“Why was she in a bad mood with us?” Laura asked as they walked back out into the heat.
“I don’t know,” Rose answered, and she didn’t. She didn’t even know that woman. She took her phone out from her bag; it had been on Silent in the library. There were two missed calls from Mia and one from the Sage Review. She checked her voice mail. There was one hang-up, one from Mia telling her to call her and one from Damien.
“Hi, Rose, the video is live. We’re getting a great response already. Give me a call.”
Laura was pulling at her hand, and she felt unexpectedly unsteady. She’d wanted to make an impact, but right now, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to deal with the fallout. Maybe no one would see it.
“Are you walking me home?” Laura asked, almost making her overbalance.
“Okay,” she said; she could use the computer in her old room to see what Damien had meant by a great response. She took Laura’s hand and began walking quickly. Laura trotted along next to her, talking more about Tara and vomit, but Rose wasn’t listening. She knew she should be excited about the video, but she wasn’t. Really, she felt a little sick with apprehension.
“Rose!” Laura said, stopping suddenly.
“What?”
“You’re going too fast! My legs aren’t as big as yours!”
She was just about to bend down to apologize when the car going past them honked loudly, making them both jump.
“Bitch!” someone yelled, and then they sped away, tires squeaking.
Laura looked up at her, chin wobbling.
“How about a piggyback?” Rose said.
Laura’s face lit up. “Okay!”
Rose bent down, looking around edgily. It probably had nothing to do with the video; she was just being paranoid. But still, she didn’t want any trouble coming her way with her little sister around.
“Not on the neck, remember?” Rose coughed.
Laura was climbing onto her back and using her neck as a handhold.
“Sorry!” Laura held her shoulders instead. Carefully, Rose stood, the backpack adding to the little girl’s weight so she felt like a turtle.
“Ready?”
“Yeah!”
Rose started running toward home, Laura squealing “Giddyup, horsey!”
By the time they arrived, Rose was sweaty and out of breath but happy to be able to lock the door behind them. Laura wriggled off her and went into her room to change out of her school uniform. Rose went straight to her old room. It looked almost exactly the way she’d left it, except for a few of Sophie’s toys scattered on the floor. She wished that she could turn the fan on and curl up in the bed. But it wasn’t hers anymore. She sat down in front of the computer.
Rose only had to scroll midway down the front page of the Sage Review site to see it. The video she’d nicked from Jean’s security camera. Underneath was the headline Hero Journalist Breaks Up Police Beating. Rose’s mouth actually gaped. She thought the police would be the focus, not her. She didn’t play the video, which already had thirteen thousand views, but scrolled down to the comments. People were angry. But not at Frank and Jonesy. At her.
“Should I be asking for your autograph?”
Rose spun on her chair. Rob was leaning in the doorway behind her.
“Or should I be asking why the hero journalist still hasn’t cleaned all her stuff out?”
Rose resisted the urge to swear at him. If he knew what she was covering up for him, he’d be a lot nicer to her right now. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been smuggling meth.
“That’s why I’m here.”
He stood, surveying her. Then his eyes flicked to the screen behind her. “Making sure it got your best angle?”
She was surprised; Rob wasn’t the kind of guy to read the newspaper, especially online. “You’ve already watched it?”
“Everyone has seen it, Rose. My mother can’t use a computer and even she has watched it.”
“Really?” she asked; nothing had ever moved so quickly in Colmstock. “What are they all saying? Are they shocked?”
She’d done it; she’d actually made a difference. No one could deny the barbarity of Colmstock’s police now.
“They’re shocked at how disloyal you are—they think you’re trying to make a mockery of honorable men.”
“Honorable?”
“Yes, honorable. I know you think you know everything about everyone, but you don’t.”
She leaned back in her chair, just looked at him.
“You need to back off the things you don’t understand.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice threatening to rise.
“I mean exactly what I’m saying. Be careful.”
“Daddy?” Laura called from the kitchen.
“Coming, sweetheart,” he said, then turned back to her. “I’m serious, Rose. People do dumb things when they’re desperate. Or angry. Watch your back.”
* * *
By the time she got to Eamon’s the view count of the video had doubled. She’d thought Rob was being his usual idiot self, but the majority of the comments were similar to what he’d said. And the few comments that weren’t in defense of the police were mainly discussing the size and shape of her arse. There were a few expressions of shock about the attack, but they were the minority, and Rose got the impression that they came from people who didn’t live anywhere near Colmstock.
As she approached the back door of Eamon’s it was like she was walking onto the set from the video. The place had taken on an unreal quality. Her phone rang. It was Damien again. She sat down on the step to answer it.
“Have you seen the reaction?”
“Yes,” she said. “I can’t believe it!”
“It’s incredible. Better than I’d hoped, and you’ve got a platform now too, which is great.”
“A platform? They’re all just calling me a bitch or saying they want to fuck me.”
“Don’t read the comments,” he said, “but be happy you’ve started a discourse.”
“A discourse?” she scoffed.
