I Lost My Mobile At the Mall

by Wendy Harmer

  Jacaranda tree? Huh? What jacaranda tree?

  Monday. 4.30 pm.

  PM. AW.

  I regally descend the steps of the Royal School Bus and stroll up the purple-carpeted street to Buckingham Palace. I'm still on a high from my 'A' for English and it's as if I am being escorted by Her Majesty's heralds blowing trumpets jubilant.

  I greet the Duchess Camilla sitting on our fence with a generous acknowledgement and splendid pat. And the Hon. Harry the Dog – marvellous to see you too. Good and faithful hound!

  My elegant parade comes to a sudden halt when I see Dad pull up in the drive in an Ascot Courier van.

  Dad's never home at this time of day and the thought strikes me like a thunderbolt that he's got the sack. When I see him jump from the driver's door onto the concrete, all the elation of the day drains away and gurgles down the guttering by the nature strip.

  Then I notice he's waving frantically with one hand and opening the back of the truck with the other.

  'Elly, Elly! It's an express courier parcel from Britannia Mall,' Dad shouts. 'It came in to the office just now. I walked out the door so I could I deliver it personally.'

  I run down the footpath towards my smiling Dad – King of all Dads, Best in the World – and before I even get to the front gate I see he's holding a large parcel. Judging by its size and shape, I think I know what's in it!

  Dad and I take an end each. We rip and tear through layers of plastic, then coarse paper and down to snowy tissue. I glimpse butter-yellow, as if a newborn chick is breaking through the shell of a brown egg.

  It's my handbag! My good and perfect, cute handbag!

  I immediately fish inside and – OH MY GOD! IT'S MY MOBILE!

  Dead as a doornail, of course, but it's actually here, in its gold mesh cover, in my palm. The weight and size of it are perfect. The divine dangle of trinkets and charms that I love so much tickles the back of my hand and starts my fingers tingling.

  Then, after diving back into my bag and sifting through a half-finished pack of spearmint chewy, two mints stuck to a bit of tissue, an empty tube of sunscreen, two fluorescent tampons, a dried apple core, a student card and a handful of loose change comes – MY RING!

  MYRINGMYRINGMYRING!

  AAAAAARGH! I'M DANCING. I'M DANCING!

  I notice Dad frantically pawing through the discarded pile of wrapping on the footpath. He comes up with a note and hands it to me.

  Dear Ms Pickering,

  I'm the Manager of Tiara Fashions at Britannia Mall and have been away on holidays for the past fortnight.

  Your bag was found here two weeks ago and kept for safe storage in the stockroom by my staff. I am sorry that it was not located earlier.

  As soon as I arrived at work this morning and found it, I sent it on to you by courier.

  My apologies for any inconvenience.

  Yours sincerely,

  Sophie Rhys-Jones-Windsor

  No, there's been no inconvenience, Sophie! My life's just been taken apart, stone by stone, and reassembled on the banks of Lake Eucumbene in a new and unfamiliar configuration. But apart from that, there's been no inconvenience at all.

  'There's something else I have to tell you . . . And it's great news,' Dad grins. 'The firm's just been taken over by Commonwealth Couriers and all our jobs have been guaranteed for two whole years!'

  Dad sweeps me into his arms and waltzes me down the street. My feet don't touch the ground until I land back in front of our crazy carriage letterbox.

  'See you later, ma belle.' He kisses me on both cheeks. 'Got to get back, there's a celebration at the pub tonight. Now we can ring each other. I'll ring you . . . and you can ring me!'

  He jumps into the front seat and roars back out the driveway. The van hiccups, farts a cloud of black smoke and is gone from view.

  This is the best news – beyond Jai leaving, Mr York's 'A' and Jane Eyre marrying Mr Rochester. ('Cos she will. I know she will!)

  What could make this day more perfect?

  And. Then. I. See. It.

  In the letterbox.

  It's an envelope. Addressed to me. In handwriting that is tall and straight and even, and of course I know who it's from.

