January (8 page)

We wheeled our bikes onto the narrow front verandah of Boges’s old terrace house, leaning them against the wall near the front door. Boges pushed it open and we went inside.

Today, his gran was asleep in the first bedroom, just visible through the partly open door. She was lying on a sagging bed, snoring softly. She’d never really left the old country, Mrs Michalko used to say. And sometimes I’d hear Boges speaking to her in Ukrainian, like he
did with his mum. Boges was the only male in his house, same as me, now.

Boges opened the freezer and pulled out an ice-block.

‘Hey,’ I said, holding out my hand. ‘Where are your manners?’

He grabbed another and tossed it to me.

Once in his room, we pushed the old beanbag out of the way.

Boges read the photocopy of the doctor’s letter. He handed it back to me without saying a word.

‘The specialists said that as Dad got worse,’ I explained, ‘the connections in his brain stopped working properly so he couldn’t say or write what he meant—all he could do was draw.’ I paused, wondering whether I should continue. ‘I really think he was trying to tell me something important. He wrote me that other letter I showed you, before he got really sick, back when he was in Ireland. But by the time he came home, his mind was all shot. See, I had this massive feeling, especially at the end when Dad was almost completely paralysed … He’d lock onto me with his eyes and they’d follow me as I moved. Dr Edmundson said it was just a
mechanical
movement—that Dad’s eyes automatically followed moving objects. I—I don’t know. I think
there was more to it.’

Boges started scratching the back of his head. He wasn’t often lost for words, but the
head-scratch
had become a dead giveaway.

‘Do you think this nurse is the woman that rang you?’ he asked.

‘Could be.’

‘What exactly was your dad doing in Ireland?’

‘He was there for the conference, but he was also researching family history—not just our family—for an upcoming TV series on some Irish families and how they lived from medieval times right up to today.’

‘Genealogies,’ Boges nodded. ‘Like how some have been successful while others have kind of died out.’

‘Right,’ I said.

‘So while he was researching he found out something incredible about your family. But what?’ Boges looked hard at me. ‘The drawings
are
important,’ he said. ‘They are the way in.’

‘The way in? To
what
?’

‘That’s what we’re gonna have to work out. But we have to find them first.’

I kept thinking about Dad all the way home. It was early Tuesday night, and normally, when
Dad was alive, I’d have on my Air Cadet uniform and we’d be driving out to the airfield. I was hoping to have my private licence in a few years. Those days were over. Now, everything had changed—and so had I.

I went straight down to my room and put the letter and the key away, and then I heard Mum come home.

I went out to the kitchen.

‘How are you feeling, hon?’ she asked.

‘OK,’ I said, still thinking about my conversation with Boges. ‘Mum, before he got sick, did Dad tell you anything about discovering something about our family?’

‘What do you mean?’

I wasn’t sure what I meant really. ‘Something unusual? Something that might—I don’t know—cause a problem?’

Mum looked puzzled. She shook her head. ‘Not as far as I know. Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, it’s nothing. I was just wondering about the time Dad spent in Ireland, doing that family research stuff. What did the solicitor want?’

Mum sighed. ‘Just more documents to sign. Your dad wasn’t very good at organising his business. It’s a bit of a mess, really.’

Mum suddenly started crying, holding onto the bench with one hand, pushing tears out of her eyes with the other.

I put my arms around her. ‘Mum,’ I said, ‘tell me if there’s anything I can do to help.’

‘Oh Cal, some days I’m OK. Other days …’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘Me too.’

She blew her nose and straightened up. ‘I asked Rafe about that envelope you wanted.’

‘And?’

‘He said he could see that it was official paperwork from the hospital, so he just took it. He didn’t want to worry you.’

‘Did he say what was in it?’

‘Just some medical reports, apparently. Copies of the last tests that Dr Edmundson made. For the UVI—you know, the unknown viral infection, that killed your father.’

Liar.

‘Well, did Dad ever say anything to you about something called the Ormond Riddle?’ I asked.

‘Who told you about that?’ Rafe’s voice made me jump. I swung round. He’d crept in behind me, quiet as a cat, and was standing in the
doorway
, just like Dad used to, wearing Dad’s face as
if he’d stolen it and put it on crookedly.

‘No-one. I just heard about it.’

‘Where?’

‘I dunno.’ I shrugged, trying to look ignorant.

‘I want to know where you heard about it!’

‘Rafe?’ Mum interrupted. ‘What’s the matter? What’s with the interrogation?’ She tried to make a joke of it but Rafe glared at me. Did he know about me busting into his place?

‘I just saw something about it on the net,’ I lied.

‘Come on, Rafe,’ Mum said, ‘everyone’s still a bit touchy. Sit down and let me get dinner on.’

‘Thanks, Winifred. I don’t mean to sound like an interrogator, but I’m worried about you, Cal.’

‘You have been through a lot,’ said Mum putting her hand on mine, while flashing a look of approval at my uncle.

‘Uncle Rafe is only trying to be helpful, aren’t you, Rafe?’

‘That’s right, son.’

I looked at him and his eyes were cold. I nearly said, ‘I’m not your son’, but I shut my mouth. I knew it would just upset Mum. I hurried to my room and picked up Dad’s last letter from Ireland, before going back out to the kitchen. Mum and Rafe were whispering about me, I was sure. They both looked up when I announced,
‘I’m going out.’

‘Where, out?’ Mum asked.

‘Boges’s.’

‘But haven’t you just come back from there? What about dinner?’

‘I’ll have it later,’ I said as I slipped out the door.

‘He’s a bloody liar!’ I said as soon as Boges opened his front door. ‘He completely lied to Mum about what was in the envelope he pinched!’

‘That proves it, then.’

‘Proves what?’

‘How important the envelope is. How
important
the drawings are. Your dad said that his discovery would change history—that’s a big claim, my man, and those drawings are your only hope right now. They’re your dad’s last will and testament. To you.’

‘What could he possibly have found out? The crazy guy kept warning me about the Ormond Singularity,’ I said. ‘What is that?!’

‘I don’t know. But it sure sounds like
something
that could put your family in danger. The stakes are always high when there’s big money involved.’

Big money. I never thought my family would have anything to do with something that involved big money.

‘Maybe Rafe thinks that he should have been sent the drawings, not me,’ I said. ‘And so he kept them. Mum always used to say that he was jealous of Dad.’

‘Jealous? What of?’

I shrugged. ‘Dad was always the stronger twin, older by a few minutes, and Mum reckons Uncle Rafe always resented him when they were growing up. Sibling rivalry, she called it.’

‘He might have taken a look inside the envelope on his way into the house,’ said Boges, ‘seen the drawings and decided to keep them. He might have told you about them later. Now we’ll never know.’

I didn’t want Rafe working out the messages in the drawings before us. But at least I had the transparent sheet, with the names G’managh and Kilfane, that I found in Dad’s suitcase. Rafe didn’t know about that. Not that I had any idea where that fitted in, or whether it fitted in at all.

I didn’t know what was going on with Rafe. All I knew was that I didn’t trust him.