‘Come in,’ she said. ‘He’s just gone into the shower. He won’t be long.’
‘Oh . . .’ I was about to say I’d wait there, but realised that a tête-à-tête with Paul on the doorstep would look even worse. ‘Oh,’ I repeated. ‘OK . . .’
I followed her down the dark passage. The place smelt as though it’d been a student house forever: musty, with an ancient underlay of grime, cooking smells and hash. We went past a bike propped against the wall and into the kitchen.
There were two boys in there, neither of them Paul. One was sitting at the table, the other leaning against the dresser, hands in his jeans pockets. Both of them looking round at me.
‘Hey,’ I said, sketching a tiny wave.
‘Hey.’
‘Oh . . .’ I touched my breast bone idiotically. ‘Alice.’
Why on earth was I introducing myself? I should just grab the shoe and get out of there!
The guy at the table, who had longish blond hair and a disconcerting stare, touched his chest in return.
‘Chet,’ he said, solemnly.
Was he having a go at me? My already warm face got warmer.
And what sort of a name was Chet?
‘Andy,’ said the other boy, glancing at Chet and then sideways again at me. I got an impression of very blue eyes, and a body that looked as though it was just out of bed. Tousled hair and two-day stubble above baggy crumpled T-shirt and jeans.
‘And I’m May,’ came the girl’s voice, from behind me. I spun around, nearly overbalancing. ‘Have a seat,’ she added almost impatiently, indicating a chair with a plump, ring-covered hand.
‘Oh, no!’ I found myself rapidly waving the suggestion away – as though she’d offered me a shot of heroin, or a shift as a street walker. ‘I’m just here to get a shoe . . . for a friend.’
That really made them stare.
For god’s sake, screamed the other Alice inside me, the sensible one. Get a grip!
‘She was here – the other night,’ I finished, ‘with Paul, and she thinks . . . she thinks she left it under the bed.’
Silence.
‘Under the bed?’ said Chet finally, still deadpan.
I nodded faintly.
‘So where’s your friend?’ This was from the other guy: Andy.
I stared at him. ‘She . . . She’s . . .’
But I was spared by the arrival of Paul himself through the far door, still damp, towel around his waist.
‘Ah, just the man we want!’ Andy was clearly starting to enjoy himself. He turned to me and then back to Paul, a gleam in his eye. ‘Do you two–’
‘We met the other night,’ I said quickly, folding my arms. I suddenly felt sick of it all; almost cross. ‘With Milly. Apparently she left one of her shoes here – under . . . in your room.’
Paul looked at me, water dripping off his hair, and for an awful moment I thought he was going to ask, having almost certainly seen Milly in the car, why she hadn’t come in herself. But he merely shrugged.
‘I’ll have a look,’ he said, and padded past me up the hall.
Another silence. Chet yawned and stretched his arms in the air, smiling slightly.
‘The things we do for a mate, eh?’
I nodded slightly, paranoia fizzing inside me.
‘You!’ cried Andy, grinning at Chet. ‘You wouldn’t save a drowning man without first negotiating a fee!’
Chet raised an eyebrow.
‘Nonsense. I’m a model of charity and altruism.’
‘Yeah – like Attila the Hun.’
They traded more cheerful banter while I only half-listened, biting my lip and staring blankly at the poster on the fridge. It looked new, sitting amidst some tatty photos and other stuff; I’d seen it around at uni.
Then Paul’s voice came from up the passage.
‘Hey – what does it look like?’
We turned. Paul, now dressed, was leaning around the doorway.
‘The shoe,’ he repeated, looking at me. ‘What’s it like?’
May snorted. ‘How many stray shoes have you got under there?’
From the glances the three of them were exchanging, it occurred to me that perhaps I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t Paul’s greatest fan.
‘Oh . . .’ I replied finally, catching Chet and Andy’s eyes. ‘Blue polka-dot.’ Then added idiotically, ‘With a big bow.’
Then we all laughed, even me.
‘Make sure about the bow!’ Andy called. ‘He just happens to have a thing,’ he added, scratching his head and smiling at me, ‘about chicks in blue polka-dot shoes.’
