The Ruby Bottle

by Janet Reid

  ‘Well, if it’s that’s important,’ said Mrs Heggety, ‘we’ll just have to fix it, won’t we?’

  ‘Fix it? Do you really think we can fix it?’ Amber looked up at Mrs Heggety, her eyes full of hope.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure we can,’ said Mrs Heggety. ‘And it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fixed up this little bottle. Yes. I remember when Vera was a little girl; she got into Roger’s room and was playing with it. Of course, she dropped it and the stopper fell out and broke. My, wasn’t Roger upset. He wasn’t cross with Vera, mind. No, he knew it was an accident, but he was mighty upset the stopper was broken. Surprised me a bit, really.’

  Mrs Heggety paused for a moment, looking off into the distance as if she could still see it. Then she looked back at Amber.

  ‘We used some glue to fix it. Some stuff meant for glass. Vera was always dropping things, so we needed a good supply of that glue on hand. Come to think of it, I might have some somewhere. I broke a favourite vase a few months back. I’m sure there was some left. Let’s go and have a look, shall we?’

  Amber thought about Jimell, stuck in her small cosmetic case, wanting to get back into a bottle. She should really do something about him.

  ‘Thanks, Mrs Heggety. But can I run home and put my bag away first?’

  Mrs Heggety looked a little puzzled. ‘But there’s no one there, Amber. How will you get in?’

  ‘I know where Mum and Dad keep the spare key,’ she said. ‘In case someone gets locked out. I promise I won’t be long.’

  ‘Alright then,’ said Mrs Heggety, ‘but let me take the glass. I’ll go and start searching for that glue. Don’t be long.’

  ‘I won’t be,’ shouted Amber as she ran out the gate and towards her house.

  Amber pushed the front door open and listened. The house was silent. She pulled the key from the lock and slipped it into her pocket. Then, leaving the door ajar, she walked down to the kitchen. Once again she stopped and listened, making sure she was alone before she took the small cosmetic case from her school bag. She unzipped the case and Jimell seeped out, looking pale and … well, not quite there. He settled on Amber’s arm and looked up at her with pleading eyes.

  ‘You must find me a glass container to stay in,’ he rasped. Amber found it difficult to hear him.

  ‘Mum keeps spare bottles at the back of the pantry,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and find them.’

  Jimell hovered above the table top as Amber searched the bottom of the pantry for the box full of old bottles. She came back with a small vegemite jar.

  ‘What about this?’ she asked, unscrewing the yellow, plastic lid.

  ‘No,’ said Jimell. ‘It has to be all glass. The lid has to be glass, too.’

  ‘I’m not sure –’ Amber started.

  ‘Surely there has to be something here that is all glass,’ said Jimell. He looked so small, so lost. Amber’s heart twisted painfully in her chest.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘In Mum’s special display cabinet where she keeps all her precious stuff. Most of it’s made of glass. Come on.’

  She scooped Jimell up onto her shoulder and rushed into the lounge. The display cabinet was tucked in behind the sofa. It had belonged to her great-great-grandmother and was very old. The glass doors were curved and the cabinet was backed with a mirror, which made it look like there were twice as many things inside.

  Amber had never been allowed to touch the display cabinet. Now she wondered if she even dared open the curved glass doors.

  ‘Amber …’ came Jimell’s feeble voice from her shoulder.

  She knew there was no choice.

  ‘Jimell, wait here while I get the key,’ she said as she lifted him from her shoulder and placed him on top of the cabinet.

  The key was never left in the lock, but Amber knew where it was. Her mother kept it on top of the bookshelf, well out of reach.

  Now, standing on tiptoes on a chair, Amber stretched her fingers over the top of the shelf, dancing them along, feeling for the small metal key which should be there. But all she could feel was gritty dust.

  She turned to Jimell, wondering if he could float up there and have a look. But when she saw him, she couldn’t bear to ask.

  Looking about the room, Amber’s eyes fell on the small coffee table. Lying on it was a large book – an encyclopedia her father had been looking through on the weekend.

  She scooped it up and heaved it onto the chair, and when she stood on it, she could reach a little further with her fingers. Once again she danced them along until she touched something small. Hard. Metal.

