Looking Up Read online

  For Monica, my BFS.

  I’ll never stop looking up to you.

  1

  It all started, as things so often do, with the stars. One clear, perfect night Pete lay on his back on the trampoline in the middle of the back lawn and gazed up at the stars. Some were big, while others were so small they almost weren’t there. Some twinkled, just like in the song, and some pulsed like tiny silver hearts beating in the night sky. Then there were the ones that were just wincy points of light, bright against the black. All of them, Pete thought, were beautiful.

  As he lay there, gazing skywards, his thoughts drifted to his birthday. He was going to be ten in a week. Double digits at last! He was hoping — desperately hoping — for a telescope so that he could see everything much more clearly. He wanted to see which were really stars, and which were planets, to make out the clusters of stars which to the naked eye masqueraded as one, and the thousands of tiny stars which for now appeared as big dusty smudges on the inky sky.

  Pete had been poring over telescope catalogues for months and had finally set his hopes on the Moonstar 300. There were lots of bigger — and maybe better — telescopes, but they cost hundreds, even thousands, of dollars, and he knew Mum couldn’t afford that much.

  ‘Pete! Time to come in.’ Mum’s voice drifted across the yard from the open back door. It was getting late. Pete took one last lingering look, then padded across the lawn.

  Mum looked up from the kitchen table as he came in. ‘Whatcha been doing?’

  Pete shrugged. ‘Not much. Looking at the stars.’

  Mum smiled. ‘They’re beautiful, aren’t they? I used to love stargazing when I was your age. I remember —’ She stopped. Pete saw her face flicker with some unknown memory then close down. Typical Mum. She didn’t like to talk about her childhood. Pete didn’t know anything about when she was little.

  ‘Anyway. Time for bed, honey.’ Mum smiled again but Pete could see the frown lurking on her forehead. He wished he could reach out and rub it off. Instead, he wandered down the hall to brush his teeth.

  Through the bathroom window Pete could see the night sky. As he brushed he closed his eyes and imagined himself looking at the stars close up through a telescope.

  When Mum came to tuck him in, Pete wondered if he should remind her — again — about the telescope, or show her the picture in the catalogue he kept under his pillow. But he knew Mum wouldn’t forget. He had told her at least a hundred times how much he wanted a telescope. The issue wasn’t whether she would remember, but whether she could afford to buy him one. Money was tight, and the kind of telescope Pete wanted cost a lot of money. No point bugging Mum about it. He’d just have to wait and see.

  2

  Coming home from school was Pete’s favourite part of the day. After being stuck inside listening to Mr Thompson drone on about maths, or spelling, or history, he was always glad to get home and be free to do whatever he liked. Today, as he came through the front gate, Pete lifted the flap on the letterbox, then stopped. This was different.

  There was an envelope. Addressed to Pete.

  He’d never received mail of his own before.

  Mum got plenty. Usually bills, although sometimes she got an invitation to a party. And every weekend their letterbox was stuffed with what Mum called junk mail — catalogues from all the big chain stores wanting them to buy stuff.

  But never before had Pete opened the letterbox to find something with his name on it. He picked up the yellow envelope and examined it. The writing was kind of wobbly and loopy, not like Mum’s flowery writing, and not like Pete’s own printing which Mr Thompson said was not neat enough. Pete was sure he’d never seen this writing before.

  He turned the envelope over. Sometimes on the back of Mum’s letters there was an address from whoever had sent it. Not this one. The back was empty, just a neat triangle, stuck down to itself with no hint of what might be inside.

  Pete felt a teensy tremble of excitement.

  ‘Who could be writing to me?’

  It was a mystery, and Pete loved mysteries. Almost as much as he loved stars.

  Resisting the urge to rip open the envelope, Pete walked slowly across the front lawn, down the side of the house and up to the back door. He plonked his schoolbag on the mat while he dug in his pocket for the key.

  Miaow.

  ‘Hello, buddy.’ Pete stooped to scratch the cat rubbing at his ankles. Coulsen was a loyal friend, always there waiting for him after school.

