Chapter 9: Later Friday Afternoon

By the time we turned into the street where we live I’d run out of ideas to use in answering Dad’s question. He had asked me to list as much Christian symbolism as I could that appeared in the original Star Wars movie. I think I did pretty well because I’d been talking almost continuously all the way home. I figure I was working at a disadvantage because I haven’t spent very much time studying the Bible like some people have. But I have looked at a lot of religious art so that helped.

It didn’t occur to me until later that Dad’s main purpose was to keep me talking. I could have been talking about the price of fish and chips in China and he would have been happy. He must have decided that if he left me to sit quietly while he was driving I would brood about stuff. Maybe he was right.

We got stuck behind an old truck that was driving slowly up our street. It was a dirty, faded green color and had CHEV LET in big letters on the back. I know it was supposed to be Chevrolet but a couple of letters were hidden by a big dent. It made me laugh because I thought about how people stick ‘let’ on the end of words to mean something small. Like a booklet is a small book and a piglet is a small pig. So this Chevlet must be a small Chevy. Now I only have to figure out how big a normal Chevy should be.

Okay, I guess it wasn’t that funny.

Dad pulled the car into the driveway and we got out. I saw that we had some mail so I detoured to empty the mailbox. There were three items – one was obviously an electricity bill, one was addressed to Mrs Louise Freeman and one was a bulky envelope addressed in block lettering to The Freeman Family. I opened the last one while I stood there. Inside was a sheet of paper with sentences made by gluing letters and words cut from magazines. It was an old-fashioned ransom note.

It said, “I have your Nemo Magnet. Put a dozen fresh scones in bag under the bench in your front yard by 1pm Saturday or the fish gets demagnetized.”

“Dad?” I called out. He was standing beside the car, waiting for me.

“What is it, honey?”

“I think you better see this. Our fridge magnets didn’t go for a walk. They’ve been kidnapped – or maybe magnet-napped is the better word. Nemo is being held for ransom.”

“Oh dear,” said Dad, trying to hide a smile. “That’s terrible. What do they want?”

I went up to Dad and handed him the ransom note.

He scanned it and shook his head.

“I told your mother it was a mistake teaching you two how to make ransom notes.”

I sighed and peered around Dad’s arm to take another look at the letter.

“I didn’t do it. Don’t blame me. And that’s not Tara’s style either – she tends to use SMS abbreviations all over the place. And Mum didn’t do this one either – she’s always more careful about keeping the rows neat and having the colors and sizes make interesting patterns.”

Dad looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

“Do you realize what that says about this family? It’s scary that you can recognize who prepared a ransom note by the style. It suggests you’ve all made far too many of them.”

I shrugged. “Not that many. It’s not like we play the ransom game all the time.”

“I should hope not. I have very clear memories of coming home from work many years ago and finding my seven year old eldest daughter tucked away in the hallway cupboard. She was encased in so much rope she looked like a caterpillar wrapping itself up in its cocoon. Then I proceeded to the kitchen where I discovered my other daughter had made a ransom note demanding £29.99 for the safe return of her sister.”

I shrugged again. “It was the price of that Simple Suzy Hairdressing Kit Mum said I couldn’t have. I don’t know why you were worried. Mum had already bargained me down to two raspberry muffins. I was very cross with you for ruining the game. You had Constable Dan arrest me and drag me in front of Judge Stone on kidnapping charges. You were very mean about the whole thing. It was no fun at all.”

“And I thought I made it perfectly clear you weren’t to play that game again.”

“Actually you said you never wanted to catch us playing that game again. Well, we made sure you never caught us again, like you wanted.”

Dad frowned down at me. “Are you trying to get by on a technicality? You knew what I meant.”

“Now I know what you meant. Now I understand why you got upset about us tying each other up. That is the thing which upset you the most, isn’t it? But back then I didn’t understand. Back then I didn’t get how often people don’t say what they mean. Back then, if you wanted us to stop playing that game, you should have said it more clearly.”

“Hmph!” said Dad. Then he flapped the ransom note at me. “So, in your expert opinion, who is responsible for this?”

“Nana,” I answered, with a fair degree of confidence.

“Please don’t tell me Nana has been joining in these games of yours.”

