Ink and Ivy

by Sara Martin

  Whenever I had a free moment, I opened my notebook and escaped to my happy place—my creations; my stories. It gave me a sense of calm. Through the wall to Natalie’s office, I heard her yelling hysterically over the phone to someone.

  Why does Mum idolise her so much? As far as I was concerned, I would never want to end up like Natalie Turner. She was cold, mean and a workaholic. I envisaged a life for myself far different than this.

  This is not the life I want, I thought bitterly.

  I remembered Julian saying, “You should do what you love.”

  I still had the booklet for the Elias Institute safely tucked under my mattress, the application form enclosed within.

  You don’t need to do what your parents tell you. You can make your own decisions. Would it hurt just to apply and see what happens? Just thinking about the possibility of attending Elias instantly made me feel better. All my fear and worries slipped away. I would do it.

  On Thursday, Natalie told me I was dismissed and could go home and enjoy the rest of the holidays. I honestly wasn’t sure whether this was a reward for my hard work or a punishment for doing something wrong I wasn’t aware of. Natalie had barely said a word to me, except to order me to do something. Mum thought she must have decided I’d done enough. I was working for free after all. I left early on Thursday, catching the bus home while Mum continued at work.

  On Friday, Mum presented me with a typed recommendation signed by Natalie Turner. “This will practically confirm your place at law school.”

  I took the letter from her hand and read it through. Exceptional young lady… Hardworking… Conscientious…

  “Did Natalie really write this?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t matter, does it? It has her signature on it.”

  “Did you write this?”

  “Maybe. Who cares? This is all you need.”

  I sighed. I wondered whether Natalie had even bothered to read it. So many things must pass across her desk daily. Not that it mattered anyway. Words could not express my relief at being free from that dreary, soul-sucking place.

  In the safety of my room, I fished out the Elias prospectus from under my mattress.

  15

  As soon as I walked onto the school grounds, Lana came at me with her arms wide open.

  “I’ve missed you!” She drew me into a tight hug.

  “Me too.” I patted her on the back before gently peeling myself away. “What did you get up to over the holidays?”

  “I was working a lot at the hospital. So, I spent most of my holidays pushing wheelchairs, cleaning up messes and talking to old people.”

  I wondered how she did it. She was a saint.

  “My parents hired a tutor as well. When I wasn’t at the hospital, I was revising for exams.”

  “So, you didn’t have a break at all?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “God, Lana, that’s insane! How do you possibly manage?”

  She shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m used to it. Anyway, enough about me. How was Turner-Blomquist? I’m dying to know.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “Not good?”

  “Let’s just say that working at Turner-Blomquist has put me off studying law once and for all.”

  Lana’s eyes widened. “Wow. That’s a big deal, Ivy.”

  “I know.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to apply to the creative writing programme at the Elias Institute.”

  Lana yelped with joy. “That’s amazing! It will be perfect for you.”

  “Yeah. I want this so much.”

  “It’s good to know what you want.”

  “It feels like a huge relief.”

  “So…” Lana chewed her lip. “What do your parents think?”

  I frowned. “They don’t know yet.”

  “You’ll have to tell them at some point.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  The bell cut our conversation short.

  “Let’s talk more in English,” Lana said.

  We parted ways.

  During form class, Lana’s words circled my mind. “You’ll have to tell them at some point.”

  I became all hot and nervous just thinking about it. No scenario I imagined had a happy ending. My parents would hate me for this, and I could kiss the money they had saved for me goodbye.

  “Ivy, are you feeling okay?” Miss April asked, drawing the whole class’s attention to me.

  “I’m fine,” I croaked.

  “Your face is all red.”

  Even more heat spread across my face. “I’m just a little hot.”

  “Okay. If you don’t feel well, please visit the sick bay.”

  “I’m fine, really.” I sunk down in my seat, embarrassed.

  The cool air soothed my hot face when I left the classroom. My temperature came down, and I could think clearer. I walked across the courtyard to B block. Lana was already seated in English class.

  “So, when’s the application to Elias due?” she asked before my butt even hit the chair.

  “Early September. I need to check the exact date again.”

  “Will you bring it up with your parents before then?”

  I tensed up. “I’ll try to.”

  Mr. Donaldson arrived, but we continued our conversation via notes scrawled on a blank page of my exercise book.

  You should tell them soon.

  I’m scared!

  Best get it over with.

  I know .

  Lana was right. The only way to put my mind at ease was to tell them. I would feel much better when it was all out in the open.

  Later in class, I felt my phone vibrate in my skirt pocket. When Mr. Donaldson wasn’t looking, I took it out and checked to see a message from Anna.

  Oh? What’s this?

  I opened the message, and a picture slowly loaded. When the image was revealed, I instantly forgot all my worries. My heart flooded with joy at the sight of a tiny, adorable baby.

  Lana must have noticed my sudden change in temperament. She grabbed the phone. Her eyes scanned the screen and she let out an audible squeal.

