“Sor— row.”
Gia felt her tongue move in her mouth, forming the word.
“Sorrow.”
Then with painful abruptness, the music dropped away to total silence. An instant later the lights came on, not the dramatic lighting of the nightclub, but the everyday glare of fluorescent, flat and bright.
The dancers stood dazed, then the dream broke and they screwed up their eyes. Shouts of protest rose from the crowd but they seemed half-hearted. Then there was a stir near the entrance.
“Cops!” somebody shouted. “Raid!”
Somebody swore loudly, and Gia saw several people turning out their pockets, letting small objects fall on the ground to be trampled by the crowd.
“This way.” It was Fatima, tugging her away from the entrance. With Ben close behind, Gia followed her as she ducked behind one of the curtains that draped the wall.
“Back way,” explained Fatima.
They ran down a passage and then up some stairs.
“What just happened?” said Gia. “With the music. Did you hear—?”
“The cops cut the power or something,” said Fatima.
“No, I meant—” but Gia let the question trail off. It was clear that Fatima had not noticed anything out of the ordinary. She looked at Ben, but he avoided her eyes.
Fatima led them round a corner to a door. She opened it carefully, just wide enough to see the street outside. Gia and Ben waited for what seemed a full minute. Then Fatima turned back with a nod.
“All clear,” she said. “It looks like there are only a few cops out there, and they’re just looking at IDs. I think it’s safe to go out.”
They stepped out into the blissfully cool night air.
“Wow,” said Fatima, lifting her hair to cool her neck. “I think I’m deaf.”
Gia nodded. Her ears were ringing.
There was a Special Branch vehicle pulled up outside the club’s entrance. People were crowding out of the club, flipping their IDs at the policemen.
As they watched, two more policemen appeared, holding between them the hairy man Gia had noticed on the dance floor. They’d cuffed his hands behind him, and were steering him toward the back of the van.
“Crap,” said Ben. “What’s going to happen to him?”
Fatima shrugged. “Guess he’s an illegal. Magical, at any rate. They’ll take him to Valkenberg, I suppose.”
“We’d better go,” said Ben, his voice strained.
Then they all turned as someone emerged from the door behind them. Gia recognised another of the dancers— the skinny, white-haired girl. The girl’s eyes widened as she saw them, but she did not stop, brushing past them to disappear down the street, covering her startling hair with a dark scarf as she went.
“I suppose we better go too,” said Fatima. “Pity. Still so early, it can’t even be midnight yet. And just look at the moon,” he said, smiling up at the sky.
Gia looked up.
There was the moon, a perfect disk behind a wisp of cloud. She felt her warm mood drain away.
Full moon.
“What’s the time?” she said, feeling for her texter. “Oh, bugger.”
There was a message there.
Where are you? 11:15.
That was her mother. And it was now fifteen minutes before midnight.
“Fatima, I’m sorry— but I’ve got to get home. Look, I can take a taxi—”
“No way,” said Fatima. “Don’t stress, I’ll take you.”
“How are you getting home?” Gia asked Ben.
“Don’t worry, I’m walking.” And then in response to her astonished expression, “It’s not far. See you Sunday, Gia.” And with a last glance at the policemen, he was gone.
“Well, he’s in a hurry,” said Fatima. “Come on, then.”
-oOo-
To Gia’s relief there was no more delay and soon she and Fatima were on the bike, pulling on their helmets.
Somehow the ride back was less thrilling. Gia kept wanting to look at her watch to check the time, but there was no way she could reach it safely, with the rate that Fatima was flying along.
At last they neared Gia’s road. She squeezed Fatima to get her attention.
“Fatima, can we wait here on the corner, just for moment. I need to check something.”
Fatima was clearly puzzled, but nodded and switched the engine off. Gia looked at her watch, then along the street to where she could just make out the front door to her house.
Ten minutes to midnight.
