The Listmaker (14 page)

It was hard to compete with celery being trimmed and stacked cut-side down in a pink plastic dish, freezer use-by dates getting checked as carefully as visas, and a hiding place being found for this week's supply of fruit yoghurt (so Aunt Dorothy couldn't eat it all in one go). I passed her another supermarket bag.

1. I know you don't like travelling anywhere by plane, but …
   
2. This might come as a shock, but do you realise a certain person has a crush on Aunt Dosh and she has one right back?
   
3. Dad and Piriel decided that …
   
4. Sit down, Aunty Nat, and I'll make you a nice cup of tea.
   

‘There, that's the perishables out of the way,' she said. ‘Now for the rest of the stuff. Careful with that jar of stuffed olives; it's part of the wedding menu.'

‘Aunty Nat,' I began in a throttled voice that didn't sound like my own. ‘I rang Dad while you were out shopping …'

‘Oh goody, you managed to get on to him, then? Sometimes he's a bit hard to track down at the Sydney office. That snooty receptionist always sounds like it's beneath her dignity to put calls through … What do you think about these fancy serviettes? Maybe plain white would have been better, but then I noticed these ones with the cute little silver horseshoes.'

She'd also bought two special champagne glasses, with ‘bride' stencilled on one, and ‘groom' on the other. They had bows of ribbon tied to the stems and were really hideous, but she put them tenderly away on a shelf as though they were Oscar awards. I
couldn't
tell her! And it wasn't
fair
, I thought despairingly, that Dad had even asked me to! It was just as unfair, really, as Tara McCabe scratching the duco on Mrs H.'s car at school, then bribing a dim little Year Five kid into taking the blame. (The bribe was the promise of a pony ride if that kid ever happened to be passing through Gippsland!)

‘Sarah, instead of standing there having a good old gnaw at that fingernail, try to come up with some groovy ideas for lunch. I thought I'd make something special, seeing it's Ed's last day.'

‘Sit down, Aunty Nat, and I'll make you a nice cup of tea,' I said, then blabbed, ‘Do you realise he's got a crush on Aunt Dorothy and she's got one right back?'

‘Thanks, but it's a bit too near lunchtime for a cuppa. And yes, I
do
know about Ed and Dosh, as a matter of fact,' Aunty Nat said calmly. ‘I wouldn't call it just a
crush
, though. Not when they've made plans to buy that creek block from me and build a cottage down there. Mind you, Dosh was going to tell you herself pretty soon, so make sure you act surprised when she does. For some reason she's always accusing me of being a bit of a chatterbox.'

‘You mean … they're getting
married
?'

‘Well, I certainly
hope
that's what they have in mind, dear. Ed's buying her an engagement ring soon, and Dosh mentioned an autumn wedding, because the trees in the garden will look so handsome then. It's wonderful for them both. And for me, too, that I'll have them living so close. I really thought you might have guessed what was in the air already, with her being more daffy than usual and actually managing to quit smoking, too. We'll have a party when they announce it officially. Inviting all the card people, of course, and everyone we know up here in Parchment Hills. Let's hope Dosh doesn't lose her new ring beforehand, though, grubbing about in the garden. My word,
two
weddings at Avian Cottage in the one year …'

Like a coward, I retreated downstairs, stopping on the landing to pat the carved eagle. It was a habit I'd got into, having grown quite fond of that eagle. It seemed to add a touch of character to the house. Ed Woodley had installed a brass coach-lamp underneath, which also added a touch of character. He hadn't charged Aunty Nat for the lamp, saying it was a house-warming gift. He was nice, really, always being so patient when Aunty Nat had changed her mind a hundred times about wallpaper and colour schemes, rushing down to the terrace to make sure Aunt Dorothy hadn't hurt herself when she fell off the retaining wall, climbing up the willow tree to rescue Horace when he got stuck, calling me ‘Sally'. It was good news about him and Aunt Dorothy. Later on, I thought, I'd go and tell them so, but there was the other thing to be dealt with first. It
had
to be got out of the way. Something happy shouldn't be jumbled up with something else that felt … unhappy.

