where they were living. Sometimes she imagined them inventing stories of their own about her.
Frank took a sip of his coffee and pointed a suntanned finger at her book. ‘Any good?’
Ariel’s smile widened so much, her cheeks began to hurt. ‘It’s brilliant! Do you read, Frank? I do it all the time. It’s one of my favourite things to do, but I don’t think it’s because we own a bookshop that I like books, because the books we sell aren’t really storybooks at all. I think it’s because when you’re reading it doesn’t matter where you are or what else is happening around you, it’s impossible to feel alone. Do you think that too?’
She was vaguely aware that her words had spilled out of her mouth in one long, breathless rush, but she hoped they made her sound smart all the same. She searched Frank’s face for a reaction, but it was difficult to tell what he was thinking without seeing his eyes.
‘Sure, I like reading!’ he replied. ‘But not as much as singing. That’s when I feel least alone in the world, when I’m singing and performing. Nothing can touch me then.’
‘What’s it like travelling around all the time? Don’t you miss home?’
Frank took another sip of his coffee and cocked his head to one side. ‘Being on the road can be lonely, I guess. But like I said, singing and performing is what I do. Sometimes you get lucky and make a new friend or two along the way. Cyn is with me most of the time, though, so it’s not very often I’m completely on my own.’
Frank’s girlfriend, Cynthia, was a Priscilla Presley lookalike. She may not have been American like Frank, but she was a living, breathing, raven-haired Barbie doll; the prettiest girl Ariel had ever seen. She still couldn’t believe they’d be renting their attic room for an entire month while they did their It’s Now or Never summer roadshow. It was the most exciting news she’d heard since Estelle and Linus told her they were at last expecting Baby Number Two.
‘I’m glad you’ve got Cynthia,’ Ariel said. ‘It must be nice to have a friend like that.’
Frank smiled. ‘Well, sure! But you have friends too, don’t you?’
Ariel pointed at her book. ‘Of course. My friends are in there. That’s why I’m not lonely.’
Frank looked from her face, to the book, then back again. ‘That’s cool, Ariel. But I was thinking more about real friends,’ he said gently. ‘The kind you can call up and invite round to play?’
Ariel shrugged. ‘They are my real friends. They’re always there for me when I need them and they never call me names.’
‘Why d’you say that?’ Frank’s voice tightened. ‘Has someone been calling you names?’
Ariel gave a slow nod. ‘Just some of the children in school. They call me a weirdo.’
‘A weirdo?’ Frank cried. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know… because of the shop and stuff. They say my gym things smell of incense. Mam says I should ignore them, but one or two are really mean.’ She sighed. ‘They’re the ones living in fantasyland. I’m sure they think we sit around all day staring into crystal balls and talking to pixies.’
Frank ripped off his sunglasses and hurled them onto the lawn. ‘WHAT?! You mean the little fella with the pointed ears and the wings at the breakfast table this morning wasn’t real?’
Ariel burst out laughing. ‘See, that’s why I like you, Frank! You’re a weirdo like me!’
Frank held up his palm and high-fived her. ‘Loneliness is just an illusion, kid. Don’t let anyone dim your light! It takes an awful lot more courage to stand out than it does to blend in. When you’re older, you’ll understand. Anyway, where’s the fun in being ordinary?’
He shifted his attention to a giddy chorus line of geraniums soaking up the sunlight in the border along the side wall. He’d put his sunglasses back on, but Ariel could tell he’d adopted that far-off look that grown-ups got whenever they were trying to solve a problem in their heads.
‘Hey,’ he said, turning back to face her, ‘are you excited you’re going to have a baby brother or sister?’
Ariel almost squealed. ‘I’m nearly eight and a quarter! I thought it was never going to happen. A real-life brother or sister is going to be the best early Christmas present ever!’
Frank gave her one of his megawatt smiles, then dropped his gaze to the grass between his feet. He was still ruminating over something, she could tell by the way he was chewing on the side of his lip. She had a pack of cards under her deckchair and was about to ask him if he’d like to play a game of rummy, when he said, ‘Is your mom in the store today?’
Ariel nodded.
‘I’m just going to go inside and ask her something, okay?’
Frank pushed himself up off the ground and walked back to the house, his chest thrown out like a soldier on parade, his shoulders kneading the air. The grass where he’d been sitting looked flat and lifeless, as though some spectral hand had slipped, unnoticed, over the garden wall and combed it flush against the earth.
Ariel groped for her pack of cards and placed them alongside her chair where she could see them. She laid her book face down on her lap, made two circles with her thumbs and forefingers and held them up like binoculars to her face. She swivelled left and right, scanning the periphery of the garden from her seat.
It was quiet and empty as a church.
The only movement came from the plants, metronoming in the breeze, and her heart, which began to sink, gradually by degrees, when she realised Frank wasn’t coming back outside.
She pulled her hat over her forehead and watched a ladybird zigzag its way across the shiny turquoise cover of her book.
At its edge it tumbled, spread its wings, and flew away into the hot, yellow air.
The train let out a low, mechanical rumble, quietened, rumbled again.
Ariel extended her foot under the table and patted the carriage floor, searching for her canvas bag with her toes. Henry’s slumbering body jerked and resettled, his eyes quivering beneath shuttered lids, his expression placid and immutable as stone.
Gently, she withdrew her foot. Across the aisle, Travis was scribbling something in the margin of his guidebook. He’d raised his feet and legs onto the empty seat opposite and looked so damn chilled; like he didn’t have a care in the world.
She tried to look away, but her eyes kept returning.
She wondered if he knew she was looking at him.
His head bobbed back and forth, as though a private soundtrack was playing inside his brain. God, she wanted to speak to him.
She decided to wait until he’d finished writing and then ask him where he’d been to, where he was headed.
