The Listmaker Read online

  ‘Piriel’s not answering,’ I said, going into the kitchen where Aunty Nat was doing some complicated things to a sauce. ‘I hope you didn’t draw one of your weird maps and post it off to her! People end up getting lost when they rely on those maps. You should have just said to look it up in the street directory – though she might think Lawson Avenue’s a short cut if she does that. She won’t know it’s blocked off because they’re doing roadworks.’

  ‘Don’t distract me about anything now, there’s a good girl,’ Aunty Nat said absently. ‘This recipe’s as tricky as the Bermuda Triangle. Scoot out and tell the others we’ll be sitting down in about twenty minutes. Piriel’s sure to turn up by then. Nobody ever misses out on Christmas tucker if they can help it.’

  I went outside to deliver the message, making a detour first to see if Piriel’s car was in sight. There was always a chance that she’d mistaken some other old house in the street for Avian Cottage. It was full of shabby old houses just like Avian Cottage, and no one seemed to bother about keeping their gatepost numbers in good repair, either. Ours was faded away to nothing, though Aunty Nat said there wasn’t much sense repainting them. (She’d already ordered custom-made ones from Eileen Holloway, with the thirty-three shaped to look like flying swallows.) I hovered around the gate, filling in time, then thought that might seem immature when Piriel arrived. It would look as though I could hardly wait to see what she’d brought me for Christmas. So I went around the back to tell the others that Aunty Nat’s feast was nearly ready.

  They were inspecting the summerhouse. Probably they’d headed down there to get away from the racket next-door, I decided. The Ryders were having a Christmas barbecue. It had been going on since mid-morning and was getting louder by the hour. They were Corrie’s grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and so on; Mrs Ryder had told us over the fence that they held a big family get-together every Christmas. There seemed to be hordes of noisy little visiting kids, but the grown-ups were making just as much din. They all seemed to be chasing each other with water-pistols or something. I climbed down to the summerhouse, thinking how strange it must be to have as many relations as that, enough to fill up a huge back garden.

  ‘We’ve just been round the side looking at your courtyard, Sarah,’ Aunt Dorothy said. ‘A standard rose might be nice for that centre bed, with alyssum as a border. Or maybe you’d rather have –’

  ‘I’d better leave all that up to you. It’s not as though I know the first thing about plants,’ I said quickly, not wanting to get involved. Having a little private garden outside my bedroom door might be something to miss when I moved to the apartment. I sat out there sometimes, before anyone else was awake. One morning a butterfly had settled on my arm. There was a shrub of pink flowers that looked like butterflies, too. They had a beautiful scent, and I’d been meaning to ask Aunt Dorothy what they were called … but there was no point, really. Avian Cottage was only a house I’d visit every now and then with Dad and Piriel. ‘First course is just about on the table,’ I added, hearing a car and ducking back up the path to the front gate.

  It was somebody else’s car, and whizzed straight past without stopping. When I went inside, Aunty Nat said Piriel had just rung saying to start without her, because she’d been held up unexpectedly. I didn’t really enjoy the meal, although the food was delicious. I didn’t feel much like talking, either, though the others didn’t notice because they were all chattering about the improvements to Avian Cottage. Various reasons why someone could be late for a special occasion like Christmas dinner kept niggling away in my mind:

  They could have a flat tyre.

  They could have more serious car trouble.

  They could have been involved in some kind of road accident and Aunty Nat didn’t want to say so because of spoiling Christmas …

  But Piriel always kept her car in perfect condition, and was too good a driver for car accidents. Besides, Aunty Nat didn’t seem upset about anything, either. She was even giggling at Ed Woodley’s pathetic jokes, and so was Aunt Dorothy, who usually had to have jokes explained to her patiently phrase by phrase. She somehow looked different today, I thought, then realised with amazement that not only had she bought herself a new shirt, but had also borrowed Aunty Nat’s turquoise earrings! Usually she hated earrings. The turquoise made her eyes very blue. She looked quite pretty, and I felt pleased that she’d made an effort to smarten herself up because of Piriel coming.

