Louis Beside Himself (12 page)

What do you think of when you see
agog
? A small sea creature from the ocean floor, transparent like a jellyfish, its eyeballs out on stalks like a snail? Or something else?

Reading through the notebook, I tried to get inspired. Here was the old Louis, practically fluorescent like those giant rats – with enthusiasm, not green saliva. I took a deep breath, shut my eyes, and searched for a new idea.

Nothing happened. I couldn't think of anything to write. I just stared into the shadowy grey. I must have nodded off for a minute, because I woke up with my neck all twisted from being propped up against the wall. My teeth felt furry. I didn't want to be awake, really. I hoped that Cordelia was okay out there in Tentland, that she had what she needed. Because really, I couldn't seem to manage anything with this blank, lumpen feeling in my belly. It didn't belong to Louis. It was the changeling's problem, but unfortunately that meant it was mine, too.

10
THE CLOTHESLINE
M
OVE

I woke up with a start when the phone rang. I glanced at the clock – it was only early evening. I must have been napping like an old person. Maybe losing your words is a sign of the old-timer's trouble. Was that what was happening to me? I studied my hand – was it more wrinkled than yesterday?

‘Hey Louis, do you wanna come out for a run?' It was Singo. ‘Coach says to train every day if you wanna make the A-team.'

‘Yeah? And
do
you? Didn't think you were that serious.'

There was a pause. ‘Well, you know, might as well. If there's a chance I might be good enough . . . dunno.'

‘Why wouldn't you be? You're really fast and the other night you sunk great goals— '

‘Dunk. You
dunk
to score. Anyway, so, wanna come with me? We could get a drink up at the shops after, Vince's doesn't close till late.'

‘I'd just slow you down.'

‘Nah, that's okay, I'll do some jumps and dodges and stuff while we run. Come on, what else are you doing?'

Normally I'd tell him. Normally I'd be very busy – reading something or writing in my notebook. Or arm-wrestling with my father. Or arguing with my sister. But right now there was nobody to exchange words with. And yet . . .
running
?
Me?

‘Maybe,' I said.

‘Really?'

I could tell he was surprised. Was he regretting his invitation?

‘Your mother's okay about you going out?' I asked, giving us both time.

‘Yeah, just a run round the block. See you in ten then. Meet at Vince's.' And he put the phone down.

I went to find my boardshorts. It was still hot outside – maybe we'd jog past a house with a friendly pool. This would be good, I told myself. On account of three factors: 1) regular exercise helps keep you and your brain young 2) a fast pair of legs would be handy now in situations of conflict 3) it's good to support your friends.

I ran my head under the tap and left my hair dripping. It would keep me cool while we jogged.
Jogged
. It was an ugly word, really – awkward – like something dropped on the way from juggle to joggle.

I was looking at these words in my head as I walked up the hill. Maybe that was why I didn't recognise her straight away. A tall girl in jeans at the corner. She was lounging against the wall of the bottle shop across the street, next door to Vince's, deep in conversation with a man. Heavyset, in a dark suit, his jacket hooked over his shoulders with a finger.

I was about to cross the pedestrian crossing when an old Valiant sped up and hooned right past me, not bothering to look right or left.

Jericho,
my father would have said,
where'd he get his
licence, in a packet of Cornflakes?

It was then, as the engine faded, that I heard it. The girl's voice – clear, edgy, strong.

Cordelia.

I peered into the yellow square of light under the shop awning. Cordelia's voice changed abruptly. It rose high, wavered, then broke off. The man's voice rode in like the Valiant – fast, aggressive, bullying. He handed her some papers, his finger jabbing at them. She studied them, slowly took the pen he was offering. She shook her head – I couldn't see her expression, but her shoulders seemed to clench, as if she expected a blow. She was cowering against the wall when the man raised his fist and shook it, just an inch from her face.

God, this must be Jimmy! My knees wobbled. I inched behind the telegraph pole. What should I do? I looked over my shoulder, up the street. No sign of Singo. Where was he?
What are you waiting for, Louis, someone
else
to save her?
The man grabbed Cordelia's wrist. She dropped the pen.

What did he want from her? Her signature maybe? To sign over all her mother's worldly goods to him? Had he already killed her mother and buried her in the basement? Did they
have
a basement?

The man gave a savage wrench to her arm. ‘Do what I tell you!' I heard him roar.

‘No, you'll have to kill me first!' she cried.

Charge at him, take him by surprise. The Clothesline move!

I lifted my arm chest-high, holding it out from my side like a baseball bat. The man was bigger than me, but Cordelia needed help. I'd leap up for extra height, bending my arm over his shoulder, and take him full on, chest to chest. This was my moment.

I pelted across the road like an Olympic athlete holding up his torch.

Just when I reached the opposite kerb, the man moved. I saw him bend down a split second before, but I was going at such a pace I couldn't stop or change direction. Everything happened in a click of the fingers – I arrived full-charge, our heads knocking together like two bricks.

I don't know what happened then. The world blurred – it was like being underwater. I was falling backwards, the sky was opening out above, bleeding into blackness, my head was going to crack the pavement, and then –
whumff
– there was someone pushing me up again, holding me. I heard a sharp groan behind me as I stood swaying, blinking at the man.

Jimmy.

‘Are you all right?'

Singo! I shot round to see him running up. But he wasn't looking at me.

‘I . . . I think so.' Cordelia's voice came from behind me. She was supporting me, and trying to stand up.

The man was rubbing his forehead. A red lump was already swelling just above his left eye. He looked down at the pen in his hand, muttering some words I'm not allowed to write here.

I took Cordelia's elbow and helped her straighten up. She was favouring her bad foot from the break-in.

