Guests mill in front of a small stage where Rachael is assisting her mother. She works a PowerPoint presentation on the laptop while Francine gushes about a bunch of auction items flashing up on a large projector screen. There’s a flurry of bidding, the knock of a gavel, then more eating and drinking before the process is repeated for the next item.
“Thanks for picking up my slack,” Sadie says on one of our trips down to the kitchen. “These cashed-up yachties sure know how to put it away.”
She gives me a wry smile and I feel a flutter of relief – some of the animosity between us seems to be melting. I still need to clear the air about what’s going on with me.
“Hey, Dee? At the end of our shift, can I talk to you?”
“Sure,” she says without hesitation. “Is everything okay? You’re not going to quit on my mum, are you?”
“No, nothing like that,” I assure her. “It’s about Mallory and Morgan Fisher.”
Sadie’s face is impassive but her eyebrow flickers, as though she knows exactly what I want to talk about. “Let me guess,” she says dryly. “You and Morgan are getting married and you don’t know how to break it to me that Mallory’s maid of honour.”
“Hardy har,” I say. “Anyway, you’ve always said you won’t ‘do’ bridesmaid. Best man or bust, remember?”
“True,” she says, her mood lifting. “You know I can’t deal with taffeta.”
She gives me a careful smile as we move to our different stations in the kitchen, and I can tell she’s feeling uneasy. But true to her word, she meets me upstairs after all the guests have gone home.
We leave Kiri to load the last few boxes into her van while we sweep the function room, making small talk until we reach the doors that lead out to the foyer.
“So, you gonna spill?” Sadie says.
Sighing, I slouch against the end of my broom. “Okay. About the Fishers. You know I’ve been spending some time with them lately …”
“I had noticed.”
“Well, I knew them when they lived in Port Bellamy, before.”
“Yeah, I know,” she says. “You’ve mentioned that.”
“What I didn’t tell you is that I was there when Mallory Fisher was abducted.”
“What? From that carnival? Didn’t she wander off or something?”
Sadie’s not as familiar with the story as the rest of us locals since she and her mum moved to Port Bellamy a year after it happened.
“I was staying at my aunt’s place at the time,” I say. “I was at the same carnival on the day Mallory disappeared.”
I swallow, second-guessing my decision to say the next part aloud. I’ve never told Sadie about it for fear of driving her away. I feel like I’m losing my grip, though, and she’s the one person I trust more than anyone.
“Police think Mallory wandered off from the carnival and got snatched by someone on Greenwillow’s back roads,” I tell her. “Except that’s not what happened. I watched her being taken.”
Sadie frowns. “What do you mean?”
“My aunt left me at the carnival by myself and I spotted Mallory and Morgan with their parents. I was desperate to go home, and I thought the Fishers might take me with them back to Port Bellamy.”
“Okay,” Sadie says, coaxing me with her hand. “Get to the abduction part.”
“I followed Mallory and Morgan to the toilets,” I say. “But he was following me. I led him right to her unintentionally.”
“Wait. Who? Morgan?”
“Sparrow.” His name catches in my throat and I hear the wobble in my voice. I’ve never admitted to myself, let alone anyone else, the only reason Sparrow chose Mallory out of all the kids at the carnival is because I led him right to her.
“Whoa, back up.” Sadie straightens. “Your imaginary friend, Sparrow? That’s who you think is responsible for abducting Mallory?”
I wince at Sadie’s incredulous tone, sense her subtle withdrawal. It sounds as ridiculous as ever when I say it out loud, somehow worse because I’m nine years older and I should know better.
“I know how it sounds,” I say. “That’s how I remember it. He looked right at me as he waited for Mallory to come out of that toilet block, as if daring me to stop him. It was either me or her, and I didn’t want to play with him any more. I thought it was a game.”
“Tash.” Sadie’s solemn face makes my pulse quicken. “You’re talking about Sparrow as though he’s real.”
“Yeah.”
