Saturnalia Avenue is dead as usual. The sight of Orphanville at the end of the street is enough to keep most people away. The trees lining the avenue are nothing more than dead wood in the ground. Every few weeks or so a branch breaks and crashes to the footpath, taking out anything or anyone in its way.
The dark is thick in this part of Shyness. The street is concrete, not tarmac, and is shot through with hundreds of cracks and potholes. No one bothers to fix roads anymore, or traffic lights or street signs. My body pushes against the Darkness, as if I’m wading through deep water. Even Wildgirl is silent.
Mostly Dreamers live around here. They’re not scared eight to live near Orphanville; the Kidds have no business with them. The Dreamer houses are paper cutouts, with balconies and lace and decorated roofs. Push the midnight silhouettes and they’d all fall over.
Thom and I broke in to a Dreamer house once. We found a broken window and laid our shirts over the jagged glass so we could climb through. We walked around the entire house without saying a word. There was no furniture, or light fittings, or mirrors, or carpets. Only bare floorboards and cobwebs, a wooden staircase leading upstairs, and dust everywhere. There was a bed on the first floor, in one of the smallest rooms. A couple of sofa cushions covered in twisted sheets as if the occupant had left in a hurry.
I have only one reason to come to this part of town, and that’s to visit Lupe. Everyone knows Lupe and her van. People go to her for the best kebabs in Shyness, and to get answers to their questions. Even before the Darkness my parents warned me not to speak to her, but after Gram died the pull was too strong. Lupe told me things I wanted to hear. It didn’t matter to me if they were true or not. She told me Gram wasn’t far away at all, just on the other side of a curtain. That was before the Darkness, or before we realised the Darkness was coming. Sometimes I think the sun must have started failing around the same time that Gram left us.
I quicken my steps. I’m anxious to see Lupe’s van shining in the night like a carnival ride. Lupe is definitely on my list of must-do’s in Shyness. I know instinctively that Wildgirl will like her. And now that I’ve had the idea of food, I can’t think of much else.
‘Look,’ whispers Wildgirl, leaning into me, spooked. It’s a moment before I spot him.
A man stumbles along the road, about fifty metres off, walking towards us. He’s got a classic Dreamer walk, dragging each leg after the other, hovering in mid-stride. His jumper sleeves hang as if he has no arms.
‘Dreamer,’ I explain. ‘It’s like a cult around here. All they want to do is sleep and dream. When they start out they take lots of pills so that they can sleep longer and dream more. But after a while they don’t need the drugs: they can sleep for as long as they like. They’re convinced that dreams are the true reality.’
The Dreamer passes us without seeming to register that we’re here, his gaze fixed somewhere on the horizon. He barely has any colour at all, like he’s been through the wash too many times. A lost soul. Wildgirl cranes her neck to keep watching him.
‘You can’t blame them, can you? You can do anything you want in your dreams, be anything you want to be.
When you’re asleep anything can happen, anything can be fixed, or reversed.’
She speaks like someone who’s tamed her dreams. ‘You should hear some dreamer-rock. It sends even me to sleep.’
Wildgirl still walks close, and it gives me an excuse to slip my arm around her shoulder.
‘What are you going to do with the card now that you know it works?’
‘I’m going to get on a plane and fly somewhere far, far away.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘Uh, India, I guess. Maybe.’
The only things I know about India are that it’s crammed full of billions of people all trying to find some space, and that the sun would fry me in thirty seconds flat. ‘Do you have family there?’
‘Why would you say that?’ Wildgirl is brittle all of a sudden.
‘I don’t know. You look like you’re half-something.’ Crap. She glares at me. ‘It’s…your hair is so dark, and your skin…’
Wildgirl pulls out from under my arm. ‘Why don’t you ask my mum? She says she doesn’t know, but personally I think she’s just holding out on me.’
I’ve ruined the moment.
When I was younger I used to imagine what it would be like if I had different parents. It had to be a mistake that I got the ones I did. I was nothing that my parents wanted me to be. Neither was Gram, but I didn’t think it bothered him as much.
Wildgirl should know that two parents are not necessarily better than one.
‘My parents were some of the first to leave Shyness when things got difficult. My dad wants nothing but comfort and money. He wants all the dirt and noise in the world to be kept out of his house. He makes all the rules, but he’s soft. He never lifts a finger, except to send emails.’ I strike a body-builder pose. ‘Looks like Mum was secretly running with the pack.’
Wildgirl smiles. She knows what I’m trying to do. She grabs me and turns me around, pointing at the ghostly Dreamer, floating into the darkness.
‘See that guy? Half-zombie for sure.’
We’re almost at Lupe’s van. There are no trees at all in this part of Saturnalia Avenue. The Kidds probably used them for one of their bonfires.
‘Kidds Rush In,’ says Wildgirl, as if she’s reading my thoughts.
‘What?’ I’m startled.
She points at a billboard pasted to the side of an old milk bar. The poster is bright and fresh compared to the pocked brick wall underneath. Doctor Gregory Cares, it says along the bottom edge. Doctor Gregory’s tanned face smiles above the slogan. He has suspiciously white teeth. Doctor Gregory Cares about money, if you ask me.
