Jilly-Bean (Jilly-Bean Series # 1) Read online

  Again she felt giddy, felt the blood rush from her head. It took all her energy to scream out: a scream that shattered the stillness of the house.

  When she came to, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder; someone was smoothing her hair. She looked up and saw Mrs. Mueller gripping the banister as she made her way down the stairs in a pink silk nightgown that strained across her heavy breasts, her hair dishevelled from sleep. “John? Oh, no! Is that my John?” she whimpered. Aunt Jean was trying to comfort her, gripping her hand: “He'll be all right, Joyce. I think he fell down the stairs. The ambulance is on the way.”

  Looking as if he had woken from a bad sleep, her father demanded angrily, “What the heck is going on here?”

  “John's had an accident,” replied Aunt Jean. “It looks like he fell down the stairs.”

  Within minutes the police and paramedics arrived on the scene for the second time.

  Jillian's mother couldn't be consoled. She was in hysterics: “Oh, but didn't Madame Zelda predict an omen of sorts? And there was a warning that John should avoid high altitudes?”

  “What high altitudes? He was walking down the stairs!” replied Adam angrily.

  Mr. Paradis, looking like a defeated man, was pacing back and forth, sweat gleaming on his forehead, his fingers opening and shutting convulsively. “Well, this has turned out to be quite an evening. If the papers get a hold that there was a witches' mass here this evening, I'll be a laughing-stock.” He stopped and looked abruptly around the room, but everyone was evading his gaze, looking away or at the carpet, afraid to acknowledge that there might be some truth to his words. He ran his fingers gingerly over the top of his head; “This could ruin my political career,” he whispered under his breath. Ah, thought Jillian, now the truth comes out; he cares more about his precious career than poor Mr. Mueller. She remembered that Mr. Paradis was an important man in politics. He had fancies of becoming prime minister of Canada one day.

  Numbly, Olivia asked, “Do you think we'll be implicated in any of this?”

  “How could you talk like that? No one is going to be 'implicated' in anything,” retorted Mr. Crossland matter-of-factly.

  “Are you kidding me?” exclaimed Mr. Paradis. “The authorities will have questions about these goings-on if— if John should happen to— I can't even say the word— die.”

  Adam interrupted him, “and who would be the murderer: Satan?”

  Chapter Five

  In the days leading up to her high-school graduation and dance, Jillian could barely think of anything else. She was in a state of keen anticipation, agonizing not only for herself but also for her mother, who would look at her with anxious, troubled eyes, worried that her daughter was about to embark on a new phase of development— adulthood— or that maybe there was a curse lurking just around the corner and about to claim her. Jillian hurried about the house, humming under her breath. Her nights were enlivened by vivid dreams, and when she awoke the next morning, she was certain they foretold future events or solved some life riddle.

  Friday afternoon: a warm scent of wet summer grasses wafted through the auditorium of Humberview High School. The metal doors had been propped open to give some air to the throng of parents and children crammed into such a small space. Even so, the air in the small auditorium had become stifling hot; most people were fanning themselves with their programs. The graduates, sitting in the first two rows, were wearing black gowns and caps, looking more like comical figures or what Amelia Hartmann laughingly referred to as the Humberview High black ghosts. Sitting behind them in fold-out metal chairs were the relatives and friends of the graduates, who had pushed and thrust their way along the aisles and squeezed and bumped past each other; their chat and laughter echoed into the far reaches of the school corridors and basement.

  For Jillian, the ceremony passed like a blur tinged with sadness. With a smile and a warm handshake Principal Bennett handed her the Grade Twelve diploma, wrapped in a red ribbon and bow. Jillian's four years of high school seemed so brief a period, and now they were over. Her teenage years were gone.

