The Ruby Bottle

by Janet Reid

  Suddenly Amber felt mean. She liked Ricco; he was always friendly, and she knew he hadn’t made any friends since he’d been at the school. Not that it seemed to bother him. For a moment she thought of Bethany and wondered if she’d made friends in her new school. Her insides clenched, so she quickly pushed the thought away.

  ‘Well … I guess you could look at it,’ she said, ‘but it’s very old. We’d have to be very careful with it.’ Then she crossed her fingers and dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘I wasn’t actually supposed to bring it to school. Mum will be really angry with me if she finds out. So if we’re going to look at it, we’d have to go somewhere … private.’ Right away from the prying eyes of …

  ‘Somewhere right away from Marissa?’ Ricco asked, cutting through her thoughts. ‘What’s with her anyway? Has she always been that nasty?’ He put his apple core back in his lunch box, pulled out a banana and started peeling it. ‘And she doesn’t seem to like you very much.’

  Amber flinched. Was it that obvious?

  She thought back to the Christmas play at the end of last year, long before Ricco came to the school …

  ‘Actually, I don’t think she likes anyone,’ Ricco said, interrupting her thoughts again. ‘I’m surprised Rachel hangs out with her. How about we go to the library?’

  ‘No. Not the library,’ said Amber. ‘Is there somewhere less crowded?’

  ‘Well …’ said Ricco as he bit into his banana. Amber watched as a banana string dangled from the corner of his mouth. His tongue flicked out and gathered it up. ‘We could go down behind the sports shed. There’s never anyone there.’

  ‘No,’ she said, horrified. ‘That’s out of bounds. That’s why there’s never anyone there.’

  ‘Yeah, but no one ever checks there either. It’s pretty cool.’

  ‘Is that where you go? At lunchtimes?’

  ‘Hmmm. Sometimes,’ admitted Ricco as he rummaged through his lunch box, eventually pulling out a half-squashed muesli bar. ‘If I can’t get into the computer lab.’

  Amber felt a tiny thrill of excitement. A secret place at school. Somewhere she could go where Rachel and Marissa wouldn’t find her. She just wished that Bethany …

  ‘So, behind the sports shed then?’ Ricco asked, pushing the scraps back into his lunch box. ‘Just make sure no one sees you,’ he whispered as Mr Tate walked past and scowled at them.

  Chapter Eight

  Amber couldn’t believe she was doing this. She walked past the kids lined up at the door of the sports shed and slipped around the back. Ricco was there already, his head in a book: 20 Top Archeological Digs of the World.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. He closed the book and moved over to give her room to fit between the grass roller and some old trestles. ‘Anyone see you?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Amber, her skin prickling with trepidation. Her hands were damp and her stomach churned. She hated breaking rules and she had to fight the urge to jump up and leave. ‘Are you sure there isn’t somewhere else we can go?’

  ‘Probably,’ he said, ‘but this is good.’ He reached into his jumper, pulled out the diary and handed it to her.

  ‘Have you looked at it yet?’ she asked, running her hand over the leather cover and rubbing the small insignia of a red bottle in the top corner.

  Ricco shook his head. ‘No. Why did your neighbour give it to you?’

  ‘She said this uncle used to make up stories all the time. She just thought I might like to read them.’

  ‘But you said it was a diary.’

  ‘Well, it is. Sort of. It’s written like a diary.’ She pulled her legs up and rested the book on her knees. ‘See the old-fashioned writing?’ she said as she opened it at the first page. ‘It was written a long time ago. That’s why I have to be careful with it. Do you want me to read some of it?’

  She started from the beginning …

  … It was on one of my journeys to the markets of Az-a-kabb that I first spied the ruby bottle, and I knew immediately that I must have it. The Arab stallholder, who had many exotic treasures – jewellery and trinket boxes and lamps of all sizes – drove a hard bargain. Several times he withdrew it from sale, taking it from the stall in the hope of deterring me. Why, I do not know. Always he brought it back, and again I would push for an agreement on a price.

  Eventually he gave in. The cost was high, but I knew many would pay far in excess of what I had to have this simple but beautifully crafted bottle on their mantelpiece.

