I take Tom’s hand and lead him through the dark, dank city streets.
‘Where are we going?’
‘It’s hot,’ I say simply.
He rolls his eyes. ‘You’re so random.’
‘Irrepressibly,’ I confirm.
The street broadens into a pedestrian square. Sandstone buildings are illuminated by fancy store displays, a busker plays the trumpet. I can’t imagine he makes much at this hour. He must like the sound of his instrument echoing around the buildings. It does sound haunting.
I can’t resist.
‘Watch this,’ I say, before striding quietly toward the man. I pull a coin out of my pocket and drop it in his music case. His eyes widen for a moment then he looks around. You can see his mind tick. Must have imagined it. After a minute I throw in another. You can hear the chink of the coin hitting the case. This time he stops, bends over and picks it up. I throw in another while he’s bent over. He leaps back, his eyes wild. Is it raining coins?
I look back at Tom. My hand is jammed over my mouth as I try not to laugh.
He’s shaking his head but he’s smiling. He wanders close to the guy and throws in another coin. ‘I’m a good shot right?’
The busker gives Tom a weird look. ‘Yeah. Thanks.’
Tom takes my hand and I guide him further away, up toward the fountain.
‘You really do have gypsy trouble in you.’ He says it fondly and it’s the first time I’ve felt kind of okay about it. I squeeze his hand. ‘Is that why we came here?’
‘No. Added bonus.’ I point to the fountain. ‘This is why we came here.’
‘You want a shower?’ he jokes.
‘We want a shower.’
‘You’re not serious.’
I give him my lifted brow. ‘I’m always serious.’
I slip off my jacket, then my ballet frock and chuck it at Tom. I’m glad the busker is not looking. It would be strange to see a dress appear from nowhere and fly through the air. I kick off my shoes and jump in. Tom doesn’t follow.
I splash him. ‘Come on!’
‘No way—you can get away with it. I’ll look deranged.’
He already looks a bit touched, standing there gawking at a fountain while holding a tutu. But I can see he’s seriously thinking it over. It must be the fancy underwear.
‘But nobody is here!’ I say. ‘No one will see you.’
He edges forward. ‘Well, maybe just a paddle.’ He pulls off his shoes and socks, rolling his pants up above the knee. He steps in carefully, trying not to get his clothes wet. ‘What am I doing?’ he mutters to himself. ‘This is crazy.’
‘Here, catch,’ I say, jumping into his arms. My unexpected weight puts him off balance and we fall. He’s on his back, water up to his chin, me planted on his chest.
‘What are you doing?’ he splutters.
‘Haven’t you seen Forrest Gump? The fountain scene? I’ve always wanted to do that.’
‘You could have warned me.’ His brow is furrowed. ‘And I’m supposed to be Forrest Gump? Thanks.’
‘You’re much more handsome.’ I kiss him so he can’t object, even though the water is threatening to drown us and his arms are shaking trying to hold us up.
‘Everything alright, fella?’
Cac. A cop? No, a security guard.
I jump off Tom and back away. He stands and faces the man, then to his credit, he starts giggling. Well, as giggly as a mostly-grown man can get.
‘You think this is funny?’
‘No, sorry. I um …’ Tom is at a complete loss. Why would someone be lying in a dirty fountain in the middle of the night?
‘Had too much to drink, fella?’
‘No.’ He wades out of the fountain and looks for his shoes.
‘I don’t need to take you up to the station do I?’
‘No, absolutely not. I’m sorry. It was hot and then I fell …’
‘The hospital’s up there if you need it. They look after plenty of ill folk Saturday nights.’
‘No, I’ll be fine.’ He starts to put on his shoes but changes his mind, picks them up instead. I’m out of the fountain standing under a lamppost making wild gestures toward my clothes. He bends over and picks up my heels and frock.
‘They’re your clothes are they?’
‘Um, yes.’
The security guard is a nice guy. He looks concerned. ‘I’m not too happy letting you go like this. Are you sure you’re all right, lad? I can get you help. No need to be ashamed.’
‘No, honestly, I’m fine. I’ll go home now.’
