The Listmaker Read online

  ‘Moving day was the date we all picked for you to give up that disgraceful habit once and for all,’ I said. ‘What happened to the patch?’

  ‘It’s okay, I ripped the darn thing off first.’

  ‘It’s not okay. You’re supposed to be a committed quitter now, with hours of clean air in your lungs.’

  ‘I promise I’ll try again tomorrow.’

  ‘It’s for your own good,’ I said, nudging her back towards the house. It was like taking a brontosaurus for a walk. On the way there she managed to collide with a branch, a garden tap, an old wheelbarrow and the barbecue. A couple of bricks fell off the barbecue, but it didn’t seem to matter very much. The whole thing was full of dead leaves from a huge tree that arched over the house like an extra green roof. The gutters were choked up with dead leaves, too, but instead of chopping that tree down, someone had stupidly built a seat all around its trunk. Aunty Nat, who’d come outside for one last gloat before going to bed, just said quaint little touches like that were what gave Avian Cottage its character.

  ‘Here’s another quaint little touch,’ I said, handing her the bundle of scones. ‘Someone from next-door slung them over the fence at me, but you and Aunt Dosh are welcome to the lot. I don’t want any, thanks very much. There’s no way of telling how clean that tea-towel actually is.’

  ‘Sarah, anyone would think germs have their own mafia with you as a personal target,’ Aunty Nat said. ‘This cloth is perfectly clean. It was very neighbourly of those people, and I hope you thanked them nicely. What with Dorothy being such a hermit and you acting so superior lately, it’s a wonder we have any mates at all.’

  ‘I do not act superior …’ I began, but then stopped self-consciously, wondering if it was maybe true. Tara McCabe at school had called me a snob a couple of times. And once she’d snapped at me in the dining room, ‘We’re sick of hearing about your dad, Radcliffe! He’s probably just as stuck-up and boring as you are!’ At least that’s what I think she said. Tara had shocking table manners and often talked with her mouth full. Perhaps she’d just been jealous that day because the mail had come and Dad had sent me a wonderful new watch, even though it wasn’t my birthday or anything. Although Tara might have thought I’d been showing off, I was always more than willing to lend my things to her or anyone else. They could have even borrowed that new watch if they’d asked. (Dad must have forgotten he’d already sent me two duty-free watches on other trips he’d made overseas.) The only condition I ever set on people borrowing my things at school was that they should take good care of them, which I always explained very carefully beforehand.

  But there wasn’t much point defending myself to Aunty Nat right then. She’d spotted a sundial in a clump of daisies and gone dashing away for a closer look. After that it was a large shell someone had left under the garden tap, then a duck-shaped hose sprinkler. ‘It’s like hidden treasure!’ she cried. ‘Oh, isn’t this thrilling – our very first night at Avian Cottage! Just for kicks, let’s use one of the downstairs doors to get back inside!’

  ‘Like astronauts hoisting a flag on the moon,’ Aunt Dorothy said.

  Dad often referred to the aunts as ‘the girls’. Sometimes I thought it sounded a little bit patronising (even though I’m sure he didn’t mean it to be), but it wasn’t difficult to see why he called them that. I trailed through the fernery and out on to the back lawn after them, not because of wanting to join in any girlish games, but so their feelings wouldn’t be hurt. That was one continuous job. For example, both of them had been terribly disappointed a few Christmas Eves ago when I’d told them they needn’t bother making fake snowy boot prints for my benefit all around the house after I’d gone to bed. It was starting to get so embarrassing. Telling them I didn’t believe in Santa Claus always seemed too brutal, so I’d have to pretend excitement about the boot prints next morning. Thank goodness they were finally cured of all that nonsense (though it had taken longer to stop Aunty Nat leaving a slice of Christmas cake and a glass of lemonade next to the fireplace).

  Right now she’d just seen a metal rooster up on the roof. It was an ordinary weathervane, but because she hadn’t noticed it before, you would have thought Santa Claus had called in a couple of weeks early and left it there as a present. Aunt Dorothy didn’t burble on quite so much about this latest hidden treasure, but you could tell she loved Avian Cottage, too. Personally, I couldn’t understand what they were so rapt about. Dad had already told me his private opinion – that buying a decrepit house with such a large garden was a ridiculous thing for someone Aunty Nat’s age to do. He thought both the aunts should have had enough sense to move into a retirement village where they’d be properly looked after by qualified staff as they grew older. Piriel agreed with him wholeheartedly, adding that even though Aunt Dorothy hadn’t actually stopped working yet, she should be making sensible plans for when it happened.

