Frankie (26 page)

It's blacker than Satan's bile when I wake. I don't know if it's Sunday night or Monday morning. Maybe the world exploded while I was sleeping and there's no such thing as Monday anymore.

I can't get back to sleep so at six I get up, shower and sift through the clothes on my floor – the sniff test isn't a scientific approach but it's effective.

I struggle into jeans and scan the floordrobe for a top.

It's one of those nothing-to-wear days. Everything's a fat top, a lumpy-arse jean, a wobbly-thigh skirt.

I think about finding the dress Vinnie liked and putting it on. Maybe even the pink skirt Nonna Sofia bought me. My ‘keep', ‘donate' and ‘burn' piles never really found their way off my floor so now they're all part of one big pile and I have plenty to choose from.

A black jumper will do. Forget the holes; it doesn't matter.

The apartment is cold. Feels empty. For about three seconds I freak out that my nuclear bomb/meteor/alien invasion theory was correct and I'm the last person on earth, but then I press my ear to Vinnie's bedroom door and the sound of her snoring steadies my heartbeat.

Kind of.

Vinnie hates me. Cara hates me. Nate hates me. And it's Meeting Day.

I tiptoe to the front door. Buttons is perched on the sideboard in the corridor. He doesn't run or hiss or flash me his arse. He just looks me over, eyes half closed, a steady purr. Great. I'm so pathetic even Spawn of Satan pities me.

I let the front door click shut behind me.

Outside it's grey. Arthouse moody lighting. Like that shit film our media teacher tortured us with – three hours of black and white, some girl wandering round a mansion looking worried/upset/hungry. It was French – nuff said.

I wrap my coat tighter around me and hurry to the back of the yard because I have something important to do.

Willow branches slapping my face marks the spot.

I left the trowel stuck in the ground beside the trunk so I grab it – the handle is freezing. Why couldn't I have done this at three in the afternoon? Why couldn't I have done it in summer? On a tropical beach?

I crouch and drive the trowel in. I'm glad this time it's kind of dark so I can't see how many worms I kill.

How many wriggly lives have you got to ruin before you take a good hard look in the mirror, Frankie?

Dirt goes flying as I scoop the trowel in and out. This time I don't have anything to add to my time capsule. I'm digging it up so I can throw it away. The necklace too. And the kitten statue. Every damn scrap of useless crap. The time capsule really was a dumb idea and I don't even know why I did it. Stupid Daniel. Who wants to be reminded of stuff in twenty years time that they don't even want to think about now?

I've decided to get rid of all my shitty memories, less-than-perfect actions, regrets and epic failures. It's a fire sale – get in quick for a bargain.

As I'm digging I hear a creaking noise behind me.

You'd think I wouldn't be surprised by Nate just turning up anymore. But I freak out so much I overbalance and almost fall backwards.

It's not so dark that I can't see him, leaning against the fence, arms behind his back. He's not out of place in this French arthouse film of a morning.

I'm pretty sure the back gate was locked. No such thing as a locked-room mystery when Nate's around, though. Agatha Christie would have hated him.

‘What the hell? Why are you here?'

‘The Fitzroy pool,' he says. ‘I know the guy on the morning shift. He sneaks me in. It's where I shower.'

I stare at him.

‘You asked,' he says.

I guess that explains the chlorine smell. Not why he's in my backyard at 6:30 in the morning.

‘I took a walk,' he says. ‘Ended up here. What's your story?'

I offer him a smile, just a small one. Because no one else I know wants to talk to me. I'm thin on friends and family.

‘I couldn't sleep. I have this thing today. Kind of important.' I drop the trowel. He's watching me. Intently. ‘You know when a country invades another country and the UN have a meeting to decide if they're going to bomb the shit out of everyone to stop the bad country from bombing the good country? Well, it's kind of like that.'

‘So which are you?'

‘The bad country.'

He laughs, just a small one. With his head down. ‘Well, I'd better tell you something before they bomb you,' he says.

I wait for him to go on, but we end up just standing there, staring at each other.

Forgive me for assuming that was the kind of sentence that has a swift follow up. Never assume, Frankie.

‘I broke a guy's nose once,' he says before I can chime in with something stupid.

‘Only once?'

‘And two teeth.'

‘Not bad. It's not exactly breaking a nose, cracking a jaw and causing PTS with the collected works of Shakespeare, but you can join the teenagers with violent tendencies club. I'm president so I can guarantee you membership.'

