Eva's Journey

by Judi Curtin

  I nodded, trying to sound braver than I felt.

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Go right ahead and tell me what the future holds for me. I can take it – I think.’

  Chapter Seven

  Madam Margarita adjusted her ugly turban, settled herself more comfortably on her chair, and spoke in a whispery voice.

  ‘Cross my palm with silver.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It means give me the money,’ she said in her ordinary voice.

  I handed her the ten euro, and she put it into the pocket of her tracksuit.

  ‘Now,’ she said. ‘Put your hands on the table.’

  I did as she said.

  She leaned forwards and examined my hands. She looked especially closely at the only nail that still had its gel extension, with the crystal set into it. I don’t know why, but I felt like I had to explain myself.

  ‘I got my nails done as a birthday treat.’

  Then she looked at my designer hoodie.

  ‘That’s one of those fancy jumpers that cost a fortune, isn’t it?’

  I could feel my face going red.

  Was it because my seventy-dollar hoodie was meant to be faded and ripped, while clearly Madam Margarita’s cheap tracksuit top was faded and ripped from being worn too much?

  ‘Well, sort of,’ I replied. ‘But I bought this hoodie in America, and they’re not so expensive over there.’

  She gave a big laugh.

  ‘So you flew all the way to America to save money on a jumper – sounds a bit strange to me.’

  I couldn’t argue with her – it did sound a bit stupid when she said it like that.

  Madam Margarita released my hands, and I quickly sat on them – like I could pretend that they weren’t there.

  She put her hands around the sides of the crystal ball/goldfish bowl, and gazed into it, like she could actually see something besides the grubby tablecloth underneath.

  Her voice went all whispery again.

  ‘I see a lot of things in your future.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Patience, child. Everything’s a bit cloudy. It’s hard to see clearly.’

  No wonder she couldn’t see clearly. Her so-called crystal ball was really filthy.

  I gazed at the ceiling and waited. A huge cobweb stretched from the doorway right across to the furthest corner of the room.

  Suddenly Madam Margarita jumped. She took me by surprise and I jumped too. We both gave nervous laughs.

  ‘I can see lots and lots of things in your future,’ she repeated.

  This time I knew better than to rush her. In my nervousness, I picked the last remaining crystal from my fingernail. The crystal fell to the floor, and I winced as I saw it slip betweens a crack in the floorboards.

  At last, Madam Margarita spoke again.

  ‘I see sadness,’ she said. ‘I see lots of sadness and disappointment.’

  Great, I thought. It didn’t take great talent to see that. After all, I’d already told her about my pathetic life.

  Then she smiled. I noticed that she had beautiful, even, white teeth. ‘And I see happiness. Lots of happiness.’

  I waited, but if Madam Margarita could see anything else, it didn’t look like she was planning on sharing it with me.

  Lots of happiness sounded good, but I needed to know more.

  How long was I supposed to wait before the happiness gig got going?

  Was there any way of speeding up the process?

  ‘Er….can you see how exactly I get from the big sadness to the big happiness?’ I asked.

  Madam Margarita didn’t answer at first. She leaned forward with her eyes closed.

  Was she thinking about my future?

  Or was she falling asleep?

  Suddenly her eyes shot open.

  ‘I can see good deeds, and then I can see happiness.’

  I grinned. I really liked the sound of that.

  ‘So, what you’re saying is, loads of people are going to do good deeds to help me so I can be happy again?’

  She shook her head impatiently.

  ‘Are you deliberately misunderstanding me? That’s not the way it works. You’re the one who has to do the good deeds.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, not liking the sound of that quite so much.

  Madam Margarita smiled.

  ‘It’s becoming clearer now. I can see you helping people. I can see you helping many people. And then happiness comes to you as gently as the sweet falling rain on a soft spring morning.’

  ‘Sweet falling rain?’ I repeated.

  Madam Margarita looked at me. ‘Too much?’

  I nodded. ‘Too much.’

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Let’s put it into your kind of language. I see you doing loads of good stuff for people, and then you get to be really happy again. How does that sound?’

  It sounded fair enough to me, but could it really be that simple?

  There were too many possibilities.

  ‘Who am I supposed to do good deeds for?’ I asked. ‘How am I supposed to know who to help? Do I have to help old ladies across the road, or do I have to save the rainforests? And how many people do I have to help? If I do one totally amazing good thing, would that be as good as lots of small things?’

  Madam Margarita shrugged, and her silver shawl made a loud crinkly noise.

  ‘Nothing is simple. Many people are unhappy. Many people have problems that you could help them with. Wherever there is an opportunity to do something good, just do it. Your reward will come in time.’

  I sat there, wondering if she could possibly be right.

  In some ways, Madam Margarita seemed like a total fraud.

  And yet, there was something in her eyes that made me think she might be telling the truth.

  There was a long silence.

  A very long, very uncomfortable silence.

  ‘So that’s it?’ I said in the end.

  She nodded.

  ‘That’s it. Your session is over.’

  I couldn’t make up my mind whether I was disappointed or relieved.