  Mr. Donaldson cleared his throat. “Settle down girls. I know English is exciting, but please try to contain yourselves.”

  Blushing, I put my phone away. I’d think about contacting Anna later. For now, my first mission was to complete my application to Elias, plus the dreaded task of telling my parents.

  That evening, I pulled out the Elias prospectus once again. If I was serious about applying, I shouldn’t hesitate any longer. The prospectus was battered and dog-eared from the many times I had read it through. Inside, it was full of sticky notes and highlights.

  I flipped to the back, found the application form and lifted it out. Holding it in my sweaty hands, I read through the requirements. Applicants had to have achieved university entrance to be eligible. A major must be selected—visual art, film and media or creative writing. A portfolio of work must be submitted, as well as a personal statement, CV, letters of recommendation, and transcripts of academic results.

  The portfolio for the creative writing programme had to consist of two or more pieces of writing, totalling approximately five-thousand words. I reminded myself I had the short story I wrote for English up my sleeve, but I would still need to write something else as well to reach the word requirement. I sighed, thinking of the work ahead of me. Luckily, there was still plenty of time left before the application needed to be sent in. I was sure to come up with an idea before then.

  While I continued to pour over the application form, my door opened. I leapt out of my chair, bewildered. Dad quirked an eyebrow at my flustered state.

  He held the phone in his hand. “My mum is on the phone. She’d love to talk to you.”

  “You scared me,” I said, catching my breath.

  “Sorry.” He didn’t appear to notice the form on my desk. “I’ll leave you to talk in peace.” He handed me the phone and quietly exited.<
br />
  “Grandma?” I asked, holding the phone to my ear.

  “Oh, Ivy, darling! I’m so glad to hear your voice.”

  “Me too. It’s been a while since we last talked.”

  “Too long.”

  “I’m sorry I haven’t called you lately.”

  “That’s fine, dear. I know you’re a busy young woman. How are things? How’s school?”

  “School is fine. Preparation for exams hasn’t really begun yet. We’re still finishing off internal assessments.”

  “Getting good marks?”

  “Yes, Grandma.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  “How’s everything at the lodge?”

  “Business has been booming. Your grandpa and I are actually feeling a little overwhelmed. We’re not going to take so many bookings after the rush has died down. We want a bit of a break.”

  “That’s a good idea. You shouldn’t overdo it.”

  “We won’t. Now, listen, we haven’t seen you in a while. Whenever will you visit?”

  “Mum and Dad have been so busy with work. They haven’t had much time—”

  “I’m talking about you, dear. Why don’t you come down to visit? You, by yourself. Or with a friend.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. We’ll make sure there’s a nice room available for you. We’d love to see you again. How long has it been, three or four years?”

  “Has it really been that long?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Okay. I would love to visit. Can I really bring a friend?”

  “Absolutely. You just call me when you’ve decided when to come down. I’ll sort everything out for you. We’d love to have you here.”

  “Okay. I just need to work it out with school and everything.”

  “I understand. The lodge has changed a lot since you were last here.”

  “I can’t wait to see it.”

  “You’ll love it! I’ve missed you so much, Ivy. We, your grandpa and I, both have.”

  “I’ve missed you too.”

  “Okay, well, I suppose I’d better leave you to the rest of your evening.”

  “Okay, Grandma. Talk to you soon.”

  “Bye. Oh, Grandpa says hi!”

  “Say hi back to him for me. Bye.”

  I loved it down at the lodge. According to my Dad, it had expanded a lot in recent years and had become quite famous. Many celebrities had stayed there, but my grandparents wouldn’t say who. They respected their guests’ privacy.

  I returned to my desk. As I filled out my application, I started making plans in my head for a trip to the lodge.

  16

  Two weeks after the birth of Anna’s child, I decided to pay her a visit. Carrying flowers and a soft toy, I approached Anna’s house in the Knightsgate subdivision. The houses were all large and modern, with tiny, well-manicured gardens out front. The streets were quiet, apart from the distant hum of a lawnmower. I stood on the front step of Anna’s house and knocked on the door.

  A few moments later, Anna’s husband, Paul, greeted me. “Hi, Ivy. Nice to see you.” He was unshaven and had dark rings below his eyes.

  “These are for you and Anna, and the baby,” I said, handing over the flowers and toy.

  “Thank you, Ivy. That’s very kind.” He added them to a pile of gifts accumulating on the hallway sideboard.

  “How’s Anna? Is she up to seeing anyone?”

  “She’s very tired.”

  “Oh, that’s fine. I just came to drop these off.”

  “Thanks, Anna will be very happy.”

  “I hope you’re both coping okay with everything.”

  Paul nodded. “It’s been an eye-opening experience, but so far so good.”

  “Keep me in mind as a future babysitter.”

  He laughed. “Will do.”

  I was about to leave when Anna peeped her head around the corner. She was in a dressing gown and slippers. Her hair was a mess, but despite that, she seemed cheerful.

  “Ivy!”

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Simon has just nodded off.”

