Magic or Madness

by Justine Larbalestier

  I lifted the raincoat from the hook on the back of the door. No key hung behind it. The coat was heavy and damp. Weird. It hadn’t rained. I touched the lining. It felt like fur. But it was January, the middle of summer. Why on earth would a winter coat be hanging there? It was 7:30 AM and already boiling.

  I searched through the pockets, finding no key but plenty of coins. I dug them out, hoping for lots of two-dollar ones. But they were wrong: not heavy enough, too thin. None of them had the queen on them. United States of America, they said. Useless.

  I looked in the large fruit bowl, but it held only fruit: sugar bananas, a big juicy-looking mango, and some weird kinds of fruit I’d never seen before, including three that were red and hairy.

  I loved mango. I looked at it longingly. Surely Esmeralda couldn’t tamper with a mango? But Sarafina had warned me not to touch any of Esmeralda’s food. Best not to risk it.

  Why would anyone lock the door but leave the windows open? Was Esmeralda hoping for stupid thieves or ones who were too short to climb in?

  I climbed onto the counter, unlatched the window over the sink, and pushed it as wide as it would go. I sat on the sill, surveying the yard.

  I remembered the infinity key; maybe it unlocked the back door. It was the right size. Didn’t matter, though, more fun getting into the yard this way—quieter too. Trees and bushes were crowded thick along the fence; the neighbours couldn’t possibly see me. Perfect.

  7

  Treetop

  Tom watched as the girl dropped softly to the balcony and looked around. If she was a thief, whatever she’d taken was small enough to fit in her pockets. Not that she had many pockets. She wore only a T-shirt and shorts. Her feet were bare.

  Moving about the backyard slowly, peering at everything, she wasn’t acting like a thief. Was she looking for gaps in the fence? Or did she think there might be buried treasure in Mere’s backyard? Tom would’ve thought a thief would be in way more of a hurry.

  He couldn’t see perfectly from up in Filomena—too many branches and leaves. The girl kept popping in and out of sight. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself by moving about too much. If she’d stolen something from Mere, he would stop her.

  Then he lost sight of the girl altogether. He was sure she hadn’t climbed the fence—he’d have heard. And Mere’s garage door was the noisiest in Newtown. He closed his eyes, listening, feeling for her, seeing the world around him through his eyelids, divided into its integral shapes: triangles, diamonds, circles, rectangles, and squares. She was so quiet.

  Ah, Tom almost said out loud. Climbing up toward me.

  He climbed down several branches, shifting as quick and quiet as a lizard to the top of the fence between Mere’s and his father’s place, arranging the bottlebrush so the girl wouldn’t be able to see him, but he could still see her.

  The top of the fence was far more precarious than the solid, wide branches of the tree. He couldn’t lean on the bottlebrush for support. Too noisy. He had to keep perfectly still, both his hands clinging to the narrow fence.

  Though he knew he shouldn’t, Tom closed his eyes again, feeling for her—following her angular but graceful lines as she eased herself up the tree trunk. Filomena wasn’t an easy climb. Well, once you were up into the branches, it was dead easy. Getting up was the tricky part. The trunk was huge; even the lowest branches were far from the ground. The girl hadn’t looked very tall.

  She’d been smart enough not to try the thick hanging roots that temptingly resembled rope but would rip straight from the tree and cover you in bark, twigs, leaves, figs, dead bugs, and, if you were really unlucky, bat shit if you tried to use them. Tom felt the friction of her fingertips and feet against the old bark, like a grasshopper walking on hessian. She found her way with toes and fingertips, using the strength of her legs and back to propel her upward. The girl’s eyes were closed, Tom realised, the hair standing up on the back of his neck.

  She’s done this before: not a normal thief. Was she like him?

  He opened his eyes. She was getting closer. He heard her T-shirt catching on one of the smaller branches.

  He saw her hands first, then her head and shoulders. She’s gorgeous, was Tom’s first thought. She looks just like Mere, was his second. She’s not white, his third.

  If she looked like Mere and climbed like that, then Tom was certain she was like Mere in other ways too, which meant she was just like him. Why had Mere never told him she had relatives? He’d thought he knew all Mere’s secrets.

