Magenta McPhee (12 page)

Spooky went in and came out with shreds of alfoil in her hands. ‘The stollen,' she said. ‘All gone. Nothing left. All that work. At least my face scrub's intact. It has ground almonds in it and honey. Just like the stollen really.'

‘Never mind,' Dad said and he actually put his arm
a little around her shoulders. ‘Think of it this way, that wombat's had the kind of artery-hardening treat wombats almost never get.'

‘You're right, there's quite a lot of butter in a stollen. I suppose we are better off without it. It does seem a shame, though. Don't look so downcast, Cal – you know I always make two. The other one's at home.'

‘What is stollen?' I asked.

‘This fabulous cake Mum makes. She makes it for the café, too. It's really good. Marzipan and stuff.'

‘It's really a Christmas thing,' Spooky said.

‘It will make that wombat's Christmas for the next twenty years. Speaking of food,' Dad rubbed his belly, ‘do you need some help with dinner?'

‘What a good idea. You said there were barbecues?'

We all trooped down to the closest barbecue, Cal and me carrying plates and mugs, while Dad took the esky and Spooky carried two chairs.

‘So what kind of sausages did you get?' I asked Spooky. I couldn't wait to find out. I knew they'd be some exotic thing that Dad would never buy in a million years.

‘Sausages?'

‘For dinner. Here, this one's free.'

Spooky looked at the barbecue and her face scrunched up. ‘We can't use this,' she said. ‘It's filthy. It's greasy. Someone's been cooking sausages here. Or chops or something.'

‘That's what
we're
going to do,' I said, ‘so it's fine. We're camping, Spoo ... Lianna. That's what camping's about.'

Spooky looked at me. ‘I'm not cooking on sausage fat,' she said. ‘Cal and I are vegetarians.'

‘Vegetarians!' Dad and I said together.

‘You had chicken at our place,' I said.

‘I tried not to,' Spooky said. ‘I ate mostly salad. Although white meat isn't so bad.'

‘We always have sausages,' I said. ‘It's camp.'

‘We never have sausages,' Spooky said, ‘and since I've organised the food we're having tofu.'

‘Tofu?' Dad said as though it was a rude word.

‘That's right. Marinated tofu.'

‘It's delicious,' Cal said, ‘but Mum's right, we'll have to clean up this sausage fat first.'

‘With what exactly?' I asked. We weren't equipped to clean barbecues.

Spooky looked at my dad expectantly. ‘You seem to be the sausage expert,' she pointed out quietly but firmly.

So Dad and I laboured away, cleaning the barbecue with paper towels, an egg flip and some detergent.

‘We always have sausages,' I hissed at him. ‘Why didn't you organise the food?'

‘She offered, Magenta, don't get so het up. I'm sure tofu's fine. You can have sausages tomorrow night.'

‘I'm at Mum's tomorrow night. She never has sausages. Full of preservatives. We're going to starve.'

‘Don't be so silly, Magenta. We won't starve.'

‘Tofu is healthy.' I'd been so looking forward to sausages.

‘Magenta!'

‘Okay, okay.'

Finally the barbecue passed Spooky's inspection and she was ready to cook. She talked about everything before she cooked it.

‘This tofu, which is organic, has been marinated in satay sauce, perfect for barbecuing. With that we'll just fry up some mushrooms and capsicum. If you could just brush the tops of these mushrooms, please, Max. No need to peel them, just dust the top with a paper towel. That's right.'

It wasn't sausages, but it was pretty good. There was a salad with crunchy noodles in it which almost made up for it. I had two helpings of the satay tofu but Dad had three. Spooky smiled triumphantly.

‘Pity there's no dessert,' Cal said wistfully. ‘I used to think wombats were cute.'

We did have hot chocolates, though, with marshmallows in them. I wondered if Sandra, the librarian, would be as well prepared.

Of course Mum wanted to know all about the camping ‘date'. She laughed when I told her about the tofu and the wombat but didn't laugh when I told her about Sandra. Instead she said, ‘A librarian, eh?' and sighed a bit.