  However, the moment my hands curled around my prize, I felt a warmth – almost as if the bottle were alive. I knew then that I would never part with it.

  ‘It sounds like the bottle you drew in class last Friday,’ said Ricco, surprising her.

  ‘Yes, it does, doesn’t it?’ murmured Amber. She felt a twinge of excitement. This really did have something to do with her ruby bottle. Possibly even her djinn. But how could she explain that to Ricco?

  ‘What do you think he meant?’ said Ricco. ‘You know, when he said it was alive. Do you think he thought it had a genie in it?’

  ‘What do you know about genies?’ Amber asked, alarmed that he was so close to the truth.

  ‘Well, I know they aren’t real. They come from Arabian myths. I read a book about them a few months ago. They were supernatural and they’d hide in lanterns and bottles, and they’d do all these awful things to people. There are lots of stories about them. Like Aladdin. The genie in that wasn’t awful, though, he just granted wishes. Come on, let’s read some more of the diary.’

  ‘What’s this about a diary?’

  Amber and Ricco looked up, startled. There was Marissa, her hands on her hips, with Rachel peering over her shoulder.

  Amber felt as though the bottom had dropped out of her stomach.

  ‘You know you’re both out of bounds?’ said Marissa. ‘What are you doing anyway? And what’s this about a diary?’

  She reached down and snatched the book from Amber’s hands.

  ‘Give that back,’ yelled Amber, clambering to her feet. ‘Give it back, or I’ll –’

  ‘Or you’ll what?’ said Marissa. ‘Go and tell on me?’

  Amber made a dive for the diary, but Marissa held it above her head and pushed Amber away with her other hand.

  ‘Now what would someone like Amber write in her diary …’ she said. And she turned her back on Amber and started to flick through the book. ‘Huh! There’s nothing here. What is this – an empty diary for an empty head?’

  Amber peered around Marissa, and sure enough, the pages were blank. Her stomach squeezed tight. What had happened to all the writing?

  Marissa swung back. ‘I guess that’s as much as we can expect from Amber, hey, Rachel? Hopeless at everything. Even at keeping a diary.’

  And she tossed the book at her feet.

  Amber watched as it hit the ground. She watched as the dirt smeared the blank pages. She watched as the old leather cover cracked and split. Her eyes stung and her throat tightened, but she was determined not to cry. Not in front of Marissa. Turning her back she reached for the diary, and just as her fingers touched the leather, she felt the now-familiar tingle …

  ‘What’s going on here?’

  The loud voice made them all jump. Mrs May, the PE teacher, was standing at the corner of the shed, her hands on her well-rounded hips. Amber clutched the diary to her chest.

  ‘It was Amber’s fault, Mrs May,’ whined Marissa. ‘She said she had something to show us. She told us to meet her down here behind the sports shed. I said no, that it was out of bounds, but she wouldn’t listen. Isn’t that right, Rachel?’

  Rachel nodded and was about to say something, but Mrs May held up her hand.

  ‘I’m not interested in excuses. You all know the rules. Now, I just happen to need people to do some jobs for me.’ She nodded toward Marissa and Rachel. ‘You two, over to the junior sports shed and get that tidied up. Amber, you and Ricco can tidy this one. Now come on, move it before I change my mind and pu
t you all on detention.’

  No one ever argued with Mrs May. Not even Marissa, who stomped off muttering about it being unfair, while Rachel trotted after her. Mrs May watched as they left, then turned back to Amber and Ricco.

  ‘Was there a problem here, Amber?’ she asked, nodding towards the diary.

  ‘No, Mrs May,’ Amber whispered, clutching the book tighter.

  Amber thought Mrs May was going to say something more, but then she looked at Ricco and said, ‘I have to say, Ricco, I’m surprised to find you breaking the rules. Now come on. The shed. Get it tidied and I’ll be back to check.’

  She turned and strode away.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Ricco. ‘My fault. Is the book okay?’

  Amber couldn’t answer. The back of her throat was too tight.

  ‘I’ll help you fix it,’ offered Ricco.

  ‘No, it’s okay. My dad will help me,’ she lied. They walked back around the shed. The door was wide open and sports equipment was strewn everywhere. Ricco picked up some basketballs that had escaped and dropped them into the ball barrel.

