Queen of the Night (6 page)

My hands shake so much I

can’t put my eyeliner on straight. I wipe it off and try again.

‘Nia, are you sure you don’t want any of this takeaway?’

Mum peers in. She’s just got back from her evening class. I blink my eyes, Bollywood-heavy with eyeliner and mascara, and shake my head at her reflection. Even thinking about food makes me queasy.

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘You’ve got to eat, baby.’

She comes in and squeezes my waist. I doubt she cares if I eat dinner or not, it’s just this routine we have to go through. I look at our faces side by side in the mirror. She
looks tired but happy. I never used to like it when people said we looked alike, even worse when they said we looked like sisters, but now I have to admit even I can see the resemblance. We both have the same round cheeks and stubborn mouths.

‘You’re all gussied up. Where are you going again?’

I sigh. Sometimes I hate this new policy we have about telling each other the truth. ‘I’m meeting a boy.’

‘Does he have a name?’

‘Uh, Jethro.’

‘Oh, good.’ Mum does another button up on my shirt. ‘I thought you were going to say that teen-wolf boy from Shytown.’

‘Mum, that was ages ago.’ I pretend to fix my hair in the mirror. My voice is too-bright and fake. ‘And it’s Shyness, not Shytown.’

‘I know it was ages ago, but I don’t forget boys who sound like bad news, Nia.’

‘You never met him.’

‘I didn’t have to meet him; you stayed out all night with him. When I was your age I had the same lack of taste.’

‘Oh, I bet Fish Creek was just
swimming
with bad boys.’

‘Don’t joke, Nia. It landed me in a whole lot of trouble.’

‘Fortunately, you’ve raised a very sensible, mature young woman with extremely excellent taste.’ I undo the top button of my shirt again, and push my ladies up. Better.

‘I don’t doubt it, honey.’ Mum backs towards the door. ‘You look hot by the way.’

I throw a shower-puff at her. ‘Don’t say “hot” to your own daughter, Mum, that’s just plain weird. I’m going to impress him with my giant brain.’

She smiles and leaves me alone. I close the bathroom door and jam a towel in the gap. God, why did she have to do that? I was all ready to be honest with her, why does she have to make it so hard?

I pull my phone out, wondering even as I’m finding his name in my address book whether this is the action of a dignified human being.

I am meeting Wolfboy; he just doesn’t know it yet.

The phone barely rings once before he answers. I watch myself in the mirror, tilting my head and imagining I’m a sassy actress in a black and white movie.

‘Nia, is that you?’ His eager voice almost unhinges me. ‘How are you?’

‘Do you want to meet at the Diabetic in an hour?’ I close my eyes and screw up my face while I wait for him to answer.

‘Yeah, yeah, sure, of course.’ He sounds surprised but doesn’t hesitate. ‘But…are you sure you don’t want to meet somewhere else? The Diabetic isn’t the nicest place.’

‘Nup, it’s non-negotiable. Meet me there in exactly an hour.’

He begins to protest, but I hang up. He needs to know we’re doing this my way, or not at all.

My heart is galloping. There were so many mysteries after that night, not least why he never called. The thought that I might be about to find out some of what happened freaks me out.

At least he said yes. He said yes.

I put on Mum’s best red lipstick and then message Ruth to tell her I won’t need her to be my Plan B for the evening. She replies straightaway:
Good. On the couch with a packet of Tim-Tams and Casablanca. What are you wearing?

I look down at my black jeans and tight patterned shirt. I could have gone for my boots with the low heels, but I decided on trainers instead. You never know who—or what—you might have to run from in Shyness.

I message her back:
Glamour up top, girl next door below.
My phone beeps seconds later:
That’s the way! Good luck x.

Mum and our next-door neighbour Stella are sitting on the couch, watching telly and hoeing into tubs of noodles. There’s an open bottle of chardy on the coffee table, and Stella’s already listing to the side. She’s eighty, so it doesn’t take much.

‘All right, see ya!’

‘Got your phone?’ Mum asks.

‘Yep.’ I’m desperate to leave without a fuss, but my eye is caught by something on the kitchen bench.

‘Doesn’t school start tomorrow?’

‘Yes.’ I walk over to have a look.

‘Not too late then. Eleven.’

‘Stop showing off in front of Stella.’ I slam my hand down. There are two train tickets on the bench, fanned out for me to see. Leaving on Wednesday afternoon.
Two
tickets.

