Lina at the Games (10 page)

Here's a sneak peek at Meet Alice

A
S
Alice walked out of her Friday dance class and into the wintry afternoon, she was met by two of her favourite things in the world. One was her best friend, Jilly, who had waited outside for an hour reading so they could walk home together. The other was a sunset as bright as flames. Down the hill, beyond the arch of peppermint trees that hung over Forrest Street, the air was glowing.

‘Jilly, look at that!' said Alice, her face to the sky. ‘Have you ever seen anything prettier?'

Jilly snorted. ‘What, the sky? You've seen it every day of your life.'

But I haven't, Alice thought to herself. Not this one. The setting sun burned like a hot, rosy ball – as red as Jilly's hair. The pink sky was streaked with gold trails like the tracks of a plough. The horizon was a purple smudge over the navy sea, and the soft night breeze smelled of salty ocean and wood fires and home. Alice rose up on her toes so she could be closer to it all, feeling her ankles twinge with the delicious ache of so much ballet.

‘How was class?' asked Jilly as they set off.

‘It was heaven. Miss Lillibet made us do rounds and rounds of
devéloppés
and a new
port de bras
.' Not everyone had kept up, but Alice had loved every second. She sighed happily as she remembered the feeling – a lightness and brightness, as if she were covered in little stars. She'd felt it since she was tiny, dancing to the gramophone on the big soft rug in Papa Sir's study. And even after seven years of lessons, she felt it each time she crossed the ribbons of her ballet shoes over her ankles. Which was every day at the moment, with all the extra classes she'd been doing and practising down in the greenhouse whenever she got a second.

‘Do you think Miss Lillibet will put you on pointe soon, Alice?'

‘Oh, I hope so! I am still quite young, though. Perhaps I'm not good enough yet.'

‘Rubbish,' said Jilly. ‘You're the prettiest dancer that ever lived.'

‘I wish your mother would still let you come to class – you were good too, Jilly.'

‘No use wasting time wishing,' said Jilly briskly. ‘I wasn't half as good as you. Besides, Mother's got some strange ideas about Miss Lillibet.'

In an instant, Alice felt her neck get hot with anger. What on earth was strange about beautiful, elegant, perfect Miss Lillibet?

‘What do you mean strange?'

But before Jilly could answer, the loud clink of a bell rang out from the bottom of the hill near the Village. Alice and Jilly turned to look as a bicycle shot up towards them, past the big houses wrapped around by their shady, wide verandahs, and the big rambling gardens where cows and goats and chickens wandered. Against the sunset, the rider's curls flashed like sparks.

‘Alice,' said Jilly, blushing, ‘isn't that –'

‘Teddy!' Alice cried. Her big brother Teddy could ride further and faster than anyone. He could pedal round Devil's Elbow with Alice and her siblings all on board and still have enough puff to sing rounds. George, who was ten and came next in the family after Alice, dinked on the crossbar, and Mabel, the next after him, sat in the big basket up the front. Little, who was six but tiny, would sit on Teddy's lap, and Alice would squeeze behind him with Pudding, their baby, who sadly wasn't a baby anymore, on her back.

‘Oh dear,' said Jilly, smoothing her hair madly.

Alice smiled to herself. Jilly was always very sensible, but she went to pieces whenever Teddy was near – tall handsome Teddy with his dark tumbly hair, just like Mama's, and eyes the spit of Papa Sir's, as blue as the river, which they could see from most of their windows. Jilly wrote little poems about Teddy by moonlight, which she read to Alice when they were quite sure that they were alone. Alice would never have said so, but Jilly was not actually very good at poetry.

‘Tink,' he called to Alice as he sailed past them, not even puffing. ‘Look at that sunset! I'm off to the river to paint it – oh, hello Jilly. Come down – both of you,' he called over his shoulder. ‘Tink, you could do your stretches there. Got to fly before it's gone!'

‘Shall we?' asked Alice, as they watched him get smaller and smaller. ‘Before it's too dark?'

Jilly sighed. ‘I've got to do the milking.'

‘Oh, of course, sorry. I'll come and help you. It's always faster with two.'

Since Jilly's papa and big brothers had gone off to fight in the Great War in Europe, she was the only one left to do the heavy chores, and her mother was terribly, horribly strict. It didn't seem fair to Alice –
her
mother didn't mind in the least about waxing the floorboards and milking Honey, their brown cow, at exactly six o'clock, and learning bits of the Bible by heart. And though Alice's father, who they called Papa Sir, had been at war for three years now, they still had Teddy to watch over them.