I was struck again by the liveliness of his eyes in the dishevelled mess of the rest of him. ‘Oh,’ I laughed, my gaze sliding away. ‘My friend wears nothing but!’
May put a hand to her face, eyes wide in a parody of dawning comprehension.
‘That’s why there’s been all these women tiptoeing through here in polka-dot shoes!’
‘Every wearer of polka-dot shoes within a hundred kilometre radius,’ put in Chet, ‘like zombies . . .’
‘–arms outstretched, clomping towards Paul!’ This was Andy again.
‘Hordes of them, pressing up against the front fence and staring in,’ I put in, giggling.
The arrival of the shoe itself, borne by a nonplussed-looking Paul, caused more amusement.
‘Thanks,’ I said, taking it without meeting Paul’s eye, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed again. And, I have to say, he didn’t look exactly comfortable either. After all, what was he meant to say? Say hi to Milly for me?
‘We should do a sketch about it for the show,’ I heard Andy say to Chet. ‘Swarms of zombies in polka-dot shoes.’
What show? I wondered.
‘Might be too much like that ad that used to be on TV,’ said May. ‘The chick-magnet one, for cars . . .’
‘Anyway,’ I put in, ‘Gotta be going. Thanks–’
From his place at the table Chet clasped his hands behind his head, tipping back on his chair. ‘Bye, brave Alice,’ he said. ‘Your friend Milly should be extremely grateful to you.’
I quickly looked at him, then glanced away again. Once again it was impossible to tell whether he was serious, or taking the piss. Probably a bit of both, I decided.
‘Oh yeah,’ I said, overly sarcastic. ‘Sure!’
What is it they say about sarcasm being the lowest form of wit?
‘I gotta split too,’ said Andy. He turned to the others. ‘Lil,’ he announced, ‘is cooking her famous Mexican hotpot tonight.’
‘Ah . . .’ May smiled, cocking her head on one side. ‘How is the darling thing?’
‘Gorgeous,’ he replied, in a fake American accent, ‘as ever.’ He raised a hand. ‘Catch ya later.’
Chet raised a hand in return, and May said, ‘Bye.’
Andy turned to go, gesturing me to go ahead of him. But then he turned back to the others.
‘When’s the next session – for the scripts?’ he asked.
‘Friday arvo, I think we said,’ came Chet’s voice. ‘Four-ish?’
‘Bye Alice,’ sang May. ‘Nice to meet you.’
I mumbled something like, ‘You too,’ already imagining her and the horrible Chet having a laugh about me as soon as the front door had closed. About little Miss Alice, standing there like a dork, blushing to the roots of her hair.
Andy reached around me from behind to open the front door. ‘After you,’ he said with a small flourish, and we walked out into the evening chill.
‘Is he for real?’ I blurted, as soon as he’d pulled the door shut. Then, of course, wished I hadn’t.
‘Who?’ asked Andy, hand still on the doorknob. ‘Chet?’
I shrugged and nodded. ‘It seems like he thinks he’s–’
‘Christmas?’ He laughed, stepping off the verandah. ‘He can be a bit off-putting, especially when you first meet him. But he’s OK, underneath it all.’
‘Mmm.’ I shrugged and then added, more for something to say than anything else, �
�Weird name.’
We’d turned through the gate and up the street, both in the same direction. ‘His real name’s Barclay,’ said Andy with a small smile, looking straight ahead.
I gave a little cry of laughter, turning to him. ‘His first name?’
‘Yep. Second name – Browning. Barclay Browning,’ he added. ‘Sounds like something from the music hall era!’ He shrugged. ‘I guess that helps to explain a bit about him.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, giggling, ‘I guess . . .’
Suddenly ole Chet didn’t seem quite so intimidating after all.
We marched along, our footsteps more or less in time. We were drawing near the Mazda. I could see the back of Milly’s head resting against the passenger window; wondered if she’d nodded off. She’s quite a devotee of power naps, being such a night owl.
I swallowed.
‘Here’s my car – Mum’s car,’ I said, pointing. ‘D’ you . . . want a lift somewhere?’
‘Oh,’ he said, slowing down, looking at me. ‘Where’re you headed?’
‘Over the Bridge.’
He smiled and shrugged. ‘Exact opposite direction to me. Thanks anyway.’
