Aliens In The Family (2 page)

"It stung me and then it felt as if it weighed a little heavier," replied Sebastian. He was proud of his greenstone earring which was a rare present. Wearing it, he was a part of the life of his chosen village or
pa,
and belonged with his friends and his wife, whom he loved. All the same, he understood the changes taking place on the peninsular in a way that Hakiaha did not. Sebastian understood fences. At that moment the stone tugged him again and he felt a slight pause in things, as though the world had suddenly become unreal for a moment. Even the stone felt insubstantial—temporary—as if it might melt like ice and run in green tears down his neck and vanish.

"E hoa Wehipa!"
said Koro, his other friend. "It's only a little ghost. Everyone knows that there's a ghost in that
tautau,
but we didn't think it would hurt a
pakeha.
They don't see ghosts."

The burning and tugging faded, but his ear began itching. "The ghost might be calling your name," suggested Hakiaha, as they resumed their journey. And for a while, Sebastian was able to forget the stone and the ghost which had taken him by the ear trying to turn him in a certain direction or to warn him of something.

"Dora! They'll be here soon!" Dora's mother, Philippa, banged impatiently on the bathroom door. "What on earth are you doing in there? Anyone would think you were hiding from Jacqueline instead of being pleased that she's finally coming to see us."

Dora's younger brother, Lewis, lay on the floor with felt pens scattered all about him, drawing a wonderful, soaring eagle. Its wings spread from one side of the page to the other. He looked up at his mother curiously.

"Are we
really
pleased to see Jacqueline, or just pretending?" he asked. "There's no room for her really, is there?" He knew they had managed to buy their new house cheaply because it was so small. ("A two-bedroomed house," the real estate agent had said, "but the sunporch can be used as an extra bedroom.") Lewis slept in the sunporch.

"Dora's room is a double one," said Philippa quickly, but she was troubled too. "We'll add on to the house next year," she continued, rather more as if she was reassuring herself than justifying anything to Lewis, "but we can't wait a year before we meet Jacqueline, can we?"

Lewis sighed and went back to drawing his eagle. Sometimes he thought he might actually draw himself right into one of his eagles and fly off into a sky on the other side of the paper. He had the feeling that all was not going to be as they expected, and he was sick of surprises because his life had held so many in the last few years. The first surprise had been when his own father suddenly vanished from home, then came back not as a father but as a visitor. He had been surprised again twelve months later when David had started calling on them, bringing presents and flowers. He had been astonished when his mother married again, astounded by the trip to Australia (which followed immediately because David was transferred to his firm's Sydney office for a term) and now, a year later, he was amazed to find himself living in a house where everything was new—nothing scratched, nothing dented, curtains, carpet and kitchen all clean and bright. He sometimes felt as if he and his family were not real, that they were living a television commercial instead of true life. What with so many surprises coming so quickly after one another, all Lewis wanted to do now was to work out how to grow unsurprised again. The arrival of a new sister to share such a small space would be no help at all.

"Are we really and truly glad she's coming?" he asked again.

"Of course we're glad!" Philippa stated indignantly. "David's longing to see his little girl again."

"Not little! She's twelve!" complained the eight-year-old Lewis, for now there would be two of them... not only another sister, but another
older
sister to tell him what to do and what not to do.

"Gosh, I know how I'd feel if I had to spend a year without seeing you," Philippa cried. She fell onto her knees beside her son and tickled him so that his hand jumped a little while he drew his eagle's eye, making it look very cheerful when he had meant to make it look fierce. Suddenly it all became too much for Lewis.

"Don't! Don't! Stop it!" he screamed, rolling, laughing and kicking wildly, but when his mother stopped tickling he looked at her solemnly.
"You
wouldn't let anyone else have us, would you?" he demanded, sounding confident but feeling a little worried too, as he thought she just might.

"Jacqueline has been with her mother," Philippa said rather sharply as if Lewis had criticized David for letting his daughter go. "That isn't just anyone, now is it?"

"Mothers always keep the children—they're the lucky ones," said Lewis, rolling back onto his stomach and resuming work on his eagle.

