The Spell Book Of Listen Taylor

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  After a while he said, “Maybe you should come by. So we can talk about Listen.”

  Cath thought of calling out to Listen Taylor, but somehow, it seemed more professional to take the entry gate of the school and follow at a lurking crouch.

  The girl darted across the street, and Cath darted not far behind her.

  Now she walked fast along the footpath, turned down a side street and stopped at a bus stop.

  Cath stepped back behind a hedge.

  When she thought of squabbling seagulls, Fancy thought of Radcliffe being childish.

  When she thought of hotel lobbies, she thought of herself running from Radcliffe, checking in to glamorous hotels.

  When she thought, How is your ocean bream, my love? she pictured, suddenly, an aging couple in a restaurant. The man was asking his wife, in a loving, interested voice, How is your bream?

  And Fancy understood. She herself would never be part of such a couple, because Radcliffe would never care about her bream.

  Panicked, she reminded herself of Radcliffe’s wedding proposal: the shoe-polish mud, the winding trees, and Radcliffe clicking a photo of her: I would like to marry you and everything about you. She waited for the usual rush of contentment—her husband loved her and everything about her!—but instead was amazed. Why had she never thought of this before?

  I would like to marry you and everything about you.

  He meant the Zing Family Secret.

  He meant the Friday night meetings, the hidden cameras, the network of suburban spies. He meant the edicts from Nikolai Valerio, the labyrinthine corporate structure, and the romantic ideal of Cath: a more beautiful, sculpted version of Fancy herself. He loved the Secret more than he loved her. He loved it more than his own daughter. He was so overcome with the thrill of meeting Cath, he hardly gave a thought to Cassie’s bee sting.

  It was settled. Fancy was going to have to leave him.

  The 382 pulled up, and Listen climbed aboard. Cath leapt from behind the hedge and knocked on the closing bus door, which reluctantly opened to let her aboard. She slipped into the front seat and bowed her head.

  Cassie skidded through the gates of the school in time to see Ms. Murphy hop onto a bus. The bus pulled away at high speed.

  Nice try, thought Cassie, with a grim little nod, and began to run. She would have to run as fast as a bus.

  It was no trouble. Once, she remembered, she had been sprinting across the icy playground and had skidded into a game of rounders. Mr. Woodford had caught her, and told all the kids: “This is Cassie Zing. Future Olympic champ. I suggest you get her autograph now.”

  She pounded the footpath ferociously, sometimes running across three lanes of traffic as a shortcut.

  When Listen got off the bus, Cath got off behind her. Listen skittered around a corner. Cath stopped at a real-estate agent to smile at the pictures in the windows, but after an agonizing moment, she gave chase again.

  Listen, she saw, had arrived at a blond-brick house, alongside a local junior high. But the girl did not go to the front door. She lowered herself to a crouch and darted around the back. Cath also lowered herself and darted around the house.

  She stopped and looked around. It was a large backyard lined with a wire fence through which you could see the empty grounds of the school next door. In one corner of the yard, there was a tall gum tree with a swing. A few meters away there was a wooden shed, painted olive green. The yard was empty. The girl must have gone into the shed.

  Again, she paused. Then she walked slowly across the lawn. She stopped, changed her mind, returned to the house, and considered knocking on the front door.

  But the girl, she was sure, was in the shed.

  She returned and knocked on the shed door instead.

  There was no reply, so she opened the door. She wiped her feet on the welcome mat and walked into the Zing Garden Shed.

  Three

  She was vaguely surprised at what she saw. She had expected spiderwebs, rusty nails, mud-encrusted shovels. Also, possibly, red-bellied black snakes curled inside of rubber boots.

  Instead, the shed was a spacious, post-and-beam construction, with high ceilings and polished floorboards. A cluster of high-backed wooden chairs were set up in the center of the room, and there was a slightly raised platform at the far end. On the platform was a microphone, and a white screen on a stand. The wall stretching away from the entrance was lined with filing cabinets in unexpected colors such as spearmint and lilac. A bank of television monitors was set up along the opposite wall. Also, there were potted plants in corners and vases of yellow tulips scattered about.

