The Red Cardigan (10 page)

Evie's fingers won't cooperate as she tries to roll up the reel. She attempts to stuff it into the box but it keeps spilling out. She shoves it into the drawer and bolts.

Back at Hyde Park, she waits for the 503 to Randwick. It's due in eight minutes. First period is nearly finished. She
checks her timetable – a geography documentary. She won't be missed. Alex has a late start on Thursday mornings.

Evie digs around the bottom of her bag for the eye drops. Her hands still shake as she squirts the drops in her left eye, most of it running into her mouth, their coolness still soothing the ache. She blinks, washing them through the redness and as she does a blurred pattern of shapes appears on the footpath. Three cylinders above four triangles, just like the ones in her drawing. When she blinks again they disappear.

The 503 approaches. The square cabin of the bus speeds towards her and a thundering clamour shakes beneath her feet. Evie feels like she is falling, falling between the wheels. She screams and jumps back.

‘Are you all right?'

‘What?' Evie looks up. A lady is touching her arm. The others in the queue look embarrassed. She takes her arm away. ‘Yeah. I'm okay.'

Evie hides in the corner of the back seat. A grassy smell lingers. She sniffs the end of her plait, thinking it must be the chemist brand shampoo. What Victoria will look like and all the things they will talk about drift through her mind. Evie feels peaceful, almost sleepy. Closing her eyes she hears the rumbling of the wheels and the squeal of the brakes as the bus takes her up Elizabeth Street to Randwick.

 

She is not what Evie expects. Victoria is tall. Her eyes are large and brown and blink slowly as she speaks.

‘I thought I might see you today,' she says softly. ‘Come in. Dear, dear, your eye is very red. I wonder what that means?'

Evie steps into a small room wall-to-wall with photos. A cookbook is open on the table and the crossword in the newspaper is half done.

‘Would you like a cup of tea, Evangaline?'

‘Thanks. That'd be great.' She contemplates saying ‘everyone calls me Evie', but decides not to. She likes Evangaline, at least today she does.

Evie follows Victoria into the kitchen. Jars of preserved lemons line the shelves.

‘Are you hungry? I've got some fruit bun.'

‘I didn't have breakfast,' Evie remembers. ‘It's been, let's say, a very weird morning.'

‘Well, let's sit down and have a cuppa and some bun. Then, we can have a long chat. Should you be at school?'

Evie goes to speak.

‘Not important. I feel much better now you're here, Evangaline. We've been worried.'

They go back to the little sitting room. Victoria pushes the heater closer to the table. Evie feels the warm air blowing on her legs. She eats her bun, then washes it down with perhaps the most fantastic cup of tea she's ever tasted. She laps up the comfort of this moment. She could just lie down on the floor and sleep.

‘There's plenty more bun.'

‘No thanks,' Evie replies, yawning and stretching her legs. ‘That was perfect.'

‘Do you feel tired?' Victoria asks. ‘When things are
happening,' she makes a wide circle around her head. ‘It can be very exhausting.'

Evie nods in agreement and the realisation dawns that in this room, at this very moment, she is free. The feeling is as powerful as it is peaceful.

‘You were right about yesterday,' Evie says. ‘About someone – what was the phrase you used?'

‘Validating your gift, is what I think I said.'

‘Yeah, that's it,' says Evie. ‘And it was Seb. He's the tall boy on the bus.'

‘And how did you feel?'

‘Weird. Confused. Kind of happy.'

‘So what happened? What did he say?'

‘It's unbelievable. I don't know what to think.' Evie tells her about the little girl at the pin. Victoria leans across the table, nodding her head, as Evie describes the first time she saw her.

‘That's my first memory of anything, you know, strange,' explains Evie. ‘It took me till I was nearly eight to realise no one else saw her. I know how ridiculous it must sound but I really didn't understand.' She stops and thinks. ‘I don't understand why Grandma or someone didn't tell me.'

‘She couldn't,' Victoria answers.

