‘I don’t know. She could do the cougar thing.’
‘Shudder. And anyway, it’s highly unlikely to be true – the odds-on favourite is Mr Molloy.’
‘English teacher Mr Molloy?’
‘The very one. The Molloy and the Rao have been seen eating lunch together at least three times over the past two weeks and drinking together post-staff meeting. And apparently he’s asked her to come chaperone on the English excursion in two weeks.’
‘I’m supposed to be on that excursion,’ I say, ‘but the likelihood of Shad and Disey letting me out of the house is less than zero.’
‘I don’t think you’re going to miss much,’ Phil says. ‘It’s only Sydney. Dingy motel? Pass. Boring speeches about the HSC? Pass. We can get all that off the internet.’
‘Will you take notes for me anyway?’
‘No, I’m going to leave you high and dry. Of course I will.’
Phil and I are still talking (and Julian is still staring into space) when Disey gets home and immediately starts scolding me. ‘You should be in bed,’ she says firmly, trying to stuff another forty-five cushions behind my back.
‘I’ve been in bed for ages,’ I complain. ‘I’m sick of bed.’
‘I’ll tackle her if she tries to lift a finger,’ Phil promises.
‘You better,’ Disey says. ‘Shad!’
‘Yeah?’ Shad calls back from his study.
‘You busy?’
‘Not really.’
‘Can I talk to you a sec?’
Disey goes into Shad’s study and closes the door. Phil shoots me a strange look. ‘What’s with them? Is something wrong?’
I shake my head. ‘It’s about –’
‘I told you I’m not having her in this house!’ we hear Disey yell.
‘– Helena,’ I finish.
But Disey does not get her way. The Hellbeast does turn up for dinner. Disey immediately employs the Paradise Linford Death Stare™. Shad’s lips get so thin he looks like a muppet. It would have been a very awkward dinner indeed if Phil hadn’t been there to steamroll the weirdness in her sensible Phil way.
And actually Julian is a good buffer too. Maybe I’ll need to rethink my position on his relative usefulness.
‘So how long have you two been –’ Shad gestures between Phil and Julian with his fork.
They look at each other. ‘Two months,’ Phil says.
‘Ish,’ Julian adds.
‘Pearl hasn’t told us much about you,’ Disey says.
‘That’s because Pearl stays out of other people’s relationships,’ Shad says. Disey glares at him.
‘Tell me the story of how you got together,’ Helena says. ‘I love those stories.’
‘Well, it’s not that exciting,’ Phil says. ‘We’ve known each other forever, and I guess it just . . . happened.’
‘We’re in Food Tech together,’ Julian says. ‘She won me over with her baking skills. And the fact that she’s, you know, awesome.’
‘Awww,’ Phil says.
They peck each other on the lips. I push food around my plate sourly, on account of how I am a jealous bitch and an all-round terrible person. But I keep my mouth closed about how Julian had been seeing Tricia Styles through most of the initial flirtation and how I find that kind of gross, because the last thing I need to do is a) add more tension to this already tense dinner, and b) alienate the one person I desperately need to keep me sane.
‘What a sweet story,’ Helena says.
‘You should put it in the paper,’ Disey says.
‘Disey,’ Shad says sharply.
‘If you want a fairytale teen romance for the paper, you should talk to Jenny and Cardy,’ Julian says unexpectedly. ‘They look like they’re days away from announcing their wedding.’
I taste bile in the back of my mouth.
Shad goes to spend the night with Helena after dinner. I can’t say I blame him, but it freaks me right out. Without Shad here, without him awake in his study all night, there’s no one to protect the house from – from – from –
– from nothing. Because the house doesn’t need protecting. There is nothing out there, Pearl.
I try to convince Phil to stay the night but she politely declines, citing homework (and, implicitly, boyfriend), and tells me that she’ll come by tomorrow. Disey and I watch her taillights disappear as she and Julian drive off into the night. ‘Well, I don’t know about you, Pearlie,’ Disey says, yawning and stretching, ‘but I’m knackered. Can I make you a cup of tea before you go to bed?’