  ‘Oh, we’ll have such a football doing up Avian Cottage!’ Aunty Nat said chirpily. ‘All it needs is a lick of paint. And whatever colour we decide on, we could do that little lattice summerhouse to match. Goodness, won’t it seem posh having a garden with one of those? The nearest we ever got to it before was a beach umbrella stuck up somewhere.’

  The summerhouse, on a terrace halfway down the slope, really didn’t look much different from a shabby old beach umbrella. Even though the light was fading rapidly now, the aunts showed signs of meandering down there through the knee-high grass for a closer inspection. I quickly pushed open the back door of the real house and shooed them in, suddenly scared by a vision of them vanishing for good in that dark wilderness, of not being able to find them. The door stayed open long enough for all of us to get inside, then lurched off one of its hinges.

  ‘Oh well, I daresay we can fix that properly tomorrow,’ Aunty Nat said, wedging it shut behind us with one of Aunt Dorothy’s gardening boots.

  ‘It’s not the only door down here that needs fixing,’ I said, taking her along to my room to show what I meant. That room had a stained-glass door, which was supposed to open into a little courtyard, but couldn’t be budged. The frame seemed to have shrunk or something. (And I noticed, with a feeling of resignation, that the stained glass showed two magpies sitting on a branch.)

  ‘Just needs a handyman with a plane,’ Aunty Nat said. ‘He’d better be careful not to break those nice leadlights, though. Maybe we could have panels made like that for all the doors, with different birds in each one. I must say, love, you’ve got this room looking shipshape. No one would believe you only moved into it this afternoon, everything so neat, all your clothes hung up so nicely.’

  The room was the largest one downstairs, and I didn’t feel comfortable about having it. It should have been Aunt Dorothy’s, but she’d already chosen a little one tucked away under the staircase. She’d insisted that she was perfectly happy there, and had made me take the big end room with its enormous poster, built-in wardrobe and complete wall of shelves. It seemed mad. When I moved to the city this would just become a guest room, its spaciousness wasted.

  ‘We’ll get it all painted soon as Christmas is out of the way,’ Aunty Nat said. ‘Or you might like wallpaper instead, Sarah – though it would be a shame to get rid of that lovely forest picture. The final choice should be up to you, because it’ll always be your room, dear. For when you come to stay with us on weekends and holidays, which I hope you’ll still do. As often as possible.’

  It wasn’t likely. When I moved to the city I’d be far too busy to stay with the aunts very often. Specially at weekends. Piriel planned to do a lot of entertaining in that apartment; she’d said so. She’d need me around to help with that. And I’d be doing some entertaining of my own, because everyone at school would realise just how exciting my new lifestyle was. They’d be dropping hints for dinner invitations and to stay overnight. Things would be different then, because I’d be different. Somehow brighter and more interesting …

  ‘Bare shelves never look quite right,’ Aunty Nat said. �
�You should unpack some of your books and knick-knacks.’

  ‘It seems a waste of time when I’ll have to pack them up all over again in a few weeks.’

  ‘Well then, as soon as we find that code list thingummy, I’ll give you my china animal collection for down here. It would be just perfect! Some of them even date back to when I was your age, though a few didn’t survive having to share a room with Dosh then. I still remember what happened to my dear little Spanish donkey …’

  ‘I didn’t break that on purpose,’ Aunt Dorothy defended herself. ‘Anyway, it was a hedgehog.’

  ‘It was a donkey, and I can remember as clear as daylight you knocking it off my bedside table.’

  ‘Did not.’

  ‘Pardon me for living, Dorothy Monaghan, but I can still see those broken pieces scattered all over the green lino! I remember picking up one poor little ear …’

  ‘It was the red tiles in the kitchen, and it was a hedgehog – so there!’

  I’d switched off. The aunts didn’t exactly quarrel, but sometimes minor arguments would jump up out of nowhere, like bubbles in porridge. They never lasted very long, but were always so utterly juvenile it was best to pretend they weren’t happening. I inspected the shelves, even though it seemed about as pointless as taking an interest in some motel room. Still, I thought, I might as well put out one or two of my own things (after I’d given each shelf a good scrub down, of course). Certainly not Aunty Nat’s china animal collection, which was gross.

