The Listmaker Read online

  ‘I hope no one feels offended that I haven’t been out to visit yet,’ she added lightly. ‘I would have given you a hand moving in, of course, if we hadn’t been so frantically busy at work. But Nat’s very kindly invited me for Christmas dinner. So I’ll be able to have a good look then, won’t I?’

  I gazed out into the mall, at the crowds of shoppers under the canopy of silver bells. There was a queue outside Santa’s castle near the fountain. (Last year Aunty Nat had herself photographed sitting on his knee, using printed copies to send to everyone as Christmas cards. I’d been with her, pretending not to know her while she was lining up with all the little kids, although everyone else seemed to find it amusing. Santa had even given her a lollypop out of his sack.) I looked at the goose doorstop again, knowing that Aunty Nat wouldn’t think it was hideous at all; she’d probably adore it. Maybe I could find a bird thing for her, too. The rest of the day would be terrific, getting caught up in the excitement of Christmas gifts now that the clothes were out of the way.

  ‘I guess everyone must be secretly cursing the timing of this wedding,’ Piriel said. ‘It won’t give people much chance to recover from all the usual demented Christmas and New Year fuss, I’m afraid. And Dorothy, I didn’t even think to ask what you’re planning to wear to it! For all I know, Sarah’s material might clash terribly with your best dress. Or are you lashing out and buying something new? We could do that now, if you like. Sometimes it’s useful to have another opinion. Sarah and I could hover around and give expert advice.’

  It was clear that Aunt Dorothy hadn’t given any thought at all to what she’d wear for the wedding. She muttered in a confused sort of way that she supposed she’d just borrow something of Nat’s when the time came, taking the hem down so that it would be long enough. But I could tell she was scared stiff at the idea of trying on clothes with Piriel hanging around and giving expert advice.

  ‘Aunt Dosh already has a nice blue dress she’s hardly ever worn,’ I said quickly.

  ‘And anyhow,’ Aunt Dorothy added, sounding more assertive than she usually did. ‘I haven’t got time to mess around looking at blooming clothes today. I’ve still got more Christmas shopping to do. So has Sarah.’

  Quite suddenly, I found that I could hardly wait to start. Tracking down nice gifts for people would be so easy with Piriel there to help me. Specially Dad’s one. She might even ask my advice on what she should buy for people. Corrie Ryder, I thought happily, was more than welcome to her old carved-out book safes. It was just plain scungy giving people homemade junk gifts like that! The rest of this shopping expedition was going to be absolutely –

  ‘Don’t remind me about Christmas shopping!’ Piriel said, putting down her empty coffee cup. ‘I loathe and detest the whole silly business. If you don’t mind, I’ll just take myself off now and leave you two ladies to it. Oh, mustn’t forget the dress stuff! I’ll get it cut out, Sarah, then we’ll arrange a time for a fitting later on. Give my regards to Nat. And tell her I’m sorry I haven’t had a spare moment to see the hacienda …’

  I felt flat when she’d gone. Somehow the day hadn’t been quite as enjoyable as I’d expected, and now the rest of it would be reduced to nothing more than plodding around the shops with Aunt Dorothy. Even the prospect of Christmas-gift shopping didn’t seem terribly exciting now. It was just a silly, demented fuss, as Piriel had said. A waitress came and took the used plates away. Because Piriel was so tidy in everything she did, there wasn’t as much as a crease in the tablecloth to show that anyone had actually been sitting there opposite us. There was just a lingering fragrance of perfume from when she’d leant across to say goodbye.

  ‘What’s a hacienda?’ Aunt Dorothy asked.

  ‘I think it’s Spanish for house.’

  ‘Is it? Fancy that. You know, I wasn’t very peckish before, but I see they’ve got trifle on the menu. How about you, my quaint little article?’

  I suspected some kind of dig at Piriel, but because Aunt Dorothy’s eyes were as innocent as a baby’s, I just ignored it. (That ‘quaint little article’ business made me feel uncomfortable, anyway.) After that, although she insisted on going outside into the sweltering car park for a cigarette first, the rest of the afternoon wasn’t really too bad. Aunt Dorothy was never in a hurry, so I had plenty of time to look at things carefully before deciding what to buy. There was one crazy moment, staring at ties and initialled hankies, when I actually thought of making Dad one of those burglar-proof book safes like Corrie’s. They might be scungy junk, but somehow seemed more fun than anything on the display racks. But then I remembered the security system at the new apartment, and realised how pointless it would be going to such a lot of trouble for something that wouldn’t even be used. I ended up getting him socks again because I just couldn’t think of anything else.