Aunty Nat would have to be told straight after lunch, I decided, knowing it couldn't be postponed much longer than that. On top of everything else, she'd need time to get used to the idea of an unexpected interstate trip. Both the aunts would. (Unlike Dad and Piriel, they didn't have much practice in dashing off to places at short notice.) Even that New Zealand holiday had been a huge event in their lives. They'd spent weeks planning what to take, trying to fit it all in the suitcases, then dumping everything out and starting again. Because of having plenty of suitcase experience from boarding school, I'd packed for them both in the end. It wouldn't be necessary for this trip, though, as we'd just be flying there and back in the one day. That was going to be difficult enough, with the aunts so nervous about planes. Another difficult thing was the ghastly dress Aunty Nat had ordered at a Parchment Hills shop for the wedding. She'd fallen in love with it. Her size hadn't been in stock, and they'd promised to get one in by Friday next week. But Friday next week would be too late …

And what was
I
going to wear? Although the wedding had been pared down to something that would probably last just a few minutes, and even if we'd be the only guests now (and by the sound of it, not
really
expected to be there), it still seemed wrong to show up for it in everyday clothes. As though it was nothing more important than some kind of business meeting.

I went along the passage and checked my wardrobe, finding nothing suitable. If Piriel hadn't had time to make up that dress, I thought moodily, then she should have passed the job on to Aunty Nat. It would have just been a matter of posting the material and pattern out to Avian Cottage. (Except Piriel never seemed to use ordinary mail; it was always couriers and fax messages.) Aunty Nat would have found time, somehow, to sew it up. She
always
managed to find time, for anything needed, for whatever was asked of her. I closed the wardrobe door, feeling depressed, then remembered the money Dad had given me for holiday outings. In spite of the list I'd made of places to visit and things to do, most of that money still hadn't been touched. (The things on my list hadn't been done, either, but that was another matter.) Without telling Aunty Nat, I sneaked out and headed for the shops, not feeling particularly hopeful even when I got there.

Parchment Hills had only two clothing shops, and the first had nothing at all in my size. The other, more showy one, was where Aunty Nat had ordered her outfit for the wedding. In fact, it seemed to
specialise
in clothes that people like Aunty Nat would buy for a wedding, I thought, sleuthing through racks of dresses that all seemed to tie at the neckline with a large floppy bow. The assistant tried to be helpful, though the details I gave her were useless. I didn't even know
myself
what I was searching for.

‘You'd be better off trying the little place across the street, Sarah,' she said. ‘That always has clothes for young people.'

‘I didn't know there was another …' I began, then realised she'd called me by my name, probably remembering it from when I'd been there with Aunty Nat.

Stupidly, the fact that she had remembered my name brought a lump to my throat. It stayed there while I followed directions and crossed the street, to a little shop I'd never even noticed before, near the railway station.

The girl behind the counter looked even more dreamy than Aunt Dorothy. She glanced up from a magazine, smiled vaguely, then went on reading as though maybe it was
my
shop and I could do whatever I liked in it. I didn't really mind that there wasn't someone saying, ‘May I help you, madam?' as they did at the Moreton Centre. It wasn't likely that I'd be in there for very long, because most of the stuff looked like rubbish. It wasn't arranged in any particular order of junk, either. Everything was just bundled together, handbags and sequinned shoes jostling each other for floor space, scarves fluttering from the ceiling, assorted clothing slung any old way on a big creaky circular rack. There were even winter clothes mixed up with all the summery things.

