Adults Only, Page 3

  Best that Mum and Dad not see it until the first of the kids from school and their families had arrived and were having a great time and were booking their holidays for next year and Mum and Dad could see that the island was going to be a massive success as a family holiday resort and that all their problems were over.

  Jake stayed hidden behind a pile of stuff covered with a tarpaulin while Mr Goff tied the boat up at the jetty. He didn’t want Dad suddenly appearing with the optometrists’ bags and seeing what he was up to.

  Mr Goff hauled a metal trolley out of the big luggage compartment behind the passenger cabin and came down the gangplank and over to the pile.

  Perfect, thought Jake. I can talk to Mr Goff here, behind this stuff, out of sight of the house.

  He stuck his head round the tarpaulin.

  ‘Psst,’ he said. ‘Mr Goff.’

  Mr Goff jumped and looked startled. Jake thought he looked a bit guilty as well, but Mr Goff was always glancing over his shoulder anyway, so Jake couldn’t be sure.

  ‘G’day Jake,’ said Mr Goff. ‘G’day Crusher.’

  ‘Mr Goff,’ said Jake, ‘can I have a word?’

  Mr Goff looked at him for a few moments. ‘Cauliflower,’ he said. ‘That’s a word, you can have that.’

  Jake smiled politely. Mr Goff had a strange sense of humour. Mum was always saying it was because he didn’t have a wife to teach him good jokes. Or explain to him that boat captains should wear blazers over their nautical jumpers and not jackets from worn-out grey suits.

  Jake glanced up at the house. No sign of Dad or the optometrists.

  ‘Mr Goff,’ said Jake, ‘I need to tell you something. Some families are going to be coming to stay on the island pretty soon. They won’t have the usual tickets, but if you could bring them over, they’ll be coming back lots of times in the future and buying tickets then. OK?’

  Jake waited while Mr Goff thought about this.

  ‘Families?’ said Mr Goff. ‘With children?’

  Jake couldn’t stop himself grinning. ‘Yes,’ he said happily.

  Mr Goff wasn’t grinning. He was frowning so hard his weather-battered face had more cracks in it than a dried-out cheese Easter egg.

  ‘This island isn’t for children,’ he said. ‘You should know that, you poor little dope.’

  Jake sighed. Mr Goff had obviously been reading Mum’s brochure for the island.

  ‘It’ll be OK,’ said Jake. ‘They’ll be with their parents. You won’t have to take responsibility for them. And they’ll be really well behaved and won’t get chewy on your white vinyl seats.’

  Jake couldn’t be sure about the last bit as he hadn’t seen his classmates for nearly a year, but they still sounded pretty well-behaved on the radio.

  Well, fairly.

  Mr Goff was looking doubtful, but Jake knew he’d come round. Nautical people just needed time to change course, like their boats. When Dad had asked Mr Goff to start catching him sea urchins and sea slugs as well as lobsters, Mr Goff hadn’t wanted to at first. He’d held out for days, right up until he’d found out how much Dad was prepared to pay him.

  ‘Thanks, Mr Goff,’ said Jake. ‘I’ll get out of your way now, because the optometrists’ll be here soon.’

  ‘I haven’t come for the optometrists,’ said Mr Goff. ‘I’m doing a garbage run.’

  He nodded at the stuff under the tarpaulin.

  Boy, thought Jake. Mr Goff’s really let it pile up this time.

  ‘I’ll give you a hand if you like,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ said Mr Goff. ‘Thanks anyway, both of you.’

  Jake thought he looked a bit furtive again as he said that, but it could have just been indigestion.

  ‘One more thing,’ said Jake.

  ‘What?’ said Mr Goff.

  ‘Have you taken on a deckhand?’ asked Jake. ‘A young trainee one?’

  Mr Goff stared at Jake, puzzled. Jake could see he was getting annoyed. Then Mr Goff’s expression softened.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘But if I ever do, you’ll be the first to know. Now, get lost.’

  As Jake walked up the path to the house, he had an idea. ‘When the island’s a big success as a family resort,’ he said to Crusher, ‘I’ll suggest to Mum that she should pay for Mr Goff to do a hospitality course.’

