A Pocketful of Eyes Read online

  Bee shuddered, and was suddenly grateful that Gus hadn’t spoken much before.

  Gus continued to chuckle and tell off-colour stories all day. And eat. Bee had never seen anyone eat so much. He had two hamburgers with chips for lunch, along with a strawberry milkshake, then inhaled a Crunchie, two lamingtons and a slice of banana bread for afternoon tea, washing it down with a large hazelnut cappuccino with extra froth and chocolate sprinkles. Bee was aghast.

  Even as Toby was chatting and joking with Gus, Bee could feel him watching her, as if he were attempting to get a reaction. He kept trying to catch her eye – and succeeding far too often. What did he want? Was he just being annoying? Or did he like her? Bee wasn’t sure which option was worse. She just kept her head down and worked on her possum, clenching her jaw every time Gus laughed at something Toby said. Gus had never laughed with her. She and Gus didn’t have a laughing relationship. They had a relationship based on respect and professionalism.

  The main body of the possum was now shaped, and Bee was working on its front left leg. She poked a sharpened piece of wire through the pad of the animal’s paw, and fed it through the limb to attach the body. She then turned the skin inside-out so she could wrap more cottonwool around the wire, as well as some thicker flax-string to stand in for the possum’s muscles.

  ‘So how long have you been working on this little fellow?’ Toby asked, leaning over her.

  ‘Not long,’ she said, although in truth the possum had been hard going and it had taken her all week to get this far. ‘I’ll finish it by the end of the day,’ she said.

  Toby looked at the still rather limp furry body. ‘No, you won’t,’ he said, matter-of-factly.

  ‘I will!’ said Bee. But there was still a lot of work to do. She imagined the smarmy look on Toby’s face the next morning when he came into the lab. She was determined to prove him wrong.

  Bee pulled out her phone and sent her mother a text message to say she’d be home late. She’d finish her possum. Even if she had to stay up all night.

  GUS LEFT AT 8:37 pm, opening a packet of salt and vinegar chips on his way out. Bee fully expected Toby to bolt out the door as soon as Gus had gone, but to her surprise he stayed.

  They didn’t speak, just worked silently. The only sound was the snip of scissors and the faint squeaking of cottonwool.

  At 9:09 pm, Bee’s phone rang, making her jump. Her watch caught on a raw edge of possum fur and pulled one of her stitches free. She answered the phone, sliding her watch off and placing it on her desk.

  ‘Are you on your way home?’ her mother asked. ‘Can you pick up a pizza?’ Bee could hear familiar electronic beeps and whistles and metallic clanks in the background.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m still here.’

  Toby looked over at her and grinned like an idiot. She turned her back on him.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Angela. ‘I’ll order in. Don’t work too hard!’

  ‘Was that your boyfriend?’ asked Toby, as Bee slipped her mobile into her bag and turned her attention to the broken stitch.

  Surely if she ignored Toby he’d leave soon.

  He didn’t.

  Bee rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock. It said 11:35 but it was still three minutes slow, so in fact it was 11:38. She glanced at Toby, who was bent over the head of the emu, carefully smoothing the stuffing around its neck. He must have felt her looking, because he spoke for the first time in two hours.

  ‘An emu’s hips are anatomically the closest thing in the animal kingdom to a human’s.’

  Bee blinked, not sure what to do with that piece of information. ‘Do elderly emus have to get hip replacements?’ she said at last.

  Toby leaned back in his chair and smiled. ‘Our heart is closest to that of a pig,’ he went on. ‘We have lungs like a goat, knees like a brown bear, and a brain similar to that of a six-month-old Jersey cow.’

  ‘Really?’ said Bee. ‘How come I’ve never seen a Jersey cow win Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?’

  Toby shrugged. ‘Their pool of general knowledge is pretty much limited to grass, milk and more grass.’

  Bee laughed, in spite of the fact that she had vowed not to like Toby. ‘Anything else you’d like to share?’

  He grinned. ‘Just one more. Your vagina is like a sheep’s. Not yours specifically,’ he added. ‘Just the human vagina in general.’