I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. ‘You sure?’
‘Well, maybe you could drop me somewhere near Central?’
‘Fine.’
‘No,’ he said, remembering, ‘that means you’ll get caught up in city traffic, in the rush hour.’
‘I’m going that way anyway. Via Annandale . . .’
‘Really?’
When I nodded, he smiled.
‘OK, thanks – that’d be great.’
We’d reached the Mazda; I tapped gently on the outside of Milly’s window. Just as I expected, she gave a little shriek and jumped a mile. It’s true she’d been snoozing, but Milly never does anything by halves.
She stared at us for a moment through the glass, eyes wide, hair falling over her face. Particularly, of course, at Andy. I watched as her look of surprise transformed itself into a smile.
‘The famous Milly, I presume,’ murmured Andy, hands in his pockets.
I laughed. ‘Yep.’
Famous Milly couldn’t wind down the power window, so she opened the door instead. ‘Hey!’ she cried, twisting right around.
‘Mission accomplished,’ I said solemnly, holding out the shoe.
‘Oh, ta.’
And she took it from me and tossed it over her shoulder into the back as though it were an old tennis ball, not the precious object which I’d practically died a thousand deaths to retrieve. Then she smiled again at Andy.
‘Hi,’ she said, in velvety tones. ‘I’m Milly.’
‘Yeah,’ said Andy with a smile. ‘So I gathered.’
That took the wind out of her sails. I could have cheered. Milly’s carry-on when it comes to boys sometimes sends me into orbit.
‘Oh . . .’ Her smile faltered; she looked uncertainly from him to me and back again.
Then I felt ashamed. Despite her party-girl behaviour Milly’s actually one of the most defenceless people I know. She just doesn’t seem to have enough layers of protective skin. This, combined with her compulsive flirtatiousness, makes for a pretty fatal combination.
‘We’re giving Andy a lift to the station,’ I said. I nodded at the back door. ‘Jump in.’
‘So,’ ventured Milly over her shoulder, after we’d got going, ‘You live wi . . . in the house?’
‘Nah,’ came the reply. ‘I live at Summer Hill.’
With the beautiful Lil, I thought, remembering with an irrational little pang his loving description of her.
We crossed a one-way street and I suddenly realised that I couldn’t think how to get to Central. I turned my head slightly.
‘What’s the best way?’
‘You’re OK,’ he said. ‘Just go next left, then right, down into Crown. I think . . .’
But the second turn was another one way – the wrong way. We stopped, looking up and down the tiny street.
‘Shit,’ he said. ‘Sorry! Look, I’ll get out and walk – it’d be a lot easier for you.’
‘Don’t worry,’ cried Milly airily, waving a hand. ‘We’ll get there! How hard can it be?’
But I was suddenly remembering Mum’s stern injunction to have the car back by 7.15. Not only would I have to face her anger – all the scarier for being the controlled, quiet kind – but I also wouldn’t be allowed the car next time I wanted it.
I glanced at the clock in the console. 6.44. In the rush hour.
I stared down the street to my right at the lights of the cars flashing past on Crown Street, only one short block away.
‘Bugger it,’ I said, ‘gunna go for it.’ And I put the Mazda in reverse and started backing down the hill between the two rows of parked cars.
‘Wheee!’ cried Milly.
This time we actually would have made it if it hadn’t been for two guys in a black Jeep who turned in at the last second from Crown Steet. Dressed in black and looking almost identical; their bald heads outlined against the lights behind them.
We all ground to a halt; the five of us stared at one another. Correction, six. As a final insult an enormous dog – a Great Dane – stuck its head out the window behind the driver and gave a couple of mighty woofs.
Now it was my turn to swear – quietly, but with a lot of conviction. Milly was less ladylike. She rolled down her window, leant right out and pointed hard at the kerb space beside them.
‘Pull over and let us through, why don’tcha,’ she yelled. ‘We’re almost there!’
The dog barked some more, but the two in the front just sat there po-faced, looking at us. It was plain they weren’t going to give an inch.
‘Jeez,’ I muttered, ‘what bastards!’
‘I’ll say!’ cried Milly. She leant out even further. ‘Dickheads!’