‘You don't mind?' I asked. ‘You can't, Mum. You and Trib are getting married!'

‘No. Why should I? I don't mind at all. I'd like your dad to be happy. Still, I didn't expect him to be interested in a librarian. That's practically like an English teacher.'

‘Not really, librarians don't teach. It's quite different. There's a lot of technology involved. That's probably what they've got in common.'

‘I doubt it,' Mum said. ‘Hasn't he given up technology?'

‘Well, yes. It could still be what they have in common. Couldn't it?'

‘I don't know and it's not actually any of my business. You're right. I guess I'm just curious who has caught his eye after all these years. I can't explain it, Magenta.'

I patted her arm, ‘It's okay. I'm curious, too.'

‘You've seen her though. Is she – you know – pretty?'

‘If she's the one I think she is, yes, she's kind of pretty. In a middle-aged kind of way.'

There was a pause and Mum turned away to stir the soup. She looked into the saucepan in an interested way and asked, ‘Slim? Or plump?'

‘Mum!'

‘Come on, Magenta. You can tell me.'

‘I don't even know if she's the right one.'

‘Plumper than me?'

‘I don't know.'

‘That means she isn't. I'm thinking of shouting myself a gym membership for a personal pre-wedding present.'

‘Mum, you look fine.'

‘Still, for the wedding. You were the one who suggested a diet, Magenta.'

‘Only because you went on and on about the plump roses. Have you found a skirt yet?'

‘No,' Mum said, ‘but I feel closer. I've found several nearly-there prospects. I thought we might go and have a look this weekend?'

‘Yeah, sure.' I tried to sound enthusiastic.

‘It won't take too long,' Mum said, ‘I've narrowed down the field for us and then I thought we could go to a bookshop. Just for a change of pace. There must
be a book you need? We'll go to the one with the coffee shop and those great little party cakes.'

Clearly her pre-wedding diet wasn't a priority at this stage. ‘Okay, that sounds great.' Mum in a bookshop was always good news. She had this idea that spending money on books wasn't really like spending real money. It was more of an investment in the future. I loved going bookshopping with Mum.

‘Talking of books, how are the Chronicles coming along?'

‘Slowly,' I said, ‘but steadily. I'd hoped to finish the first volume this year but I'm not sure that I'm going to get there. I can't write about kissing.'

‘Why?'

‘Mum! Because I haven't done it yet. Anyway, it's kind of embarrassing. What can you say about kissing?'

‘They kissed. What more do you want?' Mum said, ‘I mean, it's fantasy you're writing, not romance.'

‘They kissed is a bit sudden, isn't it?'

‘It depends on the context, doesn't it? He drew her gently into his arms and looked down at her heart-shaped face. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. They kissed. That doesn't sound sudden, does it?'

I was impressed. ‘Did you just think that up then?'

‘Well, it's hardly Shakespeare,' Mum said, ‘but you probably don't want the whole kissing thing to interrupt the main drama, do you?'

The main drama? ‘The main drama keeps changing,' I said. ‘I can't seem to make up my mind what happens.'

‘You could try doing a chapter outline,' Mum said, ‘like a kind of timetable? Just jot down your ideas for each chapter. Would that help?'

‘Like an essay outline?' This was beginning to sound like homework. That was one of the traps of having a teacher for a mother. Good things could quickly change into education – which was sometimes interesting, like sushi and Tokyo street fashion, and sometimes really boring, like pop music and the role of feminism. This outline stuff sounded as if it could quickly turn badly educational.

‘No, nothing like an essay outline,' Mum said, slicing bread. ‘Honestly, Magenta – you're trying to be a writer, not an A-grade student. It's a different thing entirely.'

The benefits of being an English teacher's daughter include access to an unlimited supply of glitter pens and huge pieces of butcher's paper. By bedtime I had a chapter outline written up on a big piece of paper I could pin to my wall.

