The Listmaker (6 page)

‘Look what I found!' she beamed. ‘It's on special, too, marked down half price. Not that I've got any clues about girls' dresses, but don't you think the colour's just –'

Piriel didn't care for it at all (maybe because Aunt Dorothy accidentally swiped her on the chin with the roll). She said that yellow always reminded her of thick banana custard. Aunt Dorothy seemed a little downcast and didn't offer any more suggestions. They weren't necessary, anyway, because Piriel chose an ivory-coloured cottage print, scattered delicately with lilac flowers. She was quite definite about it.

‘It will suit Sarah
perfectly
,' she said. ‘She's such a quaint little article.'

I felt the tiniest bit doubtful again, because I wasn't sure I was a cottage print kind of person. (Or a quaint little article, either, for that matter!) But trusting her judgement, I was happy to let her pick out shoes, too, after we'd bought the dress material. Aunt Dorothy didn't come with us on the rounds of shoe shops. We lost her at the first one, and had to backtrack to where she was riffling through a stand of books outside a newsagency. (She'd heard somewhere that detective stories made good reading for long plane trips, so that's what she gave Dad every Christmas. I never had the heart to tell her he didn't like them.)

‘The rest of this business might take a while. We must be holding you up, Dorothy, with the Christmas shopping you wanted to do,' Piriel said tactfully. ‘If you'd like to get on with that now, we could all meet again in the café next to the fountain, let's say in about forty-five minutes. Would that be the best plan – what do you think?'

It was remarkable, the smooth way she could get rid of someone and sound polite about it at the same time. Aunt Dorothy loped off quite obligingly, and we were able to look for shoes with no interruptions. The ones Piriel liked best were very plain ivory leather, with a narrow buckled strap.

‘You don't think they're maybe a bit too much like … well, like little kids' party shoes?' I asked hesitantly. ‘And they're
terribly
expensive …'

‘They're just right for the dress, Sarah,' Piriel said. ‘So is this nice little matching bag I've just found on the other counter. And not to worry about how much it all comes to. I'm paying by credit card, and Brett will reimburse me for whatever I've spent. We can't have you turning up at our wedding wearing cheap trendy rubbish, can we, honey? There, that's everything taken care of, so now we can go and treat ourselves to a delicious lunch. I think we deserve it.'

Aunt Dorothy was ten minutes late meeting us at the café, and when she did show up, knocked over the sugar bowl by dumping a large wooden doorstop on the table. The doorstop was a goose wearing a painted bonnet and apron.

‘Christmas present for Nat!' she said triumphantly. ‘Seeing she's so keen on bird things because of the house name … oh, that reminds me, did you pass her message on yet, Sarah? About the wedding reception being at Avian Cottage?'

It wasn't nearly as awkward as I'd thought (maybe because that goose was so hideous nothing else seemed quite as bad). Piriel dealt with it skilfully.

‘That's generous of Nat. Tell her I'm very grateful for the offer, but I've already made a tentative booking at a restaurant one of my friends owns.'

‘Bet they can't make wine trifle as good as Nat's,' Aunt Dorothy said. ‘People always have trifle at weddings, don't they?'

‘Well, not
everyone
, not these days, anyhow. The restaurant might be closed for renovations early February, though, that's the only hitch. Look, don't go damaging Nat's feelings or anything. It's not that I'm
completely
ruling out the Avian Cottage idea, but I don't even know if it's feasible or not, do I? It's not as though I've actually seen the house yet.'

(I stored ‘feasible' away in my mind to look up in the dictionary later, perhaps to use myself when I found out what it meant. Piriel's words always sounded somehow exactly right, like pearls graded in order of size.)

‘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.)

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.'

‘How about a brooch?' Corrie suggested. ‘That's what I got Mum last year. A leaf brooch, it was, because of buying the nursery. Dad reckoned I should have bought her a gag instead for egging him on.'

‘Piriel doesn't wear brooches,' I said, secretly wiping off some of the Santa Snow. They'd had it plastered all over the Christmas trees at the Moreton shopping centre, too. Piriel had remarked how silly it was, using snow as a decoration for hot Australian Christmases.

‘Oh drat, are you
sure
? I thought everyone liked them,' Aunty Nat said. ‘Maybe something for the new flat, then. I could always give Eileen a ring and see if she still has some of those unicorn bookends.'

‘Piriel wouldn't like those ghastly bookends. It's an
apartment
, anyway, not a flat.'

‘What's the difference?' Corrie asked inquisitively.