The door opened, and a figure stepped out into the street. It wore a long coat with the hood up, but Gia knew who it was.
Saraswati.
Gia watched as Saraswati walked along the street. Now it was too dark to see her, but she could hear the slam of a car door, and the engine starting.
“That was your mom, wasn’t it?” said Fatima. “Where is she going? Looking for you?”
“No,” said Gia, as she got off the bike.
“Okay,” said Fatima when it became clear that Gia wasn’t going to say anything else. “You don’t want to speak about it. Want to meet again? Sometime later this weekend?”
Gia shook her head.
“My parents will probably ground me for being late.”
Fatima grimaced. “Tough luck. Well, let me know if you can get out.”
“Thanks for the night. It was great, really.”
“You going to be okay now?”
“Yes, I’ll be fine.”
Gia gave her a quick hug, then turned and walked up the street. The sound of Fatima’s bike receded behind her.
-oOo-
When had she first noticed her mother and the moon?
Gia sat in her window-seat bed, looking out over the view below her. It was dark except for the streetlights, and here and there a gleam from a window.
It seemed like she’d always known there was something special about the moon, something that must not be mentioned.
How had she known that?
One of her earliest memories was of being held in Saraswati’s arms, while her mother looked up at the moon. Her face had turned away, as though something pulled at her from above.
These days, she had started noticing the change in her mother every month. As the moon rounded towards full, she grew quiet. Tense. Distracted. And there was the way Karel watched Saraswati at these times, as though she were a bird that might fly away if startled.
Lately, full-moon was the time that Gia was most likely to fight with her mother. Small things that would otherwise have been ignored, flamed up. And it was not the usual monthly thing that all women had to deal with. There was something more, Gia was sure of that.
Mandy had explained all that to her, the way a woman’s body changed, the monthly rhythm. Mandy had made it all normal, had bought her the things she needed to deal with the cramps and blood, when her first time came.
Gia had never spoken to her mother about those things.
She pulled her blankets up around her and took a bite from the sandwich she’d made herself.
The past few years, she’d gotten into the habit of waiting up, on full-moon nights. Waiting until she heard her mother’s footsteps, and the soft thud of the front door closing behind her.
Always just before midnight, on a full-moon night.
Where does she go?
Gia had thought of following, but how could she do so without being seen?
Maybe I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know where she goes. Or what she does when she gets there.
She put the half-eaten sandwich on her bedside table. Somehow she was no longer as hungry as she’d thought. But she did not feel sleepy either.
Too many thoughts.
If she tried to sleep, she was sure to have nightmares. Maybe she should do some work on the doll. That would help her relax.
She took out the doll, and unpacked her paints, the full moon still dominating her thoughts. No longer the small icy disk she’d seen that nig
ht, but a dreamy, blue-and-silver dream-moon, surrounded by stylised clouds.
Gia found her thin brushes, and the piece of glass she used as a palette. Soon the doll was laid out on a sheet of newspaper, and her paints were ready. She paused for a moment, licked her lips, then began.
Shades of blue. Like old tattoos…
The paint went onto the doll’s skin smoothly. Spidery lines, as thin as the strokes of a pen. Half- and quarter-moons on her forearms, with clouds circling her wrists like bracelets. The full-moon on her forehead, surrounded by wisps of cloud in that curly, Oriental style. Maybe a single red teardrop, a bead of blood, poised between the eyebrows? As if the moon was bleeding? Or even a teardrop of red in the moon itself?
The night sounds filtered in from outside as she worked. The late-night traffic on the freeway, the fluting chirp of frogs from nearby gardens. A distant drumming made her pause.
Could it be?
The drumming repeated, a definite pattern.
Trompoppies. Gia had heard them described often enough to recognise the sound.
She waited, listening and soon enough, there was an answering rumble. Somewhere, on the surrounding roofs, a small creature must be crouched, ears fanned and fists drumming on the corrugated iron.