  On either side of the doorway where Cath now stood, there were four slender, ornate bookshelves, holding rows of photo albums and piles of manila folders. On the top shelf of each of these bookcases, a candy-pink candle stood in a saucer, flickering dimly. The candles seemed curiously pointless, because the room was lit like a film set with bright track lighting. There were no windows, although a beam of sun from a single skylight hit the far wall.

  Just below this skylight, and behind the platform, the girl, Listen Taylor, was sitting on the floor and staring at her.

  “Hello!” called Cath, squinting down the room.

  “Hello,” said Listen, shifting slightly so that she was in the shadows.

  She decided she had better approach Listen, but as she made her way across the garden shed she felt oddly foolish, like someone heading to the spotlight with nothing to perform.

  Cassie ran along calmly. Her shoelace had come undone, and as she ran she watched it flip from one side of the shoe to the other. She looked up to see Ms. Murphy getting off the bus. Now she was turning into the road where Cassie’s grandparents lived.

  Cath saw an overnight bag on the floor by Listen’s feet, and standing neatly alongside the bag, a bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, cheese, olives, and chocolate brownies.

  “Hello!” she said again, standing opposite Listen, awkwardly.

  The girl looked up at her.

  “Having a party?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m from your school!” said Cath, suddenly realizing that Listen might not know her. “I mean from Redwood. I’m Cassie’s teacher, you know, Cassie Zing? I’m her teacher, Ms. Murphy. And I saw you—I noticed you running away.”

  Listen, she realized, was not looking at her. She was staring just over her shoulder, toward the doorway of the shed. They were both silent.

  After a while, Cath said, “Did you light the candles on the shelves there?”

  Listen nodded. “I’m not going to drink the wine, you know.”

  “Okay. Are you meeting somebody here?”

  Listen shook her head. She was leaning against the wall of the shed, her legs stretched out before her, and now at last she looked Cath in the eye.

  “Well…are you planning to spend the weekend?”

  “No.” The girl was barely whispering. “No, I’m not staying, I’m just—can you please leave me alone?”

  “But I just got to work,” said Radcliffe reasonably.

  Fancy, however, was insistent. She needed to meet him right away, at the Muffin Break in Castle Hill. He eventually agreed.

  “I asked you to meet me,” said Fancy, taking a deep breath, “because I want to talk about us.” She stirred her cappuccino into creamy swirls. At a table nearby, two young women were looking through a pile of photographs.

  “They’ve been to Fiji,” Radcliffe said, nodding at the women’s table. “Lots of tropical island shots.”

  “How do you know it’s Fiji? It could be Tahiti.”

  Radcliffe turned back to Fancy, and assumed a concerned expression. “This is about the parent-teacher night, isn’t it?” he said. “I thought you were a bit too quick to get over that this morning. But seriously, Fance, I’ll do whatever I can to make it up to you.”

  “This is not about the parent-teacher night. This is not about Cath.”

  “See that?” said Radcliffe. “
They’ve taken some panorama shots. Doesn’t Fiji look great?”

  “I’d like a trial separation,” Fancy said.

  The girls with the photographs raised eyebrows at each other, and bowed their heads sideways to listen.

  “Nonsense,” said Radcliffe, jocular. “I said I was sorry. I’m going to fix it, Fancy. I’ll set up a meeting with your sister somehow.”

  “You don’t understand. This is not your fault.”

  “Well, whose fault is it then?”

  “I think we should go home.” Fancy pushed her chair back.

  “I need to go to work.” Radcliffe looked distracted.

  “I’m trying to leave you, Radcliffe.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not going anywhere,” said Cath.

  “It’s okay,” said Listen. “I’m allowed to be here. This shed belongs to a family I know called the Zings. They’re Cassie’s grandparents?” She tried to shrug, casual, but stopped at the sound of a knock at the door.

  A tiny figure stood in the doorway, dark in the sunlight.

  “There you are!” she cried, pointing at Cath, and now they recognized her.

  “Cassie! What are you doing here?”

