A Pocketful of Eyes (3 page)

She climbed to her feet and was somewhat concerned to find they now seemed to be much further from her head than she was accustomed to.

‘I feel like Alice,’ she whispered, then giggled because her voice sounded funny. She noticed through the fuzziness that Gus had left his smartcard on his desk. How would he get into the building the next morning? He’d have to call Security.

‘Come on,’ said Toby, and grabbed her hand. His hand was warm, and bigger than hers. Bee let him pull her towards the wooden door, which he pushed open with his other hand, then guided her head down as they ducked through the archway.

‘It’s dark!’ whispered Bee. ‘How will we see? Did you bring a torch?’

‘No,’ said Toby. ‘I brought my magic finger.’

‘What? You don’t have a magic . . . oh.’

Toby had flicked a switch, and a fluorescent light
plink-plink
ed on overhead.

It really did look like ancient catacombs. The ceilings were low and vaulted, creating individual alcoves separated by concrete columns. The chambers stretched in every direction as far as the fluorescent light reached, then they faded into darkness. Bee imagined that they just went on forever and ever.

Toby tried to stand up straight and bumped his head on the ceiling. ‘Ow,’ he said, and then, ‘
Cool
.’

They were standing among a herd of gazelles, all jumbled together with their horns tangled in the exposed electrical wiring looping from the ceiling, and their hooves crowded with cardboard boxes full of old brochures.

The light glinted off a hundred glass eyes. Bee realised that Toby was still holding her hand. She decided she liked it.

They picked their way through the gazelles, clambered over the back half of a rhinoceros, and found themselves in the African savannah. A baby hippo frolicked by a forest of plastic buckets and dirty mops. The light wasn’t as strong here, and Bee couldn’t see another light switch. It was as if they were on the edge of nothingness.

She thought she felt something brush against her calf and turned. She was face to face with a tiger, frozen mid-stride, teeth bared. Bee jumped and dropped Toby’s hand, then scolded herself. It looked very real, despite the layer of dust and the fuzz of cottonwool poking out of its left ear.

‘I think you should ride it,’ said Toby with an evil grin.

‘No!’

‘Go on. I won’t tell anyone.’

Bee couldn’t believe she was behaving like this. But she was feeling warm and reckless after being startled by the tiger. Why not?

She gripped the tiger’s neck and swung her leg over its back.

‘What do you think?’ she said, striking a pose.

Toby nodded. ‘Hot,’ he said. ‘Very hot. Like a Persian goddess.’

Bee felt a flush creep up under her collar. She was a little tingly. She stroked the tiger’s neck.

‘That looks like fun,’ said Toby. ‘Do you reckon he’s strong enough to take us both?’

‘I think it’s a she.’

‘Even better.’

Bee held onto the tiger’s ears as Toby climbed on behind her. His arms slid around her waist and his chest pressed against her back.

‘So where should we go?’ Toby’s breath tickled in Bee’s left ear.

Bee was vaguely aware of Toby’s hands pressing against her belly. But most of her attention was on his lips, which lightly brushed her neck.

‘Um,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure. Brazil? The Amazon? The Moon?’

‘Brazil sounds good.’

Bee leaned her head back on his shoulder so he could kiss her cheek and jaw. He certainly seemed to know his way around better than Fletch.

‘You know,’ he said, his voice low, ‘the only other species that kisses is the white-fronted parrot. They lock their beaks before mating and gently flick their tongues together. Of course the next step in their courtship is that the male regurgitates all over the female, so we don’t have to follow their methods to the letter. But the first bit sounds like it could be fun . . .’

Little shivers of lightning ran up and down Bee’s spine. She twisted around to face him so they could start kissing properly.

And then the light went out. Bee froze. Toby pulled away.

‘Well,
that
’s never happened before,’ he said.

She dug her fingernails into the tiger’s fur. ‘What did happen?’ she whispered.

‘I don’t know. Come on.’

The door into the lab was still open, spilling warm yellow light into the darkness of the Catacombs. They clambered off the tiger and stumbled towards the light, barking their shins on bits of hyena and elephant, and stubbing their toes on low glass cases and concrete plinths.

As Bee brushed past the last gazelle, she saw a figure silhouetted in the doorway for a brief moment. Then the door swung shut and engulfed them in darkness.

Bee began to tremble. No. She was just being silly. It was probably a security guard, doing his nightly rounds. Or maybe Gus had returned to get his smartcard.

Footsteps sounded in the lab. Bee saw the thin strip of light beneath the door wink out, then the footsteps faded into the distance. Bee groped for Toby’s hand, and they felt their way to the door, which had thankfully not been locked on the other side.

Toby flicked the lab light back on and Bee blinked away the brightness. She felt tired and fuzzy, as though her head was stuffed with tissue paper.

‘You okay?’ said Toby.

‘Fine.’ Her voice sounded as though it were a long way away. ‘It was probably the security guard.’

‘Yeah,’ said Toby. He looked at her for a moment longer, and Bee thought maybe he was going to kiss her again. ‘I might just go and check, though,’ he said. ‘Make sure he doesn’t lock us in or set an alarm or anything.’

‘Okay.’

Toby slipped out the door into the corridor. Bee shivered, suddenly cold. She perched on her desk. The almost-finished possum stared up at her with empty eye-sockets.

She felt as if she’d been busted breaking into school at night. But she hadn’t. She’d been
working late
, which was something professional and responsible. Something adult. Adults worked late.

Adults didn’t get hot and sticky with boys on the backs of stuffed tigers.