  The night of the party finally arrived. She tried on the new red dress she had bought specially for the dance at Holt Renfrew for an obscene sum of money one Saturday afternoon, shopping with her friends Amelia and Annie, then removed it, because it seemed over the top. It simply didn't suit her. She remembered a pale yellow dress, with a sash of red floral and green petal appliqués, gathered at the waist, that was hanging in her bedroom closet and which she had worn the year before to a family wedding in Vancouver. Hastily she took it out, put it on and critically looked at herself with a feeling of thoughtful expectancy; the dress was snug at the waist but puffed out at the hips and consequently gave the impression of curves that she knew she didn't have. A new improved me! she thought. She shook out her hair so that it fell in wisps around her face. Peering closely into the mirror, she critically studied her face and on closer inspection ... was that a pimple?! Still? She started to fret; how could she cover something so obvious and red? Her mind went back to the awkward dances in middle school and high school: the hot gymnasium, pitch black except for dim lights from the hallways illuminating kids with beet-red faces, dancing their first slow dance with the opposite sex. The first one she had been to— was it in Grade Eight? Since then she had always been cast as the perennial wallflower, looking shy and out of place, standing alone at the far end of the gymnasium while her best friends Annie and Amelia were out on the floor dancing with boys or at least with other girls. But that was then, this was now. This was different. She shut her eyes, put her hands up to her forehead and let her fingers trace over the contours of her face. She opened her eyes wide. Someone in high school had remarked that she had nice eyes. Yes, they were nice, her best feature— limpid watery cesspools the colour of green algae. Well, let's say forest green. She then reached for the Cover Girl skin foundation on the dresser and applied it liberally over the offending blemish. The finishing touch! She stared at her reflection, holding herself sideways with her head over one shoulder.

  Her mother put her head around the bedroom door, saw Jillian standing before the full-length mirror and walked over. “You look lovely, dear,” she murmured, smoothing Jillian's hair lovingly with her fingers, and then moments later she began to adjust and flatten the exaggerated puffiness of the dress around the hips in a series of finicky movements.

  “Mom, that's the look. It's supposed to be puffy.” Jillian was beginning to feel defeated. Oh no, here we go! she thought.

  Her mother was now pushing her shoulders upright, trying to make her stand straighter. Under her breath, she whispered, “Something is still not right. That haircut doesn't suit you. Of course, you'll have to let it grow out. Nothing you could do about it now.” Jillian's confidence was just about deflated.

  “Oh, but I'm not finished yet!” she replied, smiling at her mother with a brave look of defiance. Her shaky fingers took a Revlon cherry-red lipstick out of its case. It was the first time she had applied one of these things in front of her mother, and she was very careful not to slip and go outside the lip line; she watched her mother from the corner of her eye, staring at her so avidly and this brought a smile to her face.

  Her mother shrugged indifference but then became suddenly serious: “Jilly-bean, there's something I want you to have.” From her apron pocket she drew a necklace of blue peridot and yellow amber and held it up in her hand. Jillian thought it was the most delicate thing she had ever seen. She marvelled, beaming bright. “Mom, this is beautiful! I've never seen stones like these before.”

  Her mother was gazing long and intently at the necklace. “The amber and peridot are very special semi-precious stones. Not only are they beautiful to look at, but they are also charms in their own right. It's written that they bring the wearer good luck. I've had this ever since I was a young girl. It's beautiful, isn't it? I want you to have it, dear.” With trembling fingers, she lowered it over Jillian's head, then put a warm motherly arm around
her daughter's shoulders and kissed her on the cheek.

  Jillian reached for the necklace with her fingers and stared at her reflection in silence. How beautiful! she thought. She was transformed by the semi-precious stones, which gleamed against her pale skin. She fingered them and beamed in admiration, “Oh, Mom, they are beautiful.” She turned to face her mother, who was crying in silence. “Mom, you're not crying, are you?”

  Her mother's trembling smile signalled that these were tears of joy. She paused to wipe one and answered, “No, dear, I'm not. You look so beautiful and grown up, that's all. When did my little Jilly-Bean get so big? Now, remember, don't stay out too late at the party; you'll worry your poor father.”