“No! Not until now, anyway. But it’s the only answer that makes sense. She must have done this last night after she went home. Then she drove around and put it in our letterbox this morning. See? Look at the envelope. The stamp wasn’t cancelled right. She’s drawn a pretend postmark over the stamp to make it look real. Besides, Auntie Penny would’ve put We have Nemo.”

Dad smiled and his eyes sparkled. I think he was laughing on the inside.

“Do you think we should call the fridge police? Magnet-napping and extorting scones must be some sort of crime. Or we could ignore it. I happen to think a dozen of your mother’s scones are worth more than a Disney fridge magnet.”

I opened my mouth and stared at Dad in pretend shock. “But it’s Nemo! How could you say that?”

I turned on my heel and walked away from Dad – letting my back tell him what I thought of that idea.

My back didn’t say as much as I wanted it to because I had to stop at the front door and wait for him to unlock it.

Almost as soon as we stepped through the doorway, we were greeted by Angie wearing a cat outfit – a black body stocking with a tail sewed to the back. The effect was ruined a bit by the bright green cast on her arm – now covered with signatures and little pictures – and a broad-brimmed straw hat piled high with plastic fruit.

“Bec’s home,” screamed Angie – loud enough to make me wince.

I braced myself and caught the flying cat as she jumped into my arms. I had to duck my head to the side to avoid being mashed in the face by plastic fruit. I cuddled Angie and glanced sideways at Dad.

“And then something went bump!” I quoted. “How that bump made me jump!”

Dad laughed. Then he frowned as he dove into his memory.

“We looked! Then we saw him step in on the mat!” quoted Dad. “We looked! And we saw him! The Cat in the Hat!”

I grinned at Dad and cuddled Angie some more.

“Hello pussy cat,” I said to Angie.

“Meow,” said Angie.

It didn’t take long before Angie started wriggling which told me she’d had enough cuddles. I let her slide down to the floor. Then I tapped her on the head which pushed the hat down over her face. Angie giggled from inside the hat and put both hands out as she spun and trotted away from us. A second later she pulled the arm with the cast in against her body and continued to trot with only one arm out as a feeler. She did that just in time because a moment later she banged into the wall. She giggled, spun a little and stepped forward again only to bang into the same wall a couple of feet further down the hallway. This time she bounced back hard enough to land on her bum – all the while her fractured arm held protectively against her chest. Dad and I had both moved forward when she fell, but before we got to her she lifted the hat up so that we could see her laughing face.

A moment later, Angie was charging down the hallway toward her room with the hat back on her head. We could hear her yelling “meow, meow” at the top of her voice.

I looked at Dad and he had a happy smile on his face. That made me realize I had exactly the same thing on my face.

“It’s good to be home,” I said to Dad.

He smiled and nodded at me.

I was still standing there smiling at Dad when Mum arrived from the living room. She wrapped me up in a warm hug and murmured into my hair about how she wanted to keep holding me like that for the next twenty years.

A moment later she released me from the hug and cupped my face between her hands so that she could look deeply into my eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay, honey?” she asked me – searching in my eyes for the answer.

“I’m fine, Mum. I’m better than fine.”

She held my face with her hands while she kissed both my cheeks and then my forehead.

“I’m sorry, Mum.”

Mum took half a step back without letting go of me and used her hands to tilt my head to one side and then the other.

“That’s an interesting way to do your hair.”

“I know. It was only supposed to be temporary. The coils are only held in place with hairpins. I should take them out.”

I reached up to start undoing the coils but Mum grabbed my hands with hers and stopped me.

“Wait! I want to look at you like that.”

I rolled my eyes at her.

“Mum!”

She ignored my whining and stepped back a little more, holding my hands out wide. She scanned me up and down.

“You look good – very pretty! The dress and boots go well together. You look – young.”

“Yes, Mum. This outfit makes me look younger. I know.”

“I like it. Usually you reject anything that makes you look younger. I think that’s a shame. Why are you in such a hurry to be older than you really are?”

“She’s thirteen, Mum!” yelled Tara from the living room. “No thirteen year old girl ever wants to look like she’s only ten. It’s humiliating.”

