Next came fruit and pots of melted white chocolate. Then fingers of single-malt whisky and liqueurs. Then rambling and hilarious ghost stories and retrospective birthdays toasting. Then a pot of tea that nobody touched because we were already asleep. Then just darkness and our thoughts, and a hangover that, for once, might be worth it.
35
We blew into Fremantle on an icy northern wind. One bridge was still intact, the other busted apart by a floating cargo liner. A city-bound train stood rigid and ready at the station. Doors still open. Something furry darting inside as we rode past. The heritage streets were wide and empty like a western. Alfresco furniture clinked and clattered outside cafes and restaurants. Where tables were missing we found them across the street, hurled up with their umbrellas by giant gusts of winter wind.
There were no signs of Bulls that we could make out. Instead the port town had been overrun by birds. Seagulls perched hawkish and dirty on hotel balconies. Flocks of river birds thundered across from the Swan to fill the sky with shifting patterns of silver and black. Tiny wrens bombed down from rafters to circle us before disappearing back into hidden nooks. Chess skipped along at our feet, fighting every instinct to bark, chase and scatter them all.
We drifted the main streets with no real plan of how we might find Georgia, or anyone else for that matter. The stores we passed were mostly intact or already open at the time of the Disappearance. Nothing we saw suggested that the town had been heavily inhabited like the city and elsewhere. Eventually Lizzy pulled up between the old market building and football stadium. At a roundabout a statue of a famous footballer had been caked in white by the birds. Lizzy circled the guy and looked around, then rolled over to join the rest of us.
‘So, what’s the plan?’ she asked.
Our search had landed inevitably on my shoulders.
‘She was hoping to meet up with some Artists that were living in the west end of town. There are these big old Victorian houses down there,’ I said.
‘Doesn’t sound creepy at all,’ said Taylor.
‘Which way is that from here?’ asked Lizzy, keen to keep moving.
Sophie found west and pointed it out for us.
We set off and bumped down a road littered with Norfolk pine needles. This led to a park and then onto the fishing boat harbour. We walked our bikes across the thick spongy grass and out onto the decks and promenades of the marina. The air was thick with salt and the remnants of long-forgotten fishing hauls. Most of the boats we could see were still tethered neatly to their moorings. Beyond them, though, we glimpsed another giant cargo liner that had gently run aground, this time on a southern swimming beach. Past the breweries and seafood restaurants was a maritime museum and the start of the Victorian buildings.
This was old Fremantle. Towering facades of decorative brickwork and grand late-Georgian entrances. I think most of the buildings were part of a university now, but maybe there were other inhabitants too. These were the type of streets you could walk often without ever knowing what lay inside each door.
Lizzy yelled a hello and we listened as it bounced around the concrete.
Nothing came in reply.
We passed a couple of cafes and a restaurant where the doors stood ajar and the shelves were emptied inside.
‘There’s gotta be somebody around here somewhere,’ said Taylor.
She looked up at the buildings. Most had three storeys and likely dozens of rooms inside. There was a thud from somewhere behind her. Lizzy was kicking at one of the large arching doors. Taylor sighed. It was weird to see them reversing roles from Carousel.
Sophie and I moved over to help her.
The door was heavy and wouldn’t flinch for any of us.
‘Wouldn’t you leave it open if you were living here?’ asked Taylor.
The three of us stopped and looked at her.
‘Think about it. You probably wouldn’t have a key to begin with and even if you did it’s not like you can go to Walmart to make copies for your friends. If I really wanted to live in one of these weirdo Tim Burton mansions, and I managed to find a way inside, I would be leaving the front door open rather than running down fifty levels whenever I got a visitor,’ said Taylor.
‘Depends on the visitor, I guess,’ I replied.
‘Yeah, but this place is way deserted compared to, like, anywhere else we have seen,’ said Taylor.
‘Okay. Do you guys want to check the doors over that side of the road while me and Nox try this side?’ suggested Lizzy.
‘Sure,’ answered Sophie for her.
We set off riding door to door like posties. Nothing opened on the first street, but halfway along the second Lizzy and I heard a screech and turned to see Taylor and Sophie peering inside the doorway of a tall grey building titled Humanities.
‘It wasn’t locked?’ asked Lizzy as we joined them in the doorway.
‘Nope,’ said Taylor, knowingly.
I stepped past them and looked around at the shadowy space.
There wasn’t much to the entrance. Just a dusty reception area and a large wooden staircase heading up to the second and third levels.
Sophie leaned over the reception desk.
‘Look. Torches,’ she said.
She picked up a regular looking torch and tested it out. The light came on first go.
‘For the trip up the stairs?’ I suggested.
‘Hello?’ yelled Lizzy, abruptly.
The three of us jumped and Taylor glared at her. There was no answer. We rested our bikes by the staircase and took out our own torches.
‘Switch your radios on, too,’ said Taylor.
We fumbled around and clipped them to our pockets and belts. I glanced at Taylor and saw the anxiety that had swiftly consumed her face. She had lost us once already and wasn’t planning on having it happen again.
