About the author
Maureen McCarthy is the ninth of ten children and grew up on a farm near Yea in Victoria. After working for a while as an art teacher, Maureen became a full-time writer. Her novels are firm favourites and have been shortlisted for numerous awards. The In Between series was adapted from scripts Maureen co-wrote with Shane Brennan for SBS TV. Her bestselling and much-loved book Queen Kat, Carmel and St Jude get a life was made into a highly successful four-part mini-series for ABC TV. Her most recent novel is Somebody’s Crying. Maureen has three sons and lives in Melbourne.
Also by Maureen McCarthy
Somebody’s Crying
Rose by any other name
When you wake and find me gone
Flash Jack
Chain of Hearts
Queen Kat, Carmel & St Jude get a life
Cross my heart
Ganglands
In Between series
Careful What
You Wish For
Maureen
McCARTHY
Once again a big thank you to the supportive team at Allen & Unwin, in particular Erica Wagner and Susannah Chambers
First published in 2010
Copyright © Maureen McCarthy, 2010
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.
Allen & Unwin
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Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100
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ISBN 978 1 74175 857 3
Cover and text design by Sandra Nobes
Cover photo by Getty Images
Set in 11½ pt Minion by Tou-Can Design
This book was printed in September 2010 at McPherson’s Printing Group,
76 Nelson St, Maryborough, Victoria 3465, Australia.
www.mcphersonsprinting.com.au
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For my two totally different
but wonderful sisters, Michalea and Patrice.
And in memory of Gabrielle, our beautiful sister,
who lived and died with such faith and optimism.
Contents
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25
1
They always felt the oncoming trains way before they saw them. The rickety wooden footbridge would shudder a little and there would be a clanking along the tracks getting louder and louder, building to a roar.
Ruth and Mary Ellen considered it to be good luck when a train passed. They would grin in anticipation, hold hands and shut their eyes.
‘Here it comes, Ruth! Here it comes!’
‘And it’s coming for us!’
‘For you and me, kiddo!’
‘Make a wish!’
‘You too. Make a wish!’
Ruth had been scared witless the first time. She’d clung to her aunt and screamed as the long train hurtled by, hissing and shuddering beneath her like a weird angry animal. It still sent a shiver of fear down her spine. All those fast-moving tonnes of steel racing past, only a few metres from her body!
When the train had gone they would turn to each other.
‘What did you wish for, Ruthie?’
‘You first.’
‘An oak tree growing through my living-room floor,’ Mary Ellen might say.
‘Hmmm.’ Ruth grinned, and tried to imagine it.
‘What about you?’
‘Finding a million dollars in a hole in the backyard when I get home.’
‘Wouldn’t that be fantastic! Did you get another in?’
The aim was to make three detailed wishes before the train had gone, but they usually only managed two. Somehow there was never time. It was against the rules to work them out in advance.
‘Those red bathers.’
‘Oh yes, the red bathers. Want to know my second?’
‘What?’
‘To take you to China with me next year.’
‘Oh!’ Just the idea of it made Ruth shiver with delight. ‘Please!’
‘We’ll see. We’ll see.’
Not long after that day, Ruth and her aunt were in luck. Two trains were coming from different directions and they were going to pass each other at the bridge. Surely this would be a day for three wishes.
‘What did you wish for?’ Ruth yelled over the clanking of the first train.
‘Let’s wait until the next one’s gone.’
But by the time the next train had thundered by, Mary Ellen was bent over double and her face was white. She was holding her side and gasping a little as though she couldn’t breathe.
‘What’s the matter?’ Ruth said in alarm.
‘Just a pain,’ her aunt whispered, leaning both elbows on the wooden railing.
‘Did you eat something weird?’
‘No, no … I’ll be right in a minute. Let me have a little rest.’ She squatted down and peered through the railings and Ruth knelt beside her.
‘Did you make a wish?’ Mary Ellen asked.
But Ruth only shrugged; something about a big bedroom, painted in yellow with secret stairs leading up onto the roof, but it didn’t matter anymore. Mary Ellen’s face was so very white and there was a film of perspiration along her top lip, even though it was winter.
‘Let’s go home.’
* * *
Mary Ellen lived alone in a big old apartment block near the city. Her flat was three floors up and overlooked a wonderful sprawling park that ran alongside the river. It was always immaculately neat, orderly and interesting. There were things from all over the world dotted around the place. Most were from her aunt’s many trips to China: painted stones and vases, figurines, paintings and tapestries, and usually a story behind each one. Ruth loved nothing better than lying on the floor listening to stories of her aunt’s travels.
‘I have something for you,’ Mary Ellen said as they walked up the steps to the front door.
‘What is it?’ Ruth asked. As far as she was concerned, it was enough just being there for the day instead of going to the football with the rest of her family. She hadn’t been expecting a present.
