While You Were Reading

by Ali Berg

  Dino: Hey.

  Bea: Wanna catch a movie with me tonight at the Astor?

  Dino: Sorry, can’t. I’m going to some gig with Sunday. Raincheck?

  Bea: Yep, sure. Have fun!

  Just friends. Just friends.

  Bea wondered who else she could invite to the movies tonight. Lizzie? No, she didn’t leave Mount Eliza on school nights unless it was to get her name in the Daily Mail. Martha? Mia? But she had just seen them both. Ruth? Bea smiled at the idea. Ruth, although a little kooky, was lots of fun to be around. She laughed at the thought of Philip, Ruth’s ferret, biting Zach’s hand. She sent her a quick Facebook message.

  Bea: Hey Ruth. Fancy seeing a movie with me tonight at the Astor? x

  Ruth: Hello Beatrix. I love the Astor. But which movie? I don’t like thrillers, action or anything with Adam Sandler.

  Bea: Perfect – it’s a rom-com. It’s called The Book Ninja.

  Ruth: Without Adam Sandler?

  Bea: Yes, no Adam Sandler.

  Ruth: Great. What time?

  Bea: Meet me out the front at 8pm

  Ruth: See you then.

  ‘Ruth!’ Bea exclaimed as soon as she spotted her outside the cinema. Ruth was wearing a heavy plaid coat paired with blue jeans and a jumper with Queen Elizabeth’s unsmiling face printed on the front. She carried a large tote bag over her shoulder. Bea gave her a (seemingly unwelcome) hug, and then ushered her into the warmth of the cinema. The Astor Theatre was otherworldly. An institution, it boasted old-fashioned terrazzo floors and sweeping, decorative-plaster ceilings that made Bea feel as if she had stepped into another decade. She could almost feel the history of music, art, dance and decadence with every step she took.

  ‘Thank you for inviting me on this impromptu outing,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Of course! I thought it would be nice to catch up.’ Bea smiled, and then felt slightly guilty about her ulterior motive – the ticket stub sitting in her coat pocket.

  ‘How much do I owe you?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For the ticket of course.’ Ruth took out her wallet and began to remove some notes.

  Bea waved her away. ‘Don’t be silly. It’s on me,’ she said.

  ‘No, no. I insist. I detest owing people money.’

  ‘Well, how about you get us popcorn and I’ll go pick up the tickets. It’ll work out roughly the same,’ Bea suggested.

  Ruth nodded and waltzed over to the candy bar. Bea felt for the ticket stub in her pocket and took a deep breath. This is it, Bea. She waited in line behind a grey-haired man, before cheerily approaching the pimply teenage boy sitting behind the counter.

  ‘Yes?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m just picking up two tickets to The Book Ninja. Under Beatrix Babbage.’ She flashed her ID. He nodded and handed over the tickets – the same kind as she had in her pocket. Before he could say, ‘Next,’ Bea pulled out one of her Wanted posters and put it down on the counter in front of him.

  ‘One more thing,’ she said urgently.

  ‘Yes?’ the boy asked again, annoyed this time. There was a line of people behind her.

  ‘Would you mind if I pinned a couple of these up?’ She pushed the Wanted poster forward, a little embarrassed. She knew how unlikely, how utterly preposterous it was that the owner of the book would ever see it, but she had to try.

  The boy picked it up, examined it. ‘I’d have to check with management.’

  ‘Now? Can you check now?’ Bea insisted. She felt a bead of nervous sweat pool on her top lip.

  ‘Why don’t you leave this with me and I’ll speak with management as soon as I’m on break.’

  Bea thanked the boy, took her tickets and went to join Ruth. On her way, she ducked into the Ladies and slapped a sign to the back of each of the stall doors. She wasn’t going to take any chances.

  Bea sat next to Ruth in the small cinema, each shovelling popcorn into their mouths silently. Bea hummed quietly along to the adverts, imagining the Mystery Writer here, in this very cinema, performing the same ritual. She willed the Mystery Writer to return in time to see the posters before ‘management’ undoubtedly tossed them out.

  ‘Thanks again for getting the popcorn. I’m not sure I can finish this family size all on my own though!’ Bea said, popping another handful of the salty morsels into her mouth.

