Alana Oakley Read online




  Copyright © Poppy Inkwell

  First published 2015

  Copyright remains the property of the authors and apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission.

  All inquiries should be made to the publishers.

  Big Sky Publishing Pty Ltd

  PO Box 303, Newport, NSW 2106, Australia

  Phone: 1300 364 611

  Fax: (61 2) 9918 2396

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.bigskypublishing.com.au

  Cover design and typesetting: Think Productions

  Printed in China by Asia Pacific Offset Ltd

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry

  Creator: Inkwell, Poppy, author.

  Title: Mayhem and madness / Poppy Inkwell.

  ISBN: 9781925275124 (paperback).

  Series: Inkwell, Poppy. Alana Oakley ; no 1.

  Target Audience: For 11 to 13 year old girls.

  Subjects: Detective and mystery stories.

  Dewey Number: A823.4

  For Mum for teaching me how to read my first word…

  For Papa Bear for the words that made me believe I could do anything…

  And for Alex who embodies the most important word of all…

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  G is for the Girls who have felt DIFFERENT, weird or alone … this book is for you.

  R is for all the Random moments that make life exhilarating.

  A is for the Awesome manuscript assessment service provided by Sean Doyle.

  T is for the Terrific Team at Big Sky Publishing. Thanks for taking a punt on a square peg.

  I is for the artists, designers, writers and musicians who constantly INSPIRE me.

  T is for TALL Tales and long noses … infinitely more mesmerising than the Truth … or are they???

  U is for my five, Unbelievably, Uber-cool children who are Unequalled in their Uniqueness. Je t’adore!

  D is for my Dearest friends and family … my creative SOUL-MATES … the legwarmers of my h♥art.

  E is for all the Exceptions to the rule. You ROCK!

  Thanks.Gracias.Arigatô.Shukran.Merci.Choukrane.Ďakujem.Danke.Köszönöm.Terimakasih.Faleminderit. Grazie.Xièxiè..Nandri.Salamat.Mahalo..Ngiyabonga.Ta.Diolch..Obrigado..Dankie.Tänan.. Takk.Thankyouahh.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 – Nail polish, handbags and the ozone layer.

  Chapter 2 – The definition of ‘hirsute’ is not a trouser suit for women.

  Chapter 3 – Ready for anything… except snot.

  Chapter 4 – Sit. Roll over. Play dead.

  Chapter 5 – School loses its charm.

  Chapter 6 – Digital challenge.

  Chapter 7 – When Life hands you an Opportunity, put on your… rollerblades?

  Chapter 8 – S.O.S. … Skating, Old men and Stalkers.

  Chapter 9 – Intense. Insane. Same-same lah!

  Chapter 10 – It’s a mystery.

  Chapter 11 – A seed is sown.

  Chapter 12 – The point of no return.

  Chapter 13 – Whenever you need a hole to swallow you up, it’s never there!

  Chapter 14 – First and last group hug.

  Chapter 15 – It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s… Katriona?

  Chapter 16 – Investigating, staking out and sleuthing.

  Chapter 17 – Treading the fine line between fun, Fun and no fun at all.

  Chapter 18 – Soppy love song vs. sleuthing… It’s a no-brainer!

  Chapter 19 – A second chance at love.

  Chapter 20 – Yes Coach. No Coach. Three bags full.

  Chapter 21 – Emma chooses an adventure over tea.

  Chapter 22 – Alana VS Coach Kusmuk. Round Two.

  Chapter 23 – Alana finds the culprit!

  Chapter 24 – Food brings humanity together.

  Chapter 25 – Alana makes a shocking discovery.

  Chapter 26 – “Lah, lah, lah, lah, I DON’T WANT TO KNOW ABOUT IT!”

  Chapter 27 – Tattoos, chooks and botched translations.

  Chapter 28 – Best birthday surprise… E-VER!!!

  Chapter 29 – Ticket to happiness.

  Chapter 30 – Best birthday surprise… E-VER!!!… Not!