  ‘I wonder why Marissa couldn’t see any writing,’ he said. ‘Seems a bit strange to me.’

  Very strange, thought Amber, untangling some ropes that had been dropped on the floor.

  Chapter Nine

  Amber was glad when the bell rang to go home. Marissa and Rachel had scowled at her all afternoon, and Ms Kruger was so grumpy Amber wondered if she had a headache. She had given them a lot more homework than usual – some spelling exercises, a comprehension sheet and some new sums like the ones they’d worked on that morning.

  And Amber didn’t know how to do them. She felt weighed down with work. And guilt. When would she find time to fix the diary? Her stomach gave a now-familiar twist. What if she couldn’t fix it?

  She was almost at her front gate when she heard Mrs Heggety call out. Please, please don’t ask about the diary.

  ‘I just wondered if you’d had a chance to look at that diary yet,’ Mrs Heggety asked.

  ‘Ah … no, not really, Mrs Heggety. I was too tired last night.’

  ‘Never mind, dear. I’m sure you’ll find time. Perhaps tonight.’

  Amber smiled weakly, thinking of all the homework she had to do. ‘Yes, maybe,’ she said. Then she had a thought.

  ‘Mrs Heggety, you know how the diary has a leather cover? I just wondered, was there anything, you know … special I could do to it? To keep it … looking good.’

  ‘Well, now that you mention it, dear, there is something. A paste of some sort. Good for leather shoes. And I’m sure I’ve got some. Why don’t you come in and I’ll see if I can find it?’ she said as she moved to her front gate. ‘And perhaps a biscuit as well …’

  Mrs Heggety pulled at the latch on her gate but she couldn’t make it budge.

  ‘Oh, darn this thing,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll have to ask Robert to fix this next time he’s here. You know Robert, don’t you Amber? One of Vera’s boys? He’s so good at fixing things around the house.’ She put her foot under the gate, levering it up just a fraction, and pulled on the latch again. There was a click and the gate swung open.

  ‘There, now let’s see what we can find,’ she said as she led the way into the house.

  Amber was munching on a custard cream when Mrs Heggety, her head in a cupboard, said, ‘Ah, here it is.’

  Mrs Heggety heaved herself up from the floor, using the bench to give her support, and placed a small yellow tin on the table.

  ‘Dubbin,’ she said. ‘Best thing I know for anything leather. My Richard used it all the time on his work boots. Now, let’s see if we can get the lid off.’

  The tin was almost empty but there was still some pale greasy paste clinging to the edges and the bottom of the tin.

  ‘There should be enough there for your book,’ said Mrs Heggety. ‘Just put a bit on a rag and rub it into the leather.’ She put the lid back on. ‘Now, how about another biscuit before you go?’

  ‘I’m home,’ Amber called as she came through the front door a minute later and headed for the stairs. ‘I’m just going to clean up some more of my jumble.’

  ‘Don’t you want some afternoon tea first?’ asked Mum, walking out into the hallway.

  ‘It’s okay. I had some with Mrs Heggety.’

  ‘Amber, you shouldn’t be over there bothering Mrs Heggety all the time. She’ll think I don’t give you anything nice to eat if you keep calling in there for afternoon tea.’

  Hmmm. Cream biscuits. Better than plain boring biscuits. Now, if her mother had let her have some of Mrs Heggety’s cake for afternoon tea … But she was only allowed to have some after dinner. If she ate all her vegetables.

  ‘I didn’t bother her,’ Amber said. ‘She asked me in. She wanted to give me something.’ She clutched the straps of her school bag tightly.

  ‘Give you something? What did she give you this time?’

  ‘Oh, just some stuff for the leather cover of the book she gave me yesterday. It’s to keep it looking good. So it won’t crack.’

  ‘That was nice of her,’ said Mum. ‘I did notice that it wasn’t in very good condition. Make sure you use it properly.’ She flicked a tea towel over her shoulder and went back into the kitchen.

  Amber started up the stairs.

  ‘Oh, by the way,’ called her mother, ‘I had a phone call from the school today.’

  Amber’s stomach clenched. Had Mrs May said something after all? About being out of bounds?

