Gerda knew she was to blame, but she still didn’t understand. Kai was different at the party, keen to take anything offered. Was there something she didn’t know? Had he somehow developed a habit?
Gerda thought of the two men in the bathroom: their wary faces and calculating eyes. She remembered the pipe they’d shared earlier that night. A man with the same hard edges had offered it for free. But the truth was, he wanted something back. Sex or money or pain, she sensed it didn’t matter which. It wasn’t a gift . . . just a lure to trap you in their web. Did Kai leave home because he knew the men would hunt them?
Then Gerda remembered the girl from Norway, who’d watched everything unfold at the party, watched with her ice-cool stare. Was she somehow significant in this? Gerda thought of the remote, empty glitter in the tall girl’s eyes. But they flared with heat and hunger when she turned to look at Kai. Maybe that explained it all – the resentment and the tantrum and the fact he’d disappeared. Maybe Kai was off with the ice girl now . . . wrapped in her nest at the North Pole, working on getting warm! Doing mouth-to-mouth on those cold blue lips . . . bringing her back to life!
Gerda began to feel angry, playing it over in her mind. She wasn’t jealous, she was seething. Kai’s yelling had buffeted his grandma like a wind-battered tree. Grandma refused to worry out loud, to wonder where he’d gone, or why. She used the voice she used for dead friends. Kai had gone out into the world, and would come back when he was ready. Even Gerda’s own parents weren’t overly concerned. In that maddening way of adults, they seemed intent on ignoring the big questions, worrying instead that the unseasonal cold would send up the heating bills, and what they might eat for tea.
Gerda sat shivering in her room, a chilly premonition shaping inside her. As her thoughts whirled, the air itself froze, and the city turned into a snow dome. Even the swan’s wings of the Opera House were dusted white. There were power cuts and car crashes and snow had to be shovelled so you could open your front door. There’d been ice on the lake before, but never thick enough to walk on.
Beanie, scarf, gloves, two hoodies, coat, and three pairs of socks later, Gerda blundered along the path to the park, being the abominable snow girl. She went slipping and skating and purposely not thinking of Kai and whether he’d be cold. She even smiled at the makeshift sleds, and the swarms of kids learning to skate. She lumbered around the edge, throwing snowballs with littlies, the mirror-ball sun sinking and ice crystals dancing in the light. Soon the lake was lit with fireflies, kids carrying torches and glowsticks, racing and dodging and crashing. Then the fireflies parted, and Gerda rubbed her eyes. The light was indistinct, but out in the centre – surely it wasn’t real – she made out a skidoo. To think the ice was holding its weight! She knew from movie chases that they ran on snow or ice. As it glided closer Gerda saw its opalescent paint and the running surf of the rider’s hair.
Then the breath froze in her throat. It couldn’t be . . . but incredibly it was . . . the snow girl from the party. There was no mistaking her: the same aristocratic nose, the white-blonde hair, and the haughty stare. Sitting rigid as an ice queen. Gerda’s heart leapt. Maybe, maybe she’d see Kai. But the ice queen rode alone, in the stunning fur-lined coat Gerda remembered from the party, with rabbit-tail pom-poms dancing.
Out near the centre, a sledder flagged down the skidoo. A kid in bulky clothing looped a rope through a tow-ring and attached an old surfboard. Gerda strained to see the boy who’d cheekily asked the ice queen for a tow. Then the skidoo roared off, spinning its load in a dizzying rush, skaters scrambling to safety. Gerda’s heart clutched – surely the kid had to crash! But he held on gamely and they blurred through another lap. Were her eyes playing tricks? It was Kai! She stumbling along the edge of the lake towards the sledder, calling Kai’s name till her lungs hurt. The boy looked behind him once, as though in slow motion or a dream, and there was no hint of recognition. Then the skidoo slid up out of the lake, the surfboard-turned-sled bumping behind. As they sped down the icy street, the sledder turned and she saw his demented grin.
Gerda ached to howl her hurt and confusion. The magic thread in her chest was stretched taut and ready to rip her heart out through her ribs. It had to be Kai! She ran for the gates, desperate to keep them in sight. She climbed one massive stone gatepost and balanced on top, scanning the road that snaked down the valley below. The light was nearly gone, and she’d lost them. She stood there forever, teetering, freezing: frightened she’d fall if she gave in and cried. The last rays of sun caught a sudden sharp glint. She made out the white bullet and dark shape behind. It came smoothly to a large V in the road and veered south-east. They’d skirted the city and taken the highway south.
