Shad may be the Linford who is an actual certified genius, but sometimes I think Disey genuinely is smarter than him.
‘Hi, Mrs Blacklin? It’s Holly-Anne Sullivan. Is Finn there, please?’ Have I pitched my voice right? I hope so.
‘Oh, hello,’ Finn’s mother says stiffly. ‘I’ll just get him for you. Finn!’
‘Tell her to go away!’
‘Are you sure? It’s Holly-Anne.’
I hear Finn groan, then swear. I can’t help smiling to myself when his mother threatens to wash his mouth out with soap. ‘What do you want, Holly?’ he says as he takes the phone. ‘I thought we talked about this already.’
I open my mouth. Then I close it again.
What am I supposed to say? I figure I might get in one sentence before he hangs up on me, and I have to make it count. This isn’t Holly-Anne, it’s Pearl, just isn’t going to cut it. Neither is, So, how ’bout that coma? or any of the other stupid things that pop into my head.
‘Holly, are you giving me the silent treatment?’ Finn demands. ‘Because there is no point doing it over the phone.’
‘I need to know what you did to me,’ I blurt out.
There is a long, pregnant pause. Then, ‘What?’ Finn says.
‘I need to know what you did to me, Finn,’ I say.
Another pause.
‘In the hospital. You did something. You woke me up. I need to know –’ What do I need to know, exactly? How can I get answers if I don’t even know what the questions are?
A third pause, the longest yet. ‘Go away, Pearl,’ he says, then there is a clunk and I’m listening to dial tone.
Ugh. Was I lobotomised in hospital without anyone telling me?
This is painful. At school, before any of this happened, Finn and I spoke a lot. Sure, it was mostly insults, but at least we talked.
The phone rings and I jump ten feet in the air. ‘Hello?’ I say, grabbing it before the first ring has even finished. ‘Finn?’
‘No, no, it’s Viv. Is your sister there?’
I deflate. ‘Sure, I’ll just get her for you. Disey!’
‘So, who’s Finn, eh?’
I roll my eyes. Viv is a photographer from the newspaper and, although I like her, she can be really annoying sometimes. ‘No one.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Very sure. Here’s Disey.’
I hand over the phone and retreat to the lounge room. I look out the window. No black horses. No black cats. No scary men lurking behind bushes wielding slingshots. If no one else seems to have twigged that it was a bit weird that I was hit in the head with a rock which came from nowhere, maybe it’s not weird. Maybe it was a meteorite. And why would anyone want to kill me? I mean, I know I’m pretty annoying, but annoying enough to literally kill?
What is weird is that Finn Blacklin won’t talk to me. And if the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, then Muhammad might have to go to the mountain.
‘Hey Shad,’ I say, ambling into his study, ‘can we go out later?’
He spins around in his office chair. ‘Out? What do you mean?’
‘I’m feeling all claustrophobic, locked up in here,’ I say. ‘I need to get out for a bit.’
‘Pearlie, you need to rest.’
‘I didn’t mean abseiling or skydiving or anything extreme,’ I wheedle. ‘I thought maybe we could go out for dinner.’
Shad thinks about it. ‘Dinner.’
‘Just dinner. No hijinks, no nothing. I promise to be on my best behaviour and not do a single thing which might exert any undue effort. I just – I need to get out, Shad.’
He exhales through his nose. ‘I suppose that would be okay.’
‘Thank you thank you thank you! You’re the best, Shad!’ I fling my arms around his neck.
‘Hey,’ he says sternly, ‘you calm down, young lady. You just promised you wouldn’t exert any undue effort.’
‘It won’t happen again,’ I promise.
‘Where did you want to go?’
‘Well . . . it’s Friday, so it’s live music night at the Saffron Room . . .’
This is a complete and utter waste of time.
The music’s bad – I don’t know who this musician is, but I’d rather listen to fingernails on a blackboard. The food’s good but it might as well be two-minute noodles for all the attention I’m paying it. ‘Are you feeling all right, Pearlie?’ Shad asks me.
‘Yeah, yeah, fine,’ I reply.
And Finn isn’t working tonight.
Typical.
