All the Tricks of Their World

by T B Gayle

  Pascal had never been a big religious guy, not like Isobel and her mum with their kooky stuff, but the whole feeling that there would have been no walking through some pearly gates for him, that he just wouldn’t have been around anymore, was a hard feeling to come to terms with.

  Stop being stupid, he told himself. It was morning, he was still breathing, and everything seemed to be back to being alright. People were walking through the park, and a tram was going by. The power must be back on then too, Pascal told himself. He felt like heading home and plonking himself in front of the telly, so he could try to forget the whole thing. The trouble was, he had all this work he was meant to be finishing. He couldn’t just not turn up for it. It didn’t matter that he’d slept in the park and probably looked like the biggest mess you could imagine. There were people relying on him and all that. And he could just imagine what they were going to be thinking when he turned up like this. It was probably going to be the same thing they would have been thinking if Isobel had rocked up beside them and started typing.

  That was the thing, he knew he should’ve been heading home, but he’d just spent a night sleeping in the park, and he didn’t want to start making a habit of it. As bad as his job was and all that, it sure beat winding up like Isobel and camping out under some tree, night after night.

  Pascal put his hand to his head. He wasn’t looking forward to the rest of the day, but it was just something he had to do. He straightened his suit and tried to look semi-presentable. Then he joined the queue of businessmen with their heads down, slowly walking towards the city.

  ◆◆◆

  I should have called in sick, thought Pascal. He knew he wasn’t doing anyone any favours sitting there at his desk holding his head like it had all got too much for him. No-one wanted to see that. He was sure they all would have put up with him taking a sickie and not getting anything done if it had meant they hadn’t had to watch him have some sort of breakdown in front of them. And that’s what it felt like. He couldn’t stop thinking about all the things he’d messed up and how bad a guy he’d turned out to be. It was all whirring through his head over and over, and no matter how many deep breaths he took, it wouldn’t go away.

  The worst of it was thinking about Isobel; that was what was really doing his head in. He knew that what had happened with Maisie was his own fault and he should’ve known better than to think she might have liked him, but he just couldn’t get his head around the whole Isobel thing. She’d meant everything to him once. He’d thought about her when he was at school. He’d thought about her all the way home. And thinking about that, and then of her outside the building saying she wanted to be with him and the way he’d reacted, made him almost want to jump from the nearest window.

  ‘You alright, Pascal?’ said his boss.

  Pascal wanted to look up and tell him, ‘No,’ but instead he just nodded and tried to get back to hitting a few keys and pretending to work. As much as he wanted to talk to someone about how empty and everything he was feeling, Pascal wasn’t sure his boss was the right guy to be talking about it with. He was pretty sure it was best not to let the guy paying him know that his head was like some car crash inside. Having a job was about the only thing Pascal had going for him. He didn’t even want to think how awful he’d feel if he lost that too. He was feeling bad enough as it was.

  That was the thing, he couldn’t help feeling like he was meant to have helped Isobel – them running into each other out of nowhere and everything. It was like he’d blown it, though. He’d messed the whole thing up. And it just felt like one of those things where he wasn’t going to get some second shot at it. Every time he thought about her, he kept imagining finding her lying all still on some footpath. And the big guy and the angels and what not would have been there with these frowning faces, making it pretty clear that they’d expected him to stop it.

  But how was that fair? It wasn’t like he’d chosen for her to wind up on the streets or anything. And if they’d all been so concerned for her then why hadn’t they done something to help her? And trying to make him fall head over heels for her again shouldn’t have counted. They should have got her a job, found her somewhere to stay. They should have done something. And if they’d wanted him to fall for her, then they shouldn’t have had her turn up looking like she had. What were they expecting him to think? And it wasn’t like he and Isobel could still have talked and got on or whatever. She didn’t have anything to say except for shouting that everyone should be scared and making a fool of herself.

  It was all so messed up. And the worst part was, it felt like this whole thing had been set up for him to make amends for something, but he wasn’t sure what he needed to be making amends for. It wasn’t like he hadn’t spent night after night shivering away in the woods, hoping she’d find her way back. It wasn’t like him and his dad hadn’t tried to find out where they’d taken her.

  Pascal put his head down on the table. But you should have known something was up with her mum, he told himself.

  ◆◆◆

  ‘It’s only a job, mate,’ said Pascal’s boss. ‘It’s not worth doing yourself in over.’

  ‘Just want to get things finished, you know,’ said Pascal.

  ‘You’re a champ. Don’t think no-one’s noticed how hard you’ve been working. But, mate, you’re not looking so great. Take the rest of the day off, alright?’

  Pascal didn’t know what to say. He’d always had this resentment towards his boss. He’d always been the one Pascal had blamed for making him get up every morning and come in to this snore-fest of a job. It was a bit of a head spin to hear him come out and seem almost concerned for how Pascal was going.

  ‘The blackout’s kind of messed with me,’ said Pascal.

  ‘Yeah, what a weird night, hey?’ said his boss. ‘Head home and get some rest. We’ll catch up tomorrow.’

