Mike Dixon

„It‟s the darling boy!‟
He winced at the sound of her voice. He had suffered agonies
at school being called „darling boy‟. Why did she have
to treat him like a soppy six-year-old?
He stormed past.
„David! Darling! What‟s the matter?‟
He ignored her and went upstairs to his room, locking the
door behind him. His wet clothes came off. He threw his
backpack onto the bed and stood naked beside it rummag-
ing through the contents. The item he was looking for was
at the bottom – a large book in a plastic bag. He removed it
and dragged the bed to one side. The wall had a loose panel.
It came away to reveal a cavity stacked with girlie maga-
zines. David put the bag inside, replaced the panel and returned
the bed to its original position.
He was still fazed out. Whatever had affected him in Hong
Kong was long lasting. His nerves were on edge and he felt
dizzy. Worst of all, his recollection of events was poor. He
remembered Doris‟ flat but everything after that was hazy.
One gnawing question kept praying on his mind.
What had he done with the contents of the suitcase?
They were too risky to take back with him so he‟d packed
them in parcels and posted them to Australia. He was cer-
tain of that. But what address had he used? They should
have been sent to Tim‟s old rooming house. Could he have
written Tim‟s new address on them by mistake? The thought
was disturbing.
He retreated into the shower and let the water flow over
him. It warmed his soul and helped to calm his body but he
couldn‟t stay forever. The water was getting cold and he had
to face the grim reality of being back home. There wasn‟t a
choice. It was his grandfather‟s birthday party and it was a
while since he‟d seen him. The old man would be mortified if
he didn‟t show up.
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