  Epilogue

  Biography

  PROLOGUE

  1 September, Final Year of Primary School.

  Alana Oakley dreaded her birthday. The age she was turning didn’t bother her, but the trips to the hospital (or worse) did. Her birthdays, you see, always ended in catastrophe. She supposed it wasn’t her mum’s fault every celebration was ruined, but dancing llamas? Seriously? And the juggling fire-breather would have been more fun if Alana’s hair hadn’t caught fire. Maybe her mum should be held responsible – it was always her ideas plunging them into trouble in the first place – but you can’t blame someone for Thinking Big and Having A Huge Heart. Or that’s how Alana’s dad explained it. Her dad … Alana allowed herself a smile as she closed her eyes, just stopping short of wishing the obvious (one last kiss or hug from a father she missed so much sometimes she couldn’t breathe), and blew out twelve candles …

  This time, I want my birthday to be different.

  If she’d known how her wish was going to come true, she probably would have changed her mind …

  CHAPTER 1

  Nail polish, handbags and the ozone layer.

  3 February, First Year of High School!

  Alana Oakley took the stairs two at a time. She was ready extra early for school today; excited and nervous to begin high school. A tremendous thump accompanied her final jump onto the landing, prompting her mum, Emma, to look up from her computer.

  Alana looked at her mother, who resembled her in so many ways. They shared almond-shaped eyes, although Alana’s had flecks of hazel whereas Emma’s were a warm brown. Their flyaway hair stuck out at matching odd angles, and their skin was the same honeyed tinge. Alana loved the way her mum’s skin smelt. It reminded her of sun-kissed peaches: sweet and fresh. It was the smell of home. The only thing Alana seemed to have inherited from her father were his dimples. They made her look like she was always up to something, even when she wasn’t.

  “You look nice, darling.” Her mum took a second look, taking in the new uniform. “Oh no! It’s not today, is it?”

  “Yep. First day of high school, Mum. Remember?” But of course, Emma never did. Or if she did, she got the dates wrong. Important stuff, like when tax returns were due, or when school fees needed to be paid, seemed to fly right out of her head. Emma buried herself in her work like an archaeologist looking for treasure. Since the death of Alana’s dad, Hugo, three years ago, things had become worse.

  Emma’s eyes rounded with shock as she clapped a hand to her mouth.

  “I was sure it was next week. Have you got everything you need?”

  Alana ran through the list of things she’d done: sat the entrance exam and achieved a scholarship for Gibson High. Check. Bought school supplies from the Orientation Day list. Check. Pumped bicycle tyres. Check.

  “Yep, all sorted, but I need to get going soon. I don’t want to be late for school. I promised I’d meet Sofia and Madison, so we could go together.”

  Alana’s circuitous route to meet her friends, Sofia and Madison, would take her from Marrickville to Redfern, then back to Newtown. It would take longer, but the three girls preferred to face the daunting task of Day-One-Year-Seven together than alone.

  Sofia was the long-awaited daughter, after five sons. Alana had been friends with her since daycare. From potty training to trainer wheels, there wasn’t a moment in Alana�
�s memory when she didn’t know Sofia. There’d been only one gap in their friendship: a year filled with youth hostels, backpacks and living in a wildlife sanctuary deep in the jungles of Borneo. During that time, Emma’s valuable research had forced people to stop logging, allowing corridors of forest for orangutans to live. Or that’s how Emma described it. Alana had a very different memory of her mum chained to a tree and being groomed by enormous, ginger-haired primates as they exchanged bananas. Alana’s grandmother went into a state of denial when concerned relatives called from the Philippines. “No, that’s not Emmalina,” she said. “It just looks like her.” That was until Emma made the cover of Timeless Magazine. Gran had sung a different tune then. Emma’s increased profile had certainly helped her get work, and she was usually swamped.

  Alana met Maddie on the Kidz2Air program at the community radio station, three years ago, just after Alana’s dad died. When the girls had met (Alana sad, bewildered, lost; Maddie confused, angry, frightened) there was an instant connection. Maddie shook off her fear to take Alana under her wing; she knew what it was like to lose a dad. Alana liked to believe both dads looked down at them from Heaven, and met up sometimes to chat about their girls.