Gia sighed, a deep sigh that seemed to fill, then empty her whole body, and bent happily over her work.
The Wolf at the Door
Gia woke to sunshine pouring in the window, and sat up with a start.
Overslept.
Then she remembered it was Saturday. She flopped back down on her pillow, only to start back up again a moment later, and frown at the plate on her bedside table. The sandwich had been opened up, and every bit of jam licked off. The cheese was still there, but no jam.
What?
She looked quickly around the room, but could see nothing out of place. As she dressed, she continued searching for any clue to the identity of the jam thief.
Down in the kitchen, Nico was mashing at his breakfast with a spoon, and Mandy was on her knees, head inside the cupboard under the sink.
“We’re out of milk,” she said. “Good morning, Gia. Go down to Granny’s and get us some.”
“What are you doing?” asked Gia.
“Mice,” said Mandy from inside the cupboard.
Gia thought about the sandwich. Would a mouse open a sandwich, lick off all the jam, but leave the cheese?
“Where are Mom and Dad?”
Mandy edged herself backward until she could look up at Gia.
“Madam has gone out to get some supplies, and your father is working downstairs. Milk!”
“All right,” said Gia. “What’s up with Nico?”
He was frowning ferociously at his porridge, and had that wincing look again.
“Mister Nico is in a mood this morning,” said Mandy. “Apparently somebody moved the rat’s food bowl last night, and he’s been in a sulk about it all morning. I ask you.” Mandy sighed. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another.”
“Thief!” said Nico, thumping the table with the handle of his knife.
“Want to come with me to the shop, Nico?” said Gia.
Nico stared up at her, his frown gone.
“Come,” she said holding out her hand. “We’ll march there.”
She began marching on the spot, declaiming the old marching rhyme she’d used with him since he started walking.
“Lik, lak, lik, lak—”
“Lik, lak, ley!” answered Nico.
She took his hand and headed him, still marching, out the door.
“You got money?” Mandy called after her.
“Lik, lak, lik, lak, lik lak, yes, I, do!” said Gia.
They marched down the corridor and out the front door. Down the stairs and out onto the street.
“Lik, lak, lik, lak, lik, lak, ley!” said Nico in his too-loud voice, slamming down his feet.
“Lik, lak, lik, lak, lik, lak, ley!”
Gia ignored the stares and smiles, and marched along with Nico. They marched all the way down the block and across the street, stepping in place whenever they had to wait.
“Lik, lak!” Nico’s voice sounded louder than ever as they entered the shop.
“Okay, Nico, we’re in the shop now, so we’re going to stop marching,” said Gia.
“Lik, lak, lik, lak, lik, lak, ley!” shouted Nico, louder than ever. “Lik, lak—” Then he stopped, mouth open, staring around the shop, his wondering gaze coming to rest on Granny.
“Morning,” said Granny. “You like my shop?”
Nico did not respond. His eyes moved up to the strings of beads, umbrellas, and garden tools that hung from the ceiling.
“You go on, get what you need,” Granny said to Gia. “I’ll look after him.”
“Here,” she said to Nico as she got down from her chair. “Here, I’ve got something to show you.”
Nico blinked at her.
Granny, standing on the floor, was about as the same height as he was, although the extravagantly wrapped scarves made her seem taller. She clinked as she moved, bangles, earrings and necklaces swinging as she bent down to drag a box out from under a shelf.
“Shells,” she said, dusting her hands with a clash of bangles. “Forgot I had them. Found them the other day.”
She pried open the cardboard flaps and rummaged inside the box as Nico looked on with obvious interest.
“Look.”
A shell in her hand, a smooth egg fringed with lacy whorls.
Nico squatted next to Granny, totally absorbed.
Gia got the milk out of the fridge. Seeing Nico still happily occupied, she took the chance to look around the shop.
There was the usual selection of tinned food, toiletries, and cleaning products, but among them were more intriguing things.
