Walking Shadows (33 page)

It was marginally easier being alone during the afternoon. I made plans for the weekend which
mainly involved getting my dog home. I missed Oscar's tiny, energetic warmth, his completely
unconditional adoration.

I messed about on the net, obsessively checking the inbox for a reply from Gary that didn't come.
I made myself not panic about that. He had been perfectly all right the last time I got paranoid,
and the previous danger was no longer anything like imminent. I didn't like that thought path, so I
killed time with Spider Solitaire.

When the phone rang I jumped like it had bitten me. It rang out. Rang again. Steeling myself, I
picked it up.

Dad was checking that we were all still on for the evening, and confirming the address of the
restaurant where we were meeting. He dropped a clumsy hint that he could meet us at home with the
car. I told him a lift was sorted and that we'd see him there. Any embarrassment caused by the
obvious avoidance of telling him where we lived was less of an issue than making sure he didn't
know. I wasn't ready for that yet.

Kate came home, with our darling Oscar in tow. She laughed at Oscar and me greeting each other
like long lost pals, although some of my enthusiasm was tempered by the discomfort of my bruises.
Oscar seemed to sense something was wrong and nosed my hand with an enquiring whimper.

"He's put on weight," I observed.

"Anthony spoils him," said Kate indulgently.

"More walks for you," I told Oscar. Oscar yipped a happy agreement to the plan. I fed
him and played peek-a-boo around the sofa with him while Kate showered. Finally, Oscar collapsed,
panting, on the carpet and rolled onto his back to show me his rounded belly for tickling.

It can take Kate up to an hour and a half to get ready for a night out when she's pulling out the
stops, whereas, left to my own devices, I rarely take more than 15 minutes. Less if I decide to let
my hair go
au naturel
.

Kate wanted to put up my hair and do my make-up for me, though. It felt nice to let her, and it
took my mind off everything else. Dressed in a long, smoky grey skirt with pale blue highlights and
a matching top, my hair pinned up high with a tail of hair cascading over my shoulders, I actually
looked pretty good. Kate was stunningly curvaceous in her lavender-and-cream halter-neck dress and
heels.

The buzzer blatted. Anthony's filtered voice stated that he was waiting downstairs. We left Oscar
chewing on a dog treat and took the lift down.

The tall, dark, Adonis-like love of my sister's life greeted us with an all-encompassing smile,
though the sunniest part of it was saved for Kate. Anthony's short, wavy hair curled appealingly
over his brow and highlighted his kind, brown eyes. A shiny silver hoop glinted in one ear and,
combined with a faint scar under his right eye (from an aggressive childhood game of football, he
said), he had a rakish air. It would have been easy to dismiss him as an untrustworthy buccaneer, if
it wasn't for his underlying sweetness and generosity. He made a point of including me in the
conversation on the slow walk across the river into town, solicitous of my still-healing
injuries.

Dad was waiting with a jittery smile at the restaurant Kate had booked. He kissed Kate and then
me on the cheek and shook Anthony's hand while Kate made the introductions.

Dinner was bearable, apart from the awkwardness inherent in the fact that this was a difficult
reunion compounded by the first meeting of the boyfriend. Strangely, Dad seemed more intent on
making a good impression on Anthony than in checking out Anthony's credentials.

Painfully aware of Dad's drinking, no-one ordered alcohol. Instead, it turned into Lansburys all
round, the alcohol-shy person's alternative to plain old soft drink. Lemonade, lime juice, with
Angastura bitters providing bite and the hint of alcohol without any actual boozy effects, over ice.
Which matched the atmosphere.

Conversation was stilted and revealed the gap containing all the things he had missed in the last
few years. He thought I was still part time at the library and I hadn't informed him I was studying
again.

Dad moved on to asking Anthony about his work as a lawyer.

Anthony took the opportunity to praise Kate as the firm's legal secretary instead.

"We wouldn't get half as much done without her," he said, looking at her with adoring
pride, "She's so organised, right on top of things every minute. I keep telling her she should
finish her law degree. She'd be a gun in court."

