Trust (22 page)

She stopped dead in her tracks, seeds and juice dripping down her chin.
Uh-oh.
Had it been left open this morning? Or had someone broken in? If so – a prickling started in her scalp, right above her ears – might they still be in there?

Careful not to make a sound, Stella-Jean crept back along the side path to peep in through the living room window. Well, the fancy flat-screen TV was still there. And she could see her mother’s camera sitting on the coffee table, in the cool blue Crumpler case Seb had given her for Christmas. So, no burglar.
Maybe Mum’s home from work early?
Oops. Having this Thursday break-out sprung on its first day would be tragic. She cast an eye back toward the bike, wondering if she could still sneak off unseen, if necessary. But – phew – there was no sign of the car out the front. The back door must’ve been left open by accident. Unless — Seb had nicked off from school too. She clicked her tongue. So obvious!

She put her bags down in the kitchen and went down the hallway.
Shh
, she told herself.
Quiet, like a little brown mouse
. The house definitely had that indefinable occupied feeling.
Is that a noise?
Yes.
From Seb’s room?
Yes.

Tippy-toeing to his open door, Stella-Jean was ready to back off in an instant if it turned out he was in there with Rory, getting hot ’n’ heavy – but the only occupant of the rumpled bed was Tigger, curled up sound asleep. There was Seb, the big dork, sitting at his desk, just the top of his head visible above the high back of his chair. Playing one of his dumb computer games, most likely. She sneaked closer … closer: this was childish, but she was going to enjoy going
Boo!
and scaring the crap out of him.

Seb remained oblivious. Three metres, two, one: she peeked a look at the computer screen. Not a game after all: he was watching a video clip, or maybe a movie; it was —

‘
Ow!
’ As though she’d grasped hold of something burning hot, Stella-Jean let out a shriek of raw surprise.

Seb jumped like his chair was electrified. ‘
Fuck!
’ he yelled as he spun around, his face fractured with alarm and shock. ‘Jesus, Stella! What the fuck are
you
doing here?’

Pointing at the screen, she yelped, ‘What is
that
?’

‘What’s it look like?’ he snarled. ‘
Sesame Street
?’ He swung around again and with a click of the mouse the images disappeared from the screen.

‘Seb!’ Stella-Jean’s eyes were popping. ‘That was –
porn
.’

‘Really? I hadn’t noticed.’

She registered that he was busy zipping up his jeans and yowled again.

‘Fuck
off
, Stella, you little sneak!’ he yelled in a frenzy of embarrassment. ‘So it’s porn, so fucking what? What the fuck are you doing here, anyway?’

‘But Seb, that was
guys
.’

He roared out of his chair and Stella-Jean leapt in the air like a cartoon character and started running. Ooh, he was mad enough to
really
clobber her! She slammed the door of his room behind her so hard the wall shook and took off down the hall and through the kitchen, feet skittering on the cork-tiled floor, and didn’t stop till she was at the far end of the backyard. With her hands on the wooden fence, ready to swarm up and over, she dared a glance back.

He wasn’t chasing her. She sagged, panting, and skulked around out there for a while, until, driven indoors by the heat, she stole back in to her bedroom. With hands that hadn’t stopped jittering, she laid her op shop haul out on the bed, but she couldn’t get the images she’d seen on Seb’s computer screen, briefly but all too clearly, out of her mind. Quite apart from the fact that there had been
three
guys, all into it together, she was flabbergasted by the size of their —
sheesh!
Did ordinary guys’ dicks really get that big? It wasn’t just gross, it was kind of … scary. Hopefully they were, you know, exceptional, and that was why they were in porn films.

Guys looked at porn, well,
duh
, she knew that! Girls looked at porn too, some of them. Stella-Jean hadn’t, and she hadn’t had a boyfriend yet either, let alone sex – unlike at least half the girls in her year, or so they claimed. She was too
busy
to waste time getting involved with guys. Well, okay … she had a secret crush on Dylan Sweeney, who was in Seb’s year, but only Tessa knew about that – and not even Tess knew that she liked to imagine Dylan kissing her and … and doing other things when she touched herself.

