The Red Cardigan (9 page)

‘Huh?'

‘Do you know them?' she shouts.

The noise on the bus is bouncing off the windows. Any minute and the driver will stop the bus and start shouting, too. When they get to the pin, Seb's usual stop, the driver slams on the brakes.

‘I'll throw you all off the bus if you don't shut up,' he yells.

There is a second of silence followed by some heckling. The boys from Wolsley College file down the aisle, wondering what drama they missed. Rather than looking out the window, Evie watches them. The bus pulls away with a jerk and the shouting starts up again. Someone chucks a hat, then a shoe. There's a chant starting up and a girl is squealing.

Seb leans over and whispers something to Evie.

‘What?' she yells. ‘I can't hear you.'

He shakes his head and turns around to watch the fight.

 

Walking up the driveway Evie hears the phone ringing inside. She wrestles with the lock and runs to the kitchen. The answering machine has turned on but the person has hung up. She goes to the stove and lifts the lid off the crockpot. God, she hates her mother's casseroles. They smell of dog food.

The phone starts ringing again.

‘Hello,' Evie says.

There is silence at the other end.

‘Hello?'

She can hear someone breathing.

‘Evangaline?'

‘Who is this?'

There's no reply, just breathing.

‘Hello? Who is this?'

‘Evangaline?' the voice starts up again. ‘You don't know me. My name is Victoria. I was a friend of your grandmother, Anna.'

Silence.

‘Are you still there?'

‘Yes,' Evie whispers as her knees give way into the chair.

‘This will sound strange,' Victoria begins. ‘I had to ring you. I feel as though you're in some trouble. Are you okay?'

‘How … how did –?' Evie stops, realising the answer.

‘Your grandma and I were kindred spirits.'

‘God,' is all Evie manages. She has never heard of this lady, Victoria.

‘Can you come and see me on the weekend?'

‘Um?'

‘I live in Randwick. There's a bus from Wynyard that goes almost to my door.'

‘I probably could. Why?'

‘It's important. I feel you need some guidance. Do you understand what I mean by that?'

‘I … I think so.'

‘Yes, you do. Anna had a little word to me.'

The simplicity of the statement makes Evie dizzy.

‘Does my grandma – talk to you?'

‘Quite a lot, actually.'

‘She's never –'

‘Evangaline, you're young. Your gift is young.'

Evie closes her eyes. These words mean everything.

‘It doesn't feel like a gift.'

‘Not yet, dear.'

‘It doesn't even feel real.'

‘That's because you lack confirmation.'

‘Confirmation?'

‘Yes, validation.' Her voice is soft and reassuring. ‘To put it simply, dear, you feel like people think you're a fraud, a pretender.'

‘Exactly!'

‘But I'll tell you something for nothing – that's a psychic's joke,' laughs Victoria. ‘Your gift was validated by someone just today.'

‘What?'

‘Give it some thought.'

‘But no one has said anything to me ever about – it.'

‘Who is the tall boy?'

‘I'm not sure what you –?'

‘He carries something, like a large black case.'

‘Seb?'

‘Maybe.'

‘I sat next to him on the school bus, just a few minutes ago. He didn't say anything. He wouldn't know a thing about – you know, me.'

‘Think hard, then. Maybe it was someone else.'

‘Okay.'

‘So you'll come?'

‘I'll try.'

‘You will.' Victoria gives Evie her address and the bus numbers.

‘I'll see you Saturday, if not before,' she says. ‘And do give that tall boy some thought. I feel it is him.'

Evie's hands shake as she hangs up the phone. Thoughts are colliding and exploding in her head like thunderbolts.

‘
Oh my god!
' she suddenly yells.

As though hearing the words for the first time, she has just realised what Seb whispered to her on the bus. She looks at her watch. It was less than fifteen minutes ago. She closes her eyes and tries to calm her mind. She is desperate for the memory. They are nearing the pin, Seb's usual stop. But today he is already on the bus. She watches the other boys file down the aisle. She doesn't want to look out the window.
She hates looking out there. The bus pulls away. It's so noisy – the fight has started up the back again. Seb is watching her. He leans over and whispers something in her ear. She can hear him clearly now, as though he is sitting next to her.

