Magenta McPhee (9 page)

‘Not for you, you dope. For your dad and Spooky.'

‘Oh.' I blushed even though there was no one to see me. ‘Yes, of course. Sorry.'

‘So you do like him, then!'

‘Well, sure, because he listens, Polly, and he's got this little smile. He's really nice. But that's all.'

‘Time will tell,' Polly said with her irritating superior air, ‘time and camping. If you can go camping with someone and come out the other side still liking them, it's a done thing.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Oh get real, Magenta. Camping? No showers. Or if there are showers, no hot water. Or they're just too far away to bother with. Twigs in your hair. No mirror so you can't see the twigs, or the fact that your face is all creased right through breakfast. You start to smell and your hair goes oily. A mosquito bite on your face gets infected and looks like the world's biggest pimple and every time you tell anyone it's just a mozzie bite they go, oh yeah, sure. Someone who shan't be
mentioned forgets to bring the olive oil, so all the gourmet fat-free sausages burn and stick to the metal barbecue which you didn't like the idea of anyway, because how would you know it was really clean?'

‘Okay, okay. It won't be that bad. I've been camping with Dad lots of times and nothing like that happens. I can take a mirror – there's even a little place in our tent to hang it. We take mozzie repellant and coils so that's okay. And Dad never buys fat-free sausages. Ever.'

‘It's your funeral,' Polly said darkly. ‘I hope he's worth it.'

‘It's not about Cal,' I said. ‘It's about Spooky and Dad getting together and being happy for the rest of their lives.'

‘Then you'll have to eat proper French mayo forever,' Polly said.

She did love getting the last word.

Mum asked me questions about Spooky all week. Was she skinny or plump? What did she do? What colour was her hair? Was it dyed? Did I like her? Oh, and why did she call herself Spooky?

‘She's in-between. I don't know. Blonde-ish. She doesn't call herself Spooky, it was a sort of joke. Cal said it would scare losers away. But, Mum, we hardly know her,' I said for the umpteenth time, ‘honestly.' I had decided to avoid telling Mum my whole role in the Spooky affair. I didn't exactly lie, but I certainly made it sound as though Dad had put his profile on the Internet himself.

‘Of course everyone is doing it these days,' Mum said, ‘you read about it all the time in the paper. I say, good for him. About time.' But she didn't sound as though she entirely meant it. We were having a late pancake breakfast. Trib was interstate again and Mum had splurged on real maple syrup and trashy magazines.

‘You've got Trib,' I pointed out. ‘You're getting married. Dad should at least go on a date.'

‘Did I say he shouldn't?' Mum asked.

‘Nooo, but you didn't sound as glad as you might have. After all he sent you a congratulations card when you and Trib got engaged.' Actually Dad didn't send the card, I did. I forged his handwriting. I was used to doing that because he always forgot the excursion permission forms on his week.

‘Did he?' Mum sounded vague. She turned on the electric blender and the noise filled the kitchen.

‘You know he did,' I said when she stopped the mixer. ‘You even said how generous it was.'

‘I can't remember now,' Mum lied. ‘Lots of people sent cards. That's what people do. I am glad for your dad, of course I am. I'm just ... wondering what's she's like, that's all. Dad must have been curious about Trib.'

‘He met him,' I pointed out to her. ‘He met Trib because he had to drop me off early. Remember? Trib was wearing a towel. They tried to shake hands?'

Mum's mouth twitched. ‘You're right,' she said. ‘It's high time your dad went on a date. Even if it is a camping date.'

‘I think camping's great. Mum, I really need a new pair of trainers. Really, really. I'm thinking of getting serious about the cross-country and trainers help you ... train.' I was hoping to get Mum in a shopping mood while Trib was away. There were heaps of things I needed for the camping trip if I was going to look sophisticated and avoid camp-dagginess.

‘Of course,' Mum said without much enthusiasm, ‘Training trainers for the cross-country. Let's eat first, okay?'

She cheered up over pancakes and by the time we'd stacked the dishwasher she'd started a shopping list. We hit the shops just before lunch. It's the ideal time to start shopping because you do a bit before hunger strikes, then you have a break and return with renewed energy.

Mum was looking for something garden-partyish for the wedding. While she did that I was keeping an eye out for camp essentials like a simple but stylish three-quarter-sleeve black top, denim shorts or cutoff jeans and new PJs. Definitely new PJs. I wasn't going to be seen dead or alive in my old teddy-bear ones that I kept at Dad's. I needed Felix the Cat ones. Eventually, after Mum had tried on three hundred skirts, not one of which was perfect, I steered her into the PJs section.

‘I need new ones,' I said. ‘Really, truly. For Dad's place.'

