Wildgirl stands in the middle of Grey Street with her arms stretched out as if she’s a religious leader. She pushes her fingers against the air, trying to prise it open. A siren rises and falls in the distance like a long, drawn-out whistle of appreciation.
I call out to her, ‘You won’t find anything. There’s nothing there.’ I hold her fire-engine handbag low by my side.
Behind Wildgirl the west side of the street operates normally. Late-night pizza shops spruik their wares with flashing lights. People lug shopping bags along the footpath without watching their backs. An ordinary shopping strip, crammed with hopeful immigrant businesses: Asian grocers, kebab shops, old-fashioned barbers, a shop selling belly-dancing costumes.
Grey Street is really two half-streets stitched together, with tram tracks running down the centre like a scar. The border between two worlds. It’s been a while since I’ve been up this way. I’ve been bouncing between my house and the Diabetic for what feels like forever. Thom and Paul come over to rehearse and then we all go for a beer. When I need to eat, I find something. That’s about as complicated as it gets.
The east side of Grey Street is a mess. The shops that aren’t boarded up have broken windows and their insides are littered with drink cans, cigarette butts and broken glass. Graffiti splatters over every available surface. The smell of piss, fires and uncollected garbage hangs in the air. When you look up at night, the sky looks the same as in the west, but every streetlight is broken.
Wildgirl calls out, ‘When did this happen?’
Locals pass by, eyeing the girl yelling in the middle of the road. People in Shyness don’t normally stand around on the street having high-volume conversations. I sigh, and walk to the middle of the road so we don’t have to yell at each other.
‘It’s been three years now. Something like that. It might have been a while before anyone noticed. First thing was the sun stopped rising all the way. At noon it sank back down in the east. It rose less and less each day until eventually it didn’t show up at all.’
‘And the other side is okay?’
‘Grey Street’s the border. This side: Shyness. The other side: Panwood.’
‘What caused it?’
‘I don’t know. No one does.’
Wildgirl chews on this a while before speaking again. I shift her handbag from one arm to the other. It’s heavier than it looks.
‘Do you know anything about Greek gods?’ she asks.
‘Not much.’
‘The Greek gods are just like mortals, always drunk and angry and getting it on with each other. The sun’s supposed to be Apollo, the sun god, driving his fiery chariot across the sky every day.’
Wildgirl keeps talking as she crosses back to the footpath without checking the road. She’s lucky cars don’t drive down here anymore. If I don’t answer, maybe she’ll stop chatting and we can get moving.
‘So maybe Apollo got sick of driving his chariot?’ she says. ‘Maybe he’s striking for better pay?’
I hand her bag back. She tucks it under her arm, still chasing her train of thought.
‘Maybe he’s gone on the dole and smokes bucket bongs all day?’
I’d smile but out of the corner of my eye I can see balls of shadow flitting up power poles, clustering on the powerlines like grapes. They’re out tonight, lots of them. I walk faster, hoping Wildgirl will match my pace. Her bracelets jangle with each step.
‘Everyone’s got their theories,’ I say. It drives me crazy listening to people crap on about the Darkness. I don’t bother thinking about reasons; I just deal with it. If you don’t like the night, leave.
I steer Wildgirl towards the Avenue. Maybe we can stop at Lupe’s for a kebab before I stick her in a cab and send her home. I think Wildgirl would like Lupe. They’ve both got a crazy goddess vibe.
‘There’s only one way I’ll believe you.’ Wildgirl turns to face me. Her cheeks are flushed. ‘We’ll stay out all night. You show me around and I’ll see for myself if the sun comes up in the morning.’
‘It’s not a good idea.’ Even as I say the words part of me is thinking it’s a great idea. It’s been a long time since anyone has thought my life was interesting. I could make it seem that way, for a few hours.
‘Why not?’ She reaches into her handbag without breaking her stride and pulls out her phone. ‘There. My phone’s off. Mum can’t call me. Not that she’ll care what time I come home tonight.’
‘You live with your mum?’
A pained look flashes across Wildgirl’s face before she juts her chin out. ‘Yeah, so what?’
I wonder where someone would learn so much about Greek mythology. I take a stab in the dark. ‘What school do you go to?’
‘What makes you think I’m still at school?’
‘I can tell. You’ve got that jailbait thing going on.’
I can be mouthy too, when I want. I’ve had plenty of practice at the Diabetic, trying to get some respect from the regulars. It’s difficult when some of the old guys remember me drinking raspberry lemonade in there with my dad.
‘That’s bullshit. I was at the pub with work friends, get it?’
‘Didn’t we already discuss that Neil wants to be more than just friends?’
I can tell she likes that, despite her irritation.
‘Southside,’ she admits eventually. ‘Southside Girls’ College.’
I don’t know it. High school is a distant nightmare. I dropped out straight after my parents ran away to the country.
‘So that makes you, what? Seventeen?’
‘Yeah…and how old are you?’
‘Eighteen. Almost nineteen.’
In nine months.
‘Ooooh,’ she cooes. ‘So ancient, aren’t you? So mature.’
‘Look, I don’t want to be responsible for an…outsider, not around here.’ We come to a halt. Wildgirl faces me, her hands on her hips. Her hair almost crackles with electricity.
It’s frustrating. Any guy would leap at the chance to spend time with a girl like this. But Shyness isn’t a normal place and I’m not the most normal guy. I stare at Wildgirl’s right shoulder instead of her face, to make this easier. It would be better for both of us if I walked her over to the far side of Panwood and put her in a cab. It would be better if I didn’t think about holding her hand, showing her my favourite spots in Shyness, and talking until we can barely keep our eyes open.
‘I can take care of myself. Mum and I live in a government flat, for godsake; I’m used to taking care of myself. I don’t need you to protect me.’
I’d believe her too, if she knew what she was protecting herself from. I have that prickly feeling tonight that comes before trouble. It’s been too quiet recently. No fights, no raids, no kidnappings. I risk a look at Wildgirl. Her eyes are huge and brimming with crocodile tears and hope. Like a Kidd. She’s not that far past it.
I open my mouth to say something else in protest, anything, but Wildgirl beats me to it. She folds over as if someone has punched her.
‘I have to go,’ she says.