This is Shyness

by Leanne Hall

  Wildgirl still walks close, and it gives me an excuse to slip my arm around her shoulder.

  ‘What are you going to do with the card now that you know it works?’

  ‘I’m going to get on a plane and fly somewhere far, far away.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘Uh, India, I guess. Maybe.’

  The only things I know about India are that it’s crammed full of billions of people all trying to find some space, and that the sun would fry me in thirty seconds flat. ‘Do you have family there?’

  ‘Why would you say that?’ Wildgirl is brittle all of a sudden.

  ‘I don’t know. You look like you’re half-something.’ Crap. She glares at me. ‘It’s…your hair is so dark, and your skin…’

  Wildgirl pulls out from under my arm. ‘Why don’t you ask my mum? She says she doesn’t know, but personally I think she’s just holding out on me.’

  I’ve ruined the moment.

  When I was younger I used to imagine what it would be like if I had different parents. It had to be a mistake that I got the ones I did. I was nothing that my parents wanted me to be. Neither was Gram, but I didn’t think it bothered him as much.

  Wildgirl should know that two parents are not necessarily better than one.

  ‘My parents were some of the first to leave Shyness when things got difficult. My dad wants nothing but comfort and money. He wants all the dirt and noise in the world to be kept out of his house. He makes all the rules, but he’s soft. He never lifts a finger, except to send emails.’ I strike a body-builder pose. ‘Looks like Mum was secretly running with the pack.’

  Wildgirl smiles. She knows what I’m trying to do. She grabs me and turns me around, pointing at the ghostly Dreamer, floating into the darkness.

  ‘See that guy? Half-zombie for sure.’

  We’re almost at Lupe’s van. There are no trees at all in this part of Saturnalia Avenue. The Kidds probably used them for one of their bonfires.

  ‘Kidds Rush In,’ says Wildgirl, as if she’s reading my thoughts.

  ‘What?’ I’m startled.

  She points at a billboard pasted to the side of an old milk bar. The poster is bright and fresh compared to the pocked brick wall underneath. Doctor Gregory Cares, it says along the bottom edge. Doctor Gregory’s tanned face smiles above the slogan. He has suspiciously white teeth. Doctor Gregory Cares about money, if you ask me.

  Someone has spray-painted three letters across Doctor Gregory’s face. Monkey writing, wobbly and uneven.

  ‘K. R. I. Just like the graffiti near the bowling alley. Kidds Rush In.’

  She’s sharper than I thought. Or less drunk. I’m even more impressed by her ukulele performance in that case. Wildgirl steps towards the billboard. ‘Who are the Kidds?’

  Before I can reply a small dark shape drops from the sky and lands on Wildgirl’s head. Long, furry fingers reach for her eyes. To her credit Wildgirl doesn’t scream, but thrashes from side to side, the ukulele bouncing on her back. The animal loses its grip on her hair, falls to the ground and scampers off. I rush to Wildgirl’s aid, but she pushes me away, pointing behind me.

  I turn around and there they are—the Kidds.

  Five of them spread out in a semicircle in front of us, their bikes thrown to the ground behind them. If I’d been concentrating on our surroundings, rather than making Wildgirl smile again, I would have heard their wheels long before they got here. I recognise the tallest Kidd instantly, a guy known as the Elf. The Elf is weedy, with lank blond hair and skin the colour of uncooked dough. Flanking him are two boys and two girls of varying ages. One girl has her hand in her pocket, which probably means a knife. They all have plastic police tape tied around their heads like sweatbands.

  The Elf pushes the littlest Kidd forward. He can’t be more than seven. There are drool streaks down the front of his too-big basketball top.

  ‘Tell them, Baby.’

  ‘Give us your bag!’ Baby demands in a reedy voice. ‘You holding. We know it.’

  Wildgirl laughs. I don’t blame her. Baby barely reaches her waist. The tarsier sits on Baby’s shoulder now, licking its paws and chattering, baring a mouth full of holey teeth. I was slack. I should have asked Wildgirl if she was carrying. A bag that big, there has to be something.

  ‘Run back to Mummy, little boy.’

  ‘Monkey don’t make mistakes.’ Baby huffs and grimaces, working himself up into either a tantrum, or a fit of tears. His headband dangles in his eyes. He looks to the Elf for guidance.