The dudes in the Wrangler might just as well’ve been shop dummies, except I’m sure they were enjoying every second of it.
‘Hang on,’ said Andy, ‘I’ll fix it.’
And he opened his door, hopped out and sauntered down the street towards them.
The dog went beserk; I thought that Andy was going to get his head bitten off when he stopped and leaned in towards them. But then the guy in the passenger seat swung round and roared at it and it quietened down immediately.
Milly and I stared as Andy launched into a spiel. Then started to giggle, ducking our heads and putting our hands to our mouths – it was all so obviously bullshit. He was frowning earnestly, waving his arms about and then pointing in the direction of the street behind us.
But the boys in black seemed to be completely taken in. They stared at him, open-mouthed, then started craning their necks to catch a glimpse of whatever drama it was occurring just up beyond us.
And the next thing we knew, wonder-boy was giving them a pat of thanks on the car window and a cheery wave, which they returned, all smiles, before the driver proceded to reverse and then pull into the no-standing zone.
Milly and I snorted and squeaked, trying to control ourselves as Andy walked back towards us, the tiniest smirk on his face. He allowed himself his own little gasp of laughter as he hopped in again, before murmuring through gritted teeth: ‘Stop laughing – they might come and kill us.’
That set us off all over again; I couldn’t even look their way as we sailed past. As we turned into Crown Street I saw the Jeep reversing rapidly, back the way it’d come. They obviously weren’t game to go forward, into the danger zone.
‘Let me guess,’ cried Milly. ‘Was it a fire, or an ambulance?’
‘Neither.’
I glanced in the rear-vision mirror and caught Andy’s eye, gleaming wickedly.
‘It was a shoot out,’ he went on cheerfully. ‘One body lying in the middle of the road in a pool of blood, two men taking pot shots at one another from opposite doorways. A woman screaming from a top window. Bullets ricocheting, neighbours running for cover and not a cop in sigh
t.’
I ended up being nearly three-quarters of an hour late getting home, and since Dad was off somewhere else in his car, I knew Mum would have had to take a taxi to her meeting across town. But that night the thought of her being shitty didn’t worry me nearly as much as it normally would’ve. I was too hyped.
I did, however, toddle off to bed quite early – for me at any rate – determined to turn over a new leaf and not end up pushing the snooze button endlessly in the morning. But my body clock was not adjusted to going to sleep at ten o’clock, and anyway, after the events of earlier on I couldn’t seem to switch off.
I lay there, curled in a ball, doona pulled up to my chin, chuckling at the thought of those two guys in the Jeep and the looks on their faces. They probably considered themselves to be just about the coolest things on four legs, yet even in the half-dark I’d been able to see their mouths dropping open, like little kids being warned of an alien landing.
We’d laughed about it practically all the way to Central. My eyes were so full of tears I could barely see; at one point I nearly drove into the back of another car. Our passenger wasn’t quite so hysterical; I was sure that this sort of thing went on with him all the time. Life with Andy, I thought, would never be dull.
And now my phone beeped in the darkness, from over on my desk. I knew who that’d be – I hadn’t spoken to him all day. I sighed, snuggling deeper in my warm cocoon. If I’d really been serious about going to bed at some ungodly hour, why hadn’t I switched off my mobile?
Suddenly I felt almost drowsy – there’s nothing like the thought of getting out of bed to put you to sleep. Surely I could answer Dunc in the morning . . .
Then I sighed again, switched on my light and went and grabbed my phone. Jumped back into bed before checking the message.
Hey it said. Whats up? x
Funny evening, I typed in, but going to sleep now. Then I stopped, frowning. I didn’t know whether I wanted to even tell Dunc about my expedition on Milly’s behalf. He tended to get irritated by her carry-on, and certainly wouldn’t approve of me banging on strange doors to rescue one of her shoes. He and Mill have never hit it off one hundred per cent. A bit like Baddo and me, I guess.
Though Milly’s worth ten of Baddo, says an unbiased me.
I cleared my text and started again. Going to sleep – new resolution – early nights! Speak tomorrow xx. Then I pushed send and determinedly switched it off. Turned off my lamp and lay there on my back, arms by my side like a carved figure on an old tomb, staring up into the darkness.
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