Doubting Thomas Read online

  Then Alisha frowned at Thomas as if she’d just thought of something.

  ‘Why did Mum tell you about the salon?’ she said. ‘She didn’t say anything to me.’

  ‘Well…’ said Thomas.

  He took a deep breath.

  ‘She didn’t tell me at first,’ he said. ‘She tried to hide it. But I knew she was lying cause my nipples went itchy.’

  Alisha looked at him.

  Then she grabbed her mobile and stood up.

  ‘Word of advice from your big sister,’ she said. ‘This itchy nipple thing, clever idea, but you’re pushing it too far.’

  Before Thomas could reply, she’d turned away and was heading towards her room, already talking on the phone.

  Thomas flopped back onto the couch.

  He’d mentioned his chest on purpose. Just in case Alisha knew something about lie-detector nipples. She did read a lot of magazines.

  Oh well.

  A politician was on the early evening TV news, looking stern and a bit indignant and telling journalists that he definitely didn’t know anything about any bribes.

  Thomas tried to work out what the politician was talking about. Something about some dictator and some war that started because of wheaties or something. Thomas wasn’t very interested in politics, or breakfast cereal, and he wouldn’t have been bothered now except his nipples had just gone feather duster.

  Looks like Alisha’s right about one thing, he thought gloomily. If a very important person like that tells lies, everybody’s probably doing it.

  Thomas remembered how, when he was little, Mum and Dad had always told him that lying was naughty and wrong and only bad people did it.

  Which was also a lie, he now thought sadly.

  Then another thought hit him.

  What if that horoscope is right? What if everything does happen for a reason? What if I’ve been given lie-detector nipples for a purpose?

  Thomas wondered what the purpose might be.

  A career in the police?

  Weekend work as an exhibit in a museum?

  He couldn’t think of anything else. He was finding it hard to concentrate because there was an ad break on TV and a famous soapie star was talking about an insect spray that she and all her kids loved, and his nipples were going itchier than a mozzie bite.

  Thomas clicked the TV off and rubbed his chest until his nipples calmed down.

  Then suddenly he thought of another possible purpose for lie-detector nipples, one that made his heart beat faster and his hands go sweaty.

  What if my itchy nipples aren’t an illness or a career skill, he said to himself. What if they’re a special power? For a special mission?

  Thomas remembered how good he’d felt speaking up for Holly after school. Before she’d called him a liar.

  Was this the reason for his nipples?

  To help people?

  He stared at the blank TV screen, thoughts racing.

  There was only one way to find out.

  9

  Thomas started his mission in McDonald’s.

  At the table next to his, two little kids were sobbing. They wanted cheeseburgers and their mum had bought them salads.

  ‘Don’t cry,’ she was saying, dabbing their tears with serviettes. ‘You can have cheeseburgers this afternoon.’

  Thomas felt his nipples kick into action.

  He waited until the mother was at the counter getting more serviettes, then leaned over to the kids, who weren’t crying so hard now.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ he said. ‘She’s lying.’

  The little kids looked at him, terrified.

  Both their faces crumpled and they started howling again.

  Thomas stayed at his table, licking his soft-serve cone, while the mother tried unsuccessfully to stop their tears. He waited until she gave in and bought two cheeseburgers. Then he stood up, gave the little kids a wink, and headed off to help others in need.

  ‘Nan,’ said Thomas as they sipped their tea in the lounge room of the old people’s home. ‘You know when the matron gives you your pills and tells you you’ll feel better if you take them? I think she’s telling the truth. In fact I know she is.’

  Nan took a bite of biscuit and thought about this for a while.

  Thomas watched her closely. It was hard to tell with old people’s faces whether they were confused or just chewing.

  ‘Is that right?’ said Nan after a bit. ‘I’d better take them, then, hadn’t I?’

  She reached into her bra, found the pills she’d stuffed in there earlier, popped them into her mouth and swigged them down with a gulp of tea.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said to Thomas.

  ‘That’s OK,’ he said.

  Mission accomplished.

  An elderly man tottering past tried to take Nan’s last two biscuits.

