I hugged him, too; as if I’d never again get the chance. I probably wouldn’t. Unlike Hare, he hugged me back with fervour, spinning me in a dizzy circle. When he set me down at last, there was something on my head. I couldn’t see what it was, but when I put up careful hands up to feel what it was, I found that I was wearing a small, shallow-crowned bowler with a curly brim.
“A delightful job of hattery,” said the Hatter again, and followed Hare into Jack’s dressing room. I didn’t follow them. I stayed where I was, waiting for who knows what while the Queen and her card sharks grew steadily faster.
Someone touched my arm, and I flinched. It was Jack.
“Get off me,” I said. He still had Hare’s blood on his face, which was ridiculous. Hare’s blood was all back inside him.
“I didn’t– I didn’t mean–” He seemed to pull himself together with an effort, and said lightly: “Is that any way to speak to your fiancé? The one who just helped you to find your friends, by the way?”
I looked at him in cold dislike. “Help? Is that what you call it?”
“We all have our strengths and weaknesses,” he shrugged. “Perhaps you’ve heard the phrase All’s well that ends well?”
He reached for me with one hand—I wasn’t sure whether he was trying to wipe away the blood I could feel slowly trickling down my own face, or simply trying to comfort me—and I flinched away again.
“Get off, Jack. I don’t like you and I’m not marrying you. I’m not even coming back to Underland.”
“Mab, don’t be like that,” he said, smiling. He even took another step toward me. “There’s nothing we can do about it. We might as well get along.”
“Don’t touch me!”
“Mab–”
“You stood there.”
“Mab–”
“You stood there and let her kill him.”
“Those are the rules,” said Jack. He gestured at the rich room around us with one blood-splashed hand, looking past his mother. “I don’t interfere, and she doesn’t get rid of all this.”
I gazed at him, my mouth slightly open. There was a part of me that had assumed maybe Jack was just too frightened to speak out, that maybe the Queen would cut off his hand like she had with Hare, or his finger, like the painter. It had never occurred to me that he was simply unwilling to lose his rich lifestyle.
“Believe it or not,” said Jack, without quite looking at me; “I’m really not the best candidate for reduced circumstances.”
“You’re not the best candidate–”
“Wool, for instance. Absolutely dreadful for my skin.”
“I actually forgot for a while,” I said furiously.
“What did you forget, Mab?” asked Jack. His eyes were glittering, but he was still smiling with his face white below the crimson blood. “Oh yes, if I recall correctly, I’m a dirtbag. Let’s be honest now: can you picture me in a hovel? Or perhaps you’d like me to live in the forest like the half-wit knight and your two mad little friends?”
“I don’t care where you live! If it comes to that, I don’t care if you die!”
“I’m very well aware of the extent of your unconcern, thank you very much!” said Jack, and this time the smile had completely vanished. There was a cold satisfaction in me for that. “You’ve made your feelings very clear! It doesn’t change the fact that we’re bound, however, and no matter how far you run or how much you squirm, there’s really nothing you can do about it.”
“You’re always saying there’s nothing you can do!” I flashed. “That’s rubbish! There’s lots you can do; you just won’t do it because you’re a coward! I meant what I said. I’m going away and I’m not coming back.”
“You can’t get away from me,” said Jack, shrugging. I found his sudden return to calmness a little frightening.
“What are you going to do, send card sharks after me?”
“Card– of course I’m not going to send card sharks after you! Really, Mab! I think you deliberately misunderstand me.”
“Yeah, well that’s the only thing that’ll bring me back,” I told him grimly. He wasn’t angry but he wasn’t quite calm, either. There was a kind of brittle madness about him that I didn’t recognise, and I didn’t want to think how much of it had to do with the whiteness of his face or the way his nostrils were flaring. Jack didn’t deserve to have human feelings. Not when he’d let Hare die without lifting a finger to help. “You can keep your pretty room and your pretty clothes– and your expensive little presents, if it comes to that! They cost too much.”
That brilliant smile was back on Jack’s face, bright, light and entirely reflective. “Are you sure that you’re not simply furious with yourself because you egged Mother on to kill Hare? Care for one’s appearance is not a character flaw, my darling. I couldn’t possibly manage if I had to look after myself.”
I gazed up at his face for far too long, trying to think what to say. In the end, all that seemed appropriate was a disgusted: “Ugh.” I wheeled about, striding for the bathroom and my passage home.
Behind me there was a flurry of movement, and Jack’s voice said, sharp and hasty: “I didn’t mean it, Mab! I didn’t mean any of it!”
I didn’t stay to hear any more, but as I sank into the place between there and here for what I knew must be the last time, I thought I heard his voice say: “Mab! Mab, I’m sorry!”
I saw her in the local Woolworths that night: the Queen, returned to life and movement, a burning anger in her eyes. I’d just opened the glass freezer door to get my six pack of frozen dagwood dogs, and when I closed it again, she was staring right at me, her eyes pale with fury. I froze, unable to look away, and the babble of the noisy store sank to a murmur around me until all I could hear was her voice.
“I have borne with your constant interference and irritation because it suited my purpose,” she said. “But the nuisance you create has begun to outweigh your usefulness. Be very careful that I don’t change my mind about you.”
