like ‘storm in a teacup’ to let you know he’s on your side. Then he does something oddly intimate: he puts his hand on your forearm and moves in close enough to kiss you. In a tiny whisper of minty breath he says, ‘Be careful of those Pessites.’
‘What do you mean?’ you whisper.
‘They can be…vindictive.’
‘Vindictive? How? You mean they’d hurt Rosie?’
‘Not physically.’
‘Then how?’
‘They might use their influence…’
‘How? With the school? I don’t think Christina Bowden can be influenced.’
‘No, not the school…’
‘Then…?’
‘I-I don’t know. All I’m saying is, be careful.’
A bewildered-looking woman whom you recognise as one of the other doctors appears and calls Mr Lind. Lind , that’s it . Jason Lind gets up and heads out. He pauses at the doorway to give you a reassuring nod, leaving you to ruminate for another fifteen minutes before Doctor David Wilson appears with his thatch of prematurely white hair and calls out your name.
Stray hairs from Egg float permanently through the atmosphere of the O’Dell household so when Wendy decides to multitask and paint her nails while stirring bolognese sauce and talking on the phone to her mother, she is unperturbed by the discovery of not one but two dog hairs drying into the pearl pink enamel of her left index finger. She informs her mother of the crisis, hangs up promising to call back, removes the errant hairs and ruined polish, reapplies fresh enamel, stirs the bolognese, and is about to dial her mother’s number when the phone rings. She scoops it up and cradles the old-fashioned receiver between her shoulder and her ear, expecting to resume the conversation about her brother’s irresponsible attitude towards money, only it’s not her mother.
‘Can I speak to Rose, please?’ The voice is older, male, with a rough edge to it.
‘Who can I say is calling?’
‘I’d like to speak to Rose O’Dell, please.’
‘Yes, this is her mother. Who’s calling?’
‘Constable Lance Johnstone.’
‘Um. Why do you want to speak to Rose?’
‘It’s regarding an incident at the school.’
‘Do you mean the ar… ar…’
‘The fight with the other lass.’
‘Oh. What do you want to talk about?’
‘I’d just like to ask her some questions is all.’
‘What kind of questions?’
‘About the fight.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s, er, imperative that we ascertain what happened.’
‘Um, Constable, you must be aware that Rosie is a minor. I’m happy for you to talk to her but only if I am present.’
‘Oh, yes, yes, of course.’
‘Do you want me to bring her down to the station?’
‘No, no, that won’t be necessary.’
‘But if you want to talk to her…’
‘Look, I’ve got a bit of a full plate at the moment; I may have to get back to you.’
You wake from an ugly dream, sweaty and dry-mouthed, to find Wendy frowning into the small mirror above the old chest of drawers with the missing knobs. She tells you about her conversation with Constable Lance Johnstone. You tell her about your conversation with Jason Lind. Could the Pessites be behind this? Why did the cop ask to speak to Rosie without identifying himself? Why didn’t he follow protocol?
Wendy has an epiphany: there is no Constable Lance Johnstone. Someone pretending to be a cop has called to give you a fright. Quickly she dials the local police station and asks to speak to Constable Johnstone. There is pause. She puts her hand over the receiver, ‘Well, there is a Constable Johnstone,’ she says.
But is there a Lance Johnstone?
Someone comes on the other end of the line. In his unmistakable voice, Constable Lance Johnstone identifies himself. Wendy hangs up.
A panicked discussion ensues. Could he have known who was calling? Could he tell what number was calling? Is it illegal to call someone and hang up? Over the course of the evening, you try to reassure each other that the constable’s call was an insignificant event.
‘What do you mean?’ you whisper.
‘They can be…vindictive.’
‘Vindictive? How? You mean they’d hurt Rosie?’
‘Not physically.’
‘Then how?’
‘They might use their influence…’
‘How? With the school? I don’t think Christina Bowden can be influenced.’
‘No, not the school…’
‘Then…?’
‘I-I don’t know. All I’m saying is, be careful.’
A bewildered-looking woman whom you recognise as one of the other doctors appears and calls Mr Lind. Lind , that’s it . Jason Lind gets up and heads out. He pauses at the doorway to give you a reassuring nod, leaving you to ruminate for another fifteen minutes before Doctor David Wilson appears with his thatch of prematurely white hair and calls out your name.
Stray hairs from Egg float permanently through the atmosphere of the O’Dell household so when Wendy decides to multitask and paint her nails while stirring bolognese sauce and talking on the phone to her mother, she is unperturbed by the discovery of not one but two dog hairs drying into the pearl pink enamel of her left index finger. She informs her mother of the crisis, hangs up promising to call back, removes the errant hairs and ruined polish, reapplies fresh enamel, stirs the bolognese, and is about to dial her mother’s number when the phone rings. She scoops it up and cradles the old-fashioned receiver between her shoulder and her ear, expecting to resume the conversation about her brother’s irresponsible attitude towards money, only it’s not her mother.
‘Can I speak to Rose, please?’ The voice is older, male, with a rough edge to it.
‘Who can I say is calling?’
‘I’d like to speak to Rose O’Dell, please.’
‘Yes, this is her mother. Who’s calling?’
‘Constable Lance Johnstone.’
‘Um. Why do you want to speak to Rose?’
‘It’s regarding an incident at the school.’
‘Do you mean the ar… ar…’
‘The fight with the other lass.’
‘Oh. What do you want to talk about?’
‘I’d just like to ask her some questions is all.’
‘What kind of questions?’
‘About the fight.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s, er, imperative that we ascertain what happened.’
‘Um, Constable, you must be aware that Rosie is a minor. I’m happy for you to talk to her but only if I am present.’
‘Oh, yes, yes, of course.’
‘Do you want me to bring her down to the station?’
‘No, no, that won’t be necessary.’
‘But if you want to talk to her…’
‘Look, I’ve got a bit of a full plate at the moment; I may have to get back to you.’
You wake from an ugly dream, sweaty and dry-mouthed, to find Wendy frowning into the small mirror above the old chest of drawers with the missing knobs. She tells you about her conversation with Constable Lance Johnstone. You tell her about your conversation with Jason Lind. Could the Pessites be behind this? Why did the cop ask to speak to Rosie without identifying himself? Why didn’t he follow protocol?
Wendy has an epiphany: there is no Constable Lance Johnstone. Someone pretending to be a cop has called to give you a fright. Quickly she dials the local police station and asks to speak to Constable Johnstone. There is pause. She puts her hand over the receiver, ‘Well, there is a Constable Johnstone,’ she says.
But is there a Lance Johnstone?
Someone comes on the other end of the line. In his unmistakable voice, Constable Lance Johnstone identifies himself. Wendy hangs up.
A panicked discussion ensues. Could he have known who was calling? Could he tell what number was calling? Is it illegal to call someone and hang up? Over the course of the evening, you try to reassure each other that the constable’s call was an insignificant event.
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