?
‘Er, what did she do with the barge?’ I ask politely.
Chase brings up a photo of a massive black steel boat called the Solange.
‘She had it re-fitted and redecorated and parked it in town,’ he informs me. ‘Which might come in handy if we end up in France.’
France? Since when did France become part of the plan? Because, as my dad says, Parkers always plan to have a plan already planned. Or that’s the plan. Well, I don’t see any sign of a plan here, that’s for sure.
Chase settles back in his seat. ‘As my dad says, George, only plonkers plan plans because plans are for plonkers.’
Well, I don’t know about that!