This is Shyness (18 page)

‘The only person I've lost was my nan.'

Even though I knew I'd miss her, I didn't feel so bad when Nan died. She was ready. She said so herself. Nan was the link between my mum and me. After she went, Mum and I were cut off from each other, floating around our flat like astronauts in deep space.

‘You know Ortolan,' Wolfboy says, ‘the woman we talked to at the Raven's Wing? I don't know if she told you, but she's, I mean, was—'

‘She was your brother's girlfriend.' When I found out Gram was dead it made sense the way Ortolan looked at Wolfboy, and how she seemed both frail as a bird and steely-strong at the same time.

‘What else did she tell you?'

‘Not much else,' I say. There's no need to mention the things Paul told me.

‘Ortolan lives over the border, in Panwood.' He points again at the cluster of lights. ‘But I hardly ever see her. I don't avoid her, but I don't make any effort either.'

‘Do you blame her for what happened to Gram?'

‘No, of course not. But she's part of the past. We've probably got nothing in common. She's got a child to take care of. And she's this fancy fashion designer now—'

‘She didn't seem unhappy to see you at the Raven's Wing. Just a bit awkward. If you wanted to be back in her life I'm sure you could be.'

‘I made a fool of myself earlier.'

He looks so young in this moment that I know that's exactly what he wants even if he doesn't know it, to be in touch with a piece of life before the Darkness.

He straightens up, lifts his elbows off the wall. ‘So, what do we need to notice from here?'

We've slipped sideways again in the night, losing focus on what's going on around us, like in the Dreamer room at the club. I force my attention back to the buildings below. From here it's like a living map, everything laid out neatly around us.

‘First of all, we should take note of everything that's around Building Six. We need to know the quickest escape route, and, failing that, all the other ways of getting the hell out of here. Can we look at the map?' By the time we leave the Kidds could be on our heels.

‘The main gates are the closest exit,' Wolfboy says.

‘Are they manned?' Wolfboy's eyesight must be twice as good as mine. I can't even see the gates in the gloom.

‘I doubt it. No one but Kidds would want to go through there.'

‘If we're cut off from the main entrance then we'll have to run back the way we came. Through the hole in the fence again.'

‘Not necessarily. There's the back gates. As long as the car's here those gates should stay open. If they were going to close them they would have done it straightaway.'

I check. The black car is still parked between the buildings.

Wolfboy frowns at the open space between this building and the next. ‘We're gonna have to fang it across to Six. There are probably Kidds around every corner.'

‘We don't need to worry,' I say. The other part of my plan will take care of that.

‘I'm glad you're feeling confident.' Wolfboy is getting restless. ‘Are you ready to go?'

I grab one of his hands and pancake it between mine. His eyes are so dark, I think of the impossibility of ever
really
knowing him.

‘One more thing. See all this…' I look up at the stars and the lights and the velvety night and the strange, strange world. ‘This is all we have, just this. Just now.'

He's not with me. I keep trying.

‘All we have is this feeling, right here, right now. Nothing else exists. Nothing really matters.'

I'm still not sure he gets it.

I skim my hands over his hair; I imagine silver threads running from my fingers as I wrap my hands around his face, still barely touching him. I have a moment of terror when I realise how much I like him. This isn't like crushing on someone from a distance.

‘I release you,' I whisper, half joking, half serious. ‘From the past and the future and all the boring ad breaks.'

I wish these things for myself as well. I really, really wish these things for myself.

Wolfboy takes one of my hands and holds it to his lips. He's standing so close I can feel the heat from his body. I force myself to step away. I don't want to start something we're going to have to stop. I wish it could be just him and me hiding from the world somewhere quiet. But it's time for business.

twenty-four

The lift is still there when we come off the roof. It shoots down to the basement of Seven without stopping. The elevator doors open onto a frigid and dark corridor. I don't bother asking Wildgirl where we're going. She's kooky, that's for sure, but I'm willing to trust her. No one else I know could have talked their way out of that situation in the lift, and it did help seeing Orphanville from up high.

