It took me a while to work out what the first sheet of paper was all about. It was some sort of document for the Council, a planning application, but it was so complicated, and the longer I kept looking at it the more nervous I got, so that made it harder and harder to concentrate. I recognised the name of our property, and the map on the third page was definitely our place, but it seemed to be called something else: Kelsey Resort, the Gateway to the Mountains.
I couldn’t make any more sense of it, and I skipped anxiously to the next lot of papers. I tried to concentrate. Riffling through them I saw one that caught my eye, because it was handwritten. It was signed Murray, and addressed to someone called Kelvin. Mr Rodd’s first name was Kelvin. The first sentence was ‘Don’t worry about it mate, I’ve got her wrapped up tighter than a Sumo jockstrap’.
I’d lost any sense of how much time had passed. Over against the wall was a photocopier. I grabbed the letter and the next few pages and rushed to it. Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. I’ve never understood that expression. Why is a sheep more guilty than a lamb? I thought it should be ‘Might as well be hung for a wolf as a lamb’.
I slapped the first page onto the copier and stabbed at the green button. The machine took forever. The light slowly slid across, blinding me for a moment. I did four more but although I still had a few pages in my hand the tension was too much. This was worse than being upstairs in a house watching gunmen coming along the corridor to kill you. I raced back to the folder and shoved the papers in, trying to get them into some vaguely neat shape.
I heard a voice from outside, and a footstep. I sprang away from the desk, trying to get as close to the opposite wall as I could. The door swung open. Mrs Samuels came in, followed immediately by Mr Sayle. He looked cross, she was red-faced and apologising. She didn’t look at me; her eyes went straight to the folder. Mr Sayle, however, came across to me with both arms out. ‘Ellie! Very nice to see you. I’ve been hearing about your heroics. Well done. Come in.’
He ushered me into the office. As we went in I suddenly realised that in rushing to put the originals back in the folder I’d left the copies on the tray of the machine.
I know I went white, and my mind went blank. I sat numbly in the chair and I hardly heard the first two or three minutes of what he said. How could I get the papers back? What if Mrs Samuels found them? Had she meant me to see that folder? But even if she had, it didn’t mean I was allowed to photocopy them. Geez, I was in a tough spot. And I couldn’t think of a single way out of it.
Then Mr Sayle caught my attention. He was pushing some papers at me. ‘The company’s called Kelsey Pty Ltd, but don’t take any notice of that. It’s just a private company who’ll take it off your hands and let you live in town with your debts paid and enough left over to rent a place.’
My mind still racing furiously, I took the papers and tried to read them.
‘What is this?’ I asked stupidly.
‘Well, as I said, it’s a contract of sale. Just a copy for your records. You’ll have the money in ninety days.’
‘What money?’
He frowned and sat back in his big swivelling leather armchair. ‘Ellie, I’m very busy. I can’t keep repeating myself. All you need to know is that the property has been sold, not for the kind of money that we would have liked, but beggars can’t be choosers.’
I stood and hurled the papers back at him.
‘I’m not a fucking beggar,’ I said.
I started walking out, then decided that I really needed the contract after all. Without looking at him I went back and picked up the pages from his desk. He stayed sitting there, rigid. From the corners of my eyes I saw his white knuckles. I thought, ‘At least I can get out and try to grab the stuff from the photocopier.’ But just as I got to his door he jumped up and came after me.
‘Look, Ellie,’ he said, ‘this is ridiculous. There’s simply no need for this kind of unpleasantness. I’m sorry I used the word “beggar”. It’s just an expression.’
By now we were out in the reception area. Mrs Samuels stared at us like her eyes were ping-pong balls. She had such a guilty expression that I thought, ‘If Mr Sayle takes one look at her he’ll know she’s been up to something.’ I probably looked pretty guilty myself. I just had to get to the photocopier. I couldn’t leave that office with the papers sitting in the out tray. It’d cost Mrs Samuels her job. And I needed whatever information was in the documents to try to stop this stunt Mr Sayle was pulling on me.
All I could think of was a completely outrageous bluff. I got myself close to the copier then rounded on Mr Sayle. In as angry a voice as I could manage I yelled, ‘I’ve got one thing to say to you and I’m going to put it in writing!’
I grabbed a sheet of blank paper from the feed tray for the copier, took a pen out of my pocket and, using the copier as a desk, started writing as fast as I could. I had no idea what I was going to say and I knew it didn’t matter much. I scrawled something like ‘You are never to sell my property, never, never, never’. I signed it Ellie Linton, then screamed at him, ‘And I’m going to take a copy home with me, to prove it.’
I don’t know what I was supposed to be proving, but using my body as a shield between Mr Sayle and the out tray I ran the note through the photocopier. Then I opened the top again, threw the original at Mr Sayle to distract him, grabbed the whole pile of papers from the out tray, trying to make it look like it was just one sheet, and stormed out through the door so fast that I was just a blur of movement.
I have never in my life been so totally embarrassed, but I also knew I’d got away with it.
CHAPTER 24
Gavin was in tantrum territory, and looked likely to be there for quite some time. What is it with guys and tantrums? I mean, not counting me with Mr Sayle, most girls have grown out of them by the age of four. I think for boys it’s around twenty, maybe: best case scenario.
The problem was that Homer had officially invited me to join Liberation, but he’d done it in front of Gavin. Gavin hadn’t quite figured out who or what Liberation was — neither had I for that matter — but he knew they were to do with fighting the enemy, and they were to do with Homer and Lee, and it was a secret society where either you were in or you were out.
That was enough for him. But to make matters worse, when he asked if he could join, Homer said, ‘No, you’re too young.’
This was not helpful, and not really fair, as Gavin had proved time and time again how brave and useful he was. But other people wouldn’t understand that, and I could see how Gavin might lower the average age of the Liberation members by a year or so.
Homer had delivered the invitation as we sat around the kitchen table after lunch Saturday afternoon. ‘They’ll understand if you don’t want to,’ he said, ‘but they’d love it if you did. Face it, you’ve been involved in exactly half the stuff they’ve done in the last couple of months.’
‘Would I get to find out who the Scarlet Pimple himself is?’ I asked.
‘Hmm, maybe. You might be that lucky,’ he said, smiling like there was a secret joke going on. I wondered, not for the first time, if Homer himself was the Pimpernel.
That’s when Gavin announced that he wanted to join, and Homer brushed him off with the ‘you’re too young’ bit.
The kitchen table was the place for so many of our — wait for it, another of my favourite words coming up — confabulations. Gavin stood up, shoved the chair back, looked for a moment like he was going to cry, then kicked the chair over, swept everything within reach onto the floor and headed for the door, pausing only to chuck a half- empty jar of SPC raspberry jam at Homer, who caught it one-handed without blinking.
‘That was tactful of you,’ I said.
From the other end of the house I heard a door slam as Gavin sealed himself off from the world.
Homer shrugged. ‘It’s the truth. Anyway, he just proved he’s not old enough. Anyone who acts like that isn’t ready for what we do.’
‘Oh, cut him some slack,’ I said, getting up. ‘He’s done more in his short life than most people do in a