  Madam Margarita led the way back out into the hall, with her wheels squeaking loudly as she went.

  ‘Hey,’ I said suddenly. ‘That squeaky noise must drive you crazy. Haven’t you got any oil?’

  ‘I think there’s some in the shed out the back, but I can’t get out there since … well I can’t get out there any more. And everyone else around here is busy all the time.’

  I hesitated. It was a lovely sunny day, and I wanted to get back outside to Victoria, but if I was going to spend my life doing good deeds, I figured I might as well get started.

  ‘Tell me exactly where the oil is,’ I said.

  I went out to the shed and found the oil on the shelf where Madam Margarita had told me it would be. It didn’t take long to oil the wheels of her chair, and I got her to wheel herself up and down the hall, making sure I had done it properly.

  Madam Margarita smiled.

  ‘That was a little thing to you,’ she said. ‘But it’s a big help to me. Thank you very much.’

  Suddenly I felt embarrassed.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I said, and I ran outside to my friend.

  ‘You were ages,’ said Victoria. ‘I was starting to get worried.’

  I shrugged. ‘It didn’t seem like long to me.’

  ‘And what did Madam Margarita say? Is your life going to change? Are you going to get rich again?’

  ‘She said …’ I stopped talking.

  She said I should do loads of good stuff, and then my life would get better.

  How crazy did that sound?

  How could I say that to Victoria without sounding like a total idiot?

  So I just smiled.

  ‘She didn’t say a whole lot,’ I said. ‘I should have listened to you. I should have kept the money and bought a t-shirt.’

  Chapter Eight

  Next morning, the door-bell rang while I was having my breakfast. I raced to answer it, wonde
ring if it could possibly be good news.

  Was this my reward for oiling the wheels of Madam Margarita’s wheelchair?

  Was this my fairy godmother, come to rescue me from my rubbish new life?

  It was Victoria.

  ‘I’ve come to wish you luck on your first day in your new school,’ she said.

  I hugged her.

  ‘That’s so, so nice of you,’ I said. ‘But aren’t you going to be late for school now?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘It’s fine. My dad drove me. He’s waiting outside, and he’s going to drop me at school on his way to work.’

  I felt a sudden stab of jealousy.

  Would my dad ever again have a car?

  Would he ever again have a job to drive to?

  There was a long silence.

  ‘I’m scared,’ I said in the end.

  ‘What exactly are you scared of?’ she asked.

  I shrugged.

  ‘I’m not really sure. The whole thing is just scary. What if the kids in Woodpark don’t like me? What if they’re really rough? What if they’ve got knives and stuff?’

  Victoria gave me a quick hug.

  ‘It’s not the Wild West,’ she said. ‘It won’t be that bad.’

  Easy for her to say!

  There was another long silence.

  ‘Nice uniform,’ said Victoria in the end.

  Why did she have to mention the uniform? Didn’t she think I felt bad enough already?

  I looked down at myself, and tried not to cry.

  My new school uniform was totally, totally revolting. The skirt was made of thick scratchy material and the jumper wasn’t a whole lot better. Both of them were ugly, ugly bottle-green. Bottle green is a good colour for bottles – for clothes it so doesn’t work. I thought of my beautiful, well-cut Abbey School uniform, which was squashed up in a box in the garage.

  ‘What’s with the shoes?’ asked Victoria, looking at the ugly brown things on my feet.

  ‘You’ve still got hundreds of nice shoes, so why aren’t you wearing any of them?’

  I sighed.

  ‘None of my nice shoes fit in with the “dress code” of Woodpark School.’

  ‘Woodpark has a dress code?’

  I nodded.

  ‘It came in a letter. It goes on for three pages, but it could have been written in one sentence – if it’s nice, you’re not allowed to wear it.’

  Victoria laughed.

  ‘And do you know,’ I said, warming to my subject. ‘There’s a banner hanging over the front door of the school, and it says NO FUN ALLOWED HERE!’

  ‘No way!’ said Victoria with a horrified gasp.

  ‘Well, actually I haven’t been there yet,’ I admitted. ‘But who knows?’

  Victoria laughed again and hugged me.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve still got your sense of humour,’ she said.

  I laughed too.

  ‘I think I’m going to need it.’

  A bit later, Mum and Dad walked me to school.

  ‘Isn’t this nice?’ said Dad who was still trying to see the bright side in the disaster that was our lives. ‘If I had a job, I wouldn’t have time to escort you on your first day in your new school.’

  I made a face.

  ‘If you had a job, I wouldn’t be going to this stupid school anyway. I’d be on the way to The Abbey, on the bus, on my own.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Dad, and we walked the rest of the way in silence.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Mum brightly as we stopped outside my new school.

  I gulped. I’d never looked closely at this building before. I’d only ever seen it through the tinted windows of Mum’s jeep as we drove past on the way to tennis or pony club.

  The walls were grey.

  The windows were grey.

  The bars on the windows were grey.

  The sky had even turned grey in sympathy.

  Why couldn’t I be getting off the bus at The Abbey, looking forward to hearing about the exotic places my friends had visited over the holidays?

