3

ALICE

Cherry cried when Alice left the next morning. While her child sobbed, Alice felt the sorrowful pull of parenting, wondering again if she should have said a strong no that broke right through Choker’s assumptions that everybody would always agree with him. But then Cherry threw herself against their Golf and wailed, ‘Daddy says we have to walk everywhere now!’

‘I know,’ Alice said, gently. ‘That’s why we chose this hotel. Look, the water is just there. And the supermarket. Dad promises he’ll buy you ice cream.’

‘Don’t take the car,’ Cherry said mournfully.

‘You’re going to miss the Golf more than me?’ Alice asked.

‘Yes.’

Alice, who had also loved cars since she was a little girl, put her hand to her heart, almost unbearably proud of this answer.

She took the Golf anyway. There was a dull autumn dawn outside, the sun forcing its rise through clouds over the sea beside her. She loved cruising the Great Ocean Road, the water at her side for so long, passing by houses she dreamed of living in one day – spaceships soaring on pylons, crisp white boxes with lush gardens, dark wood cabins hiding in bushland. Driving cars for a living wasn’t something that got you rich, unless you ran them into people on purpose for twenty thousand dollars – the going rate Choker had once offered her for a job. She had laughed and told him it wasn’t enough, then had gone home and tried to calculate how much somebody would have to offer her before it was enough, and the next morning had woken up hating herself for coming up with a number.

After Torquay, the road turned away from the ocean and back inland. Alice’s holiday mood fell away behind her, and she thought instead about who was dead, and how she was apparently supposed to know them although they were not a friend, and why the job had to be done by her, in the middle of a goddamn holiday, and not any of his other drivers in any of his other cars. Valkyrie was the best, of course, but she was old, and expensive, They had a 1940 LaSalle hearse that was arguably more beautiful, and Murray Long was a good hearse driver; he had soft white gloves, a pale blue suit that matched the LaSalle’s trim, and a little gold cap for effect. He also wasn’t on fucking holiday right now, like Alice was.

She arrived at the garage just before nine o’clock. Valkyrie was front and centre, buffed to a shine, and the anger Alice had been holding on to vanished.

As soon as she turned twenty-one and was allowed to hire a car, Alice had spent four hundred dollars to drive a 1968 Ford Mustang Fastback 390 GT around the suburbs for two hours, because she fucking loved cars. Now, she was going to take this girl out for two days, and get paid for it. It was a luxury, and she knew it.

‘She’s all good,’ Pia said, coming out of the office with a coffee in her hands for Alice. Pia was warm and soft, from her grey curls to the fabric of her worn jumpsuit, and her coffee was too milky but it never seemed to matter. They stood for a moment together and looked at the car.

Alice said, ‘The steering?’

‘Take it easy on those first few corners, but it’s not too different. Do you know where you’re going?’

‘No. Do you?’

Pia snorted. ‘I get told what to wax, my friend, and nothing more.’

Alice got changed in the bathroom: black gabardine pants, a green silk shirt, a blazer with gold buttons. She pulled her black hair into a respectful bun and applied mascara and a little lip balm, and tested her genuine and sorrowful expression in the mirror. The complete funereal chauffeur. Then she packed her holiday clothes away into her locker and went out onto the garage floor, where Valkyrie waited for her.

Valkyrie was a blue 1959 Rolls-Royce Phantom V hearse, and she was beautiful. She had been purchased in the early 2000s by someone who wanted her for his final drive but sold her before he could be bothered dying. Choker had bought her for too much money, and named her after the Norse goddesses who guided the souls of the dead to the afterlife. He’d refitted her with a peach leather interior and a few extra false compartments, then added her to his driving fleet.

Alice eased herself into the driver’s seat and breathed in the worn leather. Alice was Valkyrie’s favourite; some of the other drivers had problems handling her, but Alice and Valkyrie were always in sync. They had done a lot of miles together, and the chance to drive Valkyrie had been part of the reason Alice had said yes.

‘Look after her, all right?’ said Pia, as Alice roared Valkyrie to life.

‘Always,’ Alice said, and drove her away.

~

Valkyrie rode smooth over the freeway, her motor loud with age and power. It had been a long time since Alice had used Valkyrie as a hearse; most of the time, Alice drove people in her to parties or hotels or anywhere somebody wanted to feel good or important, but also dramatic. With no coffin inside her yet, Valkyrie felt too roomy on the hour’s drive to collect their cargo.

The funeral home was called Quentin & Clarke, and Alice was met at the front desk by Sadie Quentin, whose sour face had less life and enthusiasm than the refrigerated bodies downstairs. She led Alice into a very cold room; in the middle of that room sat an oak coffin with gold handles, a sprawling bouquet of natives on top, and a plaque on the lid that said DARWIN JAMES WEISS. Alice had always been very good at keeping her composure, but she couldn’t help starting at the familiar name, and then reaching out and touching the plaque with the tip of her finger.

‘I trust your vehicle has been properly fitted for this task?’ Sadie asked her.

Valkyrie’s last job before she came out here had been to transport an armchair from Ikea to o the house of one of Choker’s girlfriends, but Pia had cleaned up the marks and fixed her up fine since then. Looking over at Sadie’s expression, Alice realised that the woman was sour about not having been trusted with the transport of the coffin.

‘She’s set up,’ Alice said. ‘And I’ll be very careful with him.’

‘Alice Chan,’ Sadie said, looking her up and down. ‘How haven’t we met? Are you new to the industry?’

‘Not so new,’ Alice said breezily. ‘I just do exclusive assignments.’

Sadie looked stung, and Alice said, as an olive branch, ‘You did a beautiful job.’

‘Yes,’ Sadie said. ‘We always do. I have this envelope to pass on to you too. Sealed in wax – Choker is such a pretentious ass.’

Alice went back outside to Valkyrie, got into the car and tore open the envelope. She pulled out a sheaf of printed map pages with notes, addresses and thick black lines outlining her route.

It was not, she realised, a direct trip from the funeral home to Darwin’s final resting place. It was a jagged trip around Eastern Victoria with a handful of stops and an overnight stay before she even took Darwin where he needed to be. Complicated, she thought. Which was, she guessed, why they’d hired her.

She scanned the papers, then put the contents of the envelope in her glovebox and reversed into the loading bay.

She waited respectfully by her back door as Sadie Quentin’s two lanky, morose daughters wheeled Darwin’s coffin over and manoeuvred it into the back of the Rolls-Royce. Alice locked the coffin in place and bowed to the three of them. Mother and daughters then turned and left without another word. Alice got into Valkyrie and sighed.

‘All right, Darwin,’ she said. ‘Let’s take you home.’