‘No, really, it's fine,' said Jilly. ‘I'm pretty quick now. Will I see you over the weekend, Alice, or do you have extra dancing?'

‘Only for some of it. Come round tomorrow afternoon. Little's baked shortbread.'

Jilly looked at the ground. ‘Sorry, Alice – Mother's hosting the Red Cross ladies tomorrow and I'm to take all the knitting to the depot when they've finished.'

Now it was Alice who was blushing. Peppermint Grove was filled with ladies who knitted and sewed for the soldiers, and put on fetes and balls to raise money. But since the war had started four years ago, Alice's mother hadn't stitched a sock or rolled a bandage, and everybody knew it. Mama said she didn't believe in fighting – that it all came to no good for anyone – and even when Papa Sir had gone to war, she wouldn't change her mind. Jilly's mother said that was a disgrace.

‘Go and see Teddy,' said Jilly. ‘You mightn't be able to for much longer.' As soon as she said it, Jilly winced as if she wished she hadn't.

Alice stopped sharply. ‘You're not talking about the war, are you? You know Teddy doesn't believe in fighting.'

‘Sorry Alice, I overheard Mother talking, that's all. Teddy's seventeen soon, and, well . . .'

Alice started to walk very quickly, not minding the thump of her ballet bag against the backs of her knees. ‘That's just rubbish.'

‘But your father went – Papa Sir, I mean.'

‘Not to fight, Jilly. He's a doctor – he went to help people, not kill them.'

Jilly looked uncomfortable.

‘As if Teddy would hurt anybody,' Alice continued. ‘And he's too young, anyway – you can't enlist before you're eighteen.'

‘But lots of boys do and no one seems to mind,' panted Jilly earnestly, trying to keep up. ‘My brothers did. And you know how people treat cowards round here – white feathers in the mail and whatnot.'

‘
No
. Teddy's staying here to take care of us.'

And though it made her heart hurt to think of Jilly milking alone, the idea of life without Teddy was so unbearable that Alice sprinted off into the twilight, hoping that if she ran fast enough, she'd leave it behind forever.

Here's a sneak peek at Meet Ruby

R
UBY
felt trapped. The pale green walls of the classroom seemed to be closing in on her, and the warm, stuffy air was making her feel quite sleepy. If only she could run away! She glanced sideways at Brenda Walker, in the desk across the aisle. Brenda was sitting up very straight and looking
interested
. How could she? There wasn't a single thing about maths that was interesting. And the very worst thing about it was Miss Fraser's droning voice.

Ruby tried to imagine what it would be like to be Miss Fraser. Everything about her was grey. Her grey hair was pulled back in a tight little bun, and she wore a grey skirt and a long grey cardigan and horrid thick grey stockings.

Marjorie Mack said that Miss Fraser had once had a sweetheart: he was a soldier, and he'd died in the last year of the Great War. But Ruby didn't believe that any body could ever have loved Miss Fraser.

‘Open your books, girls. We have time for some quick mental arithmetic before the bell goes. Page twenty, problem one.'

Ruby groaned and turned to page twenty. Sixteen currant buns at a penny-ha' penny each . . . Picking up her pencil, she began to draw a plate of buns in the margin of the page.

‘Perhaps you can give us the answer, Ruby Quinlan? Yes, Ruby, I'm speaking to you. Stand up, please. What is the answer to problem one?'

Ruby stood up. Oh my hat, she thought. I should've known she'd ask me.

‘I don't know, Miss Fraser,' she said at last.

‘Well, work it out. Sixteen times one-and-a-half pennies.'

Ruby stared at the ceiling. The answer didn't appear there. She stared at the floor. Not there either. She stared at Brenda Walker. Brenda was scribbling something on a piece of paper, partly covering it with her hand.

Ruby tried to read what Brenda had written. ‘Um, one pound and four shillings?'

Miss Fraser's lips set in a thin line.‘Good heavens, child, use your head. Would you pay one pound and four shillings for sixteen currant buns? I hope you don't do the shopping for your family.'

‘Of course I don't, Miss Fraser. Our cook does it.'

Miss Fraser sighed. ‘Sit down,Ruby.Brenda,perhaps you can help us.'

Brenda stood up, smoothing down her school uniform. ‘Two shillings, Miss Fraser.'

‘Thank you, Brenda,' Miss Fraser said, with an approving smile. ‘Now for something a little more difficult. Hilary Mitchell? Your answer to the next question, please. If it takes three men five days to dig a ditch . . .'

Ruby saw the startled look on Hilary's face. As usual, Hilary had been gazing dreamily out of the window. I'll bet she was thinking about her new little sister, Ruby thought. Baby Cecily was just three weeks old, and Hilary had promised that Ruby could meet her soon.