Bee checked the clock on the wall: 12:49. She’d have to get a cab home. Toby had been gone for eleven minutes. Why was she waiting? Was it because she thought she and Toby would resume their make-out session when he got back? She had a strong, urgent desire to be at home, in bed. Alone.

She picked up her bag just as Toby returned.

‘No sign of the security guard,’ said Toby. ‘And his office is empty, so I guess he’s on his rounds somewhere else in the building.’ He looked at her. ‘Are you leaving?’

‘Um,’ said Bee. ‘Yeah. It’s late.’

She shuffled awkwardly towards the door, veering to the side in case Toby thought she was walking towards
him
.

‘See you tomorrow,’ she said.

‘Yeah,’ said Toby. ‘See you.’

BEE WOKE TO THE SOUNDS
of her mother being attacked with a light sabre.

She crawled out of bed, every swoop and crack of the light sabre stabbing her between the eyes.

Angela was sitting on the couch in the living room, wearing a red velvet dressing-gown and battling Darth Vader on her PlayStation 3.

‘Hi, Mum,’ said Bee.

Angela didn’t look away from the screen, but waved her controller in a vague gesture that Bee supposed was meant to be affectionate. ‘Good morning, sweetheart.’ She performed a tricky manoeuvre that involved jumping high in the air and flipping over before slamming Darth Vader on the top of his black shiny helmet. ‘Did you go out last night? Did you have fun?’

Bee thought of the little silver flask, the stuffed tiger, and the feeling of Toby’s lips on her neck.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I had to work late, remember?’

‘That’s a shame.’ Angela winced as she took a glancing blow to the head. ‘So do you have the morning off? I’m nearly finished this chapter and I don’t have to teach until 11:30. We could go out for breakfast.’

Bee shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, yawning. ‘I still have to be there at the normal time.’

Darth Vader delivered a killing blow and the screen went dark. Angela swore and threw down her controller. Then she glanced up at Bee. ‘Sweetheart, I’m sorry to break it to you, but normal time left the building a while ago.’

Bee felt as though she’d been slapped in the face. She looked at the clock on the DVR. It was 9:03.

‘Crap,’ she said, and bolted to her room to change.

Bee’s perfectly honed skills of observation were sadly dulled by residual alcohol, lack of sleep and intruding thoughts about a certain dark-haired, bespectacled boy and the way he had sent shivers up her spine. So she didn’t notice five things that otherwise would have alerted her to the fact that this Friday morning was not like other Friday mornings.

1. The front door of the museum didn’t open automatically as it usually did within opening hours. Bee had to fish out her smartcard and buzz in.

2. An A3 piece of paper was stuck to the automatic door with sticky tape. Bee didn’t stop to read what it said.

3. The museum café was closed.

4. Bee didn’t have her watch on, so she didn’t notice that, despite it being 10:17, there were no patrons lined up at the ticket counter.

5. There were no staff at the ticket counter. There were no staff anywhere.

Bee passed through the Mollusc Room and the Hall of Native Flora, then pressed her smartcard against a door and pushed it open, making her way down the grey concrete stairs to the basement.

Two police officers, a man and a woman, were standing at the bottom of the stairs, talking in low voices.

Bee walked up to them. ‘Would you mind letting me through?’ she said, as if a police presence outside her office wasn’t at all unusual. ‘I’m late.’

‘Sorry,’ said the policeman. ‘But I’m afraid I can’t do that.’

Bee sighed and was about to argue, but someone called her name. It was Toby.

‘Are you okay?’ he said, touching her arm. Bee pulled away, feeling affronted. Why wouldn’t she be okay? What did she have to be not okay about? She considered it and came up with three possible scenarios, none of which were acceptable.

1. Toby was in love with her, and had immediately turned into the kind of boy who buys bunches of roses with those little white flowers among them. The kind of boy she’d read about who wrote
poetry
and was doglike and droopy. The kind of boy who said
no, you hang up first
. And Bee had no interest in that kind of boy, in fiction or in real life.

2. Toby was concerned that
she
was in love with
him
. And he was going to play the
man, we were so trashed last night, what the hell did we get up to
card to get himself out of trouble. Well.

3. Gus was on the warpath because Bee was late. Which would mean Bee getting a lecture from Gus, while Toby stood around in the background looking smarmy.

Whatever the reason behind Toby’s solicitousness, Bee decided to clear up the whole drunken-kissing thing straight off.

‘Look,’ she said, glancing at the police officers and scowling. ‘About last night. I think we’re probably both mature enough to admit that things got a little out of hand. And while I’m sure you’re a very nice person, I really don’t think we have much in common. So perhaps we could just forget it ever happened. We have to work together, and . . . would you mind letting go of my arm?’

Toby did not let go of her arm. He tugged on it instead. ‘We have to go upstairs, Bee.’

Bee wasn’t sure how that was a mature response to her statement . . . or any response, really. Why did he want her to go upstairs? Did he want to find a private place so he could kiss her again? Was he not listening? She didn’t want any more kissing. Really. Honestly. She felt her cheeks go red.

‘There’s a staff meeting,’ Toby was saying. ‘We’ve all been summoned.’

He was still pulling on her arm. The police officers were staring uncomfortably at the ground.

‘What?’ said Bee. ‘There’s no staff meeting today. Staff meetings are on Mondays.’

Toby stopped pulling, and leaned down to look Bee directly in the eye.

‘Bee, don’t you know?’ he said. ‘Gus is dead.’