Valentine

by Jodi McAlister

  No response. Not that I was expecting one.

  I sigh. ‘See you tomorrow, Phil,’ I say, leaning over her to kiss her forehead.

  ‘Nnnghgnngh.’

  I draw back quickly. ‘Phil?’ Julian says anxiously.

  She blinks, once, twice.

  ‘Phil!’ I exclaim. ‘Phil, can you hear me?’

  She blinks again, and then her eyes focus on me.

  ‘Phil! It’s me, it’s Pearl! You’re awake! Oh my God, this is awesome – this is –’

  She opens her mouth.

  And screams.

  I jump back hurriedly. A nurse comes tearing into the room. ‘What happened?’ she demands. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I didn’t do anything!’ I say. ‘I was just – she opened her eyes, and –’

  ‘Get away from her!’ Julian yells at me.

  Phil keeps screaming, deathly, otherworldly shrieks of absolute terror. ‘There, there now,’ the nurse says soothingly, trying to calm her down. ‘You’re safe, Philippa, you’re safe.’

  But she won’t stop screaming.

  ‘Pearl – Pearl!’

  ‘What?’ I say, stopping and looking up from my keyboard.

  ‘I’m heading off to see Helena now,’ Shad says, leaning against my doorjamb. ‘Want a ride to the hospital?’

  ‘No thanks,’ I say. ‘I might go later. I’m kind of in the middle of something.’

  ‘Are you sure? Visiting hours start soon.’

  ‘Go on,’ I say, flapping my hand at him. ‘Go see your ladyfriend. You know she likes seeing you in the sunlight.’

  Shad grins. ‘Yeah, well, she better not get used to it. I’m a creature of the night. It’s my thing. It makes me all mysterious.’

  ‘Whatever you say,’ I reply.

  ‘Dise’ll be home soon. I’m sure she won’t mind taking you up to the hospital when you want to go.’

  ‘Sure thing. Have fun.’

  ‘I will. Behave yourself.’

  ‘I’ll do my level best.’

  The door clicks closed behind him and I let the smile fall off my face. I don’t know how much longer I can keep playing this game.

  I play an arpeggio idly, notes rippling up, notes rippling down, music like water. It’s still not right. Try as I might, even though I hear it every time I let my mind go quiet, I cannot replicate the Seelie music.

  There’s a lot I can’t do these days.

  I clutch the bunch of flowers nervously: gerberas, bright and cheery, a splash of colour against the white walls of the hospital. ‘How is she?’ I whisper to the nurse outside her door.

  ‘She’s much calmer now,’ the nurse says reassuringly. ‘Waking up was very disorienting for her – it often is, for people who have been through something like Philippa has.’ She lowers her voice. ‘We don’t know what they did to her before you turned up.’

  ‘Is she – can I see her?’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ the nurse says. ‘She’s by herself right now. We finally managed to send her boyfriend home before he put himself in here alongside her with exhaustion. You go on in. I’ll find you some water for these.’ She whisks the gerberas out of my hand and bustles away.

  I go in.

  ‘Hi,’ I say awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.

  She’s sitting up in bed, staring out the window. There’s a pile of books sitting on the tray table next to her. The Phil I know would always demand books before food, before anything. So to see books is normal, is good. It means that Phil is still . . . Phil.

  ‘How are you doing?’ I ask.

  ‘Fine.’

  I’m taken aback. Of all the words I had expected to hear her say to me after what we’ve been through, ‘fine’ was not one of them. ‘Really?’

  ‘What do you think?’ she snaps.

  I’m stunned. Not once – not one single time in my entire life – have I ever had an unkind word from Philippa Kostakidis. Not once.

  ‘I suppose –’ I start, and hesitate, trying to think of how to phrase it, ‘– I suppose you want an explanation.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ This is not Phil. This is not Phil. Jenny must have got to her, zombified her like she did Cardy. This is not my friend.

  ‘I deserve an explanation,’ she says, looking at me for the first time, ‘but I don’t want one.’

  ‘How much – how much do you remember?’

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘Enough?’

  ‘Enough to know that it was your fault.’

