Read Online Frankie by Shivaun Plozza - Free Book Online Page B

she was taking me somewhere. The doctor’s, probably. I was pretty sick for the first little while.
    Vinnie led me out the front door and the neighbour leaned over the fence. ‘That her?’ she asked. All I remember of the woman is the pink floral blouse she wore with a big frill around the neck. Like a posh frilled-neck lizard. Vinnie turned. ‘This is my niece, yes.’ The neighbour sized me up. ‘Looks like trouble,’ she said. ‘She’s got her mother’s mouth.’
    The red blots descended. Later, I cut the heads off the flowers in her front garden. It was the only thing that helped draw the red away.
    Since Xavier materialised, it’s been shitting down memories. Things I haven’t thought about in years. Things I didn’t think I remembered.
    I pull out my phone and dial his number. But what am I even going to say?
    The call goes to message bank: ‘I’m not around so leave a message. Probs won’t call you back, but, yeah. Beep.’
    I hang up and slide the phone into my back pocket.
    When I calm down, there’s only one thing left in my head: ‘The prick owes me money’. That’s what Bill said.
    I try to think rationally. Xavier owes his dad money. No big deal because a) Bill is a prick who deserves to be swindled and b) I owe Vinnie heaps – well, I will after she pays Steve’s medical bills. It’s a child’s duty to owe their parents money. So it’s no big deal.
    When I finally get back to Vinnie, she shoves a box of lettuces into my arms. ‘Put these – You look pale. Are you sick?’ She grabs my chin.
    I shake her off.
    I hate that little crinkle between her brows; I hate when it’s there because of me.
    I grab the lettuce and stuff it into the trolley. ‘I saw an Ian Curtis look alike. I’m still swooning.’
    She laughs, shaking her head. ‘What am I going to do with you?’
    â€˜I take her off your hands. I have son,’ says Sergei. ‘Short but clean. Good match.’
    Vinnie laughs. ‘For her, maybe. Not such a good deal for him.’

As punishment for The Steve Sparrow Incident, Vinnie has given me a list of crappy jobs. First on the list: bin duty.
    I drag the garbage across the tiled floor of the Emporium, ignoring the trail of bin juice. I push open the shop’s back door with my butt and lift the bag into the alley. The gate swings shut behind me.
    Rain is falling steadily, the kind that covers you in a soft film of dampness the second you enter it.
    Rain and bin juice; it’s like that sometimes.
    As I drag the garbage along the cobblestones, a siren cuts through the rumble of traffic from Alexandra Parade. One of my earliest memories is of a siren. I can’t remember who Juliet was living with then, but I can picture his boots as the policeman marched him out the door. He’d wrapped the laces several times around the top before tying them. Juliet was crying, louder than the siren.
    I lug the bag to the dumpster but a noise behind stops me short. My whole body tenses. I don’t know karate but I’ll damn well give it a go.
    I drop the garbage and swing round, fists raised.
    Black jeans, black hoodie, bright-blue high-tops.
    I grab my chest and fall against the dumpster. ‘Holy crap, Xavier. You scared the shit out of me.’
    He stares wide-eyed like I’m the last person he expected. Which is stupid because this is where I live
and
work – it’d be no fun playing
Where’s Frankie?
in this part of the world.
    â€˜Wha–?’ He drags his fingers through his hair and laughs: a nervous splutter. No dimples. ‘What the fuck, hey?’
    â€˜Who were you expecting?’ My heart is still trying to parachute out of my chest. ‘And don’t say fuck.’
    He laughs again. A little less nerves, a lot more dimple. ‘You’ve been my sister for a week and already you’re telling me what to