Razorhurst (14 page)

Dymphna took a seat at the back of the tram, pulling Kelpie beside her. Kelpie’s feet did not reach the floor. She kicked them back and forth. Dymphna let go of her hand at last and patted her shoulder. Dymphna was breathing hard, and her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes glittered, and for a moment Kelpie thought she might cry.

“I’ve managed to stay out of gaol this long,” she whispered. “And alive. I’m not about to go back there now. We’ll be all right, Kelpie. If we can get home.”

Palmer sat opposite them next to a small boy ghost.

A man in uniform came up to them, and for a moment Kelpie thought he was a copper, but then Dymphna handed him money, and he handed her two small pieces of thin paper. She gave one to Kelpie, who stared at it.

“Your ticket, silly.”

Dymphna stared out the back window, probably checking that Mr. Davidson was not following them. Kelpie didn’t know how she could tell. All those motor-cars looked pretty much the same to her. Black and shining and metallic. She had no trouble imagining Mr. Davidson ordering Palmer’s death. Or anyone else he didn’t like.

Across the aisle the small boy stared at them. Kelpie wondered why he wasn’t ignoring her and Dymphna. Most ghosts ignored the living. She smiled at him. He did not smile back.

Kelpie had never been on a tram before. She’d thought they’d be free of ghosts. She didn’t know why. Trams were filled with people. People could die anywhere.

Next time the tram stopped, she was going to run. She hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to find her way back to the Hills.

“Dymphna’s scared,” Palmer said as they rattled along.

Every time the tram shuddered, Kelpie bounced on the hard wooden seat. There were already plasters on her fingers from Mrs. Darcy’s scrubbing—soon she’d need them on her bum.

The tram stopped. Now was the time. They were only a block and a half further along. Easy to get back along Elizabeth Street to the Hills.

Kelpie pushed herself up.

Dymphna pulled her down.

“You’ll have to be quicker than that,” she whispered, holding Kelpie’s hand firmly.

Kelpie was plenty quick. She’d just timed it wrong. She knew she could outrun Dymphna, especially in those heels she was wearing. No one could run in those things.

Loads of people crowded on board, filling the aisle, holding the leather straps that hung intermittently from the railing down the centre aisle. A big fat man leaned over her, so close she could smell his tobacco breath. Kelpie couldn’t see a way to push past him without Dymphna catching her.

“I’ve never seen her this scared,” Palmer said, peering over and through the fat man, who shifted uncomfortably.

She didn’t look scared to Kelpie. Dymphna caught Kelpie looking. She smiled and squeezed her hand. Kelpie felt herself smiling back.

Dymphna smiled as if she wasn’t worried that they were being followed by Mr. Davidson. As if she hadn’t seen a man with his throat cut open that morning. Kelpie wondered what it would be like to stay with her. Dymphna had given Mrs. Darcy ten pounds like it was nothing! And those clothes she wore. She probably had more money than Old Man O’Reilly. It would be nice to have someone with money looking out for her. She’d never be hungry.

But with the coppers and Mr. Davidson after her, how long was Dymphna going to be able to hang on to that money?

Palmer again pushed through the fat man, who stumbled. Kelpie could see the ghost boy. He hadn’t moved.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Palmer asked. “Because he’s got that sickly look. Like there’s no blood in him. Miserable.”

Kelpie nodded slightly then turned away. She thought about asking Dymphna where she was going. Where was her home? Somewhere safe, she hoped. For Dymphna’s sake. She was still going to run, but she wanted to believe Dymphna was safe.

The tram stopped again. Out the back window, the Hills was now three blocks away.

She didn’t try anything. Too many obstacles, and Dymphna hadn’t let go of her hand.

It didn’t take long before Kelpie stopped recognising anything out the window. The buildings were tall and fancy with giant awnings overhanging shops selling so many different things Kelpie
didn’t know how anyone could use it all. There were more people than at Paddy’s Markets.

Kelpie’d never been this far into town before. The city was full of men in clean suits and hats who worked at the kind of places Surry Hills people would never set foot in. Like banks, where they stole your money. Only the police never called bank people thieves or robbers. All her life Kelpie had been hearing people in the Hills complain about banks, starting with Old Ma.

Kelpie was glad Mrs. Darcy had made her wash and wear shoes. She would have stood out something awful if she hadn’t. Everyone on the tram wore shoes. They were all clean too, faces scrubbed, hair untangled. Most had hats on. The men wore ties and the women gloves.