“You can change whatever you want,” I said– in some bitterness, because hadn’t she proved that she really could change whatever she wanted to? “I never asked to be dragged to Underland, and I definitely don’t want to marry your son!”
“Believe me,” said the Queen; “One way or another, kicking or screaming, you will return. And you will marry my son. I merely ask that in the meantime, you refrain from making more of a nuisance of yourself than you already have. Hare is not the first to die, and he won’t be the last if you cannot control your whims.”
“I’ve got nothing to do with it,” I said, sharp and firm. “You won’t see me again. Don’t bother to look for me.”
I turned on my heel and walked away while she was still spoke, ignoring the wary looks from other customers and the sound of her fury alike. There was no going back. Not for me, not for her. Underland had its champions, and it was safer for my friends if I wasn’t one of them.
There was a card beneath the door of my flat a week after I got back. The cards were usually on my pillow when I woke, and it occurred to me that Jack was giving me a little space. That was worrying, because Jack didn’t do things without a reason. I didn’t trust it for a sign of good faith. Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? I didn’t want a part of him; and I almost thought that I didn’t want a part of Underland any more, either. I threw the card in my bin and went around the flat making sure that every reflective surface was fully covered. The next day I set out to find a new flat.
The new flat gave me a brief respite, but when I started work at the library two weeks later and opened the returns flap in the front door, the first thing I saw was a pair of black-flecked eyes.
“Hello darling,” said Jack.
I shut the flap in his face, but he was still there when I had to open the doors to the public. He smoothly passed both the doors and my scowl, and made a game of prowling the library while I tried alternately to keep my eye on him and ignore him completely. Much to my annoyance, he also made a game o
f turning up behind me for the pleasure of murmuring in my ear and making me jump.
“Jack, if you do that just once more, I’m going to punch you!” I said at last, in a low growl.
“Mab! I’m surprised at you! And in a library, too!”
I gave him the brittle smile that had already frightened off many a book vandal, and said: “The librarians don’t care if I punch people, so long as I do it quietly.”
“You’ve been ignoring my cards.”
“Yes, and I’m going to keep ignoring them. Look, the head librarian is watching us: you’re going to get me fired. Go away.”
Jack sent a lazy, arrogant look in the head librarian’s direction. “Don’t worry, I can manage her.”
“Also, I don’t like you. Go away.”
“Is that any way to speak to your–”
I seized him by the front of his collar and shoved him into the less-travelled audiobook corner, rattling tapes in their cases.
“I am not your fiancée.”
Jack, his hands spread wide, innocently said: “Now, Mab, if you wanted to get me by myself in a quiet corner, all you had to do is ask.”
“What do you want?”
“Well, there’s this prickly girl who keeps running away from me. My fiancée, as a matter of fact. She covers her mirrors and refuses to answer to the cards I leave her. More importantly, she won’t let me apologise.”
“Go away, Jack. I’m not interested in your apologies, and I have a job to do!”
“As do I,” said Jack. His hands, which had been spread wide, now slid around my waist. “It’s a very important job, and it requires my apologies.”
I saw the head librarian making her way forcefully toward us, and hissed: “Jack, if you don’t let me go right now you’re going to be very sorry!”
“I’m certain I’ll be much sorrier if I do,” said Jack, and pulled me further into the audiobooks with him.
When the head librarian turned the corner Jack was trying to kiss me and I was trying to stop him. I’m not sure who was the most annoyed to be interrupted: me, as I lost the chance to follow through with my threat to punch him; or Jack, who had just managed to pin my arms to my sides. Jack was completely capable of charming the head librarian, but when he left I proved incapable of following his example and was given notice. It didn’t really matter, of course: if Jack could find me, so could the Queen and her card sharks. I had to move again.
The next week I found a basement flat that had no windows, in the oldest, grubbiest part of the city. The windows that were there were broken, and the rent was manageable. I covered the bathroom mirror and learned to do my hair by feel.
And I tried to forget.
A year passed: a year of quietness and freedom from Underland and its people. And if life and reality felt a little flat, well, that was only to be expected. Australia just wasn’t as colourful or as full of life as Underland. I was careful, but the feeling of danger can’t be sustained over the course of a year when there’s nothing to feed it, and perhaps I wasn’t careful enough.
It started the way it usually starts: with a card. It was on my pillow that morning when I woke, its red pips showing up clearly against the whiteness of the pillow-slip. The Jack of Hearts. I knew exactly who’d left it, and what would be on the back of it; but I turned it over anyway. It had been such a long time since I’d seen one. It said: You’re invited. It’s a very important date. Don’t be late. I gave a soft sniff of laughter: as if I’d go anywhere Jack invited me! I had a date tonight, anyway. I’d even bought a new dress for it; a green, airy thing that almost looked like a flapper-dress but was too short to really be one. It wasn’t warm enough for the night, but I wore stockings by way of compromise, and a warm little hat that made the ’20s effect even more pronounced. I even wore high-heels, plain black mary-janes that strapped across my foot and ankle, and I lightly swung a long, slender-handled parasol between my fingers. The parasol wasn’t new: I’d found it in the streets by someone’s rubbish. It was small and purposely raggedy, in faded butterfly colours that delighted me, and I’d exulted in my find for a full week afterwards. It was no practical use, of course, but at a pinch it might keep off a few snowflakes. I probably shouldn’t have twitched aside the towel I kept over the bathroom mirror, but it had been so long, and I wanted to see how I looked. It was my first real date, and I was nervous. Besides, I hadn’t seen a sight or reflection of the Queen since last year. I hoped, somewhat worriedly, that she’d given up.
