The Listmaker (8 page)

‘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 step-daughter 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.'

I felt an odd little sensation, like tripping over an unexpected step. Without even thinking about it, I'd just assumed Piriel would take our family name when she married. I'd even written it out to see how it looked – Piriel Radcliffe, Brett Radcliffe, Sarah Radcliffe – a whole, complete, newly minted family. Aunty Nat was wearing a slightly disapproving expression, I noticed, as though she thought Piriel was being far too modern altogether. But that was just such an old-fashioned attitude, I realised indignantly. Piriel was
perfect
. She shouldn't have to change her name for any reason, not if she didn't really want to.

‘I'm itching to get started on this jigsaw puzzle,' Aunt Dorothy said. ‘It's beaut, Sarah – all these cats are the spitting image of dozy old Horace on one of his more intelligent days. Anyone else want to have a bash at it? Bags me the edge bits, though.'

‘Dosho, I do think that could wait till tomorrow,' Aunty Nat objected. ‘Sarah's being very good about keeping her computer for later, so I think you might show some restraint, too.'

‘I wish I could ring Dad up right now,' I said. ‘I want to thank him for it.'

‘Better wait for him to ring here, pet,' Aunty Nat said. ‘He wasn't sure if he'd still be at that same hotel today. Don't worry, there's still plenty of Christmas left for him to get a call through. There's tea to come yet, and then our game of Scrabble. We
always
play Scrabble after the presents and everything …'

But Piriel said that although it sounded a cosy way to wind up the day, she'd prefer not to join in. In fact, she added, she'd really have to be making a move now, because there was still someone else she had to visit.

‘Friends, but potential clients as well,' she said. ‘I
think
I've just about convinced them that art deco is
exactly
what they want. Can't risk a sale by neglecting possible clients at Christmas, can I? Oh, and speaking of real estate, the apartment's just about ready if you three ladies would like to have a look. It's not painted yet, but practically everything else is done. I would have liked to show you over it myself, but I'm going to be tied up for the next few days. How about if I leave this spare key and you can have your own private viewing?'

‘Tomorrow?' I asked excitedly. ‘Would that be okay, Aunty Nat, if we went in tomorrow?'

‘Actually, some of Brett's pals wanted to see through it then,' Piriel said. ‘It might be rather a tight squeeze if you all happened to turn up together. But any other day after that would be fine, and you could just drop the key in at my office afterwards. Sorry to put you to that inconvenience, but I'll need a spare key for the interior decorators. Once you've had a good look at your room, Sarah, let me know what you'd like in the way of wall colour and curtains. Oh, and another thing – you look very sweet today, just like a little Christmas snowflake.'

So although she had to leave before Christmas was properly over, I wasn't left standing on the front porch crushed with disappointment. She'd
noticed
I was dressed all in white. Maybe she even realised it was meant as a compliment to the way she'd been dressed when we'd gone shopping at Moreton. And now there was this other thing; seeing over the apartment and then choosing curtains and paint for my new bedroom – it was as though Piriel had given me an extra, very special present before leaving. She trusted my judgement!

(To be thrown out, recycled, given away to people, left behind at Avian Cottage. And no getting choked up or any stupid last-minute excuses!)

1. Eileen Holloway's kitten paperweight.
   
2. Zebra trinket box with the lid like clacky teeth.
   
3. Treasure Island money box.
   
4. Alarm clock with dragon feet.
   
5. Teddy bear. (?)
   
6. Cracked mug with photo print of Horace on it. (??)
   
7. Cedar chest. (???)
   
8. All my old picture books from when I was little. (????)
   
9. Raggedy old circus bedside mat, from before I went away to school. (?????)
   
10. Roll-top desk. (??????)
    

(Maybe work on this list later. It's too hard deciding. There's no hurry, anyway.)

1. Ship's cabin look: walls lined with pine, bunk bed with drawers underneath, brass lantern lights, maps. (Could also hang onto Treasure Island money box, then.)
   
