Shadows

by Paula Weston

  ‘Yeah, but even then you were both obsessed with knowing what the other was up to.’

  ‘I still don’t understand what it was we fought over.’

  He stands up. ‘Long story, and not relevant.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘It’s more important we find out who messed with your mind, and why.’ He wanders over to stand in the sunlight at the window. ‘I think you and Jude found something you weren’t supposed to—something to do with the Fallen— and someone wanted to make sure you didn’t remember it.’

  ‘But why not just kill us? And why didn’t we tell someone what we were doing if it was that big?’

  ‘I don’t know. I wish to hell I did.’

  ‘Jude didn’t tell you?’

  Rafa has his arms over his head now, stretching. His shirt rides up and I see a flash of bare stomach. It’s flat and hard with a thin trail of fine hair running south from his navel. He drops his arms and the view is gone. So is the distraction.

  ‘….some things to sort out with you. That’s it. You’d only been talking again for a few weeks. I figured it was family stuff. You’re the only twins we’ve got, so what went on between you was always a bit of a mystery to the rest of us.’

  I rub my palms together and press them against my eyelids, soaking in the warmth. ‘We have to go back.’

  ‘To the Sanctuary?’ Rafa’s voice hardens. I drop my hands. ‘Pan Beach.’

  ‘But there’s nothing there.’

  ‘I have to let Maggie know I’m okay.’

  ‘Ring her. We can stay here until we work out what to do.’

  A few minutes ago, I would have agreed to anything, but Rafa has no plan and I’m no good at sitting still.

  ‘I have a life there. It’s the only one I know, and I’m not giving it up until we know what we’re doing.’

  ‘If you go back, Nathaniel will manipulate you into going to the Sanctuary. He’ll send others—Daisy, probably. Or Daniel.’

  There’s that name again. ‘Who’s Daniel?’

  Something shifts in Rafa’s expression and he pauses before answering. ‘A prick.’

  ‘But who—’

  ‘And I’m serious about the demons,’ he presses. ‘They’ll come for you if they think you know something about the Fallen.’

  ‘I have to work tomorrow.’

  ‘Are you serious? It’s a fucking library!’

  I fold my arms. ‘You said you would take me back when I asked. You promised.’

  ‘So? It’s not like you trust me.’

  ‘I trusted you enough to come here.’

  ‘And why did you do that?’

  ‘Because you asked me to.’

  Rafa’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t say anything. He looks away first. Outside, the sky is growing brighter.

  ‘You want to go right now?’

  I glance at my watch. It’s early evening back home. ‘Please.’

  ‘I won’t be able to be with you every second of the day.’

  I cross the floor. ‘I didn’t ask you to.’

  ‘That’s because you have no idea what’s coming.’

  He holds me tight when we shift. When I open my eyes, we’re in the garden at the side of the bungalow. I keep my arms around him until my stomach stops fluttering and my skin warms. I’ll never get used to that.

  It’s almost dark here, the sky smeared pink. We’re hidden out of sight of the road, just beyond the kitchen window—the perfect place to materialise out of thin air. And a good place to eavesdrop. This isn’t the first time Rafa’s been here; it’s where he must have stood when he overheard me telling Jason about my parents.

  ‘What are we going to tell Mags?’ I ask when I finally unwrap myself from him.

  ‘What’s this “we”? She’s your friend. Tell her what you like.’

  Whatever moment we shared before has well and truly passed. ‘What’s up your arse all of a sudden?’

  ‘I just don’t get what’s so important here.’

  ‘I told you—’

  ‘Daisy’s coming back for you, isn’t she?’

  I stare at him in the dying light. ‘What?’

  ‘You think she’ll be more use than me in finding Jude.’

  Unbelievable. He’s nearly a hundred and forty but not too old to sulk. ‘I’ve had one conversation with Daisy and it lasted less than five minutes. Why would I trust her any more than I do you?’

  ‘Because that’s what you’ve always done. Stuck with the safe option.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Rafa, I have no idea what the safe option is.’ I grab the scrap of paper from my pocket. I’ve already put the number in my phone. ‘Here. Sort your shit out with her, not me.’

