Sheep on the Fourth Floor Read online

  ‘I am not a geek,’ said Kurt, scowling at Duggie.

  ‘Look at you in your fancy posh-school uniform,’ said Duggie, pointing with a blackened finger. ‘Stripy tie and girlie blazer. You look like an accountant or something.’

  Kurt looked down at his uniform and loosened his tie a little more. ‘Well, it’s not like I wanted to go to Hillary College,’ he explained, pushing his knee-high socks further down with his foot. ‘I didn’t think I’d actually win that scholarship, or I wouldn’t have even sat the stupid exam. I wanted to go to Stanwick High like you did.’

  Duggie sighed and turned back to the engine. ‘Whatever. Now bugger off; you’re annoying me.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m not a geek,’ said Kurt angrily. He threw his school bag roughly to the ground and fumbled around inside it. ‘See! I got this yesterday. So there!’

  Duggie uncurled his lanky body from the engine. He stood up and stared at the large bar of chocolate Kurt was holding out. He itched his nose and frowned. ‘What are you on about now, Brains?’

  ‘Don’t call me Brains!’ said Kurt through gritted teeth. ‘I got this a couple of days ago. I…nicked it.’ Kurt offered the chocolate to Duggie. Duggie said nothing. He took the chocolate slowly from Kurt, still frowning.

  Kurt’s eyes darted from the chocolate to his brother’s face and back. He folded his arms and dropped his shoulders, trying to look indifferent, but he couldn’t stop chewing on his lower lip. Surely now Duggie would realize that his younger brother wasn’t just a freak with a brain that soaked up and stored information like a super-computer. He wasn’t just a talented sportsman on the first eleven soccer team and in the top school junior tennis team and in the chess club. He wasn’t just a boy who collected A-plus school reports like other kids collected rugby cards. He wasn’t a geek or a brain. Now Duggie would realize that his brother was a brave dude, a tough dude; someone he wouldn’t mind hanging around with at the weekends. Someone cool enough to tinker under the orange car with the wicked-looking tools. Maybe now Duggie would make time to go mountain biking with him again, on the steep and treacherous tracks around the Peraki Crater, like he used to.

  Kurt wondered why Duggie was still staring at the chocolate looking puzzled, rather than grinning deviously and slapping him on the back.

  The roar of motorbike engines made them both look up. Kurt watched as Duggie’s friends, Max and Aaron, parked their bikes and dismounted. Kurt couldn’t wait until he was old enough to get a motorbike, just so he could take off his helmet and shake his head the way Aaron and Max did. Although he wasn’t sure yet about getting a snake tattooed around his arm, like Max, or letting his hair grow so long that he could put it in a ponytail, like Aaron. Mind you, he wouldn’t mind having jet-black hair like Aaron instead of the mousy blah both he and Duggie had inherited. Aaron and Max sloped up to the orange car.

  ‘Hey, y’all, wassup?’ said Aaron. He walked up to Duggie and they casually punched each other’s knuckles. Kurt felt brave. He held his fist out to Aaron. Aaron paused and frowned, then punched Kurt’s knuckles.

  Kurt beamed with delight. ‘Wassup, Aaron?’ he said, feeling immeasurably cool.

  His pleasure was short-lived.

  ‘Shut up, geek-boy!’ Duggie snapped. He turned to Aaron and Max. ‘You won’t believe what this little twerp has gone and done now!’

  ‘What’s Brains been up to?’ said Max, putting his hands on his hips. ‘Has he made an atom bomb in the back yard?’

  ‘I know, he’s finally been elected Prime Minister,’ said Aaron. He turned and bowed to Kurt, ‘Isn’t that right, Your Majesty?’

  Max shook his head at Aaron. ‘You don’t say Your Majesty to prime ministers, moron,’ he scoffed.

  ‘Well, excuuuse me, Mister Einstein,’ said Aaron, putting his hands on his hips. ‘What do you say then?’

  Max paused, looking unsure. ‘Well, you say…er…’

  ‘LOOK!’ Duggie barked, drawing their attention back to him. He held up the bar of chocolate and pointed to it. ‘He…NICKED IT!’

  Kurt was feeling perplexed. Duggie was supposed to be impressed, not angry. And now his heart sank because Aaron and Max were both chuckling like it was the funniest thing in the world. Aaron and Max were laughing at him and Duggie hated him even more.

  ‘A fourteen-year-old super crim!’ Max declared. He walked over and rubbed Kurt’s head roughly, messing up his hair.

