Darkhaven

Exams were never going to be good, but I’d imagined that I’d skate by with my intuition. Having an accurate instinct for the answers had been helpful in class, and I’d maintained fairly good grades just with that and my minimal attempts at homework. But I sat down to my first ATAR exam – Mathematics Applications – feeling hollow. The sure feeling I used to get when solving a problem that let me know I was on the right track was gone. Any sense of how to approach something I couldn’t remember seeing before was also gone. Since it all felt like a lost cause anyway, I spent most of my remaining study time writing in my journal, trying to figure out what had happened to my intuition. And what to do about Darkhaven. Was it worth the cost? My mind ran in circles.

With exams came the onset of Perth’s relentless summer heat. The gymnasium warmed up like a greenhouse and my thighs, only half covered by my skirt, stuck to the plastic chair while the 37-degree day pressed on the nerves of three hundred anxious students like a soporific. I stumbled through the maths questions, skipping every second or third and only finishing half of the problems I did tackle. I ran out of things I could do just as the invigilator marked the thirty-minutes-remaining mark off the whiteboard, meaning no one could leave until the end. I flicked through the pages again, hoping some answers would jump out at me, until I finally gave up and rested my cheek on the cool desk. My neck twinged – the needle jab from the Taskforce still hadn’t quite healed. Maybe it was infected. I shouldn’t be able to get infections, but it was the Taskforce. Who knew what crazy stuff they had.

Geography was better, in part because I wore longer shorts that prevented my legs from assimilating themselves into the furniture. Economics may as well have been in German. English was easily my best, since half of it was comprehension, so I just had to read the material provided and answer some questions about it on the spot. I’d never actually finished A Tale of Two Cities – I’d left my library copy at Alex’s and couldn’t be bothered going all the way back to get it – so I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw there were two options for the long-answer question. I wrote an acceptable essay linking Harwood, Hawthorne and the feminist movement, resisting the urge to include a quote from Todd or Martin as proof of my point, and finished week one of exams feeling drained. At least I only had Human Biology left. I hadn’t heard from Cecelia all week. Even with my recent distractions, this was the longest we’d ever gone without seeing each other.

For some insane reason that I’m sure was clear before the reality of Year 12 – not even mentioning my Event and Darkhaven – set in, I’d thought it would be a good idea to do my driving test on the Saturday in the middle of the exam period. I’d almost forgotten I’d booked Zenna in for the same day. Cecelia sent me a cursory good luck message.

‘She didn’t send me one,’ Zenna remarked, mock-insulted, as we waited in the Driver Services seating area. Dad had dropped me off for my final driving lesson and gone to pick up the car we’d finally agreed on. If everything went well, I’d be driving my new – well, new to me – Mazda 3 home and he’d call his driver.

‘It doesn’t actually say my name,’ I said, showing Zenna my phone. ‘Just “good luck”. I think we can count that for both of us.’

Two officious examiners carrying clipboards came towards us. ‘Good luck, Z,’ I said as we parted.

Zenna nodded back, looking faintly green. ‘Yeah, you too,’ she croaked.

The air was hot and heavy with an overcast sheen as I followed my examiner outside to where my driving school car was waiting. Hopefully it wouldn’t rain until after the test. I started out doing everything right, checking seatbelts and the handbrake and that the car was in neutral before I turned it on. Then I stalled it as I pulled out of the car park.

‘It’s all right,’ my examiner, a woman named Sally, said. ‘Just start the car and carry on.’

The second attempt was better. I made up for it – in my mind, at least – by nailing the hill start, but then in my smugness I nearly forgot to indicate to go around a parked car on the road and only just remembered in time. I snuck up behind someone doing ten kilometres under the speed limit. Keraun flashed into my mind, blasting cars off the road with his lightning tricks. Unhelpful. I banished him from my thoughts and maintained a respectful distance behind other cars for the rest of the trip, being over-careful to indicate for the correct lengths of time everywhere.

‘Well, you need to work on consistency,’ Sally said as she made marks on a complicated-looking matrix. ‘Your indicating in particular could be better. But you passed.’ She tore off the top page and handed it to me. ‘Take this and go back inside to arrange your licence. Congratulations.’

She got out of the car and that was it. I sat still for a minute, breathing deeply, before going back to the service counters. I could barely wipe the stupid grin off my face for the photo and started signing the form with an excited flourish until I realised I was supposed to keep the signature within the white box. I collected my permit papers and turned to see Zenna walk in, ashen-faced. I felt bad for her but couldn’t quite squash my own excitement.