If he noticed her tone, he didn’t react. “I want that article first thing tomorrow.”
She already had the article written up in her notebook, so that wouldn’t be a problem. But as she walked toward the kitchen she felt slightly sick. The comments were so aggressive, so full of hate. They went around and around in her head. Another article would make everyone even more angry with her.
“Hi,” she said to Jean, as she put her bag down in the kitchen. Jean turned to her, and she could tell that she’d seen it too.
“Everyone’s angry with me,” Rose said. She put a hand over her face, and her throat constricted and a choked sob came out of her. Jean took Rose’s other hand and held it between her two palms.
“I’m not.”
“Really?” Rose asked. “You’re probably the only one.”
Tears were dribbling out of her eyes now. She tried to brush them away.
“I know you were trying to do the right thing,” Jean said warmly, “but you’ve got to understand that this is a man’s world. There’s nothing we can do to change that. The best we can do is try to live in it without getting hurt.”
“But it’s so unfair. Steve didn’t deserve to be bashed, and I don’t deserve to have everyone saying such horrible things.”
Jean’s eyes turned pitying. “Rose, you’re an adult. You won’t survive if you keep being that naive.”
They both turned as Mia walked into the kitchen. Seeing Rose’s wet cheeks, Mia grabbed her into a hug and Rose hugged her back tightly as Jean went back to prepping the kitchen.
“Those bastards,” Mia whispered.
Finally, Mia was seeing the cops for what they were. Rose hoped this included Baz
za. Maybe all this was worth it just to have Mia back on her side. Embarrassed, Rose pulled back and went to the sink. She ran cold water onto her hands and splashed it onto her hot, blotchy face. The worst thing would be for Frank to arrive and see she’d been crying.
“I tried to tell Baz it wasn’t you, but he wouldn’t believe me.”
Rose looked up at her, not understanding.
“I can’t believe they hacked our security system. I knew stuff like that happened, but not here.”
Rose opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Jean cut in, “It’s my fault—I didn’t put a password on it.”
“It’s no one’s fault but theirs.” Mia grabbed a tea towel. Rose followed her toward the bar, but Jean softly touched her elbow.
“Just leave it. You won’t be able to make her understand.”
Rose nodded. Jean was right. She couldn’t deal with anyone else being angry with her.
As the bar started filling up, Mia was extra nice to her. She did most of the serving and let Rose stick to the back. Washing dishes and making runs to the storeroom.
“Did Bazza mention if Frank and Jonesy are in trouble?” she asked Mia quietly, when their punters were sat down with their pints.
“Nah, not really. He said they might have to do some sort of disciplinary action for show, but really it just takes the pressure off a bit. Everyone in town knows how seriously they are taking those notes now.”
Rose couldn’t believe it. She stood still, watching one of the moths bash itself between the red beer sign and the window. She could almost hear the soft thud. She’d be cleaning its carcass off the floor when she swept tonight.
“Not working tonight, hero?” It was Jonesy. He, Bazza and the Father were sitting at their usual table. She’d been avoiding even looking in their direction.
“Leave her alone,” Mia said. “It’s not her fault.”
“Never said it was. I just want my beer poured by Rose. Don’t see why you should be doing all the work.”
Rose grabbed a pint glass, staring Jonesy right in the eye as she filled it. He put his money on the bar and returned to his seat. Arsehole wanted her to bring it to him. Stuffing the money in the register, no tip, she picked up his pint and walked to their table. She was determined to conceal how much it was all getting to her.
“Here.” She went to put it in front of him, but his foot whipped out from under the table, kicking her ankle. She gasped as she half fell forward, saving herself with her hand, but the icy liquid covered her shoes as it splashed onto the floor.
She stared around the table. Jonesy and Bazza stared at her. The Father averted his eyes, but said nothing.
“Didn’t know you were so clumsy,” Jonesy said.
“Didn’t know you were such a fucking prick,” she snapped. “Oh, wait—I did know that.”
She turned to get a rag.
“I’d still like my beer,” he called after her.
She grabbed a dirty tea towel, expecting Mia to offer to help. But she didn’t. Mia didn’t meet her eyes.
As if waiting for the exact right moment, Will walked in. Great. All she needed was this guy, who finally liked her as much as she liked him, seeing her humiliated. Her ankle throbbed where Jonesy had kicked it, but she resisted bending down to rub it. She repoured the beer and stared at Jonesy as she put it on the table, daring him to try it again. He didn’t.
Her face burned as she squatted down to clean the spill as quickly as she could. Trying to hide her blush, she kept her head down, noticing their ankles. That was the point, she supposed. For her to be at their feet. But it was Jonesy’s ankle that got her attention. His pants were hiked up slightly because he was sitting, and there was a gap between his sock and the cuff. His hairy skin was blotchy with a pinkish, scaly rash. Psoriasis. That was why he was scratching himself every time he went outside for a cigarette.
Something cold and wet dribbled down her back. She looked up.