  Before Thomas could move, Nan’s arm shot out and grabbed the old bloke’s wrist. She prised the biscuits from between his fingers.

  ‘There’s more in the kitchen,’ she said to him.

  ‘Don’t be lazy.’

  As the elderly man headed towards the kitchen, muttering, Thomas wondered if perhaps Nan wasn’t quite as fragile as Mum and Dad thought she was.

  ‘How are your nipples?’ said Nan.

  Thomas looked at her, shocked. How did she know about his nipples? Then he remembered the waiter had mentioned them at her birthday dinner.

  ‘Not too bad,’ said Thomas. ‘I’m learning to live with them.’

  It was the truth.

  ‘Good,’ said Nan. ‘But you should be careful with itchy nipples. You remember my grandfather’s brother Aaron?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Thomas.

  He vaguely remembered Nan saying something at the dinner about Aaron’s teeth.

  ‘Aaron died when he was twelve,’ said Nan. ‘They never knew what caused it, but they thought it was something to do with his itchy teeth.’

  Thomas nearly dropped his tea.

  Twelve? That was awful. And scary.

  For a few moments he felt so weak he almost asked for one of Nan’s pills.

  Then he told himself to calm down because Nan was eighty-three and her memory was almost as clapped-out as Dad’s car.

  After his success helping Nan, Thomas decided to try something a bit more ambitious.

  ‘Mr Demos,’ he said. ‘Can I ask you a personal question?’

  Mr Demos was having a quiet smoke round the back of the gym while his class did push-ups inside. He looked down at Thomas with a weary expression. Thomas was glad he’d chosen a moment when Mr Demos was relaxed.

  ‘Do you love Miss Pearson?’ asked Thomas.

  Mr Demos had a small coughing fit.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I do not. You of all people, Thomas Gulliver, should know not to believe everything you read on walls.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Thomas. ‘I just wanted to be sure.’

  ‘I wish you were that thorough with your soccer practice,’ said Mr Demos. ‘Now run along.’

  Thomas didn’t run. He left slowly because of how much his nipples had started itching when Mr Demos said he didn’t love Miss Pearson.

  In the library, Thomas found the person he was looking for at her computer.

  ‘Miss Pearson,’ he said. ‘Can I ask you a personal question?’

  Walking home from school a few days later, Thomas wondered if he could make a future career out of helping people and whether, as Prime Minister, he’d be allowed to scratch his nipples in public.

  He was still wondering about this when Rocco Fusilli jumped out of a hedge and grabbed the front of Thomas’s shirt and tried to lift Thomas off the ground.

  He wasn’t strong enough, but it still hurt.

  Thomas could feel shirt cloth cutting into his armpits. He wondered which would pop first, his shirt buttons or his arm sockets.

  ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ grunted Rocco through clenched teeth.

  ‘Ggghhh?’ gurgled Thomas, gasping for air.

&nb
sp; ‘Don’t lie,’ said Rocco. ‘It was you left those Valentine cards in Mr Demos and Miss Pearson’s pigeon holes. And now they’re going out together and everyone thinks it was me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ croaked Thomas.

  To Thomas’s relief, Rocco gave up trying to lift him and dropped him back down onto the footpath.

  ‘Miss Pearson keeps giving me things,’ panted Rocco accusingly. ‘Books. I only read magazines. Books are for girls.’

  Nearby, Rocco’s mates jeered in agreement.

  Thomas was surprised to find his nipples were staying normal.

  That’s interesting, he thought. They respond to people lying but not people saying dopey things that are totally wrong.

  ‘What about your girlfriend?’ he asked Rocco. ‘Why don’t you ask Debra to read the books to you?’

  Rocco looked startled, like someone who’d just been sprung. He glanced guiltily at his mates, muttered something about not wanting to catch girl germs from Thomas, and hurried away.

  Thomas felt sore in several places, but also slightly amazed.

  That, he thought as he checked his armpits for damage, was probably the first totally truthful conversation I’ve ever had with Rocco.

  When Thomas arrived home, Garth was out the front, crouched down next to the hedge, talking into his mobile.

  ‘I do love you,’ he was saying. ‘Honest.’