  He tucks the paper in his jeans. ‘Are you going to call her?’

  ‘I haven’t thought about it.’ And I don’t have the energy to fight. ‘Look, I’ll come with you when we know what we’re doing. Until then, I’m not leaving Pan Beach. With anyone.’

  He exhales. ‘Fine.’

  And then he disappears. Like a light going out. The air stirs where he was, and a few dry leaves swirl back to the ground.

  I can’t believe I let him have the last word.

  In the kitchen, Maggie is lining up knitting needles on the table. ‘Oh my god.’ She stands up, sweeping a needle to the floor. ‘Where have you been? Are you okay?’

  She hugs me so fiercely I forget to lie. ‘No.’

  ‘Are you hurt?’ Her eyes search me. ‘Gaby, you can’t…I thought…’ She steps back, says ‘demons’ under her breath. ‘I’ve been worried all day.’

  I wipe my face. ‘I’m sorry, Maggie.’

  ‘Have you been crying?’

  I shake my head, fighting back fresh tears.

  Maggie looks as tired as I feel. The sink is filled with dirty coffee cups, and skeins of wool are scattered across the table. A half-finished red scarf is draped over a chair.

  Her nose wrinkles. ‘Why do you smell like a campfire?’

  I pull the photo from my back pocket and hand it to her.

  She glances at it, starts to look away, and then brings it close to her face. ‘Is that Jude? God, you look alike. I never knew you had hair that long.’

  I sit down at the table. ‘Me either.’

  ‘When was this taken?

  ‘By the look of those clothes, sometime in the eighties.’

  The fridge kicks in behind us. ‘Rafa wasn’t lying?’

  ‘It seems not.’

  I tell her everything—where he took me, and how we got there. When I finish, she’s still staring at me, her mouth slightly open.

  ‘He took you to Greece?’

  ‘That’s the most interesting thing out of what I just said?’

  She blushes, and her fingers stray to the balls of wall.

  ‘So, was he charming Rafa or jerk Rafa?’

  ‘A bit of both.’ I count the cups in the sink. ‘Where’s Jason?’ No way did he leave her sitting here on her own all day.

  ‘He’s gone to get fish and chips. You hungry?’

  I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast at Rafa’s this morning, but I’m not in the mood to tell the story again. ‘Nah, I’m good.’

  Maggie follows me into my room. She watches as I kick off my shoes and climb into bed, fully clothed. I don’t want to talk anymore. I’ve shared more with her in the last twenty-four hours than I have in the last year. Now I just want to hide in the dark, not talk to anyone. Sleep again. We say goodnight. She closes the door and my room sinks into darkness. A minute later, a sliver of light cuts across my face.

  ‘Gaby?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘It’ll be okay.’

  Only Maggie could actually believe that. Because, really, there’s nothing about my life that’s going to be okay.

  TALK TO THE HAND

  Piercing beeps wake me.

  I slap the alarm, sending it skittering out of reach on the bedside table, and drift back to sleep. Back to the dark, murky dre
am I was in: shadows flickering across a distant pinprick of light. The stench of mouldy leaves and blood. Life draining out of me.

  The alarm goes off again.

  I drag myself down the hall to the bathroom, my body leaden. Water dribbles out of the showerhead. The shampoo bottle offers barely enough to make a lather, and I hurl the empty container over the shower screen. It clatters on the tiles and comes to rest against the door. My towel is damp. My hair won’t sit down, no matter how vicious I am with the blow dryer and brush. My stomach won’t stop churning. At least the nightclub dream hasn’t come back. Yet.

  I stare at the mirror, which is black in one corner from age, and chipped in a couple of places. I’ve always known who I am. My reflection is the same: hair, skin, eyes, lips, all familiar. So who is this person I’m staring at if it’s not me?

  Jason is making a cup of tea in the kitchen.

  ‘You fucking live here now?

  Maggie looks up from buttering toast. ‘Gaby—’

  I hold up my hand. ‘Let’s not.’

  I leave the house, my stomach still empty.

  Outside, the sky is clear and the ocean flat. The glare on the water is blinding. I walk down the hill, my sandals slapping on the bitumen and bag banging against my hip.

  Every step jolts.

