The Listmaker (4 page)

1. Perseverance is the bridge by which difficulty is overcome.
   
2. Never put off till tomorrow what you can do today.
   
3. A great ship needs deep waters.
   
4. Who never tries cannot win the prize.
   
5. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.
   

Action stations

1. Solve nail-biting habit! (Gloves in bed, soap under fingernails, willpower, 20 cent fines.)
   
2. Stop taking teddy bear to bed. (Childish.)
   
3. Find a library book about wine (to know what Dad and Piriel are talking about in restaurants).
   
4. Start a get-fit, stay-thin exercise program. (Don't eat so many of Aunty Nat's donuts, either!)
   
5. Stop checking up in the middle of the night that the aunts haven't died in their sleep from old age.
   

∙ ∙ ∙ ∙

‘This living room looks like a bunker lined with sandbags. I bet Piriel wouldn't dream of inviting visitors before everything's been unpacked.'

‘Piriel won't even
be
here,' Aunty Nat said huffily. ‘She hasn't got anything to do with my card nights, either. And if you're suggesting I cancel just because of a few stray boxes, Sarah, I'll have you know my monthly card nights are a
tradition
. There's been the odd occasion when someone couldn't turn up, like poor Derek with his hip replacement last year, but they're very rare. Those boxes won't upset anyone. Supper's always the main thing, anyway.'

She'd spent all afternoon baking. Aunt Dorothy hadn't helped with that; she was hopeless at cooking unless it was sausages, chips and frozen peas. Aunty Nat's cooking was altogether different. The dining-room table was spread with one of her embroidered cloths, edged so thickly with crochet lace that it looked like a coastline at high tide. The tide had cast up cucumber sandwiches, savoury rolls, meringue shells filled with hazelnut cream, chocolate orange truffles, brandy snaps, and a sponge cake as big as a tricycle wheel.

‘Our first card night in Avian Cottage deserves a good spread,' Aunty Nat said rather smugly. ‘But goodness, just look at the time, and here's me with no warpaint on yet – let alone my girdle! Duck downstairs and make sure Dosh has changed into something halfway respectable, will you, love? I
did
remind her earlier, but you know what she's like.'

I had to wriggle past the two card tables to reach the staircase. They were wedged together to make one large cosy one, loaded with pencils, score papers, bowls of nibbles, drink coasters and Aunty Nat's gambling money. (She kept it in a plastic container she got from playing the poker machines somewhere, and it made the room look disgracefully like a casino.)

Bird motifs flitted about all over the place. She'd bought some new penguin-shaped drink coasters, plus a wooden card box with a mother-of-pearl peacock on the lid. Piriel's taste certainly didn't include objects like that. I'd been with her once while she bought a house-warming gift for someone where she worked. She'd chosen a set of very plain, straight-sided water glasses made from thick glass. Everything in that shop had been plain and beautiful: wooden bowls, white china, cutlery as simple as feathers. (Aunty Nat's teaspoon handles were all decorated with little wildflower badges – though most likely she'd be hunting around for ones with kookaburras on them now!) But it didn't really matter, I reminded myself. Soon I'd be living somewhere else, where tables would be set with flair and style …

I went downstairs to hurry Aunt Dorothy along, and it was just as well I did, because she hadn't even changed yet. She was just sitting on her bed reading a gardening magazine, with Horace curled up next to her. (Shutting him in the bathroom hadn't really worked. He kept getting stuck under the bath, so we'd had to give him the run of the rest of the house.)

‘Dutch box has a pretty leaf,' Aunt Dorothy said. ‘But then lavender would make a nice low hedge, too. What do you think, Sarah?'

‘What I think is that they're all going to stare if you go upstairs and play cards in that holey old slip,' I said. ‘It's nearly quarter to eight, you know.
And
you've been smoking in here again! Spraying insect repellent around isn't going to fool
anyone
.'

She put the magazine aside reluctantly and just grabbed the first thing in her wardrobe.

‘Not that skirt, Aunt Dosh. The hem's come down.'

‘Oh rats, so it has. But no one's likely to notice sitting round the card table, are they?'

