The Listmaker (7 page)

‘All done,' Aunty Nat said. ‘Those sweet little angels almost look real floating around up there. Now all we have to do is find the pine wreath for the front door, and we're all set for our very first Christmas in Avian Cottage!'

‘I have a feeling I might have seen it somewhere or other downstairs,' Aunt Dorothy said drowsily. ‘Which is where I'm heading now, if nobody minds. I'm ready to hit the sack. Yanking out all that ivy today was hard work, even though Ed Woodley gave me a hand with the worst bits.'

Aunty Nat, noticing that it was after ten, suggested bedtime for
everyone
, but first she followed us downstairs to hunt for the lost wreath. (It was slung up behind the bathroom door, being used by Aunt Dorothy as a temporary towel hanger.) After Aunty Nat found it, she had a sudden inspiration about louvred doors for my wardrobe. I was secretly relieved when she began to fuss around with a tape measure, because it meant I didn't have to make stiff conversation with Corrie while we were getting ready for bed. She didn't seem to feel ill at ease, though. She was chattering away to Aunty Nat like an old village gossip.

‘… no need to go all the way down to Moreton. The local cinema gets all the new movies at the same time they do.
Plus
there's a half-price double feature every Monday.'

‘Really? Well, I'll certainly take advantage of that.'

‘And the best video shop is the one next to the newsagency. It's got a bigger range than the arcade one.'

‘Thanks, dear. Next time we hire videos, I'll check it out.'

‘The Wilkinsons own it. They live out near the reservoir, and Dad's going to landscape their backyard when they get around to deciding what they want. Mr W. likes traditional gardens and she likes bush ones. Tim Wilkinson – that's their kid – delivers the local paper in this street. He's in the archery club I belong to.'

‘Sarah, wouldn't
you
like to try archery? It would be a nice hobby for the holidays,' Aunty Nat said, but I just made a sound that could mean yes, maybe, or no way.

‘There's plenty of other things to do up here as well as archery,' Corrie said, still waffling on about Parchment Hills. ‘They've got canoes for hire up at the lake this year. The Quigleys run the kiosk up there. I take their dog for a walk every afternoon, because they don't get home till late in summer. They live down the hill in Number Eleven. Oh, and I'd better tell you the best place to park if you ever have to go to the hospital in an emergency. That hospital car park's only tiny, so it's always full up. But if you drive further round the corner into Ganan Street, there's a …'

None of it interested me; Parchment Hills wouldn't even be part of my life very soon. I gave my pillow a good thump, thinking how easily Corrie Ryder seemed to slot into everything, as though the whole area was just an extension of her own house! Perhaps she saw the whole world like that, too. If she ever found herself adrift on a raft, no doubt she'd feel completely at home
there
, and probably just look forward to the experience of eating raw fish! And the way that prize traitor Horace had been slurping up to her from the moment she'd set foot in Avian Cottage, you'd think
she
was raw fish!

‘Well, I'd better let you girls get some sleep,' Aunty Nat said, tucking in my bedspread, brushing back my hair, kissing me on the forehead, then giving me a little pat on the cheek.

For as long as I could remember, that had been a kind of ritual whenever I stayed with the aunts. Aunty Nat's hands always smelled of jasmine lotion. She kept jars of it all over the house, so she could pamper her hands every chance she got. (Eileen Holloway made the lotion as a ceramics sideline.) It was babyish, but being tucked into bed last thing at night was something I quite often missed when I was back at school. Once, I'd secretly taken a jar of that hand lotion back with me, and when I felt miserable at night, I'd take off the lid to smell the jasmine.

‘Night, Sarah. And thanks for letting me stay at your place,' Corrie said, after Aunty Nat had switched off all the lights and gone away upstairs.

‘That's okay,' I said politely, though it wasn't anything to do with me and had just happened because Aunty Nat was being neighbourly over the fence. Horace, who'd parked himself on Corrie's mattress, stirred at the sound of my voice but was too lazy to jump back to where he rightfully belonged. (Which was in his sleeping basket next to
my
bed.)