  I feel like the ground has shifted beneath my feet, like something major has happened to the world, something seismic, without me even noticing. ‘What?’ I say faintly.

  ‘I bet people have been telling you for what – a week now? – that none of this was your fault,’ Phil says. ‘That you were so brave, so heroic – I bet they’re even giving you a medal.’

  Numbness travels through my body, starting at my head and flowing down. I’m frozen, paralysed.

  ‘But you know what? It is your fault, Pearl. None of this would have happened to me if it wasn’t for you.’

  ‘I never meant for any of this to happen,’ I whisper.

  ‘Well, it did.’

  ‘I tried to save you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have needed saving if it wasn’t for you. I’m not an idiot. I worked it out. I was a pawn in this stupid chess game. They only took me so they could take the queen. So they could take you.’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘Phil –’

  ‘I don’t want to be on your chessboard any more, Pearl. I don’t want to be a supporting character in whatever drama you’ve got yourself mixed up in.’

  ‘But – but you didn’t want me to die!’ I object. ‘You yelled out – you told me not to –’

  ‘What did you think I was going to yell? “Jump, Pearl, kill yourself!”?’

  I finally understand the clichés about heartbreak. There is a ripping, tearing pain in my chest that feels like I’m going to break in half. ‘What did they do to you?’ I whisper.

  ‘Nothing that wasn’t your fault.’

  There is nothing I can say, no glib remark I can make. Because it is true.

  ‘I’d like you to leave,’ Phil says.

  I obey. I owe her that much.

  That was three days ago. I haven’t been back to the hospital since. I can’t, not even for Cardy and Holly-Anne and Dave. The hospital is her territory and I won’t trespass. The best thing I can do for her – for everyone – is to stay away. Because where I go, disaster follows.

  I pick out the intro to one of the songs I wrote long before all of this happened, before I became fairy target #1 and people started dying. I remember sitting down in the sun beside the creek in summer, watching the sunlight sparkling off the water, and thinking it was magical.

  People always think magic is something desirable, something wonderful, something marvellous, until they en­coun­ter it.

  I have seen magic at Miller’s Creek. A black horse with needle-sharp teeth and a green-haired girl with a wicked smile. Magical, malicious, murderous.

  I am unsurprised that, when I open my mouth to sing, the words will not come.

  I stop playing. The awful, empty silence is a better expression of what I’m feeling than any music I could ever play. I suppose that is one thing I have learned that my mother never did. Sometimes, silence is better.

  But that doesn’t mean silence is good. The house is still, agonisingly still, the air seemingly thickening around me. This house, my haven, my prison. I feel like the walls are closing in on me.

  So I leave.

  I can’t say how long I walk. I’m not really thinking about where I’m going. I trek across the oval, the earth soft under my feet, down streets and through bike paths, my mind in a fog, a daze. Someone jogs past me and says hi and I say hi back and it isn’t until about five minutes later that I register that it was Mr Hunter.

  When I reach my destination, it is somehow obvious where I was goi
ng.

  ‘Come on, Matty,’ Mrs Blacklin says. ‘Get in the car.’

  ‘I don’t want to go and see Aunt Josie! I hate Aunt Josie!’

  ‘You don’t hate anyone,’ Mr Blacklin says sternly, jingling keys in his hand.

  ‘Fine – I really really really don’t like Aunt Josie! I don’t want to go!’

  ‘Well, we don’t always get what we want,’ Mrs Blacklin says. ‘In the car. Now.’

  ‘Why doesn’t Finn have to go?’

  ‘He has to study. Get in.’

  ‘Why can’t I stay with Finn?’

  ‘Matty, stop arguing!’ Mr Blacklin exclaims. ‘Get in the car!’

  Grumbling, Matty clambers in the back seat. ‘I know why Finn really doesn’t have to go,’ I hear him say. ‘It’s because Aunt Josie caught him kissing the girl next door and she got all cross.’

  ‘Matthew!’ both his parents exclaim. It’s the last thing I hear them say before they drive away down the street.

  Making out with someone unsuitable to annoy his aunt. That sounds typically Finn.