Gerda lay in bed, wide awake. South. They’d taken the highway south. Her legs were heavy as logs from blundering through the snow, but her mind shied away from counting sheep. They were heading down the coast. Finally she gave up trying to sleep, and dressed layer by layer, with the sensation of a reluctant sleepwalker. She loaded her backpack with toothpaste, hairbrush, knickers, socks, jeans, jumper, and only one personal thing: her diary. Guilt gnawing her, Gerda searched the cupboards for the two mohair rugs, whose staid patterns and colours she hated: she was taking them from her mother, who loved them. They were light and very warm. And she took a roll of garbage bags – somehow she’d have to keep everything dry. Gerda took her secret stash, saved from school lunches and excursions, hidden in her bottom drawer. She even gathered the coins from under the couch cushions. Then, stomach growling, she raided the cupboard and the fridge. Now poor Mum would have to stump down to the shops again, trying to stretch her housekeeping money until pension day.
Gerda crept out the front door, slapped at once by the icy air and the enormity of what she was doing. Sighing, she pulled the door shut. When her parents found she’d run away, they’d think she hated them. But that wasn’t true! Should she leave them a note? She hesitated but knew she must go at once or her determination might melt, a snowman shrinking in the sun. She’d find Kai and be home before her food ran out. It would only take a few days. Grandma would be overjoyed, and Kai wouldn’t hate her anymore.
Gerda walked briskly, shutting out the cold, refusing to think backwards, only forwards. To the next street corner, to the next row of shops. She counted the steps and marched. The rooftops were dusted with icing sugar, and she walked on hard, bruising ice, but her hiking boots cushioned her feet and braced her ankles when she slipped. The city at 4.00 am was foreign to Gerda, and captivating. No cars or people barging. She walked down the middle of the street, for fun. She studied the windows and shop-fronts. Some shops had ancient ornate plastering, while the newer ones had strong lines and daring colours. Gerda mused. The windows held the glamour she’d read about in fairytales. It was glamour that seduced you to go inside the fairy hill, or do the bidding of the little folk. Some shops were neglected, with cracked windows and drunken verandahs. Gerda stared into the stylised faces of shop-window dummies, thinking of the ice queen, looking for a sign . . . but all she saw were her own anxious eyes. When a face reared up at her inside a window, she shuddered. A man in a duffle coat glared at her, waving something: Piss off. It was a TV remote – he was trying to switch her off! The shop was one of the sad ones, with ‘Bargans’ scrawled on the glass. Gerda hurried away, scanning nervously. Was he a psycho shopkeeper? Or did he just live there after dark?
The streetlights were getting scarce. What would she do if . . .? Gerda was slight but fairly tall, and she knew her heavy coat bulked her up. She looked big in the windows. Her hair was pulled up under her beanie, and she thought she might pass for a man, especially in the dark. She’d heard you carried your keys between your fingers, so you could poke someone in the eyes. She wedged her keys between her knuckles, fumbling in her gloves. She imagined the news bulletin: Girl Found Frozen – Murdered? They’d say she ran away from everything, yet she was running towards it, trying to find Kai and make things right. She’d never imagined a life where
Kai didn’t live next door. But was this just a wild-goose chase? She didn’t really know if she’d seen Kai, or where they might be heading, just that they’d taken the highway south. But she’d definitely seen the ice girl, so surely the sledder was Kai? A girl like that wouldn’t give just anyone a tow, Gerda guessed. She probably had some . . . igloo . . . down south, somewhere in the hills. She and Kai were probably toasting marshmallows in her snow castle right now. Gerda imagined bursting in on them, and her smirk died as she pictured Kai’s cold stare. Gerda remembered the girl’s face, and her predatory eyes. She hadn’t seen the girl smile, even when they were introduced. She tried to visualise it, but all she could see was a canine snout, a baring of the teeth. Snow wolf. The words popped into her mind again. Even if Kai ended up despising her, Gerda knew she must continue. She didn’t want to turn off the main road – something told her to head due south. Gerda yearned to believe it was a remnant of her connection with Kai – now just a frayed thread, stretched tight. She didn’t even see the body she bumped into.
‘Watch it!’ a cement-mixer voice growled, face hidden in shadow. A hard shove, and Gerda went down, her heart trying to hammer its way out of her chest.
