Nine Letters Long (19 page)

‘I wouldn't want one of my friends going out with him and I'm saying that about one of my best mates.'

‘So he really is giving you the major shits?'

‘He's a fool. But you can't tell him.' Seb starts queuing in the aisle with the other Wolsley students. ‘Are you going to hack it tomorrow, Evie?'

‘Huh?' She's thinking about what Seb's just said.

‘Paris! Duh!'

‘Oh god, yeah.' Evie remembers. ‘I hope so.'

‘Well, if you change your mind about going on your own …'

‘No. It's better if I go alone.'

‘So you're not going with her?' he says to Poppy.

‘I'm in Wollongong for the weekend. Family reunion. Lucky, aren't I? My family chooses such exotic places.'

The boys start pushing out the door. ‘Well, see ya.'

‘Bye.' Evie gives a little wave.

‘He so loves you,' Poppy whispers in her ear.

 

Evie fiddles with the belt around her jeans. She can't get the buckle to sit flat and her hair's sticking up on one side of her head. A hat's the go, she finally decides. Good as a disguise and stuff the hat hair, she won't be taking it off anyway. It's sneakers today too, instead of slippers or thongs, in case there's the need for a quick getaway.

The shoes keep eating her ankle socks. Twice she sits at the bottom of the stairs, trying to dig them out and pull them over her heel.

‘You're taking this.' Nick interrupts the sock battle, handing her his mobile phone. ‘I don't care what you say, Evie, you're taking it.' She rolls her eyes at him but he won't let it go. ‘I think you'll remember there was a day in Adelaide you were glad you had a phone.'

As if I could forget, Evie wants to say, but doesn't. She knows her parents are struggling with the whole thing. So she takes the phone. ‘Thanks, Dad.'

‘If you need us, you call home or Robin's mobile.'

‘Yep.'

‘I'm planning on picking you up at Victoria's some time this afternoon. So give me a call when –'

‘I'm not definite I'll go there, Dad.'

‘Evie!'

‘Maybe, maybe I'll ring her or go see her tomorrow.'

‘Well, you make sure you call her if you're not going there today.' Evie watches his forehead and eyebrows crinkle with each word. ‘She has a life too. Maybe she's got plans for tomorrow.'

‘Yes, Dad.'

‘And try and ring us every couple of hours.'

‘Dad! I'm not doing anything dangerous. I'm going to see a girl, my own age. Not an axe murderer.'

‘You know what I'm saying.'

‘I'll be fine.'

She doesn't tell him she vomited twice this morning and tipped the eggs he made her into the bin. She doesn't tell him she can hardly breathe her heart is thumping so fast. Or the dark thoughts that are swimming in her head just at the thought of Paris. Instead she gives him a kiss and says, ‘Relax, Dad. I'll see you this arvo.'

 

Evie has planned her arrival for five minutes before twelve-thirty, the time the girls start to file down the stairs and out onto the footpath. The same table she sat at with Alex just a few weeks ago is free. Evie angles the chair so she has a perfect view of the glass door. She waits. Waits
and watches the Venus Cuza Ladies' College of Deportment and Modelling.

The first girl appears at 12.34. The next two, a minute and a half later. Evie gets the coffee money out of her wallet and puts it on the table next to her latte that sits there untouched. It seems all the girls are leaving now.

A constant stream of made-up faces and bouffant hair descends onto the footpath, hopping into their lifts that pull up outside the front. Calls of ‘Bye', ‘See you tonight', and ‘Ring me' are followed by car doors closing and engines starting.

Soon the entrance to the Venus Cuza College is deserted. Just one car, a convertible, waits for someone at the next corner. Evie crosses over in front of it and stands there. This is where she'll wait for Paris.

A noise vibrates behind her. She turns around to see the black roof of the convertible closing over the car and driver.

As she walks past the car, her chest begins to hurt, just like last time. It feels as though a band is being pulled around her middle, tighter and tighter. Evie opens her lips for a mouthful of air but there is no way in and no way out.

Holding her ribcage, she creeps as close to the entrance as she dares, and peers up to the top of the stairs. There is no one there.

She walks back towards the car. Now the air is so tight and trapped in her chest she can barely think straight. The hairs on her arms tingle and stand on end while goose pimples crawl along her shoulders and up to her neck.

