The Listmaker Page 15

  Well, I told myself briskly, that solved the hassles of litter-tray training when Horace thought it was so undignified. It took care of a whole stack of problems, really – worrying that he might fall off the apartment balcony, cough fur balls on the expensive new carpeting, knock over those sphere lamps, tumble into the pool, the trauma of another move. Horace was used to being with the aunts, anyway, and seeing me just on weekends and in term holidays.

  ‘It’s … okay,’ I said, hoping my voice didn’t sound quavery. ‘I should have realised there might be some rule like that. It’s probably for the best. Horace just got settled in at Avian Cottage, so it wouldn’t have been fair to shift him again.’

  ‘Good girl,’ Dad said approvingly. ‘I didn’t know what I was going to do if you went hysterical on me. Tell you what, we’ll buy something or other to make up for it. How about your own personal television for the apartment? Then it wouldn’t matter if we’re watching a program that clashes with one of your favourites. Now, another important thing … Would you let Aunty Nat know that we’ve decided to get married in Sydney? I didn’t mention anything to her last night when I rang, because the details weren’t finalised then.’

  ‘Sydney? But she’s …’

  ‘Concentrate, sweetheart, so you can pass the message on properly. It will be next Wednesday, two o’clock, and we’ve ditched the reception idea. We’re just heading for the airport straight afterwards. But if you’d like to come up for the registry-office business, we could fly you up, that’s no problem. Arrange something with Piriel. I’m meeting her for lunch back at our hotel when I finish here, so I could get her to give you a buzz.’

  I hadn’t even known Piriel had gone to meet him in Sydney. She hadn’t phoned to let me know, or to say goodbye or anything.

  ‘I hear the old girls wanted to have some kind of shindig out at their place, so it’s just as well Aunty Nat happens to be out shopping right now, isn’t it?’ Dad said. ‘I could have got my ears boxed over the phone, otherwise. Piriel said it was all pretty heavy going, and she didn’t quite know what to do when they suggested it.’

  ‘But at Christmas she seemed –’

  ‘Listen, smooth down any ruffled feathers if necessary, there’s a darling. What we could do, I suppose, is fly the three of you up here next Wednesday. We wouldn’t have time to take you around sightseeing, before or after the wedding, but you could go out on the town by yourselves. How would that be as a cure for ruffled feathers?’

  ‘They don’t like planes,’ I said slowly. ‘Aunt Dosh gets airsick, and Aunty Nat always thinks the pilot might die of a heart attack. It was in some old film she saw and one of the passengers had to crash-land. Even when they went to New Zealand that time, they got there on a cruise ship.’

  ‘Well, not to turn it into a big issue, Sarah, there’s a good girl. We’ll sort something out. But not to fret, either, if you don’t make it to the registry office. As I explained before, you’d be the only ones there except for us. Marriage is really just something between the two people concerned. Besides, we’ll be seeing you when we get back in a few weeks, won’t we? Look, I’ve got to go now, can’t very well keep a whole marketing team waiting …’

  I replaced the phone and went back downstairs and out into the courtyard, tripping over Corrie’s bundle of plants. Even though I didn’t like getting my hands dirty, I decided to plant them safely, before the afternoon sun crept around to that side of the house. It was something to do, anyhow, a distraction, seeing I’d run out of odd jobs inside. The plants were a bright, clear green, as though they’d been laundered, with little tear-shaped leaves. Plants needed cosseting after being put in; I knew that from watching Aunt Dosh. She always used the watering can, because she said it was gentler than a hose. I went around the back to find it, ducking under the fronds of the willow tree. Piriel said it should be chopped down, because willow roots damaged drains. I hadn’t known that, but it must be true if Piriel said so. It seemed a shame, because that big tree was glorious, like an illustration from an old-fashioned fairytale book. Still, that wasn’t my concern; if it had to be chopped down, I wouldn’t even be here to notice the loss.