But even after running from the police and climbing through fences, Dymphna Campbell looked more of a lady than any of them. Kelpie felt a little flush of pride. The fancy lady was holding
her
hand, not any of theirs. Even if she was holding it to make sure Kelpie didn’t run away.

Kelpie was the only kid. Well, her and the ghost, and even he had shoes and a little tie. Hat as well. If he was from the Hills, he must’ve been from one of the few posh places left up near O’Reilly’s.

Palmer tried to talk to him, but the boy didn’t respond. Maybe he was frozen. Kelpie’d never come across a ghost who didn’t move. But why not? Maybe he sat on the tram all day staring at whoever was opposite. Never moving an inch. The thought gave her the shivers. She decided not to look at the little boy ghost again.

She didn’t see any kids out the window either. She’d heard that in town kids without parents were gathered up by Welfare in huge black trucks. She’d never seen one, but then she didn’t hardly ever leave the Hills.

Town wasn’t safe. Kelpie wasn’t sure this tram was safe. Dymphna definitely wasn’t safe. But if Kelpie ran off on her own in town, she could be nabbed by Welfare.

“That’s David Jones,” Dymphna said, pointing out the window. Kelpie saw a sea of hats bobbing up and down, dotted with the occasional grey of ghosts. She didn’t know why Dymphna thought Kelpie should know who David Jones was or how Dymphna could spot one man in such a crowd.

“The store, silly,” Dymphna said. “It’s the best in the city. Anything in the world you want is at David Jones, and this is where we change trams.” She led Kelpie from the tram. Kelpie turned to catch
a last glimpse of the boy, but Palmer blocked her view. The boy probably hadn’t moved. It made her sad.

Elizabeth Street wasn’t as wide here, but it was much more crowded. Kelpie didn’t know how they’d make it across. Dymphna gripped her wrist and pulled her past the people and around the motor-cars and trams until they were on the other side of the street in a park that wasn’t as big as Moore Park or Centennial Park and had stunted little trees and no grass, but had many more people.

Kelpie turned to look down Elizabeth Street while Dymphna dragged her in the opposite direction. Surry Hills was back that way. All she had to do was twist her hand from Dymphna’s and run in the direction the tram had come from. Run until she was clear of Dymphna, then walk. Otherwise Welfare or the coppers. She’d have to be sneaky.

“You need to stay with Dymphna,” Palmer said. Kelpie ignored him.

Dymphna’s grip had slid from her hand to her wrist. Much harder to twist out of that grip. Dymphna moved fast, dragging Kelpie with her, looking every which way. For Mr. Davidson, Kelpie was sure. If he grabbed Dymphna, Kelpie could escape.

“Faster, Kelpie,” Dymphna said. “That’s our tram.”

Dymphna pulled Kelpie up onto the tram and then along to the back while it headed away from the city and even further away from the Hills, rattling along a street Kelpie didn’t know. She worried that she wouldn’t be able to get back home without help. Kelpie wished Miss Lee was there to give her a plan for getting away from Dymphna. She looked at Palmer. He shook his head. But she had no idea at what.

The second tram was no more comfortable than the first, but at least it wasn’t crowded. The aisle was empty, and no one sat in front of them. Dymphna stopped peering out the back window and turned to Kelpie.

“Where’s your mum?” she asked.

“Dunno.”

“What about your dad?”

“Dunno.”

Kelpie didn’t like those kinds of questions. Ghosts never asked any of that. That’s why Kelpie was better at talking to ghosts than people. No ghost had ever tried to round her up and put her in an orphanage or make her go to school. Not that she thought that’s what Dymphna Campbell was going to do. But she was asking the
same questions as those who did want to ruin her life. Kelpie gave her the same answer.

“Why don’t you answer her questions?” Palmer asked. “You’re being rude.”

Kelpie ignored him.

“Where are you from?” Dymphna said.

“Dunno.”

“From Surry Hills?”

“Dunno.”

“How old are you?”

“Dunno.”

“Why do they call you Kelpie?”

“Dunno.”

“Do you know anything?”

“Dunno.”

Dymphna laughed. “Do you really not know how old you are?”

Kelpie didn’t say anything. Wasn’t fair asking the same question twice. Why were the living so obsessed with how old she was? How old anyone was? She hadn’t asked Mrs. Darcy or Dymphna how old they were. She’d never asked anyone that question. Why did it matter? Ten, thirteen, fifteen, twenty, it was all the same if you lived on the streets. Ghosts never cared how old she was.