But what about Seb? He was on with Rory, she knew that for a fact, which meant he was — well,
did
it mean that he was straight? If a guy looked at
gay
porn, did that mean the guy was gay? Maybe straight guys watched gay porn too; guys could be pretty weird when it came to sex. Maybe he was bi? She felt completely out of her depth just thinking about this stuff. Maybe he —

A thump on her door. Seb shoved it open and stood there with his arms crossed. ‘Let’s be abso-fucking-lutely clear on this, dumb-arse,’ he said grimly. ‘You say a
word
, to
any
body, and you are dead. I will kill you outright and bury you in a shallow grave.’

‘Are you are out of your
mind
? Like I would
want
to tell anybody! I don’t even want to be having this conversation, I’ve got —’ Stella-Jean looked at the clock beside her bed – ‘Oh, shit!’ – and jumped up. ‘I’m outta here! I’ve gotta pick up Finn.’

She ran, even though it was stinking hot. ‘Sorry, Finn, sorry!’ she called, spotting him sitting in a corner of the almost deserted schoolyard, just staring at the ground.
He looks so sad
,
like all the fun’s leaked out of him. But nobody cares about that, as long as he stays quiet and behaves himself.
Poor kid. When was Mum gonna have that talk with Auntie Ange? She’d
promised
!

‘No dusty old playground for us today, Finnsterino,’ she told him as they walked along. ‘We’re going on an adventure. Into the city, on the train.’

Finn stopped short. ‘No, Stella, no!’ he said, pulling his neck down into his shoulders like a turtle. ‘I can’t go without per-
mission
.’

‘But hey, we did it last Saturday, remember?’ Stella-Jean nudged at him to keep moving, out of the sun. ‘You’re with
me
, you’ve got
my
permission.’

Finn looked desperately twitchy. ‘But if
he
finds out, I’ll be in trouble. He’ll get
angry
with me.’

‘What happens when he gets angry?’ Stella-Jean stopped in a patch of shade and crouched down in front of him. ‘When you’re in trouble, what does Gabriel do?’

Finn’s face twisted up as though he was in agony. ‘I can’t say anything. I can’t talk about
anything
about him.’

‘All right.’ Stella-Jean pushed out her bottom lip and blew a big breath up over her face, trying to get her hair to lift off her sweaty forehead. ‘Here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to text your mum and ask
her
permission for you to go on the train with me, okay?’ She’d already pulled out her mobile phone and her thumb was clicking like a hyperactive cricket. ‘And if she says yes, then we’ll go.’ She clicked send. ‘Done! And meantime, we’re gonna go in to that milk bar over there and get a couple of ice-cold chocolate Billabongs. One for you, and one for me. Okay?’

Finn had been listening to her very seriously. ‘’Kay,’ he said, nodding. They walked toward the milk bar. ‘Stella? Don’t tell Mum I told you I can’t tell you.’

‘But … you
can
tell me stuff, Finnster,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter whether Gabriel says you can or not. He can’t
make
you keep things secret, you know.’ But looking at her cousin’s small, scared face, she understood that she was wrong: secrets were exactly what Gabriel was making Finn keep.
If Mum can’t get through to Ange, I’m going to have to do something about Gabriel myself.
Stella-Jean didn’t know what, exactly, but she’d figure it out. She’d have to.

By the time they reached Stella-Jean’s place, Angie had texted back saying
Yes fine xx
, their ice-creams were dripping down their hands faster than they could lick, and Finn was looking a lot chirpier. Just as they turned in at the front gate, Seb was heading out with his sports bag slung over his shoulder.

‘Where you going?’ Stella-Jean asked.

‘Coaching,’ Seb said, not looking at her. He wouldn’t even have stopped if he hadn’t had to readjust the stuff in his bag. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

‘At the tennis centre? Till when? Is Mum picking you up?’

‘Who wants to know?’

‘Don’t be a pain, Seb.’ Fat drops of melting ice-cream were splotting on to the footpath; she slurped what was left into her mouth and let it slide in a cool sugary lump down her throat. The tennis centre where Seb had his coaching sessions was right on the edge of the city. ‘I’m going into the city too. Me and Finn can meet up with you, and then Mum’ll get us pizza on the way home. You know, from the place that does that excellent garlic bread.’

‘Whatever,’ Seb shrugged, but she saw she’d fed the spark of his robust appetite. He knew the pizza place she was talking about, and would be slavering at the thought. ‘I finish at seven-thirty.’