  The key.

  She jumped off the chair and dashed to the cabinet. Her fingers were shaking as she slipped the key into the hole and unlocked the door. Carefully she moved things about, pushing them aside, hoping to find what she was looking for. At the back was a clear glass bottle, tall and broad. She pulled it out. It had a wide base and its neck narrowed to be topped with a glass stopper.

  ‘Look,’ she said to Jimell. ‘It’s just like yours, only a whole lot bigger.’

  Her excitement died as she saw Jimell’s face drop.

  ‘It’s far too big,’ he said. ‘I need something much smaller. Amber, I’m sorry but you’ll have to think of something else.’

  Disappointed, Amber put the bottle back in the cabinet and sat back on her heels. Where would she find something with a glass lid?

  ‘I know,’ she said excitedly. ‘Mum’s jewellery box. It’s crystal. And crystal is glass. And it has a crystal lid. Come on, let’s go find it.’

  Her parents’ bedroom was dark and gloomy – her mother liked to keep the curtains closed. Amber felt like an intruder as she crept over to the dressing table, Jimell on her shoulder. She looked down at the jewellery box, resting on a crocheted doily. Lifting the lid, she saw all of her mother’s precious rings and earrings, and the strand of pearls her grandmother had given her.

  ‘Jimell,’ she whispered, ‘Mum will notice if I take this. She keeps all her jewellery in here. She uses it every day. She’ll be really upset if it goes missing.’

  She sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at the crystal box, knowing it would be perfect. But if it went missing, her mother would probably call the police.

  No. There had to be another way. But what? Where else would she find …

  Suddenly she sat up straighter. Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? She saw it every day. Every day!

  ‘What?’ asked Jimell.

  ‘The sugar bowl,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s made of glass. It’s not very big. And it’s got a glass lid. There isn’t even a hole in the lid for the spoon. Dad’s always grumbling about that. He says we should get one that he can leave the spoon in but Mum just laughs at him and tells him he’s lazy.’

  ‘But won’t your mother miss it?’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But she’ll probably just think Dad’s hidden it somewhere, so he can buy a new one. At least she wouldn’t call the police if it went missing.’

  ‘Police …?’ started Jimell, but then he slumped down exhausted onto Amber’s shoulder, resting against her neck.

  Realising there wasn’t a moment to lose, Amber rushed downstairs to the kitchen and snatched the sugar bowl from the pantry. She dumped the contents into the sink and turned on the tap. The sugar dissolved.

  ‘Jimell, your new home,’ she said with a flourish as she held up the empty bowl. Her djinn slipped from her shoulder and into his new home. She half expected to hear him say “don’t forget the stopper”, but instead all she heard was, ‘Must keep warm …’

  Then silence.

  She rushed upstairs and slid the sugar bowl under her doona. Would that keep him warm enough?

  And just then she heard the front door creak, then footsteps, coming along the hallway.

  Mum?

  ‘Amber, are you alright?’ called Mrs Heggety.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Heggety,’ said Amber as she closed the front door and slipped
the key back into its hiding place.

  ‘That’s alright, dear. I was just getting a little worried, that’s all. Now come on, I’ve got you some afternoon tea. I hope you don’t mind having cream biscuits again.’

  ‘No, cream biscuits are good,’ said Amber, thinking of what her mother would have given her. Teeth-breaking ginger biscuits. Again.

  ‘Oh, and I found the glue,’ Mrs Heggety went on, ‘so when you’re finished afternoon tea, we can see what we can do about that bottle.’

  Amber was eating her third biscuit when Mrs Heggety spread the pieces of glass out on the table.

  ‘Well, at least the stopper’s not broken this time,’ she said, holding it up in the afternoon light. Red flecks flickered around the kitchen. Mrs Heggety didn’t seem to notice them, but Amber did. Somehow she found them comforting.

  After putting the stopper to one side, Mrs Heggety tilted her head and peered through her glasses. ‘Hmmm, the base is fine, and the neck. It’s just the bit in between that we’ll have to glue together. Now let’s see …’

  Amber watched as Mrs Heggety carefully fitted two pieces of glass together.