Considering the card, it might have been wiser to wear flat shoes. Or to think about moving apartments again, if it came to that. I didn’t do either: I set out at 6.30 exactly, my hat set at a jaunty angle, and carefully pranced down the street in my heels. I didn’t have far to walk, and although there was still snow on the ground and puddles in the street, it seemed safe enough. I was only halfway down Harris Street by the time I realised my mistake. One card shark segued from beside the usual homeless man as I passed, and another broke free from the darkened doorway of the library. I saw them both in the window reflections, and caught the suggestion of another two or three behind them. I knew better than to look around, but I did begin to walk a little faster. There was no safety in lights and company: card sharks would push through the crowd and drag me off by force without thinking twice.
I found myself all but running down Harris Street, trying to avoid the worst of the slurry and not quite sure of where I was going except that I needed to shake the card sharks before I could sneak back home. I entered Harris Park at a good trot, throwing a swift look around. There were two policemen at the far end, where the park dipped into a few walking trails that were convoluted enough to hide me from the sharks while I found my way safely home. They were talking to a woman in a red business suit who seemed to be pointing in my direction—silly to think that, but it really did look like it—and they would be absolutely no help. If anything, they would only provide a few moments’ distraction for the card sharks. That the distraction would consist of two policemen being eaten alive and kicking was a fact of which I was very much aware. I desperately wanted to get away, but I didn’t think I could face the idea of sacrificing two policemen in my escape.
I began to edge slightly to my left, making for a gap in the trees, and came up against a series of deep puddles straight ahead that made me veer even more sharply to the left. There was no way I was going to step through a puddle. Someone was trying to make very sure I ended up in Underland, and that could only mean something very bad was about to happen. The policemen had begun a gentle sort of a trot uphill toward me, and I resigned myself to the path I’d taken. There were too many puddles behind me to run that way, anyway. I could see a road up ahead: if I was lucky, there would also be a street in which to lose myself once I was out of the soft grass.
The soles of my shoes slapped against wet grass in a frantic, soggy series of squishes. The road was in my sight, and I hurried to reach it, conscious of the card sharks quickly gaining on me. I came upon it too suddenly, a sudden drop from grass to curb, and from curb to water-logged road, and for a moment I teetered on the edge of the grassy curb with frantically windmilling arms. Cold panic came to my rescue: I fiercely stabbed at the grass with the point of my parasol and caught myself just in time. My reflection in the shallow water below was open-mouthed and wide-eyed. I’d almost fallen in. Back into Underland. Back into madness. Back into danger.
And if I wasn’t very careful I could still end up in Underland: the puddle was massive. Icy at the edges, snowy all around, and impinging on the road to fully half way. I’d jumped bigger, but never in heeled shoes, and never in the snow. There was a good chance I’d break my ankle—or worse, my neck—if I made it across. On the other hand, broken ankle or not, at least I wouldn’t be in Underland.
A wild look over my shoulder showed only danger: card sharks to my left; massive, impassable sheets of water behind me; police sprinting up the hill from the right. I had to jump. The puddle in the gutter was big, b
ut it was smaller than the shallow oceans behind me. I threw another look around, my breath misting the air, and leaped.
I saw the pale golden flash of winter sun on slurried water, felt the bite of the wind on my cheeks. My parasol snatched at the air behind me, slowing me, but I saw my right foot splash down safely in snowy slurry. I slipped, and someone caught me tightly around the waist, warm and strong. I grabbed desperately for his waist with my free hand, sequins scratching against red velvet.
Red velvet. A splashing of slurry. A splashing.
Oh no.
“Got you!” said Jack.
“Hope I stood on your toe,” I panted, conscious that my skirt was less than decent and that I was showing at least one row of lace from my lace undershorts.
“You did,” Jack said. “I didn’t think heels were your style, Mab. I must say, I really approve. What a delightful dress!”
“What do you want?”
“Far too nice to wear out for a casual stroll, and those stockings— you’re on a date!”
“What do you want, Jack?”
“I want to know who you’re dating, for starters! You’re engaged to me!”
“I’m not engaged to you,” I said. “I was kidnapped by your mad-as-a-loon mother when I was three and she made us trade drops of blood. I had nothing to do with it.”
“I see you liked the birthday present I sent you,” he said, shrugging off the question for later. And it would come up later. It always did, with Jack. He just liked to make sure that he held all the aces when he brought it back up.
“What birthday– oh.” The parasol. I should have realised. It was far too beautiful for someone to simply leave in the street. And it had matched the dress so perfectly. Suspiciously, I added: “Did you know what I was going to wear today?”
Playing Hearts Page 11