Wildgirl turns left, her fingers moving along the wall for guidance. It can't be easy for her in this darkness. I half-close my eyes, trying to get an idea of what it's like.

We take a short flight of stairs down further into the dark and hit a concrete stub of a corridor that smells of piss. Cold leaches from the walls. A dim blue light shines through a metal grate low on the wall, at foot-level. There are four rusty washing machines against the opposite wall, one with the lid ripped off. For a second I think the black hose coiled on the floor is a snake. I give up squinting before I give myself a headache or a heart attack. Wildgirl inspects one of the broken machines.

‘Fact Number One. Kidds do not like to do laundry. Yet another reason why we should give them a wide berth this evening.'

The only way to get out of this dead end is to go back exactly the same way we came.

‘I give up. How are we getting to Six?'

Wildgirl points to the grate. It has chunky metal bars that latch onto the wooden frame underneath.

‘You want me to bend those apart?' I ask. ‘It's flattering you think I can do that, but—'

Wildgirl sighs melodramatically, kicks the grate hard on each side, then kneels and removes it. It comes away easily, in one piece. She holds it up, smirking, then leans it against the wall.

‘Sir, your safe passage to Building Six is secured.'

I peer through the rectangular hole. ‘What's down there?'

‘Are you scared?'

‘Actually, yes. I wouldn't mind knowing if we're about to drop into…I don't know, a sugarlab, or a vat of acid.'

‘It's a service tunnel. There's a network of underground passages that connect all the buildings. Well, the older ones at least. I'd bet my favourite handbag on it.' She slaps her forehead. ‘Oh, but hang on, we gave that one away already, didn't we?'

I ignore her. I'm going to replace her bag later if I can. Maybe Sebastien can help me out.

‘So, we should be able to get into Six's basement?'

‘That's the idea. Ninja-style.' She kneels in front of the hole and sticks her head through. I look away. Perving won't help me now.

‘It's all clear down here. Are you ready?'

I guess so.

‘I'll go first; it's not much of a drop.'

She reverses through the gap, shimmying down until she's balanced on her stomach.

‘Here goes.' She drops. I hear her feet scuff against the floor below, and a discordant twang from the ukulele. ‘You all right?' I call out. The last thing we need right now is a sprained ankle or broken bone.

‘Yep.' Her voice is echoey and distant, even though she can't be more than a few metres away.

I post my backpack through the hole first. Disembodied hands pull it from me. I wait a few seconds and then I slide through. It's going to be a much tighter squeeze for me.

My hands are still gripping the ledge when my feet hit solid ground. The service tunnel is only a few metres wide, with rough walls and a low ceiling. Fat metal pipes run along the right-hand side of the tunnel. Skinnier pipes and bundles of cables run overhead. A strip light interrupts the darkness every five metres or so. The air is stale, but surprisingly warm.

‘So this is what you do for fun in Plexus? Crawl through the sewers?'

Wildgirl hands my bag back.

‘There's no sewage down here. It's mostly heating ducts and power cables. I've only been in the tunnels a few times at home, but my friend used them all the time. He could get from one side of Plexus to the other without seeing daylight.'

She doesn't say his name, but I know she means the friend she mentioned earlier, Mike.

The tunnel forks into two identical tunnels ahead of us.

‘We're going to get lost under here, aren't we?' I look back up at the opening. If necessary I can boost Wildgirl, and then lift myself through.

‘Nope.' Wildgirl's voice is firm. ‘Six is definitely in this direction. The other tunnel must connect to Four. The tunnels in the Commons are on a grid so there's no reason to think these aren't the same.'

I have to stoop as we take the tunnel to the left. The pipes are old and covered in grime. Heat fuzzes from them and they creak like snoring babies. Every now and then there's a wheel or a lever or a hazard sign to break the monotony. Our feet crunch on the dry concrete floor. I adjust my bag, settling the weight evenly between my shoulders.

‘I wonder if these connect to the old subway tunnels near Little Death.'

‘Maybe.'