The trouble was, as Trib pointed out when he poked his head in to say goodnight, that a good half of the chapter squares were empty.

‘It's a work in progress,' I told him.

‘Progress might be pushing it,' he said.

‘At least you know what's missing now,' Mum said,
giving Trib the kind of look she gave her students who'd overstepped some line.

I stuck my tongue out at Trib but I knew what he meant. The blank squares stared at me like blind eyes.

‘I don't want to put you off,' Trib said. ‘I'm in awe at what you
have
done, Magenta. I can't write a lousy five-page report without tearing out my hair. Don't get me wrong. You're amazing.'

‘Thanks, Trib.'

‘It does make you realise how much work goes into these books, doesn't it?' he continued. ‘I mean, at the very least you'll come out the other end with a deeper understanding of the whole process. That's got to be something.'

‘I'll have a trilogy when I come out the other end,' I said haughtily. ‘This is my life, Trib. This is who I am.' I waved at the outline blu-tacked on the wall. I sounded a great deal more confident than I felt. There were a lot of blank squares and this was only the first book.

‘I'm sure it will all come to you,' Mum said briskly. ‘The more life experience you have, the easier you'll find it.'

‘I don't really need life experience,' I said, ‘I need more plot, that's what I need. It's a fantasy, after all. I need drama and plot.'

‘Life experience will give that to you in spades,' Trib said laughing. ‘Just go clothes shopping with your mum!'

I liked the way Trib said ‘your mum' as though she was really special. He rested his hand on her shoulder then and when she smiled at him I knew she'd been telling the truth about just being curious about Sandra and Spooky. Even though I hadn't wanted Dad and Mum to ever split up, I knew she was happy with Trib. When they were like this it seemed their happiness spilled over onto everything, including me. They made me feel safe and cosy.

‘I'm shopping with her tomorrow,' I said. ‘But we're going to a bookshop afterwards.'

‘Glad it's your roster, not mine,' Trib said. ‘I keep telling her she'll look great in anything. Honestly, Tammy, you could wear a potato sack and I'd still say
I do
and mean it with all my heart.'

‘Trib, that's lovely of you, darling. I know the whole clothes thing is superficial but I still do want the nearly perfect outfit. I've given up on perfect. Nearly perfect will do.'

‘It's a girl thing,' I said sleepily. ‘We should rope Polly in to cast the nearly perfect spell.'

We didn't need Polly, though. After two hours and eighteen minutes we just ducked into a little shop that looked hopeless on the outside because the window was filled with old ladies' clothes. We hesitated at the threshold and a shop lady came and practically pounced on us, dragging us inside.

She asked Mum what she was looking for in this quite bossy tone. Mum's mouth tightened a little bit but she doesn't like being rude, so she explained.

The woman looked her up and down as though measuring her. ‘A garden party?' she repeated.

‘I think so. Yes, probably. Depending on weather. And the skirt, of course.'

‘I have just the thing,' the woman said. ‘It will be perfect.'

It was. It was a burgundy lace skirt that flounced at the sides. There were paler, pinker bits around the hem. Underneath the lace was a mesh skirt in the same burgundy and the mesh bit hung down lower in some places than the lace. It wasn't just nearly perfect. It was utterly perfect. Within five minutes the shop lady had bustled Mum into a silky shirt that went with it and that screamed garden party. Or rather, whispered it seductively.

‘It's heavenly,' Mum said. ‘I don't care how much it is. I'm just going to hand over my credit card and close my eyes.'

She had to open them to sign the bill, though, and she was so pleasantly surprised that she bought me three books, not just one, and we had chai tea and three party cakes between the two of us because it was really wedding research, rather than actual eating.

The first thing I did when I got back to Dad's was to look around for evidence of his date with Sandra. It wasn't hard to find. There on my bed was a book,
The Tough Guide to Fantasyland
by Diana Wynne Jones.

