To her astonishment, the guy Max Willis, the colleague Donna Pym had been helping look at houses, was there. He and her mother were sitting at the table eating a meal and there was a bottle of wine between them and half-filled glasses. Far from looking distraught, her mother looked more relaxed than Becky had seen her in weeks.
At Becky’s entrance, she looked around in some surprise.
‘Oh, hello dear,’ she said. ‘You’re back early.’
This, along with her mother’s blasé reception, was astonishing.
‘We are?’ she asked uncertainly.
‘Hi,’ said Donna Pym with a friendly smile. ‘You must be Johnny? Come along in.’
‘Computer games not so much fun?’ asked Max Willis.
Johnny and Becky looked at each other as this new reality dawned. Johnny was first to take advantage of it.
He grinned at Becky’s mother and said, ‘Yeah, pretty boring really. Actually,’ he added, ‘to tell the truth we didn’t even bother. We went for a walk instead.’
Becky said, ‘Round by the river. You know, that path near Landon Street.’
‘That’s a nice part of the neighbourhood,’ said Donna Pym to Max Willis. ‘Pity there weren’t any houses for sale round there.’
‘They’d be expensive though,’ said Johnny.
‘They’re all pretty old, too,’ said Becky. ‘Unless you like old houses?’
‘Anywhere I hang my hat,’ said Max Willis, and Donna Pym gave him a quick little look before turning back to Becky and Johnny.
‘But that means you won’t have had any dinner?’
Becky shook her head,
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Johnny. Then feeling a little awkward, suddenly said, ‘I really ought to be getting home, I suppose.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Donna Pym. ‘Becky, there’s another couple of pieces of steak in the fridge and there’s lots of salad and potatoes here. Max has only nibbled at his food …’
Becky looked inquiringly at Johnny. ‘Do you want to?’ she asked.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘If you’re sure it’s okay.’ Then he turned to Becky’s mother, ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘It’s very nice …’
‘Nonsense,’ said Donna. ‘It’s lovely to have one of Becky’s friends here. It doesn’t happen too often.’
Later, as they were still sitting round the table, Max Willis winked at Donna Pym then said to Becky, ‘So you didn’t play your flute to Johnny, Becky?’
Becky and Johnny exchanged glances and Becky felt a moment of alarm. In all of the excitement she’d forgotten completely about the flute.
She looked at Max Willis’s smiling, expectant face. She could make some silly comment to brush away his silly question, but sooner or later she’d have to confess to the missing flute. Best deal with it quickly, she told herself.
She turned to her mother, flushing a little. ‘I’ve lost it!’ she blurted.
‘Lost what, dear? The flute?’
Becky nodded.
Donna Pym’s face became more serious. ‘But how?’
Becky felt helpless. How could she possibly explain how she’d ‘lost’ the flute. How could she tell her mother that the last time she’d seen the instrument it was in the hands of an angry Greek goddess who had just turned a drunken goatherd into a horse.
Johnny came to her rescue, ‘It’s sort of my fault,’ he said.
Becky glanced at him gratefully.
‘To save Becky carrying it I’d put it in the delivery basket on my bike,’ he said, ‘and when we walked along the path I left the bike against a tree. We kind of forgot about the flute. When we got back, the flute was gone.’
Becky looked back at her mother, nodding.
‘Somebody must have taken it,’ Johnny concluded rather lamely.
‘Oh, Becky!’ said Donna Pym.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Becky miserably.
‘Put an ad in the paper,’ suggested Max Willis. ‘It might turn up.’
Becky gave him as small smile.
It won’t though, thought Becky. And while the loss was distressing to her mother, Becky could not help feeling a wave of relief.
Later, she walked Johnny to the gate.
‘Thanks, Johnny,’ she whispered, slightly surprised to find that almost for the first time she was using his name directly.
‘That’s okay.’ He grinned in the darkness. ‘Pretty difficult to tell the truth.’
‘I know …’
Becky knew he was right, but felt a little guilty all the same. With her mother, she’d buried what the flute was doing to her. She should have tried to explain, even in the most roundabout way. It had cost a lot to buy the flute and her mother deserved a little more.
‘Anyway,’ she added, ‘I’ll need to let her know something, somehow …’
‘I’ve no idea how you can do that,’ said Johnny, ‘but good luck. At least I don’t have to tell my folks anything.’
Becky took his hand and squeezed it. ‘Thanks for being there for me, too,’ she whispered. ‘It was all so weird and so scary. I don’t know that I could have done it on my …’
‘No worries,’ said Johnny. ‘It was seriously weird, though. It had its moments.’
‘I wonder what’ll happen to Faunus.’
Johnny shrugged. ‘I don’t know. That woman with the flute was pretty angry.’
‘Poor old Silenus.’
‘Poor old Silenus my backside,’ said Johnny. ‘He was going to kill and eat me. You too, if he could have caught you. Do him damn good to eat grass from now on.’