  Crusher thought it was a good idea.

  Jake lay behind the sand dune and checked his watch.

  Thirty minutes had passed.

  Time for another squiz.

  He stood up and peered over the dune.

  The beach was still empty.

  No girl.

  Jake flopped back down behind the dune.

  ‘OK, Crusher,’ he said. ‘I know you think I’m a dope.’

  Crusher was pretending to ignore him. He was lying on his tummy doing one of his favourite things. Staring at ants really hard trying to make them faint.

  ‘It was just an experiment,’ said Jake.

  It had been worth a try. To see if he could still see her. Even though he wasn’t feeling mental with loneliness any more.

  Crusher wasn’t saying anything. Jake knew what he was thinking. It won’t happen, Jake, he was thinking. You’ve been trying for three days.

  ‘You’re probably right, Crusher,’ said Jake. ‘But it helps pass the time while we’re waiting for the kids from school to arrive.’

  As soon as Jake came up the hill from the beach, he could see that something was wrong.

  Mum was at the top of a ladder at the front of the house.

  Her face was grimmer than he’d ever seen it.

  ‘Jake,’ she called. ‘Come here please.’

  It was the voice she’d used the time she’d caught a guest stealing sheets.

  As Jake went over to her, he prayed it was nothing serious. Just let her still be cross about the optometrists leaving early, he pleaded silently, or the pancake batter on the kitchen ceiling.

  Mum came down the ladder and opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, the lawnmower roared into life.

  Jake turned and stared.

  Dad was mowing the lawn. The lawn he’d mowed only two days ago. Why was he doing it again? Even now Spring was here, the grass didn’t grow that fast. And Dad hated mowing the lawn. He’d said recently he’d rather unclog a toilet in a guest’s ensuite than mow the lawn.

  And come to think of it, what was Mum doing up a ladder at eleven thirty in the morning? She always did office stuff in the morning, and washed sheets and unclogged guests’ ensuites.

  Then Jake saw something else that made him stare. Mum was holding a scrubbing brush and a bucket. And on the wall of the house, near one of the upstairs windows, was a small wet patch where she’d been scrubbing.

  This is crazy, thought Jake. They’re stone walls. They’ve got a hundred and twenty years worth of salt spray and wood smoke and dead moss and seagull poo on them. Cleaning a house this size with a scrubbing brush’ll take years.

  Something was going on.

  Mum put the bucket down and pulled a piece of paper from the back pocket of her jeans. She unfolded it and thrust it towards Jake.

  The wind coming off the ocean suddenly felt colder. Jake shivered. This wasn’t about the optometrists or the batter.

  Dad turned off the lawnmower and came over.

  ‘Jake,’ said Mum. ‘Did you send this?’

  Jake saw that printed on the piece of paper was his e-mail to the class.

  His guts felt colder than the wet stone Mum had been scrubbing.

  How had Mum and Dad found it? He’d deleted it. The only way they could have seen it was if… was if…

  His throat was suddenly dry with excitement.

  … someone had replied.

  He leant forward and tried to see more closely what else was on the piece of paper. He caught a glimpse of another printed e-mail.

  A reply.

  Yes.

  ‘Well,’ said Dad. ‘We’re waiting.’

  ‘Um,’ croake
d Jake. ‘Yes. I did.’ He pointed to the piece of paper. ‘I sent it to that person in my class.’

  ‘In your class,’ said Dad.

  Jake nodded.

  ‘Well,’ said Mum, ‘you must have got the address wrong, because it’s not someone in your class who’s replied.’

  Jake stared at her, trying to make sense of this.

  Then he got it. Some of his class lived on properties that were so big they had other people working there. Stockmen and shearers and those people who chop the testicles off livestock. One of them must have downloaded the e-mail while the family were away overnight at the video store.

  Jake glanced down at Crusher.

  Crusher was thinking the same thing he was. Please, please, please let the testicle-remover have kids.

  Jake looked at Mum. ‘The reply,’ he said. ‘Is it from a testicle-remover?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s from a magazine.’

  Jake squinted at her. A magazine?

  ‘A travel magazine,’ she said. ‘Your e-mail went to a travel magazine.’

