Hostage Read Online Free PDF Page A

the pharmacy. She said you were quite a regular customer.’
    ‘Oh. Her. Sure. I know her.’
    ‘Ms Bukor mentioned she had suspected you of shoplifting on more than one occasion.’
    ‘And I suspect her of impersonating a human being. Maybe we were both wrong? I need to go to the loo.’
    ‘Could you tell me what happened to the bag after the hold up?’ The officer sat still, pen poised over his notepad.
    ‘The what?’
    ‘The drugs and money that were stolen from the pharmacy.’
    Tully laughed then stopped when no one joined in. ‘What are you talking about?’
    ‘As I stated at the beginning of the interview, we are investigating an armed robbery and abduction. At this point we are trying to ascertain the nature of the abduction.’
    Tully felt her aunt lean in closer to her but this time she drew comfort from Laney’s presence. ‘I need to pee. Do you want to clean up the mess or can I go to the toilet?’

10
    Tully’s Story
    Have you ever stopped to think about toilets? Toilets and change rooms. I spend a lot of time in them so I guess you could say I am an expert. The smell of a girls’ change room is hard to describe. There’s musk and rose and vanilla. There’s baby talc and Nordic pine and cigarette smoke. And sweat. Lots of girly sweat. Stinky shoes. Damp towels and old socks.
    People are pigs. They’re pigs. I know we have cleaners at the school—I’ve seen them cleaning up at the end of the day—but by the time I get to the change room the next day there’s always those little square bits of white paper on the wet floor. The liquid soap is empty because someone’s tried to write a message with it on the bench. The bin is overflowing onto the floor.
    You can learn a lot about a person by what they do in the change rooms.
    Rumours and secret meetings and birthday celebrations all take place in our gym change rooms. There’s this girl at school who does her best work in the change rooms. She is one of those people. The kind that smile while their eyes dart all over you looking for a place to stick the knife. I don’t mean a real knife. Worse than that. Her name is Ravel or Ramel or Camel—I’m never quite sure, so I try not to call her anything.
    It was the last week before September holidays and after that there were only two weeks left of revision time before exams. I probably should have been in class but couldn’t stand the end-of-the-world theme the teachers had going for students like me who hadn’t done any work all year.
    Ravel found me in the change rooms halfway through Period Two. The change rooms were filled with the bags of Year 8 PE girls and what looked like the Year 12 Outdoor Ed girls’ gear. So I wasn’t surprised to see Ravel rock up in her sports uniform. Her hair, pulled back in a messy golden ponytail, was bouncing even after she’d stopped nodding her head at me. She was a prancing Shetland pony. More like a pony than a camel. I wished I had a spare apple to shove in her mouth.
    ‘Hey, here you are,’ she said.
    ‘Yep,’ I agreed.
    Ravel leaned against a wall and pulled her foot up behind her to stretch out her thigh. I knew that she wanted me to ask her what she’d been doing, so I didn’t.
    ‘I just wanted to explain about that thing at my house—at the start of Schoolies,’ she said finally.
    ‘Hmmm?’
    ‘It’s just a gathering,’ she said. ‘Just small. So, you know, maybe next time.’
    ‘I’m sorry...’ She was making no sense and I wanted her to leave.
    ‘The MySpace invite? I stuffed up. It wasn’t for everyone. My bad.’
    ‘Umm, sure Camel, whatever. You have fun.’
    I saw her face in the mirror as I walked into a toilet cubicle. She looked confused.
    ‘I’d better get on with it,’ she said lamely.
    ‘Nice hair,’ I murmured as the door snapped behind me.
    R, why don’t you answer my texts? Meet me in sports equip room at lunch. PLEASE. W.

11
    September
    Nathan leaned his head out the car window, his trademark yellow hoodie