‘Come and see.’ Her aunt ushered her inside.
Mary Ellen disappeared into her bedroom for a while, emerging with a very old and battered box. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with string and was about twice the size of an ordinary shoebox.
‘For you.’ Mary Ellen handed it to Ruth.
‘Thanks!’ Ruth took the box and looked at her aunt shyly. ‘It’s old.’
Her aunt nodded. ‘I was around your age when I got it,’ she said. ‘You go
ing to open it?’
‘Yes.’ Opening parcels was Ruth’s favourite part of presents, so she took her time, while her aunt watched. She cut the string and carefully peeled off the heavy sticky tape. Only at this point did she notice a lot of faded Chinese lettering on the outside of the box. A rush of excitement hit her.
‘What does that mean?’ she asked, pointing at the Chinese letters. Her aunt spoke fluent Mandarin, and taught it and Asian History to university students.
‘It says Attention: precious goods.’ Her aunt smiled, pointing to each word. ‘And this bit here says Be careful of these precious goods.’
‘Careful? ’ Ruth looked up at her aunt enquiringly. But Mary Ellen only laughed.
Ruth’s hands trembled slightly as she tried to get the lid off. It seemed to be stuck, so she slid her thumbnail underneath. Heart in her mouth, she gingerly eased off both sides of the lid and … gave a sharp yelp of surprise and stepped back.
Inside the box was a big grey rat. It had sharp claws and thin, spiky hair all over its body and it was … wearing clothes! Baggy trousers made of faded sailcloth covered its hind legs, and the red striped shirt and serge jacket had the tiniest buttons imaginable.
Ruth was fascinated. The worn leather boots on its back feet and the cuffs on the jacket made her smile. Was it real? She shuddered. Of course it couldn’t be. But the long nose with whiskers, the thin mouth and sharp white teeth, only just visible, added up to something so lifelike that … it almost seemed it could be.
Ruth forgot about her aunt and stared in complete wonder at the strange creature lying in the box. The rat’s slightly battered appearance pulled at her heartstrings in the oddest way. Was it a toy? Was it old or young? Sad or happy? The sly expression on the pointed face, the long black tail, sharp claws and patches of bristles, the little hole in the jacket and mud on the boots, even the grime around its neck and under the claws, made it look wise somehow, as if it had seen a lot. It was like a little gnome or a strange elf from a dream, ugly and yet weirdly beautiful too.
Ruth suddenly laughed out loud. It was the queerest, most exceptional thing she had ever seen.
‘You like him?’ her aunt asked.
Ruth nodded, hot, suddenly, with the truth of what she was about to admit. ‘I love him.’
‘Oh good!’
‘Where … did you find him?’ Ruth asked.
‘He was a gift from a lady I used to know,’ her aunt replied. ‘When your mum and I were growing up she lived next door.’
‘What was her name?’
‘Everyone just called her Bee.’
‘Bee?’ said Ruth. ‘As in bumblebee?’
‘Yes.’ Mary Ellen smiled. ‘But I called her Mrs Bee.’
‘Was she good friends with Mum and Faye too?’ Ruth asked, tentatively putting a finger inside one of the rough little paws, half expecting it to close on her.
‘Not so much. They were older. But Mrs Bee and I became very close.’
‘Is she still alive?’
‘No. She died not long after giving him to me.’
‘Did she tell you anything … else?’
‘Only that I should be careful of him.’
‘Careful of him?’ Ruth whispered. ‘But … he’s not real, is he?’
Mary Ellen kissed the top of Ruth’s head, and went into the kitchen to check on their lunch. ‘Maybe just a little bit,’ she said.
* * *
Ruth put the rat back in the box as carefully as she could, but didn’t put the lid on. She figured that after being cooped up in a box for a long time, more than anything he would appreciate some space and air. She put the box on the side table and went to help her aunt with lunch. But for the next couple of hours, as they ate and talked, she couldn’t stop thinking about the strange gift.
When Mary Ellen was in her bedroom making a long phone call, Ruth took him out again and held him up to the large window. She loved this view, particularly in winter. The sun was going down over the oval; the pink, streaky sky bled out over the surrounding grey clouds. There were joggers and cyclists and groups of fast walkers cutting their way along the paths under the dripping, bare trees. Feeling safe and cocooned in her aunt’s warm apartment, Ruth shivered with pleasure when she remembered that she was going to stay the night as a special treat. She would put the rat on her bedside table so that when she woke up he would be the first thing she saw.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ she whispered into the small hairy ear, ‘you’ve come to the right person.’
Mary Ellen came back into the room and laughed when she saw Ruth holding the rat up to the window.
‘Will you promise me something, darling?’ Mary Ellen said, as they stood staring down at the wintry park. The seriousness of her tone alarmed Ruth a little but she tried not to show it.