  As Jillian walked down the stairs, looking radiant in her yellow silk dress and amber and peridot necklace, she was greeted by her father and brother, who were standing by the front door and eyeing her with approval. Her father walked up to her and held her at arm's length: “Good Lord, Jilly-Bee, you'll be the belle of the ball!” He then kissed her lightly on the forehead and drove her to the party.

  *****

  The party was held at Hart House in the University of Toronto. By the time she arrived, the stars were just barely visible in the night sky and cars were slowly moving along King's College Circle in a steady stream of winking lights in search of available spots. Hart House was an imposing gothic grey stone building edged with evergreen shrubs that cast their lengthy shadows like sentinels. Along the walls ran clinging Boston ivy; gun-metal spotlights had been strategically placed on the grounds, tucked in and barely visible in the grass, beaming their shimmering yellow rays of light up at the walls. The buzz of voices lured Jillian in. Upon entering the Great Hall, she felt a thrill of excitement; images whirled about her and dazzled her eyes as she turned to see an enormous round-arched fireplace, high ceilings, open staircases, a grand Steinway piano, and a polished hardwood floor that gleamed and smelled of beeswax. On the upper level was a cozy library with leaded glass windows and rich damask drapes in shades of red, brown and green. She walked a little further on and was suddenly surrounded by young couples, drinking and chatting; smiling faces, beautiful and hopeful. Eager boys, suddenly looking much older in their dark suits, were bending over pretty girls dressed in flowing evening gowns. Spread out on the tables were an assortment of appetizers: pigs in a blanket, tiny crackers smeared with a pink jelly paste, vegetable kebabs pierced with toothpicks wrapped in colourful plastic. Punch bowls had been strategically placed in every corner of the hall. A professional DJ, looking harassed and out of time, was busy setting up his equipment.

  Half an hour later, she was standing in the crowd, glass in hand, smiling a little uneasily and glancing from one guest to the other, wondering if anyone even noticed her, wondering why she had even bothered to come. Could she really be the only one without a date? She felt conspicuous for having arrived at the party alone, more like a spectator than a guest. She sipped her drink, casting careful glances every which-way, thinking she must be barely visible from the other end of the vast room and troubled by her growing feeling of exclusion; she longed to belong, and yet here she was, alone in the midst of her high-school friends— the kids she had gone to school and grown up with.

  Out in the adjoining quadrangle, a rowdy group of boys were competing for attention by talking loudly, getting into a playful fight, followed by loud boisterous laughter. Had someone whispered her name? She looked around, startled, and wondered who could have called her, but then immediately saw across the hall Sarah Flint dressed in floating chiffon, glowing with triumph and beauty. Sarah looked to be in her element, like a New York socialite at her coming-out party; her eyes darted quickly around the hall, looking for anyone who might be glancing in her direction, yet it seemed as if all eyes were riveted on her. She paused to exchange a few words or extend a hand. Her over-excited voice burst into peals of laughter above the crowd: “Oh, welcome to Hart House!” she cried, as if she owned the place, when she wasn't even yet a student at U of T. Suddenly she caught sight of Jillian staring open-mouthed in her direction and at once frowned and stiffened her body as she returned a guarded smile, then promptly turned away. Jillian's mouth went slack. That bitch! she thought. Her eyes darted to one of the two doorways, but then she heard Sarah's voice shriek out in excitement “Matt!” Jillian's attention was riveted to the far doorway, where she saw a tall dark figure standing with his back slightly turned. Something about him— his stance and the slight droop of his shoulders— seemed oddly familiar. He had bucked the trend and worn a dove-grey suit that looked expensive, perhaps even tailored. He turned to face her and her eyes widened with a look of surprised recognition. Déjà vu she murmured under her breath. It was the man she had run into at Union Station, the one who had nearly stolen her cab. From the way he and Sarah smiled at each other across the hall, it was plain to even a casual observer that they were good friends, if not lovers.