“You made him up, though. That’s what your shrink says, right? You made him up because you were lonely?”
“He seemed real.”
“Okay but, dude, there’s a big difference between what seems real and what is real. I still remember the aerodynamic rocket cake my nan made for my sixth birthday. In reality it was this sad-looking Swiss roll with an upturned ice cream cone for the nose. I’ve seen the photos. Nothing at all like I remember it.”
I lean my broom against the wall and fold my arms. “Well, sorry, but Sparrow was a little more disturbing than your sad-looking Swiss roll.”
Sadie gives me a long look, and for a moment I think I’ve offended her. Then she clicks her fingers. “You know what? That’s actually a good point.”
“What is?”
“What if you’re remembering the aerodynamic rocket cake instead of the Swiss roll?”
“Huh?”
“Your mind could be remembering things differently to how they really were.”
“Um, yeah?” I say. “That’s kind of the general consensus, hence the therapy and all.”
She huffs impatiently. “What I mean is, is it possible your mind created this Sparrow persona to block out the identity of someone you know? To prevent you from being traumatised or something?”
I laugh self-consciously. “God, that sounds a bit far-fetched.”
Sadie widens her eyes. “Are you friggin’ kidding me? This from a girl who just told me her imaginary friend stole a kid from a carnival.”
“Ssshhh!” I say, glancing around the large function room. It’s still empty but the sliding doors beside us are open a crack. “Keep your voice down. And don’t you reckon Dr Ingrid would have covered off that scenario in the last decade of head-shrinking?”
Sadie points her broom handle at me. “Okay then, riddle me this: did you ever see your aunt and Sparrow in the same room at the same time?”
I throw my head back and shake it at the ceiling. “Jesus. Now you’re getting all Scooby Doo on me.”
“Well, what do you want me to say, Tash? You come to me with this wild idea your make-believe buddy abducted a living, breathing child from a public toilet. Sorry if I’m trying to find a more plausible reason that doesn’t sound so batshit crazy!”
Her final word hangs in the air like a dirty stain. She closes her eyes as though willing it back inside her head where it’s obviously been residing for a while.
“Okay. Good talk.” I raise trembling fingers to the door. “Appreciate your honesty.”
“Tash …” Sadie reaches for my arm and I shrug her away.
“Don’t. Please tell your mum I’ll walk home.”
I yank the door open and find myself nose to nose with Rachael Tan.
For a moment we both stand there as Rachael’s silky hair resettles around her shoulders, her lips parted in quiet surprise. Not about me almost slamming into her, or even because I’ve caught her eavesdropping. She’s wide-eyed about what she’s just learned.
In the blink of an eye she composes herself. “Forgot my laptop,” she says, shoving past me. The rap of her heels across the function room floor might as well be nails hammering into my coffin.
My eyes meet Sadie’s and they reflect what I already know.
It’s only a matter of time before Rachael uses her new information against me.
24
THEN
It’s too hot tonight.
There’s no air inside my bedroom and I’m lying on top of the sheets waiting for Aunty Ally t
o go upstairs. The bed feels like a warm driveway underneath me, and my hair is sticking to my neck like seaweed. I think I hear a breeze blowing down the side of the house but I won’t open the window to find out. It’s stayed locked since the night Sparrow flew in and landed on the window seat.
I keep the curtains closed and the lamp on all night now, and I’ve pushed the bedside table behind the door. It’s so hot in here and I’m so thirsty. Aunty Ally doesn’t give me a glass of water to take to bed like Mum and Dad do at home.
She was in the kitchen tonight banging things around, so I stayed out of her way. When I came inside from playing this afternoon, the coffee table was flipped over and one of Grandma’s vases was smashed against the fireplace. When I asked her what happened, she got cross and told me to go upstairs and take a bath. But at dinnertime she made spaghetti and said she’ll take me to Greenwillow Carnival tomorrow as a treat. She smiled at me a lot. There was nothing smiley around her eyes, though.
And now I’m so thirsty.