  ‘Oh, come and look, Dosho! You never saw such a beautiful moon!’ Aunty Nat cried, and they both crowded to the window. They stood there close together, exclaiming softly, as though they hadn’t even been bickering just two seconds ago.

  ‘Millions of stars, too,’ Aunt Dorothy said. ‘They seem to sparkle more up here, because the air’s so clear. I’ll trim the ferns away a bit tomorrow, then Sarah will be able to fall asleep watching the stars.’

  ‘That’s if I don’t fall out of bed first,’ I said. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, the floor’s so slanty in here it looks like something out of Luna Park.’

  ‘There certainly does seem to be a little problem with the floors not being level,’ Aunty Nat said. ‘We won’t worry about it tonight, though. Shove something under the bed legs at the other end, dear, so it’s more on an even keel. The estate agent said it’s only some of the stumps under the house need replacing, and I’ve already booked someone to come and have a squiz tomorrow. I think you call them re-blockers. He’s not just a re-blocker, though; he does all sorts of other odd jobs, too.’

  ‘There’s probably enough of those to keep him busy here for weeks,’ I said, yawning. ‘He’ll still be here even after I’m gone, most likely, so I’d better give you this list I made of all the repairs. It’s not as though I’ll be around to –’

  ‘I’ll just check if the water’s hot enough for your shower, Sarah,’ Aunty Nat interrupted and bustled out as though it was the most vitally important thing in the world. Aunt Dorothy went, too, but first she did an odd thing for her. She frowned at me over her shoulder.

  ‘What’s that for?’ I asked, surprised.

  ‘For being so dense about certain things,’ she said reprovingly. ‘People’s feelings, I mean.’

  3 ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙

  Boarding at school

  Minuses

  –1. Not having Horace there.

  –2. When they’re all giggling and won’t tell me what the joke is. Or – when they’re all giggling and I know what the joke is (eg Tara McCabe pretending to be me trying to play tennis).

  –3. Tara claiming I was blubbing after lights out. I was not. It was only hay fever. It wasn’t anything to do with the ski weekend. (Tara should just mind her own business and stick to horses!)

  –4. The way Mrs H. seems to look down her nose a bit when the aunts come to collect me. The way Mrs H. doesn’t look down her nose when it’s Dad picking me up in the company car.

  –5. Hearing day-kids say they’re going shopping or something with their mum after school.

  Pluses

  +1. It’s a weight off Dad’s mind when he has to go away so much.

  +2. He doesn’t think it would work out if I lived all the time with two old ladies.

  +3. Mrs H. is usually very nice. It’s only every now and then she acts snobby and has favourites.

  +4. The day-girls all think it must be so terrific living in the boarding house.

  +5. It’s all over now, anyway – starting from next term! (So I don’t even know why I’m bothering to make this dumb list!)

  ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙

  Well, I should have realised that any vet in a backward suburb like Parchment Hills wouldn’t be efficient! They’d just ignored what I’d said about Horace needing a room all to himself. When I went to collect him, I found they’d kept him there overnight next to a Siamese kitten! Although they were both in separate wire cages, poor Horace looked scared out of his wits. (Kittens, guinea-pigs and goldfish had that effect on him; so did people pulling tissues out of boxes.) He made a pathetic hostage kind of noise when he saw me, and I felt the vet should deduct something off the bill for being so slack. I didn’t have quite enough nerve to say so at the desk, and the receptionist didn’t give me a chance, either. She was up on a chair prising drawing pins out of a wall poster. It was a chart of native birds, which she handed to me rolled up in an elastic band.

  ‘Your aunt asked if she could have it yesterday,’ she explained. ‘While you were in the other room all that time saying goodbye to your cat. I would have got it down for her then, but the phone kept ringing. It’s a bit worse for wear, but she’s welcome to it.’

  I handed over the cheque for Horace, feeling embarrassed. The waiting room was full of people, just as it had been yesterday. I certainly couldn’t imagine Piriel Starr doing such a thing, asking if she could have a tatty old poster to keep! It was awkward to carry, too, because I needed both hands for the pet basket. Horace wasn’t the slimmest cat in the world. Aunt Dosh had offered to collect him by car, but I knew from experience that walking home was better. Horace tended to be neurotic in the car after a vet visit. He seemed to think you’d drive around in a circle and take him straight back there. Not that he was much calmer being lugged along in his basket, but at least he didn’t thrash around quite so much.