‘Sandra thought you might be interested in that.' Dad had followed me. ‘She said that although Diana Wynne Jones writes fantasy she has a similarly cynical attitude to some of the problems with the genre. She said she hopes it won't put you off and if you feel it might, to stop reading it immediately.'

‘That's a lot of instructions to come with a book,' I said.

Dad shrugged, ‘I'm just passing on the message.'

I looked at him. He looked less slouchy, somehow, better put together than he normally did. It wasn't just that he was wearing my favourite red-brown shirt, he'd also had a haircut, so there was less grey showing around his ears. More than all that, though, he looked happy.

‘So it went well?'

‘It did. There was a moment of awkwardness,' Dad
said, ‘because after the movie Sandra wanted coffee at Lianna's friend's café. That could have been dodgy.'

‘So what happened?'

‘I didn't know what to say,' Dad admitted. ‘I could hardly tell Sandra the whole story at that point.'

‘Dad! You didn't lie on your first date?'

‘No, of course not, Magenta. We went into the café. Sandra said they had the best selection of herbal teas, so I could hardly say no. Lianna was working in the kitchen but she came out when she saw us. It was very civilised, Magenta. It was ... what would you say? Cool. It was cool.'

‘Did you see Cal?'

‘No, of course not. It was past his bedtime but Lianna did say he'd wanted to send you an email but didn't have your email address. She didn't know his, either, but she did give me Cal's mobile number. I said you'd send him a text.'

‘Great!' It mightn't mean anything. Was he just being polite? Or did he really want to hear from me? A text wasn't as bad as having to make a phone call, though. I could probably manage a little text.

‘You kids got on well, didn't you?'

‘He was okay,' I said. ‘I liked him. You know, for a boy.'

‘Boys are just people.'

‘No, Dad, boys aren't people. They're, like, a separate species. So he was pretty good for an alien.'

I didn't hear much more about Dad's date. He just repeated that it had gone well and yes, he expected to see more of Sandra in the future. She had a son, too, but he was younger than Cal, younger than me. His name was Toby.

‘That's a dog's name,' I said. ‘Not a boy's name.'

‘Don't say that in front of Sandra! Or Toby, for that matter.'

‘Have you met him?'

‘No, of course not. It's early days yet, Magenta. Neither of us wants to rush things.'

‘Mum found the perfect skirt,' I said, without thinking.

‘Perfect for what?'

‘For, you know, getting married in?'

‘Oh. That's good.'

I thought I'd put my foot in it, but when I looked at Dad he was still smiling in the same odd, dreamy way he had been since I'd arrived home.

I rang Polly and passed on the Sandra-news. Annoyingly, she took credit.

‘It couldn't have been your spell,' I said. ‘How could a love spell you made for Dad and Lianna work for Dad and Sandra?'

‘I didn't want to tell you at the time of the camp,' Polly said, ‘but when I made it, my hand was resting on an old library book.'

‘So?'

‘It's clear, isn't it? Library book equals librarian equals Sandra. Do you think she'd let me off my overdue fine if I told her it was my spell? I seem to have had this book out for two and a half months.'

‘I doubt it,' I said. Polly the witch was getting on my nerves. ‘I think she'd just double it because you're clearly off your head.'

‘Thanks a lot,' Polly said, but she sounded less offended than I'd hoped. Then Dad called me to dinner so I was saved from any more of her spell disasters.

It wasn't until after dinner that Dad said casually, ‘I may have a job prospect, too.'

I gaped at Dad, putting my piece of pizza down. ‘A job?'

‘The first steps to one,' Dad said. ‘I'm going to do some IT consultancy for the Greens. It won't be well paid but it will get me a foot in the door. It's something I've been working on for a while. Connecting sustainability with decent technology. It's important for our future, Magenta. I had to live the life, not just walk the walk.'

‘So you'd be working for the Greens?'

Dad nodded. His smile stretched right across his face and his eyes were all lit up from behind as though they had candles burning in them.

‘Dad, that's fantastic! That's so cool.'

