The Messengers Read Free Page B

right state.

I didn’t wake up until 10:30, when I heard music downstairs. I threw on some jeans and a top, and went down to the kitchen, where Auntie Lizzie was dancing to Lady Gaga. I’d always thought of Auntie Lizzie as a bit of a style icon. Her hair was light brown, smooth and bobbed, like a better version of mine. She wore elegant glasses, wide-legged trousers, and a soft camel-colored sweater. “Babycakes!” she shouted when she saw me. She grabbed my hands and started moving me to the beat. I tried to pretend that I was too tired for dancing, but I couldn’t stop myself from grinning.
    Uncle Robert was sitting in the corner, nodding to the beat and drinking coffee from a tiny cup. Robert was a good guy, but he was one of those Helmstown dads who thinks he’s down with the kids. He had stubble, wore hoodies, and had longish gray hair, which was supposed to look wild, but I knew he had it trimmed every fortnight. He was into Italian food and fashion: espressos and expensive loafers with no socks. He said “hey” instead of hello.
    “Morning, Uncle Robert,” I said.
    “Hey,” he said.
    “You not working today?”
    “No. I’m taking a day off.”
    “Getting your hair cut?” I said. Uncle Robert smiled. He pretended to like my sass, but I could tell it made him a bit uncomfortable.
    “Actually I thought it might be nice if we all went out to the Downs. There’s a few good hikes. We thought you should get some fresh air.”
    “Can’t do it, sorry,” I said. “I’ve got to meet someone.”
    “Oh, right,” said Uncle Robert. “That’s nice. Who is it?”
    “Robert!” said Auntie Lizzie. “Don’t pry.”
    “I’m only taking an interest, Liz. Besides, Frances is staying in our house, and we always tell each other where we’re going.”
    The old
we
trick.
We
do this,
we
do that,
we
’re part of a team. Uncle Robert and Auntie Lizzie weren’t exactly strict, but they had their rules and boundaries, and I reckoned Robert worried that I might lead Max astray.
    “Come on, Fran, cough it up!” said Uncle Robert, smiling. “Where are you off to?”
    “I’m going to one of those little beach huts to meet a suspicious-looking older man.”
    “Ha-ha,” Uncle Robert said. “You’re very droll.”
    I turned back to Auntie Lizzie, who was still lightly holding one of my hands. “Did Mum call?” I asked.
    “No, Fran,” Auntie Lizzie said. “But sometimes I miss the phone.”
    “Especially when it doesn’t ring,” I said. “Anyway, I’ve got to go.”
    “You could call
her
, you know, Frances,” Auntie Lizzie said.
    “I’ve tried. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”
    Auntie Lizzie winced. “Do you want me to wash anything for you? I could unpack your bags, hang up the rest of your clothes,” she said.
    “No,” I said sharply, thinking of the drawing at the bottom of my kit bag. I calmed my voice. “That’s very kind, Auntie Lizzie, but I’ll be fine.”
    I put my shoes on and walked out the door. The black cat with white socks stood on the low wall across the road. An old woman, who must have been its owner, shuffled down her path and stroked it. But the cat was looking at me. Looking daggers.
    I have a bad sense of direction, so I had to use the map on my phone to find Landsmere Road. Standing at the top of the street, I was overtaken by the sensation that I’d been there before. The sunlight was weak and turned the big white houses a lemony color. The street funneled down toward the sea, which cut the sky in half. Sometimes, in Helmstown, the sea appeared to be as tall as a building. It loomed in the background in a way that I found unsettling. Peter Kennedy was nowhere to be seen, and I thought about leaving.
    A car pulled up to my left, and a woman got out. I recognized her vaguely — the thin arms, the blond plaited hair. Then it clicked. The woman was from the postcard. I looked around. I was standing on the street that Peter Kennedy had painted. I began to feel a