‘No luck, huh?’

‘You could be less smug.’ She glowered as she walked up to the counter and handed her form over. I stood in the middle of the room staring at her back, torn between pity and anger at her unfairness. It was hardly my fault she couldn’t get it together. She turned and marched out of the building.

Dad leaned against my little red car. ‘So, who’s driving?’

I shrugged, hoping he’d drop the upbeat attitude.

‘Gabby,’ Zenna muttered, looking at her feet. Dad threw me an apologetic look, but I could see pride mixed in there as well.

‘I’ll leave you girls to it, if you like,’ he said, fishing his phone out of his pocket and turning to me. ‘I have to fly out tonight. Alex is on his way home.’

I nodded, my mouth watering for a celebratory dinner at Harrys. Dad gave me a hug, whispered “well done” in my ear and slipped across the road to wait for his driver away from the stream of people flowing in and out of Driver Services. Moments later, the Mercedes pulled up, paused, then sailed away.

I turned to Zenna. ‘Milkshakes?’

‘Nah.’

‘Walk on the beach?’ Storm clouds smudged the horizon. The beach would be wild and enthralling. From the footpath, of course.

‘I just want to go home.’ Zenna’s voice was flat.

‘Did you book another test?’ I asked as we settled into the Mazda and I connected my phone to the Bluetooth. It felt weird, sitting in the driver’s seat without a supervising adult next to me. I was more nervous now than I had been during the test.

‘No.’

‘Don’t you need it before the summer internship?’

She didn’t reply. I navigated out onto the busy road. After a few sets of traffic lights, my fingers started to relax their grip on the steering wheel. That made using the indicator a bit easier.

We didn’t talk again as I drove to Zenna’s house. Except for the occasional lurching clutch release and one missed turn-off, the drive was uneventful.

‘You’ll get it next time,’ I said as she was about to get out. She turned and looked at me for the longest time. Her eyes were flat and hollow.

‘What would be the point?’ Her voice was almost too soft for even me to hear, and it took my brain a moment to register what she’d said.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked, but it was too late. She’d already got out of the car. The door swung shut.

I sat in Zenna’s driveway for a while, typing out a text message, then deleting it, typing it again, deleting it. I tried to think of a way to reach out to her. No matter how I worded it, it sounded presumptuous or silly. Hey, if you want to talk, I’m here. Obviously. Don’t worry about your licence. But she was worried, and fair enough. I hope you’re okay. Dismissive. The whole time I was just hoping she’d come back outside and we could talk and joke about it. She didn’t.

A text from Alex interrupted my next attempt to type a message, asking me to pick up some coconut milk on the way home. Sighing, I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat and drove away.

***

I managed to find Alex’s favourite brand, a local raw food mob called Triple L that made a lot of cold press juices and the kind of carob treat I didn’t care for. Coconut milk in one hand, I juggled my keys in the other, but the key wouldn’t fit into Alex’s front door. Sean’s face sprang to mind and my skin chilled. He’d said I’d have nowhere to go. Had he made good on his threat by locking me out of my homes? I wished I had my intuition back so I wouldn’t walk straight into a trap.

The key caught the light as I jiggled it, glinting metallic oran—orange. Alex’s keys were silver. I was using the key to Dad’s house. I laughed in relief, my grip loosening, and the keys fell to the doorstep. I bent to pick them up.

The corner of something sticking out from under the doormat caught my eye. It was a postcard, one of the free promotional ones from Lartte. This one was a cappuccino with foam art that reminded me of the Cheshire cat. I turned the card over.

Gabrielle

My blood stopped moving around. It was Alex’s handwriting, and this time it wasn’t about chocolate wafers.

With numb fingers, I scooped up my keys. When the correct key still didn’t go into the lock, I stooped and peered at the keyhole. A key was snapped off in it. I turned back to the street, searching within myself for some clue. It had to be Alex’s key in there – he and I were the only ones with keys – so he’d snapped it off himself accidentally, or deliberately to stop me from going in. Or, a nastier warning whispered in my mind, someone had stolen his keys and used them. If I’d had my intuition, I would have had a pretty good idea what had happened, but all I could do was guess. At least I didn’t need intuition to follow the first clue.

I slipped back down the steps and out the side gate, glancing about for signs of trouble. I took a roundabout route and a back alley to get to Lartte, sneaking in the back door that they kept open for toilet access.