On David's chest of drawers in the master bedroom stood a photograph of a round-faced girl with long, brown hair and blue eyes looking shyly at the camera—mysterious Jacqueline, the missing piece of the jigsaw puzzle family. Once a week her letters arrived with messages written all over them. D. RAVEN ONLY! DEADLY SECRET or WATCH OUT FOR SPIDERS! THIS LETTER HAS A POISONOUS STAMP! Once she drew a skull and crossbones as if her letter was a pirate flag. Once she drew a dagger dripping with blood. It certainly made collecting the mail seem very adventurous, and when the letters were propped up against the clock waiting for David to come home and read them, they looked out of place but exciting and dangerous in the brand new, crisp, clean house.

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, with a chair pushed under the door handle to jam it closed, Dora was trying out smiles in the mirror, practising to be beautiful. She had practised and practised for a year, but so far nothing much had happened. Of course, once her braces were taken off her teeth she knew she would have a fascinating smile. In the meantime she had decided to concentrate on getting her hair right. Hidden away in the drawers of her dressing table were numerous bottles of hair dye. Though she had never dared to use it, Dora enjoyed reading the labels and imagining herself as 'Golden Glow' or 'Kiss of Fire'. But for now she had fair, bubbly curls—not bad, except for being a bit straggly around the bottom.

"I look as if I'm coming unravelled," she had complained at breakfast.

"I like you the way you are," said Philippa, "and so does David."

Of course Dora knew parents had to say things like that, yet she felt certain that at any moment now, a door would open somewhere, almost accidentally, and some wonderful person would be on the other side looking for a girl just like her. She tried to be prepared for this meeting at all times. Walking down the street she would study the people coming towards her, wondering
Is this the one? Will this boy look at me and love me forever? Will this woman see me and stop in her tracks, crying "That's the very face for my new movie!"
or "...
to advertise our wonderful hair shampoo!"
So working away in the bathroom, Dora smiled energetically and hastily tried on various clothes, determined to look her very best, wanting Jacqueline to like her, but not to feel better than her, nor to be any prettier.

At first she scarcely heard the rich, purring sound out in the driveway as David's car—the family's 'best' car—returned from its trip to the airport. Then she suddenly grew still with a smile of greeting fixed on her face as if it had been sprayed on. It was too late to do anything more. Anyhow she was as good as she possibly could be.

"Oh gosh, I'm nervous," said Philippa. "Should I run out and... no, I'll wait here and look easy-going. Get up on your feet, Lewis."

"What about Dora?" Lewis whined. "She won't come out of the bathroom."

"Wrong, wrong, wrong, Mr Smarty! Here I am!" cried Dora as she launched herself into the living room. You had to be careful how you looked at Dora, Lewis always thought, because if you looked at her in the wrong way she would sometimes burst into tears and slam doors. Still, it was hard to be sure of having the right expression on one's face when she came at you without warning, as she did now, wearing black jeans and a tight black jersey with sparkling bits all over it. Somehow this accentuated the glittering braces on her teeth which was a little unfortunate. The neckline plunged low on her chest but there was nothing much to stop it. A smooth teardrop of greenstone hung at the base of her neck on a silver chain. Although she was not wearing lipstick, knowing full well that Philippa would send her back to wipe it off again, Dora had certainly darkened her eyebrows and made her eyelids and lips shiny with a touch of Vaseline.

"You look very nice, Dora," said Philippa diplomatically, not daring to criticize in case she started a scene. It wouldn't look good with Jacqueline about to walk through the door. "Don't you think your blue shirt would've looked better though? A jersey looks so hot on an afternoon like this." They heard footsteps on the concrete path leading up from the garage.

"It's got a low neck," Dora babbled nervously, stroking the front with a loving hand, making the mother-of-pearl sequins ripple and shine. "Isn't it good value? I got it at the charity shop with my Christmas money. It was really cheap because it was such a small size. I'm very petite."