  ‘Listen, you cola-colour City chick’—the Elf forces his words out slow, when anyone can see he’s high as a kite— ‘hand over the bag. And give Baby some respect.’

  The Kidds are restless, shuffling and twitching. I wonder who would come to the Elf’s aid if I jumped on him and made him shut his big mouth. The third boy, a Kidd around twelve, appears stoned out of his brain and won’t be a problem. He wanders around, kicking aimlessly at the road. Knife-girl seems like the only other fighter among them and is probably second-in-charge. The problem is, Wildgirl doesn’t know that no one messes with the Elf, no matter what he calls you. She starts swinging her bag at Baby.

  ‘I’m. Not. Giving. You. Fucking. Little. Brats. Anything.’

  Baby ducks and swerves, but he stays fixed on Wildgirl. ‘You got a nightmare mouth, girl.’ The Elf almost sounds impressed, but I see him move his fingers down low, waving the knife-girl forwards. ‘If you was Local I might ask you to join my crew.’

  ‘Give it to him,’ I tell Wildgirl in a flat voice.

  She gapes at me. ‘What?’

  ‘Hand over your bag. They’re not going to take what you think they’re going to take.’

  ‘Good dog.’ The Elf stares at me with midnight eyes. I feel a wave of heat rising from my stomach. If I was on my own I’d be sorely tempted to take him on. I’ve lost track of the other boy and girl. I turn to find them both standing behind me, within striking distance.

  ‘Get any closer and I’ll thump you,’ I tell them. I don’t have to raise my voice. I’m ten feet tall when I’m pissed off.

  ‘Ooooh.’ The girl purses her lips, pretending to be scared. The boy giggles at something only he can see.

  Wildgirl hands her bag to Baby. You can tell she hates doing it. Baby puts the bag on the ground and rifles through it with sticky, dirty fingers. Baby needs a bath. I can smell him from here. He skips over Wildgirl’s phone and wallet, and pulls out a packet of gum, a bag of jellybeans and a blister pack of throat lozenges, piffing them at knife-girl, who stuffs them down the front of her jumper with one hand.

  Baby finishes ransacking the bag and kicks it along the ground to Wildgirl. He stands next to the Elf, fishing for approval that doesn’t come.

  I think that’s it but then the Elf opens his mouth. ‘Body search.’

  The tarsier leaps off Baby’s shoulder and is at Wild-girl’s feet in a flash. She stares down at the animal in disgust. The tarsier places one paw on her foot and then the other. He fishes around inside the ankle of her boots and then climbs her legs, slowly. He sticks his long fingers in her shorts pockets and then climbs higher, feeling as he goes. Wildgirl stands still, but her legs are shaking. She’s breathing audibly through her nose. I follow her eyes to knife-girl, who has taken her blade out of her pocket and holds it up idly as if she’s about to peel apples.

  The tarsier finishes searching and finds nothing. He scampers back to Baby, leaping effortlessly from the ground up to the Kidd’s shoulder.

  ‘Thank you for doing business, boys and girls.’ The Elf smirks and backs away to his bike. I scoop Wildgirl’s bag up from the ground.

  ‘I don’t know why you bother with the small stuff,’ I say, belatedly. When the Elf doesn’t respond I put my arm around Wildgirl and lead her away.

  9

  I feel safe finally in Guadalupe’s van, which is as pink as the inside of a watermelon and as crammed full as a caravan could be. I feel like a marionette with its strings cut;
my legs are shaking so hard I barely made it up the steps. I know Wolfboy could have run here much faster, but held back for me.

  Guadalupe is a big woman in a psychedelic tent-dress. She’s got tomato-coloured hair and smudged coral lipstick, but her eyes are bright and shrewd. She looks crazy, but I know instantly that she’s not. When I hold my hand out to shake hers, she flips it over and traces the inside of my arm with glossy purple fingernails.

  ‘Just kebabs, Lupe.’ Wolfboy pulls my arm away from her and stands between us. It all seems a bit protective, especially since it was his idea to come here. Not that I was planning on just standing around after the gang was done with us.

  Lupe doesn’t seem offended. She pats Wolfboy’s shoulder like he’s a big old poodle. They act like old friends. She doesn’t even mind that he doesn’t use her proper name.

  ‘You’re hungry then, my boy?’

