Since it’s such a sunny morning, we sit on the top deck and watch the beautiful stone city of Paris slowly reveal itself. Having almost recovered from the shock of riding without a helmet, I realise I’m thirsty.
‘I’ll just pop down to the onboard cafe,’ I say, ‘and buy us all a drink. I’m a little dehydrated. Cycling, although healthful, can be harmful if one doesn’t re-fill one’s tank, so to speak.’
Isobel nods. ‘That’s very nice of you, George. But no coffee, as your judgement seems to seriously suffer.’
Chase laughs. ‘That’s when he’s at his best, Izzy. When he’s out of control.’
I don’t think I’m ever out of control! It’s just that in certain challenging situations, I have to act accordingly.
‘No coffee,’ I inform Isobel. ‘I promise.’
Isobel smiles, relaxes, and takes Amy out of my backpack. So I venture downstairs and buy Isobel an orange juice, Chase a hot chocolate, and, to celebrate my bicycling skills, I purchase something called a Red Bull on a three-for-one deal.
‘Merci, monsieur,’ I say, and drink the first two Red Bulls right there, where I can easily recycle the containers. ‘Mmmmm, what a lovely caffeine-free morning!’
With a clear conscience, I take the drinks upstairs, and enjoy my third Red Bull as we pass through a city that is more than a thousand years old.
‘What are you doing, George?’ Isobel looks shocked. ‘Red Bulls contain caffeine! They’re high-energy drinks.’
I finish my third in one gulp and crush it. ‘Are they? Well, nobody told me.’ I throw the can into a bin twenty metres away. ‘What a shot!’ I jump up. ‘Yes sir, it’s the George Parker big show! Ka boom! Kapow! Georgie’s really feelin’ it now! Say what, Isobel?’ I sit down, stand up, then sit down again. ‘I had to replace energy lost riding the bicycle,’ I explain. ‘I actually feel quite exhausted.’
No I don’t, I feel GREAT!
That is, until I notice that the ferry is doing a slow U-turn, and we are heading back exactly in the direction we came from!
‘Uh-oh,’ I say. ‘It might be swim-time quite shortly, folks. Not to worry,’ I add. ‘The water looks a rather pleasant shade of brown and I’m somewhat of a freshwater side-stroke specialist.’
‘Side-stroke went out of fashion with woollen bathers,’ Chase says. ‘A hundred years ago.’
‘Absolutely incorrect, Chase.’ I raise my finger to address that point. ‘I am still rocking – although not today – a home-knitted pair of dark green woollen bathers with a red and beige elastic belt.’ Just thinking about them takes me back to days spent splashing about in a rock pool fifty metres above the high-tide mark, for safety’s sake. ‘Quick-drying, too. Just a day or two on the line and they’re ready for any aquatic activity you can think of, including shell-gathering, supervised shallow-immersion paddling, or the complex but utterly fascinating pastime of classifying east coast Australian seaweeds.’
Chase laughs, although I’m not sure why, because Roland and the Russians are waiting on the dock. And I doubt they’re too interested in taking a river cruise or discussing the many positives of woollen bathers.
Code red!
We can’t escape by swimming or jumping onto a passing bridge. For a moment, I consider chatting to the captain in such a lively fashion that he forgets to stop at the dock, but he’s wearing headphones and drumming on the dashboard with pencils, so that seems impractical.
‘They’ve got all exits covered,’ Chase says. ‘We’re cornered.’
‘We’re not cornered,’ I say. ‘We’re inconvenienced!’ My mind is racing. ‘Chase, Isobel, Amy, hide on board until I give you a signal from the pathway. Then leave the boat fast!’
Isobel looks worried. ‘How will you get to the path, George?’
‘I’m going to bamboozle Roland,’ I say, ‘with linguistic acrobatics, clothing confabulation, and show-stopping physical obfuscation. That will in turn completely flummox Olga, confuse Katerina, and out-fox the lot of them. Then we’ll be free to disembark and bicycle to freedom!’
Yes, sometimes the simplest plans are the best.
I tuck my singlet and shirt into my pants and tuck my pants into my socks for a rather smart and aerodynamic look.
‘Count me down!’ I nod at Chase. ‘In any language you like because it’s a Red Bull kind of a morning!’
Chase holds up three fingers. ‘Three, two—’
‘Sorry, can’t wait!’ I dance through the crowd and stop at the top of the gangway. ‘Attention, ladies and gentlemen!’ Everybody looks. ‘George Parker – that’s me – will now attempt a triple somersault ferry boat dismount with the idea of fooling that rotten-ratbag-masquerading-as-a-magician Roland, who waits for me at the bottom of the gangway. Stand back, folks! And don’t try this at home!’
Oh, man, this will be too funny.
‘You are trepped, ztupit Gheorge!’ Roland laughs. ‘No more tuckair-begging sheepz by boiling ’im in billabonk! It iz game ovair and out!’
I skip down the gangplank then back up the gangplank, before disappearing into the ferry with Roland in hot pursuit. Quickly, I duck into a toilet, reverse my autumn-leaf-coloured polar fleece bushwalking top, tie on three life jackets, wet my Mohawk down, take off my glasses, pull on my now-high-visibility-orange bushwalking top, and saunter out like a balding passenger who’s eaten a few too many chocolate croissants.