I hovered in the narrow walkway, earning a glare from a waitress as she brushed past with arms full of cups and plates. I wondered if it was safe to stick my head out and debated whether it was better to sneak through or just stroll across like I was a customer with nothing to worry about. I compromised, walking straight across the floor but somehow unable to stop myself doing a totally idiotic tiptoe like I was in a B-grade horror movie, ducking behind absolutely nothing as I turned to check the front door. Since it was evident that no one was waiting to assail me, I pulled myself together and looked around properly.

No Alex.

So either he’d meant to meet me here and been held up, or he was directing me here for some other reason. My eyes caught on the postcard stand.

I set the coconut milk on the edge of the cake display and flicked through the Cheshire cat stack first, but there were no markings on any of them. Then I stared at the long row of postcards. Not all of them were from the cafe: the rack extended the length of the wall, and it seemed like a lot of businesses printed cards and left them here. My skin prickled. I had no idea how long I was safe to browse, but I had to assume it wasn’t long.

I started flicking through the cards. After five different stacks, my feet were tingling with the desire to run and I was starting to wish I had another clue, even without intuition.

‘Excuse me, miss?’ a voice said behind me.

I jumped and dropped a handful of unhelpful postcards promoting jet ski adventures on the Swan River.

It was just the waitress. ‘I think this is yours,’ she said, holding up the coconut milk.

I quickly gathered up the jet ski cards and turned to take it. ‘Thanks.’

Stuffing the jet ski cards back, I went through another three stacks before I saw it: a postcard featuring a decadent display of raw chocolates decorated with tiny flowers and coconut flakes, made by Triple L. I should have known. Halfway through the pile, I found it.

I am learning to make shoes in the Bastille

100 2 11 – 107 2 2 – 26 22 8 – 121 2 1 – 184 2 4 – 216 2 2 – 246 2 7

It made zero sense to me. I assumed that Alex was not coming back, since he’d directed me to the coconut milk presumably with the intention that I find this note without him. My next best option was to try and catch Dad at home before he left. If Sean was behind this, Dad would know, or at least be able to find out. I ditched the coconut milk on the nearest table, stuffed the postcard in my shorts pocket and, forgetting to take the back exit, hurried out the front door and into the gathering-storm humidity.

There was a black-suited agent across the road.

This time my body behaved itself, and I turned away and walked down the street, quickly, but like a normal person in an everyday sort of hurry, pressing through the carefree crowd. I hoped he hadn’t seen. I wasn’t sure if glancing back to check was the right thing to do or if it would give me away, so I walked faster instead. And faster. My breath caught in my throat. My toe caught on a crooked paving stone and I lurched forward, breaking into a run just to get away from the tingling sensation sprawling like cold jelly all over my back.

I was nearly at my car. I stuffed my hand in my pocket, grasped my keys and was just about to step off the footpath when something hard brushed my shoulder.

I whirled, fists ready to fly, although even with somewhat enhanced strength I had no better idea about combat now than I’d had back in the park after my Event.

‘Sorry!’ The man who had run into me wore gym shorts and an orange singlet and was already loping away from me, trailing a cloud of musky cologne.

I jumped in the car and, shaking all over, and started driving to West Beach. Just as I hit the freeway, my phone rang – Zenna. I pushed the answer button on the steering wheel.

‘Hey,’ I answered.

Silence.

‘Zenna?’

More silence.

‘Zenna, what’s wrong?’

‘Oh. Nothing really. I just wanted to talk.’

Of all times, but I wanted to help. ‘What about?’

She was quiet, except for intermittent sniffling.

‘This is where you say something, Z.’

‘I don’t know what to say.’

Me either. I fumbled these conversations anyway, without the added mental load of driving around the city on my first day with my licence and something being up with Alex. I kept checking intersections and street signs and my speed. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I don’t know.’

I pulled up at a set of traffic lights, squeezing the steering wheel like a stress ball. I wanted her to be honest with me. Maybe I should try the same. ‘I don’t know what to do, Zenna.’

‘I just need you to listen.’

I sighed. ‘That kind of requires you to talk.’

She sniffed harder. ‘Just be here to help, then.’

I needed to invest in a heavy-duty steering wheel cover. ‘I’m trying, Zenna. But I feel like you keep shutting me out.’

She was silent.

I pulled up in Dad’s driveway, suppressed a frustrated grunt and tried to be sympathetic. ‘Look, I’m sorry, can we talk tomorrow? I’m a bit busy now.’

More silence. Then a sigh. ‘Sure, Gabby. Bye.’