Sometimes Ruby wondered what it would be like to have a sister or a brother, but most of the time she enjoyed being an only child. It meant she had Dad and Mother all to herself. Tomorrow was her birthday, and she knew they would have chosen something special for her present. Last year they'd given her a shiny blue bicycle with a wicker basket.

At last the bell in the quadrangle rang for the end of the day's lessons. Ruby jumped up and grabbed for her homework books, knocking her wooden pencil-case to the floor with a crash. As she bent forward to pick it up, the end of her plait dipped into her inkwell.

‘Gently, Ruby, gently!' called Miss Fraser. ‘There is no fire, and our building is not about to collapse. This is a college for ladies. Let us have a little decorum, please.'

‘Sorry, Miss Fraser.' Ruby stood still for the tiniest moment, tiptoed to the door, and ran.

Ruby both loved and hated school. She couldn't see the sense of school work. When she was about twenty she'd probably get married and go shopping and wear nice clothes, like her mother did. Why did she need to know about isosceles triangles, or the primary products of Brazil? Things like that bored her silly. But as for the school itself – the old stone buildings, the cosy library tucked away at the back of the boarding house, the Moreton Bay fig trees lining the long driveway – she loved it all, and she loved the fun she had with her friends.

Now, as she set off down the shady drive, past the smooth green expanse of the school oval, she felt free and happy. It was Friday afternoon, and her birthday party was tomorrow! Then she heard running feet behind her, and turned to see Brenda Walker.

Brenda caught up with her, panting. Her owlish spectacles glinted. ‘Can I walk with you?'

‘If you want to.'

‘You've got ink on your shirt.'

‘I know.'

Ruby didn't exactly dislike Brenda, but she didn't like her very much either. She'd known her for most of her life because their fathers were in business together. Ruby's father built houses, and Brenda's father was his accountant.‘Donald Walker is a genius with money,'Dadhad once told Ruby. ‘I couldn't possibly run the business without him.'

Ruby knew that her father was hopeless with numbers, just as she was, and he was happy to leave the money side of things to Uncle Donald. Dad was only interested in houses. Ten years ago he'd built their house – a big California bungalow not far from Ruby's school. It had a fishpond with a fountain in the front garden, and coloured leadlight in the windows, and an indoor lavatory. It was Ruby's most favourite place in all the world.

Brenda walked faster to keep up with Ruby. ‘You're not wearing your hat,' she said. ‘Or your gloves. You'll get into trouble if anyone sees.'

‘Who cares?' said Ruby. ‘My hat makes my head feel hot. And I've lost one of my gloves. I think Baxter might've eaten it.'

‘Baxter is so naughty.' Brenda ran a few steps. ‘I wish I had a fox terrier too, or maybe a cocker spaniel. But Mama thinks dogs are too expensive to keep, with all the meat they eat.'

‘Baxter doesn't eat meat. He just eats my clothes. And my books. And my shoes.'

‘Really?' Brenda pushed back her spectacles, which were beginning to slide down her nose.

‘I'm only joking.'

‘Oh.' Brenda looked relieved. ‘What are you wearing to your fancy-dress party tomorrow?' she asked, after a pause.

‘It's a secret,' Ruby said. ‘You'll have to wait and see.'

‘I'm going as a rose. I really wanted to be a mermaid, though. I saw some green spangly material at Myer's that would've made a good tail, but Mama thought it was too expensive.'

I'd never choose to be a mermaid, thought Ruby. If you had a fish tail you couldn't use your legs, could you? You'd just have to sit around. Even now she felt impatient to move faster. She wanted to skip and jump and run.

‘Brenda, I have to go,' she said. ‘I've got heaps to do. See you at my place at two o'clock tomorrow!' She made a dash for the gate, only to be stopped by a school prefect.

‘Where is your hat, Ruby Quinlan? And why aren't you wearing gloves? You know you are not to leave the school grounds improperly clothed.'

Ruby pulled her battered straw hat from her satchel. ‘Here's my hat. I don't know where my gloves are.'

‘Final warning, Ruby Q. If I catch you without gloves again, you'll be explaining yourself to Miss Macdonald.'

The thought of explaining herself to her tall, elegant headmistress didn't appeal to Ruby one bit. ‘Sorry. I'll look for them, I promise.' She scowled as Brenda, neatly hatted and gloved, walked past her with a smirk.

‘Told you,' Brenda said.

‘Oh, Brenda,' Ruby burst out. ‘Don't you ever get sick of being right
all
the time?'