  ‘Always.’ He sits down at a table that takes up one end of the van and gestures for me to join him. I pick up the pile of books already occupying the seat and try to find a bare surface to put them on. The best I can do is to balance them on some satin cushions. I slide into the narrow gap between the table and the horseshoe-shaped bench, sitting opposite him. I flap my t-shirt, trying to dry the wet patches under my arms.

  ‘I give you the bloody bits,’ Lupe tells Wolfboy, ‘just how you like.’

  I make an oh-really? face at Wolfboy. He looks embarrassed and starts smoothing his hair into place. Impressive. It’s still holding its shape, even with all the running.

  ‘And you, my darling? Are you hungry?’ Lupe’s accent is from somewhere else; she speaks so lazily, the word ‘darling’ comes out as daaaahhhlink.

  ‘Yes, please.’ Now that I think about it my stomach twinges with hunger and a headache dances at the edges of my vision. ‘But no bloody bits,’ I add. I was too busy glamming up after work to eat any dinner. There was nothing in our fridge anyway, and I couldn’t be bothered walking to the shops. No wonder I got so tipsy earlier.

  Even with all the clutter, the van is much bigger inside than the outside suggests. I can’t see a bed so the table must fold down to make one. Lupe is visible through the beaded curtain that separates her living quarters from the kitchen. She tinkles through the curtain now and places a cup and saucer in front of me.

  ‘To make things better’ is all she says, before returning to the kitchen. Wolfboy nods so I sip the tea. It’s hot and sour and the colour of green apples. If it’s witchcraft, I’m not complaining because calm rolls over me almost instantly. My heart returns to normal, and my legs stop burning.

  I examine the van. The walls are quilted in pink vinyl and studded with crystal buttons. A sideboard crammed with photos, statues and crockery runs down one side of the van, opposite the door; above that shelves groan with books and LPs. There’s some seriously crazy shit in here: a grinning skull on a stick, a string of lights in the shape of lotus flowers, a bunch of dried chillies hanging in one corner, peacock feathers in a vase, a case of pinned butterflies, a rusty microscope, jars of pickled god-knows-what.

  I drink the last of my tea. Wolfboy has his head in his hands and seems unable to meet my eyes. The table is covered all over with photos cut out of old magazines, topped with a thick layer of varnish. I’m leaning on some of my favourite old-timey movie stars. Lupe has good taste when it comes to films. Maybe not so much on the interior decorating.

  Lupe clatters plates and knives in the kitchen, and Wolfboy still doesn’t speak. He looks exhausted, blinking those gorgeous blue eyes like it’s the only thing he has energy left to do. I want to cradle his tired face in the palms of my hands.

  ‘You’ve got the long blinks,’ I tell him.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbles.

  ‘For what?’

  We’re safe. I saw my first Dreamer. The bit where I got attacked by the Ewok was freaky, but I can hardly complain when freaky is what I’ve been demanding. And here I was worrying the night was going to be all ritzy bars and wankers. I’ll tell you one thing: when I was running from those brats it was the only time I managed to forget what I’ve been trying to forget all day.

  ‘That was my fault. I should have asked you if you were carrying. Are you okay?’

  I touch my head all over to see if that nasty little animal actually drew blood with its claws. I still have my handbag and my phone and my keys and the magic bankcard. I didn’t dare check on the card until we were well out of sight. I haven’t had a chance yet to think seriously about my travel plans but I have no intention of giving up this card for anyone.

  I check under the table, and my tights aren’t even ripped. ‘I’m fine, really.’

  I got rolled by a monkey and a bunch of kids on hotted-up bikes and they didn’t take the one valuable thing I have on me. The kid who went through my bag was barely old enough for school, and he was terrified, his lower lip wobbling like he was going to burst into tears. I can see the funny side, but Wolfboy still looks shattered.

  ‘I should have seen them. They would have been following us for a while.’

  ‘The monkeys or the brats?’

  ‘The monkeys. They’re called tarsier. They’re foot soldiers. They find targets, get information and follow people. They can go places no one else can. The one that attacked you would have dropped off a roof.’

  The tarsier didn’t look like any monkey I’ve ever seen. It was too small for one thing, and its bulging saucer-eyes took up almost its whole head, and it had huge hands with nubby fingers. I wish I could have a shower to get rid of the feeling of its filthy fingers brushing against my face.