  Alisha mustn’t be home, thought Thomas. Unless they prefer doing love stuff over the phone.

  Garth looked up and saw Thomas and did a nervous twitch.

  Thomas decided he’d better make some conversation. It was what younger brothers were expected to do with their older sister’s boyfriend.

  ‘She’s usually home by now,’ Thomas said to Garth. ‘Probably won’t be long.’

  ‘Yeah, er, I’m talking to Alisha now,’ said Garth.

  Thomas had a twitch himself.

  His nipples were going ants in fluffy slippers.

  Garth was lying.

  Thomas almost said something, then decided not to. Garth was about twice as big as him, and Alisha reckoned he had a savage temper from too many spicy pizzas.

  As Thomas stepped into the house, he heard Alisha in her room. Her door was open a crack and he could see she was on the phone.

  ‘Bull, Natasha,’ she was saying. ‘Garth so is faithful. I don’t care what that slug Bree reckons. Garth is one hundred and ten percent faithful.’

  Thomas tapped on the door.

  Alisha glared at him.

  ‘Go,’ she said. ‘Away.’

  ‘It’s important,’ said Thomas. ‘Really important.’

  ‘Half a sec,’ said Alisha into the phone. ‘I just have to kill my little brother.’

  She came over to the door, still glaring at Thomas.

  ‘Before I slam the door in your face,’ she said, ‘tell me what could possibly be so important that you interrupt me when I’m doing my homework with Natasha.’

  ‘Garth’s outside,’ said Thomas. ‘He just told somebody else he loves them.’

  Thomas sat on the couch, waiting for his nipples and his ears to stop tingling.

  There’s no justice, he thought gloomily. I try to tell Alisha the truth and she yells at me for ten minutes, and now she’s out the back kissing the bad guy.

  Thomas could feel himself going off the whole idea of a mission. His nipples were more of a curse than a special power. First Holly, then Rocco, now Alisha. Any part of your body that could get you into that much trouble had to be a serious medical problem.

  ‘G’day champ,’ said Dad, breezing into the living room. ‘Mum still at work?’

  Thomas nodded. He wasn’t really in the mood for cheery chat.

  ‘Work, work, work,’ said Dad, flopping into an armchair. ‘I’m pooped. I have done so many deliveries today.’

  Thomas’s nipples went feather duster.

  He stared at Dad.

  Did Dad just lie?

  ‘You have a busy day?’ asked Dad.

  Thomas nodded again. He waited for his nipples to calm down so he could think straight.

  Relax, he said to himself. Dad’s just exaggerating a bit. It’s what fathers do with their sons. Dad’s probably always done it, but I haven’t had the nipples to notice it before.

  ‘I had some news today,’ said Dad. ‘They’re giving me a new truck next week.’

  Thomas winced as his nipples went double feather duster.

  He waited for the itching to get even worse. Which would be happening any second now when Dad started exaggerating about the huge size of his pretend new truck.

  Dad was rolling his eyes. ‘A smaller one, if you don’t mind.’

  Thomas’s nipples went double feather duster with mozzie bite.

  ‘That’s awful,’ said Thomas.

  Which it was.

  Dad wasn’t exaggerating, he was lying.

  ‘It won’t even have a mobile phone,’ said Dad.

  ‘So people won’t even be able to ring me at work.’

  Thomas winced as another pulsating itch tore through his chest.

  Dad went out to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

  Thomas massaged his chest and tried to think why Dad would be lying.

  After a while he remembered what Mum had said at the salon, something about Dad having problems at work.

  Of course, thought Thomas. Dad’s lying out of kindness and consideration. So me and Mum and Alisha won’t worry. Which means his work problems must be pretty big.

  Thomas remembered Dad telling him once about one of the other drivers who got addicted to pink lemonade and drank part of his delivery each day and ended up with a criminal record and really bad teeth.

  Thomas felt sick with worry.

  He wished he could ask Dad what was going on. Just have an honest talk and get it all out in the open. Except if Dad wanted to talk about it, he wouldn’t be telling lies, would he?

  There must be another way to find out.