2. Everything all white-on-white: white walls, white carpet – maybe not with Horace around, new white towelling bathrobe. (Could paint roll-top desk glossy white.)
   
3. Geometric look: each wall a different colour (yellow, blue, orange, green), modular furniture all slotted into each other, striped canvas blind instead of curtains, polka-dot carpet. (Make zebra trinket box a display feature.)
   
4. Exotic, mysterious Oriental look: gold or red walls, low bed like a platform heaped with satin cushions, paper-lantern lampshades, Horace's basket relined with red satin, big swaggy curtains with tassels. (Maybe
   keep
   dragon alarm clock?)
   
5. Sky theme look? Curtains like the ones Belinda Gibbs had at her house … YES! Cloud material curtains, white or pale-blue walls, stick-on stars for ceiling, cloud-shaped cushions, fluffy white sheepskin mat (could still keep circus one underneath), decorate roll-top desk and cedar chest with sun stickers. (Could store all the other discard-list things inside chest, so I wouldn't have to throw anything out after all!)
   

∙ ∙ ∙ ∙

Ed Woodley came straight back to work after Boxing Day (probably because he couldn't last any longer than that without the din of power tools). Yelling to make herself heard, Aunty Nat suggested that it might be an ideal time for the rest of us to inspect the apartment. I rushed to get my camera and the new memo book I'd bought specially for interior-decorating ideas.

On the long drive into town, I added more things to the list I'd started for my room at the apartment. I liked the sky theme best. It seemed an inspired choice for life in a tower, further up in the air than most people lived, and it had come about from suddenly remembering Belinda Gibbs's bedroom curtains. I'd noticed them at her birthday party. (Actually, what I'd noticed most of all was that the hems had been chewed to tatters by her dog.) The material had been pale-blue cotton printed with white clouds. I'd phoned her yesterday to ask where they'd bought it, and although she'd apparently just popped out on her rollerblades somewhere, her mother gave me the shop address. It was in the city, and Aunty Nat had promised we could buy some today if they had any left.

I could hardly wait to tell Piriel about that brilliant sky theme, hoping she might be impressed enough to ask for my help in decorating the rest of the apartment! And every time we had visitors there, she might make some comment about it. First she'd take them to look at my room and say, ‘Sarah planned this all by herself. She has such
wonderful
taste for someone her age. It's a pity I can't show you the little paperknife she gave me for Christmas, but it's on my desk at work. I keep it out on display, because it adds such a special touch to the whole office.'

Thinking along those lines meant I could just about bear listening to the soundtrack tape which Eileen Holloway had given the aunts for Christmas. It was called
Rainforest Birdsong
. They played it all the way into town, only switching it off when we turned into St Aloysius's multilevel car park. Aunty Nat said it would be more convenient to leave the car there and catch a tram, because she'd forgotten to ask Piriel what the parking situation was like up near the apartment. That wasn't the real reason, though. Aunty Nat
always
used St Aloysius's when she had to go to the city. I suspected it was because she thought God would keep a personal eye on a church car park, zapping anyone who tried to break into the cars. While she was whisking up through all the levels to find a vacant spot, I kept my eyes firmly closed. It wasn't as though Aunty Nat was a bad driver, but her running commentary tended to make you feel on edge.

‘Now what's that big galoot trying to do?' she murmured vaguely. ‘Is he backing out or just straightening up the wheels? Should we wait just in case he's leaving; what do you think, Dosh? Oh drat, he's stepping out and locking up! Goody goody gumdrops –
there's
one. Oops! It's just a little space full of fire hoses. What a
rude
driver behind us – Santa must have given him a new car horn for Christmas! If I wasn't a lady, I'd make a finger sign out the window. Maybe I could squash in next to that red van, though we'd all have to hop out my side because of the concrete pillar … no, better not risk it. These ramps always seem a bit creepy, just like film settings where people get murdered late at night. Not that anything like that would ever happen in St Aloysius's car park, I'm sure.'