  It's from William James Phillips and he's chosen a Cate Blanchett stamp to get this sea-blue envelope to me. He's done it on purpose because he knows that I've always wanted a missive from Galadriel, Queen of the Elves.

  I sit between the two plaster lions at either side of our front steps. My hands are shaking so much I can barely get the envelope open.

  My Darling Elly,

  I wish I was better with words. But you know I'm not. I'm good with waves and wind and sun and sky and stuff, but words always make me feel like a grommet in two-foot slop.

  I just need to say that I miss you. I miss you heaps.

  Without my little leg rope, I'm a goner.

  Stone cold.

  I know I never told you I love you, but, hey, I'm telling you now.

  I love you.

  Maybe when you're next on Hammerhead and you see me paddling out, you'll blow me a kiss. Sweet!

  Will. X

  PS: And this ring is for you.

  I shake the envelope and out falls the prettiest little thing. A small circle of gold decorated with emerald coloured stones. Dark emeralds the exact colour of my eyes.

  Before I know it I am running up Buckingham Street to Winchester Headland. I'm taking the old stone steps three at a time and it's like I am being swept along in the translucent barrel of a wave.

  My life is spinning, spinning around me.

  I wish on an emerald starfish that swishes in front of my eyes.

  I put my hand to the glorious colours of the sand mandala tumbling in the foam, only to see them run though my outstretched fingers.

  The waters of the Snowy River wash a flood of red roses at me, but I keep on, fighting my way through a tide of petals.

  I am coming! My banners and flags flying. My drums and gongs sounding.

  I am flying, swimming, running and the only thing I can hear is the thud, thud of my heart and my steady, buoyant breath.

  And then I reach the top of the stairs. I land on the grass, all feet and arms, clumsy consonants, and exclamations. But no questions marks today. Just answers. And every single one of them is 'yes'.

  'Elly!' he calls.

  I see that familiar form, not looking out to sea this day, but looking back at me.

  'Will!' I echo.

  And then we're together and kissing. Eye2eye. Heart2heart.

  And everything's right with the world.

  There's a celestial ping and I see the deities have sent us a message from eternity@forever.com.

  Re: Elly and Will.

  Glad to see you two together again.

  Blessings upon you both.

  Best wishes,

  The Universe and everything

  If you no longer wish to receive these emails, please reply to this message with 'Unsubscribe' in the subject line.

  Saturday. 7.30 pm.

  Two weeks later.

  'Smile,' says Nan as she pokes her new digital camera in my direction for what seems like the millionth time.

  This evening at Eugenie's there can't be a human or one of the five elements – wood, fire, earth, water and metal – that hasn't been ambushed by Nan with her new digital camera.

  All the possible human configurations have been recorded in full colour:

  Libby and Rick

  Tilly and Eddie

  Carmelita and Henry

  Elly and Will

  Tenzin and Elly and Carmelita

  Libby and Rick and Elly and Tilly

  Will and Rick and Eddie and Tenzin and Henry

  Carmelita and Elly and Tilly and Mum and Pookie

  Auntie Marg, Uncle Charlie, cousins Anne and Andrew.

  Can you believe my Nan's invited all my best friends to come via FacePlace? I'm half expecting the Prime Minister to walk in the door at any moment.
/>   And then there's crazy Bianca yakking nonstop on her mobile. My own little leg rope. The person who texted me every five minutes for the past two weeks she was in detention with Fergie.

  :***-) :^{) :~~) LTSGT2GTHR LUWAMH!!!

  Whatever that means! I figure Bianca's here to remind me that friendship's not easy – or love, for that matter. I still wish Will talked more and I still wish I didn't ask so many questions – but we're all imperfect.

  Like my new best friend Tenzin told me just this morning:

  We are what we think.

  All that we are arises with our thoughts.

  With our thoughts we make our world.

  Buddha

  I grab my mobile and take some pics of Bianca. (Which means that I have copyright – heh heh!)

  Bianca with a lantern on her head.

  Bianca on her mobile with a lantern on her head and poking out her tongue.

  Bianca texting with a lantern on her head.