  “I didn’t know you were here, Listen. We’re not allowed to be in here, remember?” Cassie strolled into the shed. “Finally, I get to see it.” She gazed up at the high ceiling and along the walls. “Who’s the girl in that photo? Is that me?”

  “Cassie, did you run away from school?” said Cath. “Did anyone see you leave the school? How did you get here?”

  Cassie had wandered over to a small framed photograph sitting on top of a filing cabinet.

  “I don’t think it’s you, Cassie,” said Listen, joining her at the cabinet. “It looks a bit like Fancy or Marbie though.”

  “Look,” said Cath, getting up as well, and marching over. “Why don’t we all get a tax—Who did you say that girl was?”

  In the living room, home again, Fancy tried to convince Radcliffe that she wanted him to move out for a while.

  “Like a holiday?” he said, dimpling, not taking this seriously. “You want me to take a holiday? Fance, girl, aren’t you the one who needs a break?”

  “I need to stay and take care of Cassie!”

  “Well…” He put his thumb to his mouth, and played with his lower lip thoughtfully. “I suppose I could go and stay in Nathaniel’s campervan out the back of the Banana Bar. No! That’s no good. Nathaniel’s living there, isn’t he? Marbie and Nathaniel have split up. Marbie had an affair.”

  Fancy realized he was trying to give her a complicated message. “I know you didn’t have an affair,” she said. “I know there’s no reason. It’s just something I have to do.”

  Cath was staring fiercely at the photo in the frame when Cassie began opening filing cabinet drawers.

  “I had a denim skirt just like that,” Cath said. “And I’m sure I had earrings like—and that background, can you see what that sign says, Listen?” Politely, Listen examined the photo.

  “Pets,” announced Cassie from the filing cabinet. “Knee. Broken here—broken h-e-e-arr. Broken hearts.”

  Cath and Listen looked up from the photo.

  “Cassie, are you allowed to be looking at those things?” Cath said, but as she spoke, she was wandering over to Cassie and the filing cabinet. “I mean,” she said, while her eyes moved over the files in the drawer, “do you know what your grandparents use this place for? I guess it’s probably private!” She glimpsed two labels as she closed the drawer: “Nightmares” and “Potential Recruits.”

  Cassie, undeterred by Cath, opened the next drawer down and pulled out a handful of papers. “Can you read this for me?” she said, handing a small piece of cardboard to Cath.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t,” murmured Listen.

  “It’s some kind of ad.” Cath took it in a teacherly manner and read aloud, “Wouldn’t it be better to know what’s going on in your home or office at all times? Now you can! Our top-of-the-range pocket radio receivers provide superb sound sensitivity, so you can listen even to whispers! Range is up to 500 meters.”

  “I wonder if we should be looking at this,” said Listen.

  “Are they spies or something?” Cath said excitedly, opening another cabinet drawer and quickly closing it again. “Listen, I haven’t got my cell with me. Do you think you could get into the house and phone Redwood? To tell them that Cassie is here? In case they’re worried.”

  “Okay,” said Listen, “but I don’t think we should look at this.”

  “Hey,” called Cassie. “I just found a whole lot of photos of that girl!”

  Radcliffe yawned, stretched, and said, “I suppose I should fetch my toothbrush!”

  He glinted at her, but Fancy said, “All right then,” and they narrowed their eyes at one another for a moment.

  Radcliffe walked down the hallway at the slow, steady pace of a bridesmaid.

  “It’s not a joke!” said Fancy, behind him.

  “Of course not!” agreed Radcliffe, and grinned. “It’s a holiday!”

  She watched as he packed his toiletries bag. He packed toothpaste, toothbrush, shaving cream and razors, and three cotton swabs from the pack.

  “I’ve been using this to paint the wart on the back of my heel,” said Radcliffe, picking up the nail polish remover. “Mind if I take it along?

  “A trial separation,” he repeated to himself, moving into the bedroom to find his overnight bag. “I suppose you’ll want me to finish that desktop publishing I’m doing at work?” he called from deep within the wardrobe.

