Paper Alice (5 page)

I tore my gaze away and changed gears.

‘Hold tight,' I muttered grimly. ‘We're outta here!'

Only trouble was that in all the panic I slammed the car into neutral instead of drive, so when I put my foot down on the accelerator all we got was a mega-roar from the engine and no movement whatsoever.

Attracting, of course, the full attention of Paul, who was by now just about level with us. I looked at him, and in the second that our eyes met, I saw a flicker of recognition. I quickly glanced away at the road ahead, hoping I'd looked suitably blank, but not before I'd seen his gaze travel down into the passenger seat . . .

Then I found drive and we shot off, up the street and over an intersection – thank god there was no car coming along the cross street. I pulled into a space a bit further on and put the Mazda into park. We sat there, trembling, Milly still with both hands clamped over her eyes, like the ‘see no evil' monkey.

Then, of course, we started to giggle – again.

‘And I had . . . had my hands . . . over my eyes,' cried Milly.

‘Like a little kid,' I squeaked, ‘who thinks you can't see her if she can't see you . . .'

But in the midst of the hilarity, I suddenly remembered what we were here for. I spun round in my seat and peered through the back window, just in time to see the distant figure of Paul crossing the street and turning into what looked like the end house of a row of matching semis.

‘That's it,' I cried, ‘that's the house he lives in!'

I turned around again and switched off the ignition.

‘Stay here,' I announced, in mock-heroic tones. ‘Ah'm a-goin' in!'

Milly stared at me, mouth opening.

‘
What?
'

I shrugged, suddenly reckless with all the craziness. ‘What the hell! We've spent all this time looking, and now we've finally found him I might as well go and
get
the bloody shoe!'

‘But–'

‘No buts,' I interrupted, opening the door before I lost my nerve. I hopped out, and then leaned in again.

‘If I'm not back in ten minutes, call out the guards!'

I
had been expecting – or rather, bracing myself, heart thumping – for Paul to open the door, so it was a tiny shock when a girl answered. Perhaps a bit older than me, with a round face and shortish dark hair. She looked at me inquiringly – her expression neither friendly nor unfriendly.

‘Oh,' I said, swallowing. ‘Is Paul in?'

She eyed me up and down for a second and I realised with a little stab of horror that she probably thought I was one of Paul's conquests. I stared back at her, feeling my face grow hot.

She opened the door wider, turned and sang: ‘Paul – someone here to see you!'

Someone called out from down the end of the passage; someone else laughed. The girl waved a hand.

‘Come in,' she said. ‘He's just gone into the shower. He won't be long.'

‘Oh . . .' I was about to say I'd wait there, but realised that a tête-à-tête with Paul on the doorstep would look even worse. ‘Oh,' I repeated. ‘OK . . .'

I followed her down the dark passage. The place smelt as though it'd been a student house forever: musty, with an ancient underlay of grime, cooking smells and hash. We went past a bike propped against the wall and into the kitchen.

There were two boys in there, neither of them Paul. One was sitting at the table, the other leaning against the dresser, hands in his jeans pockets. Both of them looking round at me.

‘Hey,' I said, sketching a tiny wave.

‘Hey.'

‘Oh . . .' I touched my breast bone idiotically. ‘Alice.'

Why on earth was I introducing myself? I should just grab the shoe and get out of there!

The guy at the table, who had longish blond hair and a disconcerting stare, touched his chest in return.

‘Chet,' he said, solemnly.

Was he having a go at me? My already warm face got warmer.

And what sort of a name was Chet?

‘Andy,' said the other boy, glancing at Chet and then sideways again at me. I got an impression of very blue eyes, and a body that looked as though it was just out of bed. Tousled hair and two-day stubble above baggy crumpled T-shirt and jeans.

‘And I'm May,' came the girl's voice, from behind me. I spun around, nearly overbalancing. ‘Have a seat,' she added almost impatiently, indicating a chair with a plump, ring-covered hand.

‘Oh, no!' I found myself rapidly waving the suggestion away – as though she'd offered me a shot of heroin, or a shift as a street walker. ‘I'm just here to get a shoe . . . for a friend.'

That really made them stare.

For god's sake,
screamed the other Alice inside me, the sensible one.
Get a grip!

‘She was here – the other night,' I finished, ‘with Paul, and she thinks . . . she thinks she left it under the bed.'

Silence.

‘Under the bed?' said Chet finally, still deadpan.

I nodded faintly.

‘So where's your friend?' This was from the other guy: Andy.

I stared at him. ‘She . . . She's . . .'

But I was spared by the arrival of Paul himself through the far door, still damp, towel around his waist.

‘Ah, just the man we want!' Andy was clearly starting to enjoy himself. He turned to me and then back to Paul, a gleam in his eye. ‘Do you two–'

‘We met the other night,' I said quickly, folding my arms. I suddenly felt sick of it all; almost cross. ‘With Milly. Apparently she left one of her shoes here – under . . . in your room.'

