Razorhurst (11 page)

“How long since you had a proper wash?”

Kelpie didn’t know that either. She’d dunked herself in the pond at Centennial Park many times last summer. But Miss Lee said that didn’t count ’cause there was no soap. She hadn’t had a wash with soap since Old Ma died.

“We’re going to have to do something about her clothes,” Dymphna said, putting her finger through one of the holes in Kelpie’s coat. “Holes in all the pockets too. Where d’you keep your things?”

Kelpie had hiding places. She wasn’t about to tell Dymphna about them.

“All your clothes are falling apart. I can see your knees.”

Kelpie looked at where they stuck through her trousers.

Mrs. Darcy reached to undo the buttons. Kelpie stepped away. She wasn’t taking her clothes off.

“She’s about the same height as my Seamus. I’ll get some of his clothes for her.”

Kelpie scowled and hugged herself tighter.

“You’re skinnier than he is, lass. His clothes can go over the top of yours. All right? You won’t have to take them off. You’ll be warmer that way too.”

Mrs. Darcy returned with trousers, shirt, shoes and socks, and a coat that was bigger and warmer than hers.

Kelpie started unbuttoning her own. The first button broke apart in her hand. She hadn’t touched those buttons in weeks. The second fell off. The third would have stayed, but the fabric around it disintegrated. Miss Lee had found this coat for her. It had been almost new. For a moment, Kelpie thought she might cry.

Dymphna squeezed Kelpie’s hand as if she was her mum. Kelpie didn’t know what to make of it. She wanted to shake Dymphna off. She wasn’t a littlie who need comforting. But it felt nice too. Old Ma had held her hand.

“I’ll wear his coat.”

“How charitable,” Mrs. Darcy said, but she was smiling.

Snowy Fullerton

Snowy Fullerton once punched a man twice his weight so hard that the man fell to the ground and didn’t get up again for hours. Snowy was strong, six foot four inches tall, and in a line of business that meant he was challenged all too often by hard men desperate to prove they were made of that fancy new metal, tungsten carbide.

Always turned out they were more tin than steel.

Snowy did not start fights. Nor did he hit anyone without provocation. If he believed it was an option, he’d’ve never hit anyone, let alone killed them. But working for Mr. Davidson was all he had ever known. Snowy had a long scar on his left cheek. Six inches long and half an inch thick. It stood up from his face almost a quarter inch. Claimed he cut himself shaving, but everyone knew different. Knew, too, that whoever did it was most likely six feet under. That or fish food.

People called him Snowy because he bleached his tightly curled hair platinum blond. Because he was that tall his head was like a mountain top. Because you were more likely to get an answer from actual snow if you asked it a question than you were from Snowy. Because they thought it was funny. “Doesn’t make sense,” Tommy complained. “Snow’s white; Snowy ain’t.”

No one laughed to Snowy’s face.

Snowy always had food for Kelpie. Though she liked him best when it was peanuts or chocolate or a small bag of lollies. Snowy said if she ever needed anything, she should tell him. If she was ever in trouble, she should come get him and he’d fix it.

But the few times she did, he was away in gaol.

Snowy always answered her questions. Kelpie didn’t ask many. She had never looked him in the eyes and not just because he was so tall. Sometimes he would sit beside her, smoke a cigarette while she ate, and occasionally he would tell her a little about his childhood. He grew up in Frog Hollow, like her. He was raised by Old Ma, like her. Old Ma had told Kelpie she could trust Snowy. So she did.

The only time they didn’t see eye to eye was not long after Old Ma died and Snowy said maybe he should take Kelpie to the orphanage and have the nuns look after her. That it would be better than her living on the streets. Kelpie ran away and wouldn’t
talk to him until Old Ma’s ghost persuaded her by leading her to Snowy day after day.

He asked his landlady if Kelpie could stay with him. She wouldn’t have a bar of it. No women, no kids was her rule. Single men only.

He hinted at finding Kelpie somewhere to live off the streets a few times more: asked if she was doing okay, if maybe she’d like somewhere clean to stay for a while. Every time Snowy asked, Kelpie ran. So he stopped asking.

Snowy was as good a man as you could be living in the Hills, working for a man like Mr. Davidson, being in and out of gaol, and wearing that mark of trouble across his face.

DYMPHNA

It was almost nine when they finally slipped out the Darcy’s back gate onto Belmore Lane. Much later than Dymphna had wanted. The brewery was in full motion, the smell of hops and yeast so strong she had a sudden craving for her mother’s bread spread thick with butter.

There were no coppers around. Just a couple of old blokes hurrying down the lane towards the brewery—late for their shift, probably—and that awful pimply ghost with the Adam’s apple dancing up and down his throat shouting at Kelpie that she was done for and would be joining him soon. Dymphna was glad the boy appeared to be haunting the lane and not Kelpie.

