Preloved (5 page)

Did I sound a little unsure?

Mum got out her loupe, the little foldable magnifier she kept in her blouse pocket from habit and held the necklace up to her face. I watched as she inspected the chain first. I opened the fridge to see if there was anything in there to cook for dinner. There wasn’t. Same with the freezer.

“The good news is that the chain is real. Sterling silver. Twist rope. Sixty centimetres. Very nice.”

I started opening the cupboards one at a time.

Didn’t we have
any
food in this house? Why did we have a full bag of dog food?

“The pendant, on the other hand, is just costume jewellery.” Mum folded her loupe up and tucked it back away. “From the styling and the wear, I’d say it’s definitely from the Eighties, not a modern imitation. See the wear on the back? Maybe if you tied a lace bow on it and threaded it with another pendant, you could justify selling it on Etsy for a ridiculous price.”

“Thanks,” I said, holding my hand out for the locket. I was scared she was going to open it up. For some reason I didn’t want her to see the photo inside. “Are we out of food? Do you want me to run down to the deli for supplies?”

“Oh. Forgot to say. We’re out of cash. And the credit card is maxed out. I know, I know – I shouldn’t have spent it all bidding on jewellery at that deceased estate auction. Amy! Don’t look at me like that, I swear I can sell it for twice the price and, when I do, we’ll dine out. Okay, maybe not that posh Japanese place, but not Sizzler either.”

I sighed and pulled the box of Weet-Bix out of the pantry. Thank God there was milk.

Mum tried to smile encouragingly at me. “Do you often wish you went with your dad instead?”

“No, of course not,” I replied in a serious voice.

“At least you wouldn’t be having cereal for dinner.”

“I seriously don’t mind. It’s kinda romantic. Like we’re both starving artists or something.”

Mum smiled again and looked down at the papers in front of her.

“What’s that?” It was my turn to ask the questions.

“It’s just …” Mum put her hand on her forehead and massaged it. “I’m still trying to get Dad to give us our share from the divorce. Gosh. I wish I understood what all this legal mumbo jumbo meant.”

I guess that’s what was upsetting Mum. I didn’t know the right comforting words to say, so I said nothing, and we ate our dinner in silence.

The weird stuff happened after dinner.

I’d done some homework and had a shower. I sat in front of my dresser and combed out the tangles from the ends of my long hair.

The Japanese water perm last summer had been a mistake. From now on I was going to be happy with my straight black hair. Leave the colouring and the chemical treatments and the fancy haircuts to Rebecca.

Not that anybody looked at me anyway.

I was glad to be alone in my tiny little room. I didn’t care that three of my walls had torn floral wallpaper and the third was bare concrete. It was… home. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

My reflection in the mirror frowned back at me. For some strange reason I had put the locket on again, even though I knew I had to take it off before I went to bed.

I stared at my reflection. The locket looked good on me. I reckon I’d have made an awesome teen of the Eighties.

I wondered if the girl who used to own the locket had married the boy inside. I hoped so. I rubbed my finger over the wear on the back. Whoever she was, she must have really loved him. She must have worn the locket every day. That was romantic.

I wondered if she lived nearby and whether she had children. Or whether, back then, she ever imagined that the future world would be like this.

I put my comb down, next to the matching brush. They were somewhat embarrassing and pink and had cartoons of Rainbow Brite on them, but I’d had them since I was little. I loved the story of Rainbow Brite, about an orphan girl who was taken to a black-and-white world and fought to bring colour back.

When I looked back at the mirror, the reflection of the creepy new boy smiled and winked at me over my shoulder.

I squeezed my eyes shut and screamed.

“Amy! What’s the matter?” Mum’s voice floated up the stairs. “I’m coming up.”

“I’m all right,” I shouted back. I opened my eyes. It was only my own reflection in the mirror. “Don’t come up. It’s nothing!”

“Do you want me to send up the shopping square security guard? Or a doctor? Or a priest?”

A priest, please. One with a cross and holy water to perform an exorcism, because there’s a bloody ghost in my room
.

“I just freaked out because I saw a spider!” I replied instead.

“When have you ever been scared of spiders?” came the reply.

Relax, Amy
, I told myself.
There’s no such thing as ghosts. Sure, there’s the Mister Fozziebum business, but that’s all a construct to help people deal with grief and loss. It isn’t real
.

There had to be a logical explanation. I turned to look behind me. My bedroom window was directly behind my dresser. Of course!

I hurried over to the window, pushed the glass up and stuck my head outside. The square was almost empty, except for the last of the employees shutting up and heading towards the car park. I could see the stagnant wishing fountain I had fallen into this morning leering at me in the distance, but there was no sign of the new boy.

It was definitely possible that he had propped a ladder against the wall and climbed up. Or he had scaled the big gum tree that grew in front of the shop. Yes, that was it.

He had climbed up the tree and I had seen his reflection with mine in the mirror. He had appeared much closer to me, but it was probably the twilight. Or the weather conditions. Or the El Niño effect or whatever it was, playing havoc with my perception.

What a creep.

For a moment I was too scared to turn around. It was as if I could feel a chill on the back of my neck, sending a twitch through my entire body. What if he was standing behind me right now? I’d definitely scream again and fall out the window.