  Pascal felt a bit bad about walking out early with everyone watching, seeing as he didn’t have the flu and wasn’t throwing up or anything like that. His head was just feeling a bit scrambled. And he knew it wasn’t anything much to worry about, not when there were people like Isobel out there going through so much worse. He knew if he rested up and tried not to think about all the thoughts in his head telling him that nothing good was going to happen to him, then he’d be right.

  Trying not to think about things was a hard thing to do, though. When he stepped outside and saw that Isobel wasn’t there waiting for him, his head just filled full of thoughts all shouting that something must have happened to her. They were so bad he almost felt like crumpling to the ground and curling up until they stopped. He probably would have, too, if he hadn’t spotted the waitress leaning against a shop window across the street; crumpling to the ground didn’t seem like the coolest thing to be doing in front of her.

  Is she following me? wondered Pascal. First there was the pub, and now she was outside his work. He had no idea why she’d be following him. It wasn’t like she was just hanging around in case he needed another pat on the back or whatever to cheer him up. The only thing that he could think of was that maybe the way he’d stormed out of the restaurant had got her and Maisie a bit worried. It hadn’t been the best, he knew that. She’s probably just out shopping or something, Pascal told himself. The trouble was, when he looked at his reflection in the glass of the building, he reminded himself of one of those lonely no-good guys that always caused all the troubles on those crime shows. It wasn’t like he could blame anyone for being worried about him or anything.

  The waitress was looking a lot better than the night before. She was wearing this black outfit, almost like she was planning on doing some diamond heist. She was really looking a whole lot better, so much better that Pascal had to look away and take a deep breath. It’s no wonder she thinks you’re some terrible guy, he told himself. He kind of was, and he didn’t think there was anyone out there that would say much different. Isobel sure wouldn’t, not after how he’d treated her at the pub. He shouldn’t have left
her alone in there, and he definitely shouldn’t have gone off chatting to some other girl right in front of her like he hadn’t cared how it would have left her feeling or anything.

  The waitress looked over, right at him. And it wasn’t like she seemed to care much that he knew she was there. She didn’t go ducking behind a pole or hiding her face behind some newspaper. It seemed she had a few other things worrying her besides him. She was waving her arms about, talking to a guy who was standing there like he wanted to walk away and have nothing to do with her. He kept turning and the waitress kept pulling him back and pleading with him about something.

  Pascal had to shake his head. The whole thing had nothing to do with him. But as he was thinking that, he realised how much he would have liked it to have been. He could have asked her what to do to make things up with Maisie. He could have asked her if she thought he was as a terrible a guy as he was feeling. He knew what she would have said for that last one, though.

  XXIX

  Maisie was just deciding whether it was worth getting up when she heard Pascal arrive home next door. This can’t be good, she told herself; she’d never known Pascal to come home early. He turned up late a fair bit, but never early. She listened as he closed the door then collapsed onto his couch. Next comes the telly, thought Maisie. A loud voice switched on and started trying to sell him a phone, which Pascal mustn’t have been that impressed with as he started flicking through the channels until he stopped on two people talking with British accents about a murder. Maisie never could understand why he liked shows like that so much. She’d always pictured him more of a ‘documentaries about things that most people aren’t interested in’ sort of a guy. There was something nice about a mystery, though. It sure beat waking up each day and doing the same things over and over.

  Is he still upset about the restaurant? thought Maisie, wondering why he was home so early. She really hoped that he hadn’t been sitting at work moping about it this whole time. That was the other odd thing: she couldn’t remember Pascal coming home the night before. She guessed he must have, but she’d sat up most of the night, a little freaked out by the storm, and hadn’t heard a peep from him.

  You really need to move out, she told herself. Her daily entertainment shouldn’t have been listening in on her boring neighbour. Plus, she was tired of Melbourne. She was tired of the way everyone looked at her. She was tired of not being well. She wanted to close her eyes and forget it all, only she couldn’t; Pascal’s telly was making too much of a racket. And when he did finally turn it off, all that happened was that the chatter of the TV was replaced by him knocking on her door.

  What does he want? she wondered. She thought she’d made it pretty clear that she hadn’t liked him the way he liked her. Well, she hadn’t exactly said that to him, but still, he should have got the picture. That was the thing, she couldn’t understand how he could have ever felt that way about her; they’d barely spoken. He didn’t know if she was funny, or interesting, or any sort of person he’d actually want to be around.

  Maisie opened the door.

  ‘Hey, I was wondering if you’d maybe seen Isobel,’ said Pascal. ‘Thought she might have come around to find me again, you know.’

  Pascal looked awful. He looked almost as bad as Maisie imagined she must have been looking there in her pyjamas, with her eyes all blurry and her hair a mess. ‘I don’t have time to be sorting out all your troubles, Pascal,’ said Maisie. She did have the time, but that wasn’t something he needed to know, not when he could come knocking on her door whenever he was lonely, which she guessed was most of the time.

  He gave her this long, almost guilty stare. ‘Listen, you’re not worried about me, are you?’ he said.

  I don’t think about you, or worry about you, or want anything to do with you, she wanted to shout at him. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t already got that into his head.