‘I’ll make it,’ I offer.
‘No, you will not, Miss I-Just-Got-Out-Of-Hospital,’ Disey says. ‘Go on, go and get ready for bed. I’ll bring it in to you.’
She goes to the kitchen and I go to my bedroom, forcing myself to breathe normally. The corridor seems unnaturally dark and long. The lights are off in my room.
Something’s going to jump out at me. It’s going to spring suddenly out of the shadows and kill me. It’s waiting for me. It’s been waiting all this time, waiting for me to be alone, to steer me away from the herd . . .
I fumble for the light switch. I miss it twice before I get it, and my room is flooded with brilliant light.
My same old room, with my old patchwork quilt, my books, my computer, my candles – even my jacket slung on the end of my bed like I left it weeks ago. There is no scissor-handed man waiting to mutilate me, no murderer hiding under the bed or in the cupboard . . . yes, I check. Nothing is out of the ordinary. This is my bedroom, and nothing has changed.
I sit down at my desk and open up my computer. Same old screen, same old keyboard . . . this is fine. I can do this. The room is safe. The window is shut. The curtains are closed. I’ve checked the wardrobe and under the bed and the desk and behind the drawers and anywhere anyone could possibly be –
‘Facebooking again?’ Disey says, coming in suddenly, and I shriek and jump about five feet into the air.
She nearly spills tea everywhere, but manages to save herself in time. ‘Geez, Pearlie, what’s wrong?!’
I’m breathing like I’ve just run a marathon. ‘Sorry, Dise,’ I say, ‘it’s just – it’s just –’
‘Are you all right?’ Disey says anxiously, feeling my forehead. ‘I’ve got your doctor’s number – I’ll call –’
‘No, no!’ I say. ‘I’m – you surprised me. I’m just a bit edgy.’
‘Are you sure?’ Disey says. ‘If you feel even the slightest bit sick, Pearl, you have to tell me. Do you understand?’
I want nothing more than to throw myself into my big sister’s arms in that moment, for her to hug me like she used to when I was little and make everything all right. But there are some things even your sister can’t save you from.
‘I’m fine, Dise,’ I say. ‘You just surprised me.’
She regards me for a long moment before she buys it. ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘I’m right down the hall if you need me, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘Night, Pearlie.’
‘Night, Disey.’
She puts the tea down on the desk and shuts the door behind her. I hear her flick off the light in the hall as she pads down to her room.
I’m alone.
Music. That’s what I need.
I hit shuffle on iTunes and let it go nuts. Any noise is better than none. And that’s what I need – white noise, distraction.
I open Facebook. My wall is clogged full of welcome home messages. Glad 2 hear u r home! Annabel has written, and below that are reams of variations on Get Well Soon!
I skim through them idly, but it’s hard to pay attention. My eyes keep going back to my profile picture.
That girl is all dolled up to go out, long blonde hair rippling down her back, smiling like she hasn’t a care in the world. I recognise her, but it’s like seeing a picture of a cousin or something you haven’t seen for years. That picture might be tagged Pearl Linford, it might be on Pearl Linford’s profile page, but it’s not Pearl L
inford. Not any more.
I allow myself to feel miserable for a second. Then I tell myself to stop being melodramatic and to get over myself.
James Cardigan: hey pearl! heard u were comin home. how u feelin?
Ha. Take that, Jenny. Guess who’s Facebook chatting with me and not with you? Guess who?!
Pearl Linford: much better! still bald but what can you do?
James Cardigan: haha!
What? Cardy, that is not a haha comment!
James Cardigan: ur hair will grow back.
Pearl Linford: soon I hope!
James Cardigan: when r u coming back 2 skool?
Pearl Linford: dunno yet. have been doing all my assignments & stuff but must have missed heaps.
James Cardigan: u’ll catch up. I have faith. :)
Pearl Linford: Thanx. :) how are things?
I take a look at Finn’s page while I’m waiting for Cardy to reply. His status was updated forty-five minutes ago. ‘I don’t want to know.’
