8

THE HEATER gave it everything, but cold came in from a hole in the floor. The rain fell as if being tipped on the world from a million swimming pools. As I got closer to his street, my teeth started chattering. First, I did a slow circuit of the block, eyes on the light in his studio. No movement up there. I parked behind his building and pulled up the hood on my jacket. I passed under his windows, where it would be impossible for him to see me. Not many people about, except for a couple of men dashing down the street, huddled under a raincoat. A woman sat slumped at the bus shelter playing on her phone — then she turned to me and spoke. ‘Stella.’

‘What the?’

‘It’s time we had a talk, don’t you think?’

‘Jesus, Felicity. No.’

‘I know this is awkward for you. It’s awkward for me, too.’

‘Stop saying “awkward”. What are you doing down here?’

‘I’ve finished sitting for him for tonight.’

Sitting, posing, seducing. ‘Then I might go up.’

‘He’s working on backgrounds. Probably for the whole night. I wouldn’t disturb him.’

I resented this. ‘Then we should both go home.’

‘I’m meeting some friends for a drink. Why don’t you come along? We can have a heart-to-heart, what do you say?’

An evening of claptrap with this ditsy nong. ‘Hmm, sounds tempting, but no.’

‘One drink.’ She was unyielding. It made her seem older somehow, and made me feel infantile, like I was the princess here.

‘Fine. I’ll meet you there.’ I would be unable to find the venue.

‘I don’t have a car. You can give me a lift.’

She was a determined adversary, I’d give her that. And I doubted her invitation was spontaneous. If it was a tactic, then, much as she irked me, it would be to my advantage to find out what this schemer was up to. ‘One drink wouldn’t hurt, I guess. Car’s over here.’ I pointed to the alley.

As we buckled up, I said, ‘Shouldn’t you be dressed as a cowgirl, out knocking on doors and asking for sweets?’

‘Halloween is not about sweets. The commercialisation is a recent degradation of an ancient festival that actually has its roots in pre-Christian Ireland.’

‘Gosh, Felicity, that is so interesting.’

She tilted her head, blinked, then went on.

‘Traditionally on Halloween the gateways between the living and the dead are for a short time open. And while the modern-day zombie costumes send up death, we can’t escape it — death awaits us all. According to one study, grief seeks to stay with lost loved ones, not distance them. Even as time goes on, people yearn for closer ties to the dead.’

I thought of my father. Time hadn’t brought any closure, whatever that was. His crop-dusting plane crashed when I was a teenager, and his presence was still palpable, even now.

‘The popularity of Halloween,’ Felicity went on, ‘has more to do with anxiety about death. Imagine if we were able to really relate to the dead! It happens in Mexico and Japan — in lots of places — and in the lighting of candles to the ancestors in Chinese Confucian and Buddhist traditions. The souls of the dead return home.’

‘What are you, some kind of a pagan?’

‘No, I did a semester on comparative religion. Turn right, here.’

I turned into Victoria Street, heading south to Seddon. A flock of little witches dashed under a shop awning. I thought of Cuong and how Phuong had said his concerns were not about random ghosts. A single, specific spirit haunted that poor man. A ghost with a grudge.

‘Here it is, The Drunken Tweet.’

The place was a single-fronted shop converted into a disinterested and therefore on-trend wine bar. Felicity made an earnest study of the cocktail list. ‘One MFW, no ice,’ she told the waiter. ‘Stella?’

‘Two.’

I glanced at the blackboard menu. The ‘MFW’ stood for ‘Mad Fucking Witch’, a cocktail of fruit-based liqueurs. It was too late, I supposed, to change my order.

Felicity regarded me with blunt scrutiny; I could almost hear her tiny brain calculating. I didn’t like it one bit. ‘So,’ I said. ‘How’s your day been?’

She acted dismayed.

‘So,’ I continued. ‘Mine’s been tops, thanks for asking. Bowling. Cake. It had everything.’

‘I haven’t fucked him.’

Ah, candour as a shock tactic, designed to catch me off-guard. What she didn’t know was that I was always on guard. And normally I’d have given her a pasting. However, I had no doubt that this conversation would get back to Brophy, so I had to hold my fire. ‘I don’t care either way,’ I replied blithely.

She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. I feared she was about to make a speech. I had a fear of public speaking. Not my own, other people’s. What if I became bored and started to panic?

‘We haven’t even kissed, but I think you should know —’

‘Stop. Whatever it is, I don’t want to know.’

She put up her hands in mild exasperation. ‘I thought we could talk, adult to adult.’

Two jars of toilet-blue liquid appeared, each with a striped straw. I seized one and consumed half, sweet as drupe, and alcoholically warming. Oh boy, could I get stuck into these. ‘Alright then, let’s talk. What are your grand plans?’

She held the jar near her lips. ‘Plans? You mean with Peter Brophy?’

‘I mean your studies.’ Dummy! ‘Your future.’

‘This is bullshit,’ she said, clearly exasperated. ‘I’m trying to tell you that even though I’m not interested in Peter sexually —’

‘I heard you, okay? He’s a free agent,’ I said. Perhaps I’d have more luck using that undergraduate conjectural language she obviously traded in. ‘I don’t believe in tying people down. Monogamy is a construction of patriarchy. People are free to love whomever they feel like.’

Felicity went stern. ‘That’s nice, in theory,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think relationships work that way, Stella. We form attachments. It’s only human. We need love and family and we feel very protective of those we love.’

Bloody hell. The situation was hopeless. I sipped my Mad Witch juice.

‘Are you familiar with Eris? In the Iliad, she’s Enyo; she’s the goddess of strife, discord, and …’ She paused for effect. ‘Jealousy.’

‘A lesson in the classics. Thanks for enlightening me.’

‘There’re certain rituals you can perform that can appease an angry goddess.’

I nearly sprayed the table blue. ‘What the heck are you on about?’

She sat back. ‘We all have a bit of Eris in us, don’t you think? Petty jealousies, competitive instincts turned to bitter rivalry?’

This was what she had to tell me? I’d show her a goddess. I’d make up one of my own — a cold, hard bitch who flouted propriety and good manners. The awesome power of righteousness in a bat-shit, bad-arse, crazy mother—

There was an abrupt dingdong in my pocket. I acted apologetic as I pulled out my phone. Felicity bowed her head.

Phuong: Where r u

‘Sorry,’ I said to Felicity. ‘It’s urgent.’

An indulgent hand came out of her sleeve and waved. ‘Go ahead.’

Me: Help! I’m being held hostage at the Drunken Tweet

Phuong: Run! I’m at Cuong’s

Me: 15 mins

‘Well, this has been all very edifying,’ I said, draining my juice.

Felicity bestowed a slow blink upon me, like a cat in love. ‘It has, hasn’t it?’

I dropped a lobster on the table, Christ only knew what a witch juice set one back these days. ‘I have to see a man about a ghost.’

As exits went, it was rip, shit, and bust. I jumped in the Mazda and gunned it.