  ‘The terror of the streets! Lock away your valuables, people of Peraki,’ added Aaron with a snigger.

  Kurt was unsettled; he hadn’t expected to be mocked.

  ‘He’s no criminal,’ said Duggie, shaking his head. He tossed the chocolate to Aaron. ‘He probably paid for it and just says he nicked it.’

  ‘Almond chocolate?’ said Aaron, inspecting the packet. ‘Who would pay for that? At least you could have got raspberry or mint.’ He tore open the packet and snapped off a large chunk, then passed it to Max.

  ‘Mint!?’ said Max incredulously, breaking some off for himself. ‘Mint chocolate is for senior citizens, Aaron. No, you should’ve got caramel.’

  ‘Caramel’s for girls,’ Aaron retorted with his mouth full.

  ‘I did so nick it!’ Kurt insisted. ‘I did not just go and buy it. I put it under my jacket when Mr Evans wasn’t looking.’

  Kurt had walked up and down the street near the dairy on England Road for a full twenty minutes before he had gathered his wits, taken a deep breath and stepped into the shop.

  ‘Good afternoon, Kurt,’ said Mr Evans. His big shiny forehead gleamed from behind the rows of lollies and chewing gum, newspapers and magazines. ‘Has that father of yours managed to improve his golf handicap yet?’

  ‘Hello, Mr Evans,’ said Kurt. He coughed to clear the shakiness in his voice. His heart beat fiercely in his chest and he could feel his face going red. His stomach felt like it was trying to escape through his legs. Had Mr Evans just asked him a question?

  ‘Are you feeling all right today, son?’ Mr Evans scratched the stubble on his chin and looked carefully at Kurt. ‘Your face seems a bit flushed.’

  ‘Ah. I’ve…I’ve got a bit of a cold,’ Kurt stammered. His eyes darted left and right, never daring to meet the concerned gaze of Mr Evans. ‘Yeah, a cold.’

  ‘Well, that’s no good,’ said Mr Evans, shaking his head. ‘You’ll be wanting to try some of these eucalyptus drops I’ve got. Marvellous stuff. Old Mrs Leech from up the road said they’ve cured her sinusitis completely.’

  ‘Ummm…okay, I’ll try those,’ said Kurt, looking at the ground. Surely Mr Evans could sense he was up to no good.

  While Mr Evans squatted down behind the counter and rustled with plastic bags, Kurt looked around. It was a small store with just two aisles. Mr Evans was a tidy shopkeeper and the shelves were clean and neatly stacked with grocery items. Kurt wondered what he was going to steal. It had to be something small enough to hide in his jacket, but still grand enough to impress Duggie.

  ‘Blast, this box is empty,’ muttered Mr Evans, popping back upright. He smiled kindly at Kurt. ‘I’ve got another lot out the back. Just you wait here and I’ll nip out and get them.’

  Kurt thought his heart was going to burst right out of his chest. It throbbed in his ears like the super-woofer in Duggie’s car stereo and his stomach churned with new energy. Quickly, he scanned the shelves: toilet paper, babies’ nappies, boxes of matches, tissues, biscuits, spaghetti, vinegar, birthday candles, steak sauce…chocolate! Kurt’s eyes lit upon the tall display stand to the right of the shop counter. A huge bar of chocolate—perfect. He looked to the front of the shop. There were no other customers and nobody was walking past the window to see him. Kurt looked towards the door at the back of the shop. Mr Evans was still nowhere to be seen. Kurt grabbed the biggest bar on the stand and, after rechecking the front and back of the shop, he stuffed it down the front of his jacket.

  ‘Here we are, more eucalyptus drops than you can shake a koala at,’ said Mr Evans, bustlin
g back with a small cardboard box in his hands. He cut it open with a knife and took out one shiny red packet. ‘I tell you, these will work magic. That’ll be a dollar, thanks, Kurt.’

  Kurt held his left hand over the front of his jacket, so the chocolate wouldn’t fall down, and used his other hand to fish around in his pockets. He dropped the warm coins into Mr Evans’ open hand.

  ‘Say, you don’t look too well at all, Kurt,’ said Mr Evans, staring at the sweat on Kurt’s forehead with concern. ‘You’d best take yourself straight home and rest up. Try to get some colour back into your face.’

  Kurt nodded silently. He couldn’t trust his tongue to speak properly. He left the shop with an unwanted packet of eucalyptus drops, a bar of almond chocolate stuffed down his jacket, and a very nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach. It seemed like a very long time before his legs stopped shaking.

