Archive for the ‘Angela Slatter’ Category
Bad Hair Day
Thursday, July 30th, 2009
‘Shoulda worn a better hat,’ says my sister.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I reply, a little testily. ‘Hindsight is twenty-twenty.’
‘Hey, don’t get cranky with me. I did not do this.’ She makes a sweeping gesture with her hand.
Stones as far as the eye can see, big and small. Stone statues, that is.
‘It could have been worse,’ I venture.
‘How precisely?’
I think about it. ‘I’m not entirely sure, but most things can be worse.’
She surveys the damage and sighs. ‘I guess it could have been a parade or something. Something televised – now that would have made this worse.’
I’m kinda touched that she’s being a bit more supportive than usual. The sisterly solidarity doesn’t last though, and she blurts, ‘But honestly, how did this happen??’
‘You said it yourself – hat failure. I wanted a walk in the park,’ I say. ‘It was a beautiful day – how often do I get to Central Park? How often do I get anywhere? Getting hunted by heroes puts a bit of a blip in a social life. Anyway, I didn’t realise how windy it was.’
‘You know, every time you want a social life, we have to change address – and it’s not just cities, is it? It’s countries and continents. And what is it with you and parks, anyway? Can’t you be like a normal monster? You know, skulking in caves? The whole hiding thing a bit too hard for you?’
‘Easy for you, Stheno, you weren’t ever human. You don’t know what it was like. You don’t know what I lost.’ I go to kick at a rock at my feet, realise it used to be a Chihuahua and stop.
‘And why can’t you go out at night?’
‘A park’s not the same a night. Honestly, what have you got for brains?’
We look at the people I turned to stone. ‘Well, we all have to shift again – Euryale isn’t going to be happy. She’s still pissed about Stockholm in 1908.’
‘Hey, Stockholm, we got away with – the Millesgården looks amazing.’
‘You’re paying for the move this time. We’d better go via a bookstore and pick up a new atlas, maybe some Lonely Planet guides. Try and find a new city.’
‘Oh, somewhere with a nice park –‘
‘Medusa!’
‘Okay! Okay!’
Brisneyland by Night – Part Five
Tuesday, July 14th, 2009
My heart thumped. No. Wrong neighbourhood. Wrong kind of kid.
‘Have you checked the tree?’ Lizzie liked to hide in the hollow of the jacaranda tree in my backyard. She had comic books in sealed plastic bags, a blanket, a couple of dolls there. Her mother and I pretended we didn’t know about it – every kid needs a secret place.
‘First place I looked. Not with her friends either.’ She shook her head, trying not to cry. ‘I don’t want to overreact …’ she said, but I knew that’s exactly what she wanted to do, like any mother. She wanted to scream until her baby came back; she wanted to kill the person who’d caused her this tearing fear.
‘Did you see anyone? Any strange cars?’
She shakes her head, stops. ‘A big gold Mercedes drove past a couple of times when I was in the garden. But …’
‘Did you get a number plate? Any of it?
‘WKD1 – I noticed it coz it was weird.’
She had no idea how weird. ‘Call the cops, better to be safe than sorry. I’ll go for a drive,’ I said, eying the gypsy cab as it pulled up out the front of my place.
She nodded and the movement of her head was enough to spill the tears over. I pushed her away. ‘You’ve got my mobile – call if you hear anything.’
I climbed into the cab, wishing I’d had time for a call shower to at least trick me into feeling alert.
‘We’ve got a problem, Ziggi.’
‘Just one?’
‘Kid next door’s gone missing.’
‘You think …?’
‘Don’t know. Wrong suburb, wrong area, wrong kind of home, but who wants to risk it?’ I tried to catch my breath. ‘Got anyone who can check a licence plate for me?’
‘Of course, I got friends at Transport. Cost ya, though.’
‘It’s only money.’ I gave him the tag and waited, staring out the window while he made the call.
‘You’re not gonna be happy,’ Ziggi interrupted my thoughts and tugged hard on the wheel, turning us around sharply.
‘Won’t be the first time. Where are we going?’
‘Ascot. You said there wasn’t anything there.’
‘I said I couldn’t see anything. There’s overground and there’s underground, Ziggi. Burrows, cellars, caves, tunnels, larders. Aw, jeez.’
I leaned against the upholstery and closed my eyes, hoping the afternoon traffic wouldn’t bring us to a standstill.