The Spell Book Of Listen Taylor (20 page)

But the waiter interrupted with their food.

Once he had gone, Fancy said idly, “Who do you think you'll work with on Monday?”

Radcliffe had his mouth full of crunching snow peas, but he tilted his head sideways to show confusion. “The usual, I guess,” he said eventually.

“Gemma?” Fancy stared at him. “Will you work with Gemma?”

“Gemma?”

Fancy squinted scornfully. “The one who had her moles zapped,” she reminded him, and peered at his mouth, his cheeks, and his eyes.

“Oh,
Gemma,
yes. She works in the pay office. I wouldn't usually work with someone from the pay office, Fance. The moles! I remember. She also got her eyes zapped. You know, that laser operation where they burn open your eyeballs and scrape away whatever makes you nearsighted, and then you don't need glasses anymore? She had that done.”

This conversation was not actually part of Fancy's plan, and was suddenly exasperating, so she stopped and looked around for the waiter.

“I think I might drop by the Banana Bar,” she changed the subject as she looked, “and see how Nathaniel and Listen are. Or is it too soon?”

“Ah-hah,” nodded Radcliffe. “Remind Nathaniel of his responsibilities
vis-à-vis the Secret, eh? Remind him of all those confidentiality documents he signed?”

“Well, no, Radcliffe, we don't think Nathaniel's the vindictive type. We're not worried about him and the Secret. I just want to see if he's okay.” She raised her eyebrows at the waiter as she spoke, and wrote her signature in the air, including the flourish she always added to the “g” in “Zing.”

“Ha ha,” chuckled Radcliffe, “not worried, eh? Because he seems like such a nice guy, such a gentle, laid-back, easygoing guy? You mark my words, Fance, it's the
quiet
ones you've got to worry about. Underneath all that
gentle wit
is a seething mass of resentment.”

“Well, I don't know about
that.
” Fancy frowned at him sternly, but also with a flicker of unease.

“Aren't you going to have dessert?” said Radcliffe. “I was thinking of a coffee, and now it's too late. You've gone and asked for the bill.”

“It's never too late,” said Fancy mysteriously. “Nothing is
ever
too late, Radcliffe.”

“Okay,” he agreed, and when the waiter put down a slender leather wallet containing two chocolate mints and the bill, Radcliffe said, “Might I add an espresso to that, do you think?”

“Easy,” said the waiter, and smoothly whisked it back.

Fancy's car skidded along in the afternoon light. She was listening to a pair of excited radio announcers canceling flights, trains, ferries, parties, fetes, and festivals, all on account of the snow. They were canceling Harbour Bridge Walks (indefinitely), but replacing them with sled rides down the Opera House (hilariously). They sympathized with a caller who had never seen snow before, and had been saving the experience for her fortieth birthday: Now it was too late! She had seen it! (“Still,” the next caller pointed out, “I suppose she could have stayed inside and kept the
curtains closed.”) They were warmed by a caller who phoned to say she had opened her house to strangers, on account of her potbellied stove. “It heats the whole house!” They were fretful about what would happen when the snow melted. There would be floods, wouldn't there? They invited callers to confirm or deny.

“Hello!” said Fancy, brushing snowflakes from her jacket as she jangled the Banana Bar door. “Busy today?” She sounded odd and bright.

“Nope,” said Nathaniel. “Not one single customer. The weather, I guess.”

“Well!” (She could not stop the brightness.) “I'll be your first! I'll have a banana milk shake, thanks.”

“On the house.”

“No! No!”

And then Fancy looked at him meaningfully, to indicate that she knew, and Nathaniel shrugged to himself.

“So,” continued Fancy, building on her meaningful glance, “I just wanted to see how you
were
—see if there's anything I can—and about the campervan—isn't it a bit too cold?”

“We won't sleep in the campervan. We've got a generator for the shop, so we'll sleep back there. And also, if your mother's worried. I understand about the Secret. The Zing Family Secret. I would never—”

“Nathaniel! No! Of course we're not worried about
that.
I'm just hoping it will work out again. I mean, Marbie…” She was going to say that Marbie was a brat, a fool, a wicked witch, but one with the right sort of heart—only there was something about Nathaniel's eyes when she said the name. So she changed the subject. “Where's Listen? How is she?”

