by Leanne Hall
‘Did you really go to boxing training or were you in a fight?’
‘Boxing training is fighting.’
Nia makes a face. ‘No, it’s not. I’ve seen Rocky. Boxing training is skipping and punching that bag-thing. Even when you do get biffed, you’re wearing an entire mattress strapped to your head, so you don’t get hurt.’
‘I’m not making it up.’ Not really. I roll over and sigh. ‘I haven’t told you about my day yet. I was going to.’
‘Okay.’
Her voice is anxious enough for me to turn my head to look at her.
‘I saw Doctor Gregory.’
‘On your own?’
I nod. ‘He put a letter through my door this morning and I arranged to meet him. I knew he was baiting me, but I thought it was the quickest way to find out more.’
‘What happened?’
‘Do you remember Sanjay from the club saying Paul was the teacher’s pet?’
‘He said Paul paid for his dreams differently.’
‘According to Doctor Gregory, Paul got the pills in exchange for giving him information about me.’
‘No…What sort of information?’ Nia’s eyes are wide.
‘Beats me. He didn’t say. But he got to enjoy telling me my best friend has been stabbing me in the back for god knows how long, and I knew nothing about it.’
Nia puts her arm over my shoulder. She thinks for a minute. ‘I want to say that Doctor Gregory must be lying, but when I talked to Paul that night, when I deleted the photo, he was guilty about something. Something was eating him up inside, and it wasn’t all about Ingrid.’
I move closer to her and bury my face into her neck. Only once I’m close do I worry about how I smell after the amount I’ve sweated today. It’s too late, so I try to put it out of mind.
Nia’s bare leg bumps against mine. ‘Are you okay?’ she asks.
‘I don’t know.’ I lean half-out of the bed to retrieve the book. ‘I’ve been reading more of this book. I didn’t find anything more about Night Sickness, but I did find something even more interesting.’
Nia snuggles in to look at the book with me. When I turn the cover over and see the W&S stamp again, I realise for the first time that Blake gets her books from Amelia. WOOKEY & SALAMON. Man, I’m slow.
‘Look at this photograph.’
‘Where’s the cathedral?’ asks Nia. ‘I’ve never seen it.’
‘There isn’t one, that’s the thing. But read this bit.’ I point to the paragraph about the cathedral and the last period of Eternal Night.
‘“Daylight returned in March the following year, ending what had been the Third Night,”’ Nia reads. ‘That is so cool. This has all happened before. Why don’t you look happy?
‘It’s—I don’t know. It’s weird to think about the Darkness happening here before.’
‘But it’s going to end—isn’t that good news?’
‘I’m used to it, though. I’ll have to get used to another change.’
‘Everything is always changing.’ Nia runs her toes up and down my calf. ‘Why are you frowning again, Wolfie? You know what you need?’
‘What?’
She doesn’t tell me but she moves closer.
‘What?’ I say again.
Nia puts her hand up to my mouth. ‘Shut up and come here. There’s nothing more to say.’
26
I wake when the world starts
heaving as if it’s going to crack apart. It takes me a few seconds to realise that I’ve fallen asleep with my head on Wolfboy’s chest, and now he’s thrashing wildly.
I fall away and watch from a safer distance. A deep frown scores his face; he looks as if he’s bearing the weight of famine and war and every possible natural disaster in his sleep. I’ve never seen anyone have a nightmare before and it’s a scary sight.
‘Hey,’ I say softly, shaking him. ‘Hey, wake up.’
He starts talking then, incoherent mumbles. I wonder if it’s the right thing to wake him in the middle of a bad dream. His arms are no longer flying about, so I move in close again, and put my mouth to his ear.
‘Wolfie,’ I whisper, ‘It’s me, Nia, wake up.’
His eyes flick open, and he grabs my wrist, gasping. I run my hands up and down his arms, trying to soothe him. I feel as if I’m anchoring him with my touch. Gradually his eyes stop blinking Morse code.
‘What were you dreaming about?’ The air has got cold in here while we’ve slept, and my breath forms white clouds.