Someone has spray-painted three letters across Doctor Gregory’s face. Monkey writing, wobbly and uneven.
‘K. R. I. Just like the graffiti near the bowling alley. Kidds Rush In.’
She’s sharper than I thought. Or less drunk. I’m even more impressed by her ukulele performance in that case. Wildgirl steps towards the billboard. ‘Who are the Kidds?’
Before I can reply a small dark shape drops from the sky and lands on Wildgirl’s head. Long, furry fingers reach for her eyes. To her credit Wildgirl doesn’t scream, but thrashes from side to side, the ukulele bouncing on her back. The animal loses its grip on her hair, falls to the ground and scampers off. I rush to Wildgirl’s aid, but she pushes me away, pointing behind me.
I turn around and there they are—the Kidds.
Five of them spread out in a semicircle in front of us, their bikes thrown to the ground behind them. If I’d been concentrating on our surroundings, rather than making Wildgirl smile again, I would have heard their wheels long before they got here. I recognise the tallest Kidd instantly, a guy known as the Elf. The Elf is weedy, with lank blond hair and skin the colour of uncooked dough. Flanking him are two boys and two girls of varying ages. One girl has her hand in her pocket, which probably means a knife. They all have plastic police tape tied around their heads like sweatbands.
The Elf pushes the littlest Kidd forward. He can’t be more than seven. There are drool streaks down the front of his too-big basketball top.
‘Tell them, Baby.’
‘Give us your bag!’ Baby demands in a reedy voice. ‘You holding. We know it.’
Wildgirl laughs. I don’t blame her. Baby barely reaches her waist. The tarsier sits on Baby’s shoulder now, licking its paws and chattering, baring a mouth full of holey teeth. I was slack. I should have asked Wildgirl if she was carrying. A bag that big, there has to be something.
‘Run back to Mummy, little boy.’
‘Monkey don’t make mistakes.’ Baby huffs and grimaces, working himself up into either a tantrum, or a fit of tears. His headband dangles in his eyes. He looks to the Elf for guidance.
‘Listen, you cola-colour City chick’—the Elf forces his words out slow, when anyone can see he’s high as a kite— ‘hand over the bag. And give Baby some respect.’
The Kidds are restless, shuffling and twitching. I wonder who would come to the Elf’s aid if I jumped on him and made him shut his big mouth. The third boy, a Kidd around twelve, appears stoned out of his brain and won’t be a problem. He wanders around, kicking aimlessly at the road. Knife-girl seems like the only other fighter among them and is probably second-in-charge. The problem is, Wildgirl doesn’t know that no one messes with the Elf, no matter what he calls you. She starts swinging her bag at Baby.
‘I’m. Not. Giving. You. Fucking. Little. Brats. Anything.’
Baby ducks and swerves, but he stays fixed on Wildgirl. ‘You got a nightmare mouth, girl.’ The Elf almost sounds impressed, but I see him move his fingers down low, waving the knife-girl forwards. ‘If you was Local I might ask you to join my crew.’
‘Give it to him,’ I tell Wildgirl in a flat voice.
She gapes at me. ‘What?’
‘Hand over your bag. They’re not going to take what you think they’re going to take.’
‘Good dog.’ The Elf stares at me with midnight eyes. I feel a wave of heat rising from my stomach. If I was on my own I’d be sorely tempted to take him on. I’ve lost track of the other boy and girl. I turn to find them both standing behind me, within striking distance.
‘Get any closer and I’ll thump you,’ I tell them. I don’t have to raise my voice. I’m ten feet tall when I’m pissed off.
‘Ooooh.’ The girl purses her lips, pretending to be scared. The boy giggles at something only he can see.
Wildgirl hands her bag to Baby. You can tell she hates doing it. Baby puts the bag on the ground and rifles through it with sticky, dirty fingers. Baby needs a bath. I can smell him from here. He skips over Wildgirl’s phone and wallet, and pulls out a packet of gum, a bag of jellybeans and a blister pack of throat lozenges, piffing them at knife-girl, who stuffs them down the front of her jumper with one hand.
Baby finishes ransacking the bag and kicks it along the ground to Wildgirl. He stands next to the Elf, fishing for approval that doesn’t come.
I think that’s it but then the Elf opens his mouth. ‘Body search.’
The tarsier leaps off Baby’s shoulder and is at Wild-girl’s feet in a flash. She stares down at the animal in disgust. The tarsier places one paw on her foot and then the other. He fishes around inside the ankle of her boots and then climbs her legs, slowly. He sticks his long fingers in her shorts pockets and then climbs higher, feeling as he goes. Wildgirl stands still, but her legs are shaking. She’s breathing audibly through her nose. I follow her eyes to knife-girl, who has taken her blade out of her pocket and holds it up idly as if she’s about to peel apples.
The tarsier finishes searching and finds nothing. He scampers back to Baby, leaping effortlessly from the ground up to the Kidd’s shoulder.
‘Thank you for doing business, boys and girls.’ The Elf smirks and backs away to his bike. I scoop Wildgirl’s bag up from the ground.
‘I don’t know why you bother with the small stuff,’ I say, belatedly. When the Elf doesn’t respond I put my arm around Wildgirl and lead her away.