  Or why couldn’t I be walking along to Victoria’s school, looking forward to meeting the friends she’d told me so much about?

  Why did I have to be in this grim, grey place?

  ‘Don’t make me go in there,’ I said. ‘It’s too scary. Please bring me home.’

  Mum shook her head.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Eva. You have to go to school.’

  I had a brainwave.

  ‘I know. Now that Dad has no job, why doesn’t he home-school me? He knows heaps of stuff. He’d be a great teacher.’

  ‘You wouldn’t say that if you’d been there when I was learning to drive,’ muttered Mum darkly.

  Just then three very scary-looking boys went past, pushing and shoving each other as they went through the school gates.

  ‘Did you see them?’ I asked when they were safely out of earshot.

  Mum put on her bright voice again.

  ‘You shouldn’t judge by appearances, Eva. I’m sure they’re perfectly nice boys.’

  ‘Why don’t I invite them home for tea this evening then?’ I said, and watched as Mum’s face went pale.

  ‘Come on,’ said Dad. ‘If we don’t go inside you’re going to be late.’

  I knew there was no point in arguing any more, so I followed my parents, as they led the way into my new school.

  Mum and Dad shoved me in the door of the principal’s office, and after a few polite words, they got to home again.

  I wasn’t so lucky.

  There was no escape for me.

  A few minutes later, I was following the principal, Mrs Parker along the corridor. There was a strong smell like old boiled cabbage.

  Why couldn’t I be back at The Abbey, which smelled of perfume and floor polish?

  While we walked, Mrs Parker was muttering about school rules, and locker keys, and fire drills.

  I was muttering along in time, like I actually cared.

  Why did I need to know all that stuff? This was only a temporary blip. Soon I’d be back in my old school, where I belonged.

  At last we stopped at a classroom door.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Mrs Parker brightly. ‘Sixth Class. After you, my dear.’

  She opened the door and pushed me inside. I stood there wishing that the ugly grey floor would swallow me up.

  It was weeks since I’d had my nails or my hair done.

  I had no make up on. (It was against the dress code of course.)

  I was wearing the ugliest clothes I have ever, ever stood up in.

  And thirty pairs of eyes were staring at me.

  I tried to look like I didn’t care.

  I tried to think of nice stuff.

  I tried to think of Madam Margarita’s words.

  Help people, and you will get your reward.

  How soon could I start helping people?

  And how soon would I get out of here?

  ‘Mr Gowing, this is Eva,’ said Mrs Parker, after what felt like three hours. ‘She’s your new student.’

  A boy at the back of the class waited until the teachers were looking the other way, and then he flicked a piece of folded paper in my direction. The paper flew into the air and then hit me on the cheek. It really hurt.

  I turned to stare at the boy.

  Maybe it was time to start helping people.

  I’d happily help him to eat his exercise book.

  Mr Gowing was talking to me.

  ‘Blah … Blah … Welcome … work hard … blah, blah and more blah.’

  He pointed to an empty chair. There was a boy sitting in the chair next to it.

  I was supposed to sit next to a boy?

  What if I needed someone to tell me if my hair was OK or if my tights were laddered?

  Something told me it was a bit soon to start arguing, so I walked over and sat down.

  And so my first day in my new school began.

  Chapter Nine

  I looked around
at the ugly grey walls of the classroom, and felt a sudden pang of sadness as I remembered the wood-panelled walls of The Abbey.

  I looked at the sullen-faced boy next to me who smelled of chips, and thought of Emily, who sat next to me at The Abbey. Emily was funny and clever and smelled of violets.

  I blinked quickly trying to hold back the tears.

  The classroom windows were closed and it was too warm. The sullen-faced boy looked like he was ready to doze off. Outside, the sun had come out. It was shining merrily, taunting us with its freedom. The stiff material of the school uniform was scratching the back of my legs, and my feet were sore from dragging around the ugly, heavy shoes.

  I had to escape from this awful place.

  And Madam Margarita’s plan was the only one I could think of.

  I should probably explain right now, that I know this whole thing sounds totally stupid.

  A few months earlier, if you had told me I’d be visiting a fortune-teller, I wouldn’t have believed you.

  If you’d told me that I’d believe a fortune-teller, and actually do what she suggested in an effort to change my life, I’d have rolled around the floor and laughed until I was sick.

  But a lot had changed in those few months.

  And to me, the choice was clear – do what Madam Margarita suggested, or do nothing.

  And doing nothing just didn’t bear thinking about.

  I tried not to think too carefully about how exactly the whole thing was going to work – about how exactly I was going to get my old life back, just by helping other people.

  But I’d worry about the details later.

  It was time to get started.

  I looked around the classroom.

  Where was the unhappy person who needed my help?

  Well, for starters, I was unhappy.

  But that probably didn’t count.

  I rested my chin on my hands, and gazed around for a bit. Everyone in the room looked unhappy. But maybe that was only because it was maths class. Even the teacher, scribbling long lines of rubbish on the blackboard, looked like he’d rather be somewhere, anywhere else.