  ‘There,’ she said. ‘Amber, if you could squeeze some of that glue along the edge of the glass – just be careful not to cut yourself – and I’ll hold them together until it sets. Then we can do the next piece. We’ll work our way up from the bottom.’

  Amber and Mrs Heggety worked together, fitting and gluing. As they worked, Amber told Mrs Heggety about her art project.

  ‘I have to find some materials to finish it off,’ she said, ‘but Mum never keeps any junk like that. She said I could look in her sewing cabinet, but she keeps it so tidy, I probably won’t find anything useful.’

  ‘You could look in my sewing cabinet if you like,’ said Mrs Heggety as she carefully slipped another piece of glass into place. ‘And I’ve got a box full of craft material, too. We could have a look once we’ve finished here. Now, let’s see, two more pieces to go. Ready with that glue again, dear?’

  It was then, when they only had the neck of the bottle to glue into place, that Amber noticed something wrong.

  ‘There’s a piece missing,’ she said in panic. ‘Look, Mrs Heggety. There.’

  ‘Hmmm, so there is. Well, I don’t think there’s much we can do about that, Amber.’ Mrs Heggety shook out the tissues just to be sure she hadn’t missed a piece. ‘Perhaps if you turn it so you don’t see the hole it will be alright.’

  But it won’t. How could Jimell live in a bottle with a hole in it? But Mrs Heggety didn’t know about the djinn. She didn’t understand how important this bottle was.

  ‘I’m sorry, Amber, but that’s the best I can do.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ said Amber, swallowing her disappointment. After all, it was her own fault this had happened. If only …

  But it was too late for that.

  ‘Why don’t you have another look tomorrow?’ suggested Mrs Heggety. ‘Perhaps the missing piece is still there, where it broke.’

  The thought of searching through the grass and still never finding the last piece of the bottle was overwhelming. Amber’s throat tightened and her eyes stung and she was afraid she was about to cry, when there was a knock at the front door.

  ‘I expect that will be your mother,’ said Mrs Heggety.

  Her mother. What would her mother say about the bottle?

  ‘Ahmm … Mrs Heggety. Could you … ah … not tell Mum about this? Please. It’s just that …’ Amber could feel herself going red. She was asking Mrs Heggety to lie for her. ‘Well, it’s just that she’d make such a fuss.’

  ‘It’s alright, dear. I won’t say a word. We don’t want her to worry, do we? Now come on, have another biscuit and I’ll see if your mother would like a cup of tea.’

  Mrs Heggety walked to the kitchen door then looked back at the bottle. ‘Hmmm. Perhaps you’d better pop it some place where your mother won’t see it. Maybe over behind the toaster,’ she suggested before heading down the hallway.

  ‘I’d love a cuppa,’ said Mum a few minutes later as she followed Mrs Heggety into the kitchen. ‘It’s been one of those days. Thank you for taking care of Amber.’

  ‘Anytime,’ said Mrs Heggety. ‘It’s always a pleasure to have her here. She was just saying she needs some materials for her art work. I’ve probably got something she could use.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure it’s alright …’ Mum said, reaching out for a cream biscuit.

  ‘No trouble at all, Susan,’ said Mrs Heggety, placing a cup of tea down in front of her.

  When Mum had finished her tea, she stood and stretched. ‘That was just what I needed,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Mrs Heggety. Now, I’d better go and see about dinner. Come on, Amber.’

  ‘But … the stuff for art …’

  ‘Oh, I forgot. Yes, well, don’t be too long then. Mrs Heggety doesn’t need you hanging around all afternoon.’

  ‘It’s no trouble at all, Susan,’ said Mrs Heggety as she ushered Amber’s mother to the front door with a promise to send Amber home as soon as they had sorted out some craft material.

  Mrs Heggety looked in her craft box and found lace and rickrack, sequins and tiny glass beads, shiny pieces of cellophane and wrapping paper. She even had some chocolate wrappers.

  ‘I used to keep them for those grandsons of mine,’ she said. ‘But they haven’t been interested in any of this for years. I really should do a good clean-up.’ And she pulled out an old silver ribbon and dropped it into Amber’s box. ‘Now, will that be enough, or should we look for more?’

