by Leanne Hall
‘No, she’s lovely. But she knows this guy who…someone I used to know.’
Ruth puts down her sewing and fixes me with her clear green gaze. ‘This is to do with that howling boy, right?’
I nod, caught out. I’d totally forgotten how chatty I got on my first Friday night drinks with the Emporium crew. Ruth has powers. Together, she and Helen could extract classified information from the toughest spy. Ruth listens with completely genuine interest while Helen asks the cheeky questions. Much more effective than good cop, bad cop. The government really should get in touch with them.
Helen couldn’t believe I didn’t have a boyfriend, so I told them the bare bones of the story. There’s not much to tell, really, especially the ending, which is a real dud. Boy never calls girl. Girl gives up hope.
Now I can’t imagine anyone being special enough to get my attention. Helen said it will happen to me again, but I have to be patient. I’m sick of being patient, so here’s my new theory: boys can go to hell. I’m going to focus on my schoolwork and get the best grades possible. I don’t need anyone or anything to interfere with that.
Ruth is still looking at me, her needle poised in midair. ‘But this is your chance to find out why he didn’t call you.’
‘I can’t ask about that!’
In the corner Ortolan gathers together the glomesh top and a few other pieces.
‘I couldn’t ask that, could I? I’d look like an idiot.’
Ortolan walks towards us.
Ruth backs away. ‘I’m thinking there’s something I need to check out back…’
‘Ruth!’ I hiss, and grab her wrist, but she’s too fast. The staffroom door bangs behind her. I push aside the buttons, clearing a space on the countertop, and compose myself. Ortolan smiles as she places the clothes in front of me. My face is still on fire.
‘A few gems, as usual,’ she says.
‘Glad to hear it.’ I start ringing them up, thankful I’ve got something to do with my hands.
‘Wildgirl, ah…’ Ortolan doesn’t know where to look, and she’s not the only one. ‘Ah, I’m not foolish enough to ask Jethro about girl stuff, but—’
‘Oh, it’s okay,’ I jump in. ‘You don’t need to explain on his behalf. I got the message loud and clear. He wasn’t interested. It’s okay.’
My feet are telling me to run out the front door and down the street, but I have to stay here and fold clothes. I’m fast becoming a furnace.
‘Oh.’ Ortolan looks confused. ‘I thought…’ She stops again. ‘I don’t mean to pry…I mean, I don’t know the details of what happened, other than seeing you two together.’ Ortolan blushes, except on her, it just tints her cheeks a delicate pink. ‘I’m really messing this up,’ she says. ‘What I wanted to say was: I’m so glad to see you, and thank you.’
‘Thank you?’
‘Jethro was different after that night. Whatever you said or did, afterwards he was so much more involved with Diana and me.’
‘Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing to do with me.’
I did tell him to become better friends with her. Even without knowing everything about the situation, it seemed wrong that Wolfboy wouldn’t get to know his niece.
She’s finally able to look at me properly. ‘Well, I happen to think it has everything to do with you. Whatever happened afterwards. Those two boys, Gram and Jethro …I don’t think talking about feelings was encouraged much in their family.’
‘Oh. Right.’ It’s not the right response, but my head is spinning. Ortolan has brought up a painful topic, something she’d rather not think about, purely to make me feel better.
‘You should visit me at my studio, I’d love to see you. Jethro doesn’t need to know about it.’
‘I’d like that.’
Ruth emerges from the staffroom cautiously, just as Ortolan scoops up her bag.
‘Thank you, girls,’ she says, smiling at me before she leaves.
Something weird happens when I leave work. I go to the station as usual, but when I take the escalators down to the subway platforms I find myself stopping a level early. I’m on a northbound train, in the Friday evening crush, before I’ll admit to myself what’s going on.
At Panwood I leave the train, swept along in a tide of commuters who soon flow past me and away. After a few minutes of pretending to look at a parched flower clock, I decide that I might as well continue on.