‘Don’t let him rule you.’
‘Who?’
‘The rat.’
‘The rat?’ Ruth laughed. She looked down. With his bright eyes he actually did look as though he was listening to the conversation. ‘Nobody rules me,’ she said.
‘Good.’ Mary Ellen squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Keep it that way. And when he stops being … useful … pass him on, okay?’
Ruth nodded, but she didn’t understand. Not really. Useful? She looked at her aunt’s strained profile in the fading light. In fact, she didn’t have the faintest idea what Mary Ellen was talking about, but somehow it didn’t seem the right time to ask a whole lot of questions.
‘Okay,’ Ruth murmured, loud enough for her aunt to hear, ‘I promise.’
2
One year later…
Ruth Craze woke early to the sound of blaring newsradio and the smell of burnt toast. As she lay in bed, she heard her father’s deep voice asking the reigning king of all things cool – her fifteen-year-old brother, Marcus – if he’d fed the dog yet.
‘I’m looking for my spikes!’
‘Feed the dog!’
‘He’s way too fat.’
‘Feed the dog, Marcus.’
‘What about Miss Skinny-bum? She’s the one who loves him.’
‘Just do it,’ Ruth’s father boomed again. ‘We have to be gone by seven!’
‘Sweet,’ Marcus shot back cheerfully.
Ruth pulled the blanket over her head. Sweet had to be the most overused word in her brother’s vocabulary. And it wasn’t true that she liked the dog. Flipper had worn out his welcome eons ago. He was slow and surly and he smelled bad, but someone had to be on his side. The rest of them were just waiting for him to die.
In the background she could hear the Crown Prince of Dirt, Mess and Getting-his-own-way – otherwise known as Paul, her six-year-old brother – whining about how there was no honey left for his toast.
‘Marcus took the last bit.’
‘Have jam!’ their mother shouted from another room.
‘Don’t like jam!’
‘Then go hungry!’
Ruth wished time would stand still for just a bit. Lying snug under the covers, watching the light creeping in through the holes in the blinds, she could imagine a completely different kind of family – a cool, polite, interesting family where everybody minded their own business and no one shouted.
The following week she was going to turn twelve. Maybe she’d get something she actually wanted this year, instead of the usual last-minute panic presents. Last year it had been a slightly damaged supermarket mud cake from the boys, a horrible pair of striped socks from her father and a double pass to a weird movie with subtitles that Ruth knew for certain her mother had won in a raffle. Thanks, Mum! The film had turned out to be not so bad, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that on her birthday she went to a free film that she had never heard of, with her mother in some mouldy little cinema that didn’t even sell popcorn.
The next day her friends had been embarrassed for her rather than sympathetic.
‘So that was it?’ Lou could hardly look Ruth in the eye. ‘That was all you got for your birthday?’
‘Well, I got some clothes vouchers,’ Ruth had muttered defensively.
‘Who from?’
‘My aunt.’
‘How much?’
‘A grand.’
Lou’s eyes became slits. ‘A thousand dollars? ’
Ruth could see that they were all impressed but there was no way they were going to let her know it.
‘When’re you going to use them?’
‘Soon.’
‘From your sick aunt?’ Bonnie had asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘Oh,’ Bonnie shuddered, ‘that’s a bit creepy.’
Bonnie’s words made them all look a little uneasy until Katy remembered that she was due at her music lesson and the bell for the end of recess rang.
At least Ruth had managed to avoid admitting that her only birthday card, which the whole family had signed, had been made by her little brother and that it was covered on all four sides with colourful drawings of dinosaurs with ‘Happy Birthday’ bubbles coming from their bums.
* * *
Ruth closed her eyes. Even a mat to hide the worn carpet would do, or a curtain to cover the holes in the old blind or … Her small, stuffy room stuck upstairs over the kitchen and the laundry, with its high, narrow window and dripping ceiling, was more like a holding pen for a stray animal than a bedroom for a (soon-to-be) teenage girl. But more than anything else, Ruth wanted one of those sleek little silver laptops of her own. Having to share an ancient computer with her older brother was a pain. He was always playing violent games and chatting with his stupid friends. With a laptop of her own she’d be able to make interesting friends all over the world and … and things would be totally different.
There’d been no mention of her birthday over dinner the night before. All the talk had been centred on the boys, as usual. Marcus had won a scholarship to a music school for the following year and he’d also been invited to try out for the state cycling team. Not to be outdone, Paul had insisted on showing them all how he could now read hard books. There was lots of patting him on the back and joking about how he was going to become the next Einstein. Ruth could distinctly remember reading The Hobbit in Grade Three – a much harder book than Dr Seuss – but she didn’t remember anyone suggesting she was going to end up inventing anything. The signs did not look at all promising for her birthday.
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