I looked over at Tara. She was sprawled across the couch and was watching us with a fake look of boredom on her face. She had a paperback lying open and face down on her stomach.

“Speaking of humiliating,” continued Tara. “I hope nobody from school saw you like that. I’d never live it down if they all knew my sister is such a dweeb.”

Mum ignored Tara’s outburst and led me by one hand into the living room.

“I have a present for you. Tara and I sorted it for you this morning.”

Tara snorted. “I wanted to get you a straitjacket but the shop was out of stock.”

“Tara, that’s enough!” snapped Mum.

Tara grumbled something under her breath and made a big show of picking up her book and going back to reading.

Mum pushed me down onto the easy chair and picked up a little bag that was sitting on the coffee table. She tipped it up and poured a silver chain into her palm. She got me to hold out my left arm while she put it around my wrist and did up the clasp. Then she turned the bracelet around my wrist until a nameplate became visible. It was engraved with Bec and a little red medical symbol. Mum flipped the nameplate over and I could see extra engraving that would normally be hidden when I wore it. It said in really small writing, Rebecca Louise Freeman, Lambrecht’s Syndrome, See wallet card. Under that it had our phone number.

“I want you to wear this all the time, even to bed. Hopefully last night will never happen again, but if it does this will help get you home again. Apparently EMTs and police and so on look for these sorts of bracelets automatically. Look! I got one for myself as well.”

Mum pulled back her sleeve and I saw that she was wearing a matching bracelet. It looked stylish and elegant – just a simple name band like lots of people wear. The only hint that it was more than that was the tiny red medical symbol.

I ran a finger over my bracelet.

“We’re not allowed to wear bracelets during basketball – or during PE at school.”

“I told you to get the sports band version,” said Tara from the couch.

Mum glared at Tara and then looked back at me.

“I’m sure they would let you wear it if you explained...”

“No! It’s dangerous,” I said. “Someone could get scratched or get a finger caught or whatever.”

“Miss M said a few years ago a girl got an earring torn out of her ear,” explained Tara. “It made an awful mess. Now they’re really strict about any type of jewelry.”

“Well, I suppose they know who you are during PE. You’ll have to make sure you put it back on immediately afterwards.”

I nodded and rubbed my fingers back and forth over the engraving.

“What’s a wallet card?”

Mum reached into the bag and pulled out a small laminated card about the size of a credit card.

“This is. Put it in your purse or in your pocket when you get dressed.”

I took the card from her and looked at it.

The wallet card repeated the same information that was on the bracelet plus it had extra stuff. It had your name and number, Dr K. It also had stuff like symptoms and recommended treatment.

“Symptoms,” I read out, “episodes of obsessive focusing on one task, at times non-verbal, appears confused and lost.”

“I wanted to put acts loopy but Mum wouldn’t do it,” called Tara. “She said it’s a message to medical people so it should be in their language.”

I ignored Tara and kept reading.

“Medication – none!”

“Treatment – contact family. Provide pencil and paper.”

“That was my idea,” added Tara. “Hand you art supplies – guaranteed to shut you up.”

“I know someone else who would benefit from going non-verbal for a while,” commented Mum.

The dress had a little pocket along the seam of the skirt section so I slid the card away.

Mum reached into the little bag and pulled out another half dozen of the laminated cards.

“We had some spares made up in case you lost that one,” said Mum. “Put one in your purse and try to get in the habit of putting one in your pocket each day.”

I nodded and took them from her. “These wouldn’t have helped last night,” I said quietly. “My pyjamas don’t have pockets.”

Mum nodded. “But you would have still had the bracelet. That would have been enough to get you home.”

I slid my fingers back and forth over the bracelet. “Maybe it would.”

Then I picked up the mail I’d dropped in my lap and handed the two letters to Mum.

“Before I forget, these came for you. And someone has kidnapped Nemo, the fridge magnet. We got a ransom letter.”

Mum took the ransom note from me and looked at it. “Oh! Whatever will we do? We can’t leave poor Nemo to suffer in the hands of these villains. I think we should do what they ask and cook some scones tomorrow.”

“Mum,” snorted Tara. “You were already going to make scones tomorrow, you told me this morning.”

“Well, we will have to make extra, won’t we?”