  I’d had the same problem on Father’s Day. He’d been away for that, too. It wasn’t just the difficulty of finding something interesting, either. Giving someone a gift after the reason for it had passed somehow felt like a disappointment. Just for once, I thought, it would be great if he was home for a special occasion. Such as Christmas …

  Aunt Dorothy, who’d seemed quite happy to plant herself nearby and daydream while I was choosing those socks, woke up when we went to buy gift-wrapping and ribbon.

  ‘Brown paper and raffia isn’t Christmassy – it’s just weird,’ she objected. ‘You do get some barmy ideas, Sarah.’

  ‘It’s not a barmy idea. Piriel used exactly the same on a house-warming present she bought for someone. It’s artistic.’

  ‘This other stuff is what I call proper Christmas paper. Now, let’s see, should I pick the holly or the snowmen? The holly one’s shinier. Oh, and a big hank of tartan ribbon plus some of those loopy bow things you stick on top …’

  I started to point out that tartan ribbon would look awful with the holly paper, but shut up. It didn’t really matter what trimmings Aunt Dorothy chose. No one could ever work out just what she did to make all her presents resemble bundles of fish and chips!

  ‘Now for the toy department,’ she said eagerly. ‘I always like that part of the Christmas shopping best.’

  The toys were for all the grandchildren belonging to the card-group members. The aunts always gave them presents at Christmas and on their various birthdays. Watching Aunt Dorothy choose this year’s toys, it suddenly hit me that it was a bit sad. She and Aunty Nat probably felt left out of things when the Trentons, Joan Cordrice and Eileen Holloway started boasting about their grandchildren at the card nights. The aunts didn’t even have any children of their own, let alone grandkids …

  ‘Let’s see – that’s Sheila’s lot all ticked off, except for little Joshua. This robot might be just the thing for an eight-year-old. I wonder what it does –’

  ‘Don’t fiddle with the buttons!’ I warned, too late.

  The robot began to zap everything in sight, and neither of us could work out how to switch it off. Aunt Dorothy panicked and dropped it. It nipped out through the door, beeping loudly and heading for the escalator. A sales assistant had to run to head it off. (It was just as well, I thought, that Piriel hadn’t come along with us, because she would have found the whole thing undignified.)

  ‘Don’t you dare play with anything else,’ I hissed, too late again. Aunt Dorothy was already tugging a helicopter from the next shelf, avalanching everything stacked below. I put it all back and followed her into the next aisle, dealing with other minor avalanches on the way. It was hard, though, not to get caught up in her enthusiasm at finding things for all those little kids. I started to enjoy it almost as much as she did. But after it was finished and we went back out into the mall, I began the serious business of looking for Piriel’s gift.

  Tracking down the right item proved to be impossible. Everything seemed just too ordinary, and Aunt Dorothy’s ideas weren’t much help. All she could think of was perfume, but I knew I’d never be able to afford the sort Piriel wore.

  ‘How about a
T-shirt?’ she suggested. ‘They always come in useful.’

  ‘Piriel doesn’t wear T-shirts. She says they lose their shape after a few washes.’

  ‘That’s when they start to feel comfortable, after they lose their shape. What about a scarf, then? Can’t say I’m keen on the dopey things myself; they just seem to get caught up in bus doors and everyone gawks at you. But Piriel’s probably never been on a bus in her life, so she might like one. Look, there’s a whole stand of them here.’

  ‘Piriel only likes silk scarves.’

  ‘Excuse me for breathing!’ Aunt Dorothy said. ‘Well, there’s no sense in getting het up about one little present. The way you’re carrying on, anyone would think it’s one of those army obstacle courses. How about if you sleep on it a bit more? You might get a brainwave before Christmas. And it’s time we were getting back to the hacienda, anyway, signorina.’