Once we'd finally parked and walked back down to street level, I had my work cut out steering her to the nearest tram stop. Our original plan was to visit the apartment first, then look for the curtain material, but when I tried to hurry her along she said testily, ‘Goodness, Sarah, what's the rush? There are all these sales on, and you might give a person half a minute to window-shop. Besides, it's too darn
hot
for scurrying, particularly when the city's as crowded as this with bargain hunters. Anyone would think that blessed flat will vanish into thin air before we can reach it!'

The most lavish sale in the world just couldn't be compared to inspecting the apartment, I thought, rescuing Aunt Dorothy from climbing aboard the wrong tram. The right one wafted us up the hill to the brink of the city and the apartment block. The only other time I'd seen it was when Dad had made a special detour while driving me back to school. It was caged in scaffolding then, and had just looked like any other half-built building. Even though it still wasn't completely finished yet, at last I was getting the chance to see inside! There were carpenters in the foyer, putting down a beautiful floor which Aunty Nat said was called parquetry. She stopped to chat to them, which was frustrating when I was so impatient to go on up to the apartment. And embarrassing, too, I thought, wishing she'd realise that it wasn't Ed Woodley and his mates, but
city
workmen. They probably wouldn't be used to gossipy old ladies asking their advice about the best way to put a shine on wooden floors. (Those patchy old floors at Avian Cottage weren't even remotely in the same league, anyhow.)

‘The lift's
this
way, Aunty Nat,' I said, grabbing her hand, but then it was Aunt Dorothy's turn to be embarrassing. She said she'd rather use the stairs.

‘How do we know that thing's been properly tested if they're still doing work round the joint?' she demanded, but I certainly wasn't going to use ordinary stairs on such a notable occasion. I bundled both aunts into the lift and asked them to take a photo of me pressing the sixth-floor button. I got them to take another one while I was opening the door of the apartment with Piriel's key. Soon, very soon, I thought blissfully, I'd have a key of my own. Five weeks to the wedding, two weeks of boarding at school while they were away on their honeymoon, then –
this
. I'd just have a short tram trip home every afternoon, sail up in that smooth lift, then take my very own apartment key from my blazer pocket and let myself into the apartment …

The view was breathtaking, slamming itself at you through a wall of glass as soon as you set foot inside. On closer inspection, it wasn't really a wall, but large sliding doors leading on to a balcony. They opened as quietly as a whisper.

‘You can see just about
everything
!' I cried. ‘Oh, it's going to be so
spectacular
living here! Imagine what it must be like at night with the city all lit up!'

‘I'm glad it's got a balcony,' Aunty Nat said. ‘Only don't you go being a duffer, love, and falling over the rail. If you were any younger, I'd be worrying myself sick about that. It certainly is some view, though!'

‘It's okay, but I think I prefer ones where you can step right out into them,' Aunt Dorothy said. ‘Like a nice big garden.'

‘Isn't there supposed to be a garden around the back somewhere?' Aunty Nat said. ‘It was on the plan Brett showed us, along with a swimming pool and sauna. Sarah might like to get photos of all that lot when we finish looking around inside. Better get rid of your cigarette first, Dorothy. It might be all right to puff away out here on the balcony, but I don't think you'd better inside the flat. Piriel mentioned she'd be making it a no-smoking zone for anyone coming to visit, and I'm pretty sure she meant
you
.'

‘Oh well, I'll be quitting for good on New Year's Day,' Aunt Dorothy said virtuously, stepping back inside and managing to catch her thumb in the glass doors.