  Bee blinked again. Vagina was not the kind of word scruffy-haired boys usually used. But it was becoming clear that Toby was not an ordinary scruffy-haired boy. ‘Does that line usually work for you?’

  ‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’ He reached into his bag and pulled out a little silver flask. ‘Drink?’

  ‘No thanks.’ Bee turned back to her possum.

  ‘So what did your boyfriend want?’ asked Toby after a few minutes.

  ‘It wasn’t my boyfriend.’

  ‘But you do have a boyfriend, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Bee, although she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Fletch hadn’t made contact with her all summer. It was possible that he’d gone away with his family, but surely a dutiful boyfriend would send a postcard, or at the very least a text message to say Happy New Year. Of course Bee hadn’t contacted him either – she wasn’t going to be anyone’s pathetic nagging girlfriend. But the fact remained that she hadn’t heard from him in nearly four weeks, and that didn’t exactly bode well for the future (or even existence) of their relationship.

  ‘You sure about that?’

  ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘Hit a nerve, did I?’ Toby smiled an infuriatingly knowing smile. ‘Sorry. I’ll drop it.’

  He really was irritating. Of course he’d hit a nerve! But did he have to go and talk about it and ask rude questions instead of just shutting up like a normal, polite person would? She was at work; she didn’t want to talk about her feelings.

  A part of Bee quietly pointed out that she was more annoyed by a guy she’d only known for twelve hours than she was by her apparent rejection at the hands of actual real-life boyfriend. The thing was, Bee felt faintly relieved to have been dumped (if, in fact, she had been). Fletch was good-looking, and he never talked about uncomfortable stuff or made exasperatingly teasing eyes at her, but he wasn’t very bright and he had a habit of picking his teeth in public. And while Bee had enjoyed the status that having a boyfriend like Fletch had bestowed upon her, he was a bit . . . boring. There was only so long a girl could sit around a guy’s living room watching him play Mario Kart before the shine wore off. If she’d been the kind of person who was fascinated by the pounding of a Wii controller, she could have just stayed home and hung out with her mother. At least Angela played more interesting games.

  Despite all that, nobody liked to be dumped, and Bee’s pride was wounded. Fletch could at least have called her to let her know it was over. But she had a pretty good idea why he hadn’t, although she was choosing not to think about it. In any case, Bee had no desire to share any of this with smarmy smirking Toby, who was taking a slug from the flask and studying her with his twinkly eyes behind their hipster glasses.

  Seeing her glare, he proffered the flask again. Bee’s glare intensified, and she shook her head.

  Toby laughed. ‘Up to you.’

  Bee wondered what would happen if she took it. She didn’t get the whole drinking thing; she couldn’t really see the point. But right now, she figured there were three options.

  1. Maintain her stoic refusal, finish her possum and leave as soon as possible.

  2. Have one very small sip from the flask, just to get Toby off her back.

  3. Have a somewhat larger sip from the flask, and see what happened.

  Although Bee had most definitely decided on Option 1, she couldn’t help being intrigued about the possibilities of Option 3, and felt it required a sub-list of potential outcomes.

  a. The alcohol would make Bee relax, and Toby might seem less irritating. In fact, it might lead to other things. Fun things.
Things that Bee hadn’t associated with Toby before. Like touching that scruffy hair. Or seeing him without those trendy black glasses. Or sliding her hand behind the collar of that vintage penguin polo shirt . . . Stop!

  b. It would make Bee drunk, and she would do something stupid and/or embarrassing that she would definitely regret.

  c. She would become an alcoholic, her brain cells would instantly decay and she would forever rue the day she allowed herself to be tempted by peer pressure.

  It was undeniably safest to go with Option 1. Stoic refusal was the only acceptable course of action. Bee was about to open her mouth and express this to Toby, but swallowed and coughed at the sudden burning feeling in the back of her throat. She swallowed again and realised with chagrin that while her brain had been busy calculating the pros and cons of accepting Toby’s whisky, her body had simply gone ahead and done it without any consultation. She felt her cheeks redden, and handed the flask back to Toby. She wasn’t a blusher! Who was this boy who could just waltz into her laboratory and turn her into an alcohol-consuming blusher?