  The watering can was kept in the fernery, underneath the overhead decking. When we’d moved in, that fernery had been an eyesore, just something you hurried through as quickly as possible to reach the terrace. Aunt Dorothy had done wonders to it. She’d cleared away all the weeds from the poor choked ferns, then hung trailing plants in baskets from the deck slats, things that liked shade. It looked lovely now, like a cave full of green stalactites. Dad had never had much patience with Aunt Dosh; she bored him. He didn’t think she was interesting in any way, or had any views that were worth listening to. He hadn’t let me visit her when she lived in the caravan park, before she moved in with Aunty Nat. Only losers ended up in caravan parks; he’d said so.

  The watering can wasn’t on its slab, under the tap. I stood amongst the ferns, my thoughts ticking along vaguely. The doves were calling to each other again down in the garden. I listened carefully, but it seemed to me that the messages weren’t cheerful little gossipy messages at all; they sounded mournful. Phrases like, ‘They don’t want you. You’re last in the queue. Just room for two …’

  Perhaps the watering can was down in the summerhouse, I thought, weaving back through the willow fronds. Aunt Dosh might have used it for the roses she’d planted around the base of the summerhouse specially for the wedding. She needn’t have bothered, really. It was going to take place thousands of kilometres away now, with no ceremony or anything, no celebration. Dad and Piriel would be leaving straight afterwards to catch a plane to wherever they were going for their honeymoon. Dad didn’t seem to mind about there being no guests or ceremony of any kind; he’d even left it up to me to decide if I wanted to be there or not. He’d said on the phone, ‘Marriage is really just something between the two people concerned.’ Maybe he was right; he was usually right about things, just like Piriel. But when I got married, I thought suddenly, I’d want the aunts around. It would be heartbreaking if they weren’t at my wedding; Aunty Nat, dabbing at her eyes with a lace hankie somewhere in the background, Aunt Dorothy spilling champagne on someone’s good dress. Both the aunts, who’d always been there for me since I was born, loving me with no conditions attached, no conditions whatsoever.

  I went down the steps of the terrace, trying not to listen to the sad little doves calling all around the garden. It seemed a pity that such a perfect garden wouldn’t be the setting now for a wedding. Piriel and Dad didn’t know what they were missing. All that work the aunts had done, getting everything so beautiful – it would be hard having to be the one to break the news to them. Perhaps I should start with Aunt Dorothy first, then we could tell Aunty Nat together. It might be easier that way. Aunt Dosh was always so peaceful, things never seemed as bad when she was around. She most definitely wasn’t a loser; Dad was wrong about that.

  The watering can wasn’t in the summerhouse, nor was Aunt Dorothy. She wasn’t anywhere in the back garden. I hesitated, then set off down the path that led to the creek, through the bush block that Piriel said Aunty Nat should sell. Piriel, I thought, had far too many opinions about what the aunts should or shouldn’t do! It wasn’t really any of her business, what they did with Avian Cottage or the land around it. Anyone would think she was the ice-lady, the way she tried to manipulate people, bend them to her will so that they caused the least amount of inconvenience to her own life …

  I could hear the creek gurgling away to itself further down. It was really stupid, the way I hadn’t bothered to explore this part of the garden yet. Aunt Dosh was always telling me how pretty it was, that I needn’t be so scared of snakes, because she hadn’t seen any at all. It was pretty, too. I could help rake up the dry stuff and burn it off, I thought. If Corrie Ryder and I both got stuck into it, we’d clear it all away in no time. You wouldn’t need to feel nervous about snakes if Corrie was around; she wasn’t scared of anything. In fact, if you
were marooned on a desert island, Corrie would be excellent company.

  Aunt Dosh was down by the creek. I could see the crown of her old straw hat with the red band tied around it. Dad, I remembered, grinning to myself, had once given her a very expensive pith helmet, because he couldn’t stand the sight of that battered old hat she wore in summer. Aunt Dosh hadn’t liked the new helmet. It was on the floor of her wardrobe, holding all the socks she meant to darn some time or other. I jumped down the last bit of steep path, then stopped, not going any further. I stayed right where I was, peering through the bushes. Aunt Dorothy was sitting under a tree, but she wasn’t by herself. Ed Woodley was next to her. There was a heart carved in the bark of the tree, with initials inside it. They both looked very happy sitting under their initials, holding hands …

  12 ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙

  Some things that aren’t too bad about Parchment Hills

  Everyone talks to you.