  I’m not who I think I am.

  How am I supposed to deal with that?

  At the juice bar on the esplanade I grab breakfast. There’s a band flyer on the table. I tear off a corner. Then another.

  I half-expect Rafa to pull up a chair, but there’s no sign of him. He’s the one I should be unloading on. He brought this circus to town. I was happily living in oblivion until he turned up. And because of him, I can’t shake the one thought that threatens to suffocate me.

  Jude might be alive.

  The table is littered with confetti and I’ve run out of things to tear up. Time for work.

  The day passes slowly. I avoid the Green Bean, stack books, check my email.

  There’s only one message: from the editor of Dark Thoughts. It comes in late in the afternoon.

  Gaby, are you sure you want to pull the pin? Your story is on fire! 105 hits in the last 12 hours. Seriously dude. Let me keep it up a bit longer. You could win this thing.

  It’s too late.

  I doubt those hits were from regular bloggers. That’s around a hundred people who now know I’m in Pan Beach. Some of them could be here already. How am I supposed to recognise them? The old lady with stooped shoulders and tissue-paper skin? Unlikely. The pack of teenagers in tiny skirts and platform shoes? Doubtful. The guy in his twenties wearing designer sunglasses, holding a stack of books? Maybe.

  I don’t bother replying to the email. What’s the point of taking the story down now? Let them come. The sooner they realise I’ve got nothing they want, the sooner they’ll leave me alone. I go upstairs to clean the gallery.

  Gaz, the other junior, is meant to help, but as usual, he’s out on the deck with his hands in his pockets. He might have a penchant for piercings, army fatigues, black hair and pale skin, but he doesn’t mind checking out the talent. He’s slouched against the French doors, staring down at a group of blondes in bikinis. No one’s up here looking at Jacques’ hair and fingernail birdcage, but that’s not the point; the empty cups scattered around the gallery aren’t going to pick themselves up.

  ‘You planning on doing anything useful today?’ I ask.

  He turns his head, managing to make even that look lazy. ‘I got you a coffee, didn’t I?’

  ‘Well, shit, Gaz, you’d better knock off early then. Don’t want you to strain yourself.’

  ‘You’ve been a bitch all day. That time of the month?’

  I have the urge to walk over there and slam the side of my hand into his windpipe so he can’t talk. Then I want to punch him in the gut until all the air rushes out of him. And then I want to grab a fistful of that greasy black hair and ram his face through the plate glass window—

  I blink. I’ve never imagined doing that to someone before.

  ‘You’re off your game, Gaby,’ Gaz says. ‘Maybe all that tofu at the Green Bean has started to rot your brain.’

  My annoyance fades and, with it, the violent urges.

  ‘Gaz, I know your brain is even smaller than your dick, so every now and then you get a charity shot. That was your freebie today. Don’t push your luck because there won’t be another one.’

  He gives a happy nod. ‘Thank you. For a while there I thought the love was gone.’

  I don’t mind Gaz—when I’m not having an existential crisis. He’s a bit weird, but who am I to talk?

  ‘Just help me tidy up,’ I say.

  He strolls over to the cupboard and grabs the broom, and I straighten the promotional flyers strewn across the information table.

  ‘Is that Foo Fighters?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What you’re humming. Is that “All My Life”?’

  ‘I wasn’t humming.’

  ‘Yeah, you were. You’ve been doing it a bit lately. Didn’t pick you as a Fooey fan.’

  ‘I’m not a fan. My brother was, though. I don’t even know that song—’

  But even as I speak, I can hear it running through my head. We were fighting over music before the crash. Was that what was playing when we left the road?

  ‘I love “Monkey Wrench”,’ Gaz says, and bursts into song, completely out of tune. I silently mouth the words along with him, amazed I know them. It’s like discovering I can speak a foreign language. And like everything else, I have no idea what it means.

  We go downstairs to close up. Maggie is waiting for me at the service desk.

  ‘Hi.’ She’s smiling, all cautious optimism.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘You heading home now?’

  ‘Guess so.’

  She waits while I grab my bag. ‘You know it’s Tommo’s last night in town tonight?’