‘You'll have to come over and sleep one night at our house. Only if you
want
to, of course. Mum reckons you probably get sick of being around other kids all the time because of boarding school.'

As soon as she came out with that, I knew they'd been talking about me behind my back.

‘Not really,' I said swiftly. ‘I've got stacks of friends there, and I
never
get tired of them. As a matter of fact, I'd be staying at my friend Tara's place these holidays, only I thought I'd better stick around here to help my aunts get settled in. Tara lives way out in the country. We would have gone horse riding every day.'

‘There's a riding-school place in Parchment Hills. If you feel like it sometime, maybe we could –'

‘Thanks, but I'm going to be flat out for the whole holidays. It's just as well I
didn't
go off to Tara McCabe's, with all the things I've got to do before school starts again. There's the wedding –'

‘I just had a good idea for that. You could tie a white ribbon on Horace and have him sitting by the front door when the guests show up!'

‘The wedding reception's probably not even going to
be
here. Aunty Nat would like it, but nothing's decided yet.'

‘But I thought it was kind of
definite
. I mean, Aunty Nat's getting a loan of some garden urns from our nursery. She's already told Dad what she has in mind; cherubs on the sides, I think it was. They're for white flowers to go on the porch steps.'

‘It's going to be in the
city
somewhere,' I said, annoyed about her saying ‘Aunty Nat' casually like that, as though she had some personal connection. ‘Most likely at this restaurant Piriel's friend owns. And as well as the wedding, there's another reason why I won't have time for archery or any of those Parchment Hills things you were talking about. I'll be too busy helping fix up our apartment ready for us to move in. Lorraine will want me there when she's choosing furniture and stuff …'

‘Lorraine?' Corrie asked, yawning. ‘Who's Lorraine?'

‘I meant
Piriel
. And maybe we'd better not chat any more with Aunt Dorothy just down the hall. We'll be keeping her awake,' I said, although Aunt Dosh always fell asleep the minute she got into bed and stayed that way until morning. (Even a huntsman spider waltzing across her face probably wouldn't have woken her up.) It was just that the stupid blunder of mixing up those two names made me want to pull the sheet over my head.

Lorraine was someone Dad was married to before he met Piriel. It had happened in London, when they were both working over there on a long-term project. She wrote to me a few times, saying how sorry she was that I'd missed out on the wedding, and how much she was looking forward to us all being a family when they came back. And that Dad said to pass on the news that we'd be getting a terrific house somewhere, maybe near a beach. I'd told everyone at school that I probably wouldn't be there next term, that I'd be moving. The marriage had only lasted seven months, though, and they'd come back separately. I'd never even
met
Lorraine.

Corrie Ryder had fallen asleep, I could tell by her breathing. Trying to get there myself, I began a list of phrases, using the last word to make a following one. Christmas tree, tree house, house guest, guest room, room to move, move over, over the hill, hillbilly, billy tea, tea for two, two's company three's a crowd …

Usually it was quite a good method for falling asleep. Sometimes, though, the list petered out and you couldn't get anywhere with it. I tried some more.

All systems go, go for your life, lifeblood, blood is thicker than water, water pipe, pipedream, dreamland, land on one's feet, feet first, first off the mark, marksmanship, shipboard, boarding school, school friend, friendless …

They didn't seem to travel anywhere, either. I came up from under the sheet and gazed at the stars instead. Now that Aunt Dorothy had cut the ferns back from around the window, you could see a great dazzling sweep of night sky. There might be a book about astronomy in Parchment Hills library; maybe I could learn how to find the different constellations. Though there wasn't much point, really, not when I was moving to the city so soon. There were so many other lights in the city, you wouldn't be able to see the stars clearly. This end room had a magnificent view of them, but it would be wasted on Aunt Dorothy if she changed her mind and shifted in here when I left. She didn't lie awake at night. Corrie Ryder seemed to have that same ability to fall asleep with no trouble at all. It must be a handy knack, I thought, to be able to put yourself to sleep and dodge your thoughts for a while.