  Stoic refusal was clearly no longer an option.

  ‘Did you know,’ said Toby, slurring slightly, ‘that slugs have four noses?’

  They were sitting on the floor. According to the clock on the wall, it was 12:06. Bee’s head felt a little fuzzy.

  ‘I did not know that,’ she said. ‘I don’t like slugs. Snails are better.’

  ‘They are better,’ said Toby. ‘They have teeth, too. One day I will tell you something beautiful and a little bit dirty about snails.’

  ‘Tell me now!’

  Toby shook his head. ‘I don’t think you’re ready for it.’

  ‘Fine. So what else do you know?’

  ‘I know so many things. I know that the goldfish is the only animal in the whole world who can see in infrared and ultraviolet. I know that more people have been killed by fleas than by other people. I know that every mammal has seven vertebrae in their necks, even giraffes with their very long necks and rugby players with no necks at all. Except for manatees and two-toed sloths, which have six vertebrae. And three-toed sloths have nine, which seems greedy to me.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Bee, who was also struggling to comprehend simple concepts such as talking and where her hands were supposed to go when she wasn’t using them.

  ‘It’s so they can turn their heads all the way around when they’re hanging upside down,’ explained Toby.

  ‘No,’ said Bee, shaking her head and making her entire world turn upside down for a moment. ‘I understand about the sloths. Why do you know all those things?’

  Toby squinted at the flask. ‘Actually, the two-toed sloth has three toes,’ he said. ‘It has two fingers. It’s not very closely related to the three-toed sloth, even though you can barely tell the difference by looking at them. Their common ancestor lived about forty million years ago, making it a rather exquisite example of convergent evolution.’

  This speech was delivered with knowledgeable flair, which Toby ruined completely by belching at the end.

  Bee stared at him. ‘This is how you try to impress girls, isn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Toby. ‘Is it working?’

  Bee shrugged. ‘A little,’ she admitted. ‘But seriously. Why the internal encyclopaedia?’

  Toby laughed. ‘I want to be a Thingy. You know.’

  ‘Quiz-show winner?’

  ‘No.’ Toby shook his head. ‘A zoo—’

  ‘Keeper?’

  Toby smirked. ‘—ologist,’ he said. ‘A zoologist. Or an entomologist, I haven’t decided yet.’

  ‘But you’re studying medicine,’ said Bee.

  Toby looked at her. ‘Yes,’ he said, nodding. ‘Yes, I am. Not studying veterinary science at all. Medicine.’

  ‘So is that why you’re here? To do some of the zoology stuff?’

  ‘Sure. Let’s go with that.’

  Bee was beginning to think that maybe if she hadn’t drunk from the little silver flask, she wouldn’t be so confused. ‘Why are you here?’

  Toby took another swig. ‘I failed my final exam last year. That’s the reason I’m here. To make up the extra credit.’

  ‘Why did you fail?’

  Toby looked away. ‘What’s through that door?’ He waved the flask towards the low stone archway by Gus’s desk.

  Bee wondered in a blurry sort of way why Toby was being evasive. Was he embarrassed that he’d failed his exam? Or was it something else? More importantly, what did his hair smell like? It looked as though it would smell nice.

  ‘The old Catacombs,’ she said, trying to push away the thought of Toby’s hair. ‘About fifty years’ worth of old stuffed animals and empty glass cases.’

  ‘Sounds creepy.’

  ‘It is. All those glass eyes and dust.’

  ‘So let’s go and check it out.’ Toby stood up.

  Bee shook her head. ‘We should really get back to work.’

  ‘Great idea,’ said Toby, snorting. ‘Because what you should do after drinking whisky is handle dangerous chemicals, knives and needles.’

  ‘I’m not drunk,’ said Bee. ‘I’m fine. Plus we don’t use dangerous chemicals anymore.’

  She climbed to her feet and was somewhat concerned to find they now seemed to be much further from her head than she was accustomed to.

  ‘I feel like Alice,’ she whispered, then giggled because her voice sounded funny. She noticed through the fuzziness that Gus had left his smartcard on his desk. How would he get into the building the next morning? He’d have to call Security.