‘Shit!’ She was an upturned beetle pinned by the weight of her pack. Her bum stung with cold. So much for self-defence. She scrambled upright, backing away from the man as light fell on his face. Or was it a woman? Gerda couldn’t be sure in the light. A woman, she decided, wearing overalls. Like Gerda, a woman trying to pass for a man.
‘What did you do that for?’ Gerda yelled, but she already knew the answer.
‘Back off – you bumped me, buddy boy,’ the woman said, stabbing the air aggressively. Her breath made cauliflower clouds.
Gerda saw the crazy way the woman’s eyes chased her own. In a flash of insight, Gerda realised the woman was frightened of her.
‘Look. I’m not trying to rob you or anything, okay?’ she said, deliberately softening her voice.
The woman peered at her, frowning. ‘You’re a girl!’ she shrieked, as though it was an enormous joke.
The woman’s hair was black with a skunk streak down the middle; dyed, wavy and swept into a bun. She was unusually tall with a strong, square chin, but Gerda found herself imagining the woman in bright tangerine lipstick with a beauty spot, right there. Then it dawned on her – she was a trannie, a transsexual. Did she live here, on the streets? Probably got belted every second night, just for being what she was . . . he, she – whatever.
‘We’ll be best friends!’
Shit, Gerda thought. Will it be like this all the way?
‘Will you be my friend, doll? I am so very much in need. I am so tired of acting, you know?’ the woman said, lifting a huge invisible bowl with her arms. ‘I’m sure that’s something you understand,’ she said, giving Gerda a wink as though they shared a secret. ‘Acceptance,’ she enunciated, to an unseen audience. ‘Companionship. Even love. Isn’t that all we crave? Any of us?’
Uh-huh, Gerda thought. If you say so. But she sensed there could be safety in numbers. If this woman – person, whoever – could wander the streets at 5.00 am then Gerda could probably learn something. She was ancient – she must have survived for hundreds of years.
‘What’s your name?’ Gerda asked.
The woman just waited. Gerda shrugged. ‘Mine’s Gerda.’
‘Gerda! I would have called you Snowdrop, or perhaps Tiger Lily,’ the woman said. Gerda noticed the floppy skin under her strong, upthrust chin. ‘Something less plain,’ she said, staring somewhere beyond Gerda’s eyes ‘. . . to offset that . . . aura of the everyday. But, Gerda it is.’
‘Hmm,’ Gerda said, feeling that same sense of quiet desperation you feel when you’re cornered by a loser at a party.
‘My name is Hyacinth,’ the woman announced.
‘Um, nice to meet you, Hyacinth,’ Gerda said. ‘What . . . um . . . where do you live?’
‘Young lady, I should be asking you that question!’ Hyacinth crowed. ‘Perhaps you think I am homeless . . .’
Gerda was.
‘Not true. I walk at nights because I cannot sleep after four o’clock. I have a lovely warm bed. Shall I show you?’
‘Ahh . . . no. I have to keep going.’
‘No, child! No! But I insist.’ Hyacinth suddenly looked a little more clued-in. ‘This is your first time away from home, isn’t it?’
Gerda nodded unwillingly.
‘Then you must be more careful,’ she said.
They walked south, so Gerda told herself it was all right. Hyacinth strode along, hiding the hint of a limp. Gerda realised she should act as well. She swung her arms, feeling looser and more relaxed.
‘Is it a boy?’ Hyacinth asked abruptly.
Gerda nodded, feeling ashes of misery settle over her again. Meeting Hyacinth, she’d forgotten Kai for a little.
‘Yeah. But not like you think,’ she said. Hyacinth had very long legs in her overalls and a high little pot belly that sat just under her . . . boobs? Hmm.
Hyacinth threw back her head and laughed a rich laugh. ‘It’s never like we think, darling!’ she said.
‘No, really,’ Gerda said. She wondered how on earth to explain. ‘We were best friends. We live next door. Then something happened . . . I don’t really know what. Now he hates everything he used to love. And he just took off; nobody knows where.’
‘Is it another girl?’ Hyacinth asked. As though she’d written the script.
‘No. Yes. I think so,’ Gerda said. ‘But really it’s not what you think.’
‘So why did you go after him, deary?’ Hyacinth asked gently.
Gerda ignored the deary. She gulped, gravel in her throat. ‘I’m not jealous. Really. He’s my best friend and I’m worried. I just want to know he’s okay.’
