Paper Alice (6 page)

‘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 sight.'

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.

With all the hilarity the trip to the station had gone in a flash and suddenly there we were, stopped at a red light, with the entrance to Central just across the intersection.

‘OK,' said Andy, unclicking his seatbelt, ‘I'll jump out here.'

‘Oh,' I started, as Milly and I twisted around. ‘OK . . .'

He started to open the door, but then leaned forward and put a hand on my shoulder.

‘Hey,' he said. ‘Thanks.'

I looked at his hand. Then into the blue, quizzical eyes.

‘Catch ya later,' he added, getting out. ‘See ya, Milly.'

‘Hey,' said Milly, ‘don't forget your bag!'

‘Whoops.' He leant in again and grabbed his backpack off the seat. The light, meanwhile, had changed; the car behind honked loudly.

‘All
right
!' cried Milly, whirling round and automatically raising a finger at the driver. ‘Chill!'

Andy grinned at her.

‘Scary!'

Then he pulled his head out again and was off, merging with all the office workers crossing at the lights.

We took off over the intersection, Milly craning her neck to catch another glimpse of him.

‘Hey,' she said, ‘
cute
!'

And suddenly – whether because of road rage, silly Milly and all that she'd put me through, or whatever – I was furious.

‘
Mill
,' I cried, ‘lay off!'

She glanced round at me in surprise. I shoved my indicator down to change lanes, my heart thumping. Then yelled, ‘Shit!' and swerved back again as a car right there in my blind spot blared its horn.

‘He – he's got a girlfriend,' I went on in a more
reasonable voice, after I'd straightened up. ‘He lives with her, in Summer Hill.'

Small silence. Milly folded her arms.

‘Mmm,' she said airily, ‘don't
we
know all about him!'

My eyes slid sideways; I made a withering face.

‘And what is
that
supposed to mean?'

Milly smiled and shrugged, all infuriating innocence.

The car in front stopped suddenly; I braked and we lurched forward in our belts. Never again, I thought, will I drive in the city in rush hour.

‘I know something about all of them there,' I said finally, taking refuge in my righteous anger, ‘because I was forced to stand there for
hours
in that kitchen like a complete dork while that dickhead Paul had his shower and then hunted around for your shoe!'

From the corner of my eye I saw her pale slightly at the mention of his name; her face crumpled a bit.

‘Yeah,' she said, reaching over and squeezing my arm. ‘I know. I'm sorry, Al – I'm really, really grateful, honestly. And so,' she added, all coochy-coo, ‘ees my li'l shoe!'

I gave a short laugh. ‘Yeah, well I'm never doing it again! From now on,' I added, only half-jokingly, ‘you've just
got
to be more selective about where you leave your shoes!'

Now as I lay in bed I got a mental image of the object in question, being held out by the beastly Paul. And then felt prickly with embarrassment all over again at the memory of his housemates' collective gaze on me, sharp and curious, and their obvious enjoyment of my predicament.

I groaned and flounced onto my side, scrunching up into the foetal position again. That thing about stepping outside your comfort zone being good for you, I decided, was very debatable.

I must've dreamt about my visit, because I awoke in the middle of the night mentally revisiting that dilapidated kitchen. My mind's eye like a roving camera, slowly moving from Chet at the table and Andy leaning against the dresser, then to the fridge between them and the poster on the door. I had an idea it was advertising some kind of play reading, but maybe I'd dreamt that too. And the date . . .

It must have been lurking in my subconscious all along, because now I suddenly zoomed right in on it. My eyes flew open in the dark.
Thursday, 12 May
, it had said,
at the Cave.

I remembered the guy in the pub.
See you Thursday evening.

Probably a coincidence; he was most likely talking about something else entirely.

And yet . . .

When was the twelfth? Today was Tuesday, but what date was it?

Then I remembered that the deadline for my essay yesterday was the ninth. The twelfth of May was the day after tomorrow.

I kept a sharp lookout for one of those posters at uni the next day. I knew there'd be quite a few of them around, but of course the moment I tried to find one, I couldn't. People rip stuff down, just for the hell of it. I know, because I'd helped put up a
whole lot of posters for an O-Week dance party in aid of earthquake victims, and the next day there were barely any of them left. Some people are just dickheads.

I found what I thought was the corner of one, still pinned to a noticeboard in the library foyer, and just some sticky tape where I was sure I'd seen one on a window in the student union. I'd just about given up when I happened to spy a poster still bravely clinging to the underpass near the Physics Building. One corner was hanging down and it'd copped some graffiti, but it was still readable.

It was for a reading of extracts from new plays by different authors, put on by the uni dramatic society. To be held in the Cave, the basement where they put on most of their productions. At 8 pm, entry free.

I'd been to a couple of things at the Cave – a stand-up comedy night during O-Week and an absurdist play a little while after that. I have to say, I only went to the play because a friend, Jess, was in the cast. She'd been one of the drama stars at school and she did what she could in this production, which turned out to be a bit of a dog's breakfast. I think a difficult play like that needs professional actors to bring it to life, and the student performers were mostly very far from that level. But who am I to criticise – good luck to them for tackling it.

I went with Milly and Dunc on the last night. Dunc, typically, thought the whole thing was a ‘heap of shit' and had to be persuaded with some difficulty to stay for the party afterwards. Though we didn't end up staying long. Most of the people there, if they weren't in the cast or crew, had been, or hoped
to be, in others. So that turned out to be just about the sole topic of conversation, and the basis for the in-jokes.

Dunc had stood around looking bored, like a fish out of water – if a drowning fish could ever look bored. I at least made an effort, but it makes you feel yay high when whoever it is you're talking to is watching over your shoulder for a Somebody, not a nobody, to associate with. Even Jess looked a bit out of it – this being her first uni production.

The only one of us who did seem to be enjoying herself was Milly. She can really hold her own in the loud and theatrical department, though appearances can be deceptive. There was a skinhead-type boy – a member of the cast – whom, I could tell, she was singling out for special attention. Sure enough, that night did eventuate into one of Milly's disasters.

So I wasn't exactly desperate to embrace the scene at the Cave again. Anyway, I reminded myself, the gathering mentioned by the guy in the Rose and Star was probably nothing whatever to do with the dramatic society. In a city this size it could be anything, anywhere – a baroque ensemble concert at someone's house, or a poetry recital in a church . . .

Then I thought about the crowd at the pub that night, of which that boy had seemed pretty typical. He hardly seemed like the classical music type, or a member of a church youth group – though you couldn't always tell.

Your masterpiece . . .

It was obviously something arty, anyway. Something fairly switched on.

I thought about the poster's other location in that
house in Surry Hills, and its occupants. Wondered again about the sketches they'd mentioned writing for a revue. Surely it would be for one of the uni revues – they certainly seemed like students. Perhaps even for the drama society.

I wondered if Andy was going, on Thursday evening.

‘How's lover boy these days? Haven't heard or seen much of him lately.'

I glanced across the table at Dad, rolling his pasta slowly around his fork. I shrugged.

‘He's OK.'

It was the kind of question that normally he would have asked in a teasing, let's-get-a-rise-out-of-Alice kind of way. Now, in his new glum mood, I knew it was just an attempt to fill in the fog of silence that had descended on tonight's meal.

Mum frowned down at her food. ‘He was here on Saturday night, Pete.'

‘Oh . . .' Dad gave a short laugh. ‘That's right – I just didn't see him.'

You were otherwise occupied, I thought. In the old days he would always have a chat with Dunc. They got on pretty well, and there was usually a current sporting event or three to discuss.