  Alana couldn’t wait to see her friends again. Summer had dragged its feet. Sofia had spent the holidays visiting two of her older brothers studying in Melbourne, while Maddie was at music camp.

  “Thank goodness you’re on top of it all. Hugo was always good at that kind of thing,” Emma’s eyes took on a wistful look.

  A knock on the door interrupted them, followed by a loud, baritone honk. Alana rushed to the window. A tall figure with longish hair waited on the doorstep. In a Tolkein tale, he would have worn dark, leather riding gear, and wielded a sword. Instead, he carried a black, bulky bag which Alana knew would contain the latest DSLR camera equipment.

  “Uncle James!” Alana yelled, as she flung the door wide. James was her mum’s work partner. He took all the shots Emma needed for the articles she wrote. He often said they were like Bonnie and Clyde, to which Emma would retort they were more like Bert and Ernie. Emma was the best interviewer James had ever worked with. Her natural charm and vulnerability, was disarming and engaging. Even the most uptight of interviewees opened up like a flower, whilst with other journalists, they remained as silent as a clam. It was this talent he was counting on for their next interview which promised to be HUGE.

  Honk. Honk. “Heya Pipsqueak. Ready for your big day?”

  “Yes of course. What’s with the horn?”

  “It was your mum’s idea. She told me to get it for your first day of school. In case drivers give you grief on your bike.”

  “As if they’d dare!” Alana declared, hand on hip. “It’s a nice idea, I guess … if I was five, or wanted to join the circus.”

  “She means well, Kiddo. Anyway, I thought you might feel that way, which is why I brought you this,” he said, presenting Alana with a small box. “I believe it has GPS, some cool games, and it probably plays music. But no matter how smart these smartphones get, I still haven’t found one that makes decent coffee.”

  Alana squealed with delight and hugged him while he pretended to gasp for breath. She rushed to show her mum. James trailed behind looking sheepish.

  Emma pouted. “How come she gets all the cool toys?”

  “Because I don’t lose them like you do,” Alana shot back.

  James peered over Emma’s shoulder at what she was working on.

  “It was a freebie, Em. No big deal. You know I don’t know how to use those things. Give me a normal phone any day. Talking whale ‘Nox’ socks off in Australia,” he read. “What are you up to now?” He did a quick check of her internet surfing history while Emma tried to shoo him away. “You’d be a much better journalist if you didn’t get so easily sidetracked.”

  Emma’s response was to stick out her tongue.

  “Very mature. I hope you haven’t forgotten our meeting with Slam Guru today. I had to pull all sorts of favours to get an exclusive, and he never gives interviews.”

  Slam Guru was one of America’s most successful rock stars. His debut single had shot to number one within days of its release. He was on tour; playing in London, Tokyo and Prague, with performances scheduled in September for the Sydney Cricket Ground – a venue with a capacity of fifty thousand. The Sydney concerts sold out within hours. Unlike other artists who promoted their tours, Slam had one general press conference. He guarded his privacy fiercely. Bodyguards accompanied him everywhere and he never attended music awards. Slam Guru was a man surrounded by mystery. Emma’s interview was nothing short of a scoop.

  For the second time that morning, Emma clapped a hand over her mouth. “But I thought it was next month!” she wailed. “The girls are coming over to –”

  But she didn’t get to finish, because the very ‘girls’ Emma was expecting, arrived. Ling Ling Shu teetered in on bright, high-heeled, pink wedges. The baby-doll dress she wore was a perfect match for her cherry-coloured hair. Her contact lenses magnified her pupils so much, Alana was reminded of an albino goldfish. Ling Ling, adorned head-to-toe in various shades of pink, looked out of place in the narrow, suburban hallway; as if she’d gotten lost on her way to a K-Pop performance. Blinking, Ling Ling’s fake eyelashes became stuck. She tried to separate them but her fake nails were too long. They sounded like crabs scrabbling in rock pools as they clicked together.