Mum handed the ransom note over to Tara who looked at it carefully.

“Why doesn’t Nana make her own if she wants scones so badly?” asked Tara.

“Now what would be the point of that when we’re making some anyway?” said Mum. “Besides, she’s busy all day and needs to take a plate of food to a thing she’s going to in the afternoon.”

“Did you tell Bridget you were going to be making scones?” asked Dad.

“I may have mentioned it yesterday,” replied Mum with a sly look on her face.

Dad groaned and shook his head. I think he decided to give up trying to make sense out of the whole business. He sat down in his easy chair and put his feet up on the coffee table.

“I think the fish in the bowl was wrong. The Cat in the Hat is the sanest person in this house. Wake me up when she’s old enough to be put in charge.”

Dad closed his eyes and did a really big fake snore.

Mum ignored Dad’s theatrics and looked at the mail I’d handed to her. She barely glanced at the electricity bill before dropping it on the coffee table and then opened the other envelope. Inside was a short letter and a couple of tickets. She read the letter to herself with a look of surprise on her face.

“Peter, do you remember entering a raffle for something called the Dupree Benevolent Society?”

Dad opened one and looked at her, then shrugged. “Nope, but I could have. I get hit up for those things all the time.” He closed his eye and snored again.

“Well, we didn’t win the main prize but we won two tickets to the opening of that new jazz bar on High Street next Monday evening. Finger food and champagne included. Sounds like a good night. Peter, we’re going. Make sure you wear your dancing shoes.”

“Yes, dear,” said Dad without opening his eyes.

She looked across at Tara and then back to me.

“Will you two girls be okay looking after Angie on Monday night? Dan will probably be working.”

“Sure, Mum,” we both answered – almost in unison. “Whatever,” Tara added.

Mum patted my hand and stood up.

“So! Do you have any homework to do?”

“Um!” I hesitated. “I guess.”

A little nerdy version of me jumped up and down in the back of my skull and let out a silent “Yippee!” Is it sad that a part of me gets excited about doing homework? The little nerd Bec had been forced to sit silently in the back of my skull for all of this time while I dealt with the chaos. Now she was excited to have her turn in the sun.

“Well!” said Mum. “Perhaps you should head into your bedroom and get some of it done.”

I nodded and stood up.

“Wait!” called Tara. She jumped up from the couch and stormed over to us.

“That’s it?” She was suddenly angry.

Okay! She’d been angry since I walked in the door. But now she was suddenly really angry.

“That’s it? Here’s your bracelet – there’s a good girl – now go do some homework?”

She glared at Mum. If this had been a cartoon there would have been steam coming out of her ears.

“If you’re not going to say anything, I will!”

She spun and glared at me.

“What were you thinking? Going out in the middle of the night like that. You could have been hurt. You could have been hit by a car. You could have been raped. You could have been killed.”

I looked down at the floor. “I know,” I whispered.

“Do you have any idea how freaked out The Parents were?” she screamed at me.

“Do you know they’ve been fighting all day about you?”

Fighting?

“That doctor of yours wanted to put you in hospital.”

What?

I stared at Mum in shock. She looked away. I stared at Dad. His eyes were open and he was watching me. I glared at Dad some more.

He started fidgeting and then cleared his throat.

“He suggested we think about it. We convinced him it wasn’t necessary. But it is something we had to think about seriously.”

“Think about?” shrieked Tara. “Think about? Since when does thinking about something involve screaming through the phone at each other? Mum was standing in the middle of the mall screaming into the phone. It was embarrassing. And you call that thinking about it?”

I was still looking down at the floor. Pearl’s nice shiny boots were all blurry.

Tara wasn’t finished. “The one you should be yelling at is her and all you say is go and do your homework. You two are unbelievable! If I snuck out in the middle of the night I’d be grounded for a year or shipped off to Siberia or whatever. Talk about favoritism! Worst Parents Ever!”

“Tara,” said Dad – his voice as hard as steel. Tara’s tirade chopped off like it had been cut with a knife.

“It’s time for you to go to your room,” said Dad a little more gently. “I’m sure you have homework to do as well. Feel free to rejoin us when you’ve calmed down a bit.”