‘It wasn't just some guy.' Nate takes a step closer, his boots squelching in the mud. ‘It was my dad.'

‘Did he deserve it?'

‘He deserved worse.' He smiles, lopsided. ‘It's how I got my first black mark. A fine and community service but it's on my record.'

‘Which was expunged.'

‘Big word.'

‘I know. I must have picked it up somewhere. From someone pretty smart. For a dickhead.'

He brings both arms around from behind him. He's holding something thin but square. Like a big piece of cardboard. With a drummer boy on the front.
An Ideal for Living
. The album is a bit damp around the edges from being shoved deep in a bin but I'm sure he's still worth a few grand.

‘
You
stole it? I left it
in
with the rubbish. With the rotting tomatoes, spoiled meat and congealed fat. How did you –'

‘Saw you dump it.'

‘You were watching?'

‘No, I was hiding because the cops were sniffing around.'

‘And you took it because?'

He shrugs. ‘It's worth a shitload.'

Oh. Not what I was expecting, but hey.

I drop the trowel and reach out for the vinyl. ‘Four and a half grand. Sure you just want to hand this over?'

‘I'm guessing it's worth more to you than me.'

There's a second or two when we're both holding on, one corner each, and then he lets go and it's in my hands.

Hey, drummer boy. You've caused quite a bit of trouble, did you know?

He takes another step closer. ‘I'm sorry about what I said to you.'

‘So you should be.'

A wayward curl covers his left eye. It makes him blink.

‘I mean, me too,' I say. ‘Sorry.'

‘So you should be.'

I reach up and brush the curl aside. It's almost a cool move, except my hand trembles and my uncut nail scratches his forehead. So not cool at all. He doesn't move, doesn't even blink.

‘You should go,' I say. I wrap my arms around the vinyl to stop any further embarrassing compulsions. ‘I can't get into any more trouble or Vinnie will kill me. That's not hyperbole, you know. For real. Kill me. Do you even know what hyperbole means? It's when –'

Nate cuts me short by kissing me.

Really
kissing me.

Vinnie's-romance-novels kissing me.

Me-running-through-a-field-of-daisies-on-planet-hot-guy-with-the-music-swelling-to-a-moving-crescendo kissing me.

He pulls me close, both hands holding the sides of my face. His lips are soft – soft like Harold the polar bear's fur and the guinea pigs and the silk blouse Vinnie wore when she collected me from the police station, me with the note in my pocket from my deadbeat mum. Soft like all the things that ever made life better.

He kisses me, hands sliding down my shoulders, fingers digging into the flesh of my arms, his teeth grazing my lip, his breath mixed with mine.

But I just stand there, clutching the vinyl, arms folded. I'm like a big, dead, wet fish.

Because I mean . . . so . . . just . . . wow. How did this guy become
the guy
? I try to process this totally unexpected wowness.

While he's kissing me.

Kissing.

Me.

Until he's
not
kissing me because the whole dead-fish vibe overwhelms him and he steps back. He looks as confused as I feel.

‘I don't know why I did that,' he says after a whole lot of frowning and staring. ‘I'm sorry I did that.'

I stare at him wide-eyed. I've lost my words – maybe they're still prancing around planet hot guy while the rest of me is here on planet majorly embarrassing. I blink as my brain picks itself off the floor and my body unfreezes.

Okay, so I have processed the wowness and I have reached a conclusion: it must happen again.

‘Actually,' he says. ‘I'm not sure why you didn't kick me in the balls for doing that.'

I reach out, my fingers through his bramble of curls. ‘That makes two of us.'

He smiles. It makes me smile.

He steps in again, hands sliding up my arms, across my shoulders, fingers brushing up my neck.

‘Would you hit me if I did this?' He leans forward, nose gently brushing my cheek.

I tilt my head toward his. ‘Maybe.'

He laughs. His lips pause against my skin.

‘You're not going to kiss me again, are you?' We're so close that when I speak my lips brush his chin. It's weird how you don't know how much you want something until it's right there in front of you, centimetres away.

‘I was thinking about it,' he says. He grips me around the waist and pulls me closer.

‘Is it just to shut me up?'

‘Partly.'

‘What's the other part?'

He lowers his head, and . . .

My phone rings.

Shit.

He steps back to give me enough room to squeeze my hand into my jeans. He clears his throat.

‘It's not me,' I say. ‘It's my phone.'

I don't recognise the number. Bill Green. Or Marzoli.

