Walking Shadows (19 page)

"Lissa, I'm pretty sure I'll notice a vampire living in our flat."

Ploughing on, I said, "Maybe Anthony could take Oscar for a few days. He likes dogs doesn't
he?" I was hardly going to let my poor dog spend a week locked in the bathroom to curb his
natural and appropriate tendency to want to bite what he viewed as A Danger.

"I don't understand why you would even want to do this."

"I know."

I held my breath. Kate exhaled slowly, proving she'd been doing the same. Finally, she said,
"Will you come tonight? Give Dad a chance?"

"Yes." A firm, unhesitating yes. In exchange for giving my friend a safe place to stay,
I'd face Dad.

"When is Gary coming?"

"I haven't asked him yet. I wanted to talk to you first. Maybe tomorrow night or the night
after. For a few days. A week at the most."

Kate frowned.

"You could stay with Anthony too, if you liked," I offered.

"There is no way I'm leaving you alone at home with a vampire," she asserted
angrily.

"He can come then?"

"What will you get up to if I say no?"

I'd thought about that too. Renting a place short term was an option, but I didn't like the idea.
I wanted Gary to be safe from people who couldn't enter without an invitation. I recognised the air
of hysterical compulsion about this and I didn't care. People I loved and took my eye off for half a
second when things got bad had a tendency to die on me. I had honestly thought that Gary was the one
person in my life I would never have to worry about on that score. Clearly, everything they said
about 'assume' was true.

Kate took my non-response as some kind of admission that I would get up to no good, and she was
probably right. "He can stay," she conceded gruffly, "Unless he does something
gross."

I wound my arms around her in a massive, grateful hug. "Thank you." I had expected more
of a fight, and I had expected to lose. Instead, everything was under control.

"I don't understand you, Lissa. Why do you want to do this?" She sounded upset.

"He's in trouble."

"Let
him
deal with it."

"I can't. Besides, I owe him. He saved my life once." Kate drew back to stare at me. I
thought about it. Mundy. Tug. The fire at Priestley's place. Friday's fire at the club. "Four
times, actually."

Kate's face was white. "Why did he need to save your life?"

"Because I insisted on sticking my nose into dangerous places," I said. "Mostly
when I was trying to find out what happened to Daniel." The less said about Friday night the
better.

"Oh."

"He protected me. I know you don't like him. I understand why. But it's my turn now. I want
to keep
him
safe."

She made a half-hearted snort of derision. "What do you need to protect a vampire
from?"

No answer to that would be the slightest bit reassuring.

"Has he got a teenaged cheerleading slayer chasing him?" her tone was jocular, but the
look on my face was a dead giveaway. "Oh shit, he has?"

"He's not a cheerleader. As far as I know."

"There's a real slayer?" Kate processed that for a minute. "I suppose if vampires
are real, they must be too."

"Yeah. And I don't want him getting his hands on Gary. This 'real slayer' is just another
indiscriminate killer, sis. "

"If you say so."

"I do."

Kate's brow creased in worry. "Don't do anything stupid."

"As if."

Her face was a dictionary definition of scepticism and I couldn't blame her. Doing stupid things
seemed to be my specialty. But this wasn't stupid. This was saving a life. Or an almost-life. It was
saving a friend, at least.

The truth of it struck me. I had to save my friend. From arbitrary killers, from Mundy's
machinations, from a fate like Alberto's. Gary had been a solid, reliable centre in my world for
months and now something threatened to take him away from me.

Well, not if I could help it. Too many people had been taken away from me. I was not losing this
one. Not.
Not!

My hands were curling into fists at my side, my jaw tightened. My insides were unspooling, then
suddenly winding tight again. Too much going on, not enough body to contain it all. Death and
passion and terror and love and loss and…

… and Kate, who had been laughing and dancing five minutes ago, now pale and drawn and
worried and sad. My fault. I made my hands flex and splay out of their fists, made myself
breathe.

"Katie." My voice wobbled. "Be happy again. I didn't want you to stop dancing. Not
ever."

She could have said a dozen snide things. Instead, she found a smile for me. "I worry about
you, sis."

"I'm okay. As long as you are."