‘But why couldn't she? It would have made things so much easier.' The hot tears sting again. ‘I didn't know what I was seeing or hearing half the time. I still don't, I just live with it.' Evie blows her nose. ‘It sucks that it takes Seb to tell me the truth. That a girl really died there. Even he knew I saw her, god knows how.'

‘Evangaline, it was very complicated. I first met Anna, your
grandma, just around that time. Your grandpa had just died. She was in despair over losing him and she was in despair about what to do with you.'

Evie is sobbing now. She cannot stop the tears. Years of them fly everywhere, spilling down onto her red cardigan.

‘I'll tell you a little about what I know.' Victoria's hands hold Evie's. ‘But some of the other things –' Evie senses a hesitation in her voice. ‘You'll have to speak to your father about.'

Evie understands the deal. It's the only deal she's had so far.

Victoria begins to tell her a story. The sound of her voice is soothing as it gently guides Evie back to her childhood.

‘Anna rang me the first time you saw the girl at the pin. She was upset and confused about what to do. Your dad had told her how your mother became difficult – impossible – about it. She forbade Anna or your father to say anything to you about it.

‘You see, the year before a seven-year-old girl had been killed there by a hit and run. She died of massive head injuries. It was in all the local papers. It was horrible.

‘According to Anna, it was the first time you ever displayed your special sense, your gift. Before then no one knew whether you had it or not. You see, Nick didn't get it and seeing he was Anna's only child, she had to wait till the next generation to see if it'd been passed down. But your mother would not allow you to be told. Anna and Nick thought initially it was some type of denial, that she would change her mind. She never did. It caused your grandmother and your father enormous worry keeping it from you. But what could they do?

‘And I think Nick felt so terrible, so guilty about you getting it from his side of the family that he just blindly obeyed everything your mother said. In the end he made Anna swear that she would respect your mother's wishes. Because, after all, she was your mother and she had the final say. What's her name again?'

Evie can barely form her lips around the word. ‘Robin.'

‘Yes, that's right.' Victoria's brown eyes narrow and focus on her. Evie shifts in her seat. She feels she is about to hear why she's been told all of this.

‘Evangaline, I have told you what is really none of my business. But I have told you because I think it's time you understood your gift. You see, there is something truly special about you. Tell me, what is going on? As I said on the phone, Anna and I sense trouble around you. And, I'm not sure, but I don't think I'm necessarily talking about emotional trouble. Do you understand what I'm saying, Evangaline? There is a powerful energy around you. It wants you.'

Evie swallows hard. She's not certain where to start. She knows it's her turn to speak but what to say? Her thoughts are tumbling.

‘I think I know what you mean. There's stuff going on that I don't have a clue about.'

Evie feels a heat. It rises up through her chest and into her throat. She pushes it back. She has to get rid of this burden.

Victoria squeezes her hand. ‘You're safe here.'

‘It started in April, when I drew a girl's portrait. But, I didn't actually end up drawing her.' Evie bites her lip. It's still so hard to say. ‘I ended up drawing her … her – dead
brother. I don't know how it happened. I didn't even know she had a brother or anything. Now I feel like it's happening again but much worse. I keep drawing a young woman's face and I don't know who it is.'

Evie tastes the blood as she bites her lip harder. ‘I'm,' she swallows, ‘terrified.'

Victoria stands up and takes the mugs and plate to the kitchen. Evie hears her filling the sink with water and the squirt of a detergent bottle. Why has Victoria walked away? She isn't sure if she is meant to follow. She doesn't understand the rules. She's a novice.

‘Evangaline?' calls Victoria. ‘I want you to make a list of what's been happening.'

‘A list?'

‘Try and put it in sequence, you know, what happened first then next, then next and so on.'

Victoria walks into the sitting room, wiping the soapsuds from her fingers.

‘Do you need some paper?' she asks. ‘I think what you should do is get a little diary and start recording things as you observe them. And dreams, when an energy is strong like that, the dreams can be important, too.'

‘Do you think there's –?'

‘Evangaline,' says Victoria. ‘The energy is so strong I had to walk out of the room. What you're feeling is real.'

Evie pulls her homework diary out of her bag, then squashes it back in. ‘As if,' she scoffs.