  “You can get some rest.”

  Anna nodded. “For a little while, at least.”

  “I’ll leave you to it.”

  “Ivy, before you go, I have something to say.”

  “What is it?”

  “I have news about Alexander Morris.”

  “You do? Can you tell me?”

  “Not right now. I’m too exhausted to think straight. Let’s meet up soon, though. My parents are coming up next week to help out. That will give me a bit of a break.”

  “Cool. Catch you next week. Can’t wait to hear the latest news.”

  Anna beamed. “There’s so much to tell you.”

  I arranged to meet Anna at a small coffee shop near her house. She was already there when I arrived, nursing a mug of hot chocolate. I ordered the same and sat opposite her.

  “How’s Simon doing?” I asked.

  “He’s doing just fine. He’s a sweet little baby. When he’s not crying and screaming his head off, that is.”

  “Is he sleeping?”

  “Sporadically.”

  “At least you have your parents to help now.”

  “It’s such a relief they’re here.” She exhaled audibly.

  “I’m sure it’s nice to have their support.”

  “Yeah. Otherwise, I’d be completely overwhelmed. I knew it would be hard, but it’s so much harder than I ever imagined.”

  I couldn’t even comprehend the work involved in looking after a newborn baby, but somehow, I empathised with her. “If there’s anything I can ever do to help, just let me know.”

  Anna smiled. “You’re very sweet, Ivy.”

  I shrugged shyly.

  “Enough baby business. Let’s talk about Alexander Morris.”

  My mind switched to the task at hand. “What did you find out?”

  Anna reached into her handbag and pulled out a paperback called The Drifting Girl. “It arrived a few weeks ago.” She passed it to me.

  The book was weightier than Hole Hearted, and the glossy cover depicted a vacant-eyed girl’s reflection in rippling water. I opened the book to a random page and read a passage.

  The room had been preserved in the exact condition as she had left it. Boy band posters on the wall, bed unmade, laundry on the floor. I smoothed the bed cover and felt a pang of guilt. What am I doing here?

  Those words were familiar. “It’s the same as Hole Hearted,” I concluded.

  Anna nodded. “It’s in the small print.” She took the book and turned to the front matter. She ran her finger down the page. “Here it is. ‘First published in New Zealand as Hole Hearted, 1995.’”

  “So, it’s true. Mr. Donaldson is Alexander Morris…”

  Anna nodded. “I’ve reread it too. It’s largely the same, but I did notice a few differences. Some parts are more graphic, more visceral.”

  “Interesting. Maybe the other publisher had wanted him to tone it down?”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  I took a long sip of hot chocolate while my brain processed everything. “I wonder why Mr. Donaldson keeps his pen name a secret?”

  “Alfred is the only person who can answer that. Maybe he’d be willing to talk about it if you ask.”

  Ask Mr. Donaldson? I couldn’t fathom bringing up something so private. Yet, I was beyond curious. What would it hurt?

  “You’re right. I’ll ask him.”

  “To be honest, I’m dying to know as well. Let me know what he says.”

  “I will.” I had something else I wanted to ask him as well.

  Plucking up my courage, I visited Mr. Donaldson after school the next day. He sat at the desk in his office, hunched over slightly and attending to a stack of marking. He looked up and peered at me through his glasses.

  “Ivy, what brings you here? It’s home time.”

  I approached him, pulling up a chair. “I tried
to catch you earlier, but you seemed busy.”

  He put down his pen. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I wanted to let you know I’ve decided to apply for a creative writing course after all.”

  “Is that so?” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “That’s simply wonderful. Which course have you decided on?”

  “A Bachelor of Fine Arts at the Elias Institute, majoring in creative writing.”

  “That sounds ideal. Good on you.”

  “I need to submit a portfolio of my writing. Do you have any advice? What kind of thing might they be looking for?”

  Mr. Donaldson scratched his chin. “Let’s see now. Have you been writing every day?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you should be in good shape. Why don’t you let me have a look over what you’ve been working on?”

  “No,” I spluttered, horrified. “It’s all terrible.”

  He laughed. “Is that so?”

  “None of that stuff is good enough for a portfolio.”

  “Of course, it’s not. That’s what editing is for. I would encourage you to read over all you’ve done. You’re bound to come across something that has potential. Rewrite it, polish it, then send it my way. I will give you some pointers.”

  I was nervous about him reading my work, but a critique from Mr. Donaldson would surely prove beneficial. “Thanks. That would be a big help.”

  “Was there anything else?”

  “Yes, actually.” I suddenly grew embarrassed. There could be a good reason why Mr. Donaldson kept his pen name a secret. “I was wondering about Alexander Morris.”

  “Alexander Morris,” Mr. Donaldson repeated, a twinkle in his eye. “So, you know about Alexander Morris? You continue to surprise me.”

  I was taken aback by his reaction. He didn’t seem to mind at all.

  “However, did you find out about that?”

  “It was Anna, the librarian. She worked it out.”