She held Kelpie’s small hand firmly in hers while the girl squirmed. Dymphna did not walk quickly, though she was longing to. Rushing would attract attention.

Besides, Dymphna hadn’t decided what to do, where to go.

Chances were good the police would be at her flat. Chances were good that Glory would be looking for her. Whether Glory knew that Dymphna had plotted against her or not, she’d know by now that Jimmy was dead. One of Glory’s boys. She’d want to know what Dymphna knew.

If Glory didn’t know, then Dymphna needed to stay in good with her, tell her what had happened, head to Lansdowne Street—much as she hated it there—to help get ready for the party.

If Glory
did
know, she needed to run.

Then there was Mr. Davidson.

Shit.

Her flat was where her money was, some of it hidden in the lining of her warmest coat. Her passports were there too. One under the name of Dymphna Campbell. One not. That was Jimmy’s idea.
Just in case
, he’d said. Neither one dreaming that they really would have to run away. They’d laughed about it. They were sure they’d thought of everything.

Home or Glory. Glory or home.

Which was safer?

She wished she could ask Jimmy without risking him haunting her for the rest of her life. But she wasn’t sure if Jimmy knew. She doubted
Snowy would have said
why
he was killing Jimmy. Snowy probably didn’t know. He was doing what his boss told him to do. Mr. Davidson was not the kind to share his plans.

Neither was Glory, for that matter.

“Stop pulling, Kelpie. I’m stronger than you. I’m not going to let go of your hand.”

Kelpie stopped pulling, but Dymphna knew she was waiting for a chance to run. She didn’t blame her. Dymphna would have run away from herself right then if it was possible.

“No matter what happens, you can’t tell anyone what you saw,” Dymphna said, though she was pretty sure Kelpie would keep her mouth shut. But perhaps it would get Jimmy talking. He hadn’t gone into much detail about what happened to him.

Kelpie nodded without looking up. The girl avoided eye contact. Wise.

“I’ll do for you if you don’t,” Jimmy said, leaning into Kelpie’s face.

He still hadn’t realised there was little he could do to the living. Except drive them insane, and that took time.

“You’ve got to tell her about Snowy killing me.”

“You promise?” Dymphna asked Kelpie, as if she didn’t hear Jimmy.

“I promise.”

“That card I gave you, the one from Mr. Davidson—” Dymphna began.

“Hoo roo,” Snowy Fullerton called from the top of the lane. Kelpie twisted around to see him.

Dymphna turned and smiled, ignoring her impulse to run. The two of them had always been friendly—despite him being Mr. Davidson’s, despite his having killed Jimmy. He probably wasn’t the first man of hers that Snowy’d killed. She was almost certain Snowy wouldn’t hurt her, and if he meant to take her to Mr. Davidson, there was not much she could do to stop him. She would not let herself be scared.

Jimmy ran his finger across his throat. “He did this.”

Kelpie looked away.

Snowy lifted his hat briefly. The scar on his right cheek stood out pale against his dark skin. Even so, he was handsome. One of the few hard men never to make a play for Dymphna. She’d heard rumours as to why. She didn’t know enough to credit them.

His left eye was mottled red and purple. Did Jimmy give him that?

“Morning, Kelp. Been looking for you,” Snowy said, reaching down to ruffle the girl’s hair. “You look different. Someone attack you with shears and a bucket of water?”

Kelpie ducked her head, but Dymphna could see she was pleased. She shifted towards him. Dymphna held her hand a little tighter.

“Dymphna,” Snowy said.

“Snowy.”

Snowy’s knuckles were red. They’d probably be blue with bruises later. Did he bruise them on Jimmy or someone else? Dymphna tried to find it in herself to be angry. She wasn’t. It wasn’t Snowy’s doing; it was Mr. Davidson’s.

“Bound to happen one day, Kelp. Clean’s not so terrible, is it?”

Kelpie’s head was still down, but Dymphna thought she saw the hint of a smile.

“Didn’t realise you were out already,” she said.

“Yesterday morning. Good behaviour,” Snowy said, his eyes on Kelpie. “Been a while, hasn’t it, Kelp?”

Kelpie nodded a little.

They’d missed each other, Dymphna could see. Kelpie had called him
my Snowy
, hadn’t she?

He handed the girl a Cherry Ripe and a bulging brown paper bag. Dymphna could smell the salted peanuts inside. Kelpie went straight for the chocolate, taking longer to get it out of the wrapper than to eat it.

“Didn’t know you two were acquainted,” Snowy said to Dymphna, as he watched Kelpie dig into the bag of peanuts.

Dymphna smiled but said nothing.

“Where you both headed?”