  The girl sat with her back against the trunk, facing him, wiped her hands on her shorts, then her sleeve against her face. She was sweating and grinning widely, dead pleased with herself. Tom found himself grinning too.

  She stood carefully, avoiding the branches above. She stepped from one branch to the next, ducking to avoid being smacked in the face, until she reached the thick branch that stretched out over the back lane. Once she was over the back fence, she peered down.

  “Hello,” Tom said. He tried to sound as friendly as possible, worried she might jump down and run away.

  The girl started, almost lost her footing. “Bugger.”

  She grabbed a branch above her head to steady herself and looked down.

  “Hello,” Tom said again, a little louder this time. “Over here.”

  The girl turned. The expression on her face was a mixture of surprise and annoyance, as if she’d been caught, yet she didn’t run.

  “Hi,” Tom said. He pushed aside some of the bottlebrush so she could see him.

  “Oh, hi,” the girl said. She moved closer.

  “I saw you climbing out Mere’s window. I was wondering what you were doing.”

  “Bugger,” she said again. “How? How’d you see me?”

  “I was up here. In this tree, I mean.” Tom blushed, having no idea why. If anyone should be blushing, it should be her. “Mere lets me climb it.”

  The girl paused. “You mean Esmeralda?”

  “Oh, yeah. I always forget that’s her full name. No one ever calls her anything but Mere. Are you two relatives? You look just like her. I mean, except that you’re dark.” He blushed again. “Not that that’s a bad thing or anything.” Shut your mouth, Tom.

  “Esmeralda’s my grandmother.”

  “No,” Tom said with total disbelief. Of course she was related to Mere, so Mere must have kept things from him. Not just that she had a child but a granddaughter too. “Bull. No way. That’s impossible.”

  The girl said nothing, looking at him as if he were from some faraway planet.

  “Your grandmother.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Wow.” Tom realised that Mere had never told him how old she was. It shook him. What else didn’t he know about her? If she was a grandmother, then she was much older than he’d thought and how was that possible?

  “Don’t you have a grandmother?” the girl asked.

  “Huh? Yeah, of course. I’ve got two of them. But they’re really old and they don’t wear gorgeous clothes and they’re not beautiful.”

  “Esmeralda’s old. She’s forty-five.”

  Tom didn’t quite believe her. He’d thought Mere was maybe thirty. Tops. If she was that old already . . . Tom shook his head, not wanting to think about how long Mere had left. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t told him. “Anyway, that’s not grandmother old. My mum’s forty-two.”

  The girl shrugged as though it were perfectly normal to her, which he guessed it would be. He wondered why Mere hadn’t told him about her granddaughter. Or the child who was this girl’s mother or father. Did she have other children? Other grandchildren? Was the girl going to be studying with Mere too?

  “Can I join you?” he asked, even though he didn’t need her permission. He was allowed to climb Filomena whenever he wanted.

  “Sure,” she said, and then looked uncertain, like maybe it was a bad idea. Too late. Tom was already standing on the same branch as her.

  He grinned and she grinned in return
. She was even prettier up close, with shortish wavy light brown hair and dark brown eyes that had gold and reddish flecks in them. Her eyelashes were black and about a metre long. Tom tried to think of something to say to her, but he was lost imagining what she’d look like in a Schiaparelli ball gown. Emerald green. Mustn’t stare, he reminded himself, though she was staring back at him.

  “I’m Tom,” he said at last, extending his hand.

  “Reason,” she said as they shook hands. It made the branch under them shake, and they both wobbled. They giggled and sat down, scooting closer to the trunk of the tree.

  “Your name is Reason?” asked Tom. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.

  “Uh-huh. People call me Ree.”

  “Weird name.”

  “Yeah. My mother’s mad.”

  “Yeah? Mine too.”

  “No,” said Reason. “I mean really mad.”

  “Yeah,” said Tom. “Mine too. She kept trying to kill herself. Then one time when I was little, she tried to kill me and Cathy too. So she’s in Kalder Park now.”