‘You must be careful,' Victoria says, searching through a cupboard. ‘There are very few people you can trust.
Unfortunately, your mother is not one of them. Not this time. The tall boy has had his use. Your father is safe and there's another man. He has a strong perfume. You also have a good friend.'

‘Alex?'

‘But remember it's a lot to tell another girl who doesn't really understand it, the way you and I do. She was dealt an unfair hand at birth. She craves normality.'

Victoria's voice is muffled as she continues searching through the cupboard.

‘The true sceptics are easy to pick,' she says. ‘They watch your every move, waiting to catch you out. Remove yourself from them, for they will suck your energy dry.'

Victoria takes an exercise book and a box wrapped in newspaper out of the cupboard. She puts the box on the table and passes Evie the exercise book.

‘Here, this can be your diary. I'm going to finish the washing up. I want you to write the list and then we'll go through it.'

Evie flattens the first page and writes, Wednesday, April 10th. Antonia Cipri.

The day she will lug around forever.

She checks her diary for the other dates.

Friday, June 12th. Start working on Alex's portraits.

Saturday, June 13th. Alex takes photos of me in her room (figure in the photos).

She flips through her diary, trying to find the exact date the first portrait changed.

Thursday, June 18th. (I think) first portrait changed.

‘How are you going?' Victoria calls.

‘I can't think of anything else,' Evie says, looking at her pathetic list. ‘Hang on, I drew these shapes the other night when I was reading a poem. It was like the pencil had control over my hand. I saw them again today, on my way here.'

‘What sort of shapes?'

‘Cylinders and triangles. Weird.'

‘Note them down.'

Tuesday 27th June. My pencil drew three cylinders above four triangles.

Thursday 29th June. Saw the shapes at the bus stop.

Victoria studies the list for a few minutes. Evie sits there, thinking how weird this all is and yet how normal it seems, too.

‘What about your eye, Evangaline? You haven't mentioned it.'

‘My eye?' Evie's hand cups her eye. ‘I hadn't really thought of that.'

‘I mean, is this a condition you get or is it new?'

‘No, no,' Evie answers. ‘I've never had it before. It just kind of started and it's definitely got worse.'

‘When did it start? Look at your list,' she taps the open page. ‘See if it prompts any memories.'

‘Victoria?' Evie stares at the dates. ‘I think it started with the portraits of Alex.'

‘Jot it down, Evangaline.'

‘God.' Evie wipes her hands on her cardigan and writes next to the June 12th entry – ‘eye starts to go blurry'.

‘Do you remember any dreams during this time?'

‘Actually I had a really weird dream about a girl trying to
pull my cardigan off. She had long, dark reddish hair.' Evie rubs the back of her head. ‘Her hair was all matted and –' Her fingers touch the sticky knot in her own hair. ‘Oh, my god,' she gasps.

‘What?' asks Victoria. ‘Have you remembered something?'

‘My hair,' she whispers. ‘I've had a knot. This sticky, matted – it's almost like a dreadlock. It keeps getting bigger. That started about the same time as my eye, too.'

Victoria runs her hand over it. ‘Look, it could be a connection. Messages come in many different forms. Write it down and the dream.'

She feels Victoria watching her as she writes. She's not sure if Victoria's calm voice and businesslike manner are for real or whether she's trying to hide the fact that she's totally freaking out, too.

‘In the dream, was it the cardigan you're wearing now?'

‘Well, it was in the beginning but then the buttons turned into these little blue teddies, like a cardigan I had as a kid. The girl said “that's mine”, something like that.'

‘Is there anything special about this cardigan?' Victoria leans over and feels the cuff. ‘What's it made of?'

‘Cashmere. I've got a bit of a thing about vintage clothes. Dad got it in Adelaide.'

‘Have you had any other sensations with clothes?'

Evie tells Victoria about the shawl incident at the markets. ‘The actual shawl didn't feel strange, I did. And these words just sort of blurted from my mouth like it was someone else talking. I couldn't stop them. I was too freaked out to ask but I have a feeling I even spoke with an accent.'