How often am I going to be able to get out of the house? Not very frigging often, let me tell you, not with the watch Disey and Shad are keeping me on, not to mention the whole potential psycho-killer qu’est-ce que c’est situation. I’m being kept alive by a hair coiled round my finger and Finn doesn’t even have the courtesy to be rostered on when I’m trying to stalk him.
‘Dessert?’ the waiter asks.
‘Pearlie?’ Shad asks.
‘Um, yeah, that’d be great. Can I get the pannacotta, please?’
‘Sticky-date pudding for me,’ Shad says. ‘And hopefully I won’t wear it this time.’
‘Of course,’ the waiter says, and disappears.
‘Are you sure you’re all right, Pearl?’ Shad asks. ‘You look very – oh, I don’t know. Not yourself.’
‘I’m fine,’ I lie. ‘Dinner was great. It’s just –’ I struggle for an excuse, ‘– the music. It’s really bad.’
‘She certainly wasn’t a patch on you,’ Shad says, reaching over the table and squeezing my hand.
‘Thanks, Shad.’
Shad hesitates for a moment. ‘I haven’t heard you playing since you came home.’
I swallow. There’s no way I can tell him the truth – that whatever it is in me that makes music is frozen with terror. ‘I guess I haven’t felt like it.’
‘I worry about you, Pearl,’ Shad says. ‘Ever since your accident you’ve seemed so – distant. So breakable.’
‘I’m fine, I promise,’ I lie. ‘I’m getting better. You don’t need to worry about me.’
‘You just try and stop me,’ Shad says.
‘In fact, I might go and talk to the manager right now,’ I say. ‘Maybe I can line up another gig in a few weeks. That’ll help me back on my feet.’
‘I don’t know,’ Shad says doubtfully. ‘You’re not supposed to over-exert –’
‘– myself, I know, but come on, it’s music, not extreme sports. It’ll be fine. It’ll be good for me. Promise.’
He sighs. ‘Okay then.’
I hurry away from the table before he can change his mind. I kind of hope the manager Jean-Paul won’t be in his office so I can go through his records or something and find more contact details for Finn, but he’s there. ‘Hello Pearl!’ he says. ‘What are you doing back here?’
He’s got the sympathy stare in his eyes. Ugh.
‘I just came to say hello,’ I say. ‘Um, I know you normally do this through Mr Hunter, but I was wondering if you’d like me to play any Fridays again soon. I had such a good time last time and I’d love to come back.’
‘Oh, aren’t you brave?! Are you doing all right, you poor thing?’ The sympathy stare has changed into the pity stare. Kill me now.
‘I’m fine,’ I say firmly. ‘Same old Pearl.’
‘Well, as soon as I have a slot, I’ll certainly let you know. Perhaps we could use it to raise money for charity – a brain damage foundation or something. You know, after your accident.’
Pearl Linford. Charity case. I have a moment which is almost like an out-of-body experience. How is this my life?
‘I’d love to,’ I say, pasting a smile on my face.
‘Fabulous! I’ll be in touch.’
‘Oh, by the way, I had something else I wanted to ask you.’
‘Of course, darling.’ Anything for the charity case.
‘I know one of your waiters – Finn Blacklin?’
‘Ah yes, Finn. He’s a good boy.’<
br />
I repress the urge to ask Jean-Paul if he’s actually met Finn and press on. ‘Anyway, I was just wondering if you could tell me when he’s working again.’
‘Oh, he’s here tonight. Didn’t you see him?’
What?!
‘No. Where is he now?’
‘Let’s have a look.’ Jean-Paul ushers me out of his office and we stand peering through the round glass hole in the door that separates the kitchen from the restaurant. ‘There he is, there,’ Jean-Paul says, pointing. ‘Serving that couple over there.’
‘I don’t know how I missed him before,’ I say. ‘Do you mind if I wait for him a minute? He’s just such a good friend of mine, and I haven’t seen him –’
‘Didn’t you and our Finn have a bit of a heated exchange of words last time you were here?’ Jean-Paul says, smiling condescendingly.
Damn. I forgot about that. ‘Oh, you know how it is,’ I make up. ‘Friends when they fight . . . so do you mind if I wait? I haven’t seen him for weeks.’