  Tommo is one of her high school buddies who treks south to uni every semester. Maggie should be going with them: she’s meant to be going to some elite fashion design school. When I first met her it was all she talked about after a few drinks and she was lit up for days when she was accepted a few months back. But she deferred it, decided to stay in town another year—she never brings it up.

  ‘A few of us are heading to the falls for a send-off. Do you want to come? Should be fun.’ She’s talking quickly, constantly repositioning the strap of her handbag on her shoulder. ‘We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.’

  We’re out on the street. The air is fresh and salty.

  ‘Pretend like everything is normal? Like I’m normal?’

  ‘You are normal, Gaby.’

  I’m not, but I appreciate her saying it.

  The sun is still warm, but huge thunderheads are building out over the sea.

  ‘Do I hum the Foo Fighters a lot?’ I ask as we head for home.

  ‘Is that what it is? I can never pick it.’ She gives me a curious look. ‘You didn’t know you did that?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘It’s only when you’re really lost in thought.’

  ‘It’s weird. I didn’t realise I even knew their songs.’

  ‘Maybe you used to like them. You know, before.’

  Of all the things to linger, you’d think music would be low on the list.

  Conversation stops as it always does when we reach the steepest part of the hill. Tall coconut palms dot the footpath, punctuating red-roofed Queenslanders on one side and the sprawling park on the other. A pot-bellied man in a blue singlet and stubbies mows his lawn. Grass clippings carry on the breeze and stick to my sunbaked arms. We keep climbing until we round the bend. There’s no car outside the bungalow.

  ‘Where’s Jason?’ I ask, between breaths.

  Maggie looks at me. ‘He got the message.’

  Oh. Right.

  ‘Is he going to the falls?’

  ‘I asked him, yes, but he w
on’t come unless you want him to.’

  ‘It’s a free country, Maggie. He can go where he likes.’

  She opens the gate and steps through. ‘Really? That’s not the impression I got this morning.’

  We reach the front door and I pause. ‘Look, I like my privacy—I’m only just getting used to sharing stuff with you. I’m not quite ready for a group hug.’

  Her face softens. ‘It’s just…he already knows so much, and he wants to help you figure out what’s going on.’

  ‘Why?’

  She smiles, coy. ‘Maybe he’s just a good guy.’

  ‘Maybe he just wants to get in your pants.’ I bump her with my elbow and she laughs.

  ‘I can live with that.’ She opens the front door but doesn’t go through. ‘Come with us tonight. Jason won’t bring up anything you don’t want to talk about, I promise. It’ll be fun. Have a night off worrying.’

  I don’t know if that’s even possible. But her smile is full of hope, and there are worse things to do than have a cold beer at the falls on a warm afternoon.

  I’m willing to give it a try.

  MAKE ME FORGET

  By the time we arrive, the party is well under way. Tommo’s built a campfire and set up the keg next to his mudsplattered four-wheel drive. Reggae blasts from the car, almost drowning out the sound of the falls.

  Tommo is a short, wiry guy and he’s so pumped about his last night in Pan Beach he hugs everyone as they arrive.

  ‘Looking good, Gaby.’ He lays a wet kiss on my cheek before slapping my backside. He skips away before I can take a swipe at him. ‘Come on, it’s my last night in town!’

  ‘It’ll be your last night on earth if you do that again,’ I say, but he knows he’s got away with it and comes back to scoop Maggie into a big hug. ‘Gorgeous!’

  She laughs and hugs him back as he swings her around. It’s hard to believe this guy’s in his third year of medicine.

  Tommo sets Maggie down and manages to stand still while she introduces Jason. Tommo drags him into a backslapping man-hug, gives him props for his taste in women and then goes off to get us beers. True to Maggie’s promise, Jason hasn’t uttered a word about fallen angels, dead brothers or fake memories.

  I accept a huge plastic cup of beer and move closer to the falls, away from the music. Cool mist kisses my skin. The sun is still in the sky somewhere above us, but here in the rainforest, the light is turning a hazy purple. There are no walking tracks up here; the forest is too thick. Dragonflies buzz around me, and a few lyrebirds call to each other on the other side of the river. There’s a low rumble of thunder in the distance, but the storm is still a while away.