“She's not so happy.”

“Did you tell her about—about Marbie—about…”

“I just said that Marbie and I had a fight. I said I didn't think we'd ever get over it. The fight. I said that was most probably it between Marbie and me.” He took Fancy's milk shake back from her, although it was not quite finished, and dumped it in the sink.

“Ah,” said Fancy.

Their eyes met for a moment, and they both looked up at the giant plastic bananas hanging from the ceiling.

“She's out the back now in the campervan, I think. Practicing her Tae Kwon Do.”

“Okay,” said Fancy, standing and gathering her purse. “Well, lovely to see you, Nathaniel. Make sure you call if you need anything. Or if you want to talk…And give Listen my love, won't you? Tell her to—”

But she didn't know what to tell Listen, and simply waved.

It took years before you could do a proper flying side kick. Carl Vandenberg could do one, but he was going for his black belt, and even he looked messy in the air. The other day, Listen had been one of the four people who crouched on the floor in a row, so that Carl could jump over them and kick the piece of board held by the master.

Listen had decided she would secretly teach herself the flying side kick. Out in the cold, she ran, leapt, and fell onto her face. Her feet were bare. She wore summer pajamas. She ran, leapt with her leg tucked under, and fell face-forward in the snow. She leapt and fell, leapt and fell.

When she got up, she could not feel her face, except her nose, which ached. Her hands were purple, her fingers were stinging, her knees and elbows were bruised or grazed, and all the time she thought,
I deserve this.

Because she had ruined everything. She was a stupid, selfish person, and she stamped her bare feet in the snow to prove this, and found herself stamping up the stairs into the campervan to burn the book.

A SPELL TO MAKE TWO HAPPY PEOPLE HAVE A HUGE FIGHT OVER ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

She could not believe she had done a spell like that. She could not believe it meant her dad and Marbie. She never thought these spells even worked.

She took the Spell Book from her backpack, where she had packed it in the middle of the night last night, and slapped her hand scornfully against the lime green cover. She would
never
open it again. Excuse me, but why had she even bothered? The spells were useless. A spell about making somebody catch a taxi. A spell about breaking a
vacuum cleaner.
And then, the first spell that actually worked was an evil spell to make two happy people have a fight.

She was supposed to do the next spell today, but she was actually going to throw the book away, burn it, tear it up, or maybe just throw it in the recycling bin.

She would drown the book. She slammed it down into the tiny campervan sink, although it only made a slow popping sound, not the
thwack
she wanted, and she reached for the tap, but of course nothing happened. The water pipes had frozen.

It was then, looking down into the sink, that she noticed tiny silver italics at the bottom of the back cover. She picked up the book and squinted at the words.

This Book Will Make You Fly, Will Make You Strong, Will Make You Glad.

What's More, This Book Will Mend Your Broken Heart.

She read this over, her face throbbed cold, and goosebumps pricked her pajama sleeves. She opened the Spell Book and read the next spell.

A Spell to Make Someone Give Someone a Rose

Put your finger on your nose and say, “Golly!”

This Spell will work on a Thursday afternoon in about eight weeks or so.

You can do the next Spell next Saturday!

“Cassie, honey, you know you don't need cushions and things for the snow. It's okay to fall on it. It's soft.” Fancy explained this as she drove Cassie home from Lucinda's place, keeping the car in low gear and skidding to the wrong side of the road occasionally.

“Not soft enough. See, there's not enough snow, so you have to get the pillows, and take the cushions off the couch, and put them around on top of the snow so you can fall on them.”

“Hmm. Well. I'm sure that's wrong.”

“And we used Lucinda's mum's cake tins and frying pans to slide on, but you had to push yourself along with your legs because they don't really have any kind of hills in Lucinda's backyard.” Cassie drew a picture of herself on a cake tin in the window steam. “See, Mum? This is how we pushed ourselves along.”