Mum turns her head. ‘It’s a school night, Nia. Eleven.’

‘Okay.’ I force myself over to the door. Now is not the time to pick a fight about going with Mum to the country.

‘Nia…’

I grit my teeth. ‘Yeeees?’

‘Have fun, honey.’

Stella whistles pervily, and I race to get away before I start shooting my mouth off.

By the time I’ve caught the two trains that get me to Panwood train station and walked down O’Neira Street, seeing the street more and more abandoned and the buildings get crappier and crappier, I think I might throw up from nerves. I stride into the night with equal amounts of fizz and dread in my step. The quiet here is unsettling. No distant buzz of cars, or clatter from televisions or parties or dinners. No rustling in the trees. The dark looks the same as regular City dark, but I can feel the difference.

I shouldn’t have worn a shirt this colourful. People in Shyness are fans of black-on-black, and for good reason.
It helps them disappear in the night, so they don’t get harassed by monkeys, or Kidds, or slimy evil doctors in fancy cars. I spot the roof of the Diabetic Hotel again in the distance.

I’m so intent on getting there that I don’t pay much attention to the whine at first. When it sounds again, I stop, every part of me alert. I’m being watched.

I force my frozen hands to get my phone out of my bag and raise it to my ear, ready to hold a loud conversation with an imaginary friend. I hear the noise again. A squeaking sound, like a gate with rusty hinges blowing in the breeze. There’s no wind tonight.

Next to me, a narrow wedge of park lies in the shadows of surrounding buildings. The silhouettes of a slide, a climbing frame, a seesaw and a roundabout crowd the centre.

I take a few halting steps towards the playground.

I don’t know why. I should be running in the other direction.

The park isn’t empty. Against the predictable straight edges of the play equipment there’s something else. Someone is in the park. My heart goes thumpety-thump.

The metal roundabout moves idly, whining as it turns. Wolfboy spins to face me. He plants his feet on the grass and the roundabout comes to a halt.

‘Ready or not, here I come,’ he says.

He smiles up at me. Flashing white teeth, eyes so obviously blue, even in this darkness. There are curls over his collar; his hair has grown. I’m filled with a rush of unexpected pleasure to see him. Whatever fantasy I had in my head of what Wolfboy looks like, it’s now clear I haven’t been fantasising hard enough, not nearly.

‘Hi, you,’ I say, and expect my sentence to continue after that, but it doesn’t. I dig the toes of my sneaker into the tanbark. I suddenly remember to drop my phone hand away from my ear.

‘It’s been too long,’ he says. ‘Nia.’

I’m full of uncertainty. He looks more like a man than I remember. I feel our age difference keenly.

‘You were supposed to meet me at the Diabetic,’ I cross my arms over my chest, determined to stick to the script.

‘I knew you’d come this way. I didn’t want you to walk too far on your own.’

‘I can take care of myself.’ I think I said something similar to him the night we met. The difference now is that I know more about Shyness. It occurs to me that it would have been a good idea to bring something to defend myself with, but what? There’s literally zero weaponage in our apartment. I don’t think an eyelash curler would do.

‘I’ve no doubt about that.’

Wolfboy stands and moves out of the shadows. I crane my neck. I’d forgotten how tall he is. He leans down to kiss
me hello and I twist my head to the side. A fleeting sense of fear surprises me. Any illusion I’d had that he was like any of the other boys I know is drifting away in the night.

He stands there, head to the side, smiling at me with what seems like genuine pleasure, but all I can see is the power hiding in his body. I blink and get a flash of that night: Wolfboy sprinting between the towers of Orphanville, gliding so fast I couldn’t see his arms and legs move.

I forgot he wasn’t a normal boy. I don’t even know where his power begins and ends. I move away from him.

‘Come on then,’ I say.

If Wolfboy looks better than I remember, then the inside of the Diabetic Hotel looks worse, much worse. The limegreen walls are sicklier, the tables stickier and the carpet smellier. Apart from a heavily tattooed guy hitting the cigarette machine, we’re the only customers. Maybe the pub was always this crappy and I was starry-eyed about it.

The barman brings us beer without asking, and once again I’m forced to pretend I like the stuff.

‘Déjà vu,’ says Wolfboy, looking at me then down at the counter. ‘You know, no one comes here anymore. There was a big brawl here the night we met, and a guy got stabbed.’