She says his words out loud. ‘Do you still see her?'

 

Evie steams some rice and sets the table for dinner. The smile stretches her cheeks. It's like having a secret no one else knows. Tonight she has her father all to herself and there are things she must ask him. She needs to know enough to fill in the gaps, but not enough to start him wondering. She folds the serviettes, forming the questions in her head.

‘Did Robin say she was going to therapy?'

‘She wouldn't tell me that, Dad. She just said she'd be late home.'

‘Actually, she's probably setting exams,' he says. ‘The semester ends next week. She's been so busy.'

Evie nods and thinks how time has crawled.

‘The table looks nice. What's the catch, hey?'

‘Mum's famous crockpot casserole.'

‘Oh.'

‘Never fear, I've made some rice and a humungous salad.'

‘It's times like this we need a dog.'

‘Dad!'

Evie serves up dinner.

‘My, service, too.'

‘What brekkie did you and Theo have this morning?'

She sits down and passes her dad the pepper.

‘A very boring breakfast with a very boring speaker. Thank god Theo asked a thousand questions or it would've been a complete flop.'

‘You can always rely on Theo for that.'

‘The Bircher muesli was good, though.'

‘How long have you and Theo been friends, Dad?'

‘Oh, let's see,' he counts on his fingers. ‘Close to forty years, I reckon.'

‘Wow. I wonder if Al and I will still be friends after that long?'

‘I suppose it depends on how much the friendship means to you. Theo's always been like the brother I never had and he's good friends with your mum, too. That makes a difference.'

‘Was Grandma friends with Theo's mother?'

‘Eleni? Yes, they were friends, not really close but they were friends. I remember Dad'd play bowls with Theo senior sometimes. But Eleni was the superstitious one; the Greeks tend to be a bit that way. She enjoyed Mum's company, especially her insights.'

Evie finds the gap she is waiting for. ‘Did Grandma have any friends who were like, you know, the same as her?'

‘Yes.' She watches her father put down his fork and pick up his wine, swirling the red liquid around the glass. ‘Yes. She did have a good friend, although they didn't meet until much later. In fact, I think you were already born. They became very close, probably because they had so much in common. They were mothers, wives and yet they shared this extraordinary gift.'

‘What was she like?'

‘You know, I only met her a few times. My mum talked about her a lot, so I felt like I knew her well. I sometimes wonder what happened to her.'

Evie gets up and takes the plates to the sink.

‘What was her name?' She holds her breath.

‘Victoria. Victoria Gaunt.'

Evie closes her eyes, feeling the tap-water warm her hands.

‘Thank you,' she whispers.

 

The next morning Evie is up early. She only has this one chance. She washes her hair, rehearsing what to say to Seb. The knot at the back of her head feels bigger. Looking in the mirror she holds it up.

‘I've got a dreadlock.' She rakes the comb through the matted lock but it gets caught. ‘Ouch!'

With the comb hanging from her hair, she steps into the shower to get the conditioner. She rubs a bit into the knot. It feels wet and sticky.

‘Yuck.'

Evie wipes the steam off the mirror. Beyond it something moves, expanding and shrinking into itself. It looks like a person trying to step out of their skin. In a flash it's gone, leaving only the reflection of herself.

 

‘You're off early,' Nick says.

‘I've got some things to do in the library,' Evie lies.

‘That cardigan's filthy, Evie. Give it to me and I'll wash it.'

‘It's fine, Mum.'

‘You haven't had breakfast and your lunch isn't ready.'

‘Don't worry. I'll get something at the canteen.' She grabs her bag and escapes.

 

She has fifteen minutes to get to Seb's bus stop. She walks fast along the footpath, counting each step till she reaches a corner. She knows what she's going to say. She just wishes she knew what he'll say. It is a risk, she understands this, but everything she feels about Seb predicts it will be okay.

The terrace houses merge into their neighbours' as Evie's pace quickens. She looks at her watch, seven minutes left. Her legs work faster, the steam shoots from her mouth. She turns the last corner and spots him just ahead.

