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For my family
Acknowledgements
This book came from finally taking the plunge in deciding to write my first novel. There were times when I found myself questioning why I had even started, but the final result of holding this book in my hands made me realise that an idea, some time, and a network of supporting people go a long way in making things happen. Without the following people, this book would still be sitting on my computer, complied with notes, and half-finished dialogue. I want to thank Teagan Dadich, who designed the outstanding cover for the novel, I suggest following her on Instagram (@patchypillow) her artworks are truly captivating. I want to thank fellow author Elizbeth Nast for her patience and guidance, my excellent editor Jessica Cox that brought this book to life and Ash from Tablo Publishing, who offered countless advice and enabled me to make this novel a reality. Lastly, to my family, who supported me all the way, thank you for your love, kindness, and enthusiasm that made me believe I could get to that last sentence. My two dogs are also owed a thank you, Toby and Elmo, who always provided support in the form of cuddles when I needed them.
Finally, to anyone reading this, you are owed a thank you for giving me your invaluable time, for that I am beyond grateful- I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I enjoyed writing about the lives of all the characters in this book. One last note before I go, I hope from reading this that you dare to do something you didn’t yesterday, I hope you take that dance class, start a new language, start that project, paint that portrait. I believe that we can do great things when we take a chance on our own ability to make something beautiful in the world. That same truth lies in you, who knows it might lead to writing a book.
Chapter 1: Not a haunted house
Take me to that abandoned house on Stride Street, the one with the boarded-up windows and grass you could use as rope. Tell me how it isn’t haunted, how every other house on the block is, but not this house. Tell me how no doors have ever been slammed, no windows ever broken. Tell me how the house is disguised to be something it’s not. So, people like me and you don’t go knocking on its door, go inside. So, its drawers aren’t rummaged through, its walls defaced.
Rewrite the stories they spread around town. A serial killer lived behind the walls; no, a young girl who never left; no, a monster chained to the basement floor. Show me the dust left behind in circles, like shadows for the turntable outline that sat on the busted three-legged table by the door. Point out the dents in the floorboards, as though ball bearings had rained from the ceiling. Brush your fingers along the dents and tell me they were made by a woman dancing in high heels. The waltz, you guessed.
Hand me that teddy bear from the third room, furthest from the front door. You know the one, the one that has been stitched more times than our curious eyes could count. Take me to the centre of the house. Close my eyes. You know I’ll let you. Make me feel the energy in the air, the love that resides in the walls instead of claws. Grab the Bohemian patterned rug off the floor and show me the candle marks on its underside, where it was used as a curtain for shadow theatre.
This isn’t a haunted house, I hear you whisper through the rooms. Walking with more than ease in your quiet steps. Tell me how this could have been ours, this house that isn’t a part of a ghost story. Show me how small hands would count the sunrise in inches on the creaking wooden floors.
Show me the paintings behind the wallpaper, where a child no higher than your knee was allowed to paint kingdoms and dragons. Tell me, she only answered to a nickname her father gave her when she was three. But they aren’t here anymore. These echoes of a shadow. These silhouettes of another time. Walk me through the house again, watching your step as you go and tell me this isn’t a haunted h—’
‘Excuse me.’
Eve looked up from the cover of her book.
Laura regarded her. This woman, sitting, her elbow resting outwards. She had something different about her, like only important things occupied her time. If you asked for her name she might make one up, seeing how far you’d go to get to know her. Laura thought she looked like she went to bands she didn’t know the songs of, just to hear something new. A woman who made strangers fall in love with her on the bus. Without meaning to or knowing why, Laura found herself walking into the shop after seeing her in the window. Towards this woman. Her head low over the book she was reading, pinching her bottom lip between her fingers in concentration.
‘Hey Al. How’s it going?’
Laura made a beeline away from the woman and upstairs. The man who had walked up to her was dressed in an orange-and-black delivery uniform. She glanced from upstairs, watching their exchange.
‘Oh, ya know, dogs are still trying to bite me in the ass and no one’s ever home to collect their damn deliveries.’
‘So, pretty much the same?‘
‘Yeah. Hey, when are ya gonna let me set you up with my cousin?’ Al handed over a package for Eve to sign.
‘Nice try, Al, but I’ve got all the guys I want. Mercury, Bowie, Prince, Jackson – I think I’ve got that covered.’
‘When you’re ready for reality, let me know.’
Al tipped his bright orange hat at Eve and smiled. She watched him pull on the shop door and Frisbee his clipboard into his open van window. Eve lifted the large box and, balancing it on her hip, she walked the long flight of stairs to the upper level of the record store. A distant nineties pop hit vibrated with cheap acoustics from the corner radio. Eve stacked the single vinyls on the only empty shelf. Out of the corner of her eye, Eve saw a shape coming towards her.
‘Excuse me.’
Eve stood. ‘How can I help?’
‘I was just looking for … oh …’ The woman trailed off.
Eve followed her vacant look to the section where she was stacking records. ‘Vinyl singles?’
‘I’ve never been very good at looking for things.’
Eve smiled. ‘Well, that’s what sales assistants are for.’ Eve grabbed the last few records by the woman’s feet and stacked them onto the shelf.
‘So, how long are you going to wait?’
Eve looked up at the woman in confusion. ‘Wait? For?’
‘To ask for an autograph?’ The woman grabbed a ‘Bette Davis Eyes’ single.
Eve was taken aback by her arrogance. ‘I, uh, have no idea who you are. Sorry.’
The woman ran a hand through her blonde hair. ‘Well, now I just feel like a dick.’
‘I seem to offer many celebrities anonymity.’
The woman stuttered, embarrassment flushed her cheeks. ‘So you, uh, know for next time. I’m Laura. Dalton.’ She shook her hand lightly.
‘Eve.’
Laura’s eyes creased at the corners as a sly smile caught her face. ‘Eaten any forbidden fruit lately?’
Eve chuckled. ‘Really? Maybe I should have just asked for an autograph.’
Eve lifted the empty cardboard box as a gesture that she needed to get back to work. She caught herself on the landing, gazing at Laura’s turned back.