  Unlocking the door he pushed it open and dragged his bag inside. Coulsen padded through behind him, miaowing again. Pete opened the pantry, took out the container of kibble and poured some into Coulsen’s bowl. He watched for a few seconds as the cat nibbled daintily, then turned back to find himself something to eat.

  Finally, with a choc chip biscuit in one hand and the letter in the other, Pete sat down at the kitchen table. Chewing the bickie, he examined the envelope again. There was no clue who it wasfrom. He knew that opening it would probably answer that question but Pete wanted to prolong the anticipation. The mystery tickled his brain as he read the front again, looking for a clue.

  Then, when he could stand it no longer, he ripped it open.

  A birthday card. In the excitement of finding the envelope, Pete had almost forgotten his birthday. He pulled out the card and examined the front. Most birthday cards he’d had in the past — from Mum mostly, but also sometimes from Mum’s friends or kids at school — had featured clowns or cars or cartoon animals. This card was different. This was an image of stars, swirling and sprawling across a deep blue background. It was like a painting. Pete could feel himself being pulled into those distant galaxies.

  ‘Wow!’ He was sure the sender must be someone who knew him well, who knew how he felt when he lay on the back lawn and looked at the night sky. But who? Finally, he opened the card, reading the few lines inside.

  Dear Pete

  Happy Birthday.

  May all your dreams come true.

  Love, Grandad.

  Grandad? Pete frowned. He didn’t have a grandad. Not that he knew of.

  There was just Pete and Mum at home. Dad lived far away, in the city, and although he rang occasionally, he never visited and he never wrote. Dad had a girlfriend called Shara and a fast car and a little flat near the beach. There wasn’t a lot of room for Pete, and Pete got the feeling that was the way Dad, and especially Shara, liked it.

  As far as Pete knew, that was all the family he had. It was always just Pete and Mum, Mum and Pete. He’d asked Mum once about grandparents. Other kids at school had them, so why didn’t he? But Mum had said both her parents were dead. She’d looked so sad when she said it, that Pete had changed the subject.

  Now, though, there was this card, from someone calling himself Grandad.

  Strange. Very, very strange.

  3

  Pete was waiting when Mum came through the door from work.

  ‘I didn’t know I had a grandad.’

  He watched, intrigued, at the way his mum’s face changed from happy to see him, to confused by what he’d said, to something else he couldn’t name. She was not quite frowning, not quite smiling and Pete knew, without a doubt, that whatever she said next would be not quite true.

  ‘What makes you think —’ she started, then paused, swallowing.

  Pete held out the card he’d been holding tightly ever since he’d opened it.

  This time Mum’s frown was definite. The smile had gone.

  She took the card with trembling fingers, and examined the front, just as Pete had done, without opening it.

  ‘Starry Night,’ she whispered, almost to herself. ‘Typical!’

  Pete didn’t know what she meant, but he also knew now was not the time to ask. Instead he w
atched, fascinated, as Mum opened the card and read. Again her face was a storm of emotions. But Mum didn’t speak. She closed the card, looked at the front again, opened it, reread the inside, swallowed and closed her eyes. She gripped the card so tightly Pete worried she might scrumple it. He held his hand out to take it back, but Mum didn’t look at him.

  Now Pete was scared. He’d never seen Mum like this. What was wrong?

  ‘Mum —’ he began, but he didn’t know what else to say. Instead he put his hand on her shoulder. He could feel Mum trembling and now he trembled with her. This was frightening. Worse than the night he’d found Mum collapsed on the floor when a bout of flu had left her dizzy and weak.

  They stood in a silence so heavy Pete felt it crushing the top of his skull, pushing on his chest, gripping his legs like concrete.

  At last the silence broke when Mum dropped the card, took a juddering breath and opened her eyes.

  Pete quickly bent and scooped it up, afraid Mum might reclaim it. No matter the confusion it was causing, he loved that card, with its beautiful picture and the delicious mystery of an unknown grandad.

  Mum took a wobbly step and sat at the kitchen table. She gripped the edge as if to steady herself, took another breath and, finally, spoke.