‘It is, isn't it? It's what I've been wanting for a long time now. It won't make us wealthy, Magenta, but I'll be
able to help your Mum out with some child support and there'll be a bit more money around.'

‘I think it's just great that you've got a job!' I said. ‘That's what matters, Dad.'

‘It took a while,' Dad said. ‘I was worried, I tell you. It was hard to keep faith for a while there.'

‘I'm really proud of you.' I got up and went around to his side of the table and gave him a kiss and a big hug. ‘I'm really proud of you.'

‘Thanks, baby. I'm proud of you, too.'

‘I haven't done anything.'

‘You tried to do something,' Dad said, raising his glass of water. ‘To us. To Magenta, matchmaker and fantasy writer, and to Max, optimistic IT consultant.'

‘Failed matchmaker,' I said. ‘Was Lianna okay?'

‘She seemed fine,' Dad said. ‘She made us eat a piece of stollen. She told Sandra about the wombat. She and Sandra got on fine. Did you know a guy owns that café?'

‘So?'

‘Just that I'd always assumed a woman did, from how Lianna talked.'

‘What was the stollen like?'

‘Really good, of course. Lianna is an excellent cook.'

‘Is Sandra?'

‘I don't know,' Dad admitted, ‘but that's not really important, is it?'

Sandra may or may not have been able to cook, but she certainly knew her books. Which you'd expect from a librarian. I browsed through the Diana Wynne Jones before dinner. I could see why the book came with that long message. It was weird. She had the kind of mind that reminded me of Polly. Like, for example, who would have thought to notice that no one in fantasy books wears socks? Come to that, socks aren't exactly a highlight of most other books I've read. Some of the stuff she talked about was quite funny, like how crystal balls play a soundless video of your future. I wasn't sure how it was going to help me write the Chronicles, although I was determined now to mention someone's socks. That way if Diana Wynne Jones ever updated her guide, she'd have to say, except in
The Chronicles of Forrdike Castle.

After dinner Dad told me to put my trainers on.

‘What?'

‘New routine,' he said. ‘An after-dinner run.'

‘A run?'

‘Yep. You wanted to train for the cross-country, didn't you?'

‘That was ages ago. I don't need to train again until next year.'

‘If you start now,' Dad said, lacing up a pair of new trainers, ‘you'll be at least eight months fitter than you would be if you only begin next year.'

‘I'm not sure that I want to be eight months fitter.'

‘Well, I do. You can be my motivational trainer. That will entail jogging alongside your poor old dad and shouting out words of encouragement. Come on, Magenta, you wanted me to get out more.'

‘Yeah, but I didn't want you to
run
out. Just walk – preferably to the movies or dinner. Not an evening jog. You might have a stroke.'

‘Then it's twice as important that you're with me. You've got the mobile.'

I knew he was joking, but there was still a certain amount of logic to his argument. I wasn't sure that Dad, who hadn't done a cross-country run in living memory, should be allowed out jogging by himself.

‘I guess I should do something,' I said, grabbing my trainers. ‘After all, writing is all sitting down. Unless you're getting life experience. Which clearly I can't get while I'm still at school. I'll come with you, but can we go down back streets where we're not likely to bump into anyone we know?'

‘Sure,' Dad said, ‘and not a huge distance our first time out. This will be fun, Magenta. We've been missing a bit of fun, haven't we?'

‘You may have,' I told him, ‘but I've been fine. Really.'

I met Sandra the next day at the library. I'd taken my chapter outline up to photocopy so I had one copy at Mum's and one at Dad's. I thanked her for the book, of course, and told her about the socks.

‘But really,' I said, ‘you wouldn't mention socks in a normal book, would you? Not unless they were special socks someone had given you or really cool knee-high ones. We just take socks for granted.'

‘That's true,' she said, ‘but maybe Diana Wynne Jones is being a bit cheeky.'