  I should turn around and go. He hasn’t come to see me, not in all the time I’ve been sick, and then there was . . . I’m still angry with him. I’m still furious.

  But my feet carry me forward anyway.

  I stop in front of the door, hand poised to knock, before I think better of it. The side gate is open. I slip through and climb the trellis. It’s hard with my injured legs, but I manage.

  His window is open to let the spring air in. A cascade of pink blossoms have fallen onto the sill outside but he doesn’t seem to have noticed, and so they lie there, rotting wetly. His room is the same as I remember. The only difference is the guitar, which is no longer in the corner. It’s in his hands.

  His dark hair falls over his eyes as he looks down at the guitar, picking out notes, chords, a plectrum between his long fingers. He’s not singing but I recognise the tune – it’s something I’ve heard wafting out of Shad’s study on occasion. But it sounds different when Finn plays it.

  I don’t want to interrupt him. But I didn’t come here for a concert.

  ‘Um, hi,’ I say cautiously.

  He jumps and swears. ‘God, Pearl, you scared me,’ he says.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Um, yeah, okay,’ he replies.

  He takes the screen out of his window but he does not help me through. Perhaps he knows that I wouldn’t accept the help, even if he offered it.

  There’s a long, awkward silence as we look at each other. Beginnings are the hardest part.

  I gesture towards his guitar. ‘I didn’t know you played,’ I say.

  ‘Just for myself,’ he answers. His eyes are shadowed and liquid in the afternoon light.

  ‘You didn’t come to see me.’

  ‘I know.’

  I look at him. ‘Well?’ I say. ‘Are you going to give me any more than that?’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d want to see me.’

  ‘What part of “come and see me later” did you not understand?’

  ‘The whole situation is – it’s messy, Pearl,’ he says. ‘I don’t want you mixed up in it.’

  I wouldn’t have needed saving if it wasn’t for you.

  ‘I’m already mixed up in it,’ I say.

  ‘But you don’t have to be,’ he insists. ‘Not any more. They know it’s not you now. Both sides. And I made them promise you’d be safe.’

  ‘So, what, I’m supposed to just go back to my life like nothing happened?’ I exclaim. ‘I know stuff, Finn. I’ve seen stuff, and I’ve been through stuff, and I can’t just dismiss it. This happened. This all happened. And I’m just as mixed up in it as you are.’

  ‘Not if I can help it,’ he says stubbornly.

  I throw my hands up in frustration. ‘Do you have any idea how exasperating you are?’

  ‘I am trying,’ he says, ‘to protect you!’

  ‘Finn Blacklin,’ I say, folding my arms, ‘you know me well enough now to know that I am not the sort of person that needs protecting.’

  He refuses to answer, scuffing his heel against the floor.

  ‘You made a bargain with the Seelie,’ I say. ‘I don’t know how you did it, but you knew I was in trouble, and you made a bargain with the Seelie to save me.’

  Silence. He won’t look at me.

  ‘What did you bargain?’

  ‘’snotimportant,’ he mumbles.

  ‘What did you bargain, Finn?’

  He meets my eyes. ‘Get this through your head,’ he says. ‘I. Am. Not. Going. To. Tell. You.’

  ‘Don’t you dare try that with me. You can’t just expect me to go away and let you do – I don’t know, whatever it is you’ve promised to do – just because –’

  ‘Just because you nearly died?’ he says quietly.

  ‘Maybe in stories the princess is grateful and nothing else when the prince saves her from the evil witch,’ I say, ‘but guess what, Finn? This isn’t a story. You saved me. Now it’s my turn to save you.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘If you tell me what bargain you made,’ I say, ‘I can help you find a way around it.’

  ‘This isn’t just some playground deal, Pearl! This is . . .  you can’t back out of this stuff. They’re mean and they’re clever and –’

  ‘They’re not the only ones who are clever,’ I say. ‘And I can be a pretty enormous bitch when I put my mind to it.’

  ‘Do you ever give up?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘Not on people I care about.’

  The words are out of my mouth before I am aware of it, and the blush is already halfway up my neck before I realise what I’ve said. ‘Pearl . . .’ he says, moving towards me.