I took down a skirt, looked at it, but shoved it right back. (No one in their right mind would wear what seemed to be three different coloured umbrellas sewn together.) Then came baggy patchwork trousers, a dress with a hemline cut into castle turret shapes, a jacket striped like a canvas deckchair, purple leggings with ladybirds all over them, and a waistcoat fastened with little mirrors instead of buttons. I began to feel less down in the dumps. The clothes might be junk, but they were all so
merry
. You couldn't, for instance, drape yourself in an enormous sentry-red scarf fringed with gold coins and still feel glum. The girl behind the counter yawned lazily and turned the pages of her magazine. I put the scarf back and spun the rack, scooping through bright satin shirts, a yellow polka-dot raincoat, something that looked as though it belonged on a skating rink, something with feathers, a velvet dress …

It was green, almost the same colour as the plants Corrie Ryder had given me. Like everything else in the shop, it didn't really make any attempt to be serious. The sleeves were tight to the elbows, then opened out like bells, lined with material printed in an acorn pattern. There were more acorns, little bronze ones, jingling around the neckline. Those acorns would probably come off and get lost, I thought automatically. Velvet couldn't be washed, so you'd have to keep sending it to the drycleaners. It was an impractical dress, and the person who'd designed it obviously didn't follow Piriel's rules about classic styles that could be mixed and matched. Whoever bought it would have to be
crazy
. But even while I was lecturing myself about all that, I found I'd somehow stepped behind the changing-room curtain to try it on.

On the way back up the hill to Avian Cottage, I kept stopping to peer into the dress-shop bag. If I wore that dress in Sydney, where they were having even hotter summer weather, I'd probably
melt
. Piriel would no doubt think it was a stupid choice, and she'd be right. There wouldn't be any way of explaining that I'd bought it because all the other clothes I'd ever owned made me blend into the background, but this one seemed to snatch me right out of it. Also, that I just simply
liked
it.

The hill didn't seem quite so steep today. Usually, after running messages for the aunts, I'd stomp up that long slope wondering crossly why they couldn't have found somewhere flatter to live. It wasn't too bad, though, if you took your time. The dog behind the wire fence at Number Eleven didn't yip hysterically as it normally did, perhaps because I was just ambling by in no hurry. It just barked once, then shut up, as though I'd been recognised now as a legitimate resident in the street. (Next time, I thought, I might even get a tail-wag.) Past the red cedar cottage where a bad-tempered old man lived (though he
had
helped us restart the car once when it conked out on the slope); past the Country Women's Association president's house (Aunty Nat had already joined and was well on the way to getting herself put on their committee), and the young couple's place (they were expecting a baby in May; Aunty Nat had already ordered one of Eileen Holloway's
Peter Pan and Wendy
mugs for the poor little thing).

I stopped and glanced back down at Parchment Hills shopping centre. There wasn't very much of it. From the top of the hill it resembled a finger painting; you almost expected the sun to have a cosy face drawn on it. Even the train at the railway station looked as though it might puff out a balloon of poster-colour smoke at any moment. On the far side of the station was a belt of trees, a sports oval, then the district secondary college, where Corrie Ryder went. To get there, you didn't even have to go down the hill and through the shopping centre. There was a short cut over the other side of the creek. Corrie had told me about it. She always picked up a friend of hers on the way, and they walked together, then came home together when school finished. It must be nice, I thought, to be able to do something like that day after day.

When I reached Avian Cottage, Aunty Nat was on the porch, fussing about with the ornamental urns Mr Ryder had lent her. Last week she'd filled them with white pot-plant flowers – getting ready for the wedding. My feet seemed to stall. She'd have to be told that those flowers wouldn't be needed, and I should do it right
now
.

‘Oh, there you are, Sarah,' Aunty Nat called over her shoulder, and I went slowly down to the porch and saw that she was actually
removing
the white plants, then stacking the empty urns into a carton. ‘You might have mentioned you were nicking off somewhere, dear. I thought we had all that out when you took off into town the other day without letting us know first.'

‘Sorry,' I said. ‘Aunty Nat, there's something …'

‘It's just as well the postie was running late today and saw you down at the shops, otherwise I might have been worried. We've had lunch, but yours is keeping warm in the oven. Soon as you've finished eating, you could take these urns back next-door. We won't be needing them now they've picked Sydney instead.'

I craned around one of the barley-sugar porch posts, trying to catch a glimpse of her face, to see how upset she was. It was hard to guess from her back view, which was just a busy whirr of plastic gloves wiping out the urns, and refugee plants being given a new home in the flowerbed next to the steps.