  Piriel, however, didn’t arrive until we’d reached the coffee stage. I flew to let her in, so I’d have the chance to warn her in a hurried whisper about Ed Woodley being invited and what a disaster he was. Before opening the door, I took off the fur-trimmed red cap I was wearing. It suddenly felt silly, even though a festive decoration for everyone was another one of our Christmas traditions. (This year, Aunty Nat’s was a holly necklace, Aunt Dorothy’s a Santa Claus badge, and Ed Woodley looked like an absolute idiot with plastic pixie ears clipped on over his own.) Piriel apologised for being so late, explaining that some important people she and Dad knew had invited her to call in, and she hadn’t been able to leave as early as she’d hoped. Aunty Nat was disappointed that she didn’t want any of the food saved for her.

  ‘Thanks all the same, but I’ve spent all morning having to nibble poolside snacks,’ Piriel said. ‘At the moment I really can’t face anything except strong black coffee.’

  ‘Try some of Nat’s cake,’ Ed Woodley insisted, helping himself to another slice. ‘It’s powerful enough to hoist anyone up on their feet belting out all the verses of “Jingle Bells”.’

  Luckily he could only remember the chorus, though Aunty Nat’s fruitcake really was something to sing about. I hoped he’d restrain his greediness so there’d be enough left over for Piriel when she’d got her appetite back. For the moment, she just seemed to want to sit peacefully and drink her coffee. Ed Woodley, though, started telling a long story about how he’d once spent Christmas day trapped inside someone’s roof. He was there doing emergency repairs, they’d gone off to visit friends, and the ladder had slipped out of the manhole leaving him stranded. Piriel looked so sophisticated it made me squirm to watch her being forced to listen to anything so tedious. Even in plain black pants and a sleeveless black top, she somehow managed to look glamorous. Aunty Nat kept offering her a silver star to pin in her hair, which also had the effect of making me cringe. (Piriel, although she accepted it in the end, left it lying casually on the coffee table.)

  She’d also been wearing black (and looking just as glamorous!) in a photo I’d shown around at school. I’d felt so proud telling everyone it was my new stepmother-to-be, but Tara McCabe, obviously jealous, said Piriel would come to her senses before she actually married someone who had a dorky kid like me. I didn’t think Piriel felt I was a dork. There certainly wasn’t any hint of it in her voice when she interrupted Ed Woodley’s next story (about someone’s waterbed falling through the floor once when he was restumping), to ask if she could see over the house.

  ‘Sarah, would you like to do the honours?’ she asked. ‘Maybe a quick look at the garden first, only just from the deck, if you don’t mind. The heels on these shoes aren’t really designed for the great outdoors.’

  Although it was me she asked, it turned into a big production number with everyone trailing out on to the deck carrying drinks (and in Ed Woodley’s case, another great hunk of cake). Aunty Nat pointed out the summerhouse, as proud as though she’d built it with her own hands.

  ‘Isn’t it the darlingest thing you ever saw?’ she said. ‘We’re all dying to see how it looks once it’s painted, but Ed has to finish all the main jobs first. And down that other path there’s a little ornamental pond, though it’s all clogged up with weeds now. Dosh is going to clean it out and put in some waterlilies.’

  ‘The garden’s absolutely charming,’ Piriel agreed, and to my surprise added that Avian Cottage was charming from the outside, too. (I’d really thought that she’d hate it on sight and consider it just plain
funny looking.) ‘You might be overcapitalising with all the renovations, though,’ she said critically. ‘It’s such a long way out of town, I doubt if you’ll get your money back when you want to sell. Now if it was in the inner suburbs, you’d be able to ask a fortune.’

  But the aunts didn’t want to sell, I thought, feeling confused. It was their dream home. Aunt Dosh had planted a walnut tree, and they took years to grow; she sang to herself when she worked in the garden. Aunty Nat had started making a set of flamingo tapestry cushions for the living room, to match the wallpaper frieze.

