‘The same thing again, I guess. That she should make a formal complaint,’ I say.
There is a pause on the line. I don’t know what Harriet expects my advice to be, if not this.
‘There was another reason I rang, in fact,’ says Harriet at last.
‘Oh yeah?’
‘I’ve worked it out. I’ve thought of a way to get Natasha out of the newsroom.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘Remember you were telling me the other week about Natasha’s musical taste? It was when you sprained your ankle. You said something about her being obsessed with garage punk.’
‘Ye-es,’ I say.
‘It’s given me an idea. Have I ever told you about my little brother, Arthur? He’s in a garage punk band. And they have a gig on Saturday.’
Harriet has a brother in a garage punk band? ‘I don’t know. Nat’s taste is pretty specific.’
‘I’m not saying I know that much about their music, but they’re quite successful. Not as big as Doktor D or anything, but then he’s hip-hop, not garage –’
‘I’ve heard Nat mention Doktor D.’
‘They’ve played gigs with him before.’
‘Where at?’
‘On Saturday they’ll be at Deep Fryer in Surry Hills.’
Only the best bands play at Deep Fryer on Saturdays. This little brother of hers is clearly pulling her chain.
‘If you’re unsure, why not come over and check them out?’ says Harriet. ‘They’re rehearsing at our place right now.’
Mum is on the couch watching Midsomer Murders: she’s a sucker for formulaic, predictable crime shows. ‘I’m going out for a bit,’ I tell her, flipping my wallet in the air and catching it again.
She looks up. ‘You’re in a good mood.’
‘No, I’m not. Is it okay if I take the car?’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Just to see someone from school. About an assignment. I’ll be back soon.’
‘Your major work?’
‘Kind of.’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve made another friend at school.’ Mum’s eyes widen in exaggerated shock.
‘You can be a real cow sometimes. Have I ever told you that?’
She smiles. ‘I’m pleased for you, honey, that’s all. Anyone special?’
‘Mum!’
‘What? I just happened to notice you’re wearing your favourite T-shirt.’
I look down. ‘This isn’t my favourite T-shirt.’
‘That’s not what you said last week.’
‘I’ve moved on since last week.’
Mum raises an eyebrow. ‘So which one’s your favourite now?’
Harriet Price’s house is the most insane place I have ever been to in my life.
First, due to the number of cul-de-sacs and one-way streets in Mosman, it takes ages to find. When I finally drive down the part of the street where it’s supposed to be, there doesn’t appear to be a house there at all. It’s as if the block has been compulsorily acquired for a medium-sized nature reserve. Then I spy a sleek red letterbox bearing the number 18 nestled between two bamboo fronds.
Beside it, a timber path lit by louvered lights winds its way through the trees. I start up it. The sound of mating frogs chokes the air. There’s a squawk; a bat shoots out of the darkness. I stop to watch it flap across the sky.
I finally reach an opening where I find Harriet waiting for me in front of a Palladian monolith. The doorway is twice her height. She’s still in her school uniform and a pair of shiny white slippers. ‘Come in!’ she says. ‘They’re in the central atrium.’
The ‘central atrium’. Of course. Where else would the next generation’s Ausmuteants choose to rehearse?
I follow Harriet through a hotel-style lobby, up a hallway the width of the school gymnasium, and to the doorway of a glass-walled room the size of our flat. Inside it are three boys on keyboard, drums and guitar, making a freak-load of noise.
We listen for almost an entire song before the guitarist notices us and comes to the door. ‘Hey!’ he greets us.
‘Will, this is Arthur,’ Harriet says.
This is Harriet’s brother?
Arthur Price is not what I expected. His vibe is relaxed. His clothes are fashion-forward. He has excellent hair. He looks like Harriet only, well, cooler.
‘And that’s James on the keyboard. And Bill on drums.’
James is a lanky guy with bright blue eyes. Bill has bushy eyebrows and a head the size of a planet. I like them immediately.
Arthur is glancing between Harriet and me. ‘You two are friends?’
‘In a way,’ Harriet says uneasily.
‘Associates is probably closer to the mark,’ I say.
Harriet turns to me. ‘So what do you think? Is this the type of music Natasha Nguyen likes?’
Bill looks at James. ‘Hey, I know that name. Doesn’t Nat Nguyen hang out with Duncan?’
‘You guys know Duncan Aboud?’ I ask.
Bill and James exchange glances and grin. ‘Everyone knows Duncan,’ says Bill, scratching his leg with a drumstick.
Harriet tugs at my elbow. ‘Let’s leave them to it. Carry on, boys. Sorry to disturb!’ She pulls me back into the hall.
The music starts up again with a high-pitched wail from the guitar.
‘Well?’ Harriet asks.
Above the guitar racket I can hear footsteps. Someone’s coming down the hallway. A blonde-haired woman wearing a skirt suit and heels appears. It’s either a Harriet clone with slightly older facial features, or Harriet’s mother.
‘Hello,’ she says when she reaches us.
‘Mum, this is Will.’
‘Hello, Will.’ Her expression is cool. ‘Are those friends of Arthur’s still here? I have two apicoectomies scheduled from eight tomorrow morning and I need an early night. I really think it’s time they went home.’
Harriet gives her an efficient nod. ‘I’ll have a word to him.’
‘Lovely to meet you, Will,’ says Mrs Price’s mouth while her eyes wish me a thousand frozen winters.
I watch the back of her heels strike the tiles until she reaches the end of the hall.
‘So, the band,’ says Harriet when she’s gone, completely unaware of this wordless exchange. What I’m beginning to learn about Harriet is that sometimes things happen in her line of sight that she simply doesn’t see. It’s like she walks around blindfolded half the time. And yet, just when I’m about to write her off completely, she’ll share a thought or an idea that totally nails everything. The problem is, there’s no way to know what you’re