  ‘Nonsense. Every time I go to the movies I finish a family size.’

  The cinema was almost full with young couples or groups of girlfriends. There was a gentle hum of whispers as the adverts ran on the big screen.

  ‘So, how’s your work going?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Good,’ Bea replied. ‘I’ve actually just gone out on my own and started a little marketing agency. It’s difficult, but I’m enjoying work a lot more.’

  ‘Remember to breathe,’ Ruth said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Breathe. You can get swept away when you’re starting a new business. Remember to take time to step back, analyse and slow down,’ Ruth said, surprising Bea with this motivational tidbit.

  The lights began to dim, the chatter hushed, and Bea cooed, ‘It’s starting!’

  ‘I know,’ Ruth replied. She then opened her giant tote bag, which was sitting beside her, and rummaged through it noisily. The racket made Bea uncomfortable as the title of the movie appeared on the screen.

  ‘Oh no,’ Ruth gasped.

  ‘What?’ Bea whispered.

  ‘Philip. He’s gone.’

  ‘What? Philip the ferret? Gone where?’

  ‘He was in my bag. He must’ve escaped somehow.’

  ‘He was in your bag?’ Bea hissed, a little too loudly. A couple sitting in front of them turned around, to shush them.

  ‘He was exhibiting signs of separation anxiety and I could hardly leave him home alone, now could I?’

  They looked at each other in a state of panic, realising there was a ferret on the loose. Bea checked under her seat, while Ruth looked on the seat next to the one her bag was sitting on.

  Then a woman squealed from the front of the cinema.

  Bea and Ruth turned to each other before jumping from their seats and sprinting towards the screaming woman. She was shaking her wide-legged pants aggressively. While her friend patted her soothingly on the back. Ruth and Bea stood in front of her.

  ‘What happened?’ Bea asked.

  ‘A giant rat ran up my leg! It was disgusting! It ran out but I feel like it’s still there!’ the woman shrieked, still flapping her pants and stomping her feet.

  ‘That wasn’t a rat, you rude girl. That was a ferret. My ferret!’ Ruth snapped. Even in the darkness of the cinema, Bea could tell that her face was red.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Bea whispered to the distressed woman who had just had a ferret up her leg.

  From the back of the cinema, a man shouted, ‘Rat!’ and Ruth and Bea looked over in time to see him put his legs in the air. The woman next to him screeched a second later, and followed suit. The couple beside them did the same thing, creating a ‘dodge the ferret’ Mexican wave.

  ‘He’s running along the rows,’ hissed Bea to Ruth.

  Ruth was exasperated. ‘Poor Philip. He must be so terrified,’ she said. Bea felt sorry for Ruth despite the fact that she had ill-advisedly brought a ferret into a crowded cinema.

  ‘It’ll be okay, Ruth. We’ll catch him.’

  ‘No, it won’t be, Beatrix. Once he gets loose, he’s so hard to catch. I’m afraid I’ll never get him back,’ Ruth whimpered.

  Bea closed her eyes. She cleared her throat. ‘Attention, everyone!’ she shouted from the front of the cinema. People groaned and told her to sit down, but she continued. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt the movie, but as you may know, there is a creature loose in the cinema. Most of you think it’s a rat, but it’s a ferret. My dear friend Ruth’s ferret.’ She touched Ruth’s arm gently. Ruth nodded, holding back tears. ‘His name is Philip and he is very fast. If you see him running past your feet, can you please try to pic
k him up? Carefully. The sooner we collect him, the sooner we can go back to watching the movie.’ Bea was proud of her announcement, of swallowing her embarrassment and trying to help a friend. What she wasn’t proud of was the chaos that followed.

  People shrieked, jumping up from their chairs and lifting their seat cushions. Some lay on the ground, looking for Philip, while others grabbed at him, unsuccessfully, as he swished speedily past them all.

  ‘Philip! Philip!’ Ruth called, tears now streaming down her face.