"I'm better than okay." Her smile got that glow back and widened. "He really loves
me, Lissa."

"Of course he does, Katie. I mean, look at you. You're incredible."

That made her laugh. I never used to tell her things like that.

"Be careful, Lissa. I need you to be okay too."

"I will."

She nodded, as though my word was enough, which made me determined that it would be.

"Time to go soon," said Kate, breaking the moment, "Do you want to eat before we
go out or when we get back?"

Dad. Right. That was a hell of an appetite suppressant. "After is fine."

She disappeared into the bathroom and I returned to my laptop to send Gary an email that
alternative accommodation was available. I made sure I didn't word it as an outright invitation.

Half an hour later, leaving Oscar at home with treats and refreshment, we followed the path to
the riverfront. The promenade above the Yarra was busy with the usual early Sunday evening crowd, a
mix of tourists with their stranger-in-a-new-town alertness; and Melburnians with their
not-quite-taking-it-for-granted insouciance.

This part of town is dressier than my old haunts of Carlton and Brunswick. The place was replete
with the requisite number of well-heeled culture hawks supping before the evening's concerts and
theatre in the arts precinct; the stylishly-casual bar-hoppers getting in early for a cocktail
before a night of serious drinking; and deliberately dressed-down city-dwellers grabbing dinner at
one of the Southgate restaurants. A scattering of buskers, some of them with actual talent, rounded
off the ensemble.

Kate kept anxiously scouring the oncoming foot traffic as though afraid she wouldn't recognise
Dad when she saw him. "Things aren't going well for Dad," she said, "I read yesterday
that he's filing for bankruptcy."

I avoid newspapers. I've had enough bad news in my life without seeking out other people's horror
stories. The papers must have loved this bit of gossip about our once-famous parent. Dad's imminent
bankruptcy didn't surprise me in the least. Neither he nor Mum had ever been good with money.

Kate had wisely chosen a ground-floor bistro for the rendezvous. The outdoor seats were arranged
on a wooden deck interspersed with umbrellas and smooth metal railings. Making a getaway would be
relatively easy should the need arise.

A waitress with bleached-blonde hair, an eyebrow piercing and a tattoo on her wrist that read
'awake and unafraid' brought a carafe of chilled water.

We waited.

"He's here," Kate whispered tensely, and she waved across the deck towards the
riverside path.

My first thought, watching him cross the promenade, was that he looked shorter in real life.
Deflated. Bill Wilson, the charming, roguish tennis player, looked like something that had been left
out-of-doors too long. His dark, wavy hair was peppered with grey and his skin, always deeply tanned
when we were growing up, was ruddy with broken capillaries. He looked tired and old. He was only 58.

My second thought was surprise that I didn't feel anything stronger on seeing him in the flesh
for the first time in three years. The days when I adored my father were long gone.

Mostly, I felt numb; almost like when I used to shut down and turn to marble when things got too
much, only this time I was remembering to interact with the outside world. Maybe this was how it was
for me these days, now I'd stopped running away. I couldn't tell if it was an improvement.

Dad sat opposite us with a tentative smile.

"Hello Melissa, Kate. It is so good to see you both. Thank you for meeting with
me."

A twinge of something stirred under the marble, then was still. His bright blue eyes were dark
ringed and filled with dejection, despite his attempts at routine chit-chat. Belinda and Paul had
both had those same vivid blue eyes. They'd had that bruised, sleepless look at the end, too. Paul
had once had Dad's casual charisma. That glamour had deserted him long before the drug overdose
finally got him. That's what Dad looked like now. I was glad for the emotional exhaustion that kept
me numb, otherwise it would have made me ill with dread.

Kate rose to kiss his cheek. I thrust a hand across the table and shook his in a professional
manner.

The tattooed waitress returned and we ordered coffee. Dad kept looking at the menu but made no
move to order food. The waitress left. Finally, without looking up, he said: "I'm sorry about
Saturday, Melissa." When I didn't reply, he flattened the menu on the table, spread his hands
across it, like it was anchoring him, and raised his eyes enough to meet mine. "I was," he
stopped, swallowed. "No excuses. I'm sorry."

