Finding Abby

12

I have to turn my phone on as we drive over the Westgate Bridge because we have no idea how to get to Richmond. I don't care about my data plan. It's already blown with all the photos and videos I've been looking at.

The sun is setting, and the city lights start to twinkle around us. The city is vast; a forest of tall, shining towers lined up in front of us blocking the sky as Finn turns the car down Power Street. The traffic is manic. So many cars and people. Endless glass buildings that soar into the sky or sit flat on the pavement with blank, unfriendly windows. It's enclosed and dark and oppressive around me - like we're in a different world to the empty space we drove in from.

I'm using the maps on my phone; trying to tell Finn which way to go. Ben has called a few more times and sent some messages asking if I'm okay. He doesn't mention the car. He only asks about me. And Finn. I swallow a gulp of emotion down and concentrate on giving Finn directions.

A flood of messages from Minda comes in.

I made it J, and I miss you too! My dada has no clue who I am. *Big hugs*

What's going on with the tall, dark handsome stranger?

I told you Finn was a good one! Remember that night after my birthday when he helped me home 'cos I was smashed? He was the sweetest. Update please!

What's going on Jensy?

Jenna! Msge me pls. I can call you if you need me.

U ok?

Jens?

Jens?

I'm worried. Jens!

I shoot her a text back: Mum's lost the plot. I stole Ben's car. Finn and me are going to Melbourne to find my dad. Don't worry. I'm fine. x

I tell Finn he needs to be in the left lane so we can go down Swan Street. When he swerves, he narrowly misses a cyclist who shakes his fist at him but when he sees the Sandman, gives us a grin and a thumbs up.

We drive past the gardens and flocks of birds chirp and coo in the trees as we cruise by. Then the sports stadiums clutter around and we're driving down Swan Street. It's enclosed and cramped and full of pedestrians: people coming and going, joggers, people spilling out of bars, people hurrying into bars.

Everyone notices the car and smiles at us. Cars honk and veer across lanes. Brick-like, sluggish trams are behind us and in front of us. Finn is biting his lip, leaning forward in his seat, concentrating hard. I'm so grateful for him right now.

"Please don't say I have to do a hook turn," he mumbles as we approach Burnley Street. I can see shiny beads of sweat around his hair line. Even my hands shake slightly.

But we're nearly there.

"That's only in the city," I say. "You know, the CBD? Turn left here, quick!"

"Thank you, Lord." Finn puts the indicator on and swerves to turn.

We go down Burnley Street, and the houses are all old and compact and squat. Little worker's cottages with iron decorations across their verandas. It's still cramped and busy. I tell Finn to turn down Bliss Street.

"It's number three," I whisper as he nudges the van through the lines of traffic.

The street is narrow and a huge old cream-painted pub crouches grumpily on the corner. I check the piece of paper Ben gave me then point out the house. Surprisingly, a space is free directly out the front but it's in a permit zone.

Finn shuts the ignition off, leans across the steering wheel, peers up at the street sign. "We can't park here."

"We're way past following the rules, don't you reckon?"