  ‘It’s just with the whole you and Isobel thing, and the restaurant,’ said Pascal. ‘It’s all ended up a bit of a mess, hey?’ He tried to smile, well, something like it. ‘And now Isobel’s kind of mad at me. Nothing’s going right.’

  ‘You really need to get yourself together, Pascal,’ said Maisie. It was the right thing to say, and she was glad she said it, but part of her felt a little guilty about saying it when she’d slept most of the day and kept hearing voices that weren’t really there. ‘All you ever talk about is that girl.’

  Maisie was trying to think of a good way to end the conversation and make it clear that she didn’t want any more of them with him when she happened to look down and see the girl standing in the carpark near the bins, staring back up at her like she’d heard every word Maisie had just said. And it was like there was this pull in the girl’s dark gaze. It was like her eyes were drawing Maisie forward, step by step towards the railing, like she was about to take Maisie’s legs out from under her again, like when they’d been struggling together in the flat.

  ‘That’s a bit of a relief,’ said Pascal. He was looking down at Isobel. ‘I was worried something might have happened to her.’ Maisie put a hand to her hurting head and pushed herself away from the railing.

  ‘Listen, let’s go back inside,’ said Maisie. ‘We can lock all the doors and windows and pretend she’s not out there.’

  Pascal looked like he wanted to, but he couldn’t help glancing back down towards the carpark. ‘What happened with you two?’

  It was almost like he thought Maisie was the one that had done something wrong. But it was the girl that had barged into her flat and had started demanding that Maisie tell her the way out. She’d had no idea what the girl was on about. The door had been open. All the girl had had to do was turn around and head back the way she’d come. Instead, she’d grabbed Maisie and had kept threatening her like Maisie had been keeping something from her.

  There was no way she was going through that again. Maisie tried to stagger back towards her flat, but all she managed was a few steps before collapsing in a heap on her own doorstep, her head throbbing and hurting all over again.

  She watched as the girl climbed the stairs and walked slowly across the landing. The girl looked even worse than at the restaurant. It was like the previous night’s rain had caused her makeup to run down across her face, only Maisie knew the girl hadn’t been wearing any. Her eyes were these dark splotches.

  ‘Sorry about in the pub and all that,’ said Pascal to the girl. ‘It would have been good if we’d got a chance to talk, you know. Who knew the lights would go out like that and everything though, hey?’ He looked like he was really putting in this big effort with her, trying to make her feel that he was there for her. The frustrating thing was, she wouldn’t look at him. It was like he wasn’t even there. She was staring past him, to the doorway, to Maisie.

  XXX

  Maisie’s head was swirling in a storm all of its own. Everything felt so out of place. It was like she’d imagined entire days go by that hadn’t gone by at all. It was almost like she’d only just fallen and hit her head and was back in her flat with the spooky girl.

  ‘You can’t help me anymore,’ said the girl. ‘They’ve made you forget.’ She raised her arm and outside the wind blew, and the door slammed. She was looking down with her hands pressed against her chest like her heart had stopped beating. ‘But why isn’t this happening to you?’ said the girl. ‘Why are your eyes still so bright?’ And as bright as her eyes might have been, Maisie wasn’t sure they were working that well; it was like the whole room had gotten blurry, like the girl was just this darkness, this growing shadow spreading across the room.

  ‘How can your eyes be so bright?’ repeated the girl, her voice like a booming drum. It shook right through Maisie and left her trembling. ‘What deal did you make with them?’ she said. And Maisie could tell by the frightful look on the girl’s face that making a deal with whoever it was she was talking about wasn’t a good thing. The girl started pressing forward like she was planning something a whole lot worse this time tha
n just throwing Maisie to the floor. All Maisie could think to do was hold her hand out to shield herself. When she did, she felt the girl’s weight press upon it as she struggled to get past. Maisie couldn’t hold her. She fell back, shoving the girl, who tried to put out her arm to keep her balance, but it crumpled and she ended up on the floor beside Maisie, groaning and holding her shoulder like she was someone normal and not the monster Maisie had begun to imagine.

  She had to shake her head; the darkness in the room hadn’t had anything to do with the girl; there was just another storm coming. Outside, the sky was full of dark clouds.

  Maisie took out her phone, thinking about calling someone for help. The only trouble was there was no-one she could think of to call.

  ‘You have to know what they’ve done,’ said the girl. She was pressing her hand back against her heart. ‘They’ve made sure I can’t ever leave,’ said the girl.

  What is she going on about? thought Maisie. It was the same nonsense the girl had kept shouting the last time.

  ‘Please,’ said the girl. She scrunched into a ball like she was trying to get as small as possible, like she was straining trying to pull her knees as tight against her as she could. ‘It whispers to me,’ she said. The room grew darker, and it was like the girl’s eyes were growing darker as well; spinning and twisting and twining their horror through and around everything.

  XXXI

  When Isobel looked into Maisie’s eyes, she couldn’t help seeing herself, how she’d once been, standing there with her hand exploding in light, shadows falling all around her. But now everything was different. She had no spark in her eyes or fire in her palms, and from her heart the very darkness she’d once fought was twisting and turning and wanting to rage against everything and everyone.