Razorhurst (6 page)

The dead weren’t forthcoming about their lives as ghosts. No more than the living were about their strange rituals and customs. When drinking with your mates, you clink glasses. When you meet a man, you shake his hand. Very few could say how those customs began or what they mean. Or explain why they close their eyes when they sneeze. Or why so many living presume they are the centre of the universe.

Kelpie had no idea why only some dead stayed with the living. She had no idea where the rest of the dead went. Was it the same place ghosts went when they disappeared quick as a pickpocket, only to pop back just as sudden? Was it the same place they went when they faded away forever?

She had asked Miss Lee where she went.

“Not here.”

“Not here as in somewhere else in the Hills or …?”

“Not here. I can’t explain more than that.”

Kelpie asked other ghosts. Most didn’t answer. She asked the cauliflower-eared boxer, Stuart O’Sullivan, where he went, and Stuart said, “Why don’t you go tell off some hard man? You’ll be killed dead, and
then
you’ll know where we go.”

She didn’t ask Stuart anything like that again. Only questions about boxing and how to defend herself against the likes of Bluey Denham.

His main answer was,
Run
. But he also gave her useful tips on how to roll and duck, and tricksy ways to move from one spot to another slick fast, and which parts were most vulnerable: knees, between the legs, throat, eyes.
Not that you’ll be able to reach the last two. Not unless he’s already down. Hit ’em hard in one of them, then RUN!

She didn’t know why ghosts were grey. Though grey wasn’t exactly right because they weren’t like the colour grey of the living. It was more that all their colour was gone. Maybe it was life that gave the living colour, and when a person died, their colour died too.

She didn’t know why some ghosts haunted people and others haunted places, or why Miss Lee could go wherever she wanted.
Tommy had been in Belmore Lane always. She’d never seen him anywhere else because he couldn’t go anywhere else. Tommy was always complaining he was gunna be stuck on the lane until the end of time.

She didn’t know why Miss Lee was free to roam. Miss Lee didn’t either.
Do you know why the living have to breathe?
Miss Lee had asked.

Kelpie didn’t know why only some ghosts could talk. She didn’t know why most of them didn’t talk to each other. Or maybe they did, but not when she was around.

Maybe they could all talk if they wanted. Maybe some of them had nothing to say. Or nothing to say to her. Most ghosts avoided the living.

She didn’t know why so few of the living could sense ghosts. She’d see some people shiver and shift out of the way. But as far as she knew, Kelpie was the only one who could see them.

Why couldn’t some living see her if she was near a ghost? Could they really not see her, or was it because she was little and inconspicuous? Nothing to do with ghosts at all?

Why could the dead see and smell and hear farther than the living? Why couldn’t they touch or be touched?

What was the point of ghosts? Might as well ask what was the point of the living.

Kelpie knew almost nothing.

But she still knew more about the dead than the living.

Though as Miss Lee told her, there was an ocean more to know about the living than about the dead.

KELPIE

Kelpie scrambled up the stairs fast as she could, Dymphna behind her.

“Faster,” Dymphna breathed, putting her hands to Kelpie’s shoulders, pushing her. Each step creaked so loud Kelpie was sure they’d be caught. At the top of the stairs, Dymphna pushed her hard, and Kelpie stumbled into what had to be Mrs. Darcy’s room.

It was dominated by a large, sagging bed with a chest at its foot. On the walls, clothes hung from hooks and wires running from corner to corner. Faded curtains covered the windows. Beside the bed was a small table with a sewing machine and a pile of cloth on top. Judging by the shoes along the wall, the three littlest must sleep with their ma.

“Under the bed,” Dymphna said as Kelpie dived beneath. It wasn’t as if there was anywhere else.

Dymphna did not close the door behind her. Afraid to make more noise, Kelpie reckoned.

Kelpie pulled herself up to the head, curling into a tight ball so she couldn’t be seen. The chest blocked them from view, but it didn’t hurt to make herself as small as she could. Dymphna crawled up next to her, hand over her mouth to keep from coughing. Dust didn’t bother Kelpie. She was used to it.

She could hear raised voices below, but she couldn’t pick apart the sounds to find the words.

Dymphna was still, her breathing quiet and even. Kelpie wondered if she’d fallen asleep.

“You’re so beautiful, Dymphna,” Palmer said. He was so close to Dymphna that his nose was pushing inside her cheek. His legs angled out through Dymphna’s and past the end of the bed. Kelpie shuddered. Dymphna was lucky she couldn’t feel ghosts. “I was looking forward to dancing with you at Glory’s party. Didn’t know I could dance, did you? My ma taught me. I can even waltz.”

He had been by Dymphna’s side since they left Mrs. Stone’s. Kelpie was certain he was haunting her. Lucky for Dymphna, she couldn’t see or hear him.

Kelpie hoped no ghost ever haunted her. Then wondered if that’s
what Old Ma had done. The thought had never occurred to her before, but Old Ma had been with Kelpie wherever she went. Kelpie had always assumed Old Ma haunted Frog Hollow, not her. After all, she’d faded after Frog Hollow had gone.

Kelpie felt a tightness in her chest. If Old Ma had been haunting her, why had she stopped? Why had she abandoned her?

“I never told you, Dymph, but I love you. Or should I say I
loved
you. I’m dead now, so I guess it’s all past tense, even though I still love you. We were going to rule the world, you and me. Then Snowy killed me.”