  Thomas could only think of one.

  He’d have to do a last mission.

  10

  Wednesday 8.15 a.m.

  Dad up other end of carriage. Lucky train crowded so he can’t see me. I can see his work jacket and lunchbox. Other passengers staring at me. First time they’ve seen this? Kid writing an undercover mission log on beauty salon notepaper? No, kind woman points to my hair. Twigs. From hiding in our hedge waiting for Dad to leave house. Don’t tell her this. Or that I’m investigating Dad’s work problems.

  8.27 a.m.

  Something strange going on. Dad didn’t get off at his station. I can see soft-drink factory through train window. Trucks being loaded, so there’s not a strike or flavouring shortage. We’re heading for the city.

  9.03 a.m.

  City. Dad into café. I pretend to jot down prices of golf equipment in shop window across street. Dad talking to waitress. Must be arranging future soft-drink deliveries. I can see why he didn’t bring truck into city. Traffic terrible. Must be why he’s getting a smaller truck. Easier to park.

  9.24 a.m.

  Dad still in café. Drinking tea and reading paper. Probably waiting for them to fill out order form. Hope they finish it soon. I’ve jotted down golf equipment prices twice. Golf ball prices three times.

  9.43 a.m.

  Man walking past tells me golf equipment prices much cheaper in his brother’s shop in western suburbs. My nipples go itchy. Alisha right, world a dishonest place. No wonder people get stressed and need eggplant foot moisturisers.

  10.15 a.m.

  Dad leaves café. Gives waitress money. She doesn’t give him anything. Obviously changed her mind about soft-drink delivery. I follow Dad down street. Stay out of sight behind shoppers and tourists. Dad not arranging soft-drink deliveries with any of them.

  10.34 a.m.

  Long walk across city. Keep almost losing Dad. Too many people. Wish Kevin was here to give me undercover hints. Or Holly to explain how journalists write while they walk. There’s
Dad. He’s going into cinema centre. Their soft-drink order must be huge. Will Dad be able to handle it with small truck?

  10.42 a.m.

  Dad buys ticket. Goes into movie. Batman. Hang on, I get it. Dad once told me more soft drink consumed in cinemas than any other place. He must be doing consumer research. He’s always giving his company ideas for new products. Blue lemonade, etc.

  10.49 a.m.

  Very mysterious. Just remembered cinemas don’t need deliveries of bottles and cans. Got their own machines that make soft drinks. Maybe Dad trying to persuade them that cans are better. If you buy several, you can sit on them to see over person in front.

  12.11 p.m.

  Feeling hungry. And dumb. Forgot to put my lunchbox into schoolbag.

  12.16 p.m.

  That’s lucky. Found part of old lamington under sports socks.

  1.02 p.m.

  Getting a bit worried. Dad just came out of movie at end of session. Bought another ticket and went straight into another movie. I can’t see which one from behind this life-size cardboard Batman.

  1.07 p.m.

  Checked box-office screening times. Dad watching Death Wish 4. About dangers of taking big delivery trucks into the city? Ticket seller won’t tell me. Says he can’t because it’s rated MA15+. Suspicious looks at my school uniform. Told him I’m here with my father, who will be out of movie at 2.46.

  2.46 p.m.

  Very worried. Dad out of movie, bought another ticket, now he’s in Toy Story 3. What’s going on? Dad said he’d take me to see Toy Story 3. Can’t think straight. Weak with hunger. Buy small popcorn. All I can afford, only one week’s pocket money with me. Sit on steps to eat and think.

  3.01 p.m.

  That must be it. Of course. Why didn’t I think of it before? Dad’s quit his job to start new career. He’s always going on about how he should replace person who writes about movies in local paper because that person an idiot.

  Dad knows heaps about movies. Always chooses Hollywood when we play Trivial Pursuit. Knows title of every action movie ever made. I think I’m named after Tom Cruise.

  But why is Dad lying about new job? Must be because he wants to get really good at it before he breaks news to us. Probably takes a lot of practise, writing in the dark. You’d have trouble seeing dictionary if you need to check spelling of Angelina Jolie or Antonio Ba–