  Suddenly, Philip whooshed down the aisle, ignoring his owner and the people who were trying to capture him. The film played in the background, the sound blaring. Two ushers had entered the cinema and were trying to calm everyone down, but to no avail. One of them had even tried to snatch Philip as he sped past him, toppling backwards in his attempt. It was a disaster.

  Then Bea remembered her dog Lulu. She was a crazy border collie with more energy than one dog should ever have. The only way she could calm her down was by being incredibly placid and still herself. Bea would sit peacefully to entice Lulu into jumping onto her lap. So, among all the pandemonium, Bea sat down at the front of the cinema, legs crossed. She took a deep breath, trying to zen out, and whispered Philip’s name.

  ‘Philip … Philip … Philip.’

  But the ferret continued to speed around the cinema.

  Bea persevered. She closed her eyes, exhaled deeply, and continued to gently call the ferret’s name.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw Philip pause for a moment just to the left of her. His ears were up, his paws clenched. Then, with everyone watching, he ran towards Bea. The crowd gasped as he sped by. Philip stopped in front of Bea and she steadied her breath. In and out. In and out.

  In one swift move, Philip jumped into her lap and curled into a tight ball. Bea let out a giant breath, and held on to Philip the ferret with everything she had. He purred like a cat as his panting settled. The cinema erupted in applause, to which Bea responded with a bow of her head.

  ‘Now can we please watch the bloody movie?’ a gruff voice called from the back row.

  Helloisthisyourbook

  Scribble of the day: Fawkner Park, 12.30pm (by the big tree, corner Toorak/Punt Rd).

  Perhaps this is Mystery Writer’s thinking spot? I’m going to head to Fawkner Park on my lunch break to put up more Wanted posters. Is it fate that it’s right around the corner from my office?

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  Comments (44):

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  Bea zipped her black Kathmandu puffer jacket all the way up to her neck. Having had a breakthrough on the Thelma & Clarke campaign (murder mystery launch party – could it get any better than that?), she’d decided to reward herself with a casual lunch in the park. Fawkner Park.

  Armed with Meeting Oliver Bennett, her mobile and a handful of Wanted posters, Bea was ready to put herself in Mystery Writer’s shoes and take a walk down memory lane. After her somewhat disastrous evening with Ruth (the silver lining being that the movie was laugh-out-loud-until-you-peed-your-pants-a-little-bit funny), she was well and truly ready to keep up the momentum of her hunt. Bea had to be optimistic and strong-willed. It was the only way to find the Mystery Writer.

  With a little extra time to kill, Bea decided to walk the seventeen minutes to the park. Winding down the narrow back streets that snaked behind Chapel Street, she passed boutique shops sporting everything from eyewear to high-end lingerie, through bustling and aromatic Prahran Market, and past The Nook (she decided not to pop in and say hi), all the while mentally planning her tactic. It would be simple enough: she would pin her signs to as many trees and benches as time would allow. And, worst-case scenario if nothing came of this venture, at least she’d had a nice view for her lunch.

  Eventually Bea found herself standing at one of the entrances to Fawkner Park, the pathway led to a large, central oval and was flanked by rows of towering oak trees. Shit, this place is huge! Bea thought, at a loss as to where to begin. But, not allowing herself to be overwhelmed, she took a hesitant step forward and then another and then another, until she was striding with a new vigour through the canopy of trees. On high alert, she scoured her surroundings for anything that might trigger some revelation or, at the very least, recognition. Every so often, she paused to tape a sign to a tree or the seat of a bench, ignoring the curious looks of the other park goers.

  Hungry and feeling just a touch ridiculous, she pulled out one of the sushi rolls she’d purchased at the market, doused it in soy sauce and took a large bite. And then she spotted it, looking like an overgrown head of broccoli: an enormous Moreton Bay fig tree at the far edge of the park, its branches spilling out to every side. Quickly scoffing down what remained of her sushi, Bea began jogging towards it, as if some cosmic force had taken over her body.

  Halting at the base of the tree, Bea peered up between its leafy arms. She walked around the circumference of its trunk, searching for the most visible place to stick a Wanted poster. Settling on a spot, she fastened the sign to about eye level and stepped back to admire her handywork.