The stairs creaked beneath us but weren’t layered with dust like others I had seen. On the first level we found tutorial rooms, some toilets and a long room at the back of the building that was strangely empty.
‘What’s the deal in here?’ asked Lizzy.
We torched around the dim space, finding nothing but floorboards.
‘Did you say that Georgia was an actress, Nox?’ asked Sophie.
‘Yeah,’ I replied.
The three of us looked at Sophie.
‘Don’t you think this looks like a drama space,’ said Sophie. ‘You know, like for workshops and rehearsals.’
‘Oh yeah. It totally does,’ said Taylor.
I was starting to freak out at the idea that Georgia could actually be there somewhere. What the hell was I going to say to her? When I replayed the invitation to join her in Fremantle it felt blasé and casual. Not the trigger for some dramatic reunion.
Lizzy led us up the second flight. There were more classrooms and a line of offices for academics. One side of the building had been altered some time ago to form a small lecture theatre. The whiteboard at the front was scrawled with text about some type of theatre movement. The writing was faded, but from how long ago we couldn’t tell. The staircase to the final floor had a sign reading Staff Only. We headed up there and finally found where the Artists had been living.
What was once a lunch area and meeting room had been transformed into a kind of bohemian sleepout. There were mattresses on the floors and a pile of sheet and blanket sets. Couches circled tables full of candles and books. There was a kitchenette with some portable gas cookers and a scattering of canned food. Clothing racks lined with an assortment of men’s and ladies’ jackets, pants and jumpers. We quietly wandered the abandoned space until Taylor spotted a fourth staircase. It was smaller than the other three and led us out onto a gusty rooftop terrace.
There was nobody out there either. Crusty deckchairs and beer bottles full of cigarette butts spoke of distant summer parties. A few buckets and funnels were strewn about in an attempt to catch water, but otherwise it seemed as though the terrace had been left alone since the season turned. It was
a pity, given the panoramic view it offered over the harbour, park and patchwork rooftops of old Fremantle.
We shivered up there for a few moments, then headed back inside.
‘What do you think?’ Lizzy asked me.
‘It looks like what she described to me at the casino,’ I replied.
Lizzy nodded, but didn’t seem convinced. I wasn’t either really.
Taylor and Sophie were digging around the kitchen.
‘It doesn’t seem like anyone has been here for at least a day or two,’ said Sophie.
‘Do you think they went to find food?’ said Taylor.
‘Maybe,’ replied Sophie. ‘There’s not a lot left here.’
I hung in the middle of the room as the others did their best to pretend that we weren’t in a rush. I wished that I could sense Georgia’s presence or find a telltale piece of jewellery that would confirm her history there.
‘Wait. Do you see a diary anywhere?’ I asked, rummaging through the tables.
The others joined me.
‘What does it look like?’ asked Sophie.
‘Just a regular diary. But it’s from last year,’ I replied.
The four of us dug around for the best part of half an hour. We found a random collection of paperbacks, and a couple of notepads, but no diaries. Eventually I gave up so that the others would feel okay to do the same.
We lingered up there for a moment. Nobody really knew what to say. We could search some of the other buildings, but I think we all knew that we had already found what we were looking for. Maybe we had just been too late.
Taylor seemed to pick up on the silent panic building in my chest.
‘Oh well. Let’s wait here for a bit. See if anybody comes back,’ she said.
She looked at the others for support. Sophie’s came easily; Lizzy’s took a moment longer.
36
We had just over a week to get back to Carousel. It seemed like more than enough time, but waiting up in that building had all of us on edge.
Lizzy felt it the worst. She would pace up and down from the rooftop. Grill me for anything on Georgia that I might have forgotten. Take Chess out for impromptu walks that Taylor insisted on joining.
Something had shifted in Lizzy since reuniting with her twin. It was as if she had grown tired of fate. Up until now she had played along with the world as well as anyone. She had made her art. Joined the communities. Bought into the Prix de Rome. Yet the world had given her nothing in return. Just a broken memory of her mother that raised more questions than answers. I got the feeling that now that she had found her sister, Lizzy wanted nothing but to get the hell out of here before something else could happen. And I totally got it.
For Taylor and Sophie the anxiety was less obvious. They were still a bit awkward around each other – or maybe just around each other in a poky bohemian sleepout with two other people – but together they also radiated a calming positivity. Their relationship proved that good things could happen in this world. They gave off a John and Yoko type of vibe and I was seriously grateful for it.
We had been there two nights already and more than once I had stood staring at the ocean from the rooftop and all but decided that we should leave. For all we knew Georgia and whoever else was once here could have already heard of the Prix de Rome and be on their way back to their Residencies. But each time I returned inside to tell the others, Taylor and Sophie would stop what they were doing and offer such reassuring and steadfast smiles that I would forget about it completely.
On the third day I was on the rooftop watching a swirling breeze shuffle through the Norfolks when Taylor surfaced alone to join me. She leant back on the bricks beside me and looked around at the green and grey patchwork of Fremantle.
‘I prefer this to our last rooftop,’ she said.
‘Totally,’ I replied.