I walk slowly through concrete-bound narrow streets that trap the summer heat. The closer I get, the more the street traffic thins out. Soon I’m walking alone. The turrets of the Diabetic Hotel climb above the buildings and the sight makes me nervous. The Diabetic marks the border, the unofficial gateway to Shyness.
I can still turn back.
This is only the second time I’ve seen the transition to Darkness during the daytime. The first time I was heading away from the Darkness and Wolfboy, going home after that night. It was early morning and the daylight in Panwood was still dim. Now, though, the summer sun is last-gasp bright at six-thirty, and the difference between Shyness and Panwood is much more obvious.
My heart has risen in my throat and I feel almost dizzy with what I’m doing. What am I doing?
I stand on the light side of Grey Street and look across into the filmy black night that curtains Shyness. Behind me the automatic door of a supermarket opens and closes, disgorging shoppers. I move across Grey Street, each step taking me closer to the night. A strong smell of smoke hangs in the air.
Once I get close, I stop and shut my eyes, breathless with the thought that Wolfboy is on the other side of this boundary. That I’m playing roulette. That he could be walking down the dark side of Grey Street. That he could turn towards the edge of Shyness, and see me.
What are the chances of that happening? Zilch?
I was so sure he was going to call that for the first five days I didn’t even worry that he hadn’t. Then, after that, every day was torture. I made up excuses for him. Maybe he lost my phone number, maybe Doctor Gregory had kidnapped him, maybe aliens came and took him back to their home planet.
Then, once I’d accepted the awful truth, I pushed him from my mind. I kissed someone else. I concentrated on school. I got over him. And then Ortolan walks into the Emporium, talking about how that night changed him.
I take a deep breath.
A hunched figure shuffles along the footpath on the Shyness side of Grey Street, coalescing out of the gloom. He bends over an overflowing bin, picking through the rubbish. There are no lights on in the shopfronts opposite me. I look up to the telephone lines to see if I can spot any tarsier running overhead, but even they’re somewhere else.
The man finds a squashed packet of cigarettes and crows audibly when he finds a lone cigarette left. He shuffles off without looking at me. When I stick my hand into the Darkness it’s like easing myself into a cold swimming pool. I take a step forward. The night sucks me across the halfway mark and folds me into its arms. Chills.
I jump back out.
The sun prickles my skin. In the warmth I feel ashamed of my weakness in coming here. I don’t care what Ortolan said: Wolfboy has forgotten me. I peel myself away from Shyness, and head towards the things I know.
six
Although Lupe complains, I
insist on walking her to her van. Grey Street is as quiet as it ever gets. The trail of blue people has disappeared.
We don’t talk much as we walk. Lupe has a calm, pleasant look on her face, as if we’re walking through a lovely garden, rather than the decaying street. The supermarket on the Panwood side throws a determined patch of light over the border, but its glow doesn’t brighten my mood. I trust Lupe’s opinion. If she’s this worried about Paul, then I should be too.
Old Jim, one of the Diabetic regulars, shambles past us on Saturnalia Avenue. Jim survived lung cancer five years ago, but I’m not surprised to see him with a cigarette clutched in his clawed hand.
Lupe’s van, when it comes into sight, rocks back and forth as if
the ground is moving underneath it. But it’s not an earthquake causing the commotion.
‘Those little shits!’ I break into a sprint, leaving Lupe behind. The hazy circle that always envelops her van is gone. She won’t be able to see them yet, but there are people-shaped silhouettes standing on the van roof, jumping up and down. Kidds.
Even though I haven’t needed to run in months, my legs and arms oblige immediately. My feet whip the ground. As I get closer to the old petrol station where Lupe’s van is permanently stationed, I see more Kidds at the base of the van, pushing on the sides. They’re trying to topple it off its brick foundations.
I let rip a battle cry that’s half-howl, half-swear word. A Kidd on the roof hurls a spray can at my head. I duck, and retrieve it without breaking my stride. I throw it back, hitting the Kidd square in the shoulder.
I’m pleased to see that the Kidds on top of the van look scared and slide to the ground to join the others. What I’m not prepared for is that one or two faces are streaky with tears. The tears almost derail my anger, but then I see the van. The awning droops and there are huge dints in the walls. Spray paint drips over the scarred metal.