‘What on earth did you think you were doing?' she said.

‘Saving you,' I whispered.

‘From what?'

I nodded over at the man. He stopped rubbing his head in surprise.

‘Me?' he said.

Cordelia gave a snort of laughter. ‘This is Nick, my mother's ex-boyfriend.'

I stared at her blankly.

‘The actor. I told you about him, remember?'

‘Can't say I'm thrilled to meet you,' said Nick.

‘What?' I was having trouble trying to focus on anything but my nose, which was going from numb to throbbing.

‘Remember I was telling you? The Kiwi gangster? Well, I was out having a walk just now, and we met up – he was telling me about this new part he's got.' She picked up the papers scattered on the ground. ‘See, this is the script.' She put it under my sore nose. ‘He's a Mafia boss in this one – you know, real tough – but he's conflicted. He loves a woman who's betrayed him to the cops . . .'

‘Sounds like a good movie,' said Singo, looking over her shoulder.

‘Play,' said Cordelia.

‘Oh. So, what, you guys were rehearsing?' he said.

‘Well, Nick was just running through a few lines with me.'

Singo turned to me. ‘And you thought . . .' He cracked up. Soon he had to sit down on the bench, he was laughing so hard.

‘I was trying to save her . . .' I murmured.

Singo started to hiccup. ‘But she had to save
you
! Oh god, this is killing me.'

Cordelia put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Louis, can I ask you something?' Her eyes had grown huge, pleading. ‘Can you PLEASE STOP SAVING ME? A person could get hurt this way.' And she gave a crack of laughter that hit me like a gunshot.

‘How big is this lump?' Nick asked Cordelia worriedly. ‘Doesn't look good for a Mafia boss to get roughed up. I'm supposed to look untouchable.' He turned to me. ‘I don't know what your problem is, mate, but you should get some help.' And he made the crazy sign at my head.

‘I'm sorry. I must have been . . .
deranged
.' I looked at the ground. My nose hurt like mad. I felt dazed. Shocked.
D
ERANGED
.

‘Hey, Nick, what a compliment though,' said Cordelia. ‘You were so convincing, Louis thought you were for real!'

Nick smiled. He lifted his chin for Cordelia to inspect. She gave a low whistle. ‘Attenzione, signor, or you vill be vearing ze concrete shoes.'

A hot wave of anger rose in me. I felt it burn my ears (as well as my nose). What – was this all a game to her? Like some kind of play? Street theatre, maybe! All very amusing. She hadn't just made a fool of herself in front of her friends, or had her nose practically broken.

Singo snorted and doubled over again. ‘Such a lame move, Lou, no offence. I mean, how did you
think
that would go?' His snorts turned into hiccups.

I wished his hiccups would choke him. ‘You didn't see what I saw,' I started to say. ‘I mean, it looked . . . but then— ' No one was listening.

So I tried out a wry smile. I shrugged my shoulders. I could feel blood seeping at the back of my nose. Best now to keep my feelings to myself. No one ever seemed to share a single one of them. Better if no one knew who I was.

‘I'm going home,' I said.

‘What, you don't wanna come jogging?' Singo grinned. ‘Save me from a mugger?'

I didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. Plus, I didn't have any words. The mute disease had settled in for good.

I just kept walking.

DAD
came home when I was getting ice cubes from the fridge. I'd been about to wrap them in a tea towel and hold them against my nose, but now I poured them into my glass of chocolate milk.

‘You're back early,' I said, keeping my back to him. I heard him sigh, throwing his keys down on the kitchen table.

‘Doreen forgot she had a parent–teacher meeting – Miles's biology class. Something about extra lessons.'

‘Oh.' I turned to go to my room.

‘Hey, wait a minute, what happened to you?' He came close and touched my nose. ‘That's swollen! You've been bleeding – what's going on?'

I pulled out a chair and sat down, taking a swig of my milk. ‘It's nothing, really. Just an argument with the telegraph pole on the corner. Those poles, boy, they can really get out of line.'

Dad didn't smile. ‘Weren't looking where you were going, hey?' He gave an irritated snort that he tried to turn into a cough. But I knew his irritated snorts. ‘You were reading while you walked, weren't you? I remember when you nearly knocked down our next-door neighbour, walking up to the shops with your head in your book.'

‘It was dark – as if I'd be doing that! And I haven't done it since . . . since last year!'

Dad shook his head, gazing at me mournfully. ‘What am I going to do with you?' He put a hand on my shoulder and patted me. For just a minute I wished he'd lean over and hug me. Maybe he could hold me in a fierce Bear Hug – a crushing move favoured by the wrestler, The Big Show. I nearly suggested it, but then I realised I was too sore, and too weak for any counter-moves.

And anyway, maybe hugging and kissing better are a mother's moves. Singo's mother hugs him when he hurts himself. Once she kissed him all over his ear when he had an ear infection. He kept squirming away, rolling his eyes. But sometimes, maybe, if no one's looking, he stays there a moment, basking, like a cat in a patch of sun.
I
would.

The blood at the back of my nose tasted sour.

‘Want some ice on that?' asked Dad, getting up.

In Elena's family, everyone is always kissing and hugging each other. The men kiss and hug
hello
, or
ciao
, as they say. And Mady embraces Hassan each afternoon when he comes through the front door, as if he's a precious long-lost gift he never expected to see again.

My eyes began to blur. Dad came back from the fridge and held a bunch of ice against the side of my nose. ‘Does it hurt much? Looks like a bad knock.'

I shrugged in a manly way. ‘Nah, just a difference of opinion.' I took over the ice but Dad kept standing there, his hand on the small of my back. His hand twitched a little, as if it was dying to be somewhere else.