  Jillian heard him call out, “Sarah!” The two quickly approached each other, hugged and then Matt either whispered something into Sarah's ear or kissed it. They both dissolved into loud laughter as they gripped each other's hands, falling into one another. Then something— it could have been an errant turn of the head or a nervous tic— caused him to glance up across the hall and catch sight of Jillian standing alone in a crowd of people, staring straight back at him. Their eyes locked. While Matt put on the look of someone trying to recall a face, Jillian stood frozen like an animal caught in the headlights of a fast-approaching car. Aware at once that Matt had shifted his attention elsewhere, Sarah turned to see why; but as soon as she realized that Jillian saw her, her eyes retreated and turned away. Jillian was abashed; her face was burning hot. She felt an overwhelming need to flee the scene of the crime. In a moment her feet were taking her toward the nearer hall door. An escape! She walked quickly, pushing her way through the crowd of dancers, when she felt a hand on her shoulder that made her nearly jump out of her skin.

  “Ah, there you are, Jilly-Bean!” It was Amelia Hartman. “Oh my gosh, you look fab! Where did you ever get that adorable dress?”

  “Amelia, I have to leave. It was a mistake to come.”

  “What? This is our graduation party. No, no, noooo! The party's just started.” Amelia was in happy spirits and waved away Jillian's protests, grabbing her by the shoulders and whispering cheerily into her ear, “There are a couple of boys I want you to meet.” Amelia's voice was confident and her radar had quickly zeroed in on two boys standing alone by one of the punchbowl tables. She gently nudged Jillian in that direction and into the path of dancing couples, who were thrusting their hips and bodies from side to side and seemed to take no notice of the two girls making their way. The pounding rhythm of a base guitar reverberated and shook the walls. Jillian could feel an answering pounding in her throat and had trouble deciding whether it came from her heart or the music. All around were howling noises and echoing floorboards as people flung themselves at random about the room to the Rolling Stones' angry chant:

  “I Can't Get No Sat-is- fac-tion.”

  As they threaded their way between the dancing couples Amelia yelled playfully into Jillian's ear, “I'm going to find you a sweetheart tonight, I promise.” Moments later she was introducing Jillian to Bill and Mike— no last names— who went on sipping beer from large round goblets and peered at Jillian rudely. She found their assured air maddening. Their eyes were glazed as if they had already too much to drink, although the evening had just begun. Bill wiped at his mouth with his sleeve, baring his big teeth, then contorted his lips into something that resembled a smile and leaned over to Jillian, giving off an odour of beer mixed with cologne as he yelled over the noise, “Would you like to dance?” Jillian shrank involuntarily, turning away from him, and pretended not to hear. When he tapped her on the shoulder and repeated his question, she raised a glass of juice to her mouth and mumbled: “No, I don't think so— not right now, at least.” Either he hadn't heard her reply or maybe he didn't care, be
cause he continued to smile at her with his sly grin.

  Twenty minutes later, Amelia was laughing giddily, determined to have a good time and gesturing with her hands and her hips to the beat of the music in the background— a song by the Tragically Hip, while Jillian was smiling so hard she felt her face might crack, nodding and barely hearing what was being said over the thumping base guitar. Something about school was being discussed: professors, courses, exams? Someone had specialized in economics; was it Mike or was it Bill? Had they graduated already? It didn't matter what was being said; she just had to nod and smile and go along with the joke, or whatever it was. Jillian soon became aware that Bill's eyes were fixed on her. She went on taking tiny sips of her drink, deliberately avoiding eye contact, but he was now staring at her intently and with purpose. She looked around absently in several directions, but from the corner of her eye she could see that Bill's smile was beginning to falter; he was clearly getting annoyed with this girl who was playing hard to get. She knew she had to get away. Luckily, she then spotted Andrew Waits and waved frantically to him.

  “Excuse me,” she said hastily; “I see someone I know.” She made her way through the dancing couples towards Andrew as if oblivious to the music and noise. He spotted her, and they hugged like old friends. Andrew's eyes smiled as he dropped them to take in Jillian's yellow dress with the floral appliqués at the waist, and he said in amazement, “I almost didn't recognize you, Jilly-B!”