‘Go on, do it! Do it!' a voice starts to whisper. ‘Go on. Go in.'

Evie stumbles a little closer to the door and warily checks her surroundings. There's just her and the blue convertible. No one else. So she slips through the glass door and into the entrance of the Venus Cuza College.

There's no sound. No sign of life. It's as if the place is deserted and now Evie notices her breathing has eased. Suddenly a thought grips her. Maybe Paris isn't here! Maybe she's gone. But Evie's sure she's here. Upstairs. Hiding.

Her trainers squeak on the tiles as she creeps to the bottom of the stairs and peers up. ‘Paris?' she calls, careful to make her voice gentle. ‘Paris? Please, I just want to talk to you.'

Silence.

‘Paris? I know you're up there.'

One, two, three, Evie hears the steps above her. At the top of the staircase Paris appears. For a second, she stands there, her bony knees knocking against the banister.

Evie goes to speak but can't. The skeletal frame that is Paris Cuza is almost hypnotic. So Evie watches her as she descends, step by step, with such care and control Evie dares not breathe for fear of upsetting Paris's balance. Now Paris is so close she can almost touch her.

Evie expects her to stop at the bottom. Stop so that Evie can tell her all the things she knows. But Paris glides past Evie and out the glass door.

‘No! Please, please!' The desperation is choking. Evie follows her out onto the street. ‘No! Stop! Don't go! Caz, Caz, your …'

It's then Evie realises Paris is heading for the blue convert
ible. The roof is back down and the driver is leaning against the bonnet, waiting.

‘Come on. We're in a hurry!' his accented voice urges as he walks around to the driver's side. It's Ingy, the man Evie met at Victoria's place.

As Paris opens the car door, she hesitates for a second and turns back around to Evie. Evie holds her breath. No words are said. Paris doesn't even look at her. It's just the tiniest movement of her head. Not a shake. Not a nod. Something in between. Then she's climbing into the passenger's seat, shutting the door and they're driving away.

Again, Evie watches Paris slip by. But this time she knows – Paris wants to talk. It's just that she can't.

Evie is left standing there, frozen numb. It's like she's found the door to Caz's secrets. Yet she can't move, can't speak. All she can manage is to stand there, balancing on two legs that want to give way. Something has just happened. That voice, his voice – it's the one from her dream.

‘Mmmmmmm.' A low hum starts its song in her head. ‘Mmmmmmmmm.' And Evie starts walking. Where, she doesn't know. It's simply in the direction her legs take her. Decisions are not hers to be made. All her strength, all her resolve, is inwards, coaxing her senses to surface from the dark pit they have scrambled into. For the truth is filled with a terrible darkness. Just one look at Paris's face tells her that.

 

Noises of cheering and clapping break her trance. Evie sees she's standing in a circle. Two men with painted
faces are walking on stilts, blowing trumpets and bashing tambourines. The crowd laughs, whistles and calls for more.

Evie looks down at her feet in their white trainers standing on grass that's brown and sprinkled with dirt. She scans her surroundings. The scene seems strangely familiar. She leaves the clowns on their stilts and wanders to a bench where a lady in a yellow hat eats noodles from a plastic container. Closing her eyes, Evie sits there feeling the sun defrost her mind. Suddenly, she opens them. The Glebe markets, that's where her legs have carried her.

Somewhere safe. Somewhere she knows.

Although it's been months since she's visited the Glebe markets, it's still like coming home. Stall-holders wave and call ‘G'day, stranger', and ‘Evie, how goes it?' Weaving her way around the tables and vans, Evie makes her way to Petrina's. Her favourite stall. The best vintage clothes ever.

‘Evie!' Petrina holds out her arms and they hug. The familiar smell of camphor and mothballs tickles her nose. Evie can't stop grinning.

‘Evie, I haven't seen you for yonks.'

‘I know!' They hug again. ‘It's so good to see you, Petrina.'

‘Where have you been?'

‘Everywhere. Nowhere,' Evie tells her. ‘Life's been … strange. In fact, today's been strange.'

‘Well, you look wonderful. You've had your hair chopped.' A smirk curls Petrina's top lip as she taps the peak of Evie's hat. ‘You're not hiding from the gorgeous silver boy, are you?'

‘Ben?' Evie squeals. ‘I'm so over him.'

