We get onto a silver space-age train that has wonderful seats and big wide windows. I was worried about smuggling Amy on board, but in our carriage alone I count three poodles, two wearing velvet jackets and one a little red hat. So I settle back and sneer, Chase ignores everyone, and Isobel sits with her hands in her lap, looking like the perfect nun should look – perfect.
‘Check this out, Georgie-boy.’ Chase shows me a text from his dad as we speed through the French countryside, which appears to be quite dry and rocky.
Found fifty million I’d forgotten. Still short a couple of hundred. Nice weather. How’s school?
How could you forget where fifty million dollars was?
‘What did you say about that?’ I whisper.
Chase shrugs. ‘I said school was great. That’s what he likes to hear.’
‘No,’ I whisper. ‘About the money? Wouldn’t fifty million calm these people down? Like a deposit until your dad can come up with the rest?’
Before Chase can answer, I see two tough-looking ticket inspectors who remind me of Olga and Katerina, and a third who looks remarkably like Roland enter our carriage. Oh, no!
‘We’ve got trouble,’ I whisper to Chase and Isobel. ‘Get your tickets out quick. And act normal.’
‘What sort of normal?’ Chase asks. ‘French normal? English normal? Australian normal? All or none of the above?’
‘Just normal normal.’ I shrug. ‘Just not ab-normal.’
Before I can clarify things, Roland arrives, and asks in French for our tickets, presumably. So we hold them up, he checks them over, and hands them back.
‘Merci,’ he says slowly, peering at us as if he’s trying to see into our souls.
‘Yeah, dat’s it, mate, fanks,’ I say, punk-rocker-style. Isobel nods gently, and Chase salutes . . . and Roland continues on, turning twice to look back.
Whew!
But now Olga and Katerina are closing in. Suddenly Katerina stops, pinches my cheek really hard, and stares into my face like a cobra that’s just had its tail slammed in a door.
‘You remind lovely Katerina of someone bad vit’ stoopid haircut, naughty punk dirty-denim-probably-no-underpants safety-pin boy. Vot your name?’
Don’t say George, I tell myself, trying not to panic.
‘Elizabeth!’ I blurt. ‘Bert, I mean,’ I add. ‘Yeah, Bert. Urghh.’
Katerina pokes me in the chest. ‘You better be Bert, not Eliza-bert. Katerina keep eyes on you, rocker-boy. Also, I think I smell you before. Somevere else.’
Me? Smell?
‘Oh, I just ate me like a big bucket of snails,’ I say. ‘Yer know? Dem slimy fings in shells. Disgustin’, they woz! Ooh, lovely!’
‘You not French.’ Katerina stares at me. ‘Vy eat snail? No one eat snail except for maybe Siberian salt miners who eat anyzing goink, including bugs and stickz and vood plankz.’
‘I ate snails,’ I say, ‘because I was hungry. Not all punk rockers spit everything out, you know.’
Katerina flicks my safety pins. ‘I vould like send you to Siberian salt mine, living in unpleasant Siberian village with unpleasant Siberians. Teach you a lesson. Those Siberians bash you up and down, both vays.’
I can no longer restrain myself. ‘If you visit Siberia,’ I say, ‘you might be pleasantly surprised at the price of salt, and how nice the Siberians are. I believe their local handcrafts are exceptional.’
Katerina scowls. ‘Katerina remembers! You remind her of zneaky scoundrel George Dirty Dick Turpin-Parker! A stinking bad boy even vorse than you!’ Then she walks on, banging the side of my head with a bottom like the boot of a car.
Then she’s gone, and I let go a sigh of utter relief.
‘Look on the bright side, Georgie,’ Chase whispers. ‘This is an adventure. Who knows where we’ll end up?’
That’s certainly true. I just hope I’m alive to enjoy it when we get there.
Isobel touches my wrist. ‘In Paris,’ she whispers, ‘we will disappear into the city. It will be like a dream.’
Isobel’s calmness is reassuring. Yes, Paris is surely a huge city where we cannot be found.
‘Imagine if we got stuck there for years,’ says Chase cheerfully. ‘We really might have to join the Foreign Legion. That’d be hilarious!’
I think it would be horrendous! Joining a foreign fighting force enforcing foreign policy forcefully on foreign people would be extremely foreign to any Parker person!
‘Anything,’ Isobel whispers, ‘is possible.’
That’s what I’m afraid of!