Either way, it's too early for a call. A tremor runs through my chest: it could be good news. Or very, very bad news.

‘Sorry,' I say. ‘Sorry, Nate. Only be a sec.' I press the phone to my ear. ‘What?'

‘That's rude.' It's a girl.

‘Sorry, no. I thought you were – Do I know you?'

The voice on the other end pauses. She exhales loudly. ‘You're looking for Xavier.'

‘Maybe. Who are you?'

‘Who are
you
?'

Nate gives me an eyebrow raise and for the first time I don't want to slap him for it. Well, not completely.

I go back to the phone. ‘If you don't tell me your name, I'm hanging up.'

Nate reaches out, his fingers brushing my hips. Maybe I'll hang up anyway.

‘Fine,' says the girl. ‘But I saw your poster. Thought you'd care.'

Nate squeezes the tips of his fingers into my waistband and draws me closer. ‘Get off the phone,' he says.

‘I do care.'

‘I know you do,' says Nate.

‘Shut up.'

‘You're so rude,' says the girl.

‘No, not you shut up. Him shut up.'

‘Who?'

I push Nate away.

‘I'm Xavier's sister, okay? I
am
looking for him. What do you know?'

‘Shit. Hang on.' There's rustling, heavy breathing and movement. A door closes. ‘Sorry. Mum just got up. I have to go.'

‘Wait –'

‘Meet me at Bellini's.' Her voice is harried, whispered. ‘Eight am.'

‘Who
are
you?'

‘Reenie.' Another door closes and her voice drops even lower. ‘I'm his girlfriend.' Her voice catches. ‘I mean, I
was
his girlfriend.'

‘But –'

She hangs up.

‘What's this chick look like?' Nate's hair falls across his face as he inspects his boots.

I shrug, too preoccupied with maintaining a sane exterior to answer. It's peak hour in my head: thoughts, memories and freak-outs zooming about. I keep checking the time, thinking about Vinnie and the note I should have left for her, worrying about Cara never speaking to me again, angsting about Steve Sparrow's broken nose, about being late for a meeting that will decide my future and why Reenie corrected her tense from present to past. But what's really holding up traffic is the kiss. That kiss.

I look away when Nate catches me staring and I suddenly can't stop looking at a tram rambling past. Seriously, it's the most fascinating thing I've ever seen because, you know, living in Melbourne means I hardly ever see a tram.

The tram's brakes screech and the bell dings as a four-wheel drive turns in front of it. I hope no one inside took a tumble – then again it's the 86 and probably full of hipsters. They'll land softly on their beards.

‘So how are we going to know which one is her?' Nate asks.

I cup my hands and peer through Bellini's window. It's gloomy: lots of wood, maroon walls, low lighting and taxidermy animals popping up in queer places. Like a meerkat holding the tip jar. ‘I think she might be the girl in school uniform sitting on her own.'

Nate peers through the window, his breath huffing up the glass, shoulder brushing against me. He jerks back, grabbing my arm.

Maybe the guy doesn't like meerkats.

‘Your school meeting's in an hour, Frankie,' he says. ‘You don't have time for this.'

‘What?'

‘It's a bad idea. I can get you to school. I‘ll steal a car.'

‘Speaking of bad ideas.'

‘Seriously.'

‘I know. Seriously.'

He looks at me. Pleads with his eyes.

‘What the hell's gotten into you?'

He frowns at Bellini's window. The guy has a meerkat phobia.

‘I'm just . . . I don't know. You don't need me here, do you?'

‘Need you? Hell no.' I pull him with me toward the front door of Bellini's. He digs his heels in but whatever last-minute freak-out he's experiencing is no match for Stubborn Frankie. ‘I'll keep it super quick. And I won't even throw a welder at her.'

I only score a grimace as he pushes open the door, waiting for me to scoot in under his arm. ‘Five minutes? Promise?'

‘Relax.'

As soon as we get inside he grabs my hand and squeezes. His eyes are earnest. ‘Are you sure this is important? This could stuff up your chance at school.'

‘Have you been having secret meetings with Vinnie?'

A guy, about twenty, shoves a couple of menus under our noses. ‘Two?' he says, somehow making a three-letter word drag on for a whole minute.

I point to Reenie, tucked in the back corner. A dead fox prowls the shelf behind her head. ‘We're with her.'

Nate swats the menus away.

‘Two coffees,' I say.

‘What kind?'

‘The coffee kind.'