  Bea eyed the huge tree, picturing the Mystery Writer leaning against its broad trunk. Standing here, Bea couldn’t help but be reminded of the summer she and Cassandra had built a treehouse – ahem slab of wood wedged in a tree – in her garden and how much she enjoyed perching herself up there and reading until sunset.

  Showing her book, phone and what remained of her lunch down the front of her jacket, she searched for a foothold. Finding one, she wedged her sneaker into it and hoisted herself up before falling back down again. Giving it another go, she added a little jump and managed to propel herself up just high enough that she was flopped over one of the lower branches. From there she was able to sit herself up and crawl, branch by branch, until she was in the centre of the tree, where the intersecting branches created a small ledge. Crouching, she ran her eyes over the branches. To her disappointment, all she spotted was a blob of green chewing gum and a crushed Diet Coke can.

  ‘You right up there?’ a voice called, startling Bea.

  Poking her head out of her hiding spot, she saw a lanky man wearing bike shorts jogging on the spot. ‘Yep, great. Fantastic! Just enjoying the serenity!’ she yelled, putting her hands at the back of her head and half-sighing, half-yawning.

  The man looked at her sceptically, as if to say, ‘Aren’t you too old to climb a tree, Peter Pan?’ but eventually he resumed running.

  Bea stood up and assessed the sturdiest branch that would allow her to get herself further up into the dense foliage. Putting her foot on various surfaces, she grabbed hold of a higher branch and pulled herself up. She then inched her way out along the branch. From up here, she had a whopper of a view of the park, which really was beautiful.

  ‘If only I could …’ Bea took another step back, arms stretched out so that her fingertips grazed the limb above her. Out of nowhere, a magpie swooped past, causing her to lose her footing. Bea yelped and swayed back, her left foot shifting from under her and wedging itself between a couple of branches at a decidedly unnatural angle. A searing pain whizzed up her leg, making Bea twist on the spot in agony. ‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’

  In the heat of the moment, she forgot where she was, and her last twist went a bit too far, tipping her to the edge of the branch. She felt a small pop in her ankle as she fell the short distance backwards to the ground. She landed on the gravel path with an almighty thud, winded and wounded.

  She lay there unable to move, eyes wide open, struggling to catch her breath. The world spun around her.
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  When her breath eventually returned, she tried to sit up, but the smallest movement shot more pain up her leg. Tilting her head to the side she spotted her iPhone, which must have fallen out of her jacket during the fall, just out of arm’s reach. Shifting to the left just slightly, she managed to grab the device by flicking it towards her. Who to call? She wished her parents were here. And, for the first time, that Lizzie wasn’t all the way out in Mount Eliza. Dino? She dialled his number and prayed that he would answer. After several rings, the call went to his voicemail. She tried The Nook, even though she knew Dino never answered. Again, the line clicked out. Fuck, fuckety, fuck, fuck!

  She tried to sit up again, and this time managed to prop herself up on her elbows. She knew she’d have to call Zach.

  He was the only other reasonable and reliable option who would be strong enough to lift her. Flipping through her contacts, she reluctantly pressed connect on his number.

  On the third ring, he picked up. ‘Bea? I’m so glad you called! I was just about to—’

  ‘Zach, I need your help,’ she said and then burst out crying.

  ‘You see what on the X-ray?’ Bea asked, now less sore, and more high, thanks to the morphine. She was lying on an emergency bed in the Alfred Hospital, dressed in a white gown. There was a drip attached to her hand, pumping in good old-fashioned pain relief. By the time Zach had located her in the park, a passerby, who happened to be an ex-Scout, had found her and hastily secured her leg in a makeshift splint made out of Moreton Bay fig branches. ‘How’s that for irony?’ she vaguely remembered wondering out loud.

  Since arriving at the hospital, Bea had endured one very confronting MRI, an X-ray and three excruciatingly long hours of waiting to finally be told that she had not, in fact, broken her back, but had definitely done a number on her left ankle.

  ‘You see that?’ the doctor said, pointing to the screen. He looked too young to be a doctor. His hair was dishevelled, and he wore black-rimmed glasses that made him seem as though he was playing dress-up. Zach held her hand, squeezing tightly. In fact, he hadn’t let go since they arrived.