Kate flushed with pleasure, and Dad nodded vigorously in agreement. "Kate was doing very
well at university. I told her at the time she should keep up with it, but…" He faltered
and reached for his Lansbury so he'd have something to do besides talk about it.

The 'but' was Paul's death, just over three years ago now. A lot of things didn't go to plan
after that.

Anthony came to the conversational rescue. "So, Mr Wilson, what are you up to now you're
back in Melbourne?"

Dad soon invited Anthony to call him Bill and spoke about his discussions with a private tennis
club to coach the rich and over-achieving.

We managed to survive dinner sober and civil. Effort was being made all round, and Anthony proved
adept at tactful diversion whenever the atmosphere got a bit stiff, which was often. He talked about
his jazz band; he and Dad compared notes on their travels in Europe; he told witty anecdotes about
the office and altogether proved himself worthy of my sister's affections.

"I've got an idea," said Anthony, damn him, "There's this great reggae-ska-salsa
trio playing tonight at the Diamond. Why don't we check it out?"

I thought that Dad would opt out but he eagerly agreed with the suggestion. He was clearly still
hoping the evening was going to improve: an optimism I did not share.

Queen Street wasn't far away and naturally, with Kate and Anthony side by side, Dad fell to
keeping pace with me.

"What's up honey? You're limping."

"Mishap with a staircase," I said, keeping the story straight, "I'm a bit banged
up, but I'll live."

"Good to hear it. And. Well. I thought you seemed down tonight, too."

"Just tired, Dad."

"All right."

Having done his fatherly duty, we walked on in silence until Anthony paused in front of a short
stairway up to a plain office building. He was greeted by name in the dowdy wood-panelled foyer by a
leggy dark-haired woman. As the gatekeeper to the club, she set the tone with panache. Her black,
sexy-chic outfit had been designed around a pair of gorgeous high-heeled shoes of the type I could
never have the courage to buy, let alone wear.

Into the drab lift, which made the foyer look flash, and onto the fifteenth floor, where we
emerged into a surprisingly charming, moodily lit room filled with dark polished furniture and the
elegant yet slightly decadent air of a 1920s Manhattan speakeasy. To the right was a display case
bearing a giant 'diamond' of royal blue glass. The walls were adorned with dozens of black ink
caricatures, and floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on an urban panorama of spires, domes and
office buildings glowing with blue- and yellow-washed lights.

Smartly uniformed staff mixed cocktails at the bar with nonchalant efficiency. I recognised one
of the young guys and spent a second trying to place him before realising I'd seen him at the Gold
Bug. He gave me a puzzled not-placing-you look too, and otherwise didn't acknowledge me.

The manager stood at one end of the bar, greeting people as they arrived. He knew Anthony and led
him immediately to a semi-circle of lavishly comfortable leather seats in front of the stage. A
tealight candle cast a cosy glow from a frosted glass bowl in the centre of the table.

Glasses of chilled water followed, accompanied by a wine list. Anthony exchanged a few quiet
words with the host, who nodded and departed briskly to attend to matters.

"I've asked them to whip up something special for us," said Anthony, looking very
pleased with himself. He obviously enjoyed springing this place on people. "The band'll be on
in about half an hour."

Talk fell to music. Anthony's band, my Dad's bygone days of '70s glam rock and impossible
platform shoes. He started to tell the story of how he'd met Mum at the police-run Blue Light Disco
and faded out.

"Anyway, that's old news," he said after a minute. "I know Anthony and Kate met at
their office," he continued, with a forced smile. "How come you haven't snagged someone
yet?"

My boyfriends keep killing or getting killed by vampires, except when they're turning rental
properties into heroin labs.

"I've been busy," I said after a moment, "Work. Study. You know."

"I suppose it's been hard for you, since last April."

Oh please, do not go there.

"Last April?" Anthony asked.

Kate jabbed him in the knee and memory dawned at the same moment Dad said, "When those Goth
murders happened."

"That's all long past now, Dad. I try not to talk about it," I said in what I hoped was
a quelling tone. Kate backed me up with a fierce frown, and Dad was suitably quelled.

"As long as you're okay," he mumbled.

A pang of pity struck me, he looked so abashed.