‘I’m a hopeless nostalgic,’ I say. I’m painfully aware of how close Wolfboy is, on the stool next to mine. I wish we
were sitting at a table; then I could look at him without tilting my head awkwardly. I sip my beer, a polite pretend sip. He doesn’t respond.

The seconds tick by. I thought when we were standing there in the dark playground and I saw him smile that things were going to be all right between us, but what did I think would happen tonight? We barely know each other, and we haven’t talked for six months.

I catch the barman’s eye and I can tell he sees me drowning. I should be thankful there’s hardly anyone else here to witness my humiliation.

‘Thanks for calling,’ Wolfboy says eventually. He drums his fingers against the counter.

I draw swirls on my sweating beer glass. There’s a big fat elephant sitting in this room, perched on a stool next to us, drinking rum and coke. I want Wolfboy to tell me why he didn’t call for so long, and then I want him to tell me why he’s calling me now. And I don’t want to have to ask because I don’t want him to think I care.

‘You’re not drinking,’ says Wolfboy.

‘Neither are you.’ My hands are trembling. I sit on them.

‘I’m hung-over.’ He looks at me sideways. ‘A girl stood me up last night so I drank too much. I was really bummed out.’

‘Oh yeah?’ I stare back. ‘That’s nothing. This guy said he’d call me, and he never did.’

‘Nia,’ Wolfboy says, going all soft around the eyes. He touches my arm and I freeze. It would be easier to lean into him than to make conversation. There’s a magnetic pull there, a promise. I can’t pretend there’s not. There are too many memories of that night to keep at bay.

I pick up my glass as an excuse to shake off his hand. The freezing mouthful of liquid is as cold as the anger that has me unexpectedly in its grip.

‘What’s going on with Paul?’ I feel close to panic. I should never have come here.

‘We don’t have to talk about that.’

‘You obviously wanted to talk to me about it, so why are you being so coy?’

Wolfboy shrugs and pulls something from his jacket pocket. He slides it along the counter, daring to look at me. I got spooked too easily in the park. Even though his hair is longer and wilder, he seems less wolfish than when we met. Only the faintest of stubble dusts his cheeks. I look down.

A postcard. Plain blue, with a small drawing of two flowers above the words: DATURA INSTITUTE. I turn it over and it says ‘You are due for a visit’ in elegant dark blue writing. There’s an address in the bottom corner. My stomach is sliding so fast it will be crashing through the basement in seconds.

‘What’s this?’

‘I think Paul is mixed up with these people.’

I flip the card back to the flower side. ‘What do they do? Ikebana?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Why are you worried? It could be harmless.’

I met Paul that night, and he seemed like a really great guy. The sort of friend you could depend on, unlike Wolfboy’s el sleazo friend Thom.

‘It’s hard to explain.’

I turn sharply in my seat to look at him. ‘Well, you’d better try. Because I caught two trains here in the dark, and school starts tomorrow.’

Wolfboy winces and I think I shouldn’t have mentioned school.

‘Paul’s been acting weird since he broke up with his girlfriend. He goes off for days at a time. Lupe spotted him hanging out with these Datura people, and then one of them gave me that card. It’s too much of a coincidence that he started acting distant right around the time he’s seen with them. I know Paul. And he’s not himself at the moment. He was really out of it last night.’

It’s an uncharacteristic flood of words, coming from Wolfboy. The truth is out. This is why he called me after so many months. Not when he wants me, but when he needs me for something. He really did just want to see me so he could workshop another one of his Shyness dramas.

When I speak my voice is strained. ‘So you want me
to come with you and break into this Datura place and liberate, I don’t know, all the poor flowers held prisoner there, and find out exactly what’s going on with Paul, even though, I don’t know, it might be easier to ask him yourself?’

‘No, of course not. I was just happy you called. I don’t need you to do anything.’

Wolfboy looks so bewildered I can’t believe he’s really that thick. I slip off my stool. I want to accelerate until the end of this whole painful scenario and I can go home.

‘I don’t have much time, so let’s go.’

‘What…Nia…’

‘You want to stay here?’ I point at the tattooed guy, who’s stopped beating up on the cigarette machine and is crooning along to the jukebox using a pool cue as a microphone. ‘Maybe you can hook up with that guy. He looks like he needs someone to hold him tonight.’