The Midnight Dress(52)

‘It wouldn’t be a secret place then, would it?’ says Pearl.

She’s tucking her big hair behind her ears, looking away from him. Rose watches Paul Rendell’s face break open into a smile. His huge white teeth appear.

‘I always liked Weeping Rock; I go there a bit still, just for the walk. Good exercise.’ He gives Pearl a book, says, ‘I found this one for you, I think you’ll like it. Lots of castles and brooding princes, etcetera.’

‘Etcetera?’ says Pearl, this time returning his gaze.

She hands Ashes in the Wind to him.

‘Thoughts?’ he asks, holding it up a little.

‘I liked Cole,’ says Pearl. ‘He turned me on.’

Rose turns the pages of a gardening magazine from 1966, Pearl laughs and Paul laughs in return. He has backed away from her. There is sweet relief in the air.

‘You’re a rascal, Pearl Kelly,’ he says, and he is a man again and Pearl is just a girl.

‘See you, then,’ says Pearl.

She’s gone so quickly that Rose, surprised, is left piling the magazines back into the box. Rose doesn’t catch up with her until she’s past fat sweaty old Mrs Rendell, who looks over her glasses, shaking her head. By the time Rose makes it outside, Pearl is already on the footpath in front of Hommel’s, trying to slow her breathing. She has a hand over her heart.

‘What?’ says Rose.

‘I’ve done something,’ says Pearl.

‘What?’

‘Remember you told me that story up at the hut? The one about the secret pocket and the secret letter.’

‘I thought you were asleep,’ says Rose. Then it dawns on her.

‘Oh God, you didn’t, Pearl?’

‘I did.’

The problem with Pearl Kelly is that she thinks the whole world is one big romance novel. She thinks love is the only important thing. She thinks everyone is just waiting for the one big moment when they fall in love. Fall. Why is it falling in love? Falling implies an injury or a trap. Splatting, slamming, plummeting. Rose thinks she couldn’t stand to feel like that, all nervous and butterfly fidgety, all pale and swooning.

‘Rose,’ says Pearl on the street, still hardly breathing.

‘What?’

‘Do you think I’ve done the wrong thing?’

‘Of course you have,’ Rose says and leaves her there.

But even when Rose says these things to Pearl, even when she’s as mean as she can be, Pearl just chews a nail and smiles back, says, ‘Oh, Rose.’ Calls after her, ‘Ruby Heart Rose, don’t be like that.’





Blind Hem Stitch





Glass is trying to catch him up. He’s circling him like a shark with his words. ‘So you’re hanging around these two young girls, right? And you go up the hill with them . . . for what, for a bit of exercise? I know you like to keep fit. So is that what you’re trying to tell me, you’re in it only for the bushwalking?’

‘It’s not like that,’ says Paul Rendell.

The two other officers are motionless in the room. One leaning against the wall. Another seated. The seated one has pressed play on the tape recorder with his thick sausage finger.

‘Anyway, then later, dance night – what, you’re feeling a little jilted, are you? Harvest Parade, all the girls sparkling and pretty but not one single one of them for you. So what did you do? Follow her? Is that what you did?’

‘No.’

‘Did you drink? Smoke a few cones? It hurt. It hurt, didn’t it, to be dumped like that? Made you feel terrible. Were you feeling terrible?’

‘Am I meant to have a lawyer or something here?’ Paul asks.

‘We’re just having a little chat, aren’t we? Man to man.’ Glass looks to the other officers for their agreement. They nod. ‘I know what these young girls are like,’ Glass says, conspiratorially. ‘They don’t know their own power. They’re sending out all these signals. They smell, they smell so fresh. They’re giving you the come-on then turning you away. They’re driving you crazy.’

Paul Rendell, he’s putting his head in his hands.

‘You’ve got it all wrong, mate,’ he says, ‘you’ve got it all wrong.’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ says Glass.

He’s heard it all a thousand times before. He’s close. Glass can feel the fracture line beneath his fingers; he’s nearly got him, nearly broken him. It won’t be long now.





You were gone again last night,’ says Rose’s father, when she gets home. He’s gutting a fish, his hands trembling

slightly. ‘That’s twice in a week – I’m getting worried.’

‘Yeah, right,’ says Rose.

‘No, really, I’m serious. I’m thinking this dressmaking caper might just be some kind of cover for a boyfriend.’

‘It’s not.’

He looks at her. She hates it when he looks at her like that, as though he cares a fig. It’ll be such a relief when he starts drinking again. Why is it taking so long? It’ll be like taking a step back from a cliff edge. She will relax. He won’t be wound so tight.

‘What I’m trying to say is, if it’s a boyfriend there’s stuff we should talk about, that’s all.’