Friday Brown

by Vikki Wakefield

  ‘You will kiss me again,’ I promised.

  Just before morning I woke shaking, haunted by the ghost of a dream.

  It wasn’t a bad dream. I knew the script. The faceless mannequins had mouths and they were smiling. I grasped the empty hand and felt bulldust puff between my toes. I took the knife, cut through the vines and, at the far end of the corridor, the door swung open.

  There was nothing on the other side, but I wasn’t scared.

  I sat on the window-seat with my chin in my hands, stared out at the rectangle of lawn, and waited for first light.

  The sun was a pink stain on the horizon when I slipped downstairs. My furry escort met me at the back door and led the way along a path to a garden shed. Inside, I found a shovel leaning up against a wall.

  It takes time to believe again.

  I broke ground where the middle of the pool would have been.

  About half a metre down, beneath black earth, the shovel grated and stopped.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My thanks to the team at Text who make everything seamless; to my editor, Penny Hueston, for her faith, energy and for seeing the things I didn’t; to Steph Stepan for being fabulous.

  Thanks to my agent, Sheila Drummond, for being in my corner.

  To my literary ladies, Allayne Webster and Rebecca Burton, thank you for reading the bare bones of this book and for saying all the right things. I’ll porch-sit and prattle with you guys any time.

  Thanks to my fellow authors—anyone who ever smiled at me in a crowd, took me under their wing and made me feel a little less lost.

  And last but never least, thanks to My People. You know who you are.

  Table of Contents

  Praise

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Friday Brown

  Part 1 The City

  Part 2 Dust

  Acknowledgments