He stepped out into the corridor, what he thought of as the highway of the building, and was surprised to find himself its sole occupant. To his right was the reception and principal’s office at the main entrance. To his left, the staff room and emergency fire exit at the rear. The classrooms abutting the corridor reminded him of prison cells lining death row. He couldn’t wait to get out of here quick enough.
After locking the door, he hastened as fast as his tired body would allow toward the main entrance. Halfway there, he heard the click of a shutting door from behind. He turned around to see the rotund figure of his friend, Norman Page, exiting his classroom. As well as the cream cardigan and beige trousers he was wearing, he carried a grey tatty coat over the crook of one arm and a taupe leather briefcase under the armpit of the other. Michael had once seen inside that briefcase. It was filled with nothing apart from nudie magazines and candy bars. Norman locked his classroom and looked up at Michael. There was a frown deeply embedded in his brow, which Michael reckoned was as permanent as his stubby nose and double chin.
“You look wonderful, my friend,” Michael said, smiling.
Norman grabbed his belt and hoisted his trousers over his over-hanging belly. “And you’re a very handsome woman,” he replied in his best Elvis Presley impersonation.
Michael thought the lip-curl lingered on his face like a poorly reconstructed harelip. He watched Norman turn and waddle towards the staff room. After a few steps the large man halted, sensing that Michael wasn’t following, and turned around to confront him.
“Are you coming to the staff meeting or not?” he asked.
Michael kept smiling as he had. “Not today, Mr. Page. I’ve got a get-out-of-jail-free card.”
Norman’s shoulders slumped and he almost dropped his briefcase. Michael could see he was having problems figuring out how he could get away once again whilst everyone else had to stay behind. Norman was always complaining that Michael was the headmistress’s pet. It drove Norman mad. He was always late in the mornings and missing meetings, while Norman was never late and yet was forever under the watchful eye of his superiors. Norman felt that no matter what he did, everything always went pear-shaped. Michael, he was forever grumbling, was luckier. Everything always seemed to work out for him, as if the gods were always on his side. Michael had to disagree. Norman didn’t know the problems he was facing at home.
“But, but how can you?” Norman said, still obviously flummoxed. “It’s out of the question. You can’t leave before Frau Hitler gives her orders for the month.” He clicked his heals together, dropped his coat, and gave a Nazi salute. “Vee must obey! Resistance is futile!” His fake German accent echoed around the corridor and Michael hoped no one else had heard, especially the headmistress. It would just be Norman’s luck if she had.
“Then call me nobody, mein Kommidant,” Michael said, looking at his watch. “I’ve got an important rendezvous in an hour. Angie won’t let me get out of it.”
Norman lowered his arm. “Sure, you’re off to enjoy yourselves while your poor friend suffers at the hands of a sadist. Don’t desert me like this Mikey, you know I can’t cope alone. I’m always the sacrificial lamb. Why can’t it be someone else for a change?”
The look on Norman’s face was almost pitiful. If Norman knew what he was about to do, Michael thought, then he probably wouldn’t complain so vociferously. If he himself had a choice, he would gladly exchange places with Norman right now.
Michael bade farewell and left his friend to pick up his coat and attend the meeting. “Mikey, I almost forgot,” he heard Norman say before he exited through the main doors. “Bridget’s cooking for Thanksgiving tonight. She asked if you and Angie would be interested in coming over later.”
“Thanksgiving? Who celebrates that?” Michael said with his hand on the door.
Norman shrugged. “We do. Bridget’s father was a US Marine. He settled in Sydney after the war and we’ve kind of kept up the family tradition.”
Michael took a moment to consider the offer. “I don’t know, Norman. I’m not sure how long this thing’s going to take. Can I call you later?”
“Sure, if I’m still alive to take your call.”
Rolling his eyes, Michael waved goodbye and strode outside. The main entrance opened onto the basketball court-cum-quadrangle. Beyond and to the left was the teachers’ parking lot. The threatened drizzle he had seen from the classroom had materialized into light rain and he was forced to break into a trot. He cursed. This incessant weather was beginning to really get on his nerves of late. He was beginning to feel permanently damp, as though his clothes were always wet.
As he reached the parking lot, the sky visibly darkened and the rain began to fall in heavy drops. He cursed again. He spied the faded yellow paintwork of the VW parked between two other cars and began running to it. He jumped in and slotted the key in the ignition, grateful to get out of the rain. Annoyingly, the steam lifting from his soggy clothes fogged the windows almost straight away, and when he turned the key he felt a sudden chill, more than he expected wet clothes should, like he had just sat down inside a freezer. He began to shiver and his teeth chattered uncontrollably, and right at the moment the engine sputtered into life the image of Angie twitching and drooling on the ground flashed before him.
Once again the unnerving premonition of dread washed over him. A voice suddenly popped into his head, hushed and frightened, as if narrating the image: Someth’ns wrong with Angie. I think she’s dyin’, Mikey.
He slammed the gear stick in reverse and accelerated back. “Please don’t let anything be wrong with her,” he mumbled. Except, to his dismay, no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t erase that image of her from his mind.
He sped through the gates out of the school grounds. The idea of going to the hospital suddenly didn’t seem so bad.
CHAPTER 3
MICHAEL DROVE EAST in the fast lane along ANZAC Highway, heading toward the city from the coast and pretty much against the flow of rush hour traffic. The windscreen wipers swayed back and forth, sweeping away the drizzle that blurred his vision. The streetlights were already on and every car was driving with their headlights blazing.
Out of habit, he glanced at the dashboard clock. It hadn’t worked since Angie passed the car on to him when she inherited the Corolla from her parents, permanently stuck at three seventeen, but he didn’t need to know the time to know that he was running late. Hoping he wouldn’t encounter any speed traps, he pushed the throttle and weaved in and out of the traffic until, elbow-like, the road kinked northeast and he came to a halt at a red light.
The opposite side of the intersection was a vista of green. Michael had read in a guidebook that one of the charms of Adelaide were the vast parklands that completely framed the city, enabling the visitor to escape the bustle of the city center and experience the serenity of the countryside. ANZAC Highway forged its way through this sylvan rim like a grey river slicing through a forest. Lining both sides were imposing eucalypts, which were now swaying haphazardly in the gusty, drizzly wind. About a kilometer or so further on, the road abruptly terminated at a jagged wall of glass and cement. Of all the city buildings, the State Bank Building where Angie worked on the nineteenth floor was by far the tallest. It reminded him of a jutting middle finger on a hand in which all others were bent at the knuckle, that petulant one-finger gesture favored by most