‘Isn't that your Dad's responsibility?' Mum asked. Her face looked pink in a cross way. ‘Did you think I looked, um ... plumpish in that skirt with roses? Like really plumpish?'

‘No,' I said for the thousandth time, ‘I didn't think you looked plump, not even slightly plumpish. The rose
skirt was my personal favourite. But when I said that, you said the roses were too plump.'

‘Maybe it wasn't the roses. I was just projecting plumpness on to them. I'm never going to find anything to wear for this wedding.'

‘Pyjamas...'

‘Oh Magenta, I've already bought training trainers, a black top (though I really do think you're too young for a black top) and shorts (even though it must be the end of summer soon), and now you want pyjamas.'

‘We're all going camping,' I said finally, ‘even Lianna's son.'

‘Her son?' Mum raised an eyebrow. ‘That's very family-orientated.'

‘Well, we are. Aren't we? I mean we were and now you are and Dad is. In separate ways.'

Mum's mouth set in a grim line. ‘So you want new pyjamas because this Lianna's son is going to accompany you all camping. How old is he?'

‘About my age. Mum, stop it. You're just doing this because you don't want Dad to go on a date.'

‘I didn't know the date involved children,' Mum said. ‘I suppose I should be pleased about such an inclusive policy, but I kind of thought they'd date quietly before involving everyone else.'

‘Right. Like you and Trib?'

‘That was your Dad's fault for dropping you off early.
If that hadn't happened you would have met Trib when I was ready for it, not accidentally like that. I was very upset about it all.'

‘So you mean you would have kept Trib from me? Isn't that kind of lying?'

‘No. No it isn't. It's just sensible. You don't know how these things will turn out. People, kids, can get hurt. Imagine if you'd liked Trib and were imagining him as a kind of step-dad figure while Trib and I were busy trying to extricate ourselves from the relationship. There's a right time to do things, Magenta. I'm surprised at your father, really.'

I ended up with Felix pyjamas anyway. They were on special and even Mum admitted they were cute.

‘Just don't think that every time your Dad goes out with someone it means you have a complete change of wardrobe,' Mum warned. ‘I'm not made of money, you know.'

‘I won't, really I won't. This time was special. Thanks, Mum.'

‘So what's this woman's son like?'

‘Okay. Pretty cool.'

‘Pretty cool?' Mum raised one eyebrow. I think she learnt that when she learnt to be a teacher. I'd tried for hours to do it, but it never worked for me.

‘You know, for a boy.'

‘Right. As a species they tend to be very uncool,' Mum said.

‘You know, they talk about football and stuff.' I was squirming and trying not to look as though I was. ‘He looks like Spook ... I mean Lianna.' I offered Mum a distraction.

‘So what does he look like?'

‘He's got these long eyes. They're kind of unusual.'

There was that eyebrow again. ‘Unusual good or unusual bad?'

‘Good,' I said after pretending to think about it for a second.

‘That's a plus. Any other distinguishing features?'

‘Curly hair.'

‘Long or short?'

‘Kind of in-between.' I was confused as to whether we were talking about Cal or Spooky.

‘So would you call her attractive?'

‘Her? Oh, sure, yeah she's okay, you know. A bit old but okay.'

‘How old? Do you think, for example, she's my age? Or is she younger?'

‘I don't know, Mum. What does it matter?'

‘I'm just curious, that's all. If this woman is going to be your stepmother...'

‘They've had coffee, that's all. Mum!'

‘Sorry. New situation. Do you want to pick up some sushi to take home for dinner?'

‘Isn't the rice a hotbed for bacterial growth?' That was
Mum's favourite line about sushi takeaway.

‘Yeah, it is, but let's risk it this time, hey? I don't feel much like cooking. Those pancakes used up all my cooking energy.'

‘She's a great cook,' I told Mum over sushi takeaway. She'd been bagging on about the plump roses again but that's not why I said it, it was because we were smearing mayonnaise on our heated-up Japanese omelettes. It was Japanese mayonnaise but it still reminded me of Spooky.

‘Is she?' Mum's voice sounded a little arctic.

‘She made mayo from scratch. With a whisk.'

‘She found a whisk in your father's kitchen? That surprises me.'

‘You took the blender,' I pointed out.

‘Your father didn't use it. Not in my day,' Mum snapped. ‘Sorry, Magenta. Can we just leave Lianna out of our evening for a while?'

‘You keep bringing her up,' I protested.

‘You did that time.'

‘But every other time you did.'

‘Okay, well I've stopped now. Let's watch television?'

The movie didn't help. It was some crummy romantic thing about a couple meeting somewhere exotic after they'd divorced years back and falling in love all over again.