  Birds singing all over the place.

  Watching the stars before going to sleep.

  All the houses are so old they’re probably still going to be here in fifty years’ time, not looking much different except for new coats of paint.

  Having someone living right next-door who might be able to work out Rulers of Cedrona.

  Having a friend my own age living right next-door.

  Horace likes it here. He has favourite places in the garden.

  I like it here. I’ve got favourite places in the garden.

  Some things that aren’t too bad about Corrie Ryder

  Horace likes her heaps.

  She doesn’t make you feel dumb when you can’t do things. She just shows you how.

  She’s got a nice kookaburra laugh.

  What you see is what you get.

  She can be really funny and cheers you up when you feel down.

  If you went to the same school as her, she’d never be nice to you one minute and nasty the next. If she ever got mad at you she’d come right out and tell you why. Then things would be okay again.

  If you were really poor and didn’t have any shoes, she’d probably take hers off and give them to you. (Not that beggars or anyone would want to wear Corrie Ryder’s shoes!)

  I wouldn’t mind going to the same school as Corrie. I wouldn’t mind being her friend, either. I’d feel kind of lucky …

  NB I’m getting a bit fed up with lists! Maybe I won’t write so many from now on.

  ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙

  It wasn’t a good time to grab Aunty Nat’s attention, not when she was stocking the fridge. She always treated that job like some fascinating hobby. I passed her the next supermarket bag, trying to think of good opening sentences. The two problems were crashing around inside my head. They felt as distracting as separate tapes being played together.

  I rang Dad while you were out shopping.

  There’s something going on right under your nose, and I think you should know about it. Ed Woodley’s got a crush on …

  By the way, there’s been a slight change of plans about Dad’s wedding.

  Sit down, Aunty Nat, and I’ll make you a cup of tea.

  It was hard to compete with celery being trimmed and stacked cut-side down in a pink plastic dish, freezer use-by dates getting checked as carefully as visas, and a hiding place being found for this week’s supply of fruit yoghurt (so Aunt Dorothy couldn’t eat it all in one go). I passed her another supermarket bag.

  I know you don’t like travelling anywhere by plane, but …

  This might come as a shock, but do you realise a certain person has a crush on Aunt Dosh and she has one right back?

  Dad and Piriel decided that …

  Sit down, Aunty Nat, and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.

  ‘There, that’s the perishables out of the way,’ she said. ‘Now for the rest of the stuff. Careful with that jar of stuffed olives; it’s part of the wedding menu.’

  ‘Aunty Nat,’ I began in a throttled voice that didn’t sound like my own. ‘I rang Dad while you were out shopping …’

  ‘Oh goody, you managed to get on to him, then? Sometimes he’s a bit hard to track down at the Sydney office. That snooty receptionist always sounds like it’s beneath her dignity to put calls through … What do you think about these fancy serviettes? Maybe plain white would have been better, but then I noticed these ones with the cute little silver horseshoes.’

  She’d also bought two special champagne glasses, with ‘bride’ stencilled on one, and ‘groom’ on the other. They had bows of ribbon tied to the stems and were really hideous, but she put them tenderly away on a shelf as though they were Oscar awards. I couldn’t tell her! And it wasn’t fair, I thought despairingly, that Dad had even asked me to! It was just as unfair, really, as Tara McCabe scratching the duco on Mrs H.’s car at school, then bribing a dim little Year Five kid into taking the blame. (The bribe was the promise of a pony ride if that kid ever happened to be passing through Gippsland!)

  ‘Sarah, instead of standing there having a good old gnaw at that fingernail, try to come up with some groovy ideas for lunch. I thought I’d make something special, seeing it’s Ed’s last day.’

  ‘Sit down, Aunty Nat, and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea,’ I said, then blabbed, ‘Do you realise he’s got a crush on Aunt Dorothy and she’s got one right back?’