I glanced at her. ‘Do you think we should leave a note and get moving?’ I asked.
‘It’s not that far to Carousel, really. And Sophie’s Residency is pretty much on the way. We still have some time,’ replied Taylor.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
We stared out at the ocean for a while.
‘Hey I’ve been meaning to ask you about your writing,’ said Taylor.
‘What about it?’ I asked, cautiously.
‘When we were about to leave the hills you were worried about whether there would be time for it on the road yeah?’ she asked.
I nodded.
‘So?’ she asked.
‘I’ve done a bit of stuff,’ I replied.
‘Lizzy said you lost some work at the Auroraport?’
I nodded, but didn’t elaborate.
‘That sucks, Nox. I totally get why you wouldn’t want to start over right away,’ said Taylor.
It was a weird thing for her to say. I got the familiar sense that once again Taylor Finn knew more about me than I realised.
‘Did you guys hear anything about Tommy while you were staying at the beach?’ I asked, changing the subject.
‘Nope. He’ll be okay though. Tommy is a tough little dude,’ she replied.
‘I hope so.’
I turned and glanced up at the hills. They were hazy and distant, but I could make out a tinge of green amid the grey and black.
‘I was thinking of taking something back to Carousel for Rocky,’ said Taylor. ‘Any ideas?’
‘Aside from a sick BMX?’ I replied.
‘Yeah. Or a Commodore,’ joked Taylor.
‘I don’t know. Rocky had pretty weird taste,’ I said.
‘I guess we all did when we were his age,’ said Taylor. ‘Lizzy had a sexy poster of Lisa Kudrow on her wall for most of junior high.’
I laughed and Taylor joined me.
‘Seriously?’
She nodded and laughed some more.
‘Holy shit. I can’t believe I just told you that. Nobody knows about that,’ said Taylor.
‘It will be pretty safe with me here,’ I said and immediately wondered whether I had let on too much about my plans.
Taylor didn’t seem to notice.
‘I really want to get him a hacky sack, but who knows where we would find one,’ said Taylor.
We stood in silence for a while and enjoyed the patchy sunshine.
‘Did Ed say whether everyone that was back at a Residency on September second would go home?’ she asked.
‘You mean Rocky?’ I asked.
She nodded.
I shook my head.
‘I don’t think he has the full picture yet. It sounded like more of a gut feeling. He said to me, this is what I think, not what I know,’ I said.
Taylor and I gazed out at the ocean and mulled this over for a while.
A folk singer’s intuition.
Without a doubt Ed’s was stronger than most. It had probably even given birth to a lot of his great songs. But it wasn’t much for an entire city to be pinning its hopes on.
37
That night we were woken by garbled static on Taylor’s radio.
I was tired and dopey and needed time to confirm that it wasn’t part of my dream. I had been up late writing a note to leave for Georgia. I told her about my meeting with Ed and the Prix de Rome. About how important it was that she got back to her Residency in time, even if the whole thing sounded crazy. At the end of the note I added that I should have gone with her to Fremantle, but I was glad that I didn’t because now my friends might be able to get home. I told her I had freaked out when she asked me because being with her felt like part of the future, not the shitty present, or the distant past. Finally I told her that I might not be around after September second, but that it didn’t mean I wouldn’t be okay.
I had no idea how to sign off so I stupidly drew a smiley face beside my name. The eyes were too close together and it looked weird. I cursed and considered starting over, but couldn’t deal with writing all of that stuff again. So I pocketed the note and planned to tell Sophie and the Finns that I was ready to leave w
hen they woke in the morning.
But then Taylor had forgotten to turn off her radio after an evening walk with Lizzy.
‘What is that?’ said Lizzy from across the room.
Taylor shuffled around in the dark. Sophie’s torch came on, then Lizzy’s.
‘Taylor?’ asked Lizzy.
‘It’s my radio,’ she replied.
The noise came again. It was dirty and broken, but it sounded like a human voice.
I sat upright and turned on my torch. Taylor and Sophie were huddled over the radio, listening intently.
‘Is there … in Fremantle? We’re … boat … the lighthouse. Please … us.’
The three of them looked at me. The voice was shrill and panicked.
And American.
‘It’s her,’ I said.
Fremantle had lighthouses on each side of the harbour. The south light was close to town and flashed green. The north light was all the way back across the river and pulsed an ominous, distant red. We pulled on shoes, wheeled out our bikes and radioed over and over again. Green or red? Green or red? Green or red?
Finally there was a tiny broken crackle.
‘Red.’
The streets were pitch-dark and bristling with wind. Sophie’s handlebar lights threw manic beams of blue across roads, buildings and the skulking form of Chess as we raced through the west end grid, then powered toward the working bridge. The radio chatter grew sparse, then stopped altogether as we crossed over the river.
I was working from memory and hoped to hell that I hadn’t turned too early as we swung left and cut under the train line. There was ocean ahead of us somewhere. The fizzing rumble of shore break consumed the night air. We passed another railway track and the hulking cubes of shipping containers and warehouses. Abruptly the road stopped and our lights found only dunes ahead of us.
Beyond Carousel Page 19