‘They'll notice the top half of you, so you can't wear that shirt, either. Two of the buttons are off.'

Aunt Dorothy stood there looking helpless, like a toddler having to be got ready for playgroup. I began at one end of the wardrobe and worked systematically along the hangers, but as there weren't many, it didn't take long. Most of her clothes seemed to have creases, zippers that didn't work or pockets dangling from a few loose threads. But halfway along, crammed underneath a terrible old duffle coat no one could coax her to throw out, there was a fairly decent dress which Aunty Nat had made for her last summer. It hadn't been worn yet, and looked rather nice when she put it on. I even managed to find the belt that went with it, stuffed into the toe of a shoe.

‘Do I have to wear one of those?' she grumbled. ‘They always dig into your bellybutton when you sit down.'

‘It's
meant
to have a belt – that's what those little loops on the waist are for, in case you haven't realised,' I said firmly, drawing it into the last notch. ‘There, that's not too bad at all. You should wear blue more often, Aunt Dosh. It kind of suits you.'

‘I never even know what it means about colours suiting people, though your dad's new girlfriend's always going on about it, too. I'm going to have to take your word for it, anyhow, with the light in here being so crook.'

‘Maybe it can be moved to a different spot, not stuck away behind that rafter.'

‘The whole wiring should be checked, really. I suppose Mr Woodley might know a good electrician. He's coming along tonight, as a matter of fact; Nat invited him on the spur of the moment. When he was here giving the quote, she found out he likes playing cards.'

I seemed to remember Dad telling Aunty Nat once that it wasn't a good idea to mix business relationships with social ones. (But it was a waste of time; she even used to invite the postman in for morning tea at their last address.) Aunt Dorothy's hair was a mess. She obviously intended to blunder upstairs with no more attention given to it than a few extra hairpins, but I made her sit down while I did it properly. Her hair was quite nice for someone her age, and it was a pity she didn't look after it better. It had a silvery/blonde/brownish sheen like new mushrooms. I made a French braid, feeling proud of myself for knowing how to do it from watching Piriel, who sometimes wore her hair that way. Piriel kept her hair shoulder length. She said it was versatile for choosing different styles to suit every possible social occasion. Some day I planned to get my own hair cut shoulder length, too. At the moment, all that could be said about it was that it was just long, clean, straight and neat.

‘Now you've made me look like something out of
The Sound of Music
!' Aunt Dorothy complained ungratefully, but I pushed her upstairs before she could undo any pins. Cars scrunched the driveway gravel, which meant the visitors were starting to arrive. Aunty Nat would most certainly take them on a conducted tour all over her dream house, and I didn't think I could stand another dose of her raving on about the pelican wall tiles which had recently been discovered in the downstairs bathroom. (They were hidden behind an old airing cupboard which Aunt Dorothy careered into and knocked off its moorings.) Going upstairs later and saying a polite hello to everyone would be quite enough to put up with, so I slipped out into the moonlit courtyard and hid behind one of the ferns.

The courtyard was looking much tidier. I thought it was a crazy way for anyone to spend the first week of their annual holidays, but Aunt Dorothy seemed to enjoy it. She'd trimmed the branches crowding the window, and begun weeding. You could see the original paving stones now, and a little round flowerbed in the centre. She'd suggested I might like to choose some plants to go in that round bed, because the courtyard was
my
part of the garden. It really wasn't, because I wouldn't even be living at Avian Cottage in a few weeks' time. One of us would have to do something about putting in some plants soon, though, I thought critically; empty flowerbeds looked just as forlorn as bare shelves. I had plenty of time to gaze at it, because Aunty Nat didn't exactly hurry through her conducted tour. The room-to-room progress could be mapped by the visitors' squawks of admiration (they all had much the same taste as Aunty Nat), and when they'd all squawked through the downstairs part and then returned to the living room, I sneaked back inside.

