October 23, 1983
Its getting late and Mum and Dad arent back yet. They said theyd be home before dark. So where are they?
I should be happy. Even though Im fourteen, Ive never been allowed to stay alone for more than a few hours, and tonight Ive got the whole house to myself. I can blast my music, watch whatever I want on TV, raid the refrigerator. But something doesnt feel right.
This isnt like Mum. Shes the kind of mother wholl call and tell me the car has broken down or shes caught up talking to someone, or that she and Dad have stopped for something to eat. Shes the kind of mother who worries too much and calls too often.
Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe they said theyd be late?
No, I remember Mum walking over to me on the sofa at lunchtime, kissing me and saying theyd definitely be home before dark.
They were going to visit Nannys grave in the country, dropping my little brother, Trent, off at Evelyns house on the way.
So where are they? Its seven oclock already.
Ill call Evelyn. Shes Mums best friend. “Hi, its Erin. Have Mum and Dad come to pick up Trent?”
“Not yet. So I get some extra time with him. Hes so sweet!”
“Good,” I say, distracted. “Um, Evelyn? Im worried.”
But Evelyn tells me not to be. “They probably just got held up, Erin. Ill have them call you as soon as they get here.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I hang up. Maybe I am overreacting. Mum says Im a worrywart, but its her fault. Shes the one always going on about wanting to die before us kids. Now shes got me thinking the worst.
Maybe I should do my tapestry to take my mind off things. Ive just learned embroidery, and Im surprising Mum with a tapestry for Christmas. I know its kind of geeky, but I cant help it. I love how the picture emerges with each stitch. When it comes to her birthday and Christmas, Mum always says, “Just make me something, darling.” But I never do.
My sister, Tracy, rolled her eyes when she found out. “Youre such a dork. Why do you have to sit around reading all the time? And now tapestry? Youre hopeless.” Tracy is four years older than I am. Were very different. She says Im the biggest nerd there is. But I wish she were here now. Shes been at her best friends house all day; they were going clubbing tonight.
Its officially dark. I can see all the neighborhood lights on through our sheer green and cream striped curtains. I probably should get up and turn some lights on besides the reading lamp next to me, but I cant move. I dont know why, I just cant. Its like Im stuck on the living room sofa.
Just keep stitching and stop it with the stupid thoughts.
I figure if Im here doing this for Mum, shell be all right, it will keep her safe. I wont look up. I wont even raise my head. Ill position myself so I cant even see the mirrors behind Dads bar or the black hole that was the dining room half an hour ago or the kitchen with the echo of the humming fridge making it all seem even emptier. Ive never noticed that hum before. Why is it that things sound louder in the dark?
Its eight oclock. Why havent my parents called? They should have been home hours ago. Where are they? Where could they be? What if something bad has happened to them? What if theyve been in a car accident? What if—
The phone rings. Thank God.
“Mum?”
“Erin! Is this Erin Vincent?” asks a womans voice I dont recognize.
My stomach sinks. Its not Mum. Id better get this woman off quick in case my parents try to call.
“Theres been an accident. Your parents have been in an accident!” the woman cries.
I hold the phone tight, trying to process what shes saying. “What? Who is this?”
“Dont worry. Im a nurse—Im here with them. Your dad told me to call you.”
“I dont understand. What about Mum? Whats go- ing on?”
“The ambulance just left, its on the way to Liverpool Hospital.”
“But you said you were a nurse,” I say, confused. “Arent you there now?”
“Im here at the side of the road. I just happened to drive past.”
“Please! Whats happened? Whats going on? Who are you?” I beg.
“Look, thats all I know. Im sorry. Call Liverpool Hospital.”
“Wait! Dont hang up.”
Shes hung up! You cant say that and just hang up!
This isnt happening. This isnt happening. This isnt happening.
It was just a prank call. Thats it. But how did that woman get our number, and how did she know Mum and Dad arent home? How did she know my name?
Oh no. God, no! Please, God, no.
My hearts pounding so hard and fast I feel like its becoming dislodged from my chest. The threads holding it in place have broken and its just bouncing around in there.
What do I do?