Paul looked at me, water dripping off his hair, and for an awful moment I thought he was going to ask, having almost certainly seen Milly in the car, why she hadn't come in herself. But he merely shrugged.

‘I'll have a look,' he said, and padded past me up the hall.

Another silence. Chet yawned and stretched his arms in the air, smiling slightly.

‘The things we do for a mate, eh?'

I nodded slightly, paranoia fizzing inside me.

‘You!' cried Andy, grinning at Chet. ‘You wouldn't save a drowning man without first negotiating a fee!'

Chet raised an eyebrow.

‘Nonsense. I'm a model of charity and altruism.'

‘Yeah – like Attila the Hun.'

They traded more cheerful banter while I only half-listened, biting my lip and staring blankly at the poster on the fridge. It looked new, sitting amidst some tatty photos and other stuff; I'd seen it around at uni.

Then Paul's voice came from up the passage.

‘Hey – what does it look like?'

We turned. Paul, now dressed, was leaning around the doorway.

‘The shoe,' he repeated, looking at me. ‘What's it like?'

May snorted. ‘How many stray shoes have you
got
under there?'

From the glances the three of them were exchanging, it occurred to me that perhaps I wasn't the only one who wasn't Paul's greatest fan.

‘Oh . . .' I replied finally, catching Chet and Andy's eyes. ‘Blue polka-dot.' Then added idiotically, ‘With a big bow.'

Then we all laughed, even me.

‘Make sure about the bow!' Andy called. ‘He just happens to have a thing,' he added, scratching his head and smiling at me, ‘about chicks in blue polka-dot shoes.'

I was struck again by the liveliness of his eyes in the dishevelled mess of the rest of him. ‘Oh,' I laughed, my gaze sliding away. ‘My friend wears nothing but!'

May put a hand to her face, eyes wide in a parody of dawning comprehension.

‘
That's
why there's been all these women tiptoeing through here in polka-dot shoes!'

‘Every wearer of polka-dot shoes within a hundred kilometre radius,' put in Chet, ‘like zombies . . .'

‘–arms outstretched, clomping towards Paul!' This was Andy again.

‘Hordes of them, pressing up against the front fence and staring in,' I put in, giggling.

The arrival of the shoe itself, borne by a nonplussed-looking Paul, caused more amusement.

‘Thanks,' I said, taking it without meeting Paul's eye, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed again. And, I have to say, he didn't look exactly comfortable either. After all, what was he meant to say?
Say hi to Milly for me?

‘We should do a sketch about it for the show,' I heard Andy say to Chet. ‘Swarms of zombies in polka-dot shoes.'

What show? I wondered.

‘Might be too much like that ad that used to be on TV,' said May. ‘The chick-magnet one, for cars . . .'

‘Anyway,' I put in, ‘Gotta be going. Thanks–'

From his place at the table Chet clasped his hands behind his head, tipping back on his chair. ‘Bye, brave Alice,' he said. ‘Your friend Milly should be
extremely
grateful to you.'

I quickly looked at him, then glanced away again. Once again it was impossible to tell whether he was serious, or taking the piss. Probably a bit of both, I decided.

‘Oh yeah,' I said, overly sarcastic. ‘Sure!'

What is it they say about sarcasm being the lowest form of wit?

‘I gotta split too,' said Andy. He turned to the others. ‘Lil,' he announced, ‘is cooking her famous Mexican hotpot tonight.'

‘Ah . . .' May smiled, cocking her head on one side. ‘How is the darling thing?'

‘Gorgeous,' he replied, in a fake American accent, ‘as ever.' He raised a hand. ‘Catch ya later.'

Chet raised a hand in return, and May said, ‘Bye.'

Andy turned to go, gesturing me to go ahead of him. But then he turned back to the others.

‘When's the next session – for the scripts?' he asked.

‘Friday arvo, I think we said,' came Chet's voice. ‘Four-ish?'

‘Bye Alice,' sang May. ‘Nice to meet you.'

I mumbled something like, ‘You too,' already imagining her and the horrible Chet having a laugh about me as soon as the front door had closed. About little Miss Alice, standing there like a dork, blushing to the roots of her hair.

Andy reached around me from behind to open the front door. ‘After you,' he said with a small flourish, and we walked out into the evening chill.

‘Is he for real?' I blurted, as soon as he'd pulled the door shut. Then, of course, wished I hadn't.

‘Who?' asked Andy, hand still on the doorknob. ‘Chet?'

I shrugged and nodded. ‘It seems like he thinks he's–'

‘Christmas?' He laughed, stepping off the verandah. ‘He can be a bit off-putting, especially when you first meet him. But he's OK, underneath it all.'