Wolfboy struggles to talk. ‘Ortie and I were waiting at the shop for Diana. She was late and we were worried. When she showed up we were really relieved.’
He still doesn’t seem a hundred per cent awake, even though his eyes are open and he’s talking.
‘But then we realised that there was something wrong with her face. It had been erased. Like someone had taken an eraser and rubbed out her whole face.’
‘That sounds horrible,’ I say, brushing his hair off his forehead. I wish I knew a comforting bedtime story I could tell him. I make do with whatever comes into my head.
‘Ever since I was little I’ve been able to remember my dreams. I used to drive my mum crazy telling her about them. When I was twelve I had a dream journal, and this dream book where you could look up symbols and what they meant. I don’t do that anymore, but sometimes, even now, I’ll wake up from a really great dream and get so annoyed that I won’t find out what happened. But if I try really hard, sometimes when I fall asleep again I can pick the dream up again, right from where it stopped the last time, like pausing and playing a DVD. It’s pretty cool.’
We breathe in time, my head rising and falling on Wolfboy’s chest. The room is dark with no windows. It could be any time of day or night.
Wolfboy’s eyes melt closed again.
It’s so strange and adult to be lying in bed with him, but it’s made easier by the fact that he looks like a little boy when he’s sleeping. Numbness spreads across my buried left arm but I don’t want to move it in case it wakes him.
When I can’t bear it any longer, I carefully slide away, my dead arm prickling unbearably as the blood flows back. My phone tells me it’s Friday morning. We slept through the night together. Right about now I should be in form room getting my name marked off. I don’t even know the school policy on non-attendance, if they’ll message Mum or call her.
The hallway is silent and empty, which is just as well, because I’m only wearing a t-shirt and undies. I can’t find the switch so I leave the bathroom door ajar, giving me enough light to see.
I use the toilet and wash my hands. In the mirror above the hand basin, I look different. My eyes are bigger, darker, more serious than I’m used to. I touch the cold glass to check it’s really me. There’s no going back from this now.
When I go back to the guest room I pull on Amelia’s pyjama pants and walk through the hushed house. There’s a fur-lined jacket hanging on a hook near the stairs, and a pair of gardening clogs. I slip both on, and go up to the roof.
The ladder doesn’t seem as daunting this time, but a breeze has sprung up in the last few hours. I walk across the rooftop garden, breathing in the sharp air. My allergies have subsided. The fresh chill is welcome after the red embrace of the guest room, the closeness of everything, Wolfboy’s unfamiliar body heat.
I wonder if Wolfboy and I have done something wrong, getting together while Paul sleeps on downstairs, lost and alone.
I go to the edge of the roof. The fake forest looks smaller from up here, but I can see now that there’s a pattern to the trees. At the centre is a circular bald patch.
Beyond the fake forest pokes the black outline of Orphanville, a handful of fingers on the horizon. It’s difficult to imagine Orphanville minus the Kidds. I look to the left, trying to see the snaking river that divides the city, but I’m not high enough. I think of Mum with her sister and my cousins in Fish Creek, and even though I chose not to go, I feel left out.
When I look back
there’s an odd rainbow light building in the heart of the fake forest. At first I think I’m imagining it, but it becomes obvious that the glow is strengthening. As it gets brighter, the light separates into distinct pinpricks, a galaxy of different colours scattered through the plywood trees. I thought the forest was eerie earlier, but the lights turn it into something resembling fairyland. I have to see it close up.
The forest is beautiful, painted in mingling multi-coloured lights that lift the worst of the shadows. The ground under my feet sharpens into splinters of shaved wood; the trees have clear zigzag edges. The forest is as silent as ever.
I stop at the foot of a tree and look up high. Tiny LED lights are built into the wood, maybe twenty or thirty on each tree. I run my eyes down to the base, where it’s hammered into the ground, but I can’t see any wiring. How is it done?
I keep walking. After a minute or so the trees thin out; I’m getting close to the centre. A low buzzing sound gets louder as the trees get thinner. I don’t feel scared, at least I don’t think I do, but my feet start to drag. What is that sound?
As I get closer to the source the noise becomes more familiar.
Whirring.