‘Cool,’ said Stella-Jean. ‘We’ll meet you outside that side gate. Okay?’

He gave her the briefest of glances and a short nod, picked up his sports bag again and swung off. Turned his back again, just like that.
Don’t be mad at
me
!
she felt like yelling after him.
I didn’t do anything!

‘See ya!’ she called, and he raised his left arm without turning around. For a moment she felt better, and then she saw the single raised middle finger.
Yeah, well, screw you too
. She turned to Finn, who was giving his ice-cream stick a final comprehensive lick. He had chocolate from nose-tip to chin, and all the way down his arm to his elbow.

‘Come on, buddy,’ she said. ‘Let’s hose you down and then we’ll go have our own adventure.’

NINETEEN

The network of little laneways and arcades lacing the heart of Melbourne had always been one of Susanna’s favourite features of the city, but she had forgotten how crowded it would be at peak hour. Hard to enjoy window-shopping while being jostled by the throng of commuters heading home, as well as meandering shoppers and knots of students chatting to each other in Chinese, Hindi, Indonesian, and other languages. How the city had changed since she was a child, making the rare trip in with her parents for special occasions: viewing the Christmas windows at Myer, for instance. Nobody actually lived here in those days; you seldom saw a non-European face, and there was hardly a restaurant in existence, let alone an outdoor cafe.

Susanna walked down a short flight of stairs, into narrow, European-looking Degraves Street, and edged around a knot of tourists taking photos of a wall of street art – she knew better than to call it graffiti, these days. She cast an admiring eye over it herself, rather proud of her recently acquired appreciation of the quality of Melbourne’s stencils. Amidst the other tiny shops, she spotted the boutique which was going to stock Stella-Jean’s brooches, and dawdled at the window, looking at their display of bags and clothes and jewellery. She would go in there, later, with Angie, after their coffee and their talk. That was part of her plan.

There it was, the cafe where they’d arranged to meet. It was more crowded than she’d expected; she had to wait for a table, and as she waited her anxiety grew.
Is this really the right thing to do?
The very care with which she’d planned this meeting now gave her a sense of guilty unease. The innocent-sounding proposal for a coffee during the hour Angie had off from work at the department store before Thursday’s late-night trading, at this cafe in Degraves Street (a safely public place) with the convenient pretext of showing her sister the boutique. And if things got uncomfortable when she had raised the difficult subject of Gabriel and Finn, Susanna could divert the conversation, tell Angie about Studio Lulu and the life drawing class she was about to begin that very evening. Innocuous; easy …

Seated now, she sipped a glass of water and scanned the stream of people flowing and eddying in the narrow lane. When Angie was late, Susanna found herself hoping she wouldn’t come.
Wuss!
she told herself.
You just hate confrontation, that’s what this is.
Poor Ange, she’d been so delighted when Susanna called her. She had no idea her sister was about to suggest that her … her what? It had never been made clear what Gabriel was to Angie. Nevertheless, Susanna was certain that her sister loved this man. And here she was, about to suggest – on no evidence, only (as Susanna had no intention of revealing) Stella-Jean’s intuition – that he was being abusive to Angie’s own son.

What if she gets angry with me, and makes a big scene – here, in public?
Now Susanna wished she’d thought to broach this subject at home.
I could just go, while there’s still time
. Eyeing her bag on the table beside her, she pictured herself grabbing it, dashing out and —

‘Hi, hi, here I am!’ Angie flung herself into the chair opposite. ‘Sorry I’m late! Oh, I’m glad you got a table inside, it’s
stinking
hot out there.’

They air-kissed into the space between them. Angie was flushed and breathless; looking at her, Susanna was filled with the old protective feelings for her erratic and flighty but good-hearted sister.
Yes, she is good-hearted
. Ange would never allow anyone to harm Finn.
I can’t say this to her. It’s like accusing her of harming Finn herself
.

They chatted, then, of this and that: inconsequential small talk, while they drank their lattes. ‘Shall we have a look at this boutique, then?’ Angie said. ‘I’ve still got twenty minutes before I have to be back at work.’ She ducked down, reaching for the bag which she’d put on the floor at her feet. At that moment, through the window, Susanna thought she saw Stella-Jean and Finn going past. She gasped, and Angie’s head bobbed up again, blocking the view.