‘Seb,' she calls. ‘Wait.'

She feels self-conscious running up to him. She has never been this eager to see him before. His look is puzzled but he waits.

‘Are you okay?' he asks.

She is panting and there are drops of sweat on her forehead. ‘Yeah, yeah.'

‘Sure?'

She suddenly feels awkward, standing here in front of him.

‘Seb,' she begins, trying to calm her voice. ‘I really need to ask you something.'

‘What?'

He is walking towards the bus stop.

‘Um, Seb. Can we just wait here a minute? I don't want to, well, this is, you know, kind of private.'

‘What?'

‘God, this is really, um … Look, I'm just going to say it. Yesterday, on the bus, you whispered something to me.'

The recognition washes over his face.

‘You remember that, don't you?'

He nods. She sees his Adam's apple jump.

‘You asked me if I still see her, didn't you?'

He nods again.

‘Please, Seb, please tell me what you meant. It's …' She hesitates. ‘It's very, very important to me.'

‘My mum once told me …' Now he hesitates. ‘That you … you sometimes used to – to see a girl at – the pin.'

Evie grabs hold of the fence.

‘Your mum? But how? How did your –?'

‘I don't know. Someone must have told her.'

He slides down the fence and sits on his bag. Evie does the same.

‘I don't know a hell of a lot about it, Evie. I mean, I know a girl died there.'

‘What?'

‘A girl died there, at the pin. I thought it was the one you – you …'

‘A girl
died
there!' The lump rises through her chest into her throat. She mouths the air. ‘Are, are …'

‘What? You didn't know?'

‘No, I didn't.' Evie's jaw is trembling. ‘When? When was it?'

‘I think we were probably three or four. It was a hit and run. Evie, I don't –'

She shakes her head to stop his words. The lump is so tight now she feels like throwing up. Seb sits there, staring at his hands. Evie's sure he understands what's just happened. It's like there is nothing they can say. It's too big.

They hear the bus coming around the corner. Seb stands up, throwing his bag over his shoulder.

‘Come on, Evie.' He holds out his hand to her.

She looks up at him and shakes her head.

‘Evie?'

‘I'm okay, Seb. I think I'll just hang here for a while.'

He runs to catch up with the bus. She watches him watching her, until the bus is out of sight.

 

Evie sits on the ground, holding her head. Her brain sounds like fireworks. Hot tears sting her eyes. She wants to cry, she wants to howl and scream and yet somewhere she wants to jump for joy. She opens her diary planner. Her hands shake as she flicks through the pages to the note she made yesterday: 24/211 Lancet St, Randwick. Take the 503 bus from Wynyard and get off at car wash in Randwick. Corner of second street on left.

At the bus stop she wedges her bag between her feet to steady her. The traffic whizzes by but everything looks and feels like slow motion. Even the noise on the road has slowed to a weird, echoing drone. The step on the bus seems higher,
the driver's nose looks too long, and the machine takes forever to spit out her ticket.

Evie stumbles onto the bus, taking a seat on the right-hand side. As the pin approaches she turns and stares out the window. The girl isn't there.

This time, Evie's eyes follow a barricade that runs the length of the sharp bend. She realises she has never considered why the barricade is there. But now she knows. She calculates that at least twelve years ago a young girl was killed here. But she still has to see it for herself.

At Hyde Park Evie gets off and runs to the state library. She's done this for school assignments at least a hundred times. It'll take ten minutes, fifteen tops. She chucks her bag in a locker and finds the newspaper drawer marked 1991. The roll for March is the first one she spots. She grabs it, hooking it onto the machine. Madly scrolling through sport sections and classifieds, the days of March 1991 rush before her.

Nothing. She takes out May, July, December, September and does the same.

Click– it's there, 25 September 1991: ‘Girl Killed in Hit
and Run'. The top paragraph of ‘News in Brief'. The words are jumping off the page like tiny black fleas. ‘Notorious bend – the pin – Bridgepoint Road – seven years old – massive blood loss – head injuries – killed instantly.'