What’s worse? Going to the kitchen while Aunty Ally’s still in there? Or having to go later in the dark, alone?
I hear her in the hallway mumbling something to Benny, and his collar tinkles as he follows her upstairs. I hold still until the floorboards stop creaking and the water stops running, until there’s no sound from upstairs at all. I slide off the bed and move to the door, shoving the bedside table to one side. Aunty Ally hasn’t left a light on for me in the hallway, and the switch is all the way down near the front door. It’s as black as space, and from here to the kitchen seems three times longer than normal.
If I hold my breath and tiptoe, no one will hear me. If I keep close to the wall, nobody can sneak up from behind. I wait in my bedroom doorway for another minute, making sure the shadows aren’t moving, looking for places he might hide.
When Dad called after dinner, I wanted to tell him about what Sparrow did at the creek on Tuesday. It was mean and scary, and Dad would definitely want to know. When I started explaining it, he told me to put Aunty Ally back on the phone. She looked cross when she tugged it from my hand, frowning while she listened to Dad talking on the other end.
“You put me in a very awkward position there,” she said afterwards. “I thought we agreed we weren’t going to bother your parents with this Sparrow business. They already have their hands full with that new baby, you know.”
But now there’s only a few days left until Dad drives up here to take me home – I’ll tell him all about it then. I’ll make sure Mum and Dad know every single tiny little thing that’s happened here. It’s important. They need to know not to send me away again.
I run quickly for the kitchen, forgetting to tiptoe and hold my breath. When I make it to the sink I don’t worry about anything except how thirsty I am. As water gushes into my glass, I glance at my reflection in the window.
Something moves near my left shoulder.
I spin around to look behind me but the kitchen is empty. When I glance at the window again I see that the shape isn’t a reflection at all – it’s on the other side of the glass. I stand on tippy-toes for a closer look at the figure lying across the end of the verandah, one arm and leg dangling off the edge like a ragdoll.
I move to the back door and pull aside the chequered curtains to peek through the small window. Even in moonlight I can recognise his bony arms, his sharp shoulders, the outline of his shaved head.
I know why he’s here. He’s come to ruin my day tomorrow. He won’t let me have any fun unless he’s there as well.
I flip on the outdoor light and tap my knuckle on the door’s window. Sparrow doesn’t move an inch. I keep tapping until his head rolls towards me. His eyelids are droopy as though he’s been dozing.
“Don’t come here any more,” I say. “I don’t want to play with you. Just go away!”
He mumbles something I can’t hear. I’ve never seen him so limp and floppy. I drag a chair over from the table and reach for the lock at the top of the door, sliding it free so I can open the door a crack.
“Did you hear me?” I say. “Don’t come here any more. I don’t like how you play.”
He chuckles to himself, rubbing a hand down his face. “Game’s not finished yet. We haven’t got to the good part.”
“I don’t care. I’m not playing with you. Why would I want to be your friend?”
He pats a heavy hand against his chest. “Because I have magic powers.”
I pull the door open wider and lean my hip against the doorframe. “No, you don’t.” But sometimes I wonder if he does since no one else can see him. He always seems to appear out of nowhere.
“I know how to turn a fistful of hair into a pot of gold,” he tells me, wiggling his fingers.
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
Sparrow rolls onto his side and props himself on one elbow. “I can read your mind.” He taps a finger against his head. “I’m already in there right now, crawling and scratching around.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’ll tell you something,” he says. “Something you’re thinking right at this moment.”
“I’m not thinking anythi–”
“My name. You’ve made one up for me.”
I wasn’t thinking about that at all. Now I am. I try to empty my mind and think about nothing. There’s no way he knows this – I’ve never said it to his face.
“You call me Sparrow.” He taps his head again. “You can’t hide from me.”
“That’s not magic,” I say, my chest tightening. “It’s just a lucky guess.”
He gives me a sleepy smile before his eyes roll back in his head like he can’t stay awake any longer.