I push Nate toward Reenie and the fox; she watches us approach from beneath false lashes.

I should be nervous about meeting this girl – about the things she has to tell me – but all I can think is: how the hell did my brother land
her
?

Plump, black-skinned, hair shaved close to her head, full-lips and a high forehead. I swear I've seen her in a fashion magazine. She's
gorgeous
.

I stumble to a halt in front of the table. Her look says, ‘Yeah, and?'

‘You Reenie?'

The seat across from her slides out as she kicks it. ‘I was supposed to be at school five minutes ago.'

‘So was I.' I try smiling as I sit opposite her but it feels like my face might crack. Nate drags a chair from another table with a screech, a thud and a scowl.

‘So what did you have to tell me?' I lean on the table and regret it instantly – the surface is sticky.

Reenie spoons sugar into her coffee. ‘Sorry, who are you?'

‘I'm Xavier's sister. Like I already said.' God I wish that fox would stop grinning at me from behind her head.

‘Not you.' She points her spoon at Nate. ‘Him.'

He clears his throat, eyes on the coaster he's twirling under his thumb. ‘Nate.'

‘That's a shit name.'

The waiter arrives with two long blacks, plonking them on the table in front of me and Nate. ‘Your coffee,' he says, putting the ‘aggressive' into ‘passive-aggressive'.

Reenie leans forward. ‘Xavier owes people money. I don't want to dump him in it.'

At least she said ‘owes' not ‘owed'. I take an angry sip of coffee. Or is it black sludge? ‘I know he did. But I only met him three times and I'm too poor to lend anyone money.'

‘Then you're lucky,' she says. ‘God that's gross.' She spoons three more sugars into her coffee, bashing the side of the cup as she stirs. ‘He owed me shitloads. That's why we broke up.'

I check the time. ‘So this info you have on Xavier . . .'

‘You don't look like him.'

‘We only share a mother. And we never actually shared her. He hogged her.' My phone vibrates against my thigh. ‘Sorry.' I pull it out and reject the call without even daring to acknowledge the name flashing on the screen. Ten past eight.

‘Do you know something about Xavier or not?'

Nate leans into me, whispers in my ear. ‘We can just go.'

‘Wait a second,' says Reenie. ‘How did
you
know him?'

Nate suddenly only has eyes for the big-screen TV on the back wall. There's a soccer match on so maybe he's into sports. Or maybe he's casing the joint. ‘We robbed a few flats together. Well, I did the robbing; he was the lookout. Did a shit job of it too.'

I kick him under the table. Why is he being a jerk all of a sudden? I mean, why is he back to being a jerk?

Reenie narrows her eyes. ‘Did you say your name was Nate?'

He points at the TV. ‘Did you see that? Fucking offside. Bullshit.'

I unstick my forearms from the table and lean forward. ‘You said you know something? About Xavier? It's kind of why I'm here.'

She keeps her eyes lowered as she turns her coffee cup round and round. She doesn't say anything.

I check the time again: eight twelve. ‘This is kind of important. The last anyone saw him was Friday two weeks ago. He paid his dad some of the money he owed and got beaten up. He might have been spotted by the river on Sunday, but I haven't verified that. I broke the guy's nose who told me so I'm not sure he can be trusted.'

Reenie looks up. ‘That's not true.'

‘It is – I used Shakespeare.'

‘I mean it's not true the last anyone saw him was Friday.
I
saw him.'

My coffee sludge is going cold but I wait, unmoving. ‘When?'

‘I saw him that Sunday. We'd already broken up but we were still hooking up, you know. He was all excited. Said he'd found a way to get all the money back he owed and then he was going straight. For you.' She looks at me, eyes shining. ‘Said he was going round to his mum's and then he was gonna tell you.'

Can't. Even.

I grip the table – the room starts to spin.

Nate tenses beside me.

Reenie rolls her eyes and keeps talking. ‘All about his stupid fantasy. How the three of you are going to live together and be one big happy family. I've met your mum, though. He took me to see her in that home and she's a leech. She might be dying but she'd still do anything for a hit. You'd think all the drugs she was hooked up to in that place would be enough for her. I mean –'

Reenie doesn't shut up – her mouth opening and closing. But I've got the world on mute.

Hearing your mum's dying has that effect.

Hearing she's somewhere in this state, in this city, within visiting distance.

Dying.