  A second woman clunked through the door. Somebody had forgotten to tell her the Seventies were over. A neon orange boob tube puckered limply around her flat chest above a pair of tightly-packed, flared trousers. Peacock-blue eye-shadow made her already-protuberant eyes leap from her face like a pair of suicide sky-divers. A long, thin nose cleaved her pale face into two, ending in a pair of pouting lips. The woman’s figure was a classic pear-shape, blossoming like a gourd. But that wasn’t how she saw herself. Every morning she squeezed herself into a size 12, her bottom always looking slightly breathless for doing so. At the sight of Alana, the woman’s gaze narrowed. Katriona Karovsky was not the maternal type. She looked at children like they were bubblegum on the bottom of her shoe. They smelt funny, made too much noise and were an awkward reminder of how old she was getting. To make matters worse, Alana was always annoyingly sensible.

  “Been let out of your cage, then?” the woman drawled.

  Alana rolled her eyes. Katriona Karovsky didn’t scare her, and she wasn’t afraid to show it. She pasted on a plastic smile.

  “Oh hi, Auntie Katriona. Hi, Auntie Ling Ling. Sorry I can’t chat about nail polish and hand bags, but I have to learn how to fix the ozone layer … especially since your generation has stuffed it up!”

  At this, Katriona’s pencil-drawn eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. She gasped like a fish out of water.

  “My generation? I’m not that much older than you,” she protested, but Alana was already out the door, farewell kisses flying to Emma and James.

  Katriona had just finished composing herself when a loud honk made her stumble mid-step. Alana’s dimpled grin re-appeared in the window.

  “Thanks for the present, Mum. I can see it’s going to come in real handy!”

  Another loud honk had Katriona clutching her chest, before Alana pedalled off for Redfern.

  CHAPTER 2

  The definition of ‘hirsute’ is not a trouser suit for women.

  By the time Katriona and Alana finished exchanging insults, Ling Ling had managed to unstick her eyelashes. Now both were fixed to her upper eyelids like a pair of furry caterpillars. She blinked.

  “What did I miss?” she said to no one in particular.

  When nobody answered, Ling Ling peered through the thick fringe to see Katriona inspecting Emma’s teeth with all the thoroughness of a vet with a horse. She checked under Emma’s arms, glanced at her eyebrows, glared at her nails, tugged at her hair, and then took a vicious swipe at the hem of Emma’s nightie. She crossed her arms with a look of disgust.

  “Salon
. Now.” The tone in Katriona’s voice brooked no argument.

  Like many houses built during the 1930s, the semi-detached terrace which Emma and Alana called home was long, narrow and dark. It was with great reluctance, therefore, that James stepped from the convenient shadows to protest.

  “But she can’t. We’ve got an interview with Slam Guru today.”

  In an instant, Katriona’s demeanour changed. She raised one arm to clutch the doorframe, bent a knee, and thrust her hips forward. The other hand gripped her waist. Her silhouette resembled a rather large cello leaning against the door. James took a step back.

  “James! Dah-ling!” she cooed, batting her eyes. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  James gave a nervous smile as Katriona continued to use the doorway as a prop for her poses. She had a ton of them, and was eager to show the photographer every single one. She always hoped it would inspire him to take out his camera. So far he never had.

  “Hang on,” Katriona paused mid-pose, a Greek statue giving directions. “THE Slam Guru? Rock My World Slam Guru? As in, Lightning strike me down with your devil eyes,” Katriona began singing Slam Guru’s latest hit.

  “Maybe a trip to the salon isn’t such a bad idea,” Emma shrugged, as James’s eyes widened at Katriona’s dancing. Her boob tube top shifted treacherously southward while her pants threatened to bust open with every ‘shuggle’. “Katriona is one of Slam Guru’s biggest fans. She could bring me up to speed on his background while they fix me up.”

  Katriona’s head bobbed as she bounced like a pogo stick. “Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” Katriona begged with hands clasped together. She was almost hyperventilating in anticipation.

  With a sigh, James gave in, “Two hours. Tops. But you cannot be late for this one.”

  Emma’s promise was muffled by Katriona’s triumphant screech of delight. She grabbed Emma’s hands, jumping with childlike glee.

  Ling Ling peered at Emma’s hairy legs as the skirt of her nightie flew up and down.

  “Two hours is not enough,” she said sorrowfully to James.