“Game’s not over,” he murmurs, cracking one eye open to watch me as I back into the house. I try not to look at him as I swing the door closed and slide the lock in place. If I just ignore him, maybe he’ll disappear.
As I reach for the light switch I can’t help peering outside one last time. Sparrow raises a heavy arm and points at me, his voice a silly singsong.
“Coming to get you. Ready or not.”
25
NOW
A week into April, I’m suspended in a perpetual state of unease. It’s been over two weeks since the sailing club fundraiser, and I know Rachael’s just biding time with her new information. Whenever Morgan approaches me at school I wonder if it’s because Rachael’s spilled my secret, or whether he’s going to interrogate me about why I’ve gone cold since the weekend at Willow Creek.
As much as I want to explore this thing with Morgan and keep getting to know him better, I also can’t shake the feeling that, any minute now, Mallory’s going to remember something concrete about her disappearance. Whatever that something is will involve me. I feel in constant risk of being exposed.
I try to keep distracted by working on my photography folio every chance I get. But even now, sifting through photos of the derelict carnival, my thoughts are hijacked by childhood memories of Sparrow stalking me around sideshow alley. I think of Sadie’s suggestion about my child’s mind creating Sparrow to mask somebody’s true identity, trying to recall whether this actually was territory we covered in my sessions with Dr Ingrid. I keep coming back to my other behavioural problems at the time, the fact that nobody else saw Sparrow, Dr Ingrid’s questions about whether I heard other voices.
Gathering up a handful of photos to hand over to Morgan to use as reference for his final Dreamscapes sketches, I have to wonder if any of my photos stand alone well enough to be included in my submission folio. I hunch over Mum’s laptop, scrolling through images in the hopes something will jump out at me, going back as far as those I took at the pier in February. I skip past a couple of artless wide-angle images of the beach, when something snags my attention. Only not for the reason I’d hoped.
I double-click a thumbnail picture and it enlarges in my browser. It’s a landscape view of Port Bellamy Beach looking east. Beyond the sand dunes and scrubby grasses, a snatch of Mari
ne Drive curls away from the camera along the coastline. Maybe a kilometre down, a lone car is parked facing the pier. I zoom in as much as I can before the image becomes pixelated. Despite the graininess, there’s no denying what it looks like.
A metallic-brown ute with orange pin-striping.
Thinking back to that morning, I remember it was the day I called Ally about coming to visit. I’m certain she was just waking up, Benny curled beside her on the bed. Is it possible she was sitting in her car here in Port Bellamy? And if so, why?
I consider how many old utes there must be around the port, not to mention those that roll in for daytrips at the beach. I recall at least one other occasion recently when I spotted a similar car parked on Banksia Avenue near the Fishers’ house. It’s probably paranoia brought about by everything else that’s happened, but I grab my phone and text Ally anyway. It’s been almost three weeks since Benny was injured and she still hasn’t got back to me. She’s avoiding me and it doesn’t sit well.
Hey Ally. Have you been getting my messages? I really need to talk to you when you get this.
The doorbell rings as I hit Send, followed by a bright and breezy voice. Francine Tan. I’d forgotten Mum invited her over this afternoon to organise school committee stuff. It’s not long before I hear footsteps on the staircase, no doubt Tim looking to hide from Mum in hectic-hostess mode.
Instead, Rachael Tan appears in my doorway.
“What are you doing here?”
“Mum says I have to invite you to this.” She thrusts a postcard at me. It’s an invitation to the twins’ eighteenth birthday party at their uncle’s restaurant. “I know you won’t come, so can you just tell your mum you got the invitation? Because mine will check.”
I hand it back to her. “Why bother giving it to me then?”
She tosses it into the bin underneath my desk. “Because I don’t want to lie to my mother.”
“Right. Like that’s never happened before.”
Rachael scoffs. “Really? You’re going to lecture me about lying? Should we start with your imaginary friend abducting Mallory? Or the part about you keeping this whole twisted side of your personality from Morgan?”
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