  “Wow. My mother’s in Kalder Park! Sarafina tried to kill herself too.” The girl seemed amazed by the coincidence, which struck Tom as weird. If she was Mere’s granddaughter, she should know it wasn’t a coincidence.

  “Mum would never take her meds,” said Tom. “She thinks they put devils in her head.”

  The girl nodded, then said softly, “I miss her.”

  “Yeah,” said Tom. “Me too.”

  They sat quietly for a while. When the silence started to make Tom uncomfortable, he asked, “How come you call your mum by her first name?”

  “Huh?”

  “You called her ‘Sarafina,’ not ‘mum.’”

  “She doesn’t like it, I guess.” Reason shrugged. “I’ve always called her Sarafina.”

  “Weird.”

  The girl just shrugged again. Clearly, she didn’t think so.

  “Are you going to be living with Mere now?”

  She hesitated, then said, “Uh-huh.”

  “Cool. Great house, eh?”

  “Yeah. It’s huge.”

  “Biggest one in Newtown. I mean, take a look at my backyard.”

  They shifted out along the branch until it started to bow under their weight. Tom’s backyard was less than a quarter the size of Mere’s. He wondered if Reason knew that Mere owned it too, as well as the house on the other side of hers.

  “Are you from Sydney?” he asked, though he didn’t think so. Her accent sounded more bush than city.

  “Nah. I’m from . . . well, we moved around a lot. Never stayed anywhere very long. We were in a settlement not far from Coonabarabran for five months. That was the longest.”

  “The bush. Huh. You been in a city before?”

  “Been to Dubbo. And here once before. There was a big custody case when I was little, but we weren’t here long.”

  “Do you like Sydney?” Tom asked, though he couldn’t imagine anyone not liking it. Especially compared to Dubbo.

  “Well,” said Reason, “it seems really big. Crowded. The houses are so close together. Really narrow streets.”

  Tom waved her words away. “But what do you think of the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge and the Tannie Gardens?”

  “The what Gardens?”

  “Botanical Gardens.”

  “Haven’t seen them.”

  “You’re kidding? Well, we gotta climb higher,” he said, shifting closer to the trunk. “You can see the bridge from the top.” He pulled himself up to the next branch. “Ugh.” Tom flicked it away and wiped his hand on his shorts. “Bat shit. Be careful.”

  “Flying foxes!” Reason said, sounding excited. “I thought I recognised that smell.”

  The view from the top of Filomena was spectacular. They were a long way up. Higher than the top of Mere’s house. Up here the wind moved the tree and they had to stay close and hold on. Tom assured Reason it was safe.

  Several times he accidentally touched her arm. Reason’s hair blew into his eyes. He wished the flying fox smell wasn’t so intense. He wondered what her hair smelled like.

  He pointed out the city skyline, showed her the tops of the Harbour and Anzac bridges. It was a perfect day. The sunlight glittered on the harbour and the tall glass buildings. It was amazing. Tom could tell she was impressed.

  They turned around slowly, admiring the view that stretched forever in all directions. Tom pointed out all the parkland, all the trees.

  “Huh,” Reason said. “I thought cities were all concrete and glass, not parks and flying foxes.”

  “Haven’t you seen the bats at night? Or at least heard them squeaking?”

  “I haven’t been here very long.”

  “When’d you get here?”

  “Last night. Afternoon, I mean.”

  “This a surprise visit? Did Mere know you were coming? Can’t believe she didn’t tell me. It’s going to be cool having you around,” he said, barely taking a breath. “Right now the neighbourhood’s mostly littlies or uni students. Most of my friends live ages away.”

  Reason smiled. Tom hoped it was because she liked the idea of hanging out with him.

  “Do you go visit her?” she asked.

  “Visit who?”

  “Your mum. In Kalder Park.”

  “Yeah,” said Tom, his voice a bit quieter. “Not as often as I should. I don’t like it. She’s all . . . you know.”

  Reason nodded as though she knew exactly what he meant. “Is it far from here? Could we walk?”

  “It’s not that far. But easier to get Mere to drive you or take the bus.”

  “Have you got a map? Could you show me?”