‘They were all mad,’ said Becky. ‘Faunus, Silenus, all appetite and the women all so cold.’
‘Your hand’s not cold,’ whispered Johnny. ‘It’s rather warm.’
‘I’d better get back in,’ said Becky, releasing his hand and surprised that she felt so reluctant to do so. ‘Mum’ll be getting suspicious.’
‘Bull,’ grinned Johnny. ‘You just don’t want to leave her alone with that guy.’
When Becky returned to the kitchen, Max Willis and her mother were just finishing up the dishes.
‘I could have done those,’ she said.
‘I see you have her well trained, Donna,’ said Max Willis.
‘I wish,’ said Donna Pym, giving Becky a small grin.
It was funny having a man in the kitchen again doing the domestic things her father used to do, thought Becky. She couldn’t work out whether it was something pleasant or something she resented.
After Max made his farewells, Donna made them another cup of coffee.
‘I shouldn’t do this,’ she said. ‘I’ll be up all night.’
Becky felt obliged to make some comment about Max. ‘He seems quite nice,’ she said neutrally.
Donna shrugged. ‘I hardly know him really. But, you’re right, he’s pleasant enough and it was fun going round the houses.’
‘Fun?’
Donna smiled. ‘He’s quite sharp really, and he liked to tease the land agents when they were over egging it, you know?’
Becky, stirring her coffee, nodded.
Donna looked at her speculatively. ‘We’ve never really talked about this, Becky, but it’s been a long time now since Roger … since your father left. I don’t mean this one, but should I meet someone … how would you …?’
Becky took a sip. She wondered what had prompted this. Max being here for dinner, or Johnny? She glanced up at her mother. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘I was thinking before that it was kind of funny to have a guy in the kitchen doing the dishes and stuff. That hasn’t happened for yonks. I don’t know …’
For a moment or two, nothing was said. Becky thought of Arcadia again. It had been warfare there: scheming Faunus and his reduced fauns versus bitter nymphs, all trying to outdo one another. There had to be a better way.
She sensed her mother was waiting. She looked up at her and shrugged. ‘It depends on the guy, of course,’ she said. ‘If he were you know …’ She meant: kind, considerate, ge
ntle, loving. ‘… I guess it could be all right.’
Donna Pym gave her a small grateful smile and nodded. ‘Thank you, kiddo,’ she said.
Becky impulsively reached and took her mother’s hand.
‘About the flute, Mum …’ she said.
Donna looked at her. ‘The flute?’
‘It was lovely of you to buy it and I know how much it cost, you know, and not just in dollars.’
‘I know,’ said Donna.
‘But there was something really strange about it and I can’t really tell you without your thinking me some kind of fruitcake, but believe me it was real and it was scary.’
Her mother looked at her. Becky wasn’t given to odd excesses.
‘Johnny’s story wasn’t quite what happened.’
‘What?’
‘If I told you what really happened you’d be calling in the people in the white coats so I’m not even going to try.’
‘Go on.’
Becky thought desperately of some way of telling her mother how her life with the flute had been that she could understand. ‘Well, the first thing is that the flute never really belonged to me …’
Donna Pym wanted to protest, but Becky shook her head. ‘No, you have to listen. It didn’t. And I found out who it really belonged to, and they took it back. It’s been really, really hard, believe me. But the flute was kind of jinxed, cursed and it nearly drove me mad.’
Despite her growing astonishment, Donna Pym refrained from interruption.
‘Listen, you know when I played it in that shop and you were amazed at the piece I played?’
Her mother nodded. ‘It was quite beautiful.’
‘I know,’ said Becky. ‘But I had never played that piece before. I hadn’t even heard it. And here’s where it gets so weird. The flute would only play that piece. I could not at any stage play any other piece on it. You never heard me play any other piece. Paddy never heard me play anything else. Actually she told me what it was. It’s something called Syrinx by Debussy. So when I had to rehearse in the orchestra I had to sit out and that was so difficult as I was lead flute. If I had tried to play it would have been more awful. Paddy bawled me out and I ran away. It was ghastly. I had to go to Mrs Barnard. Everybody thought it was something to do with me, but it was all about the flute …’
Her mother looked at her with growing astonishment. ‘Becky … why didn’t you say?’
‘What could I say?’
‘How strange. How dreadful.’
‘It was worse,’ said Becky softly. ‘It was frightening.’
‘But you said you found the owner?’
‘There was a card in the box and it led me to the person who owned it. I went back to that horrible pawnshop and they gave me the address.’
‘Then what?’
Becky looked at her mother helplessly. She was trembling. ‘Mum, I can’t tell you any more. It was like a nightmare. If it hadn’t been for Johnny …’
Donna Pym knew when to withdraw. What Becky had told her was beyond her comprehension, but she knew it was real and had been terrible for Becky. She squeezed her hand.
‘Well, whatever it was, it’s over now.’ She gave her a little smile. ‘And look at it like this, you’ve lost a flute, but you’ve gained a friend.’