“Snowy Fullerton?” The name exploded out of Kelpie. No! He couldn’t have. Not with all that blood. Snowy didn’t kill people unless he had to, and he didn’t make a big show of it when he did. Blood everywhere? The body lying about for anyone to find? With a card on it? That wasn’t Snowy.

Palmer turned to stare at her.

“What about Snowy?” Dymphna whispered.

“Nothing,” Kelpie said just as quietly. “I was wondering when he’d be out of gaol. I was, um, hoping to see him. He gives me chocolate. I miss him.”

Dymphna put her fingers over her lips and closed her eyes.

“You can hear me,” Palmer said. “How can you hear me?”

Kelpie closed her eyes too. She didn’t owe this ghost anything. Snowy couldn’t have killed him because Snowy was still in gaol. Besides, if Snowy had killed Palmer, his body would be in the harbour or buried somewhere. Snowy wasn’t a butcher. Not like that Bluey Denham. Maybe Bluey had done it? Everyone knew Bluey would kill you as soon as look at you. Even if you had the same boss as him.

Jimmy Palmer reached through Dymphna, trying to touch Kelpie. Kelpie felt her insides crawl. She concentrated on the voices downstairs. But everyone was yelling. It was one thing she preferred about ghosts: mostly, they were much quieter.

The first of the factory whistles blew. A lorry rattled along Albion Street. The Hills were waking up.

“Tell Dymphna that Davidson made him do it. So she shouldn’t be angry with Snowy. But she needs to get away. Pretty sure Davidson knows. It ain’t safe. I know you can hear me. Go on, tell her.”

Kelpie opened her eyes. He was leaning through Dymphna, less than an inch from her face. That close, his scar looked even worse.
She shook her head. She didn’t tell the living about ghosts. Old Ma had taught her that.

“Tell her.”

Dymphna might think Palmer was a good man, but the way he said those words made Kelpie want to run far away—despite knowing he couldn’t hurt her.

“I saw the way that Neal Darcy was looking at her. You can tell him to stop and all. He’d be useless. You can tell he’s never killed anyone. How would he keep any of those bastards at bay?”

Kelpie could tell he meant not like himself, Jimmy Palmer. Must be a lot easier to be hard when you were that big.

“Though maybe what she needs is someone who’s not dangerous. Maybe he’d tell her to go back to her folks. She’s from the North Shore, you know. From respectable people. She could be a doctor’s wife if she wanted.”

Downstairs a door slammed. Footsteps. Voices raised.

“She’s bloody calm, don’t you think? Like she doesn’t realise how bad this is. I mean, look at her!”

Kelpie didn’t.

“She’s asleep. How could she fall asleep?”

Kelpie didn’t think she was asleep. She’d just closed her eyes.

“Snowy sliced my neck open!”

“Shut up,” Kelpie whispered. “He didn’t.”

“Was I snoring?” Dymphna asked quietly against Kelpie’s ear. “Because I don’t remember falling asleep.”

“No,” Kelpie whispered.

The stairs creaked.

“Just me,” Darcy said. “Cops are gone.”

Kelpie skidded out from under the bed as fast as she could, not caring about going through Palmer, though the sensation of moving through his not-there-ness made her stomach heave.

Dymphna followed more elegantly than should have been possible. Her white gloves were smudged and torn. She ran them along her skirt, pushing some dust to the floor.

Darcy followed every gesture.

“I’m not quite as presentable as I was.”

Kelpie could tell that Darcy thought she looked fine.

“They were looking for a big man,” he said. “Or men. Standovers and a well-dressed, blonde woman.”

“That’s what they said? They didn’t ask for me by name?”

Darcy shook his head.

They stared at each other. Darcy’s lips were slightly parted, as if he was hungry.

Kelpie couldn’t see how that was going to help. They could stare at each other all day long, and the coppers would still be looking for Dymphna Campbell. How many other well-dressed, blonde women were there in the Hills?

“Tell him to stop looking at her like that,” Palmer said. He tried to push Darcy out of the way. Kelpie bit back a smile as he pushed right through Darcy, who didn’t even shiver. That would teach him to tell lies about Snowy.

Jimmy Palmer roared.

Kelpie put her hands over her ears and glared at him.
They can’t hear you
, she wanted to tell him.
Only I can and
I
don’t want to
.

“I fucking hate this!” Palmer shouted. “Why can’t she fucking hear me?” His face had gone darker. It would have been red if he was still alive. He disappeared.

“Are you all right?” Dymphna asked Kelpie.

Palmer reappeared beside her. “Bloody hell,” he said. “Where’d I go?”

Kelpie shrugged, answering both Dymphna and Palmer with the same gesture.

“Neal! You going to eat your breakfast?”

“Hungry?” he asked Dymphna.

Kelpie was starving. She nodded even though Darcy wasn’t looking at her.

“We have to go. I have to get back to my place.” Dymphna brushed dirt from her skirt again. She’d taken off her jacket to tie around her waist and hide the tear in the back of her skirt.

“Still plenty of cops out there. How far you reckon you’d get?”

“Tell me where I went, kid,” Palmer said, walking through Darcy to loom over Kelpie. “Why can’t she see me? Why can you? If I’m dead, why the fuck am I still here?”

Kelpie had no idea. No ghost had ever told her where they went. Palmer’s face went dark again, and then he was gone.

“All right,” Dymphna said. “But after that we have to leave.”

Kelpie wondered who she meant by
we
. She sure as buggery wasn’t going anywhere with no Dymphna Campbell, who was wanted by the coppers. How daft did she think Kelpie was?

Neal Darcy