‘I'm going to mention socks in the Chronicles,' I told her. ‘I'm going to make sure I mention them a fair bit, really. I've already thought of one place where it would be natural to think of socks and that's with my witch, Holly, down in the dungeon. She could be regretting not wearing socks because it would be cold down there.'

‘I think that's a great idea,' Sandra said, ‘but maybe you don't want to talk about them too much. It might be a little odd.'

‘Just when it's relevant,' I said.

We talked for a little while about books while she was helping me with the photocopier. She smiled at Dad quite a lot but they didn't kiss or anything. I suppose you can't kiss at work. I didn't hear them call each other darling or anything like that, either, even though I was listening hard all the time. I must have missed something though, because when we got home Dad said that Sandra was coming around after the library closed and they were going for a walk.

I stayed at home. I didn't want to cramp Dad's romantic style. But also I wanted to get on with my sock
idea and the Chronicles. I also wanted to see if Mum was right and I could get Ricardo and Lady Rosa to kiss, just like that. Plus I needed to text Cal and I couldn't do that with anyone else around.

I did the socks first. The Chronicles were familiar. Texting Cal wasn't.

Holly must have drifted off to sleep despite the rat scuffles. When she woke up her feet were cold. She should have worn socks, she thought, rather than her best slip-on shoes. Thick, woolly socks would have made a considerable difference to her comfort at this point. She considered asking the guard if he could provide her with a pair the next time he came with food or water. Or perhaps she could give Lady Burgundy a little information in return for some? Her feet were really very very cold.

Hmmm. Well, I could understand why most fantasy writers left socks out – they were hardly the most interesting thing to write about. But I'd done it and I wasn't unhappy with the result.

Next I tried the kiss.

Ricardo bent his head over Lady Rosa's just as she was looking up to him.

‘The moon...' she said quickly, ‘it's very...'

‘As are you ... beautiful,' he said and for the briefest of moments their lips met in the lightest of kisses. Then there was a noise at the great doors and they drew quickly apart.

Kisses were certainly more interesting to write about than socks. How I got to that kiss was to imagine Cal kissing someone. Not me necessarily. Just some girl. I'd tried to do that with Richard, of course, but it just hadn't worked. Maybe because I'd always thought Richard's kisses would be more ... intense? Which I just couldn't imagine, let alone write about.

This kiss was just right. I was very pleased with myself. Suddenly the blank squares in the chapter plan didn't look so bad. They weren't vacant so much as waiting to be filled.

It was a good thing I'd stayed at home, because just as I was sitting on my bed trying to work out a text message that was both casual and friendly, my mobile rang.

It was Mum.

‘Listen, baby,' she said, ‘you know the wedding guest list?'

I didn't really, but I said yes anyway.

‘Trib and I are going through it now. Naturally people can bring guests and Richard, you know Richard?'

Of course I knew Richard. What a silly question.

‘Well, he's bringing his new girlfriend.'

‘His what?' Richard had a girlfriend? Since when?

‘Girlfriend,' Mum said very clearly. ‘He's been going out with this girl for a couple of months.'

A couple of months? How come I didn't know? I felt as though I might throw up.

‘So I was wondering, sweetie, if there was someone you'd like to invite? You know, Polly or someone?'

Richard was going out with someone! He was probably kissing her, intensely. They'd dance together at the wedding, if there was going to be dancing. He'd take her out on the parapet and kiss her intensely. In front of me. It was almost too much to bear thinking about.

‘What's she like?' I asked. ‘Have you met her? Is she ... beautiful?'

‘Only once,' Mum said. ‘She seemed okay. Quite pretty. Now back to you, who would you like to bring as a guest?'

I wondered about Cal. For a moment I thought of Cal and me walking hand in hand through the garden party. I thought of Cal leaning over to kiss me, a feather-kiss, the lightest of kisses. We'd dance next to Richard and his girlfriend and I wouldn't even look at Richard.

‘What's her name?'

‘Umm, hold on a sec. I've written it down somewhere. Here it is. Her name's Serena. Wasn't that the name of some witch on a television program?'