The Innocents by Nette Hilton Page B

led off across the road. ‘You gotta watch out for blokes like that. Just as well I was with you. Gawd knows what he mighta done.’
    â€˜He wouldn’t have done anything.’
    â€˜Get out. What d’you know anyway?’
    â€˜It was Mr Mykola.’ It wasn’t like it was a secret. ‘Oleks Mykola.’
    Now it was Zilla’s turn to gape. ‘He’s a bloody wog as well! D’you know him?’
    â€˜He lives in my house,’ Missie said. ‘He’s not ... one of them...’ She couldn’t say the ‘pervert’ word yet. It wouldn’t trip over her tongue and she figured she might have to practise it a bit to get it right.
    â€˜He looks like one,’ Zilla said. ‘And anyway, what’s he doing down there like that? You’re not supposed to hang around down there. Everybody knows that.’
    â€˜He was drawing,’ she said. ‘He’s an artist.’
    Of course he was an artist. He did that drawing for her, didn’t he? But he never did other things like go to the pub or play footy or go fishing like all the other dads and hubbies around town. She knew what they did; the other women were always going mad about it at the kitchen table.
    But what if she was wrong? What if he was something that she didn’t know about yet?
    She wasn’t even sure if he was a proper artist.
    â€˜He draws all the time,’ Missie announced. ‘Lots of things. And he’s good at it.’
    Zilla chewed this over. ‘He’s a pervert,’ she said finally. ‘Doing drawings like that just goes to prove it. Bet he draws them ladies with no clothes on as well.’
    Surely that would never happen.
    â€˜You better watch out,’ Zilla stated firmly. ‘Sounds like a pervert to me.’
    â€˜He’s not,’ Missie repeated. ‘He’s my friend.’
    Zilla shrugged.
    â€˜You’ll see,’ Missie went on. ‘When you come to my house, you’ll see.’
    â€˜And we’ll get that Lawrence to come over too.’
    It was nice leaving troubled thoughts of artists and naked ladies behind. It was nice to be headed home. The little swan added an extra buzz. It’d be great to watch her mother upwrap it.
    There was just one small cloud hanging about outside her head. It flashed out warnings of hellfire that would follow if Mr Oleks Mykola dobbed on her. Hanging out down by the river, on the wharf, wasn’t allowed. Never. Ever.
    It was Aunt Belle’s rule as well.
    And that made it worse.

13
SATURDAY EVENING
    â€˜CHARMAINE’
    She hadn’t been spotted down by the river. It was nice to know she’d got away with it but it wasn’t making her feel all that good. It hung about a bit like the smell that Macey’s dog left on your fingers when you forgot and ruffled his fur too much. It got you for ages after, even when you didn’t have your fingers that close to your nose.
    Her mother had loved the little vase.
    â€˜Will you look at that?’ she’d said. ‘Fancy you finding something like that! And it’s a proper vase too.’
    She’d tested it out straight away to make sure the water didn’t dribble out and make a mess all over the place. And then she’d gone out, although it was getting dark, and found some red and yellow nasturtiums. They’d closed for the night but it didn’t seem to bother her. ‘Be lovely in the morning,’ she said, and then, after facing the swan one way and then another, found an old mirror in the cupboard upstairs and sat it under the swan.
    â€˜Looks like it’s on a lake. It’s even looking at its own reflection.’ She’d sat down to admire it. ‘It’s a bit like having our own puddle in the middle of the table.’
    The more her mother enjoyed it, the worse Missie felt. It was one thing to give someone a present, but it was another when you’d cheated on them at the same