  ‘Inner suburbs? Who in their right minds would want to live there? That’s yuppy territory, that is,’ Ed Woodley said, blundering into the conversation. He almost brought it to a standstill. Piriel gave him the kind of look you’d give to someone jostling in a queue, and Aunty Nat suggested quickly that we go back inside and see through the house now. Piriel handled that part well, completely ignoring the stray tools and equipment strewn all over the place. She didn’t even flinch at my magpie courtyard door, the carved eagle on the landing, the parrot wallpaper in the dining room, or the swans in Aunty Nat’s upstairs bathroom. While we were in that ensuite she rinsed her hands, and dried them on the embroidered guest towel laid beside the basin. With all the visitors who’d trailed in and out of Aunty Nat’s place over the years, I couldn’t remember anyone ever using the guest towel! It must be wonderful, I thought, to have such poise and confidence.

  ‘Well now,’ she said when we were all back in the living room. ‘I can see that having the wedding here might be rather nice, Nat. Such a lovely setting …’

  Aunty Nat began to beam like a sunrise.

  ‘You’ve just about convinced me, too, I think,’ Piriel said. ‘It might be an excellent idea, though I’m just wondering if the renovations could actually be finished in such a short time. I can see Mr – sorry, I’ve forgotten your name – has done an enormous amount of work already, but …’

  ‘The new stumps are in,’ Ed Woodley said, sounding affronted. ‘That’s the hard yakka part. Everything else is just a doddle from now on.’

  ‘Then if your offer stills stands …’ Piriel said, smiling at Aunty Nat, who was the only person I knew who actually clapped her hands when she was overjoyed about something. (Though I wouldn’t have put it past Corrie Ryder, either.)

  To celebrate, Aunty Nat poured everyone a glass of Ed Woodley’s champagne, including a half one for me. She looked so happy that I felt quite pleased, too, about the plans being altered. More than pleased, really. Avian Cottage suddenly seemed right for such a special event, much more fitting than a registry office. Dad had married Lorraine in a registry office. This wedding should be different; it should have a completely different beginning to it.

  ‘Now that’s all settled, we can get on to passing the presents around,’ Aunt Dorothy said hopefully, because although her own gifts to people were usually such catastrophes, she was like a little kid about watching them being opened.

  ‘Oh yes, Christmas loot,’ Piriel said, taking an envelope from her bag. ‘Here you are, Sarah.’ At first I thought it was just a card, but then realised it was her actual gift to me. Inside was a brochure and a term’s membership for a children’s theatre workshop in the city. ‘Every Saturday afternoon, starting in February,’ she explained. ‘Normally there’s quite a long waiting list, but I know someone who’s a tutor there. She was able to do a bit of string-pulling, so you’re a very lucky girl. I thought it would give you something to do on weekends when we all move to the apartment.’

  ‘Maybe they’ll put on a play and we can come and watch you act, love,’ Aunty Nat said, but I gazed down at the brochure, not knowing quite what to say. I’d never been any good at acting, or even particularly interested in it. At school the closest I came to it was being in charge of props and costumes. (The drama-coordinator there said I was the most reliable person she’d ever met for making sure a bowl of fruit was onstage in its correct place at the right time.) The idea of going to a proper acting workshop every Saturday afternoon made me feel nervous. It sounded dedicated, or something. All the other kids there would probably be brimming with talent.

  ‘I see you’re still nibbling away at those nails,’ Piriel said reproachfully. ‘Maybe I should have bought you a manicure set as well! I can’t possibly have a stepdaughter with bitten fingernails, you know. Brett would just have to put you up for adoption.’

  I could have died from shame. Luckily, Aunt Dosh, outdoing herself in clumsiness, knocked over the milk jug, which wasn’t even anywhere near her.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s splashed on Piriel’s nice shoes, too. What a shame.’

  ‘You’re the one who should be put up for adoption, Dosho,’ Aunty Nat scolded, but they both smiled at me and I felt a bit better.