“Anything you tell me is a secret, Kelpie. Who would I tell? I don’t like the coppers, and they don’t like me. I don’t like any authorities. They’re all rotten.”

Kelpie didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to encourage more questions.

“I want to help you.”

Kelpie wasn’t convinced. Wasn’t Dymphna helping herself? She didn’t want anyone to know that she’d seen Palmer dead on that bed before the police had—and Kelpie knew. She wouldn’t tell, but she didn’t know how to make Dymphna believe that.

That man, that Mr. Davidson, was chasing Dymphna, and he was probably going to catch her. How was Dymphna helping Kelpie when she didn’t seem to be able to help herself?

“You’re like me,” Dymphna said.

Kelpie couldn’t see how.

They got off the
tram, Palmer behind them.

Dymphna looked around carefully. There were as many people as
in the Hills, but it wasn’t as crowded as it had been back in the city where they changed trams.

“Almost there.”

Dymphna stopped at a cart, had Kelpie select two packets of chips and paid for them without letting go of Kelpie’s wrist. The man selling them blushed and mumbled his thanks to Miss Campbell. Dymphna smiled graciously. Two ghosts, so old and faded that Kelpie couldn’t tell if they were boys or girls, lurked behind the cart, but neither of them had eyes for anything but each other.

“Any news, Stanley?” Dymphna asked quietly.

“I hear Glory’s looking for you. Urgent-like, I heard.”

“That’s not good,” Palmer said. “I don’t like an unhappy Glory.”

Kelpie didn’t want to think about Gloriana Nelson. Or about how many ghosts she’d created. Kelpie’d heard too much bad about her. Some good, though. Kelpie’d even gotten Christmas presents and free Chrissie lunch. More than once.

Miss Lee called Gloriana Nelson a common, uneducated, dullwitted savage but mostly preferred not to talk about her.

Old Ma had been more than happy to gossip about Gloriana Nelson. She would always press her lips together when Glory was mentioned, rant about how Glory was no better than she should be, about how throwing parties and giving away sausages and beers and toys didn’t mean you were good—killing was killing, and no amount of money could buy real decency—and how it was people like Gloriana Nelson who’d destroyed Frog Hollow and how she was going to destroy all of the Hills so no decent people would ever live there again. Old Ma swore Gloriana Nelson reeked of the badness inside her, that was why she had to spray herself with oceans of perfume.

Glory was always driving around the Hills in her fancy motor-car with her driver in his fancy black uniform and shiny black cap, smiling and waving, calling out to people by name, showing that she knew everyone and would look after them if they needed it. Old Ma said, “Too right, she’ll look after youse. Look you right into your grave and then dance on top of it.”

Everyone knew Glory liked to laugh. But once Kelpie had seen her stop laughing abruptly, turn, and cut one of her men a look that’d made Kelpie creep away and hide. Short fella, he’d been, stocky with faded red hair. Kelpie had never seen him again.

“Anyone else looking for me?” Dymphna asked. Kelpie knew she meant Mr. Davidson.

“I seen plenty of cops around.”

“If anyone asks, Stanley?”

The man nodded. “Same as ever. I haven’t seen you.”

Dymphna smiled at him so radiantly Kelpie thought he might faint. “Just around the corner.”

Kelpie tried to open the chips one-handed but only managed to drop both packets. She bent slowly to pick them up. Dymphna’s grip loosened, just enough, Kelpie hoped, pushing forward off her feet with all her strength. Her hand slid from Dymphna’s. Ha! She would—

Dymphna had her by the waist, knocking out her breath and using her momentum to swing her around as if she were a rag doll, while managing to scoop up the chips with her free hand.

“I’m not letting go,” Dymphna said.

Kelpie didn’t quite believe what had happened. Dymphna was all blonde hair and delicate skin and fancy clothes. She didn’t look strong, but the arm around Kelpie’s waist might as well have been made of iron.

“I’m putting you down now. You’ll behave?”

Kelpie said nothing. She was too angry. She thought about kicking Dymphna. Instead, she smiled.

Dymphna let Kelpie slide to the ground, keeping a firm grip on her wrist and handing her the chips.

“What was that for?” Palmer asked. “She’s on your side, you know. All you have to do is tell her what happened to me, tell her to get out of here. She’ll take care of you. She bought you chips, didn’t she? She likes you.”