I realise I’m dripping all over the cement so I bolt up the street and around the corner. Tom follows my path of drips until he finds me hunched against the wall laughing my head off.
‘I told you!’ He slaps my arm.
I screw up my nose. ‘Are you mad?’
I meant it like ‘are you angry’, but Tom passes me my things with such a look of adoration it melts me all the way to my toes. ‘I’m beginning to think so,’ he says.
We’re both glowing, radiant soup bowls of mutual admiration. He leans in to kiss me. Wow. This is serious. I’m falling for this guy, madly, badly, gladly.
I pull away. ‘Now for the magic.’
I step into my frock, fasten the zip then bound across the road, barely missing a trio of motorbikes heading down the street. I scramble up onto the back of the Mac Street swine statue; a bronze monstrosity with water dribbling from its jaws.
‘Hey, be careful, would you!’ Tom says, looking both ways for traffic as he follows me. He is cross.
‘Do you think he’s going to buck me off?’
‘No—back there with the bikes—you could have been killed. Those guys can’t see you—they could swerve in your direction any second.’
I can’t go there. It’s too raw. ‘Sorry,’ I reply.
He’s not sure if I’m just blowing him off—I guess since I’ve never apologised so easily before. So he’s on edge and still irritated with me. ‘You wanted to show me a pig?’
‘I used to sit on it when I was small.’ I bend over and rub its nose. ‘Rub it—for luck.’
Reluctantly Tom pats the snout, where the bronze has been buffed by the hands of hundreds of passers-by.
‘See? Magic.’
Tom doesn’t seem convinced.
‘Public statues are fascinating,’ I tell him. ‘It’s extraordinary the spots people choose to touch. Have you heard of the Wall Street Bull in New York? They say its balls sparkle like morning dew!’
‘Sounds kind of unhygienic.’
‘I suppose it is—but still—what compels so many people to rub its balls? It’s perverse.’
‘So that’s why you like this guy?’
‘In a way.’
‘Come on Olive, why are we here?’ He is still rubbing the pig’s snout. ‘Because you sat on this thing when you were small?’
I shrug. Maybe this was a bad idea. ‘I just wanted to show you.’
‘Show me what?’ His head drops back, he’s losing patience with me.
I nod toward a stately stone building nearby. It’s easily over a hundred years old. ‘Dad worked here.’
‘Yeah?’ Tom seems stunned. I never hand over personal information. He doesn’t know what to do with it.
‘Yeah.’ I’m just as awkward.
‘He was a … lawyer?’
‘At first but then one of those big-wig QCs.’
‘So that’s where you got your smarts.’
My eyebrows shoot up. I’m not sure if he’s being genuine. I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.
‘I spent a lot of time here with Dad when I was little,’ I continue.
‘Was it fun?’
‘Yes,’ I reply. I loved this place.
‘Tell me about him.’ Tom sits down with his back to me, tugs off his shirt and starts wringing it out. It’s easier to talk while he’s not looking at me.
‘His name is Bruce,’ I say. ‘Not the most lyrical name.’ Tom looks over his shoulder so I can witness his exaggerated eye-roll. ‘It suits him though. He’s fat and wrinkly and bald. He has a wicked sense of humour.’ I can’t help smiling. ‘In chambers everyone thought he was batty. He didn’t try to hide my presence at all, he’d chat away to me, pull out a chair for me in meeting rooms. You should have heard the whispers—that he’d made up an imaginary daughter, that he was a sunflower seed away from an asylum. He was a complete genius in the courtroom though, so nobody dared challenge him.’
‘Crazy.’ Tom pulls his shirt back on.
‘It was wonderful. I felt almost real in his office. I spent almost every day there from when I was four, colouring under his desk, listening to stories on his stereo. His secretary kept trying to file away my stuff but he insisted it be left out. She was like “why do you need Play-Doh?’’’
Tom is laughing with me as I slip off the statue and squat beside him. We put on our shoes together.