  ‘The uniform store called to say their new stock has arrived. I might pop along tomorrow and get you a jumper for winter. Last year’s will be too small for you now.’

  The uniform shop? It was right next door to Mrs May’s office.

  ‘I could get it,’ Amber said quickly. ‘If you give me the money.’

  ‘I’m sure you could, but I might just pop in to see Ms Kruger while I’m up there. Just to see how you’re getting on.’

  ‘Mum, do you have to? Can’t you wait until parent-teacher interviews?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Amber. I just want to make sure you’re coping. And that you’re happy at school. Especially now that Bethany’s left. You never seem to talk about any new friends.’

  Friends?

  ‘What about Rachel Higgins?’ asked her mother. ‘You know, from your netball team. She’s in your class, isn’t she?’

  ‘Rachel?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve met her parents. Lovely people. Perhaps you could have her over after school sometime.’

  Not likely.

  ‘Yes,’ said Amber vaguely. And she walked away before her mother could make any other suggestions about friends.

  Amber prised open the tin of dubbin Mrs Heggety had given her and lifted it to her nose. It reminded her of something, though she was not sure what. Polished floors? Dad’s lawn mower? Or was it the paints they used in art class at school?

  She reached for her rag and, pushing it over her finger, dipped it into the greasy paste.

  The diary sat in her lap, looking old and battered. Amber carefully rubbed the dubbin into the leather, wondering if Mrs Heggety would ever forgive her if she found out what had happened.

  The afternoon sunlight streamed thought her open window as Amber dipped and rubbed. The leather seemed to soak up the grease, almost like a dried-out sponge being dropped into water. And as the sun caught the tiny insignia on the top corner of the front cover, Amber could see it sparkling. Like it was saying it was happy, she thought. Crazy. How could a book feel happy?

  When she had finished, she held the diary up to the fading light, but there was nothing to show where the cover had been torn. Strange. And even as she ran her fingers over the leather, she could feel no cracks. Just its smoothness.

  Amber held her breath and opened the book. Once again the pages were filled with Roger Heggety’s old-fashioned writing. And not a smudge of dirt anywhere.

  She clutched the diary to her chest, hardly able to believe it, and said a small ‘thank yo
u’ to whatever had made this happen.

  ‘Amber,’ called her mother from the kitchen, ‘I need you down here.’

  Amber closed her eyes, held the diary to her nose and breathed in the smell of leather. Then, after one last rub, she slipped it under her pillow and headed out the door.

  Chapter Ten

  Later that night, as Amber sat at her desk, she pushed her fingers through her short hair and stared at the sums in her homework book. She hated homework at the best of times, but these new problems …

  Out the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of her ruby bottle. Hmm, she thought as she chewed her bottom lip. She tried to remember what the djinn had said. About helping her. Could he help her with homework? she wondered. She pushed her chair back and walked to the doorway. The television was on downstairs and she heard her parents laughing. Carefully she closed the door and then reached for the bottle.

  ‘Now let’s see if you really can help me,’ she said. She wriggled the stopper loose and watched as a red shimmer settled into the shape of her djinn.

  ‘Is there something I can help you with?’ he said as he rested his fat bottom on Amber’s pencil case.

  ‘It’s my maths homework,’ she said, nibbling at a fingernail. ‘I don’t have a clue how to do it and I wondered … well … if you might be able to help me?’

  He peered down at the page of problems. ‘Hmmm … let me see. Yes, I can help with these.’ He swung his eyes up to meet hers. ‘But I won’t just do them for you.’

  Amber laughed. ‘You sound just like my dad.’

  ‘Well, he must be an extremely wise man,’ the djinn told her, looking back down at the problems. ‘Now, first of all …’ he muttered as he waved his short stumpy arm over the page, ‘… see this number …’

  Amber chewed on the end of her pencil. Which number did he mean? The page was full of them.

  Then the numbers started to jump up from the page. Amber gasped.

  ‘How –’ she started, but the djinn gave her a sly smile.

  ‘Watch,’ he said.

  And as she did, the numbers moved, and changed, showing her where they were meant to go. New numbers appeared and moved, and changed again. All the while, the djinn was moving his short arm slowly over the page. Suddenly the answer to the first problem materialised.