Page 30 of Eva Reddy’s Trip of a Lifetime
‘I am sorry for that. I did not expect the letter to be so personal. But I want you to know, I don’t agree.
The Eva I know is not at all ordinary. I would even say she is extraordinary.
It is no small thing to travel to the other side of the world, with no plan and no knowledge of your destination beyond a few tourist snapshots.
That’s not beige. It is brave. You are a courageous woman, Eva. ’
My anger subsides. After the last six miserable days, it feels good to have someone on my side. I am willing to sacrifice a few personal boundaries for that.
‘Thank you. I’m not sure any of that is true, but it’s an incredibly kind thing to say.’ I fish the note out of my pocket. ‘I hope you can make sense of it. I really don’t want to read it again if I don’t have to.’
He smooths the page out on the desk and starts reading.
Minutes pass in silence, then he pushes back his chair and stands up. ‘I have a theory.’ He begins pacing the room, squishing rose petals into the carpet. ‘Your mother says you should backtrack and retrace your steps. Her words are clearly designed to unsettle you.’
‘And they worked.’
‘But maybe she’s also offering you practical advice. I think this is a clue.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s not just asking you to retrace your steps figuratively.
She means it literally as well. Your parents have doubled back.
I don’t know if they’ve returned to Agra or Delhi, but we’ll find them between those two points.
Unless you think they’ve gone back to Australia?
’ Utkarsh cocks his head to one side. He really doesn’t know Debbie Reddy at all. Half his luck.
‘Unfortunately, there’s no way my mother would head back home, she’s having too much fun tormenting me. Doing the exact opposite of what I want is her life’s work. So no, she’s still here in India somewhere. And having a good laugh at my expense.’
Utkarsh returns to his seat and opens the atlas to a page that shows both Gwalior and Delhi.
‘Okay, then. We’ve narrowed our search area to the three hundred and sixty kilometres between here and the capital.
’ He traces his index finger along the two points.
‘And let’s say we include places fifty or so kilometres either side of the expressway and the rail line.
That’s still a lot of towns and villages to cover, but we also know they are visiting a couple who have been together for a long time.
I don’t suppose your parents have any elderly friends in India? ’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Right then, perhaps she is referring to a Hindu legend. We may as well get started; there are a multitude of them. Your mother left these books here for a reason—we’ll find the answer somewhere in their pages.’
Utkarsh picks up a book from the top of his pile and starts reading.
I select one near the bottom of my stack.
There is no way my mother would place the most helpful book within easy reach.
I glance over at the map that Utkarsh has left in the centre of the table for easy reference.
Even if he is right and my parents are hiding out somewhere between here and Delhi, there are still hundreds, if not thousands, of places they could be.
And there are hundreds of thousands of pages that I need to get through if I am to have any chance of figuring out exactly where that place is. I grab a hotel pen and notepad and turn to the first page.
The day goes by in a blur of words, pots of tea and crustless English style sandwiches.
I am midway through book number eight when my phone breaks into ‘Devil Woman’. From the other side of the desk, Utkarsh’s phone goes off as well. He’s chosen Paul Simon’s ‘Mother and Child Reunion’. I smile to let him know I appreciate the joke.
A new episode of ‘Reddy, Set, Go’ has just dropped.
From the journals and miscellaneous paperwork of Eva Reddy (Age 11)
March 8th, 1983
I just had the best birthday of anyone in my whole class. In the entire school. In all of history probably.
It was even better than Rachael Ezzy’s birthday. Rachael’s mum made a Ms Pac-Man cake. She used lolly cigarettes for the maze and pink and white icing to make Ms Pac-Man and the ghosts. And the power pellets were Jaffas.
Rodney Halvorsen’s birthday was the worst. His mum sent in a tin of slice that looked like it was made from chewy Christmas cake.
We all thought it might taste okay because it had chocolate on top.
But I took one bite and spat it out! It wasn’t chocolate at all.
Mum says it must have been something called carob.
She reckons no one should ever try to be something they’re not.
And that is doubly true for dried pods pretending to be chocolate.
I asked Mum to make me a Commodore 64 birthday cake (I hope she got the hint) but she said she wasn’t the baking type and that if I wanted my life to be extraordinary, I shouldn’t be the baking type either.
I was super upset but I tried not to let her know. It’s not her fault that God forgot to teach her how to cook. Or how to clean the house.
But when we went out for recess, there was an ice-cream truck parked right next to the playground. And guess what? My mum was driving it! She made ice creams for everyone. Even for kids in other classes. It was awesome!
The only bad bit was when Rodney broke out in a huge red rash because he’s allergic to peanuts.
I don’t understand why peanuts are a problem when he eats so much Perkins Paste.
Mum says Rodney is eleven years old and that is quite old enough to know to ask for a Flake on top of his ice cream instead of sprinkled nuts.
Mrs Halvorsen raced to the school and took Rodney home, even though his rash had gone away.
She was really, really angry and called my mother a menace.
My mother says Mrs Halvorsen is a self-righteous prat.
Mrs Halvorsen complained about Rachael’s birthday cake too.
Something about her choice of lollies and gateway drugs.
I’m glad Mrs Halvorsen isn’t my mother.