I'd made a list of jobs to fill up my evening while they played cards. The first one was sorting out my school things ready for next term. That usually would have meant covering work files and books with new adhesive paper, but next term we'd all be using notebook computers instead, hired through the school. They were taking a big risk, I thought, trusting such expensive equipment to people like Belinda Gibbs, who never even looked after her
own
belongings. I was always careful with mine. Every weekend, I'd empty my schoolbag, brush it out, sharpen every pencil, test each biro to make sure it still worked, then throw out the ones that didn't, plus any scraps of loose paper. (I was always telling Aunty Nat she should do the same with her handbag, but she never got around to it.) This evening seemed a good opportunity to give my schoolbag an extra thorough cleaning, so I scrubbed it inside and out with pine detergent, then left it drying in the bathroom.

The next job was checking through a carton full of personal items, to make sure they'd come through the move undamaged. (We'd finally found the master code list. Aunty Nat had slipped it inside the food processor so it wouldn't get lost. Then, of course, she'd packed the food processor in an unmarked box.) None of my things were broken, because I'd wrapped them individually in tissue paper and also plastic bubble wrap. (A job worth doing is worth doing well.) I meant to repack them straight back into the carton ready for the apartment, but then glanced up at the wall of empty shelves. It wouldn't be too inconvenient to leave at least
one
thing out on display. I chose a framed photo of Horace taken when he was a kitten. Aunty Nat had given me the frame, shaped like a cottage window with a pot of geraniums in one corner. Aunt Dosh had taken the photograph, which explained why it was a bit out of focus.

Then I set out clothes for tomorrow, copying Piriel, who always did that after watching the weather forecast. She said it saved time. She'd also told me that an enormous collection of clothes wasn't necessary for
anyone
. (Though I knew she didn't mean to take Aunt Dorothy as an example and get by with a few old charity-bin type garments.) What Piriel meant was that people should concentrate on top-quality classic styles in colours that could be teamed together. When I moved to the apartment, my appearance would be transformed …

There were dozens of other odd jobs listed, but I went upstairs to say hello, knowing it couldn't be avoided much longer. I had to put up with being kissed by the Trentons, but luckily managed to dodge Joan Cordrice, who was crammed in between some of the packing cartons. (Being hugged by her was like being smothered in a feather doona.) The card-group members weren't repulsive or anything, it was just that, like Aunt Dorothy, I preferred to keep my distance from people. (With her it was only shyness. I wasn't particularly shy, but I always felt awkward if people touched me, not knowing how to react. Piriel wasn't into hugging or kissing, either, which was most likely why we got on so well.) Apart from hugging each other every time they met, and also being absolutely boring, Aunty Nat's mates were harmless enough. In fact, they were all very kind. Last year Derek Trenton had made a sleeping basket for Horace. He made it as occupational therapy while recovering from his hip-replacement operation. And Sheila, his wife, sewed a quilted lining for it, even though she had bad arthritis in both hands. Arthritis never kept her away from Aunty Nat's card nights, though. Right now they were all playing a round of Trivial Pursuit as a warm-up for cards. Everyone tried to talk me into joining in. They'd do that whenever I happened to be staying with the aunts on one of their card nights, but I usually got out of it by saying I had homework to do. (Elderly people always trustingly believed that excuse, even when it was school holidays.) Because it seemed rude to scoot right downstairs again, I sat on the arm of the couch for a little while and watched the game.

Mr Woodley seemed to be making himself very much at home for someone on their first social visit. He even jumped up to fetch a cloth from the kitchen when Aunty Nat's charm bracelet sent someone's drink flying. (As usual, Aunty Nat looked totally overdressed in a flowery skirt and matching top, a white lace cardigan, and big rose earrings clamped on her ears like pink barnacles.) Not only did Mr Woodley mop up the table, but he insisted on moving the chairs around so Aunt Dorothy, whose drink it was, could sit next to him and have more room. It wasn't even necessary, I thought. She'd been comfortable enough at the far end of the table.

‘Don Bradman!' Aunty Nat yelled. (Every time she landed on a sports question, she'd say Don Bradman or Muhammad Ali, which seemed to be the only famous sporting names she knew.)

‘Well, I guess we could pass it, seeing the question was about cricket,' Sheila Trenton said. ‘Now, Joanie, you landed on a green one, didn't you? Green – that's science kind of things; oh yes, here it is. What word describes the sort of gold found in river sand?'