‘Not a great deal, except for the price,' Aunty Nat said, frowning at me a little. ‘And I'll have you know, young lady, Eileen's unicorns sell like hot cakes as fast as she can dab the glitter on their collars.
All
her ceramics do. I was thinking about buying a set of her Camelot wine goblets as a wedding present.'

‘Piriel wouldn't like those any better than the bookends. Anyway, Dad says it's a
crime
to serve wine in anything except proper glasses.'

‘There goes that idea, then. Oh, and speaking of the wedding, you haven't told me much about your dress pattern and material yet. What with Horace just rescued out of the wall when you came back from Moreton yesterday, we never really got around to it.'

It was odd, but I suddenly developed a mental block, unable to remember more than sketchy details. Aunt Dorothy's attempts weren't much better. ‘It was kind of old-fashioned, like the little girls wore in that TV series about the early American settlers,' she said. ‘
Little Town on the Prairie
or whatever it was called. Sarah used to watch it when she was small. She liked the log cabin they all lived in.'

‘
Little
House
on the Prairie
,' I said, displeased. ‘And it wasn't
anything
like those dresses, Aunt Dorothy!'

‘Well, that's what the pattern reminded
me
of. The material did, too. It was all-over violets or something.'

‘You're making it sound yuk! And it wasn't, it was
excellent
material!'

‘Well, the shoes and bag are nice enough,' Aunty Nat said. ‘Though I would have preferred something fancier myself. Maybe you could tizz that handbag up a bit, Sarah. I've got a sparkly buckle that might do the trick.'

‘
No!
Piriel has perfect taste and those things are just right the way they are!' I snapped, then wished I hadn't in front of Corrie Ryder.

She looked as though she never growled at
anyone
. No matter how irritating people were, she'd probably just sit there with that sunny expression plastered all over her face. And it wasn't surprising she was so unflappable, I thought crossly.
Anyone
would be if they'd always lived in a boring little place like Parchment Hills where nothing exciting ever happened! Even so, nobody had any right to look so relaxed all the time, to act so
contented
with life and everything in it. She even thought the five gold angels were beautiful, and suggested dangling them from the light fitting as a special feature. (Just as she'd pushed in earlier by fixing a crooked branch on the Christmas tree. She'd splinted it with a chopstick and fuse wire, before
I'd
had the chance to think up a remedy.)

‘Those angels have always gone in a line along one wall …' I began, just to remind her she was only a visitor.

‘What a good idea! They'd look so pretty underneath the light,' Aunty Nat said at the same time. ‘Grab a chair, dear, and I'll pass them up one at a time.'

I wasn't sure which one of us she meant, but as I'd had quite enough of Corrie raking in praise for good ideas, I got there first. It wasn't a job to improve anyone's mood, though. Cotton had to be looped through each halo, and Aunty Nat, who wanted a kind of mobile effect, kept making me shorten or lengthen the threads. Negative thoughts kept fluttering about inside my mind, one for each angel I hung:

1. I might look really
   stupid
   in a dress nearly down to my ankles, with little violet flowers all over it.
   [‘Be careful with this one's wings, Sarah,' Aunty Nat said. ‘Some of her feathers seem to be moulting.']
   
2. Piriel, just
   possibly
   , might have made a mistake choosing a pattern and material like that.
   [‘Oh, thank you, Corrie; what a bright girl you are! I would never have thought of holding feathers in place with hair spray.']
   
3. Those new shoes definitely
   were
   the tiniest bit like little girls' party shoes.
   [‘Should be some hair spray on my bedroom dressing-table, dear, left-hand side next to the hand lotion …']
   
4. How was it that some kids could walk into a place, immediately feel at home, and everyone automatically liked them straight off?
   [‘You should have come over for dinner, Corrie, as well as staying overnight. It wouldn't have been any trouble at all. We just had ham and salad, anyway, because of the heat. There's still plenty left over in the fridge, so if you get hungry in the middle of the night, please feel free to help yourself. Sometimes it's very hard to get to sleep in hot weather like this.']
   
5. How would
   I
   get to sleep with someone I hardly knew in the same room? (Sharing with Tara McCabe at school was difficult enough! For instance, she wasn't the least bit grateful whenever I tidied up before room inspection. So we wouldn't lose marks, I'd dash around to pick up her dropped socks from the floor, smooth both our bedspreads, hang up her blazer, put her slippers neatly under the bed where they were supposed to be kept – and I'd never get any thanks for it! She usually just slouched in the doorway glaring at me.)