‘Mmm.' I shrugged and then added, more for something to say than anything else, ‘Weird name.'

We'd turned through the gate and up the street, both in the same direction. ‘His real name's Barclay,' said Andy with a small smile, looking straight ahead.

I gave a little cry of laughter, turning to him. ‘His
first
name?'

‘Yep. Second name – Browning.
Barclay Browning
,' he added. ‘Sounds like something from the music hall era!' He shrugged. ‘I guess that helps to explain a bit about him.'

‘Yeah,' I said, giggling, ‘I guess . . .'

Suddenly ole Chet didn't seem quite so intimidating after all.

We marched along, our footsteps more or less in time. We were drawing near the Mazda. I could see the back of Milly's head resting against the passenger window; wondered if she'd nodded off. She's quite a devotee of power naps, being such a night owl.

I swallowed.

‘Here's my car – Mum's car,' I said, pointing. ‘D' you . . . want a lift somewhere?'

‘Oh,' he said, slowing down, looking at me. ‘Where're you headed?'

‘Over the Bridge.'

He smiled and shrugged. ‘Exact opposite direction to me. Thanks anyway.'

I didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. ‘You sure?'

‘Well, maybe you could drop me somewhere near Central?'

‘Fine.'

‘No,' he said, remembering, ‘that means you'll get caught up in city traffic, in the rush hour.'

‘I'm going that way anyway. Via Annandale . . .'

‘Really?'

When I nodded, he smiled.

‘OK, thanks – that'd be great.'

We'd reached the Mazda; I tapped gently on the outside of Milly's window. Just as I expected, she gave a little shriek and jumped a mile. It's true she'd been snoozing, but Milly never does anything by halves.

She stared at us for a moment through the glass, eyes wide, hair falling over her face. Particularly, of course, at Andy. I watched as her look of surprise transformed itself into a smile.

‘The famous Milly, I presume,' murmured Andy, hands in his pockets.

I laughed. ‘Yep.'

Famous Milly couldn't wind down the power window, so she opened the door instead. ‘Hey!' she cried, twisting right around.

‘Mission accomplished,' I said solemnly, holding out the shoe.

‘Oh, ta.'

And she took it from me and tossed it over her shoulder into the back as though it were an old tennis ball, not the precious object which I'd practically died a thousand deaths to retrieve. Then she smiled again at Andy.

‘Hi,' she said, in velvety tones. ‘I'm Milly.'

‘Yeah,' said Andy with a smile. ‘So I gathered.'

That took the wind out of her sails. I could have cheered. Milly's carry-on when it comes to boys sometimes sends me into orbit.

‘Oh . . .' Her smile faltered; she looked uncertainly from him to me and back again.

Then I felt ashamed. Despite her party-girl behaviour Milly's actually one of the most defenceless people I know. She just doesn't seem to have enough layers of protective skin. This, combined with her
compulsive flirtatiousness, makes for a pretty fatal combination.

‘We're giving Andy a lift to the station,' I said. I nodded at the back door. ‘Jump in.'

‘So,' ventured Milly over her shoulder, after we'd got going, ‘You live wi . . . in the house?'

‘Nah,' came the reply. ‘I live at Summer Hill.'

With the beautiful Lil, I thought, remembering with an irrational little pang his loving description of her.

We crossed a one-way street and I suddenly realised that I couldn't think how to get to Central. I turned my head slightly.

‘What's the best way?'

‘You're OK,' he said. ‘Just go next left, then right, down into Crown. I think . . .'

But the second turn was another one way – the wrong way. We stopped, looking up and down the tiny street.

‘Shit,' he said. ‘Sorry! Look, I'll get out and walk – it'd be a lot easier for you.'

‘Don't
worry
,' cried Milly airily, waving a hand. ‘We'll get there! How
hard
can it be?'

But I was suddenly remembering Mum's stern injunction to have the car back by 7.15. Not only would I have to face her anger – all the scarier for being the controlled, quiet kind – but I also wouldn't be allowed the car next time I wanted it.

I glanced at the clock in the console. 6.44. In the rush hour.

I stared down the street to my right at the lights of the cars flashing past on Crown Street, only one short block away.

‘Bugger it,' I said, ‘gunna go for it.' And I put the
Mazda in reverse and started backing down the hill between the two rows of parked cars.

‘Wheee!' cried Milly.

This time we actually would have made it if it hadn't been for two guys in a black Jeep who turned in at the last second from Crown Steet. Dressed in black and looking almost identical; their bald heads outlined against the lights behind them.

We all ground to a halt; the five of us stared at one another. Correction, six. As a final insult an enormous dog – a Great Dane – stuck its head out the window behind the driver and gave a couple of mighty woofs.

Now it was my turn to swear – quietly, but with a lot of conviction. Milly was less ladylike. She rolled down her window, leant right out and pointed hard at the kerb space beside them.