slow down. You’ll pop your wedding dress.’
The phone goes and Mum jumps up like she’s been poked by a cattle prod. I follow her to the phone. ‘Steve? Any news?’
She looks worried as she hangs up.
‘They think they’ve found him,’ she says.
‘Well, what’s the problem, then? You don’t look too happy about it.’
Then I get a terrible thought.
‘He’s not … dead, is he?’
‘LEANNE!’
‘What, then?’ I yell, as Mum starts sobbing.
‘They lost him. He’s somewhere near Portland.’
Portland? That’s the arse end of the world. Why would my dumb brother want to drive to Portland?
‘How come they lost him?’ I yell. ‘What’s wrong with the police force? You think they could round up an old white panel van with a fourteen-year-old-kid driving it. What sort of dipsticks are they?’
‘LEANNE!’
‘Oh, stuff it. I’m going to watch TV.’ I go into the lounge and switch on the set. Mum comes and plonks herself beside me. We both stare at the screen. Mum munches away, holding the biscuit packet like it’s a life raft.
‘Mum, what was your first wedding day like?’ I ask, when the commercial comes on. I’ve gol to try and distract her or she’ll eat the whole packet and throw up all over her wedding dress.
Mum sighs. ‘It was lovely,’ she says, as the first raindrops start to splatter against our lounge room window. ‘A beautiful, sunny day, not a cloud in the sky.’
‘Right.’
‘Of course I only had an eighteen inch waist in those days.’
‘Right.’
I think to myself how much that is in centimetres.
‘We had two white Mercedes to drive us to the church. Your Aunty Paula was the bridesmaid, and we carried tuberoses and stephanotis.’
‘Right.’
Mum jumps up, goes over to the sideboard and drags out her wedding album. She starts turning the pages and showing me the photos. I’m not surewhether it’s cool to be gawping at your first wedding photos when you’re lining up to get married a second time, but it seems to be taking her mind off Sam and the biscuits. We go through the ceremony, the reception, and leaving for the honeymoon while I try not to yawn. I glance at my watch. Nearly twelve.
‘How about I make us some scrambled eggs or something?’ I offer.
‘What? Oh, no, Leanne, I couldn’t eat a thing.’
There’s a knock on the door. Mum leaps up like she’s been stung, but it’s only Mona the florist with the flowers.
‘Sam’s done a runner,’ I tell her.
‘What? Oh, deary me. I thought he was happy about this wedding,’ she says, putting the bouquets and buttonholes on top of the Tim Tams on the coffee table.
Mum starts bawling again. Mona puts her arms around Mum, bursts into tears, and they both hug and rock and sob together. There’s another knock on the door. I go and open it and it’s Bin’s mum, Mrs Strachan, holding the wedding cake in a box.
‘I wanted to show you before I take it to the Scout Hall,’ she says.
‘It looks lovely,’ I lie. I think it looks gross, mountains of cream, not like a wedding cake at all.
‘Oh, Beth,’ shrieks Mum. ‘Sam’s run away. He’s stolen Steve’s van.’
‘What? Not little Sam?’ says Bin’s mum.
Little Sam? Oh, please!
‘It’s just awful,’ says Mona. ‘Awful.’
‘Maybe he’s gone to find his dad,’ says Beth.
That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard. Portland’s nowhere near Noosa, which is up north. Noosa’s light-years away. I just know that Sam hasn’t done a runner to find Dad and lost the way. After my experiences on the run to Noosa and the hassles I had with Dad, he’s the last person Sam’d be trying to find! He’ll probably be driving round searching for some surf down on the southern beaches, knowing him.
‘Oh, I can’t bear it,’ Mum cries. ‘He could get horribly injured. Or what if they shoot him?’
‘Reality check, Mum,’ I snap. ‘The cops aren’t going to shoot him. It’s SAM we’re talking about, not some crim.’
‘I
The phone goes and Mum jumps up like she’s been poked by a cattle prod. I follow her to the phone. ‘Steve? Any news?’
She looks worried as she hangs up.
‘They think they’ve found him,’ she says.
‘Well, what’s the problem, then? You don’t look too happy about it.’
Then I get a terrible thought.
‘He’s not … dead, is he?’
‘LEANNE!’
‘What, then?’ I yell, as Mum starts sobbing.
‘They lost him. He’s somewhere near Portland.’
Portland? That’s the arse end of the world. Why would my dumb brother want to drive to Portland?
‘How come they lost him?’ I yell. ‘What’s wrong with the police force? You think they could round up an old white panel van with a fourteen-year-old-kid driving it. What sort of dipsticks are they?’
‘LEANNE!’
‘Oh, stuff it. I’m going to watch TV.’ I go into the lounge and switch on the set. Mum comes and plonks herself beside me. We both stare at the screen. Mum munches away, holding the biscuit packet like it’s a life raft.
‘Mum, what was your first wedding day like?’ I ask, when the commercial comes on. I’ve gol to try and distract her or she’ll eat the whole packet and throw up all over her wedding dress.
Mum sighs. ‘It was lovely,’ she says, as the first raindrops start to splatter against our lounge room window. ‘A beautiful, sunny day, not a cloud in the sky.’
‘Right.’
‘Of course I only had an eighteen inch waist in those days.’
‘Right.’
I think to myself how much that is in centimetres.
‘We had two white Mercedes to drive us to the church. Your Aunty Paula was the bridesmaid, and we carried tuberoses and stephanotis.’
‘Right.’
Mum jumps up, goes over to the sideboard and drags out her wedding album. She starts turning the pages and showing me the photos. I’m not surewhether it’s cool to be gawping at your first wedding photos when you’re lining up to get married a second time, but it seems to be taking her mind off Sam and the biscuits. We go through the ceremony, the reception, and leaving for the honeymoon while I try not to yawn. I glance at my watch. Nearly twelve.
‘How about I make us some scrambled eggs or something?’ I offer.
‘What? Oh, no, Leanne, I couldn’t eat a thing.’
There’s a knock on the door. Mum leaps up like she’s been stung, but it’s only Mona the florist with the flowers.
‘Sam’s done a runner,’ I tell her.
‘What? Oh, deary me. I thought he was happy about this wedding,’ she says, putting the bouquets and buttonholes on top of the Tim Tams on the coffee table.
Mum starts bawling again. Mona puts her arms around Mum, bursts into tears, and they both hug and rock and sob together. There’s another knock on the door. I go and open it and it’s Bin’s mum, Mrs Strachan, holding the wedding cake in a box.
‘I wanted to show you before I take it to the Scout Hall,’ she says.
‘It looks lovely,’ I lie. I think it looks gross, mountains of cream, not like a wedding cake at all.
‘Oh, Beth,’ shrieks Mum. ‘Sam’s run away. He’s stolen Steve’s van.’
‘What? Not little Sam?’ says Bin’s mum.
Little Sam? Oh, please!
‘It’s just awful,’ says Mona. ‘Awful.’
‘Maybe he’s gone to find his dad,’ says Beth.
That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard. Portland’s nowhere near Noosa, which is up north. Noosa’s light-years away. I just know that Sam hasn’t done a runner to find Dad and lost the way. After my experiences on the run to Noosa and the hassles I had with Dad, he’s the last person Sam’d be trying to find! He’ll probably be driving round searching for some surf down on the southern beaches, knowing him.
‘Oh, I can’t bear it,’ Mum cries. ‘He could get horribly injured. Or what if they shoot him?’
‘Reality check, Mum,’ I snap. ‘The cops aren’t going to shoot him. It’s SAM we’re talking about, not some crim.’
‘I
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