One-forty. Thatâs twenty a night.â
She felt dizzy. âIs that the cheapest room?â
There were pastry flakes in his beard. âThereâs one other, real small. No window, just a bed and a light. Wonât lie to you: itâs basically a cupboard. But the lock works.â
âHow much is that one?â
âCall it twenty. Or a hundred for the week. You want to see it?â
She shook her head, held the envelope and counted out five twenties, watched his sausage fingers daintily spirit them out of sight.
âNumber 13,â he said, handing over a key. âThird floor, top of the stairs, black door.â Now he was jotting numbers in a ledger. âAny papers?â
âNo,â said Grace, then improvised, ânot on me.â
He nodded. âCops donât bother with us here.â He looked up, wiped his mouth. âNo guests in the rooms, though.â
âI donât want any guests.â
His eyes shifted over her shoulder. âHey, Merlin,â he said.
An elderly man carrying a small case had conquered the heavy door and was edging his way across the foyer. He wore a black suit with stovepipe trousers, and his stoop brought him level with Graceâs shoulder. Folding himself into a chair, he turned his bright gaze on her face.
âGood evening, Kevin,â he said, in a voice rich and full as an orchestra. âI see we have a new guest â will you introduce this radiant young lady?â He propped the suitcase on his lap, flipped up the latches, waited.
(A phrase scampered across the back of her mind: May the Lord cut off all flattering lips, and the tongue that speaks proud things. )
The man behind the counter shrugged, waved a plump palm. âThis is Merlin.â A phone rang, and he reached for it.
The old man raised his eyebrows at her; kindly, enquiring.
âGrace,â she said, swaying a little in her borrowed shoes.
âEnchanted.â He nodded. âGrace â of course. I couldnât have put it better myself.â
Now he was opening the case, taking something out: a wooden doll dressed in a tuxedo, limbs swinging limp and helpless. At once the creature sprang to life. It perched on the old manâs knee, face turned towards her; wide blue eyes, a slow blink of surprise. Head tilted to one side, the dummy regarded her cheekily.
âHey there, doll-face,â it said in a high, singsong voice. âYouâre a knockout. You ever worked in showbiz?â
[Flinders Lane, Civic Zone: Tally | Blue]
Yeah, I got something in my eye, bit of dirt or something. No way, hose-ay, uh-uh, no thanks. Probably just an eyelash. Iâm not rubbing it, Iâm just moving it around. Hey, check out that lady, sheâs got bare feet too carrying her shoes, man those kind of shoes they look fancy but they make you walk like a duck donât you reckon. Like a tippy-toe duck, like Barbie how sheâs always on tiptoe even when sheâs got bare feet. I reckon that ladyâs drunk.
Hey shit see that car there again Blue, is that ⦠are they undercover cops do you reckon. I seen one of them looking at me when they drove past â I know that, they not allowed to have beards or moustaches and stuff, but the undercover ones are undercover arenât they? So thatâs different.
What you doing with the leftover bits? Are you allowed to stick that there, on that churchy thing? Ah. Yeah, true. These ones are pretty donât you reckon, with that swirly writing, like a fancy birthday card. You reckon this works, all these stickers? You reckon it makes people buy stuff? I am, I am, jeez. Iâm always concentrating. Iâve only got about half left. Man.
That funny-looking guy, with the weird hair? Toldya, I didnât tell him anything, he was asking questions but I just acted dumb. Yeah, he was asking about Diggy, did I know Diggy had I heard of him blah, blah. But I said nah donât know anyone
Maggie Brendan
Barbara O'Connor
Jan Washburn
Terri Blackstock
Norah Simone
Barry Kemp
G.P. Taylor
Alan Cumyn
Linda Barnes
Lisa Jackson