‘We should be leaving markers in case we get lost and have to turn around.'

Wildgirl doesn't answer me. The acoustics in here are good. I feel like I'm whispering but my voice is loud. You could record some amazing stuff down here if you could figure out how to tap some electricity. We pass a manhole overhead, with a metal ladder fixed to the wall underneath it.

I hope this isn't a waste of time. At least we're hidden down here, and Wildgirl does seem to know her way around. Maybe a lot of government buildings are built the same, to save money.

‘So, do you like where you live?' I ask.

‘It's a dump,' Wildgirl says without turning back. ‘We live in a tiny apartment about the size of your front room. All around us there are hundreds of other people living in apartments exactly the same as ours. Everyone stacked on top of each other. We have our own bathroom and kitchen but we have to share a laundry and rubbish bins and car park. I can't wait to get out of there.'

Oh. Her steps speed up, forcing me to pick up my pace. Her voice sounds odd, maybe because of the acoustics.

‘What about your school?' I ask.

‘I go to a private school on a scholarship. You know, the smart poor kid. There's one in every school. The girls there own at least ten pairs of jeans each and three times as many pairs of shoes, and I've been wearing the same uniform since I started there. They think I like to wear my school dress short.'

She laughs, but it's not light. She must hate me after seeing my house. I know I haven't been keeping it like my mum used to, but still. It must be obvious we have—had— money. That stuff shouldn't make a difference though, right? Am I supposed to apologise that my parents are well off?

A sudden boom clangs through the tunnel. I'm so shocked I jump and slam into the pipes next to me. There's a loud hiss, and a few metres further on a cloud of steam escapes into the air. Hair stands up all over my body.

When the steam clears I see Wildgirl ahead, waiting for me with her arms crossed, smirking.

‘The pipes do that sometimes,' she says.

I dust myself off and join her. My body is crawling with unwanted adrenaline. The moment calls for pretend dignity, so that's exactly what I give her. I put on a poncy British accent. ‘Where I come from, our pipes are solid gold. With diamonds. Father said I can have one for my birthday if I'm lucky.'

She laughs and punches me on the shoulder. Who says I can't act?

‘Houston, we have a problem.'

She's right. Up ahead there's a barred gate blocking our way. It's been made to fit the uneven contours of the tunnel, wrapping around the bulge of pipes on one side. It's secured by a latch with an old-fashioned keyhole. I try the handle but it's locked. I grab the door with both hands and shake it. Nothing doing.

‘You know,' Wildgirl says, ‘I think I might be able to squeeze through.'

The bars are spaced barely fifteen centimetres apart. My scepticism shows.

‘Not the bars, stoopid. The side—here.' Wildgirl pokes her arms through the gap where the gate accommodates the pipes. There's a decent space between pipes and gate. Still… ‘I don't think you're gonna fit through that.'

‘I'm not that fat,' she says. ‘God! Way to make a woman feel special,
Jethro
.'

‘Did I say—' I start, and then stop. I know when I'm not going to win an argument. ‘Let me try to break the lock first.'

‘No need,' says Wildgirl. She strips off her jumper— make that my jumper—and flings it through the bars. It lands out of reach on the other side. I notice she doesn't take the same risk with the ukulele, placing it carefully against the wall.

She gets her right arm and shoulder easily through. Her head scrapes by, barely, then her hips. ‘Oof!' she gasps. She's done it. She puts the jumper back on and holds on to the gate with both hands, mocking me. Her hair is wild.

‘Come on then, action man.'

Gram used to do this thing where he'd ask me to shut the front gate while he waited in the car, then, when I tried to open the passenger door to get in, he'd inch the car forward in infuriating lurches so I couldn't. Same annoying principle.

‘I'm waiting.'

‘There's no way I'm getting through there.'

‘Then you're lucky you've got me.'

Wildgirl bends down to look at the latch and the keyhole. ‘It's jammed from this side. Someone's put a piece of cardboard or something in here. Can you pass my make-up bag? It's in your front pocket.'