Mary Hades (5 page)

So I hesitate before opening my mouth to answer.

“Oh my God,” she says. “You don’t want me there.”

“It’s just—”

“You don’t want the ghost girl cramping your style,” she snaps. “I get it. Sorry to inconvenience you by being
dead
.”

“Hey, would you come if you were alive? No, that would be weird,
” I blurt out. “Sorry, I’m a little nervous. If you’re there, distracting me…”

He
r shoulders slump. “I wanted to help, that’s all. There’s not much else to do when you’re dead.”

“I know.” I smile, trying to ease the tension. “I
wish I could give you my candy floss.”

“Yeah, me too.”
She flickers on and off. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Sleepover at the caravan?”

“I can’t sleep, remember? If I sleep, I…” A haunted look crosses her eyes. “Never mind. I gotta go.”

“Wait, tell me—” She’s gone, but I finish the sentence anyway, “tell me where you go. Tell me what it’s like.”

Wondering where Lacey went, and thinking about the dead boy again, I take a bite of my candy floss. That’s when I notice the guy running the Hook-a-Duck stall staring at me. With flushed cheeks I move away and head over towards the Ferris wheel. Not long now. My stomach does a flip. No more candy floss for me; I dump the rest in a bin.

Maybe I should duck into the
port-a-loos and check my hair—but then what if I come out
smelling
like the port-a-loos? For once I wish I was one of those girls who always carries make-up and compacts; the kind who always have a mirror and apply lip gloss every half an hour.

When I see
Seth’s silhouette against the bright Ferris wheel lights, my heart skips a beat. I become aware of my body, and the rushing of blood in my ears. This is so unlike me. I don’t often care about boys or dates. I’m too busy trying to avoid the ghosts in my life, dwelling over the Things, or worrying that everyone thinks I’m crazy. As the tall, built shadow of the guy gets my blood pumping, I wish Lacey
were
here to give me a pep talk; to tell me that I won’t mess this up, I won’t embarrass myself.

I swallow down the pers
istent insecurities and straighten my back. It’s time to grow-up, Mary.

He stands side on with his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his jeans. Rainbow lights set his profile ablaze. There’s a vulnerability about a person’s profile, a glimpse into their private persona. The hairs stand up on the backs of my arms. The fairground is shutting up for the night and groups of teenagers snake through the field on unsteady legs, whooping and shouting, their faces bright red and sweaty.

I have to clear my throat to get his attention. He seems transfixed by the night sky, deep in a thought I long to
know about. He turns to me and his eyes travel the length of my body. I fiddle with my hair at the base of my neck and wish I wasn’t holding two stuffed bears in my other arm. Why didn’t I dump them in the bin along with my candy floss?

“Hi,” I say.

“All right?” he replies, his voice still gruff, but with a soft edge that reveals another side to his personality. “You won, then?” He gestures to the bears.

“Yeah,” I mumble.
“Hook-a-duck. At least it wasn’t a goldfish. That could have been awkward.”

He smiles
but doesn’t reply.

My mouth opens and closes as my brain searches for a conversation topic.
After a few seconds, Seth says, “You ready?”

“Sure,” I reply.

“Cool.” He grins. It’s a boyish grin. It turns his expression from stern to impish. He bangs on the control booth of the ride. “Hey, Damo, make it a smooth one.”

Damo
, a middle-aged skinny man wearing a tracksuit, winks and puts both thumbs-up. The jittery nerves start up again. Am I making a mistake hanging around with a carnie late at night? Should I trust him enough to get on the Ferris wheel, knowing his mate is in charge? Anything could happen. But that’s part of the thrill. And I already know how much he hates skanky guys who hit on girls. I need to stop seeing the bad in everyone. Not everyone is Dr. Gethen.

He steps over and hold
s out his hand. I hesitate for a minute, the blood thumping in my veins. Eventually, I smile and take his hand, feeling his calloused skin. He’s strong, but he helps me into the seat with a gentleness I didn’t quite expect. He also checks the safety bar three times, slipping his fingers between my waist and the bar, but being careful not to touch me. The close proximity of his fingers sends an electric bolt up my spine.

With some relief, I realise that I’m positioned so that my scars are on the opposite side to him, so he won’t even see them.

The ride begins to move with a crank and a groan. It’s odd without the music to drown out the noise of the machines, and, without so many people down below, the night seems so quiet it’s like there is an unrealised absence in the air. The seat wobbles, and I gasp in surprise. He turns to me with that impish grin, almost lopsided it’s so relaxed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say with a nervous laugh. “It’s been a while since I rode one of these.”

“Oh yeah?
How long?” He maintains a safe distance between us. A
respectful
distance. Or maybe he isn’t interested.

“I was eleven, with my dad. It was in Newquay, and I saw the sea and the cliffs from the top of the wheel.”

“I bet that was nice.” His eyes darken, which contrasts with the soft curls of his eyelashes.

“It was a bit scary,” I admit. “It was pretty windy that day. The seat wobbled to and fro and beneath us the waves lashed the shore. Dad had to hold my ha
nd the entire way around. But even still, the view was kinda spectacular.”

There’s one thing I notice right away about Seth, he
listens
and he watches. He has a still calm about him, a quiet observation. Despite my initial nerves, I begin to relax.

“So what’s your last name?” he asks.

“Hades,” I reply. “You?”

“Lockwood. Hades is unusual. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that one before.
Like the God of the underworld. Spooky.”

He has no idea. “Yeah, that’s the one.
Although it’s more Scottish than Greek, according to Dad’s rambles about family history, anyway.”