  ‘Would you believe me if I said it was a mistake?’ Her eyes were pleading, but Pete could see she knew what his answer would be.

  ‘No, Mum. It says it’s from Grandad. Tell me who he is.’

  Another deep breath. As long as Mum kept breathing, Pete thought, things were okay. Breathing was good. Breathing was life. Even if every breath Mum took seemed to be a desperate gulp for something more than oxygen. It was as if she was hoping to breathe in an answer, or a way out of whatever it was that was upsetting her.

  ‘He’s —’ Mum paused and looked around the room, more lost than Pete had ever seen her. ‘He’s my dad.’

  ‘Your dad?’ Pete jumped to his feet. ‘You have a dad? My grandad? That’s fantastic. That’s so cool.’ Visions of fishing trips, birthday presents, family outings — like his mates had — filled his head just for a second. Then it hit him. ‘But … but you said he was dead.’ He sat back down, and stared at Mum, who stared back, chewing her bottom lip like Pete did when he was upset. ‘Why would you say he’s dead if he’s not?’

  Another pause. Pete sat forward on his chair, waiting impatiently. The excitement of moments before was gone — now he just wanted answers.

  ‘It’s complicated, Pete. You wouldn’t understand.’ She was right. Pete could barely understand what Mum was saying, let alone why. ‘It was better to just say he was dead.’

  Better? Better than what? Better for who? Questions clamoured inside Pete’s head. But before he could speak, Mum held out a hand to stop him.

  ‘Look, honey, I know you don’t understand, and I know you want to know more — but this has come as a shock to me.’ A shock to her? Pete was reeling. ‘I will tell you more. But not right now. I need to think.’

  ‘But —’ But Pete could see Mum wasn’t going to back down. Whatever that look was in her eyes, it wasn’t something he could negotiate with. Not now.

  ‘I’m going to Tyler’s,’ he muttered, and headed next door.

  He didn’t look back. He needed time to think just as much as Mum did.

  4

  ‘Cool card.’

  Tyler plonked himself down on the bench next to Pete.

  Pete smiled a little. That was just like Tyler — no ‘hi, how’s things?’ or ‘what’s up?’ As soon as he appeared at the top of the ladder into their treehouse he launched straight into conversation as if they’d never been apart. Pete sometimes wondered if all best friends worked like that, or if what he and Tyler had was somehow special.

  Now, though, Tyler was looking at him, and Pete realised that no matter how good a friend he was, Tyler couldn’t possibly guess what was on his mind.

  ‘It’s from my grandad,’ he said, and held it out to Tyler.

  ‘Your grandad? Cool!’ Tyler paused and frowned. ‘Except, correct me if I’m wrong, buddy, but I thought you didn’t have any grandparents.’

  Pete shifted uncomfortably. ‘Me too. But apparently I do. Maybe. It’s complicated.’

  Tyler read the card. ‘So this guy says he’s your grandad. Is he? What did your mum say?’

  Pete shrugged. ‘Not much. She said she wasn’t ready to talk about it. She said it was a shock to her. She said —’ He paused. Somehow he didn’t want to admit, even to Tyler, his best friend in the whole world, that Mum had thought it was better to pretend her dad was dead than to admit he was alive. He just didn’t get it. Why would you pretend somebody was dead?

  ‘But he’s real then? Really your grandad?’

  Pete nodded.

  ‘Cool. When do you get to meet him?’

  ‘I —’ Pete swallowed and shrugged once again. ‘I don’t know. Maybe never. Mum doesn’t seem too keen.’

  ‘That sucks.’ Tyler thumped the bench. ‘He’s your grandad, isn’t he? You should be allowed to see him. Grandparents are cool!’

  Pete thought about Tyler’s grandparents. One set lived in town, and Tyler’s grandma was always baking awesome treats. Sometimes she babysat Tyler — but there was nothing babyish about being looked after by Grandma Roper. She would cook pizza for dinner, and play Playstation till midnight. She was cool. Pete had never met Tyler’s other grandparents, but he’d seen the presents they sent for Tyler’s birthday and Christmas every year, and heard about the fun Tyler had when he went to stay with them.

