Page 31 of A Country Practice Christmas
Shit, wherewasn’the? Just as he was about to typeMeet me behind the banh mi stall, the walkie-talkie in the back pocket of his shorts squawked with the ominous words: ‘Will, we have a situation at the portaloos. Need you here ASAP.’
He sighed, put his phone away, said, ‘On my way,’ into the walkie-talkie, then set off. The evening’s drama had arrived.
The market committee volunteer who’d called him was the drama teacher from the high school, Merv O’Connor. The guy looked flustered when Will reached the patch of grass where Merv was waiting.
‘It’s jammed, Will. The door. I’ve tried a knife, but these bloody things …’ He lifted the mangled remains of one of the bamboo knives from the food stalls. ‘And this kid—’ he jerked his head in the direction of a grubby youth wearing a zippered black outfit that made him look like a gangster in training—or a child celebrity rapper, perhaps—‘reckons his mum’ll have his guts if he loses Bindi.’
‘Bindi being?’
The kid looked up at him. ‘My sister.’
Hmm. ‘How old’s your sister, mate?’
‘Four.’
‘And she went to the loo by herself?’
The kid shrugged with just one shoulder. It was a slick move, which Will inferred meant ‘whatever’ and ‘um, actually, yes I’ve been super dumb’ and ‘it’s not my fault’ and ‘please help me’ all in the one go.
‘She got a phone?’
‘Mister, I’m eleven and even I don’t have a phone. Mum and Dad are weird like that.’
‘Tough break,’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Jackson.’
Will knocked a rat-a-tat-tat on the portaloo door and then listened. A second later, an answering tat-tat sounded. ‘Well, that’s a good sign.’ He leaned in close to the crack in the door. ‘Bindi? My name’s Will. I’m the boss here. Can you unlock the door?’
‘Nope. I’m stuck.’
He examined the outside of the lock. Merv had been onto something with that knife. There was a horizontal groove that looked like it would do the trick. ‘Merv,’ he said.
‘Yep? Want me to call the Rural Fire Service?’
He chuckled. Merv was in the right profession, that was for sure. ‘I don’t think we’re there yet, Merv. Great idea, though, if my plan doesn’t work out. I was thinking maybe a real knife from the kitchen or a screwdriver.’
‘Oh! Well, sure, we could give that a go, I suppose.’
‘You reckon you could go find Fergus—he’s the Irish kid working the bar—and ask him for a flathead from the pub toolbox? A biggish one. I’ll hang here with Jackson and Bindi.’
‘You got it.’
He and Jackson had just about exhausted chit chat about whether Jackson was enjoying the markets (shrug) and which food stall the family were going to choose for dinner (‘Dunno’) when a woman appeared from the shadows.
Jodie. With a screwdriver in her hand. A hallelujah moment on two counts.
‘Heard you were being a Hero Boy again, Will,’ she said, grinning.
‘You know me. Always looking for an opportunity to look good.’ He took the large flathead screwdriver from Jodie’s hand and used the handle to tap on the portaloo door again.
‘You okay in there, Bindi?’
‘I’m still trapped and somebody’s gotta wipe my bum.’
Will winced. ‘Sounds like a job for you, mate,’ he said to Jackson over his shoulder.
Jackson’s sigh was audible. ‘Little sisters are so annoying.’