Then a laugh, a child’s laugh, and the bass murmur of an adult’s voice in response.
I creep closer, using the trees to mask my progress. Through the cutout shapes I see two people. I reach the last tree before the clearing and I hide behind it.
At the centre of the forest is something far more strange than the galaxy of rainbow lights. A little girl is riding an exercise bike with an enthusiastic grin. The bike is set into concrete in the middle of the sawdust clearing. Even though the seat on the bike is on the lowest setting, the girl’s feet barely reach the pedals. As I watch she slips off the seat and rides standing. She is laughing and puffing.
Her dad stands behind her, close enough to catch her if she falls. The little girl is about five years old and as cute as they come in mismatched red and pink clothes and a pudding bowl haircut. She’s getting tired, and as her feet slow I see she’s wearing gumboots with rainbows on them. The twinkling lights dim and flicker.
‘Can I have a go?’ asks her dad. ‘You’re hogging it. Let me have a go.’ He’s dressed formally, in a suit, and I wonder what on earth they’re doing in the forest at this early hour. But I guess when it’s always night, playtime could be any time.
The little girl shakes her head and steps up her pedalling again. The lights get brighter. Her dad backs away, resigned to not getting a turn. A red birthmark over his eye is just visible through the lens of his black-rimmed glasses. I’m lucky he’s busy watching his daughter, and not looking in my direction. He can’t take his eyes off her.
A tear, uninvited and unexpected, slides down my cheek. I blink it away and that’s it. I don’t even feel sad. The girl lifts her head and looks dangerously close to where I’m hiding. I move away before I’m seen.
twenty-seven
I’m alone when I wake.
There’s only a Nia-shaped absence in the bed. I roll over to the empty space and breathe in the sugary smell left on the pillow. My body is leaden, usually a sign that I’ve spent the night fighting dark dreams. I hope I didn’t sleep-talk.
I want her to spend another night with me, and then another. I don’t want this to be the first and only time. Whispery dream remnants still hang about, but I can’t grab on to them. Someone’s blank oval face, oceans of fear. Was I dreaming about Paul?
When I think I can move, I pick up my phone from the bedside table. Nia’s is next to mine, so she can’t have gone far.
I dial and I can tell the phone is ringing in an empty house. Echoing up the stairs from the Birds In Winter shop. I hang up. I’ve slept through the morning, and now that it’s afternoon they’re probably at the park or shopping. I’ll try again later.
I find yesterday’s clothes crumpled on the floor, then follow the sound of muffled voices to Amelia’s main room. Blake, Amelia and Nia sit on the floor with a teapot, cups and plates of food. All three look up as I enter the room, and I blush under their collective gaze. I don’t know enough about the ways of girls to tell if Nia has talked about what we did last night.
The girls have moved Paul to a chaise longue at the side of the room. I go to him first. He looks the same as yesterday, only perhaps more waxen. I always thought Paul, more than any of us, had stayed the same since the Darkness. But it turns out he was changing right under my eyes and I didn’t notice. I know how lonely that feels.
‘Nothing happened overnight,’ says Blake. ‘All his vitals are the same.’ She holds up her notebook. ‘I recorded them here. Every hour.’ She keeps her voice clinical but I can see her worry has grown. She’s not alone.
‘He isn’t twitching as much anymore,’ I say.
‘That means he’s gone in deeper,’ says Amelia. ‘We need to move faster. I’m waiting for something to distil, but as soon as it’s done, we’re good to go. We’re supposed to wait until the moon is at its apex, but I think we should do it as soon as we can.’
I leave Paul and sit next to Nia. She moves her teacup out of the way and smiles at me. Our eyes click. I feel something shift deep down in my stomach. Her t-shirt has slipped, exposing a patch of round brown shoulder. All the natural laws pull me towards her. I have to force myself to stay where I am. There are other people in the room now.
‘Doughnut?’ she asks, holding a plate in front of me. I notice she’s getting dark circles under her eyes, like a Local. ‘Blake made them.’
The doughnuts are golf-ball sized and dusted with cinnamon and sugar. They’re warm and delicious.
‘Take another. There’s no way you can eat just one.’