By the time I tugged her free, Aunty Nat had already found the kitchen and was opening and shutting everything like a little girl playing with a doll's house. I thought of the Avian Cottage kitchen with its ancient gas stove, and felt sorry for her. Piriel's kitchen had a range with six burners and a separate fan-forced wall oven. It also had a waste disposer, a retractable vegetable spray attached to the kitchen tap, and a foldaway ironing centre. Poor Aunty Nat, I guessed, must be comparing all that and feeling very discontented.

‘Stone bench tops,' she said, awed. ‘They're supposed to be a wonder for rolling out pastry.'

‘Maybe Ed Woodley could copy the idea at your place. Piriel will know what it's called.'

‘No need to ask her, dear. It's granite or marble or something. And though it looks the ant's pants in a modern place like this, I can't really see it at Avian Cottage. Dosho breaks quite enough crockery already.'

Marble had been used in the main bedroom ensuite, too, with its huge triangular spa bath set across one corner. That bath was so splendid I hoped I'd have one just like it, but the second bathroom was much smaller. There wasn't enough space for a tub at all, but to make up for that, it had an amazing circular shower cabinet made from glass bricks. Aunty Nat said it looked like something out of a science-fiction video, but I was so thrilled with it I got her to take a photo of me standing inside, even though there wasn't much room to aim the camera.

Then we inspected my future bedroom, which unfortunately didn't have much of a view. In fact, all you could see from that particular window was the concrete side of another building with a narrow alley full of parked cars down below. But it didn't really matter, because I'd be making the inside of that room so fabulous no one would even notice the lack of scenery. At the moment the walls were just bare plaster, but I imagined them painted a delicate sky-blue, as a background for the cloud curtain material. Horace's basket and my roll-top desk could go against the end wall. (That desk, even though it had once belonged to Aunt Dorothy and was covered with inkblots, biro doodles, cigarette burns and coffee-cup rings, was one item I'd hated to put down on my discard list. I'd had it for so long I couldn't imagine doing my school assignments at anything else.) The cedar chest Aunty Nat had given me for my tenth birthday would have to be fitted in somehow, too. Not only would she be terribly hurt if I left it behind, but I'd have nowhere to keep all my odds and ends. Bed, bookcase of some kind, bedside table and chair – there might be problems working out just where to put everything in such a small space.

‘If you've quite finished taking photos in here, Sarah, maybe I could get through to measure up for curtains,' Aunty Nat said. ‘Then I think we'd better be moving along. There's still the pool and garden to see. You'll want to save some film for that before we go off hunting for the material you wanted.'

But it wasn't possible to photograph the pool or the garden, because there were more workmen around there pouring concrete. We couldn't get past, though Aunty Nat managed a quick look before they shut the security gate. ‘It wasn't
all
a concrete jungle, you'll be glad to know,' she said as we went back to the tram stop. ‘It's going to be very swish indeed. They've got a couple of gas barbecues and a bit of a lawn around the pool. There wasn't any water in that yet, which was probably just as well. Otherwise I might have been tempted to shin over that gate and have a nice cool skinny-dip, workmen or no workmen! Dosh, next time we come to visit, we must remember to bring our bathers.'

A fingernail slid in between my teeth before I could stop it. Somehow, the thought of the aunts using that pool jarred a little. The owners of all the other apartments would be like Dad and Piriel; professional, get-ahead, busy people, who would bring mobile phones down to the pool as well as towels. There had even been a photograph like that in the planning-stage brochure Dad had shown me. The idea of Aunt Dorothy in old navy bathers ploughing solidly along doing laps, or Aunty Nat frolicking about in her gross lace-pattern bathing cap, didn't fit in very well. There was no way in the world you could possibly mistake them for official residents. They just didn't look the part. They didn't even look as though they'd have relatives living in such a smart place.

‘Next time we visit …' Aunty Nat repeated. ‘Oh dear, I don't think I want to know about that! It's just hit me fair and square between the eyes … it's
you
we'll be visiting, Sarah, not just the other two. You'll actually be
living
here. It's going to be so hard to get used to, not having you around.'