  ‘I think that might be enough, thank you, Mrs Heggety.’ The box was overflowing. She’d never use all of this.

  ‘Come on, then. That glue should be dry by now so you can take the bottle home with you.’ And Mrs Heggety nestled it carefully in the box of collage material.

  That night Amber waited until she was ready for bed before pulling the glass sugar bowl out from under her doona. She just had to be sure Jimell was going to be alright. She thought of the story Ms Kruger was reading them at school, about the dog called Marley. When he was sick, his owner had taken him to the vet. But who could she take Jimell to, if he needed fixing? There would be no one who could help her with a sick djinn.

  ‘Please be better. Please,’ she whispered as she lifted the lid.

  At first nothing happened and Amber’s stomach lurched in panic.

  He’s … gone.

  But then she noticed a faint red cloud appearing around the top of the bowl and she watched as Jimell’s familiar form began to take shape.

  He drifted over and, sitting on her knee, looked up at her with sad eyes. He was shivering and even in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, Amber could see his once-rich colouring had faded to a dull red.

  ‘Jimell,’ she whispered, ‘please tell me you’ll be alright.’

  Jimell raised his long arm and reached out to Amber. ‘My bottle?’ he asked. ‘What’s happened to my bottle?’

  Amber felt a tear run down her cheek. ‘We did the best we could,’ she sobbed. ‘But …’

  ‘What’s wrong with it? Show me.’

  She reached over and took the bottle from the box of collage material. ‘There’s still a piece missing,’ she said.

  Jimell ran his hand over the sides of the bottle and stopped when he came to the hole. He didn’t say anything, just looked at it sadly.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Jimell. I’m sorry I took you to school today. That was such a stupid, stupid idea. Say that I can make this better. Please.’

  ‘Amber,’ he said, looking back at her, ‘this isn’t your fault. It was Marissa who dropped the bottle.’

  ‘But if I hadn’t taken it to school …’

  ‘Hush, Amber. Stop taking the blame. Anyway, you’ll find the missing piece and then everything will be alright.’

  ‘But what if I can’t find it? I searched and searched today. In the grass where the bottle broke. I’m sure there were no more pieces there.’

/>   ‘You’ll find it. I have faith in you, Amber.’

  Amber’s heart gave a jump. He seemed so sure. He had so much trust in her. What if she let him down again?

  ‘Jimell …’ Amber swallowed. She didn’t want to ask him but she had to know. ‘Jimell, what will … ah … what happens if I can’t find it? If we can never make the bottle whole again?’

  Jimell sat silently, looking up at her with sad eyes. Then he whispered, ‘I don’t know, Amber.’ He gave himself a shake. ‘Let’s worry about that tomorrow. I think I’ll go back to my bott – ah, bowl now. Will you let me stay under the doona tonight? So I can keep warm?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, holding out the bowl. She watched as he folded himself inside before she replaced the lid. Then, just to be sure the lid stayed on, she searched for some rubber bands to keep it in place.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘I didn’t do anything with it,’ protested Dad as he reached for the loaf of bread. ‘You must have put it away somewhere. Remember the time you put the butter in the –’

  ‘That has nothing to do with it,’ said Mum. There was a dangerous edge to her voice. ‘You’ve always wanted to get rid of that sugar bowl. What did you do with it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Dad. ‘It’ll turn up. If you like, I’ll have my tea without sugar this morning.’

  He was slipping some bread into the toaster when he noticed Amber standing at the door.

  ‘Morning, Amber. I don’t suppose you know where the sugar bowl has got to? Your mother’s worried about it.’

  ‘N-no,’ lied Amber. She could feel her face growing hot.

  ‘And the other thing, Peter,’ continued Mum, ‘I’d like to know what you were doing in my display cabinet yesterday. You even left the door open. You know how important those treasures are to me.’

  Dad opened his mouth to protest but Mum barged on. ‘Never mind, now. Amber, what do you want for breakfast? Cereal or toast?’

  ‘Ahmm … cereal, please,’ mumbled Amber, glancing over at her father. He rolled his eyes and winked at her.