  It seemed the best thing to do, I thought reluctantly. Piriel’s gift, being so important, really did deserve a whole day set aside for it specially. (But first I had to set Aunt Dorothy right by explaining that ‘signorina’ was actually Italian, and that she should have said ‘señorita’ if she was trying to be so clever.)

  6 ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙

  Irritating things about Parchment Hills

  1. All the neighbours natter at you.

  2. So do the shop people.

  3. Everyone is totally interested in everyone else’s business. Examples:

  • newsagency lady: ‘How did your aunty’s hair colour turn out this week?’

  • hardware man yelling across the street: ‘Tell Ed I got those sprockets in for him, love!’

  • postman: ‘I see you’ve got a postcard from your dad in the States.’

  • woman walking dog past Avian Cottage: ‘How are the renovations coming along?’

  4. Birds squawking around the house all day long.

  5. Not being able to unpack the rest of my things because of moving again soon.

  ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙

  ‘Dinner, tickets to that big Christmas production of the Nutcracker ballet, plus a night at a posh hotel,’ Aunty Nat said. ‘It’s not very often you win such a decent prize in a raffle. I told the Ryders to go off and enjoy themselves and not worry about a thing. Corrie should be comfy enough staying here overnight, even though it’s only a mattress on the floor.’

  ‘She could just as easily sleep up here on the couch.’

  ‘That wouldn’t look very hospitable. She’s the same age as you, so of course I had to put you both in together. I do wish you’d be a bit more friendly.’

  ‘Horace won’t like having a stranger around.’

  ‘You can’t call Corrie a stranger when she lives right next-door. Horace is over in their yard half the time, anyway. You could take a hint from that, Sarah …’

  ‘You should call him back when he wanders off. And another thing, he ought to be kept in the bathroom when the workmen are here, even if he does get stuck under the tub. It’s better than sealed up inside a wall, like yesterday.’

  That had happened while Aunt Dorothy and I were at the Moreton Shopping Centre. Ed Woodley took part of the staircase wall down to check the electrical wiring. When it was done, he replastered the gap, which was when poor Horace started mewing. They’d had to cut a new hole to rescue him.

  ‘Horace took all that in his stride,’ Aunty Nat said airily. ‘You’re the one having kittens about it, not him. As a matter of fact, he’s been scratching around ever since, trying to get back in again. And I’m afraid it won’t be much use shutting him up in the bathroom tomorrow, either, dear. They’re starting the new plumbing in there. The whole floor will have to come up, and it’s going to be a jackhammer job. Whoever was responsible for laying that slab didn’t use thick enough concrete, you know. The bearers along that side will have to be replaced because of water seepage, not to mention the studs and probably some of the noggings. Just as well Ed and his mates can attend to everything. Oh, what a treasure that man is!’

  Although Aunty Nat was rattling off technical terms like a builder’s apprentice, I knew she’d only picked them up over cups of tea with Ed Woodley and his mates. And after tomorrow she’d most likely be showing off with a lot of new plumbing terms, too! I was sick of the renovations, anyhow; it was like camping on some development site. It was getting so you couldn’t even use the loo without making an announcement first. (Otherwise you couldn’t be sure a face with a mouthful of nails wouldn’t suddenly pop up outside the window.) Aunty Nat didn’t seem to mind any of the inconvenience. She’d even gone ahead and set up our Christmas tree amongst the clutter of paint tins, ladders and tools in the living room. Christmas was only two days away, and it wouldn’t be very nice for Piriel, I thought, expected to visit us in such a mess. Even though I kept hinting to Mr Woodley that we’d be having an important guest for Christmas dinner, he didn’t bother hurrying anything along. He just made jokes about it. Such as Michelangelo hadn’t moved his scaffolding every time the Pope dropped into the Sistine Chapel for an eyeful.

  ‘There’s Corrie at the door now,’ Aunty Nat said. ‘She might like to help us decorate the tree.’