‘We played awesome tricks spooking his snooty rivals. It was so fun, he’d have me nick stuff or spill stuff on them, and the funniest was slowly unravelling a toilet roll while this stuck-up barrister was on the toilet freaking out. Dad and I laughed and laughed.’
‘That’s funny.’
‘Yeah. He was good. Bit unethical I realise now.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I was too young to know at the time, but sometimes he’d get me to borrow files or go into meetings and tell him what they were saying.’
‘That does sound dodgy.’
‘It was fun, I felt like a real detective.’
‘And you were how old?’
I’m twisting a strand of hair around my finger as I try to remember. ‘Probably eight by then. He didn’t trust me with the covert stuff till I was old enough not to blow it.’
‘Huh. No wonder he was so good in the courtroom.’
I punch him in the arm. ‘You don’t understand.’
‘Sorry. I’m sure he would have been great anyway.’
Tom nods but it doesn’t come off as genuine.
‘He was a QC before I was five!’ I cry. Why do I feel the need to defend my dad to this dumb guy?
‘Fair enough,’ he reassures me. ‘So why did you spend so much time here?’
‘Rose was at school.’ I bite a fingernail. ‘My Ma was gone.’
‘Oh,’ Tom says. He waits a beat before he asks, ‘So your mum …?’
I shake my head. I won’t do it to him. He doesn’t need to hear it.
Tom pulls me to my feet and we begin to walk, his clothes dripping on the pavement behind us. ‘So this is where you got your education then. Instead of school?’
‘Actually, I did go to school sometimes. I sneaked into most schools in the city. Well, I didn’t venture north of the bridge.’ I knock into him with my hip. ‘Pity, really.’
‘I’ll say.’
‘Dad was all for it, he said I needed a real education. But maybe that’s because he wanted me to stop hanging around the chambers. He got a bit worried when I started to out-lawyer garble him.’
‘So you are super smart—I knew it.’
‘Did you now?’ I say it like I don’t believe him, but really I’m flattered as hell.
‘Yeah, you’ve got that sexy-nerd vibe going on under all this …’ His hands flail as he tries to come up with the word.
‘I was going to say bad-assness.’
‘You are a true virtuoso with the English language, my dear,’ I snort. ‘Anyway, I credit my unique brain to a very unusual education. I’ve been popping in and out of schools and universities whenever I feel inspired; no tests, no judgement, just the satisfaction of learning.’
‘That is so cool.’
‘Learning what you want, when you want, how you want. It’s the way of the future,’ I reply. I’ve given this spiel to Felix too but he’s not sold on the idea, he’s more of a mainstream, pay your dues type of guy.
‘So did you study science and maths or did you stick to humanities?’
‘I’ve dabbled in everything really.’
‘Impressive.’
‘Yeah, you’d think, but when you’re not forced to learn, you actually want to learn. Like I was reading about these scientists, Herschel and Ritter, who were studying light invisible to the human eye. And I got all excited that their concept might explain me—which it didn’t by the way—but I was so impressed by their thinking I did two terms of physics at university.’
‘Hey, I did physics too. First year geology. It was tough.’
‘Is that why you quit?’
‘No.’ Something inside Tom shifts. He’s offended. ‘I wouldn’t just quit something because it was hard.’
‘Sorry.’ I’ve obviously touched a nerve. ‘Sometimes quitting is smart. It’s stupid hitting your head against a wall, if you can’t do something. It’s better to go and find something you can.’
‘Like pull up weeds?’
I shrug. ‘Sure. If you enjoy it.’
Tom’s mouth is pinched like he’s irritated. Maybe with me. But maybe with himself. This is not the way I wanted the night to end. ‘Let’s go back to my place,’ I say.
We stand by the side of the road, Tom with his arm out, trying to hail a cab, something I pine to be able to do. We stand for a good five minutes of silence until suddenly he turns to me.
‘Olive?’
‘Tom?’
‘Where’s your mum?’
As if by magic a cab pulls up. Tom looks tempted to wave it on but he doesn’t. ‘Tell me later,’ he says as he pulls the door open for me.
But it’s almost easier this way. As I dip my head to enter the cab I answer him.
‘I killed her.’