  ‘Thanks, it’s a fantastic present,’ I said to Piriel, handing over the one I’d bought for her. It was a bronze paperknife made like a little sword, and had cost more than all my other Christmas shopping put together. (Surprisingly, I’d found it in a secondhand shop in Parchment Hills.) Piriel said it was so adorable she’d keep it in full view on her desk at work, where everyone else could see it. I would have been embarrassed to clap my hands with joy, like Aunty Nat, but for an instant I almost felt like it. The gift had been a success. It was clear that Piriel didn’t want to risk losing it in the tidal wave of paper beginning to swamp the living room, because she rewrapped it immediately, then tucked it away in her handbag.

  She’d bought beautiful scarves for the aunts. Aunty Nat put hers on straightaway, as she always did with anything new, but Aunt Dorothy managed to trail hers into a cup of coffee, so it had to be rinsed immediately and laid flat to dry. Aunt Dorothy seemed more enthusiastic about the five-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle I’d bought for her, anyhow. I hoped Piriel wouldn’t think I was mad buying something like that for an adult, then saw that she wasn’t really watching. She was glancing discreetly at her watch. For one uneasy moment I thought she must be totally bored with all of us, not just Ed Woodley. But then she caught my eye, smiled brightly and said she’d just remembered that the most important gift, my present from Dad, was still in her car if I’d like to run out and fetch it. It turned out to be a notebook computer, which he’d asked her to buy in time for Christmas.

  ‘That game software was a gimmick from the shop,’ she explained. ‘I suppose one game won’t matter, but just bear in mind, Sarah, that this particular computer isn’t meant to be a toy. The general idea is to help you get ahead with school work.’

  ‘Well, whenever she wants to quit school, she can come and work for me,’ Ed Woodley said. ‘I’ll take her on as foreman. Sharp as a knife, she is, when it comes to figuring out how many rolls of wallpaper. We’ll corner the renovations market in no time, won’t we, young Sally?’

  ‘Sally?’ Piriel remarked, raising her eyebrows at me in private.

  ‘Yep,’ Ed said carelesssly. ‘She doesn’t mind, except for shooting me a greasy look about it every now and then.’

  ‘Sarah’s planning to stay at school for a good many years yet,’ Piriel said, as though he’d actually meant the foreman thing. ‘And do well enough to get a place at university one day, we hope.’

  I felt slightly uncomfortable, almost guilty. The best that could be said about my academic record was that I somehow managed to keep up. Dad often said he hoped I’d choose law or medicine as a career, but I personally didn’t think I was cut out for anything like that. Not if my school marks were anything to go by. Scraping through, not failing, just average, keeping up with the others – it wasn’t good enough. Not nearly good enough for someone who was having vast sums of money spent on their education at an expensive private school …

  ‘Oh, thank you, how thoughtful! Did you make them yourself?’ Piriel was saying politely about her present from Aunty Nat. (You couldn’t have guessed from her voice that she probably detested being given three frilly aprons with heart-shaped pockets.) Ed Woodley’s present for
Aunty Nat was almost as bad; a wind chime made of tinkly plastic birds, each one a different colour. Aunty Nat didn’t have to try to be tactful; anyone could see she loved it.

  ‘It’s beautiful, Ed!’ she cried. ‘But I just meant you to bring yourself along, not a whole swag of goodies. There’s already that lovely feathery tree you gave Dosh.’

  ‘A jacaranda,’ Aunt Dorothy told Piriel shyly. ‘We planted it before lunch, down the back where the garden runs into the bush block. I’ve never grown a jacaranda before.’

  Piriel pointed out that it might not flourish, because they were meant for warmer climates. I was impressed all over again by how much she knew on so many different subjects. Ed Woodley, however, cut her short by passing us each one of his sticky-taped presents, a box of pencils for me, and a key ring for Piriel.

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she thanked him. ‘It even has my initials.’

  ‘They stuck in my mind from hearing Sally talk about you so much,’ he blurted, which I found embarrassing (although I suspected I did rattle on rather a lot about Piriel in general conversation). ‘Only I’ve just thought of something – you’re looking at the lamebrain of the year right now! That thing won’t be much use to you in a few weeks’ time, will it? After your wedding, I mean …’

  ‘S for Starr?’ Piriel said. ‘Being married won’t make any difference about that. I’ll still be keeping my own surname. Must keep up with the times, and it’s easier for business purposes, anyway.’