  ‘Ah well, maybe he nicked it and maybe he didn’t.’ Aaron shrugged and stuffed another huge piece of chocolate into his mouth. He looked like he’d been chewing mud.

  ‘I did so take it!’ Kurt whined, hating the way he sounded like an annoying toddler.

  ‘Even so, you’re still a geek,’ Duggie declared. ‘Now, get that chocolate out of my sight and go away.’

  ‘You want some?’ Aaron offered the bar to Kurt.

  Just the sight of it made Kurt’s stomach lurch. ‘I’m not hungry,’ he mumbled, waving the bar away.

  ‘Well, see ya, Brains,’ said Max, turning his attention to Duggie’s car.

  ‘Yeah, see ya, Super Crim,’ said Aaron with a laugh. ‘You’ll have to try a bit harder next time.’

  Duggie scowled at Aaron then he snapped at Kurt, ‘Go away, Brains. I mean it; clear off to school now. Learn some…maths or something.’

  Kurt hesitated, and looked at Aaron. ‘Could I…could you take me on your motorbike?’

  Aaron turned to Duggie. ‘What d’you reckon, Dug? Shall I drop the boy off?’

  ‘No!’ Duggie looked annoyed. ‘Just GET OUT, KURT!’

  Kurt put his backpack on and moped off down the driveway feeling slightly dazed. Something had gone spectacularly wrong with his plan and he was having trouble understanding what it was. Instead of casually being welcomed into the group, he had been shunned and mocked even more. And Duggie seemed to be furious with him.

  Kurt trudged down the crumbling footpath towards the bus stop. He was relieved the chocolate was no longer lurking in his backpack, weighing him down with guilt. He smiled when he remembered how Aaron had punched his knuckles. For a few seconds he had felt like one of the gang.

  ‘“Try harder next time”,’ Kurt muttered to himself. What did Aaron mean? Maybe he meant the bar of chocolate was too lame. Maybe he should have stolen something else, but what? Something bigger like a stereo? Something expensive like jewellery? The more Kurt thought about it, the more sense it made to him; all he had to do was show them something awesome that he had stolen, and then they’d finally understand how cool he really was.

  Kurt felt happier now that he knew what must be done. It was just a shame that it had to involve stealing again. As he sat down on the bus, a sick, uncomfortable feeling settled into his stomach and he sensed the beginnings of a headache.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A white plastic card dangled from a blue cord around Penelope’s neck. Below her photograph it stated: Doctor Penelope Pascoe, PhD, MRSINZ, South Pacific Health Research Laboratory, St Sebastian’s Hospital.

  She waved the card in front of a security scanner. Bleeeep. A dull thud sounded as the magnetic catch disengaged. She pushed open the door and the smell of rat and rabbit rushed out to greet her. It never failed to conjure visions of the two guinea pigs her cousins had kept when she was a child. She had never fancied guinea pigs herself. A horse was what she had longed for, but her parents couldn’t afford one. Many pairs of red eyes turned to watch her as she made her way past the rows of small wire cages towards the laboratory bench.

  ‘Hello, Jeff, how’s our patient today?’ Penelope asked the young red-headed man who was tapping furiously at a computer keyboard. As always she grimaced slightly at the sight of his dreadlocks. How long had it been since he’d used a hairbrush? And just how did he manage to shampoo it?

  Jeff looked up and grinned. ‘Patient’s fine, Doc,’ he replied. ‘No significant change since yesterday.’ He fumbled in the pocket of his white laboratory coat and brought out a dog-eared blue notebook. He flipped it open.

  ‘His temperature was thirty-nine degrees an hour ago,’ Jeff read. ‘He’s still coughing and sneezing, he’s got a rattly chest and he’s off his food.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Penelope looked pleased. She passed Jeff a sheet of paper. ‘Here’s a hard copy of the microbiology report, confirming bacterial pneumonia. Can you make special mention in your write-up about the concentration of bacteria we used to get a successful infection established?’

  ‘Already done, Doc,’ said Jeff, tapping his hand against the computer screen. ‘Tricky, isn’t it, getting a high enough dose to infect him but not knock him off completely?’

  Penelope nodded and reinspected the varnish on her nails. ‘Let’s monitor him overnight. It looks like we might be able to start the Bufromycin experiment tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Great,’ said Jeff, looking excited. He pressed his palms together firmly and looked towards the ceiling. ‘Let’s pray we get some good results so I can get my thesis in before Christmas. Then I can be referred to as Doctor Jeff Carpenter, although I might still allow you, Doc, to call me Jeff.’