He laughs politely and we settle into our seats.
The silence between us is a comfortable one. The wheel rises slowly, arcing in ascent, revealing more and more of the world below us, and the sky above us. The fairground lights blink off as the rides shut down. Yet the rainbow colours of the Ferris wheel continue to flash as we remain. All around the world, lights are being extinguished. Nights end. Lives end. Yet I feel as though this is a beginning for me.

“I don’t usually go on the ride
s after work,” he says. “But you took me by surprise.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, I didn’t expect someone who looks like you to ask someone like me to go on a ride with them.”

I blush, grateful for the bright lights on my skin, hiding its natural colour.
“You were nice to me, getting rid of those guys like that.”

He laughs without humour.
“Those tossers. They’re here every night, causing trouble. I have their parents’ numbers on speed dial.”

My laugh turns into a girlish giggle and a wave of embarrassment ripples through me.
He lets out a relieved laugh, one that is shaking the events of the day.

“Man, this job… I’ve seen some shit.”

“I bet,” I reply, the smile on my face growing as I become more and more at ease, letting myself go. “Have you worked here long?”

“Longer than I’d like.” He frowns. “I’m saving up.
Working two jobs, right now. I’m a mechanic three days a week.”

“What are you saving up for?”

His face tightens. His jaw sets.

“I’m sorry,” I say, realising I’d asked a personal question. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“S’all right,” he replies. He smiles, but it isn’t the same impish grin as before. He takes a small flask out from his pocket and swigs. “Want some? Don’t worry, I only drink this stuff off duty, not when I’m working the rides.”

I eye the flask warily.
It’s been a while since I had any alcohol, and last time it ended with a frightening conversation with a green-eyed ghost. It could be the events of the day, or it could be the warm night air, or it could be Seth’s eyes, but damn it, I want a drink. Sometimes you have to take a risk to end up with something wonderful. I reach for the flask.

The liquid
burns my throat and I almost cough it straight back up. “What is it?”

He chuckles. “You
’re not a whiskey drinker, then?”

I flash him what I hope is a
devilish grin. “Not yet.” The second swig still burns, but the warmth spreading through my extremities more than makes up for it.

“Easy now,” he says,
prising the flask from my hand with a gentle touch. “I’m not trying to get you drunk. Oh hell, I just realised how skeevy that could’ve been. You’re too trusting, you know that? It’s a good job I’m a decent guy.”

T
he whiskey, and Seth’s company, has elicited whatever happy hormones needed to help me slip into a state of relaxation. I lean back in my seat and tilt my head to the sky. On any other night I hate to look up at the stars. I hate to be reminded that we’re in this huge universe that we don’t understand, and we’re a speck of insignificance on a great big piece of rock circling around a ginormous lump of fire. Tonight, I could get lost in space. I could stare up at the moon all night.

“Shooting star?”
Seth asks.

“No,
an aeroplane,” I reply.

“Somewhere you want to go?” he asks.

I turn my eyes back to him. We hold gaze. “No.”

N
o smiles. No impish grin. Instead—his eyes on mine. His eyes coming closer, until I feel as though his eyelashes might graze my cheek. His lips near mine. The scent of musk, whiskey and smoke. Sweet. Sweet scent. Him.

Jolt
.

Groan.

The wheel stops. We break apart and laugh.

“Looks like
Damo’s giving us a little sightseeing time,” Seth says. He pushes his fingers into his lush hair. There’s a ring on his right hand. The silver of it catches one of the flashing lights, so that it turns green, and then yellow. “You haven’t told me why you’re here? You local?”

“I’m on holiday,” I say.

He raises an eyebrow. “And you came to
Nettleby
?”

What I don’t tell him is that I’m with my parents. That would be even more embarrassing.

“Are you local?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh.

“Maybe you could show me around?”
Mary, what on Earth are you doing?

He grins. “Sure.

He moves a little closer and wraps his arm around my shoulder, pausing not once but twice, as though almost changing his mind. There’s a slight flush of pink on his cheeks. It could be nerves, or it could be the whiskey. Lacey would be proud of me. For the first time ever, I’m on a normal date with a great guy, and it’s going well. There aren’t any Things, or ghosts, or people with psychiatric issues. There is me and Seth—alone.

Warm, fuzzy feelings spread through my arms as I lean into him. We stay silent for a while, watching the lights from the campsite. Beyond the
fairground I know there’s a forest, but it’s now a black fade in the night. The fairground is dark, with the occasional torch light and one or two flood lights to help the men as they lock up for the night.

“
Damo’s taking his time,” Seth says. His eyes narrow with concern.

“Something the matter?”
I ask. We do seem to have been still for a while.

“I dunno,” Seth says. He turns in his seat so that he’s leaning over the ledge, and pulls his arm out from under me. Cupping his hands around his mouth he yells, “
Damo! Hey, Damo. What’s going on, mate? You gonna get this thing started or what?”

A chill runs through me. Am I s
uch bad company? Does he want to get rid of me? To get this date over and done with?

“Sorry,” he says, turning back to me. “
I get a little nervous with these rides. When you know how they work, you know how much can go wrong.”

“Oh, okay.” I think back to his safety conscious worrying over the safety bar. Wow, a carnie who cares about welfare, that’s a first.

I glance at my watch. 11:30pm, time flies. I should try to get home before midnight so that the ‘rents don’t have simultaneous coronaries. When I realise that this is going to end soon, heavy weights pull at my stomach. I like being with Seth.

The wheel lurches forward with a groan.

“There, it’s—” My blood runs cold. The Ferris wheel jerks forward, no longer running smoothly like it did on the way up, but worse than that, worse than the possible failure of the ride, I see a dark shadow, and then I see
it.