  ‘Such big eyes,’ I say, and I’m not sure if I’m talking about the kids or the monkeys.

  ‘The night favours those with big eyes.’ The words sound strange coming out of Wolfboy’s mouth, like he’s reciting a proverb. ‘Remember, if you see tarsier, the kids aren’t far behind.’

  Somehow, through my fatigue and hunger, a few pieces of the puzzle slide into place.

  ‘Kids? Kids as in K-I-D-D-S rushing in, right?’

  Wolfboy nods. The graffiti near Sebastien’s makes more sense now.

  ‘You were scared,’ I say. ‘We were outnumbered, sure, but none of them was older than fourteen or fifteen.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve stepped in earlier. They had no right to search you like that…it was out of line. But I recognised the leader of that gang. A guy called the Elf. Everyone around here knows he’s bad news.’

  ‘I don’t blame you,’ I say, and I mean it. ‘Were they really only interested in jelly beans?’

  If he’d gone for the bankcard Baby would have received a good smack on the bum.

  ‘The Kidds are sugar freaks, and they’ve got the tarsier hooked as well. They were all high, completely off their chops. You can tell when you look at their eyes.’

  There was something weird about the way the Kidds moved; their eyes sliding and their hands twitching. There’s plenty of junkies in Plexus, but none that young.

  ‘Can sugar really do that to them?’

  ‘In high enough doses, yeah. They’d do anything for it. Usually they don’t bother with the small stuff, but maybe it’s been a slow night. Or they were bored.’ Wolfboy frowns. ‘I shouldn’t have let them search you.’

  I want to reach across the table and put my hand over his, but Lupe tinkles through the curtain again and I fold my hands in my lap instead. The smell of meat and garlic wafts in. Lupe’s face shines from the heat of the rotisserie.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ she asks abruptly, putting a plate in front of me.

  ‘I’m thinking you have a lot of crap in here.’

  God, that wasn’t very polite. The woman invites us into her home and feeds us and I call her possessions ‘crap’. Fortunately Lupe just laughs and squeezes into the seat next to me. Three is a tight fit, and none of us are small people. I tuck my feet on either side of Wolfboy’s ankles, nudging him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  The kebab takes
up the entire plate, a thick roll of pita bread stuffed with salad and meat and dripping with sauce. Wolfboy takes huge bites out of his like he hasn’t eaten in several years. I take a quick look at his plate. Chunks of charred meat fall out of the bread. Nothing raw or bloody that I can see.

  He catches me looking. ‘It’s cooked. I’m not an animal.’

  ‘I didn’t think—I know you’re not…’ I can’t think of what else to say so I pick up my kebab and take a bite. It’s delicious—salty and crispy and garlicky in all the right proportions. The bread falls apart in my hands but I just pick up the pieces and keep shovelling it in. I can’t believe how hungry I am. We don’t talk as we eat, and Lupe seems to enjoy watching us. I become human again with food in my stomach.

  As soon as I finish my meal, licking my fingers clean and sighing with satisfaction, Lupe sits up abruptly, making the red beads around her neck dance.

  ‘Darling, your arm.’ Lupe takes my hand in hers again and stretches my arm out flat, so that the pale skin of my inner arm is exposed. ‘I read skin,’ she explains. ‘Like palm reading, but instead I read your veins.’

  ‘Lupe,’ growls Wolfboy, pushing his plate away. There’s colour in his cheeks now and life back in his eyes. He looks at me. ‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to.’

  My veins are barely visible.

  ‘Have you had it done?’ I ask him. He nods.

  Up close Lupe’s face is crisscrossed with powder-caked lines. I’ve never had my palm read, or my stars done, or seen a psychic. I don’t think you can ask them to only tell you the good stuff and filter out the bad. I need to believe that good things are going to happen to me soon, to make up for all the crap that’s been happening recently.

  ‘You shouldn’t be afraid,’ says Lupe, ‘I already see lots of life here.’

  ‘Sure,’ I say. I don’t have to believe what she tells me anyway. Hopefully she’ll say that I’m about to begin a long journey and leave all my problems behind. And if she doesn’t then I’m strong enough to think otherwise.

  Lupe begins to tap my arm lightly all over with her fingertips.