‘Scuse me, pal,’ I say to Roland, ‘I think I’ll just mosey on into town and buy me some real Paris-style Texan flapjacks. Which way is France?’
Roland barely looks at me. ‘No flapjackz in Pariz, Mizter Zan Fat-frizco.’ He points to the riverbank. ‘All zat place iz France, you zero intelligenze tourizt.’
‘Thank you kindly, sir.’ I wander down the gangway, wave to Chase and Isobel, then stroll off to where we’ve hidden the bikes. Oh, too easy!
Woof, woof, woof!
Except that I see Amy running down the gangplank, winding her way between people’s legs to jump joyously into my arms. And now I see Roland and he is moving fast.
‘Katerina ant Olga!’ Roland points. ‘Zat fat idiot wiz zee liddle zpotted pippy-dock is stupit Gheorge! Go, ladeeze, go!’
‘To the bikes!’ We start to run. ‘To the bikes!’
Unfortunately, there is one bike missing.
‘Hop onto this one with me, Isobel,’ I say. ‘I’ll provide the power. You navigate.’
‘We’ll go to the barge, George.’ Isobel gets set. ‘It’s down the river. The way we came.’
I start to pedal.
‘Roland’s got a bike,’ Chase yells. ‘All three of them are on it!’
Of course! Olga and Katerina are acrobats – they could do this stuff all day long!
‘Normally,’ I shout to Chase, ‘there’s no shame in coming second or even twenty-second – although one hundred and twenty-second wouldn’t be great, I admit. But today, this is one race we cannot afford to lose! Go!’
I glance over my shoulder and see Olga on one side of the bike, Katerina counter-balancing on the other, and Roland pedalling.
Isobel shouts. ‘Look out, George! A dog!’
I swerve around the dog, then swerve along the river, then swerve around a lady, then swerve around a rubbish bin then—
‘George,’ Isobel says, ‘we’ve stopped.’
Oh, so we have. And here comes Roland.
‘You are a zickly zyclizt, Gheorge!’ Roland strains at the pedals. ‘Whereaz I am a zupreme shampion. ‘Old on, liddle ladeeze, we go like pointy-nozzed Concorde jet!’
I pedal hard, even though I have a terrible stitch in my side.
‘Pain is simply weakness leaving the body,’ I tell Isobel. ‘I’m like Superman!’
‘Left across the next bridge, George.’ Isobel points. ‘Then we hide, because the barge is tied up right there.’
I see hundreds of boats in a rectangular mooring basin just off the main river.
‘Perfect!’
I cross the bridge, plunge down a ramp, and ride kamikaze-style straight into a mass of shrubbery.
Ka-shoosh!
Chase follows, bringing autumn early as we crouch as quietly as we can and watch Roland, Olga, and Katerina ride right past us.
Brilliant!
We hide for an hour, return our bikes to another rental stand, then pick up the key to the barge from the office of the Bassin de l’Arsenal, which is basically just a big basin where boats are kept. Walking down the quay, I imagine that the barge will be old, rusty, and ratty, but the Solange is like a long, narrow, beautiful house with polished copper portholes, chrome handrails, and shining wooden decks. We go aboard and into the saloon.
‘This is a dreamboat,’ I say, looking at the paintings, the expensive furniture, and an elegant galley complete with a rather complicated-looking silver coffee machine.
‘I’ll just fire up the old coffee thing, guys,’ I add casually. ‘I sure could do with a cup.’
‘Oh, no you won’t,’ Isobel says. ‘We’re all going to rest. And go to bed early. This is our chance to plan our next move.’
‘I’ll text Clemmy,’ Chase says. ‘You never know where or when she might pop up.’
So we sit and look out at the beautiful city of Paris, and I know I will never be the same simple George Parker again.
‘Boy, Isobel,’ I say, staring at a peculiar painting of a lady – well, I think it’s a lady, with a wonky eye and an incomplete jigsaw-type of body – ‘that’s a very interesting artwork you have there.’
‘It’s a Picasso,’ Izzy says. ‘An original.’
Good golly! It could be worth tens of millions!
‘We’ll take it with us when we leave,’ Chase says. ‘It might come in handy.’
Isobel folds her feet up under herself on the couch.
‘You know, George,’ she says, ‘all this running and hiding makes me wonder if perhaps our family does do bad things.’
‘That’s true, Isobel,’ I agree. ‘But the people investing in your dad’s investment fund must know they might make a lot of money or lose a lot.’
Chase nods. ‘And this time they lost it. Bad luck.’
‘And bad luck for us.’ Then Isobel smiles. ‘But it was such good luck that you boys got me out of that hospital.’
‘Yep, and it was a lot of fun.’ Chase looks at his phone. ‘Clemmy’s in London shooting a commercial for Jet Ranger helicopters. She certainly gets around.’
She certainly does.
Amy and I have our own beautiful cabin with two portholes. I am so tired that I barely have the strength to even up my shoelaces, do my finger exercises for quick calculator use, and clean and floss my teeth before sliding under a doona so thick, light, and fluffy that it’s like a warm cloud. Then I sleep and sleep and sleep.