What?
That’s about me. That status update is about me. I’m sitting here petrified of a killer with a rock in my head that could kill me if it moves the slightest amount and he knows I want to talk to him but he just DOESN’T WANT TO KNOW.
Oh, screw you, Finn Blacklin. Screw you and your pretty face and your ridiculously hot body and your terrible personality and your –
I freeze.
There it is again. A scratching sound.
Coming from my cupboard.
There’s something in my cupboard.
You checked your cupboard, the rational part of my brain says.
But the rest of my brain isn’t listening.
‘Disey!’ I scream. ‘Disey! Disey! Disey!’
‘Pearlie, what’s wrong?’ Disey exclaims, entering the room at a run. ‘What happened? Are you –’
‘In there,’ I say, almost in tears, pointing at the cupboard. ‘There’s something – there’s something –’
Disey opens the cupboard and pokes about. ‘Pearl, there’s nothing – oh my God, gross!’
And a mouse runs out of the cupboard.
A mouse. A mouse.
I am a moron.
‘I thought – I thought –’ I gulp.
‘God, Pearlie, that’d freak anyone out. Rodents are disgusting. Just the thought of them makes my skin crawl,’ Disey says.
Pearl Linford, you are such an idiot. Screaming like a little kid over a mouse! When will you get it through your head that nothing wants to kill you?
‘Ugh,’ Disey says. ‘I’ll make Shad set traps when he gets back from the Hellbeast’s. Wanna watch some late-night TV? I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep now.’
I agree and we veg out on the couch with microwave popcorn and infomercials. The warm buttery light and the comforting presence of Disey is soothing, and after a little while, I drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep, completely mentally drained.
It’s not till I wake the next day that I remember that Cardy never replied to the last Facebook message I sent him.
Two days later, I’m still on edge, but I’m breathing a little easier, because they have been a spectacularly uneventful two days. Since MouseGate, nothing of note has happened. I no longer jump fifteen feet into the air anytime something moves unexpectedly, and I’m, like, ninety-five per cent sure that this whole conspiracy-something-wants-to-kill-me saga is a product of my overtired mind. Sure, it all seems super, SUPER weird, but I have just been in a coma as a result of a serious head injury, so there is a strong possibility I’m not thinking straight.
But that still leaves five per cent left over. And I can’t explain Finn’s magical healing hair powers at all.
He still hasn’t responded to any of my attempts to contact him, including the notes I’ve given to Phil to give to him under the guise of school captain business. Which means I have to resort to extremely old-school measures.
Landlines.
It’s about six o’clock in the evening. Shad’s not up yet and Disey’s passed out on the couch. I tiptoe past her cautiously – she’s a light sleeper and I know she’s been sleeping even lighter than normal – take the phone book out of the drawer in the dresser and sit at the kitchen bench, where I can still see her if I crane my head.
There are four Blacklins listed in the local area. The first one I try turns out to be his grandparents, and when I ask if Finn is there his grandmother spends a full ten minutes regaling me with tales of his childhood before I manage to escape. The second one is his uncle Joseph, but I hit the jackpot on the third one.
‘Hello, is Finn there?’ I ask.
‘Yes, he is,’ a woman, presumably his mother, replies. ‘Finn!’
‘What?’ I hear him bellow in the background.
‘There’s a girl on the phone for you!’
‘Who is it?’
‘May I ask who’s calling?’ his mother asks me.
‘Pearl,’ I answer.
‘Pearl!’
I hear a scuffle, and the noise of clanking plates. ‘Tell her I’m not here!’ he yells, and there is the sound of a door slamming.
‘I’m sorry, dear, he’s just had to pop out,’ his mother lies smoothly – so smoothly it’s clear she’s done this before. ‘Can I take a message for you?’
I give her my mobile number and ask her to ask him to call me back, but I know he won’t. I put the phone back in the cradle thoughtfully and rest my head against the cool glass of the window. I look at my hand, at the black hair coiled around my finger.