Go on, Jean-Paul. Refuse your charity case.
‘That’ll be fine, sweetheart,’ Jean-Paul says. ‘I’ll be in touch about Fridays, all right?’
‘Sure thing,’ I say. He smiles the oh-aren’t-you-so-brave smile and disappears back into his office.
I wait.
Finn is taking orders from a family of four. The parents both look harried – the older of their kids is screaming and the younger one looks like he’s about to start. Finn takes down their orders on his little notepad before disappearing behind the bar and bringing back colouring pencils for the kids. The crying one stops miraculously. Then Finn gets a high chair for the younger one, who gets very excited. The parents look less edgy, the kids are happy and Finn’s cracking jokes with them.
Every politician’s trick. Be good with kids. You don’t fool me, Finn Blacklin.
Oh God, he’s coming back. What am I going to say? Why didn’t I think of this? What kind of idiot are you, Pearl, waiting to ambush someone and not knowing what you’re going to –
‘Hello, Finn.’ The words come out of my mouth without any connection to my brain. ‘Long time no see.’
Who do I think I am, Buffy?
He looks at me for one horrified moment before he collects himself enough to speak. ‘You shouldn’t be back here. Customers aren’t allowed in the kitchen.’
‘I just came to see Jean-Paul. And he said it was fine if I waited for my old friend Finn, whom I haven’t spoken to since, oh, the day I woke up from a coma.’
‘Well, hello. Are we done?’
‘No, we are not done!’ I hiss. ‘You woke me up, Finn!’
‘You shouldn’t be here!’
‘Well, I wouldn’t have to be here if you’d just talk to me!’
‘I mean it, Pearl. You shouldn’t be here. Go home.’
‘No.’
We have a stand-off for a minute. He’s the one that blinks first. ‘Come here,’ he says.
He hustles me into – I don’t know where we even are. A storeroom? A cloakroom? Someplace dark, anyway. ‘Finn,’ I begin. ‘You need to tell me –’
‘Linford,’ he says. ‘Do you trust me?’
I open my mouth to say no, but he gets in before me. ‘Because you’re gonna have to.’
And then his hand is over my mouth and he’s turning me around and pressing me against the wall so hard I think I’ll have the imprint of the wallpaper on my forehead. I make a sound of protest as he rips the bandage off the back of my head and then OMG I have never felt such incredible pain and my head is on fire and I’m screaming and screaming but his hand is firm against my lips and I don’t think I can breathe and –
‘Shhh,’ he says in my ear. ‘Shhh. I’m sorry, Pearl. I’m so, so sorry.’
He keeps his hand over my mouth, muffling my whimpers of pain. His other hand is gentle as he presses the bandage back to my scalp. ‘You can’t tell anyone about any of this, okay?’ he says, and there is an edge of desperation in his voice. ‘You need to keep this a secret.’
And then he’s gone, and I’m in the storeroom alone, wondering WTF just happened.
‘You took a while,’ Shad says mildly when I get back to our table.
‘Oh, I was just having a good chat with Jean-Paul,’ I say. I still feel shell-shocked. I don’t know what the hell Finn just did to me, but . . . keep it together, Linford, keep it together, this is not the place for a breakdown.
‘I was a bit worried for a moment you’d gone off to have it out with that waiter you chewed out last time,’ Shad remarks.
If only he knew. ‘I wouldn’t waste my time.’
‘I was surprised you were so calm before.’
‘Before?’
‘When he took our dessert orders. You didn’t even flinch or try to slap him or anything. Very Zen.’
I stare. ‘That was Finn?!’
‘Of course it was,’ Shad says. ‘And – oh my God, Pearlie, you’re bleeding.’
I touch the back of my neck. My fingers come away sticky and red. ‘I –’
‘Come on,’ Shad says. ‘We have to get you to the hospital.’
Right. Let’s make a list. The Things That Are So Wrong With Finn Blacklin I Can’t Even Get My Head Around It list.
Okay. Number one and most importantly, he woke me up from a coma and now his hair is the only thing keeping me alive. Fact.