  “Sure. We could go together if you want. Might be better to have someone to talk to afterwards. Dad never really wants to talk about it. Visiting mum’s about the only thing that shuts him up.” Tom shook his head. “Hey, where’s your dad?”

  “Don’t have one.”

  “Did he bugger off?”

  “Nah. Mum got pregnant, but she never found the bloke to tell him. So I’ve got no dad. She says they only slept together the one time. Wasn’t like she really knew him or anything, so why track him down and tell him? She couldn’t see the point.”

  “I guess,” said Tom. He couldn’t really imagine it. “Was he an Aborigine?”

  Reason laughed. “What do you reckon?”

  Tom blushed again. He could be such an idiot. “Should we go find you a map? My dad’s got a mini Gregory’s.”

  The route to Tom’s place didn’t involve them stepping foot on the ground once. He pointed this out to Reason, who nodded as if to say, Well, of course, and Tom instantly felt like a total dag.

  From the fig tree, they crept along the top of the fence between Mere’s and Tom’s. They had to push their way through bushes and trees. Reason giggled and Tom lost the dag feeling.

  “You can go for blocks and blocks using only trees, fences, and roofs. I can show you if you want.”

  “That’d be great,” Reason said with what sounded to Tom like genuine enthusiasm.

  From the fence they swung up onto Tom’s balcony. He was suddenly aware of how small his house was compared to Mere’s. His room must seem tiny to Reason. He watched her staring at the samples, fabrics, and sketches strewn about his room. It must look really messy. To Tom it was his workroom. As far as he was concerned, everything was where it was supposed to be. Every random-looking piece of cloth had found its place in the chaos, a spot where its texture and color balanced all the others. He could find any of them with his eyes shut.

  “You have a sewing machine?”

  “Yup,” said Tom, grinning. “I can make any kind of clothing you can name.”

  He pointed to one of the drawings pinned to his notice board. “See that?” Tom was proud of his sketches. He looked at it, admiring the way he’d caught the flow of the fabric. The ruching on the sleeves was more complicated than he’d’ve liked, but you had to please the client. At le
ast he’d managed to talk Jessica out of the bow on the back. He grinned to himself. He’d told her it’d make her arse look fat.

  Reason peered at Tom’s work of art. She didn’t seem very impressed.

  “Check this out, then.” Tom went to his wardrobe and pulled out the dress. This would impress her. It was the same one as the drawing, though the colours differed. Jessica had said scarlet and then gone and picked a silk that was more maroon. Very annoying.

  “Designed it. Made it,” he announced.

  “And you wear it?” Reason laughed.

  “Nah,” said Tom. “Jessica Chan gave me a hundred bucks to make it. She paid for all the material and stuff too. Final fitting’s today.”

  “A hundred bucks?” asked Reason with an odd expression on her face. Tom winced. He should’ve realised a hundred dollars wouldn’t seem much to her.

  “When I finish high school, I’m going to study fashion and then I’m going to become a world-famous designer and make clothes for movie stars. I’ll get a lot more than a hundred dollars a dress then.” Now I sound like a total wanker, he thought.

  “Can you make normal clothes?”

  “Like what?”

  “You know, like jeans or shorts or T-shirts. Normal stuff.”

  “Sure. But why would I? Do you want me to make you something?”

  “Could you make me pants with lots of pockets? All the way down both sides. Really big pockets, you know? Like army pants. Not for decoration.”

  “Sure,” Tom said. “I can make anything.” He didn’t care that it sounded boastful. It was true.

  Reason’s stomach rumbled very loudly. They both laughed. “Are you hungry?”

  Tom led them downstairs to the kitchen, conscious with every step of how crap his house was compared to Mere’s. There were only two rooms and a bathroom upstairs. Downstairs there was a lounge room, a kitchen, a tiny laundry, and a toilet. He felt stupid worrying about it, especially as Mere owned this house too.

  Tom poured them glasses of orange juice and made cheese-and-tomato sandwiches. They took their sandwiches and juice up to his room, Tom with the Gregory’s under his arm. They pushed fabric aside and sat on the floor. Reason wriggled a bit as if she was uncomfortable.