  Fancy stood at the bedroom door, and Radcliffe emerged and smiled at her. “Because I don’t know if I should be working on the Secret,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “while we’re on our trial separation. What do you think?”

  At last Fancy understood. He was threatening her. He could not take this seriously because he had the trump card: He knew the Secret. He would go straight to the press. Of course he would. She could never leave him.

  “Hmm?” prompted Radcliffe, cocking his head to the side.

  Cath was scrambling around the floor of the shed, surrounded by open drawers, spilling paper, books, and cardboard. The photos Cassie had found were all of Cath. Now she opened and closed folders in a frenzy, grabbed at papers and dropped them. “This is my dog,” she cried, “my school report…my string art!” Cassie, sitting on the floor nearby, was turning the pages of another photo album, every now and then looking up at her teacher steadily, and then looking back at the photos.

  Radcliffe moved around the house again, carefully packing random items: a CD from the shelf; a kiwifruit from the fridge. He was bluffing. He knew that at any moment she would have to laugh, apologize, and tell him to stop.

  Fancy felt a rising helplessness. The telephone rang, and she jumped.

  Climbing through the kitchen window into Grandma and Grandpa Zing’s house, Listen thought she had better call a Zing, not Redwood Elementary at all. There was something strange going on in that shed, and she was the one who had started it. She looked at the auto-dial buttons on the phone, each neatly labeled, and remembered that Fancy lived nearby. So she pressed the button labeled FANCY.

  “Listen! Hello, sweetheart, how are you?” Fancy sounded odd.

  “Who is it?” That was Radcliffe’s voice in the background.

  “It’s Listen! Listen’s on the phone!”

  “Fancy, I have to tell you something. I’m at Grandma and Grandpa Zing’s place, and Cassie’s here too.”

  “Oh, honey! Well, they’re not there. They’ve gone to look at some balloons! What did you say about Cass—how did Cassie get there? Why isn’t she at school? Can you put her on the phone for me, honey?”

  “I can’t,” said Listen, bravely. “She’s in the garden shed out back. She’s okay though, because her teacher’s there too. I think her name’s Ms. Murphy?”

  Fancy was silent for a moment. There was th
e sound of breathing, and then clicking fingernails on the receiver.

  “Who did you say was there?” she said eventually.

  “Ms. Murphy. Cassie’s teacher? She’s in the garden shed with Cassie.”

  “Listen? Can you get them out of there? I mean, right away?”

  Now Listen was silent. “Well,” she admitted, “it’s tricky. Ms. Murphy is looking in the filing cabinets at the moment. I tried to stop her.”

  Fancy took an immense breath of air and began to laugh: “Ha ha ha!” It was a high-pitched laugh, and she repeated it: “Ha ha ha!”

  “What is it, Fancy?” Radcliffe’s voice was in the background again.

  “Oh, well, Listen,” said Fancy in a fluting voice, “the game’s up now! Tell you what, I’ll call my mother and get her back from the balloons. You sit tight, and I’ll be right over. Thanks for calling, sweetheart!”

  Listen hung up and stared at the phone.

  Four

  Radcliffe was standing on the porch, overnight bag on his shoulder, waiting for Fancy. She approached the front door, and he grinned at her.

  “I should go now?” he called. “Check into a hotel?”

  “That was Listen on the phone,” Fancy replied in her musical voice. “And then I had to call my mother. Guess who’s in the garden shed going through the cabinets?”

  “Can’t guess.”

  “Try.”

  “The police?”

  “No, Radcliffe. Better! It’s Cath Murphy! She’s in the garden shed!”

  Radcliffe turned pale gray. “Cath?”

  “Yes!” cried Fancy, dim in the hallway. He tried to squint her into shape.

  “Then the Secret is out?”

  “Yes! And Radcliffe, I want a divorce!”

  A gust of wind slammed the front door closed.

  A gust of wind blew Marbie’s hair all over her face, so that, for a moment, she was blinded. The same gust blew Nathaniel’s eyes into narrow squints.

  They had decided to walk to the park across from the Banana Bar, so they could talk, and were standing on the median strip. Cars raced by in both directions, shaking their clothes with the speed.