I still haven’t got my brain around this. Finn Blacklin – or at least, Finn Blacklin’s hair – has superpowers. 1) I don’t think I believe in superheroes, so this is a hard concept to grasp; and 2) who on earth would trust him with saving the world?
‘Whatcha up to, Pearlie?’ Disey asks as she walks into the kitchen, yawning.
‘Oh, nothing,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know you were awake.’
‘I think I’m almost too tired to sleep,’ she answers. ‘It’s been an exhausting few weeks.’
I feel a pang of guilt. ‘I’m really sorry, Disey.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ She opens the fridge and inspects the contents. ‘What do you feel like for dinner?’
‘Oh, anything’s fine,’ I say. ‘Don’t make anything too glamorous.’
‘Trust me, I wasn’t going to. The state I’m in, I’d probably set fire to something. Cheese on toast suit you?’
‘Sounds good.’ I get up to put the kettle on, but Disey takes one look at me and stops me in my tracks. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ she says warningly.
‘I’m not an invalid, Disey. I can put the kettle on without the world exploding.’
‘Au contraire, little sister. You are an invalid and I’m already stretching the rules letting you out of bed at all. Sit down.’
I sit down sulkily at the kitchen bench. ‘Can I slice the cheese?’ I ask.
‘No.’
‘Can I butter the bread?’
‘No.’
‘Can I do anything?’
‘No.’
‘Being an invalid is very boring.’
‘You could do your schoolwork.’
‘I have been. Phil brings it by all the time. I’ve been so bored I’ve been voluntarily studying. When can I go back to school?’
‘Next term.’
‘Next term!’ I say in horror. ‘That’s not for weeks yet! I’ll miss all my exams! I’ll miss so much class it won’t even be funny!’
‘Shad and I have sorted it out – sit down! Phil’s going to keep bringing all your work round so you don’t miss anything. The school is going to average out your marks from the first part of the year and use them for your exam marks. Satisfied?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘You don’t understand, Disey. I have to go back to school. I have to.’
‘No, you don’t understand, Pearl!’ Disey explodes. ‘Do you have any conception of how sick you’ve been?! You nearly died! There is a rock s
till in your head that could kill you! You are not going anywhere without Shad or me for at least the next month and probably for the rest of your life! You can make up schoolwork, but we cannot replace you!’
And then my big sister, the bravest person I know, bursts into tears.
‘Dise, I’m sorry,’ I say awkwardly. ‘I didn’t mean –’
‘I know you didn’t – sit down!’ Disey wipes her tears away furiously. ‘Didn’t you listen to a word I just said?’
‘Sorry,’ I say, sitting down again. ‘I won’t move again till you tell me I can. Promise. Swear.’
‘Good,’ Disey says shortly. She turns away from me and pretends to busy herself at the grill, but I know she doesn’t want me to see her crying again. She’s never liked me seeing her as anything other than a pillar of perfect strength.
‘Um, Disey?’ I venture eventually.
‘What?’
‘I think that works better if you turn it on.’
Disey groans and steps back from the grill. ‘I’m sorry, Pearlie, I don’t mean to be such a head case, but –’
‘It’s all right,’ I say. ‘I’d offer to do it for you, but you’d probably tackle me to the ground.’
That makes her laugh, which makes me feel better. ‘You’re not wrong,’ she admits, turning the grill on and sliding the bread underneath. ‘So who were you calling before? I heard you on the phone.’
Her question catches me so off guard that I don’t have time to think up a good lie. ‘Oh, just this guy from school,’ I answer.
‘Cardy?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘Finn. I have some leadership stuff I need to discuss with him – you know how he’s going to be captain with me? – but he won’t come to the phone.’
‘Shad used to do that to me when we were your age,’ Disey says. ‘I’d call him up to ask him to come home and babysit you while Mum was off with the fairies and I needed to go out, and he wouldn’t answer, because he knew that if I actually got to speak to him I’d guilt him into it.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘I used to work out which one of his mate’s houses he was at, then pretend to be his girlfriend to get him on the phone.’
Valentine Page 10