  We were quite capable of decorating our own tree, I thought indignantly, letting Corrie in. As well as her overnight things, she’d brought along a plate of homemade rum balls, a stack of gardening books for Aunt Dorothy, and a tape of Christmas songs from all around the world, sung by some choir her mother belonged to. That tape was so scratchy you could hardly tell if they were singing carols or ‘Waltzing Matilda’, but Aunty Nat thought it would be lovely background music while we decorated the tree. (We didn’t let Aunt Dorothy help with that when she came in from watering the garden. She was on her honour to just sit and watch every year, otherwise there were always too many casualties.) The tree took up most of the evening, because Aunty Nat had collected dozens of ornaments over the years. Suddenly I wasn’t too keen about someone else, even if it was only Corrie Ryder from next-door, seeing those ornaments at close range. Particularly the cardboard reindeers and sleigh, which was something I’d made way back in kindergarten. It looked more like crocodiles harnessed to a fork-lift.

  ‘It’s about time we turfed this old thing out,’ I said self-consciously.

  ‘We just couldn’t!’ Aunty Nat said, sounding horrified. ‘The tree wouldn’t be the same without that on top.’

  ‘People always have stars on top.’

  ‘We sometimes don’t at our place,’ Corrie said. ‘This year we put up a Santa Claus. He’s got this red nose and when you tweak it he goes “Ho, ho, ho!” It’s kind of cute.’

  Corrie seemed to have just as bad taste as Aunty Nat, I thought, watching in disbelief as she admired the ceramic elves Eileen Holloway had given us last Christmas, a string of miniature plastic plum puddings, a fairy with an inbuilt battery light installed in its wand, and a whole flock of robins (new this year).

  ‘Tough luck Horace is so scared of birds,’ I said, hoping Piriel wouldn’t notice them too much when she came. ‘He might have done a pretty good demolition job on these, otherwise.’

  ‘Don’t be cheeky about my little robins, Sarah,’ Aunty Nat said. ‘I happen to think they’re delightful. Buying them seemed a nice way to mark our first Christmas at Avian Cottage. And be careful of those angels; they’re no longer exactly in their prime.’

  That was an understatement, I thought, sorting out the gold flying angels which had been ancient even before I went away to boarding school. (Originally there’d been half a dozen of those simpering angels. Now, though, there were only five, because of Aunt Dorothy’s carelessness with a cigarette lighter one Christmas.)

  ‘All this old junk can stay packed up next year,’ I told Corrie. ‘The aunts won’t even need to set up a tree. Piriel will probably want to have Christmas at the apartment instead, so they’ll come in and visit us. I can just imagine the fantastic dinner she’ll have, too! And her tree decorations. Probably something very simple, but
all colour-coordinated, so when you walk in the door –’

  ‘I can’t see us not having a tree, dear, even if the family get-together’s held in town from now on,’ Aunty Nat said cheerfully, but her expression somehow didn’t match. I realised, feeling guilty about it, that I might have upset her without meaning to. She’d always gone to a lot of trouble to make Christmas special. Rattling on about how great it would be with Piriel in charge must have sounded ungrateful.

  ‘Well, this year’s one is certainly coming along a treat,’ Aunt Dorothy said, as though she was trying to smooth over my lapse. ‘Even if it’s not what you’d call colour-coordinated. Mind you do decent knots for all those baubles, kids. The darn things always seem to bounce off if I as much as look at them.’

  ‘It’s having a stickybeak at presents does that,’ Corrie said, grinning at her. ‘That’s how my dad always gets sprung, too.’

  ‘Glad I’m not the only guilty one. Here’s hoping everyone will like what I got them this year. I’m not very cluey at buying stuff for people. Somehow I never seem to get it quite right.’

  I didn’t like to agree out aloud, even though it was true. Last year she’d bought me a squashy black velvet hat. It rained the first time I wore it, and black dye came gushing out like an oil well. (I couldn’t go anywhere for a couple of days till my hair changed back to its normal colour.) Other things came to mind: a zebra trinket box with a spring-loaded lid like a set of teeth (nerve-racking to open and shut); a box of silver-coated paper and envelopes, but no matter how hard you pressed, writing just wouldn’t dent the surface. (Somehow, though, I could never make myself turf out any of her dud presents.)

  ‘It’s the thought that counts, Dosho,’ Aunty Nat said, spraying the poor tree lavishly with Santa Snow as though it was some kind of fertiliser. ‘I’m sure everyone will be happy enough if whatever you’ve bought them still happens to be in one piece when they take the wrapping off. Piriel’s the one who’s hard to buy for. I’ve racked my brains, but I honestly can’t think what to get her.’