I pray. Please, God. Dont let them be dead. Im begging you. Ill do anything. Ill sing hymns and hand out pamphlets at the mall, Ill watch religious TV. Ill keep you constantly in my thoughts. Just let them have broken legs or arms or something. I know I had that terrible thought last week, but that was just a stupid orphan daydream. Dont all kids think stuff like that?
Its quiet and dark, but I dont want to put the lights on. My eyes have adjusted and I can see all around me, but its like someone turned the brightness down on the TV. Im standing between the dining room and the kitchen. In this light, Mums expensive wood dining table and maroon-velvet-cushioned chairs look like something out of an old English movie. The copper hood above the stove belongs in the servants kitchen, where they pluck chickens and stir pots of stew over an open fire.
I need to move. I cant stand still.
Im walking around the house in circles, around and around and around, faster and faster, until each room becomes a blur. Theyre dead. Mums dead. No, what am I saying? She cant be.
She made my lunch today.
Ive got to call the hospital. Breathe deeply and think straight. Be strong.
I wish I knew where Tracy was. Shes at a nightclub, but which one? Probably better I dont know. Why make her panic too?
These stupid flimsy phone book pages wont turn quickly enough. Im scared to dial the number but I know I have to. Okay, its ringing. Theyre not dead, theyre not dead, theyre—
“Good evening, Liverpool Hospital,” a man answers.
“Oh . . . so this is Liverpool Hospital?” I say, my voice shaky.
“Yes.”
“Um, how do I find out if someones been taken there recently? Tonight, I mean.”
“Ill put you through.”
“Theyre okay, theyre okay, theyre okay,” I chant.
“Admissions,” says a chirpy voice.
“Hello, I need to find out about two people taken there tonight.”
“Names?”
“RonaldandBeverlyVincent.”
“Youll need to talk a bit slower,” she says. “What are their names?”
“Vincent, Ronald . . . and Beverly Vincent.”
Just saying their names makes me want to cry, but Im not going to.
“Hang on. Ill check.”
Please, God. Please. Shes going to come back with good news.
Shes back. “Theres no one been admitted by those names.”
“Are you sure? I was told they were going there.”
“Im positive. Theyre not here.”
Is that good or bad? Another dial tone. Shes hung up.
Please, God, dont let them be dead. Where are they? Mum, Dad, come home.
I need to get out of here. Maybe someone else will know what to do. Ill call Auntie Connie, our neighbor. Shes not really my aunt, but on my street all the kids call the adults Auntie and Uncle. It would feel strange to call them anything else. Mr. and Mrs. just arent enough.
Auntie Connie, Uncle Steele, and their kids, Theo, Venise, and Peter, are our closest friends in the neighborhood. Theyre Greek. Going to their house is like visiting a country within a country, a little bit of Greece just up the road. Having meals there is like going to a Greek restaurant (not that Ive ever been to one). We eat with the TV tuned to the Greek Variety Hour. Lots of flashing lights and Greek singers and dancers. Venise, Theo, and Peter hate it. I love it.
My hands feel clammy on the phone. Stupid phone.
Theo answers. Hes a couple of years older than I am. Hes the nicest boy I know. Last year I had the biggest crush on him, but Im over it now. I tell him whats happened. Im crying. He tells me his parents are out but that I can come over and wait with him.
I turn off the reading light. Dad will be angry if I leave a light on. I get my keys and lock the front door.
Its a hot and windy Australian summer night. The kind of night in horror movies where bad things happen. But nothing bad would happen on our happy street. Its a cul-de-sac, with lots of kids. We skateboard, have water balloon fights, and ride go-carts down the hill. Theres hardly ever traffic, so we never have to worry about being run over in the street, which is a big relief for Mum.
We live in Beverly Hills, thirty minutes from the center of Sydney. Its nothing like the Beverly Hills in America that I see on TV. My Beverly Hills has no rich people. My Beverly Hills has redbrick houses, eucalyptus trees, and Toyotas, not Porsches. Im going to make it to the real Beverly Hills one day and become a movie star. But in the meantime, the other kids and I perform on the back of Dads work truck, parked in the street outside our house. We live at number six, which is a lucky number, Mum says.
Please let us be lucky tonight.
From the Hardcover edition.