Magic or Madness (7 page)

“That’ll be Jessica. Wanna stay? She loves having an audience. She’s hilarious, very Patsy.”

“Patsy?”

“You don’t know Patsy? From that old show? It’s not on anymore. Really good, but. I’ve got the DVDs. We could watch them together sometime. So, you wanna stay?”

“Nah. I better get back. Does your dad’s room have a balcony?”

Tom grinned. “Sure.”

From the front balcony, they looked down on Jessica, who was wearing high heels and a shoestring-strap dress made of nearly transparent layered chiffon. Tom tried to imagine what Reason would look like dressed like that. He couldn’t. He’d make her something much classier. An emerald green dress, cut on the bias, simple. No bows, no ruching, nothing extra.

Tom leaned over the railing and called to Jessica, “Just a second.” He turned to Reason. “Are you in one of the front rooms?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, then, just step across.”

Jessica pressed the buzzer again. “Coming,” he called. “I better go, Ree. Hey, wanna hang out later? Or tomorrow?”

Reason nodded. “Sure. That’d be great.”

Tom ran down the stairs, his feet barely touching them. His life had just gotten a million times better. Not only was Reason gorgeous, but odds were she was magic, just like him.

I hoisted both legs over
Tom’s railing and then jumped across to my own. An old man watching from the street called out to me to bloody watch myself. I waved to him and laughed.

I now had a bag of almonds, a street directory, three escape routes—I could leave via Tom’s house if I wanted—and a clear idea of how to get to Kalder Park. A most excellent morning.

I lay on the bed smiling, thinking about Tom. I’d never introduced myself to anyone using my real name before. I’d never claimed to have a nickname and he’d called me Ree just like I told him, as if it really was mine. It felt strange, but I liked it.

I liked Tom too. He talked a million miles an hour and he blushed constantly. Fair-skinned people make the best blushers, and Tom’s skin was so fair it was translucent. I’d been able to see the blue veins below his skin, as though I could see right through him if I stared hard enough. I bet there was no way he could lie and get away with it—he’d turn bright pink. I trusted him.

He had a nice smile and a sense of humour, and I’d figured out long ago that looks didn’t have much to say as to whether you were a good person or not.

Tom was definitely funny looking. White-blond hair paler than his skin, even, and skinny. Really skinny. The kind of skinny that made people worry if he was eating enough. Skinny like I used to be before I started getting lumps and bumps.

That’s what Sarafina called them. I’d known about puberty—what menstruation was, why it happened, about breasts, hips, pubic hair, reproductive organs—for as long as I could remember. Sarafina was very determined that my head be full of facts. Information. Reason. Even so, she called them lumps and bumps. Sarafina felt the phrase was more descriptive of their power to disrupt. Plus when I called them that, it made her laugh, which wasn’t always easy.

Especially not now. Tom’s mother too. It was oddly comforting that we were both in the same boat. But how strange was that? Tom hadn’t seemed a bit surprised, though. Maybe lots of mothers in Sydney went mad.

I’d heard about the dangers of city living all my life, and not just from Sarafina. There were lots of people in the bush who were sure that everyone in the cities was nutty and had to go off to special loony doctors to get fixed, except they never were because mostly madness is unfixable. It was all the thieves and pollution and murderers and rapists in cities that drove you mad in the first place and until that was fixed, how could city people not end up insane? In the face of such theories, Sarafina usually made pointed comments about circular logic.

Cities had not driven Sarafina mad. She hadn’t lived in one since she was twelve. I had no idea why Sarafina had changed the way she had and no idea how to fix it.

I felt bad about stealing the bag of almonds from Tom’s kitchen counter, especially when they’d dug into my arse (which I knew I deserved, but still) while we ate the sandwiches in his room. But I couldn’t risk running out of food and I wasn’t sure what he’d say if I’d asked for them. It would’ve looked strange, what with Esmeralda being rich and all.

I felt bad too that we weren’t going to be friends for very long. I could imagine what it would be like to stay here, to become friends with Tom. I’d never had any real friends. We’d moved too often, and besides, Sarafina wasn’t wild about me making friends. Friends were people who knew things about you, like that you were on the run and that your real name wasn’t Sarah or Velma or Jessie.

Tom knew my real name. I’d already had an urge to tell him things I’d never told anyone before, like that I only called Sarafina “mum” in front of strangers. It was like the fake names I had to use. I wanted to ask Tom why he didn’t think it was strange that everyone called their mother the same name: mum. Maybe I’d come back some day and we’d be friends again.

I opened up the directory. I’d planned my escape all the way to Central. Maybe hitchhiking would be better? But I had no idea how you went about it in a big city. Catching a bus was probably a lot more sensible. But $250 wasn’t going to go far. How was I going to get more? I thought of Tom again. A hundred bucks to make a dress. I wished I could do something like that.

Sarafina and I had made money working out people’s taxes for them, doing accounts, number stuff like that. I’d also babysat, picked fruit, coached kids in maths and science, cleaned, helped Sarafina out while she tended bar.

Sometimes it was hard finding work in country towns, and we’d gone for long stretches on instant noodles and what wild grub we could find. Lots of people out bush ended up coming into cities looking for work. We never had. In the end something had always turned up.

It would be a lot harder making money without Sarafina.

I looked up and noticed another envelope sticking out from under the door. Wasn’t she supposed to be at work? I placed it with the first: on the desk, unopened.

A tapping woke me. I dreamed crows were pecking at my hands. I opened my eyes. No crows. I was indoors. Lots of light. I got out of bed groggily, not quite sure where I was until I saw Tom standing on my balcony tapping at the glass.

“Ree,” he called, squinting in. “Reason.”

I opened the door, and he took a step back to lean against the railing. The day was still brilliant, blue and shimmering. The air was motionless and hot. I blinked, brushed a fly away.