  I kept stopping every now and then to pat him, so he’d save his nervous breakdown for some other time. The basket was getting heavy. Halfway along, I had a rest on a bench outside the post office. Horace peered out through the wicker slats at the Parchment Hills residents trickling lazily past, and it seemed to settle him down. Maybe it was the slow-motion way they walked. No one seemed to be in any hurry – perhaps because there wasn’t anything interesting enough in the area to hurry to. Parchment Hills was even further away from the city than the aunts’ last address. I knew they couldn’t really afford to move closer in, but their last place being so inaccessible had been one of the reasons why I boarded at school. Living there would have meant hours of daily travel. That didn’t stop Aunty Nat, though. She kept nagging Dad to let me move to a school nearer to where they lived, but he’d always change the subject. I hated them arguing about it.

  Anyway, it seemed silly to upset a perfectly good arrangement that was working okay, so I didn’t raise any objections about boarding at school. Aunty Nat worried about it far more than Dad ever did; whether I was happy, if they looked after us when we felt ill, if I was getting enough to eat. (One good thing about being a day-girl next term would be no more of her wanting to know every little detail of school meals!) Next term, however, wouldn’t happen for a long time yet; there were all the summer holidays to be got through first. I took out my pocket-sized organising planner, which I’d been inspired to buy when I first met Piriel. She had a fabulous digital one with her name and business address engraved on the front.

  ‘Hi, Sarah … That’s some cat you’ve got there! What’s its name?’

  ‘
Horace, and he doesn’t like strangers patting him,’ I warned, but Corrie Ryder, having slammed noisily out of the post office, was already scratching Horace behind one ear. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to mind all that much. He just blinked at her with his big golden eyes.

  ‘How come you’re lugging him around in a carry basket? He looks like that wimpy lion in The Wizard of Oz.’

  I glanced at her suspiciously, inclined to be defensive where Horace was concerned. Usually people tended to grin when they first saw him. There was no denying he was a bit strange with his orange fur, dinner-plate paws, and huge white ruff like a choirboy. Aunty Nat always claimed he looked like a stuffed toy for keeping pyjamas in. Corrie didn’t sound as though she’d meant an insult, though, and was scratching him behind the other ear now.

  ‘I’ve just picked him up from the vet. He stayed there overnight so he wouldn’t get upset about moving,’ I said, leafing through my organising planner, which wasn’t in the same class as Piriel’s. Mine was just a plastic wallet/notebook affair, but it had a telephone section, a three-year appointments diary, an international telecommunications guide, a row of key clips and a combination biro/pencil that fitted into a slot down one side. Boarding school wasn’t exactly a social whirl, so most of the appointment pages for the last few months were blank. The only entries were for weekends spent with the aunts, Belinda Gibbs’s birthday party, and a weekend when Dad said I could go skiing with him and Piriel. I’d outlined that date with asterisks.

  It hadn’t actually happened, though, because Piriel rang to say there’d been a complication. She’d forgotten to tell Dad that the chalet where she’d made reservations had an adults-only booking clause. To make up for any disappointment, she promised the three of us would have a whole week away together next snow season. It was disappointing, because I’d really been looking forward to it and had already started packing. Tara McCabe, my room-mate at the boarding house, offered to lend me her quilted jacket. Unfortunately, she got very annoyed when I washed it under the shower in readiness, although that jacket certainly needed a good scrub. Tara used it for riding in the holidays. She’d brought it to school with her so she could sleep with it under her pillow and think about her pony back on her parents’ farm. (The whiff, actually, was like a whole herd of horses!) She snatched the jacket back, then flounced off and told everyone I’d just about come right out and said she ponged. After a couple of days I found ways of dealing with the disappointment. Going skiing next winter would probably be better in the long run, anyway. It didn’t matter that no one else was likely to lend me their jacket after what Tara said; next snow season I’d be living in the apartment, and Piriel would help me shop for one of my own. It would also mean more time to get over feeling nervous about the idea of skiing and perhaps making a fool of myself in front of Piriel. (She’d done competition skiing when she was still in her teens, but if other sports were any clue, I wasn’t sure I’d be much good at it.)