Ridiculous.

I spun around. No one there. I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

I picked up the phone and punched the speed-dial button.

“Rebecca!” I said. “Can you explain to me why one of your stalkers has turned into my stalker?”

“Amy?” came her confused voice down the line. “What are you talking about? Why would one of my stalkers stalk you?”

“Do you remember that new boy from today? The one wearing the black new wave hat?” I flopped down on my bed, exhausted.

“Seriously, Amy, I have no idea who you’re referring to. What’s the matter? You sound really stressed.”

“I
am
stressed! That boy – I caught him staring through my bedroom window just then.”

“Really. Eww,” said Rebecca. “Why?”

I sidestepped the niggling feeling that she was asking me why any boy would want to stare at me.

“I don’t know. That’s what I was hoping you’d help me figure out.”

“Um, how?”

“Come off it, Bex. I saw the way he stared at you today. He must be using me to get to you. Although I haven’t figured out in what way.”

There was silence at the other end of the phone. In the background I could hear the sounds of an alternative punk band. Rebecca was probably listening to her obscure records, painting her toes purple and working on one of her beautiful charcoal drawings of fairies and goblin kings.

I wanted to crawl down the phone and be with her in her purple and black bedroom, not alone in a haunted house.

“Amy,” came the eventual reply, “I think you need to get a good sleep. You really don’t sound well. We’ll talk about it in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” I replied in barely a squeak. I hated how she sounded so reasonable. I hung up, groaned and rolled over onto my stomach.

Maybe it was all in my head. A boy stares at me and smiles, even though he’s in insta-love with my best friend, and suddenly my mind is making up all sorts of fantasies to insert myself into the action.

Maybe I just needed sleep, like Rebecca said.

I couldn’t be bothered to take the locket off. Actually, I didn’t want to take it off. I had become attached to it. You know the feeling? When you buy something cheap, but you end up loving it more than the most expensive thing money can buy?

Maybe I wanted to be the girl who owned the locket. Maybe I thought I deserved a
Princess Bride
-style fairytale too. I concentrated my thoughts on being the solid, perfect girl in my head, instead of the faded and jaded half-girl I really was.

I drifted off with my fingers still wrapped around the locket. I fell into a restless dream within a dream, where I woke thinking that someone was staring at me, only to find no one there.

I’d forgotten how depressing our school uniform was. A yellow polo shirt with the school emblem embroidered on the pocket and a red pleated skirt. It wasn’t a school uniform; it was a sports outfit.

At least it wasn’t winter. Then you had to contend with a yellow polar fleece that made you look like SpongeBob SquarePants. We didn’t have blazers. The school owned five communal ones to whore up students going out into the public eye for speaking and debating contests.

I decided I was going to buy the leavers jumper, it looked marginally cooler because it wasn’t as violent a yellow and you could have your nickname printed on the back, bogan-style. Would “Princess Amy” be too much?

I tied my hair into a ponytail and pulled on my socks with the multicoloured love hearts to try to make myself feel better. I took one last look in the mirror, to check that my –
the
– locket was sitting straight. Then I went down the stairs, swinging on the banister and going down two steps at a time.

“Amy! Quit the racket, you’ll scare all the customers away!”

“Mum, it’s too early for customers.”

Milk dribbled down my chin as I had a reprise of yesterday’s “dinner” for breakfast. I hung my Princess Buttercup dress on the hook on the back door, for Mum to take to the drycleaners once we had money again.

Pausing briefly on my way into the shop, I looked at the stack of boxes lined up against the stairs labelled “Evening Dresses – 1980s”.
Exciting
.

I sighed. Mum should have got them out onto the floor ages ago; the school ball was in five days’ time. I decided to make the effort to come home early and sort through everything. A few luxe dresses in the front window should draw girls in with their fistfuls of Mummy and Daddy’s cash.

I was about to walk into the shop when something whispered into my ear. I turned back around in surprise.

That’s when I saw the unlabelled box tucked in the alcove underneath the stairs. If I wasn’t mistaken, I saw the box just try to open itself.

I put my hand on the cardboard flap, and it was almost as if the box trembled. I opened it up gently and saw that it too was filled with 1980s evening dresses. Mum must have missed this box.

I wanted to drag it out, but I knew Rebecca was going to drop by and pick me up any second now, so I gave it a soft pat and made my way through to the shop.

“Shall we let some fresh air in?” Mum opened the front door and a customer stepped in.

Blue eyes. Bright polo with popped collar. Black brimmed hat. Oh no. I turned and went straight back where I’d come from.

I peeped through the doorway. Mum was standing behind the counter and New Boy was casually strolling around the shop, looking around.

Shit. Why did Mum have to let him in? But of course, she didn’t know. It was too late to regret not telling Mum the truth last night.

I should have just gone out there. Confronted him like a reasonable person and asked him to explain himself. But I was chicken. I grabbed my schoolbag and dashed out the back door.

I unlocked the little garden gate that led out to the back road and snuck past the rubbish bins. I approached the corner and looked up the alley, back towards the main street, where the front of the shopping square was.

“Looking for someone?” said a voice behind me, making me jump.

I turned around. It was the boy.

“How did you get here so fast? You were just–”