“Sorry,” Jonesy said, and she heard people laughing. Just as she was about to stand, more liquid dripped down her back. He was leaned over her, tipping the contents of his pint onto her head.
“Fuck off!” she yelled, and looking around, she saw people were laughing, smiling behind covered mouths, even Mia. Will stood up, looking confused. No. No way was she going to let these guys have a punch-up over her honor. That was just what they wanted. It was like Jean had said, that it was a man’s world. Fuck that. Walking swiftly to the sink, Rose grabbed the moisturizer Mia used on her hands. She put it down on the table in front of Jonesy.
“Here. This might help with the itchiness.”
Everyone stopped laughing, looking at him in confusion. He opened his mouth to say something else, but she leaned closer.
“My stepdad says hi.”
Jonesy looked at her, and she looked back, refusing to drop her gaze. Then he held up his hands.
“Just having a laugh. Don’t get your knickers in a knot.”
“Right.” She walked back up to the bar.
“Are you okay?” Mia asked.
“As if you care,” she said, not even able to look at her.
* * *
She asked to use Jean’s computer on her break, where she typed up her article and emailed it to the Sage Review. There was nothing like anger to bring back her determination.
SECOND ANONYMOUS LETTER
THREATENS DAUGHTERS
OF COLMSTOCK
by Rose Blakey
The police department of Colmstock has discovered an anonymous letter delivered directly to their station. This is the second letter they have received, but the first to directly threaten the town’s children. The unknown assailant, who has named himself ‘The Doll Collector’, has rocked this small community over the last fortnight. The situation began with five families discovering porcelain dolls left anonymously on their doorsteps. The dolls each bore an uncanny resemblance to the primary-school-aged daughters of the families. The case escalated when the first note was received; now a second note has been exposed by an anonymous source.
I am not sick. I just like to play with dollies but they don’t like to play with me. Pretty hair, pretty faces. When I’m done they won’t be pretty anymore. I think I’ll break one soon.
—The Doll Collector
Despite the explicitness of intent in this letter, the police are still yet to make an arrest. Senior Sergeant Frank Ghirardello, the head of the investigation, refuses to comment on the case. However, a mother of one of the victims, Lucie Hoffman, states that the police have informed her that they still cannot find any connection between the girls. The people of Colmstock are afraid the local enforcement is ill-equipped to handle the seriousness of this case. A video, which can be watched on this paper’s website, depicts Senior Sergeant Ghirardello, along with two other Colmstock police officers, beating a man outside a local bar. The man, whose identity has not been released, has been cleared of all involvement in the Doll Collector case.
30
When Rose checked her phone at the end of her shift, she had seven voice mails. They were all the same: heavy breathing, words like bitch eventually whispered into the phone.
She was uneasy waiting for Jean’s car to pull out of the tavern’s car park. No one but Will knew she was sleeping at the tavern, but still, crouching next to the police station didn’t feel as safe as it once had. Above her, a bushy-tailed possum jumped from the tavern roof onto the power lines, and the sound almost made Rose have a heart attack. When Jean’s taillights finally disappeared from view, she straightened and crossed the car park, around to the side of the building.
As she walked toward the stairs, she took out her keys. She held the longest one between two of her fingers, gripped it tight. The sound of heavy footsteps. She turned, already knowing who was behind her. Jonesy. They looke
d at each other, neither speaking. This wasn’t a game anymore. There was no audience for either of them to prove themselves to. If she yelled out, Will might hear her. But Jonesy wouldn’t hurt her. He just wanted to intimidate her.
“What did he tell you?” he said.
She looked between him and the stairs. If she ran she might make it, but she didn’t want him to know that she was scared of him. If he knew that, he would have won.
“Who?” she said, although she knew exactly who he meant.
“Rob.”
“Nothing,” she said, stepping backward without being able to stop herself. “I was only kidding.”
Three steps and he was right in her face, pushing her into the wall, and she cried out in surprise at the pain of the brick scraping into the bare flesh of her shoulder. His forearm pressed across her chest so she couldn’t move, and he whispered into her ear.
“Just remember what I did to Steve. He’s on the council and I fucked him up. You’re a little slut with a death wish. No one will even blink if something happens to you.”
The back door swung open.
“Hey!”
Jonesy released her and was gone. She fell forward, her hands on her thighs.
“Rose?” Will pounded down the stairs. “Who was that? Are you okay?”
There was too much going on in Rose’s head for her to speak. She couldn’t breathe.
“Come on,” Will said. He grabbed her hand and led her to the stairs.
Her knees were wobbly. She slipped on the bottom stair. Her head felt light and cold; it spun. If they beat the shit out of Steve for nothing, what the hell would they do to her?
Police Reap Bloody Revenge on Local Journalist.
“Sit down,” Will said. He pulled her onto the stair. Her vision was starting to swim. His face was out of focus.
She put her head forward, her throat clenching, sure she was going to be sick. Her body was heavy but she wanted to run, to get away. He was right. If they found that it was her who wrote the notes, they’d do more than just bash her.
Little Secrets Page 20