  ‘Maybe there’s something wrong with him,’ suggested Tyler. ‘Maybe he’s a monster, or a murderer, or a kidnapper.’

  Pete looked again at the card with its swirly star-filled sky. The person who chose this — the mysterious Grandad — had somehow managed to pick just exactly the right card for Pete, without ever having met him. Pete didn’t know what the problem was between Mum and Grandad, but he did know that Grandad was someone he wanted to meet.

  ‘So whatcha gunna do?’ Tyler’s question interrupted his thoughts. Pete scratched his head.

  ‘Dunno. Not much I can do, really, except wait and see what Mum says.’

  ‘What if she says no?’

  Pete shrugged. ‘She just has to say yes.’

  ‘You could find him yourself.’

  Pete’s eyes widened. ‘How? I don’t know anything about him.’

  ‘Did he put his address on the card?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is there a postmark?’

  Pete hadn’t thought of that. He pulled the envelope from his pocket.

  ‘Look,’ said Tyler. ‘It was posted in town, so he must live around here somewhere. That’s great. What’s his name?’

  ‘I dunno. Grandad.’

  ‘Duh. He must have a real name. He’s your mum’s dad, isn’t he? Did she have a different name? You know, before she got married?’

  Pete laughed. He got the giggles whenever he heard Mum’s old surname. ‘Aldwinckle.’

  Now Tyler giggled, too. ‘Old what?’

  ‘Aldwinckle. It’s an old English surname, apparently. But not very common.’

  Tyler jumped up. ‘Not common? That’s even better. Come on!’

  Pete wasn’t sure why he was following Tyler, but he didn’t have time to ask. Tyler was already racing down the ladder, across the lawn and through the back door. Pete followed, hurrying to keep up.

  ‘Hey, Mum,’ Tyler called. ‘Okay if we go on the computer?’

  ‘I guess so,’ said his mum. ‘But no silly games.’

  ‘No games,’ Tyler said. ‘We’re doing research.’

  ‘This should be easy,’ Tyler said to Pete, as he clicked on the browser. Pete watched as Tyler found the website for the phone directory. ‘How do you spell that name again — old-whatever?’

  ‘Aldwinckle.’ Pete smiled. He spelt it out as Tyler typed, then watched as the search results came up.

  There were only five Aldwinckles. Fo
ur of them lived in other states, but one of them was local.

  Tyler pointed to the screen. ‘This must be him.’

  Pete trembled as he read the address: 59 Thornton Street. Just on the other side of town there lived an A P Aldwinckle. Could this be his grandad?

  5

  There was a doorbell, but Pete’s eyes were drawn to the heavy metal knocker in the middle of the old wooden door. He’d never used a doorknocker before — wasn’t sure he’d ever seen one, except on TV. There was no way he was going to ring the doorbell when he could knock.

  Pete hesitated only a moment more. The time for second-guessing was past. He’d been unable to think about anything else since Tyler had found the address. He’d rehearsed what he was going to say over and over in his head, long after he was meant to be asleep last night. Then as soon as school was over they’d ridden their bikes across town. Tyler was standing on the path a few metres behind him, waiting for him to act. He couldn’t back out now.

  Pete’s hand reached for the knocker. It was heavier than he’d expected. He raised it once, twice, three times. The sound echoed down what he imagined must be a hall beyond. He waited, then heard footsteps shuffling closer.

  Suddenly his mouth was dry. His fingers twitched as they clenched and unclenched, and one foot rose almost of its own accord and scratched against the back of his other leg.

  He heard the clunk of a lock and then watched, scarcely breathing, as the door swung open.

  ‘Yes?’ An old man stood before him. Grey wispy hair hung over deep blue eyes — the exact same colour as Mum’s — and as Pete’s, too. A white collared shirt was tucked neatly into brown trousers.

  All this Pete saw in an instant, as he felt a surge of relief. This man didn’t look like a monster, or a murderer or a kidnapper. He didn’t look angry or scary or anything. He just looked like an old man. An old man who seemed a little confused as he looked down at Pete.

  ‘Can I help you?’ the man asked.