  ‘Come on,’ said Toby, and grabbed her hand. His hand was warm, and bigger than hers. Bee let him pull her towards the wooden door, which he pushed open with his other hand, then guided her head down as they ducked through the archway.

  ‘It’s dark!’ whispered Bee. ‘How will we see? Did you bring a torch?’

  ‘No,’ said Toby. ‘I brought my magic finger.’

  ‘What? You don’t have a magic . . . oh.’

  Toby had flicked a switch, and a fluorescent light plink-plinked on overhead.

  It really did look like ancient catacombs. The ceilings were low and vaulted, creating individual alcoves separated by concrete columns. The chambers stretched in every direction as far as the fluorescent light reached, then they faded into darkness. Bee imagined that they just went on forever and ever.

  Toby tried to stand up straight and bumped his head on the ceiling. ‘Ow,’ he said, and then, ‘Cool.’

  They were standing among a herd of gazelles, all jumbled together with their horns tangled in the exposed electrical wiring looping from the ceiling, and their hooves crowded with cardboard boxes full of old brochures.

  The light glinted off a hundred glass eyes. Bee realised that Toby was still holding her hand. She decided she liked it.

  They picked their way through the gazelles, clambered over the back half of a rhinoceros, and found themselves in the African savannah. A baby hippo frolicked by a forest of plastic buckets and dirty mops. The light wasn’t as strong here, and Bee couldn’t see another light switch. It was as if they were on the edge of nothingness.

  She thought she felt something brush against her calf and turned. She was face to face with a tiger, frozen mid-stride, teeth bared. Bee jumped and dropped Toby’s hand, then scolded herself. It looked very real, despite the layer of dust and the fuzz of cottonwool poking out of its left ear.

  ‘I think you should ride it,’ said Toby with an evil grin.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Go on. I won’t tell anyone.’

  Bee couldn’t believe she was behaving like this. But she was feeling warm and reckless after being startled by the tiger. Why not?

  She gripped the tiger’s neck and swung her leg over its back.

  ‘What do you think?’ she said, striking a pose.

  Toby nodded. ‘Hot,’ he said. ‘Very hot. Like a Persian goddess.’

  Bee felt a flush creep up under he
r collar. She was a little tingly. She stroked the tiger’s neck.

  ‘That looks like fun,’ said Toby. ‘Do you reckon he’s strong enough to take us both?’

  ‘I think it’s a she.’

  ‘Even better.’

  Bee held onto the tiger’s ears as Toby climbed on behind her. His arms slid around her waist and his chest pressed against her back.

  ‘So where should we go?’ Toby’s breath tickled in Bee’s left ear.

  Bee was vaguely aware of Toby’s hands pressing against her belly. But most of her attention was on his lips, which lightly brushed her neck.

  ‘Um,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure. Brazil? The Amazon? The Moon?’

  ‘Brazil sounds good.’

  Bee leaned her head back on his shoulder so he could kiss her cheek and jaw. He certainly seemed to know his way around better than Fletch.

  ‘You know,’ he said, his voice low, ‘the only other species that kisses is the white-fronted parrot. They lock their beaks before mating and gently flick their tongues together. Of course the next step in their courtship is that the male regurgitates all over the female, so we don’t have to follow their methods to the letter. But the first bit sounds like it could be fun . . .’

  Little shivers of lightning ran up and down Bee’s spine. She twisted around to face him so they could start kissing properly.

  And then the light went out. Bee froze. Toby pulled away.

  ‘Well, that’s never happened before,’ he said.

  She dug her fingernails into the tiger’s fur. ‘What did happen?’ she whispered.

  ‘I don’t know. Come on.’

  The door into the lab was still open, spilling warm yellow light into the darkness of the Catacombs. They clambered off the tiger and stumbled towards the light, barking their shins on bits of hyena and elephant, and stubbing their toes on low glass cases and concrete plinths.

  As Bee brushed past the last gazelle, she saw a figure silhouetted in the doorway for a brief moment. Then the door swung shut and engulfed them in darkness.