"Yeah, I'm doing fine," I offered a small smile. This was a reconciliation, I reminded
myself, not an opportunity to creep Dad out about my life.

Conversation dried up.

Anthony slapped the tabletop in an unnecessarily expansive gesture. "You guys should see the
view from the balcony. It's fabulous." He jumped up, and we all obediently followed. Checking
out the view gave us something to do besides not talk.

The balcony was already well populated with people carrying cocktails and cigarettes. A tiny bit
of room was available for us at the chest-high steel railing. Anthony took great pleasure in
pointing out the landmarks in the glittering darkness. To the left were the lights of the northern
suburbs. Shifting around to the east, the glass cone encasing a 19
^th
century shot tower,
the dark humps of the distant Dandenong Ranges, the old post office clock tower, and the floodlit
spires of St Patrick's Cathedral beyond Spring Street. We couldn't see the river between the
buildings to the south, but the Eureka Tower on the opposite bank thrust up like a deformed memory
stick, its golden tapering upper floors waiting to plug into some alien USB port.

I commented on the view, all the time wondering if any vampires were out there on the rooftops,
looking back at us.

"In the daytime," Anthony was saying, pointing past the Tower, "You can see the
yachts on the Bay."

"Back in a minute," said Dad and he ducked inside, presumably to go to the gents.

Kate was leaning against Anthony, the two of them admiring the view. Anthony's arm was around
Kate's waist. They looked so good together.

"Catch you inside," I said. The only indication they'd heard me was a waggle of the
fingers from Kate.

Returning to the atmospherically lit interior, I peered through the crowd looking for Dad,
figuring he was better company than none at all, by a very small margin. At least I could keep him
occupied and let Kate and Anthony have some alone time on the balcony. However, Dad wasn't at our
table, which was now laden with four identical fruity looking cocktails.

A sip proved my suspicions - a refreshingly crafted mocktail of juice, coconut milk and sundry
mystery ingredients. The only things missing were those ridiculous paper umbrellas and alcohol. That
Anthony was a smart boy. Through the walls of floor-to-ceiling glass I could see the two of them on
the balcony, failing to admire the view in their wholehearted admiration of each other.

I sipped some more, scanning the room for Dad.

Instead, a familiar, wildly out-of-place shirt hove into view.

On second glance, Gary and his bright shirt were not entirely misplaced. The dress code, I
noticed, tended towards the eclectic, when it wasn't veering off into the plain eccentric. I had
immediately warmed to the venue because of it.

Gary had spotted me too, and was making a beeline for me.

"Gary, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Hi."

"I mean, of course, 'hello'. I didn't mean to be so cranky yesterday. It's good to see
you."

"You too. And I've been following that kid. Abe. He was headed this way a minute
ago."

Shocked doesn't begin to cover it. The cocktail went everywhere, I started so violently - down my
shirt, over the table, onto my shoes. The glass slipped from now wet and sticky fingers and after a
moment of fumbled juggling, Gary plucked it out of my hands and put it down with a solid clunk on
the table.

"Where is he? Is Evan with him?" I cast wildly around the room for them.

"I only saw Abe. I lost him downstairs. I'm sure he's on his way up."

"Tell me what happened."

"I'd run out of biscuits for next time you visited, so I went to the shops this morning.
When I got back, I saw Abe out the front of my house. I waited until he left and then I thought I
should follow. See if your friend was really dead."

My heart was thundering in my chest. "Is he?"

"Maybe not. I followed the kid for hours, but I lost track of him somewhere around Richmond,
around the warehouses near Burnley Station."

"Abe's not as badly hurt as you all thought." Perhaps that meant Evan was less injured
too.

"That, and he's healed up pretty fast. I've noticed that the older we are, the faster we
mend."

"He didn't see you following him? Or smell you?"

"I don't think so. Vampires don't smell of much, anyway."

"So how did you track him?"

"It wasn't hard. He didn't know I was there. I don't think he was trying to be stealthy. He
seemed really preoccupied, actually. When I caught up with him again on Swan Street he was really
agitated. I got close enough at one stage to smell blood on him."