Nate grips my thigh tight but I can't even feel it. All I can think about are pink shoes. I'd forgotten about them. Forgotten the whole thing. Now, I just want to clamp my hands over my ears and scream because I can't stop remembering.

The day before the Children's Farm there was lots of screaming. Juliet was throwing furniture round. Bill was there, shouting too. I watched from the couch, cartoons blaring but not loud enough to drown them out. I had these pink shoes on. They were new and Juliet had actually paid for them – a gift for me. I hadn't taken them off – I'd slept in them. ‘Do something about it,' Bill was yelling. ‘I haven't got anything,' Juliet was shouting back. She threw the kettle at his head. I stared at my shoes, feet dangling off the edge of the couch. They were shiny, a little button in the shape of a heart on the elastic strap and lights on the heels that flashed whenever I moved.

Next thing I knew she was kneeling in front of me, blocking the cartoons. ‘I need these, Frankie Bean,' she said. She grabbed my feet and starting pulling at my shoes, twisting them and dragging me half off the seat. I screamed but she told me to act like a big girl. She told me she'd get them back for me. She promised.

Bill took the TV and then they were gone. I got left on my own a lot so I didn't really panic. But I cried about those damn shoes. I cried the whole time they were gone. At least Juliet and Bill came back happy – no more screaming.

‘. . . Frankie?' Nate's shaking my arm. I blink. Someone's phone is ringing. Why don't they answer it?

‘I'm fine,' I tell him. I growl.

He looks down at the table. At my phone. Ringing.

I reject the call without checking to see who it is. I know who it is. It's eight-twenty.

Reenie's looking at me, brown eyes wide and questioning. The fox is too, grinning at me through the mood lighting.

‘Frankie,' says Nate. ‘Do you want to –?'

I shove my phone to the side and lean forward. ‘So you didn't hear from him after Sunday?'

Reenie shakes her head. ‘And he told me he was going to call. I had a basketball game the next night, a really important one, and he said he was going to call and ask me how it went. He always calls after my games.'

‘But you were broken up,' says Nate. ‘Maybe he –'

‘Hey! That's how I know you.' Reenie jabs a finger at Nate. ‘The time Xavier took me to meet his mum? You were there. Your dad's in the same home, isn't he?'

The bottom drops out.
Smash.

Nate turns to me. Desperate eyes. ‘She's full of shit. Let's get out of here.'

‘Screw you,' says Reenie. ‘Xavier introduced us. I remember you being a jerk then too.'

‘Listen, kid,' says Nate. ‘We didn't come –'

I stand; my chair goes flying back. ‘Well, that was a big fucking waste of time.' I search through my pocket for cash.

‘So rude,' says Reenie.

Eight-thirty.

I dump the cash on the table, swatting Nate's outstretched arm. I stick my finger up at the dead fox because I don't know what else to do.

I hurry around the tables, clipping my thigh on the back of a chair as I weave. I'm walking like I'm drunk.

Nate calls after me, the sound of cutlery and dishes crashing as a tray goes tumbling. I don't stop.

‘Wait,' he calls when I'm already outside. I'm jogging down Smith Street, through the early morning crowd: suits carrying takeaway coffees, students struggling home from a big night out and Homeless Eddie rambling to himself. He isn't really homeless. He has a home; it's just that we're standing right in the middle of it, which is pretty rude of us. He owns the whole of Collingwood. Ask him, he'll tell you.

‘Frankie!'

I jerk to a halt as Nate grips my arm. I shake free of his grip and slap him. The sound cracks. People walking by gasp.

‘You knew?'

Nate holds his cheek with one hand, the other reaching out for me. ‘Xavier said he was going to tell you when it felt right. He didn't want you to know she'd kept him when she'd dumped you. He thought you'd hate him for it. I didn't think it was for me to tell you.'

Homeless Eddie shuffles toward me, asking if I'm okay. He holds one arm high, wrapping it around the back of his neck as he hovers a metre away. He doesn't know anyone at the Fitzroy pool.

‘I'm okay, Eddie.'

‘Please,' says Nate. ‘I didn't lie, I just . . . He went missing and . . .'

‘I already know that Juliet kept Xavier longer than me. I didn't know she was here. That's something you could have told me.'

As the icy wind bites through my jacket to my skin, a realisation creeps into my mind. One of those insights that come about five minutes too late – usually because you're so focused on something else that you don't see what really matters until too late.

‘You said your dad died two months ago.'

Nate shoe-gazes while Homeless Eddie starts humming, loudly.