P is for polished perfect personality possessing poise plus.

I is for impressive intelligent individual.

R is for remarkable real estate agent running rings round the rest.

I is for idol!

E is for excellent, elegant executive.

L is for leading lady.

S is for sulky, stupid show-off.

A is for article (quaint little), and awful nails.

R is for really really
really
boring.

A is for
average
at
all
things.

H is for hateful horrible hideous hair; hard to get along with; hopeless.

∙ ∙ ∙ ∙

‘It's a wonder you didn't invite his plumber mate while you were about it. Not to mention that other guy who helped him with the new wiring.'

‘Well, I did, actually, but they've got families of their own,' Aunty Nat said. ‘For your information, Miss Scrooge, Ed Woodley
hasn't
. How would you like to be by yourself on today of all days, eating something heated up in a microwave?
And
no one to chat to because of not liking to intrude anywhere on Christmas –'

‘That didn't stop him intruding on us.'

‘It's not intruding when you've been asked. Same as Piriel's been asked, so instead of acting uncharitable about poor Ed, you can make yourself useful and try ringing her. She really ought to be here by now. Oh, and you might check the table first, just to make sure I haven't forgotten anything.'

She hadn't. All the glasses had ivy twined around their stems and the rims frosted with eggwhite and castor sugar. There were red Christmas-theme embroidered tablemats, candles in snowball holders, a gingerbread-chapel centrepiece with another candle inside to light up the coloured windows, and place-tags made of star biscuits glazed with each person's name in green icing. It looked very festive, but I suddenly saw it through Piriel's eyes. She might think it was all ridiculously over-the-top, like a float in a parade. A parade float, complete with visiting clown.

I frowned at the biscuit that said ‘Ed', tempted to scrape off the icing and pipe his name over again using strong mustard. No risk of
him
being late – he'd arrived ages ago, and was outside in the garden talking to Aunt Dorothy. He was doing most of the talking; I could see them both through the dining-room window. She was just nodding every now and then, most likely feeling bored to death. If Aunty Nat was going to invite strangers at Christmas, I thought resentfully, she should have at least made sure they had some stylishness about them. Piriel would be bored to death by Ed Woodley's conversation, too.

I dodged through all the renovation muddle in the hall and dialled her number. No one answered, which must mean she was already on her way. Going back through the living room, I retied the bow on the present I'd bought for her. Aunty Nat hadn't liked my choice of raffia cord and plain brown paper, either, and she'd offered me some of the partridges-in-pear-trees wrapping paper which was her own choice this Christmas. But I was
proud
of how artistic my presents looked, so I'd turned it down. Ed Woodley had also brought gifts for everyone, putting them under the tree when he'd arrived. They were latticed all over with sticky tape, just as incompetently as Aunt Dorothy's. Even though he'd also brought a bottle of champagne, I didn't approve of the way he was muscling in on our Christmas!

As far back as I could remember, there'd always been this leisurely annual ritual at the aunts' place. We gave each other one little token present at breakfast, but the proper ones were saved for after lunch. Morning was for going to church, with everyone joining in the carols, and when we got home, I'd help Aunty Nat get the enormous meal ready. It always ended with coffee and cake around the tree, and opening the presents seemed to take up the rest of the afternoon. Later on, Aunty Nat would make a wonderful supper, and we'd have a traditional game of Scrabble. Spread over the whole day and evening like that, Christmas with the aunts felt unhurried and somehow gentle. The best Christmases, of course, were the ones when Dad was home, though they really didn't happen very often.

‘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:

1. They could have a flat tyre.
   
2. They could have more
   serious
   car trouble.
   
3. 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 step-mother-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.