“Hi, Tom.”

“Jessica’s finally gone.” He rolled his eyes. Some red thread clung to the front of his T-shirt. “Hey, were you asleep? Did I wake you? Sorry. But it
is
only three in the afternoon. Do you normally sleep during the day?” Before I could reply, he continued, “Wanna hang? You seen much of Newtown yet?”

I shook my head, trying to wake up and follow his volley of questions. I stepped out on the balcony, shutting the door behind me. I’d just remembered the almonds, didn’t want him spotting them.

“We could go swimming.”

My eyes felt gritty. I wiped the remaining sleep away, rubbing my hands on my shorts. “I fell asleep. Didn’t sleep so good last night. New place, you know?”

Tom nodded. “Aren’t you used to that, but? Travelling around so much and all?”

I shrugged. I
was
good at sleeping anywhere, just not in wicked witch houses, but I was hardly going to say that. I looked up. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky; it looked like it would never rain. It’d never occurred to me that drought could happen in cities as well as the bush. Not that there seemed to be a drought on; all the plants were way too green for that.

“So you want to go swimming? It’s hot as.”

“Not swimming.” I wanted to explore more.

“We could go see a movie at the Dendy.”

That was more tempting. I’d never seen a movie on television, let alone in a real cinema. I’d always wondered what they were like. But there wasn’t time. I shook my head.

“But you want me to show you around sunny Newtown?” he said, sounding anxious that maybe I didn’t want to do anything with him after all.

“That’d be grouse,” I told him, smiling. It
would
be, plus it’d be quicker and easier to find my way to King Street with Tom to guide me. From what I’d seen, the streets around here were narrow, winding, confusing.

I could remember some things from when I was in Sydney five years ago: the smell (musk incense and chamomile tea) of the foster home they’d put me in until the case was heard, the endless questions about Sarafina and our life together, which I’d answered just as she’d taught me. I remembered the nice woman who was my lawyer. She’d seemed young, had worn jeans and a T-shirt until we went to court and suddenly she was all make-up and suits. At first I hadn’t realised she was the same person. She’d given me Mars bars and promised I’d get to stay with Sarafina. She was right, I did, but not because of the court case.

I’d only seen the streets of Sydney from car windows as I was shuttled back and forth from my foster home to the courthouse. Until Sarafina had gotten us away and onto an interstate bus. I was pretty sure I could recognise the place the bus left from. An old street with sandstone arches, close to where all the buildings got tall and close together. There’d been a park, just across the road. And lots and lots of pigeons.

“Now?” Tom asked. “You wanna go now?”

“Sure,” I said, fixing my thoughts on the present, on
this
escape. “Can we go like you said? Not touching the ground?” It was probably a bit daggy, but it sounded like fun.

Tom grinned. “Only way
to
go.”

There was a loud knock on my bedroom door. “Reason!”

“That’ll be Mere,” Tom said, turning around. “Coming,” he called out. Before I could stop him, he was across the room and opening the bedroom door, me trailing behind, a protest not quite escaping my lips.

“Hi, Mere,” he said, kissing her cheek, not seeming at all embarrassed at being busted in my bedroom. “How’re you going?”

I didn’t avert my gaze, turn around, or run away. Esmeralda was looking right at me and I was looking back.

I didn’t turn to stone. (Not that I ever thought I would.) I squeezed the ammonite in my pocket, then rubbed my thumb over its smooth surface. It wasn’t as comforting as I needed.

She hadn’t changed much in five years. Except that now she looked even more like Sarafina. A short Sarafina with wavy hair. She was wearing one of the black suits from her wardrobe. I hoped it was the jacket with the upside-down feather.

“You two have met, I see.” Esmeralda smiled at Tom; the smile faded a little when it got to me. I looked for malice, but there was only sadness in her expression. She reached out a hand as if to touch me, but let it drop. She half smiled again, apologetically. I almost said, “sorry
,”
myself. Almost returned her smile.

“She can make you believe almost anything,” Sarafina had told me. “She should have been an actress.”

“We met in your fig tree.” Tom grinned at me. “We were both climbing.”

“Filomena doing good again?”

Tom nodded, looking sideways at me, his cheeks growing pink. “That’s what we call the tree,” Tom explained. “I know it sounds lame, but she seems almost human sometimes. You know, when the wind’s blowing and . . .” He trailed off, his face completely red.

“I was going to ask Reason if she wanted afternoon tea.” Esmeralda glanced at her watch. “I’ve got half an hour before I have to be back at the office. There’s chocolate muffins, cinnamon rolls, and lemon tarts. Want some?”

“Brilliant,” said Tom.

I nodded, though there was no way I was going to eat any of it. I wondered how long I could get away with saying nothing. I followed them down the stairs, trying to take up the Fibs from where I’d left off—Fib (55): 139,583,862,445—and rotating the ammonite through my fingers.

Esmeralda spoke softly, close to Tom’s ear. Tom nodded and they pulled apart. Esmeralda asked him something about his studies. Apparently she was tutoring him. H. S. C. Black Arts? I hoped not. I didn’t like the idea of Tom being involved in her “magic.” Tom asked Esmeralda if I’d be joining them. Joining them doing what? I wondered. Not that it mattered. I’d be gone before too long.

They were comfortable together. Though Tom seemed to have a crush on her—his cheeks kept going red. But Tom’s cheeks seemed to go red all the time no matter what.

I sat on the stool next to Tom’s, leaving no room for Esmeralda to sit near me. He was examining the array of cakes, trying to decide which one to have. The cinnamon rolls were almost as big as my head. I could smell the butter, and they dripped with cinnamon sugar.

Esmeralda was opening the windows wider. A cool breeze was starting to blow. It felt wonderful sliding past us.