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only a phone call away from Melbourne, Dad had said. I desperately wanted to hear his voice now. ‘But, Gran, can’t we ring Dad? Please.’
    â€˜Maybe. I know you miss him, love, but he’ll be busy at work. Let’s get the news update tonight and then you can phone him.’
    I sat at the kitchen table while Gran went off to dry her hair and get dressed. Poor Mum. Her and Dad were both so far away. I thought of what it was like when we all lived together. And I thought of how Lucky seemed to understand how I hated them fighting. I scribbled a poem on the back of Gran’s shopping list. I’d write it in my poetry journal later.
    Day 3 - A Fight
    Mum and Dad are in the kitchen
    shouting
    I’m under the pear tree
    I don’t want to hear the words
    neither does Lucky
    he’s got his head on my knee
    his ears down
    Gran is one of those people who makes you feel better just by coming into the room. When she came back and I’d sobbed out a few more concerns and she’d made us both a piece of toast, the whole situation didn’t seem quite so bad. We decided the only thing we could do was wait for Sylvia’s phone call that evening. Gran said it was no use worrying over milk we weren’t even sure had been spilt. But I could tell she was worried. As she left the kitchen to go and get dressed, she put the empty milk carton in the fridge and tossed out the fresh one. She didn’t even notice when it thumped to the bottom of the bin.

Chapter 9

    Yesterday dragged on for so long, it felt like the sun had got stuck up in the sky. Another day without Lucky and waiting for the evening – the time Sylvia said she would ring with more news about Mum – was agony. I couldn’t settle to do anything. Not even the book of jokes Mum gave me for Christmas could keep my mind off her. And Gran cooked one of my favourite meals – meatballs in tomato sauce – for dinner, but I hardly touched it.
    Then Sylvia didn’t even ring. All that agony for nothing. I went to bed at eleven o’clock. Gran wouldn’t let me stay up any later, even though I begged her.
    â€˜I’ll let you know if we get any news,’ she said. ‘Go to bed and get some sleep.’
    Yeah, Gran – as if .
    I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep thinking about Mum. And it had been four whole days since Lucky went missing. I’d been back to the police station and the pound every day. At two o’clock in the morning my thoughts were darker than the night outside and my chest ached from loneliness. I tried to think of something funny to cheer myself up, and wrote a poem about the Muffin Incident .
    Day 4 - Afternoon Tea
    I arrive home from school
    to a cinnamon smell –
    Mum’s in the kitchen
    going nuts
    Lucky’s in the corner
    ears flat
    tail between his legs
    Mum’s best plate
    is in pieces
    on the floor
    and there’s no sign
    of the muffins
    The night seemed even longer than the day. I’m sure I was awake for most of it and, when I wasn’t, I dreamt about telephones in all sorts of strange places, ringing so loudly I woke up a couple of times with my heart pounding.
    And in the middle of the night, the silence in our hallway was unbearable.
    That’s why, when I heard the first bird chirp before dawn, I knew I had to get to the river. I needed to get away from the worry of waiting for the phone to ring.
    The river, first thing in the morning, is like magic. The dewdrops on the grass and leaves remind me of mini-suns, with their white light glistening from rainbow centres. I love to breathe in the air that still has some of the night smell of river mud and eucalyptus left in it. When I’m at home in Melbourne, sometimes I lie in bed with my eyes closed and imagine this exact spot. I conjure up the morning river smell and it brings me here when I need to come.
    When we came up for Grandpa’s funeral I spent ages at the river, sitting on my