Fancy glanced over and said, “Oh!” Then, a few moments later, “I suppose that's okay, about the cake tins. I suppose you can't really hurt them.”

“But I think we broke their VCR.”

“Oh, Cassie, I thought you were outside playing the whole time.”

“We were. We broke the VCR when we were sliding on it.”

“Cassie! Did Lucinda's mother know about this?”

“No,” explained Cassie. “Lucinda hid the VCR under her bed. They should get a DVD anyway.”

“Well,” said Fancy, “I suppose so.”

Then they listened to the radio together for a moment. All over the city, people were tripping over, tobogganing down Martin Place, catching skis on parking meters, and leaving ski poles outside shops.

“Brrrrrrrrr,” said Cassie as they walked through the front door.

“Here's trouble,” exclaimed her father. “Cass, you're walking snow into the house, kiddo. I think you ought to take your shoes off. Call me old-fashioned.”

“Come and sit on the steps beside me,” her mother offered. “I bet this is what they do in cold countries. They take off their shoes on the steps. Radcliffe, shouldn't we put snow chains on the tires?”

“I'll ring up the
Living With Snow
help line,” agreed Radcliffe.

“There's a help line?! So they think the snow's going to last?”

“I think we should have chicken noodle soup for dinner,” suggested Cassie, “and then roast beef and roasted potatoes, and then cherry pie, and then we should get a fireplace with a fire and marshmallows and games. That's what they do in cold countries when it snows.”

Over the next few days, the snow slowly melted, but the weather stayed exceptionally cold, and everyone expected more to fall. Just in case, the City of Sydney commissioned a series of television ads under the slogan,
Living with Snow.
The ads advised on such things as shoveling the driveway and not wearing slippery shoes. Also, they pointed out that snow was designed to be “fun” so nobody should panic if it did happen again.

Meanwhile, the Bureau of Meteorology cautioned that more snow was
highly unlikely
since snow in Sydney was a
freakish event.
It could not resist adding now and then: But still, you never know!

Each morning, the Canadian sat on his front porch, dressed in his overcoat and a black woolen hat, drinking coffee and breathing mist as he answered Fancy's queries about cold.

Each morning, Marbie woke at her parents' place, tangled in her childhood bed. She could not bring herself to go home, or to go to work. She took long hot baths and showers, left long phone messages for Nathaniel at the Banana Bar, and asked her parents whether he had called back while she was in the bath. He never had.

One morning she woke from a dream of Listen dancing, and she yearned to replay the night of the snowstorm: herself at the table with the empty Twix wrapper; Nathaniel and Listen home from canceled Tae Kwon Do; Listen dancing through the kitchen. Then, later, telling Nathaniel about the A.E.
What had she been thinking?
She had been acting at the level of stupidity she'd learned about back when her sister told her parents she'd revealed the Secret to Radcliffe! How had she forgotten that lesson? If you do something wrong, you keep it to yourself! You don't tell people!

If only she'd not told Nathaniel! If only she'd not eaten the Twix bar meant for him!

If only she'd not slept with the aeronautical engineer.

She stopped for a moment, staring at her high school swimming trophies and wondering if she might have got the meaning of stupidity wrong.

But something was catching at the edges of her wonder, something significant and wrong.

She realized what it was.

She fell out of bed, ran to the phone, and called Nathaniel.

Listen's dad wanted to build a snowman. Neither of them had ever built one before, and they were surprised by how difficult it was. The snow wouldn't roll into a ball; it kept crumbling in their hands.

That was another thing: They didn't have gloves.

While they were taking a break to blow on their hands and consider the problem, Listen's dad said casually, “So, this is a real bummer, eh? Being back in the campervan after finally getting a place of our own?”

Listen laughed, as if he'd made a joke, and fell onto her knees to try a snowball again. As she scraped snow together, she thought of her brand-new bedroom in the apartment. For the first time in her life, she'd had a chest of drawers, a lamp, a desk, and a bed with two ends. Marbie had helped her choose the furniture.

Now she was back in a corner with a curtain for privacy, and a bathroom in the back of the Banana Bar. Also, no ironing board. Her Clareville Academy uniform would always be crumpled from now on.