The front door opened and David came in first, carrying a small, faded pack. He was a short, quick man with teasing sad eyes like a clever monkey, but at that moment he looked incredulous and alarmed. He was followed by a tall, lanky creature wearing old blue jeans, a fringed suede jacket and a cowboy hat. Bright, stern eyes barely showed beneath the wide brim. David's Jacqueline came into the room like the Lone Ranger bursting in on a shifty group of cattle rustlers.

"Well, folks, here she is at last," exclaimed David. "My little Jacqueline." He glanced quickly at Philippa who bounded anxiously forward.

"Jacqueline—it's lovely to meet you at last." She hesitated then went to hug the cowboy. The cowboy held out a scratched brown hand with such a firm movement that Philippa had to change her mind and shake hands instead.

"Jackie, darling!" said David. "Don't be such a silly girl," and setting a good example he enveloped her in a big hug which she received stiffly.

"Call me Jake," she said to her father. "I told you in the car—that's what I'm called now. Jake."

To Dora, Jake appeared as foreign as if she really was a cowboy or something even stranger. She looked like an alien in the new house—a fierce Jake from outer space, there in the family sitting room.

Thus Dora realized that she had offered to share her bedroom with a creature of another species. It was not a nice thought. She had looked forward to sharing with long-haired Jacqueline because she hadn't made any close friends at school yet, and she loved friends. She had chosen to believe the shy photograph rather than the envelopes dripping with bloody ink, and had imagined she might take Jacqueline under her wing and teach her to do her hair in some pretty way—perhaps the sort of braid that the girls at school called a french plait. You could share a bedroom with someone who would enjoy learning to do their hair in a new way. But the Lone Ranger—even without a horse—was another matter altogether.

Meanwhile, Lewis was thinking things had turned out better than he would have believed they could. He studied Jake from a distance with new interest, trying to work out what the cowboy hat might really indicate.

"It's wonderful to have you here with us," David said, holding Jake's hand for a moment. It lay in his large hand like some small wild creature pretending to be dead so it would be set free again. David looked at her with uncertainty. "We're almost settled in now. As you can see, the house is a bit like a caravan—very tiny."

"We got it cheaply because it was so small," Philippa explained nervously, and added, as she always added, "We'll build on it in a year or two. How about something to eat? Did you have anything on the plane? Once you've had a cup of tea and some cake a place always seems more like home."

Jake nodded but said nothing. It was hard to judge her expression in the shadow of her hat.

"So let's have a good look at you." David reached out and firmly removed the cowboy hat from her head. Lewis held his breath, thinking Jake might whip out a six-shooter and force David to give it back. Jake did no such thing however, and Lewis saw clearly that she was just as helpless as he was, even if she was much taller. Dora stared in dismay. Jake's hair was cut as short as Lewis's. It was mousey brown and looked as if it had actually been nibbled off by mice while its owner slept.

Nits!
thought Dora.
She must have had nits!
She almost melted away in horror. She then thought of the wall behind her bed in the room Jake was to share, pinned all over with pictures of Brooke Shields and other young beauties. Dora half-imagined these pictures would work on her like good spells while she was asleep so that when she awoke she would have grown to look a little more like them, but she saw at once that such pictures might actually seem insulting to someone with nibbled hair. And then she wondered miserably how you could tell immediately that someone was a declared enemy without them even saying a word. The long haired, shy Jacqueline in the photograph could have been a friend. But this Jake could be nothing but a foe.

Dora shifted her gaze from Jake to her pack. It was very small and very battered. It was unexpectedly pathetic. There was nothing sinister about it, but nothing nice either. No-one had lovingly packed it; no-one had gone to the trouble of ironing clothes for her to take away, or had worried about what a new, strange family might think of the way she dressed. Dora could tell all that from just the outside of the pack.

"Is this all you have?" an astounded Philippa asked.

"I don't need much," replied Jake calmly. "Did you think I'd have a lot?" she said with a sudden smile. "I've got—you know—la la la..." She made a wavy gesture with her hand.

"And what does 'la la la' stand for, may I ask?" said David a little grimly.

"Right now it stands for clean pants, a toothbrush, a spare pair of jeans, a pair of sandals, and a book of horror stories." Jake shrugged. "It generally stands for lists of things not worth telling about."