‘What the fuck are you guys doing?’ Lupe’s van has always been off-limits. While almost everything else in Shyness gets tagged and raided, Lupe has always been safe.
There are nine Kidds in total. The strange thing about this group is they all seem the same age, around ten, and no one steps forward as their leader. They haven’t moved into fighting formation. It dawns on me that they’re not a unit that usually works together. Eventually a snivelling girl in a flannelette shirt speaks up.
‘She’s a witch,’ she says, pointing behind me.
I turn to see Lupe, a smear of colour in the darkness. She’s too far away to hear, even though I’m sure she’s heard it all before.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘She cursed us. She cursed all of us.’
Her friends nod their agreement.
‘Have you guys been on the post-mix this arvo?’ They must be delusional on syrup. I try to imagine Blake in this state, when she was with the Kidds, but I can’t. ‘Don’t give me this curse shit. What’s really going on?’
‘Look,’ says the girl. And she pulls one of the other Kidds forwards. He cradles a still tarsier in his hands. I stifle my surprise at seeing another dead one. It smells ripe, as if it’s already been hoarded for a few days.
‘It’s not asleep,’ says the girl, unnecessarily.
‘What has this got to do with Lupe?’
She wipes her nose. Her fingernails are ripped and dirty. ‘It’s not just the furries. All the big Kidds left Orphanville and they wouldn’t tell us why. Someone stole all our bikes. There’s no food, and the sugar stash is all gone. Building Six caught on fire. No one tells us what to do.’
Lupe has reached us now and stands beside me.
‘It’s a curse,’ says the girl. ‘It has to be. And she’s what done it.’ The Kidds all nod again in unison.
Lupe draws herself up to her full height. She seems to pull power from the shadows surrounding her, becoming clearer and sharper than before. Her accent is thick when she speaks, but her voice is controlled. ‘It is not a curse. I am not the person who has done this. But you need to leave now, or I will curse you.’
The Kidds hesitate, unsure whether they’re attackers or trying to persuade us of something, or asking for our help. A short Kidd in the unlikely combination of a bike helmet and wetsuit backs away a few steps, but then hesitates, waiting to see if the others are going to follow.
‘Maybe you can find out who killed the tarsier, and then you can curse them,’ says the flannelette girl in a hopeful voice.
It’s all too much for Lupe, who points her finger with the force and conviction of a deity. She hisses a long string of Polish words. ‘Leave!’
The Kidds start as if electrocuted, and melt off into the night with eyes as big as satellite dishes.
‘What did you say to them?’ I’m impressed.
Lupe smiles grimly. ‘I tell them they need bath.’
I can see only her back as she steps into her van, but no doubt her smile slips right off her face. She lets fly with another flurry of Polish.
I swear again when I see the inside of the van.
There’s broken glass on the floor, pictures hanging askew, books knocked to the ground, a pile of records lying in shards. The fairy lights have been torn down, the remains of the beaded curtain crunch underfoot. It smells suspiciously like a urinal.
I thump the wall with my fist, again and again, until my knuckles ache. ‘We shouldn’t have let them go. We should make them fix this up.’ I try to leave the caravan, fuelled by the buzz of anger, but Lupe stands in my way. For a millisecond I think about pushing her aside, but then good sense kicks in.
Lupe grips me. ‘Jethro. Be still now.’
‘Why would they think you’re to blame?’
‘I do not know. I have always fed them, never turned them away. Not like others. But they were full of pain. People do not think clearly in this state.’
‘How can you forgive them? Look at this place.’
‘What good does angry do?’
Lupe lets my arms go, and pulls several small brown paper bags from her handbag, the takings of her errands. The bags are printed with an elaborate W&S, just like Blake’s books.
‘First things. I will make tea and I will use your mobile telephone. Then I will clean this shemozzle up. You will help me.’
Lupe takes the packages into the galley kitchen and tosses me a garbage bag. I put everything that’s broken beyond repair in the bag and make a pile of things that might be fixed on the table. The gargoyle paperweight I gave Lupe a few years ago for her birthday cowers under the sideboard. One of its horns has broken off.