Number two – he was right in front of me at the restaurant tonight, taking my dessert order, but he somehow made it so I couldn’t see him. Fact – it’s not like I’m going to miss him.
Number three, he dragged me into a cupboard tonight and suddenly the rock in my head has mysteriously vanished.
The doctors at the hospital don’t understand it at all. ‘I don’t know how this happened,’ one of them said to me and a very worried-looking Shad and Disey. ‘The rock must have naturally pushed itself out.’
Apparently it’s a good thing, on account of hey! no more potential brain damage. But it’s left me so, so confused.
How did Finn Blacklin manage to take a rock out of my head that qualified surgeons with scalpels and anaesthetic and stuff couldn’t move a millimetre? Using only his fingers?
He threw that horseshoe at the black horse at Tillie’s party and somehow sustained a mysterious burn. He insisted on coming with me to look up at the stables. He got elected school captain – that is majorly weird, considering what a total screw-up he is.
He’s paraded through my dreams since I was about five years old in various forms and guises. He’s insanely hot. My subconscious has a massive crush on him which I can’t seem to shake. There is something about this boy that is seriously messed up and weird and I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT IS. GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.
Come on, Pearl. Breathe. You’ve had a hell of a night. Maybe try and get some sleep and you can work on this one in the morning, okay?
I curl myself into my doona and snuggle up. I’ve taken to clenching my left fist tight when I sleep so there’s no possibility of Finn’s hair falling off my finger. The sound of the rain pattering on the roof and Shad tapping at his keyboard lulls me half to sleep when, suddenly, I hear a sound that does not belong.
Someone is opening my window.
My heart stops and then starts again at four times the speed. My stomach lurches. The barrier of denial I’ve been so painstakingly building up crumbles.
The killer has come for me.
Oh my God.
I force myself to keep breathing regularly, slowly, as if I was still asleep. When I was little, I used to be terrified that burglars would break into the house, and I reasoned that if I looked like I was still asleep they would leave me alone while they burgled my room, but they might hurt me if I were awake. Old instincts die hard. In and out and in and out and in and out and in . . .
‘Is she asleep?’ I hear a girl’s voice say. There is a thump as she climbs through the window – not a loud one, but a thump nonetheless.
‘I overheard the sister
saying they gave her pain pills at the hospital.’ Another voice, a dude’s this time. ‘They’ll knock her out good.’
The pain pills are sitting in my bedside table drawer. I didn’t want to take them because I wanted to be able to think straight. Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God oh God.
‘How are we going to get the bitch to stay put this time? It’s not like we can tie her down with her hair again.’
OMG, I know that voice!
‘I don’t understand why we even need to do it anyway,’ the dude says. ‘It’s not like anything we can do can keep her in here for more than a few hours anyway.’
I know him too. OMG. OMG. WTF is happening?!
‘You don’t want to know what’ll happen if we don’t do what they say,’ she says ominously. ‘Come on. I have an idea.’
I hear a rustling sound. I think they’re going through my dresser. ‘That’s seriously your idea?’ he says. ‘You’ve been watching way too many teen-horror films.’
‘Do you have a better one?’ she snaps. ‘Ugh, she has the worst taste.’
‘How did she wake up anyway?’ he asks. His footsteps are coming towards me and I hope he doesn’t come close enough to hear my heart, because it’s hammering away much faster than a sleeping person’s would ever beat.
‘I don’t know and I don’t care,’ she says. ‘It’s not our job to care.’
‘But aren’t you curious?’
‘Not curious enough to want to know what they’ll do to us if they find us meddling in stuff we’re not supposed to. Our job is to keep her in the house and that’s it. Now come on. I’m done. Let’s get out of here.’
I hear them climbing out the window. ‘Close it!’ she hisses at him. ‘Are you an idiot?’
There’s a screech. And then nothing. And nothing and nothing and nothing.
It takes me a long time before I’m brave enough to move. What if they’re still there? What if they left someone behind and they’re just sitting in here, waiting to kill me? What if what if what if –
I lunge for the switch on my lamp as quickly as I can.
My clothes are strewn all over the floor. My neat piles of paper have been upended. My books are all open, pages bent and creased.
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