  ‘Stop,’ I say.

  ‘What?’

  ‘This isn’t about that,’ I say. ‘And I’m not sure it’s a very good idea.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, for starters I’m still furious with you.’

  ‘That? You have to let me explain –’

  ‘You can have the chance to explain,’ I say icily, ‘if you tell me what bargain you made with the fairies.’

  He sighs. ‘Okay. If you insist. But me first.’

  I allow him this concession. ‘All right.’

  He sits back on the bed, fingers laced together. ‘It’s . . . it’s not what you think.’

  ‘Well, what I think is that you’ve been invading my dreams for years and making me feel things that I wouldn’t otherwise have felt,’ I say, sitting in his desk chair, ‘so I’ll be interested to know how you explain that away.’

  He bites his lip. ‘Look, I was in your dreams,’ he says. ‘I’m not going to deny that.’

  I fold my arms. ‘Go on.’

  ‘But I didn’t – there’s no way I can influence what you dream,’ he says. ‘I don’t have that kind of power. I can come into your dreams, but I can’t change anything, or make you do anything. They’re your dreams. I’m just along for the ride.’

  ‘And it never once occurred to you,’ I say, ‘that even if you couldn’t change what I was feeling or dreaming or whatever, you were committing a totally awful invasion of my privacy? You were in my mind, Finn. That’s private.’

  ‘It’s not something I can control,’ he says. ‘I’ve never, ever tried to go into one of your dreams on purpose. I promise. But . . . I never tried to stop it either. I just wanted to know you so badly. You – I’ve been fascinated with you, Pearl, always. And you shut me out – and I just needed to understand you.’

  ‘What you did,’ I say, ‘even if it was an accident, is worse than stealing my credit card, or reading my diary, or anything like that.’

  ‘I didn’t mean –’

  ‘Just by being in my mind,’ I go on, talking over the top of him, ‘you influenced the way I felt. Do you think I ever would have dreamed about you if you hadn’t turned up in my dreams?’

  He’s si
lent.

  ‘Well?’ I demand.

  ‘You’re going to be angry with me whatever I say,’ he says.

  ‘Then do what you do best,’ I say, ‘and tell me the truth.’

  ‘The first dream of yours I ever went into,’ he says slowly, ‘it was . . . well, it was a classroom. There was a dream Phil and a dream Julian and a dream Marie and everyone. And a dream me. You were out the front, giving some kind of speech. Ms Rao was at her desk, and everyone was there, and they were smiling at you and applauding and stuff . . . and then you . . .’

  ‘I threw down my palm cards,’ I say, remembering, ‘grabbed you by the collar of your shirt, and dragged you outside.’

  ‘Dream me,’ Finn corrects. ‘It wasn’t real me. But I followed. I watched.’

  I don’t say anything.

  ‘You yelled at dream me for distracting you,’ Finn goes on. ‘It was awful. It felt like every part of you hated me, and then . . .’

  His voice trails off. I do not fill in what happened next, because he knows and I know.

  ‘You’re so irresponsible,’ I yell, ‘and I just want to –’

  I throw myself at him. He stumbles backwards, shocked, but manages to hold onto me as I crush my mouth against his. We kiss and kiss and kiss.

  ‘I don’t make you have those dreams about me,’ Finn says. ‘The dreams are yours, all yours. It’s just that sometimes . . . sometimes I see them. Like a movie.’

  ‘Not any more,’ I say. ‘I don’t care if you can’t control it. You are going to learn, and you are going to learn now. My mind is mine, Finn. It’s not your personal cinema. Do you understand? Never again.’

  He nods. ‘I promise you.’

  I take a deep breath.

  ‘Pearl?’ he says gently, reaching out to touch my hand.

  ‘My turn,’ I say, jerking away. ‘What was the bargain with the fairies?’

  He groans. ‘For God’s sake, Pearl –’

  ‘Later,’ I say. ‘What was the bargain with the fairies?’

  He hesitates.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I promised them,’ he says, ‘that if they helped me protect you from the Unseelie, then I would go with them willingly and spend a year and a day with them.’