‘Dreadful mush,' Mum said but she didn't turn it off. I was tired but I ended up watching the whole movie
with her in solidarity. It didn't make sense to me that she was cranky with Dad for going out with Spooky, but she was my mum and even though we'd snapped at each other and she'd asked stupid questions, I loved her.

‘I think it's silly marrying someone you've divorced,' I told her after the movie ended with the couple in church again getting married with their old bridesmaids and best man.

‘It's a bit repetitive. But I suppose if you've both learnt something from the experience ... Anyway, it's just a movie. I don't think that happens much in real life. I mean, why bother?'

‘Would you marry Dad again?' I asked her when she came into kiss me goodnight.

‘Good heavens, no!' she said briskly, pulling the sheet right up to my chin, ‘As if I could do that! We spent today looking for a garden-party skirt for my next wedding.'

‘That doesn't sound right,' I said sleepily, ‘it sounds as though you're going to get married over and over and over again like a celebrity.'

‘I'm not! It's hard enough to find the right outfit once. Twice is pushing it and I wouldn't have a hope in hell the third time.' I opened my eyes but she was grinning. ‘Of course it's not about what you wear, Magenta. It's about love. I want to look good too, though. I want to be a beautiful bride. Do you think those roses were too plump?'

‘You could always go on a diet,' I said, ‘just for the
wedding. Then the plump roses wouldn't matter because they'd be covering a skinnier you.'

‘I could,' she sighed. ‘No more pancakes. No more Japanese omelette. No more mayo. No more choc-tops at the movies. No more popcorn while we watch DVDs. I could go on a diet.'

‘It would be a limited lifespan diet,' I said, ‘and therefore easier to manage. Plus you can still eat popcorn, just not the buttery sort.'

‘Maybe I could get a vertically striped garden-party skirt. Vertical stripes are thin by their very nature.'

‘Not flowery, though.'

‘Flowery might be overrated. Perhaps we should have more of a geometric garden party, You know, with checkerboard-iced cupcakes and rather severe leafy arrangements.'

‘Sounds ... unusual.'

‘Unusual good or bad?'

‘Mum, stick with the flowers, please? I don't think Trib's going to take any radical changes that well. He liked the garden-party idea. You were going to get a hat. You'll find the perfect skirt.'

‘Maybe. Maybe not.'

She sounded so dejected that I gave her an extra hug. Really, being a daughter could be exhausting sometimes. Still, it did give me a good idea for the next bit of the Chronicles. A much-needed good idea.

Holly woke up with a start. Was that Eclipse coming back? How would the cat get hold of a key, though, the young witch wondered sleepily.

‘Psst, are you awake?'

‘Yessss, more or less,' Holly said, blinded by the light, ‘who is it?'

‘It's Lady Burgundy,' the light-bearer answered. ‘I just want to know some things.'

Holly smoothed down her tunic and sat straighter against the cold, damp stones.

‘Why do you think I should tell you?' she demanded, all sleepiness gone.

‘Because it might be worth your while,' the silky voice answered softly.

‘Might?'

‘Might,' the voice was crisp now, ‘I can't make any promises.'

‘What do you want to know?'

‘Where did you see my ... um ... my first husband?'

‘In my scrying bowl,' Holly answered.

‘Not the bowl, you stupid little thing! Where was he? In what country? What land? Was he with anyone or was he alone?'

‘I don't know where it was,' Holly answered haughtily, ‘the bowl didn't mention a location.'

‘With anyone? A woman?' Lady Burgundy leant against the opposite wall, still holding the lamp where it shone directly into Holly's eyes. She was pretending to be casual, Holly was sure. She wasn't the kind of lady to go tramping down dungeons in the middle of the night unless there was something she really wanted to know.

‘There were people with him,' Holly said cautiously.

‘Men? Women?'

‘A mixture,' the apprentice witch said, ‘I think.'

‘You think? Don't you know?' the voice was no longer silky. It was razor sharp.

‘I was more focused on Lord Burgundy, if you please. After all, he was the one supposed to be dead, your Ladyship.'

‘Still, if you think back, you'll remember?' The voice became coaxing again.

Holly thought. She could remember Lord Burgundy leaning on some kind of statue thing and a group of people pressing around him. Someone stood close to him, but man or woman? She squinted against the light. Long hair, she remembered, long dark hair and some silver flashing at a slender throat.

‘A woman,' she said slowly. ‘Standing next to him.'

‘Young or old?'

‘Young enough to have hair as brown as dead leaves.'

‘You mean no grey?' Even in the dark, Lady Burgundy put her hand up to her own hair. She used an expensive dye from bark and berries found in the woods. It gave her hair a reddish tinge that was often admired and that looked quite natural.