A box full of painted paper fans was tucked in next to the detergents. Tubs of Vaseline shared shelf space with tarot cards.
Among all these, Gia noticed a row of rat- and mousetraps.
Those could be useful, she thought, remembering Mandy’s complaint.
She picked up a mouse-trap and was puzzling out how it worked, when a voice spoke behind her.
“No need for that.”
Her heart bumped, and she turned to find the caretaker looming over her. He took the mousetrap from her and put it back on the shelf.
“No mice at number five.”
Gia found her voice had dried up.
“No mice,” the caretaker repeated with finality.
“And you might catch something you’d regret,” said Granny, appearing at his elbow.
The caretaker stared down at her. “That’s true,” he said. “Might catch some bad luck, setting a trap in number five, Lever Road.”
Gia looked from the one to the other, trying to understand the joke they clearly shared.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll just take this then.” She patted the milk bottle.
Nico, still on the floor, stared up at the caretaker, a shell forgotten in his hand.
The caretaker put his hands on his knees, and sank down into a crouch.
“Well. Hello,” he said.
There was a tinkle of bells from the door, and Granny turned to see who had come in.
“Hi, Granny,” said the new arrival. “I’ve come to pick up our order. Is it ready yet?”
The voice was familiar.
“Sonella!” said Gia.
“Oh! Hi, Gia,” said Sonella. She looked quite different out of her school uniform. “I thought I might run into you. Just came to pick up our lunch order. You live just round the corner, don’t you?”
“That’s right,” said Gia. “But I thought you lived in Woodstock.”
“I do,” said Sonella, accepting a bag full of paper parcels from Granny. “But that’s not far from here. Just on the other side of Eastern Boulevard.”
“Oh,” said Gia, embarrassed. “I don’t really know the area yet.”
“That’s your brother?”
> Gia looked over her shoulder to where the caretaker still knelt in front of Nico. If she had not known better, she’d have thought they were deep in conversation. Nico was showing something to the caretaker. From the various bolts, springs and bits of plastic in the caretaker’s open hand, it looked like Nico was emptying his pockets.
Gia stared in astonishment.
Nico never interacted with strangers.
Sonella stirred, and Gia realised that she must be wondering what was going on. She tore her gaze away from the strange interaction. For a moment the two girls looked at one another. Then Sonella shifted the bag in her hand and glanced awkwardly behind her.
“I better get going,” she said. “Nice seeing you.”
“Okay,” said Gia. Then, at a sudden thought: “Sonella, wait—why don’t you come and visit? Maybe not today,” she said, seeing Sonella’s hesitation. “But tomorrow? We’re at number five, Lever Road. You can come for lunch or something.”
Sonella smiled and Gia saw that she was going to agree.
“Your mom won’t mind?”
“No! It’ll be cool. Wait— I don’t have your number.”
As they exchanged texter numbers, Nico came up next to Gia.
“Lik lak!” he demanded.
Gia saw Sonella’s startled glance, and waited for the veiled, polite look that people got when they first saw Nico. But Sonella just said, “Hi, Nico,” with a touch of shyness.
Nico, as usual, did not respond.
“So you’ll come then,” said Gia. “I’ll just check with my mom, and I’ll send you a text later today.”
Sonella nodded, and with a wave to Granny, was out the door.
“You girls friends?”
Gia realised that Granny had been watching them.
“Yes,” she said. “We’re at school together.”
Granny nodded. “Good girl, that one. You can trust her.”
The caretaker, now leaning against the counter, nodded in agreement.
Nico tugged at Gia’s hand again.
“Yes, Nico, we’re going now,” said Gia.
She paid for the milk, and left the shop, aware of their amused scrutiny.
-oOo-
As Gia unlocked the burglar gate, she heard the studio door open. Nico pulled at her hand, straining toward Saraswati.
“Good morning, Gia.”
Here it comes.
Crooks and Straights Page 12