‘Well, I hope the crush has been replaced by a new one. Hmm?'

‘Petrina!'

‘You've gone red,' Petrina laughs. ‘I hope he's nice.'

‘He is,' Evie says. ‘Although it took me a thousand years to realise.'

‘Sometimes the things right under your nose are the things you miss.' Petrina takes her hands. ‘Come and have a look around. I've got some gorgeous new things.'

‘Look at these shoes!' Evie picks up a pair of pointy-toed ballet shoes. ‘Wow.'

‘Original eighties,' Petrina tells her. ‘I still can't believe the eighties is classified as vintage. It makes me feel too old.'

‘They're classic.' Evie looks at the back of them. ‘Oh my god. They're a 39. My size. I better try them on.'

They sit on some stools while Evie unlaces her sneakers and slips the shoes on. Over at the mirror, she checks them out.

‘Do they fit?' Petrina calls.

‘Perfectly.'

‘They're very cute.'

‘How much?'

‘You can have them for thirty. I know they'll be going to a good home.'

‘Deal.'

Petrina takes the slippers from Evie, wrapping them in her famous pink tissue paper.

‘Is it quiet or is it just me?' Evie asks. ‘I'm not sure of anything today.'

‘It's almost the end of the day.'

‘Is it?' Evie realises she hasn't even looked at her watch. Now she does and it says 3.45. ‘God! No wonder I'm hungry.'

‘Have you eaten?'

‘No.'

‘You've probably got low blood sugar. Try the new Turkish pizza van,' Petrina points. ‘They are awesome. Go the spinach and cheese. They wouldn't have packed up yet.'

Petrina hands her the pink parcel containing her shoes. ‘Here we are.'

‘Thanks. I love them.'

‘Now, I hope it's not that long till I see you again. I've thought a lot about you, you know.'

Evie smiles. ‘I'll be back soon. I might even bring someone for you to meet.'

‘Ooh, is it serious?'

‘I wish.'

Petrina starts searching for something under the tissue paper. ‘Hang on, Evie. You can't leave without taking one of my cards. I've just had them printed.' She hands Evie a small square of pink cardboard.

‘At last, Petrina.'

‘It's about time, I know. I couldn't decide between the pink … Evie?'

Evie sees it too – her fist wrapped around Petrina's business card, screwing the pink cardboard into a tiny ball.

‘Evie? What are you –'

‘Business … card. I, I have …' Evie drops the card and starts to run as Petrina's voice rings in the distance. ‘Evie? Evie!'

Around the stalls, past the Turkish pizza van, past the
clowns on stilts, out the gates and down the road she flies. Up ahead she can see the bus to Randwick slowing down at the lights.

Faster and faster her feet pick up their pace, pummelling the pavement with each stride. She throws herself through the closing door of the bus, just as it's pulling away from the bus stop. The jerk of the acceleration suddenly throws her down the aisle.

Evie grabs on to a pole and steadies herself. She looks around. It's noisy and crowded. She tries to find composure but she can't. Her senses are on high alert. There's no switching them off. Every mouth on every face seems to snigger and whisper, ‘Nine letters long. His identity, his identity. Nine letters long.'

Evie leans her forehead against the pole and tries to block out the noise. Instead, she listens to her breath while watching its vapour fog the metal pole. In, out, in, out. She counts each of them to herself. One, two, three, four.

She needs to hang on. Hang on till she gets to Victoria's.

 

The door is barely open before Evie is saying, ‘What's that man's name? That man that came here with Nora. Inny or –'

‘Ingy?' Victoria replies. Evie follows her to the kitchen.

‘Yeah, but what's his real name? His business card. He gave me his …'

Victoria hands her a glass of water. ‘Sit down, Evie. Take a few deep breaths and start again.'

‘His business card. Do you have his business card? I
remember now I left it here that day. That day he was here.'

‘Yes, I remember too. I put it somewhere.' Victoria goes to a drawer in the kitchen. ‘Go and wash your face, Evie. You're redder than a beetroot. Settle down a bit. You're talking ten to the dozen.'

In the bathroom, Evie takes off her hat and splashes her face and hair with cool water. It drips and slides down the back of her neck, down the front of her chest. She leans towards the mirror, pushing the hair off her face. Her eyes are wide, her pupils as big as saucers.