Becky looked at her mother gratefully. She smiled, ‘Thanks, Mum,’ she whispered, and all at once she felt matchboxes in her throat again.
The wrappings from the parcel were scattered on the table, the case lay open beside them.
As her mother watched a little apprehensively, Becky looked at her, in turn, over the flute she was holding to her lips. Then with a small nod, Becky began to play.
The piece Paddy had been rehearsing with the orchestra for the prize-giving concert was an arrangement of Bach’s Air on a G String. As the first notes of the famous melody sounded, Becky pulled the flute away and grinned at her mother with relief.
‘It’s okay!’ she said. ‘It really is.’
Immediately she swept the flute to her lips again, and began once more, but this time completing the entire melody.
‘It’s lovely,’ laughed Donna Pym. ‘It’s really, really lovely.’
Becky put the flute down, laughing too.
‘Well,’ said Donna, ‘we’ll get you to play it to Max tonight. He’s coming round for dinner.’
Becky grinned and said, ‘Sure, why not?’
‘I suppose we could ask Johnny, too,’ said Donna. ‘Seeing how he had something to do with losing it for you.’
‘He’ll be pleased,’ said Becky. ‘I’ll give him a call.’
‘I don’t know, though,’ smiled her mother, teasing. ‘Does Johnny like that kind of music?’
Becky had already picked the phone up. She grinned at her mother.
‘He’s getting to like it more all the time,’ she said.
I should like to thank Massey University, the Palmerston North City Council and Square Edge for the 2008 Visiting Artist in Residence Award which greatly helped in the writing of the early drafts of this book.
Also by James Norcliffe
The Loblolly Boy
‘The storytelling is accomplished and leisurely, but it’s the style of the novel and its extraordinary treatment of ordinary themes that separate this one from the pack.’
The Horn Book (USA)
‘Norcliffe’s delightful prose, humour and adult insights ensure that he has written that rare children’s book, as much a joy for adults to read as for children … Just make sure you read it first!’
Gerard Woods, Science Fiction World
‘A unique and original fantasy, complete with adventure, magic and appealing characters, this is a tale that was hard to put down.’
Pat Pledger, Read Plus
The Loblolly Boy and the Sorcerer
‘This is a richly detailed fantasy, one which cries out for another sequel.’ Trevor Agnew, Agnew Reading
‘The story moves at a cracking pace with swift changes of circum stance and identity. The loblolly boy discovers that making the right choice is often a matter of trial and error — and to achieve his goal he must keep trying.’
Jean Bennett, Book Rapt
For more information about our
New Zealand children’s titles please
go to www.randomhouse.co.nz
About the Author
James Norcliffe is a poet, editor and the author of several fantasy novels for young people, most recently The Loblolly Boy (published in the United States as The Boy Who Could Fly and winner of the 2010 New Zealand Post Book Award for Junior Fiction), and its sequel The Loblolly Boy and the Sorcerer. James lives at Church Bay, Lyttelton Harbour and teaches at Lincoln University’s Foundation Studies and English Language Division. He has been awarded the 2012 Children’s Writer in Residence at the University of Otago.
Also by James Norcliffe
Poetry:
The Sportsman & Other Poems 1986
Letters to Dr Dee 1993
A Kind of Kingdom 1998
Rat Tickling 2003
Along Blueskin Road 2005
Villon in Millerton 2007
Short Fiction:
The Chinese Interpreter 1994
Essay:
The Past & Other Countries 2000
Young Adult Novels:
Under the Rotunda 1992
Penguin Bay 1993
The Emerald Encyclopaedia 1994
The Carousel Experiment 1995
The Assassin of Gleam 2006
The Loblolly Boy 2009
The Loblolly Boy and the Sorcerer 2011
As Editor:
Big Sky with Bernadette Hall 2003
Five Re-Draft annual collections with Alan Bunn 2001–2005
Four Re-Draft annual collections with Tessa Duder 2006–2011
Copyright
The assistance of Creative New Zealand is gratefully acknowledged by the publisher.
A LONGACRE BOOK published by Random House New Zealand<
br />
18 Poland Road, Glenfield, Auckland, New Zealand
For more information about our titles go to www.randomhouse.co.nz
A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand
Random House New Zealand is part of the Random House Group New York London Sydney Auckland Delhi Johannesburg
First published 2012
© James Norcliffe 2012
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
ISBN 978 1 86979 926 7
This book is copyright. Except for the purposes of fair reviewing no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Cover design: Carla Sy
Text design: Megan van Staden
Cover illustration: Mark Owen / Trevillion Images
Printed in Australia by Griffin Press an Accredited ISO AS/ NZS 14001:2004
Environmental Management System printer.
Also available as an ebook
The paper this book is printed on is certified by the © 1996 Forest Stewardship Council A.C. (FSC). Griffin Press holds FSC chain of custody SGS-COC-005088. FSC promotes environmentally responsible, socially beneficial and economically viable management of the world’s forests.
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