‘Okay,’ Hyacinth echoed dreamily. ‘Okay. I think I understand.’
For some time they’d been walking beside the tall wrought-iron fence of the botanic gardens. Without warning Hyacinth started pushing her way into a section of the fence flanked by a thick hedge. Gerda saw that she was trying to squeeze through a big hole bent in the bars. It looked as if it had been hacked out by an axe-murderer.
Old Hyacinth had a definite limp, and a wheezing kind of cough. Gerda felt certain she could outrun her if she needed to. She wriggled through the hedge and they trudged on, Hyacinth humming.
‘Hyacinth . . .’ Gerda started.
‘You’ll see, darling,’ Hyacinth said. ‘It’s not often I have company, but I feel I can trust you enough to show you my humble abode.’
Unsettling thoughts needled Gerda. Nobody else in the world knew where she was. But she couldn’t make an excuse, could she? Hyacinth would be offended if she disappeared now.
‘Hyacinth . . .’ Gerda heard her own voice, hesitant and pathetic. She spoke up. ‘Hyacinth, I really have to go, now.’
Hyacinth swung around and Gerda tensed, ready to run.
But Hyacinth looked crestfallen.
‘Gerda. Your people have obviously told you from a babe not to trust complete strangers. I can tell you come from a good family,’ she said. ‘But do humour me, eh? A poor old woman, just a remnant of the star I once was.’ Her eyes were large and liquid.
Gerda swore to herself. Excellent. Now she was trapped because she mustn’t offend the axe-murderer.
Then they were facing the statue of a man weighed down by a heavy coat, a sad-eyed man wearing one of those hats you saw on shuffling blokes in black and white movies about the Depression.
‘This section is called the Arthur Stace Memorial Garden,’ Hyacinth said reverently.
‘Who’s Arthur Stace?’ Gerda asked, wondering how such a dishevelled man had earned himself a statue. ‘Was he in the war or something?’
‘A war of sorts,’ Hyacinth said. ‘He’s the Eternity Man.’
It made no sense.
‘Let’s go in.’ Hyacinth dug away snow with a branch and heaved out a huge grey flagstone near the base o
f the statue. She pulled out a little torch and Gerda saw it light a black pit.
‘No—’ Gerda said, feeling her mouth go dry and her spine prickle. She could just make out the fence.
Hyacinth was trying to usher her into a tunnel.
Gerda folded her arms and planted her feet, looking Hyacinth in the eye.
‘I am not going down there,’ she said.
Hyacinth picked her up by the coat with terrifying strength. Gerda shrieked as the she-man pushed her down the hole, face first into the dirt. Staring blindly into the pit that must be her grave, Gerda shrieked and chewed gravel. Whatever tortures waited, she knew she had to fight to her last spit and dribble of strength.
Rocks punched her ribs and her body bumped down until there was nowhere left to fall. She scrabbled forwards, upwards, and burst into the mottled light of a vast green room. She was caught in a whirlpool of tropical heat, trapped in a room full of plants. A hothouse. With a lunatic.
What could she do? Knee him in the groin? Did Hyacinth the she-man have a groin to knee? Was this it, was this really the end? And Gerda thought she’d just go and save Kai!
Hyacinth came at her bellowing, face elongated, eyes fizzing like cartoon dynamite. Gerda just let her run, then stepped aside lightly and tripped her, too easily. The she-devil cannoned into a huge stone pot and Gerda heard a knuckle-crack, felt her own stomach lurch, and saw Hyacinth wobble, then drop. She lay still. Gerda’s throat filled and she was fighting vomit, or maybe tears. Had she killed her? Hyacinth’s head rested against the pot, which was cracked clean through and spilling bright bougainvillea. Gerda heaved for breath, sweat streaming off her. A worm of blood crawled out Hyacinth’s ear. Time froze. Although the head looked disconnected, it gave a long sigh. Is this murder? Gerda wondered, as if watching it happen to herself. Gerda cursed Kai to the North Pole.
At last, Hyacinth shook her head like a dog with water in its ears. Incredibly, she staggered to her knees and focused on Gerda unsteadily. Where were the exits? Now Hyacinth was on her feet, swaying. Not the tunnel – Hyacinth knew it intimately, whereas Gerda was blinded and terrified. The green room had doors at either end, but they’d be locked. Would they open from the inside?
The Wilful Eye Page 10