In the kitchen Lupe murmurs into my phone. When she returns she places a silver tea tray on the table and pours us both cups. She gestures for me to stop cleaning.
‘The kitchen is not touched.’ She smiles. ‘Maybe they still want kebab.’
I squeeze into the bench seat, and sip on the sour-hot liquid. My muscles start to melt. Lupe’s tea is working in the usual way.
‘Is that what you were doing on Dreamer’s Row? Buying tea?’
I always assumed Lupe made her tea herself, but now I realise that doesn’t make any sense. There’s no room in the van to grow or dry herbs.
‘I bought tea from special place, on other side of Shyness.’ Lupe looks over her wrecked home without flinching. ‘Do you remember your beautiful friend, the wild girl, what she said about this van? She said it was full of crap.’
I smile at the memory. It seems to be getting more difficult to forget Wildgirl the more time passes by. That’s the opposite of what’s supposed to happen.
‘She was right,’ Lupe continues. ‘It was too busy in here. Time for clearing out.’ She puts her cup down and stares at me through the rising steam. ‘Tell me again why you do not call her?’
‘Lupe, I’ve told you a dozen times I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t know why.’
I do know why. Even Lupe doesn’t know about the one time I called, and the result.
‘You were supposed to battle great evil together.’
‘That was just a game, Lupe.’
Except it wasn’t. We did battle great evil together, in a way. I only met Doctor Gregory for a few minutes up on that roof, but even in that short amount of time, he managed to say exactly the right things to unsettle me.
‘No excuse. I see sparks between you.’
‘You sound like you’ve been talking to Thom. He thinks I need to get laid.’
I regret the words as soon as I say them, but Lupe slaps her knee emphatically. ‘Exactly! A young man needs to—’
‘Stop!’ My face is red. ‘Enough. Okay?’
Lupe holds her hands up. ‘It’s natural, but you don’t want to talk about it.’
‘I’m less worried about my love
life and more concerned about you. What will you do if the Kidds come back?’
The Kidds are desperate enough to act on any stupid suggestion. They seemed to accept that Lupe wasn’t to blame, but someone put that idea in their heads in the first place. Someone persuasive. Maybe the same person who’s responsible for abandoning them—Doctor Gregory. We realised that night that he set the Kidds up in Orphanville. Gave them bikes, sugar, tarsier. And what he gave he could easily take away. I wouldn’t be surprised.
‘I thought of this myself. I have called my friend, and I will live at his house.’
‘What? Who’s that?’
‘Janek was the best man at my wedding. He was my husband’s best friend.’ Lupe leans heavily on the table to get to her feet. She pulls a purple suitcase from a hatch in the floor.
‘Oh.’ I didn’t even know Lupe was married. I never thought to ask, and she never said anything.
‘Janek picks me up in his car. I am tired of this van.’
Lupe opens drawers and begins packing a rainbow’s worth of dresses into the suitcase.
‘How can you leave your home behind?’ Panic wells in my chest.
‘Time is up for my little caravan kingdom. It’s time for a window that does not look onto concrete.’
Lupe hears the betrayal in my voice because she leaves her packing to come over and squeeze my cheeks. How many more things don’t I know about Lupe that I never thought to ask? And now she’s going away and I won’t be able to ask them so easily.
‘I’ll miss you.’ I don’t feel ashamed saying this to Lupe. It’s the truth. I can’t imagine saying it to anyone else but I’ve told so many truths in Lupe’s van it hardly seems to matter.
‘Yes, you will,’ Lupe says. ‘And that is why you will call the wild girl. You need someone.’
‘I have Diana and Ortolan,’ I reply. Then, because that sounds pathetic, I add, ‘And Blake and Thom.’
‘Not the same. Ortolan and Diana are your world, but you are not theirs. Same for the others.’
‘Gee, thanks Lupe.’ I can’t keep the hurt out of my voice.
‘This is not unkind, this is the truth.’ Lupe snaps her suitcase shut.