Free Frankie Styne & the Silver Man by Kathy Page

she added ‘between you and the sling?’ Liz ignored this. ‘Steering’s jammed,’ muttered Alice. It meant nothing to Liz, who couldn’t drive. The air inside the car was heavy with Alice’s hairspray and her jasmine perfume. But beneath them Liz thought she could smell something else, bitter, the faintest whiff of sweat, not hers and not Jim’s.
    â€˜Do you want some gum?’ Alice asked. Liz shook her head. There wasn’t enough room for her legs. She could hear Alice’s breathing, the rustle of her clothes as she wrestled with the wheel. She knew that if she raised her own eyes, Alice’s would be waiting for them in the mirror. She wound down the window and looked determinedly out of it.
    Their houses were very different. Hers, 127, was the last of the small terraces, just wide enough for a window and a door. But theirs, though it shared a party wall, marked the beginning of the older, bigger houses, almost double the width, with an extra floor, and a loft conversion as well. The windows of 129 had been replaced with hand-crafted replicas of the Georgian originals, whereas Liz’s had knock-together frames with tiny lights at the top. Their brickwork had been cleaned to a mellow glow, whereas Liz’s had been rendered with pebbledash which was beginning to attract algae. Both front gardens were the same mean depth, but Alice and Tom’s sported a neat square of almost fluorescent green laced with smart yellow tulips and tiny cypress trees; they had a wrought-iron fence and gate painted white. Liz’s garden resembled the back of a piece of embroidery: all loose ends, knots and crossed threads. The border and lawn were indistinguishable, the path nearly lost, the abandoned gate already sinking beneath the sodden grass. Liz considered it all. It’s just different, she thought. Special.
    â€˜I’ve just been to the hypnotist!’ Alice announced brightly, letting out the clutch. The red car’s engine was whisper-quiet. It was years since Liz had been inside a normal car, unless she counted police vans and the ambulance that took her to the hospital and then moved her and her things when she came from the bed and breakfast to here. She settled herself warily, mistrusting the softness of the maroon upholstery.
    â€˜We’re both going, separately,’ Alice continued. ‘I hope it works.’ She took a left turn so fast that Liz had to put out her arm and push her hand into the seat to stop herself toppling over. She braced herself with her forearms and bent so that she could see Jim’s face when he woke . . . The people from the Silent Zone, she thought, wanted to help. They had to communicate with humans, to let them know that they were on the wrong track. But, of course, it couldn’t be with words. That was the problem. ‘Maybe you’re already there,’ she thought at Jim, ‘and you’ve come to fetch me.’
    â€˜Lovely baby. I’m very jealous. I really want one,’ Alice said. ‘Should be easy enough to park. Might as well come in with you. Years since I’ve been in a launderette.’ She made it sound like some kind of treat.
    Liz stood and watched as Alice loaded two washing machines with her and Jim’s sheets, pants, socks and underwear, methodically dividing things into light and dark. She held a pale pink babygrow up by its arms, the flat shape of two months old.
    â€˜Did you set your mind on one or the other?’ she said coyly. Liz shook her head. Basically, she hadn’t wanted one at all. ‘I want a boy, Tom wants a girl,’ Alice said as she loaded the dispenser with coins from her own purse. ‘It’s okay. Can’t stand having too much change,’ she assured Liz. ‘Expect you have to count the pennies. Be a while before you can get out to work. You look so young. Babies age some women dreadfully.
    â€˜Does she take after her