  Penelope frowned. ‘Does that mean you’ll get a proper haircut and iron your shirts before you come to work?’

  Jeff laughed. ‘Highly unlikely, Doc. I couldn’t get rid of my dreads—they cost me a fortune.’

  Penelope wrinkled her nose; he actually paid money for some-one to make his hair look like that? She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

  ‘And who’s going to see me anyway?’ Jeff continued. ‘The rats and rabbits certainly don’t care whether or not I wear a tie.’

  Penelope shrugged. She supposed he was right; the lab workers were mostly confined to the inner depths of the building, hidden behind stacks of agar plates, machinery and paperwork.

  As Jeff swung around to collect a small box from the shelf, Penelope stared at his frayed green trousers. How could a man get to the age of twenty-five and know nothing about good fashion sense?

  ‘Modern-day wizardry, isn’t it, all these new antibiotics?’ said Jeff, opening the box to reveal bottles of white powder and vials of amber liquid. They were all clearly labelled ‘Bufromycin’. ‘Not so many years ago we could have been burned at the stake as magicians.’

  Penelope’s eyes widened. ‘An interesting, though slightly grim, way of looking at it,’ she said. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better have a quick look at our patient while I’m here.’

  Jeff’s chair shrieked against the vinyl floor as he stood up. He followed Penelope into a smaller, dimly lit room. Jeff leaned his weight against the bars of a large metal enclosure on the floor.

  ‘Is he sedated?’ Penelope asked. She reached over the top of the pen and scratched the sheep behind the ear. ‘He doesn’t seem very responsive.’

  ‘No, we haven’t drugged him,’ Jeff replied. ‘When he arrived last summer he was a bit flighty and nervous but he’s been fine since; a very amiable guest. I suppose that chest infection might have knocked the energy out of him.’

  As they watched, the sheep tensed his shoulders and then let out a mighty sneeze that shook his shoulders from side to side.

  He raised his head slowly and looked around with bloodshot eyes. He blinked at Penelope and Jeff in their white laboratory coats, then lowered his head back to the ground and let out a tired hiss of air.

  ‘Painkillers?’ Penelope asked.

  ‘No, but there are some available if he starts looking distressed,’ said Jeff, waving towards a wall of shelves lined with more bottles.

  Pe
nelope nodded. She walked around the front of the cage, looking the sheep over. ‘Can you arrange for his leg and stomach to be shaved by tomorrow? And we’ll need a good vein on his leg to insert the catheter.’

  ‘No problem, Doc,’ said Jeff. He picked up a bottle from the shelf and topped up Rom’s water and then filled his food bowl with hard, brown pellets.

  ‘See, Rom, I told you it’s not forever.’ Jeff patted the sheep’s white, woolly head. ‘You’ll start feeling better when we get those antibiotics into you tomorrow.’

  ‘Mmmaaahhh.’ The sheep bleated softly into the thin layer of stale straw on the ground.

  ‘I’ve got a job for you, Jeff,’ said Penelope. She folded her arms and leant her hip against the laboratory bench.

  ‘I don’t like the sneaky way you’re looking at me,’ said Jeff, narrowing his eyes. ‘This is a bad job, isn’t it? You want me to search for some obscure document down in the basement? Or have a chat with the cleaners about the state of the men’s toilets?’

  ‘Well, it’s not a really bad job,’ said Penelope carefully. ‘It just depends on whether you like kids or not.’

  Jeff shifted uneasily on his stool. ‘How old are these…kids?’ he asked.

  ‘Fourteen or so,’ said Penelope. ‘Year ten.’

  Jeff’s face brightened. ‘Oh, that’s okay then. Yeah, teenagers are cool. I mean, I’m not that far past childhood myself.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Penelope passed Jeff the note Anna had given her. ‘Then you won’t mind showing students from my daughter’s class around next week? I thought I could, but I’ve got to meet Professor Fraser who’s coming over from Australia.’

  Jeff glanced at the paper. ‘Your daughter—she’s very clever, isn’t she?’

  ‘That’s right, she’s in the top class at Hillary College.’ Penelope lifted her head a little. ‘Intellectually gifted, you see.’

  ‘Ah, a bunch of clever kids,’ said Jeff. He stroked his chin. ‘Well, maybe I should make it my personal mission to sell them a career in scientific research, before they realize all the money is in law and accounting.’