  Jake digested this. Then he realised what must have happened. The travel magazine’s e-mail address must have been on the computer and he must have included it in his class mailing list by mistake.

  ‘They’re sending a journalist and a photographer to do an article about us,’ said Mum.

  Jake looked at Mum and Dad.

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ he asked warily.

  ‘Yes,’ said Dad, face grim. ‘It is good. It’s very good. It’s very very good.’

  Jake waited for Mum to take over.

  She didn’t.

  ‘That’s why,’ continued Dad, ‘we’re not going to punish you for trying to bring a family with children to the island. Even though it could have ruined us. Made us a joke in the adults-only hospitality industry. Had travel agents in six states wetting themselves at the mention of our name.’

  ‘Frank,’ said Mum. ‘Let me do it.’ She turned to Jake. ‘What Dad’s trying to say is we’re glad you sent the e-mail.’

  Jake felt confused. She didn’t look that glad.

  ‘This magazine,’ continued Mum, ‘is Australia’s most important travel magazine. It’s read all over the world. When they got your e-mail they looked us up in the travel directory. And they’re really excited. They’ve been looking for an adults-only holiday retreat with a difference to write about for a while.’

  ‘If it’s a good article,’ said Dad, ‘we’ll never have to worry about bookings again. Wealthy adults all over the world looking for top child-free accommodation will come flocking.’

  Jake wondered why Mum and Dad weren’t smiling.

  He knew why he wasn’t smiling.

  I’ve blown it, he thought miserably. I’ve blown my one chance to make this place a family holiday resort. There’ll never be any kids here now. I’m stupid. Very stupid. Very very stupid.

  He could feel Crusher in his hand, limp with despair.

  Then he discovered why Mum and Dad weren’t smiling.

  ‘The magazine people are on their way now,’ said Mum. ‘They rang this morning. They’ll be here this afternoon.’ She gave a stressed sigh. ‘A bit more notice would have been nice, but I suppose you don’t have to be considerate when you’re Australia’s most important travel magazine.’

  Jake’s head was spinning.

  ‘They probably didn’t want to give us a chance to go to any special trouble to impress them,’ said Dad.

  Mum and Dad looked up at the wet patch on the wall.

  ‘Did it come off?’ asked Dad.

  Mum nodded.

  Before Jake could ask ‘did what come off?’, he felt Dad’s hands on his shoulders.

  ‘Jake…’ said Dad.

  He hesitated. Jake saw him glance uneasily at Mum. She gave a little nod for Dad to continue. Jake knew what Dad was going to say next.

  ‘Um…’ said Dad, ‘You probably know what I’m going to say next.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Jake wearily, ‘I promise I won’t organise any more Easter egg hunts.’

  Mum and Dad looked at each other again.

  ‘That’s a good start,’ said Mum, ‘but I’m afraid we need you to promise more than that.’

  ‘Also,’ said Jake, ‘I’ll try really hard not to pester the magazine people.’

  ‘I’m afraid we need even more than that,’ said Dad. ‘The magazine people mustn’t see you. They mustn’t hear you. They mustn’t even smell you. They mustn’t have any idea you’re here. Not a peep, not a squeak, not an inkling. Understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jake quietly.

  ‘And that includes this,’ said Dad.

  Jake saw he was holding up a lump of pink bubblegum.

  ‘It was under the sink in the downstairs bathroom,’ said Dad. ‘Another thoughtless act like that, Jake, could finish us.’

  ‘Dad’s right,’ said Mum.

  Jake stared at the bubblegum.

  He’d never seen it before in his life.

  He opened his mouth to protest bitterly that it wasn’t his, that it must have belonged to one of the optometrists who was too lazy to go upstairs and stick it under his or her own sink, but before he could get the words out he saw Crusher giving him a look.

  Don’t bother, Crusher’s look was saying. They’ll never believe you. Grown-ups never believe a kid over an adult. Specially when the adult has been to university.

  Jake sighed. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured to Mum and Dad.

  ‘If these magazine people see a kid or a lump of bubblegum in an exclusive adults-only resort,’ said Dad, ‘we’ll be lucky to get one star out of five.’