  ‘Thanks, but it’s a bit too near lunchtime for a cuppa. And yes, I do know about Ed and Dosh, as a matter of fact,’ Aunty Nat said calmly. ‘I wouldn’t call it just a crush, though. Not when they’ve made plans to buy that creek block from me and build a cottage down there. Mind you, Dosh was going to tell you herself pretty soon, so make sure you act surprised when she does. For some reason she’s always accusing me of being a bit of a chatterbox.’

  ‘You mean … they’re getting married?’

  ‘Well, I certainly hope that’s what they have in mind, dear. Ed’s buying her an engagement ring soon, and Dosh mentioned an autumn wedding, because the trees in the garden will look so handsome then. It’s wonderful for them both. And for me, too, that I’ll have them living so close. I really thought you might have guessed what was in the air already, with her being more daffy than usual and actually managing to quit smoking, too. We’ll have a party when they announce it officially. Inviting all the card people, of course, and everyone we know up here in Parchment Hills. Let’s hope Dosh doesn’t lose her new ring beforehand, though, grubbing about in the garden. My word, two weddings at Avian Cottage in the one year …’

  Like a coward, I retreated downstairs, stopping on the landing to pat the carved eagle. It was a habit I’d got into, having grown quite fond of that eagle. It seemed to add a touch of character to the house. Ed Woodley had installed a brass coach-lamp underneath, which also added a touch of character. He hadn’t charged Aunty Nat for the lamp, saying it was a house-warming gift. He was nice, really, always being so patient when Aunty Nat had changed her mind a hundred times about wallpaper and colour schemes, rushing down to the terrace to make sure Aunt Dorothy hadn’t hurt herself when she fell off the retaining wall, climbing up the willow tree to rescue Horace when he got stuck, calling me ‘Sally’. It was good news about him and Aunt Dorothy. Later on, I thought, I’d go and tell them so, but there was the other thing to be dealt with first. It had to be got out of the way. Something happy shouldn’t be jumbled up with something else that felt … unhappy.

  Aunty Nat would have to be told straight after lunch, I decided, knowing it couldn’t be postponed much longer than that. On top of everything else, she’d need time to get used to the idea of an unexpected interstate trip. Both the aunts would. (Unlike Dad and Piriel, they didn’t have much practice in dashing off to places at short notice.) Even that New Zealand holiday had been a huge event in their lives. They’d spent weeks planning what to take, trying to fit it all in the suitcases, then dumping everything out and starting again. Because of having plenty of suitcase experience from boarding school, I’d packed for them both in the end. It w
ouldn’t be necessary for this trip, though, as we’d just be flying there and back in the one day. That was going to be difficult enough, with the aunts so nervous about planes. Another difficult thing was the ghastly dress Aunty Nat had ordered at a Parchment Hills shop for the wedding. She’d fallen in love with it. Her size hadn’t been in stock, and they’d promised to get one in by Friday next week. But Friday next week would be too late …

  And what was I going to wear? Although the wedding had been pared down to something that would probably last just a few minutes, and even if we’d be the only guests now (and by the sound of it, not really expected to be there), it still seemed wrong to show up for it in everyday clothes. As though it was nothing more important than some kind of business meeting.

  I went along the passage and checked my wardrobe, finding nothing suitable. If Piriel hadn’t had time to make up that dress, I thought moodily, then she should have passed the job on to Aunty Nat. It would have just been a matter of posting the material and pattern out to Avian Cottage. (Except Piriel never seemed to use ordinary mail; it was always couriers and fax messages.) Aunty Nat would have found time, somehow, to sew it up. She always managed to find time, for anything needed, for whatever was asked of her. I closed the wardrobe door, feeling depressed, then remembered the money Dad had given me for holiday outings. In spite of the list I’d made of places to visit and things to do, most of that money still hadn’t been touched. (The things on my list hadn’t been done, either, but that was another matter.) Without telling Aunty Nat, I sneaked out and headed for the shops, not feeling particularly hopeful even when I got there.