"Thanks, I appreciate that." I said, and I did. Sober, non-excuse-laden apologies were
rare. Dad relaxed slightly. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Kate's mouth compressing in an
unhappy line as she twigged to the reason for his apology.

Coffee arrived. We fell to small talk. Kate and I talked about work, our study plans and our dog.
Dad talked about moving back to Australia from Holland and finding work as a tennis coach at a posh
sports club in Brighton.

"I was hoping," he finally said, diffidently, "To meet your young man sometime,
Kate."

"I'd like that too, Dad."

"I could buy dinner for everyone."

"There's no need for that."

"There is," Dad disagreed gently.

"With your financial situation…"

He bristled faintly, then subsided. "That's business finances, sweetheart. I'm allowed
living expenses. And I'd very much like to take you all to dinner."

"Well, that would be nice."

The grinding of my teeth may not have been audible. Kate flashed me a hard look anyway. I
considered rebelling, but letting Gary stay gave her licence to extend my vow of compliance without
complaint.

"Yeah," I said, unconvincing even to myself, "That would be nice."

Dad's pleasure at this announcement was palpable, though it didn't stop him fiddling with his
sugar sachet, folding the empty tube end over end. "Is Friday night good for everyone,
then?"

"Mm-hmm," I assented reluctantly.

Kate closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them on Dad. "That's good for me, Dad. But
you'll have to be sober."

A defensive scowl came and went on Dad's face, then he nodded resignedly. "I know."

"I don't want Anthony meeting you when you're drunk."

"He might like me better that way," said Dad with a slight grin.

"I don't care," Kate insisted, "If you're not sober we won't stay."

Contrition, then. "I understand." Dad nodded resignedly at this tough love.

Kate's expression had softened. "I want Anthony to have a chance to know you properly,"
she said, "like we do."

Dad looked like he didn't know whether to be touched or appalled by that idea. "I'll be
there, honey. Fit for public consumption."

A little more small talk and Kate rose with: "See you on Friday, then. We can meet here and
go on to the restaurant."

Cheek-kisses all round, even from me. It felt weird. Kate and I stood a moment and watched Dad
amble down the promenade towards the walk-bridge to Flinders Street Station.

Something in Kate's planning struck me. "You didn't tell Dad where we live, did
you?"

"No," she said, "I want to know how serious he is first."

"And avoid those wee-hours incidents when he comes around drunk and yelling and wakes up the
neighbours."

"That too." Typically, Kate was being the peacemaker, yet being practical about it too.
She wasn't impulsive like me, and she was kinder. "You don't think I was too hard on him?"
she asked abruptly.

"No. I think you were just right."

Kate squeezed my arm. "That wasn't too bad, was it?"

"No. Not too bad." And all because my sister doesn't give up on people. "Kate, I
wanted to tell you. I met this guy yesterday in St Kilda. His name's Evan."

Her eyes had an excited-for-you look. She knows me too well. "And?"

"I don't know if there's an 'and' yet. I'm seeing him tomorrow after work."

"Maybe we should go on a double date sometime," she suggested with the kind of
enthusiasm that made it more of a command. Honestly, what is it with people in love that they think
four of you going out will be so much more romantic and fun than just the two? "What's he
like?"

I tried to describe him without mentioning his age, the fact that we'd jumped into bed after a
few hours acquaintance and the whole 'we share secret knowledge' subtext. I didn't want her to get
all fusspot about it; or all gleefully encouraging, either, come to that. She pressed for detail
though, and I found myself describing his eyes and his hands and then his back, and that was a bit
of a giveaway about the sex part. She twinkled at me. Instead of blushing, I giggled.

Kate pulled away as we turned for the homeward walk. "I just need the loo," she
whispered furtively, the way Nanna Easton used to, as though bodily functions were a shameful
secret. She darted back to the restaurant and I sauntered along the foreshore, watching boats and
seagulls on the murky Yarra to pass the time.

One of the booths selling tickets to mini cruises cast a dark shadow on the path, and I didn't
register the figure leaning against the metal wall until I was almost upon him. Light as a cat, the
figure moved away from the booth to block my path.