  ‘It’s only for a few days,’ said Mum. ‘We can’t tell you how incredibly important this is. You do understand, love?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jake.

  Mum sighed a long and sad sigh, and Jake could see how desperately she wished the magazine people had given her more notice.

  He felt the same.

  He only had a few hours to send another message to all the kids at school and make sure they stayed away.

  5

  Jake tried to head straight for his room, but Mum made him go to the kitchen and clean the pancake batter off the ceiling.

  He sat Crusher on the top of the stepladder and scraped the ceiling with a cake knife.

  This is ridiculous, thought Jake. If they knew how urgently I need to get on that computer, they’d be up here doing this themselves.

  Perhaps he should tell them.

  ‘Should I confess?’ he asked Crusher. ‘Should I tell Mum and Dad I sent e-mails inviting all the kids in my class and not just one?’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ said Crusher. ‘They’re under enough stress as it is.’

  Jake nodded. Even though Crusher couldn’t actually talk, you could always rely on him to back up your gut feelings.

  ‘They’d only worry,’ continued Crusher. ‘About what’ll happen if you can’t get in touch with all the kids. And half the class turns up here with their brothers and sisters. And the magazine people see them and only give this place one star out of five for not being a real adults-only retreat. And the business goes broke and we all starve and have to catch seagulls and eat them raw with our hands and paws.’

  Sometimes, though, Crusher did use a bit too much detail.

  Jake carried on scraping. Just as he was reaching over to get a big blob above the fridge, he saw something through the fanlight window over the kitchen door.

  Dad, down the other end of the passage, coming up the steps from Jake’s room, carrying something.

  ‘My computer,’ squeaked Jake. ‘He’s got my computer.’

  Jake peered through the little window.

  Where was he taking it?

  Please, thought Jake. Don’t let it be broken. Don’t let Dad be sending it to the bloke on the mainland who repairs computers and lawnmowers.

  But Dad didn’t head for the jetty. He started lugging the computer up the stairs towards the gues
t rooms.

  Jake didn’t get it.

  ‘Back soon,’ he said to Crusher, and leapt off the ladder and hurried along the passage towards the stairs. And nearly bumped into Mum.

  ‘There you are, Jake,’ she said, almost too puffed to speak.

  She was carrying his TV.

  What was going on?

  ‘Jake,’ said Mum, ‘me and Dad want to give the magazine people the best standard of accommodation we can. We’ve put them in the Blue Room because it’s biggest and has the best view. And we’ve decided they should have a TV and computer in there as well. They might want to watch “The Simpsons”. Or write their article about us and e-mail it back to their office.’

  Jake stared, trying to take in what she was saying.

  ‘We’d have given them the TV from the lounge,’ continued Mum, ‘but then they couldn’t have watched TV downstairs. And we’d have given them the computer from the office, but we need that for bookings. Sorry, Jake. Don’t worry, though. Dad’s put all your computer files safely onto disk.’

  For a second Jake felt like going back to the kitchen and switching the blender on really high and splattering pancake batter over most of the house.

  Instead he took a deep breath and reminded himself why Mum and Dad were doing this.

  To save the family.

  He saw that Mum was almost dropping his TV. He hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the other end of it and shared the weight.

  ‘Thanks, love,’ said Mum.

  She started climbing the stairs and Jake hung onto his end of the TV and shuffled after her.

  ‘One other thing, Jake,’ panted Mum. ‘To make sure the magazine people don’t see you, me and Dad want you to stay in your room for the next few days. I know it’s a bit extreme, and I promise it won’t ever happen again, but we think that’ll be safest, OK?’

  Jake didn’t say anything. He took another deep breath. Then he tried to get his mind back onto more important things.

  ‘Thanks for being understanding,’ Mum went on. ‘I’m sure the time’ll pass quickly. You’ve got your books and your Gameboy and I’ll make you special meals. It’ll be an adventure. You can use a bucket for a toilet.’

  Jake didn’t reply. He was too busy trying to work out how long it would take Dad to install the TV and computer in the blue room. If Dad didn’t muck around, there should still be time to e-mail the class to stay away.