  Bianca showing the photo of her and Hugh Jackman (now downloaded to her phone!)

  The back of Bianca's hair, which looks like spaghetti with pesto – but it's not the quality of the photo. That's actually the colour of her hair (!).

  Nan hands her camera to Uncle Charlie and before we know it we all see ourselves in a slideshow on a big screen on the restaurant wall. We are reliving moments that only just happened.

  When the pic of me and Will kissing comes up, we get a cheer from the crowd.

  'Sweet,' says Will and kisses me again.

  I'm having the best time ever. There's been a bit of a mix-up in the place cards because my calligraphy still looks like road kill. But we've worked it out and no-one wants to stay in one place anyway.

  I'm in charge of the music for $5 an hour (discount rate) and there's a moment in between Beyoncé and Beatles tracks (I have to cater for all tastes) when I look about and see that everyone I love the most is here – all under the same roof.

  Mum and Dad are dancing and, of course, making a hideous spectacle of themselves. I've been trying to record every tragic moment with my camera for future blackmail purposes, but the light's too low, so I'm attempting to commit the crime to memory.

  Watching the busy comings and goings beneath the lanterns, I'm reminded of the intricate patterns of the sand mandala. One day we will all be swept away, but the beauty of this moment will be remembered by all who saw it and the wisdom will be handed down.

  I see my Nan wearing a pretty top she's sewed from her wedding dress, especially for tonight, and offering a platter of homemade curry puffs (I sent her the recipe on an eye2eye). My darling Will is loading his paper plate and kissing Nan.

  I do so love my boy.

  I spot the framed picture of my dear Pop on a counter. Grandma and Grandpa Pickering are talking with friends, nodding and smiling, remembering him. All Nan's friends are here and they are marvelling at the antique cut crystal vases spilling with masses of fragrant red roses. I have to congratulate Mum – she's outdone herself tonight.

  I spy Carmelita, Tenzin and Henry giggling in the corner and Tilly looking at Eddie with bright, loving eyes.

  My very own Auntie Marg from Toolewong is reading Bianca's tarot cards at the table – and Bianca's still texting!

  Then Nan insists on standing on a rickety chair to say a few words. Dad helps her up and we all gather round.

  'Thank you all for being in my life,' says Nan.

  Brring. Brring!

  Bianca's mobile rings and we all give her the evil stare.

  'If my darling Andy were here today by my side,' Nan continues, 'he would say: Nothing lasts forever. Be in the moment. Follow your bliss, my darlings. Laugh as long as you have a breath in you. Love as long as you live.'

  The entire extended Royal Family of Buckingham Street raise their glasses and toast Good Queen Nan.

  Hip, pip, hooray!

  And long may we all live!

  Acknowledgements

  Sincere thanks to all the wise and wonderful women at Random House for helping me to realise this book – the redoubtable Margie Seale, the ever enthusiastic Linsay Knight and of course the very clever and insightful Kimberley Bennett.

  The coven at HLA – Carolina Walkington, Jean Mostyn and Kate Richter – have also been there at every turn with words of encouragement and administrative support.

  My dearest friend Hilary Linstead has been a wonderful sounding board and brought her passion to this project – as she has done, unfailingly, to all my endeavours for some twenty years now. Thank you, dearest Hil.

  Thanks too to my friend Meredith Jaffe and her clever daughters for casting their expert eye over my story in the early days.

  As always, my dear husband Brendan has been my very own Winchester Headland. My rock.

  And to my two dear little leg ropes, Marley and Maeve – I hope this book finds its way into your box of treasures.

  About the author

  Wendy Harmer began her career as a journalist and has had a hugely successful career in comedy – on stage, television and radio. She has written many scripts for television and theatre, and six books for adults. Her Pearlie in the Park books – a series for young readers – are bestsellers in Australia and have been published in ten countries around the world. The animated Pearlie is screening on TV in Australia from late 2009. Wendy lives in Sydney with her husband, Brendan, and their two children, Marley and Maeve. I Lost My Mobile at the Mall is Wendy's first novel for teens. She hopes it won't be her last!