After I’ve grabbed three more, I put the plate down. Nia rests her hand on my knee.
‘Did you stay up all night?’ I ask Blake.
‘Sort of. I slept inbetween checking on Paul.’
‘You need to get some more sleep.’
‘I’m fine,’ she says, but her words are undermined by a yawn so large it shakes her entire body.
‘He’s right,’ says Amelia. She wears a thick leather apron and her hands are stained purple. ‘You should sleep. I have more prep to do, but I can manage it on my own.’
‘We’ll stay in here and watch Paul.’ I help myself to more doughnuts, then offer the plate to Nia, but she waves them away.
‘Had too many already?’
She shakes her head, an inscrutable expression on her face. ‘Not eating.’
‘Why?’ Next to me Blake freezes in the middle of pouring a cup of tea. Nia still doesn’t answer. I take another bite. ‘Why?’
‘Don’t be angry,’ she says.
Blake titters nervously. Amelia turns to me. ‘It’s best to fast before taking the dream meds. It works quicker, and it’s more effective.’
I still have a mouth full of half-chewed doughnut. Only manners stop me from spitting it out. ‘What? Then why did everyone let me eat five doughnuts in a row?’
‘Because I’m going to do the dream.’ Nia looks scared and so she should.
‘You tricked me.’ The doughnut sticks in my throat when I try to swallow it.
‘Hear me out, I’ve got really good reasons, just let me—’
I cut her off and turn to Amelia. ‘How long do you have to fast? There’s still time, right?’
‘Overnight is best.’
I stare at her.
‘There’s not really time.’ She smiles wryly.
Blake stands up, holding the teapot and a stack of cups. She hurries out of the room. I expect Amelia to exit as well, but she leans back and watches. I realise she doesn’t trust me. She doesn’t want to leave Nia on her own with me right now, while I’m so pissed off. I force myself to unclench my hands.
‘Wolfie, I spent the entire night watching you thrashing about having bad dreams.’ Nia tries to put her hand on my arm, but I shrug her off. It doesn’t stop her from talking, though. ‘I can do this. I never have nightmares
, and I told you about how I can direct my own dreams. That’s a skill. Not everyone can do that.’
‘Remember what I said about lucid dreaming,’ Amelia butts in. I shoot her a pissed-off glare, which she returns calmly. I get the feeling she wouldn’t think twice about chucking me out of her home if I misbehaved. Nia’s torrent of words continues.
‘Not only am I better suited to take the dream, I’m kind of responsible, in a roundabout sort of way. If I hadn’t deleted Ingrid’s photo, then maybe Paul wouldn’t have gone off the deep end.’
I open my mouth to argue, but she holds her finger up.
‘If you say I can’t do this—and actually, I’d like to see you find a way to stop me—you’re denying me the opportunity to set things right. Do you want me to be wracked with guilt for the rest of my days? You could be karmically cursing me for several lifetimes.’
I look from Amelia to Nia and down to the almostdemolished plate of doughnuts.
‘It’s done anyway, it’s too late now,’ Nia says.
I look at her, with her wide eyes and her bed-mussed hair, and I feel so tired I can’t believe I just got out of bed.
28
The rooftop is bathed in
full-moon silver. It looks like a sports pitch lit for a night match. Amelia looks up at the moon, clinical and round and white, not quite directly overhead.
‘We need to move quickly now,’ she says.
Blake draws a large circle on the concrete with white chalk. I shiver when the wind manages to burrow inside the overalls I borrowed off Amelia. I no longer feel like a tough lady mechanic. I try to catch Wolfboy’s eye for comfort, but he’s over at the edge of the roof, still concentrating on being pissed off and brooding.
‘Wildgirl, take off your shoes and make yourself comfortable in there.’
Amelia drops to her knees at the edge of the circle.
I ponder the impossibility of feeling comfortable under these circumstances. I settle for kicking off my shoes and letting my hair out of its ponytail. While Amelia has been talking Blake has set up another pillow next to Paul. I try not to look at it. Amelia has a silver tea tray before her, crowded with jars and bottles and cups and a genuine Wedgwood teapot.
