Callie

by Ruth Park

  ‘What’s the matter with her?’ asked Callie indignantly.

  ‘Just growing up, I suppose,’ sighed Heather.

  ‘I don’t see why growing up should make her such a pain in the—’

  ‘Don’t say it!’ ordered her mother. Heather Beck was such a rosy, curly-haired young woman that her stern expression looked ridiculous. Callie giggled.

  ‘Gret used to be a reasonable sort of kid. I bet she has worms.’

  Though Callie shared a bedroom with Gret she did all her personal living in the cupola that crowned their old Victorian house in Neutral Bay. No one had known how to get into the cupola until Grandpa Cameron found a way inside the big linen cupboard on the stair landing.

  Grandpa Cameron had been Callie’s real grandfather, because his son Malcolm was her father. Malcolm died in an accident when Callie was a tiny baby. That was why Callie’s name was Cameron, and the other children in the family were called Beck. Their father was Laurens.

  Though Grandpa Cameron had really belonged to Callie alone, he was quite happy to lend himself out to the other children, who loved him very much. They all missed him, and Gret most of all, though no one guessed that.

  Grandpa had been a builder before he retired. He had enjoyed fixing up the cupola. There Callie could go to dream or study, or wear out a temper when the young ones monstered her too much. A tiny spiral staircase, as tightly wound as a passionfruit tendril, rose up to the cupola.

  The family agreement was that when Callie grew too big to climb the stairs, the cupola would become Dan’s castle as it was now hers. This agreement hung over Callie’s head like a black cloud.

  Now Callie opened the coloured glass windows, and spread out her work on the bench that ran halfway around the little room. A thousand times before she had thought how fabulous it was to have her very own place, and now she thought it again. Her acrylics lay neatly in their box; her pens and rubber and liquid paper bottle were undisturbed. Not even the scissors had been taken away to cut out pictures, or Tad’s wool, or any one of the awful things Rolf could think of to do with other people’s scissors.

  I don’t know how I’ll give it up! she thought.

  Wistfully she looked at the wall, where the names of all the people who had used the cupola were written. The earliest one had been written a hundred years before. The last name was Carol Cameron. She could easily imagine Dan Beck written underneath it. Her eyes stung with tears.

  It was true she had faithfully promised Grandpa that when the time came the cupola would be handed over without a fuss. But her heart filled with all kinds of boiling things—sadness, and jealousy, and anger against Dan. How could he treasure the castle as she treasured it?

  ‘It’s really mine!’ said Callie. But she knew it wasn’t. Already she was almost too big.

  Coming up the stairs she had nearly stuck. She had to wriggle a little to get past the tight twirls.

  ‘I won’t get any bigger,’ she once vowed to Frances. ‘I won’t eat, that’s all.’

  ‘Dummy,’ said Frances. ‘It’s not fat, it’s hips. Pimples next.’

  At the idea of hips and pimples coming her way, Callie put her head down on the wheat project in despair. She felt as though the troubles of the world had fallen on her like a cloudburst. It was too much to bear.

  Suddenly there was a fearful noise from down below. The other children were forbidden to go up the stair unless Callie invited them. But that did not stop them from fighting at the bottom. The noise filled the cupboard and shrilled into the cupola.

  ‘I will tell her! It’s my right! I’m older than you!’

  ‘Callie, Callie, guess what! Dad’s been invited…’

  ‘I’ll kill you, Gret!’

  Dan’s threat was followed by a yowl as if Gret had got in first. The sound of battle receded, and the cupboard door slammed. But Callie was curious. She squeezed her way down. She could hear everyone talking at once in the kitchen. Except Rolf and Tad who were chasing each other up and down the hall.

  ‘What’s going on, Rolf?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  Rolf was not yet six. He lived in a sunny world of his own. It belonged to whatever minute he was in just then. He enjoyed his world very much, and did not worry about anything outside it.

  Tad was much the same. He was supposed to be the family’s watchdog, but he wasn’t a watchdog’s toenail. He was a small stout animal who appeared to have been knitted. Out of a ravelled mass of knots and ringlets peered two shining eyes. Those eyes saw one person only—Rolf. When Rolf was at school Tad fixed his gaze upon the gate until it opened and Rolf came home again.

  Now they went on playing as if Callie were invisible.

  By the time she reached the kitchen Laurens had managed to quieten everyone.

  ‘Ah, here is dear Callie. Now we can discuss things like a sensible family.’

  The letter from Aunt Mette brought surprising news.

  Aunt Mette had never married. She was called Fröken Beck—Miss Beck. All her life she had taught German and English in Copenhagen schools. These languages are very important to Danish school children, and Aunt Mette was a good and honoured teacher. Some years before, one of her favourite pupils had lost his life in a skiing accident, and his father, to commemorate him, had included in his will a legacy to Fröken Beck. This gentleman had now died, and Aunt Mette found herself not at all rich, but more comfortable than she had ever been.

  ‘It’s just marvellous for Mette!’ said Mum. ‘And she deserves it, too.’

  With her new fortune, Aunt Mette had bought the little Copenhagen house which she had rented for many years, and retired. Not from teaching, for she loved it too much, but from the school system.

  Laurens took up the letter and read aloud:

  I would like to continue coaching senior pupils during the summer holiday, as I have always coached Marius and his friend August Bok, and with modest success if I may say so. And so, my dearest brother, I wish also to bring you to Denmark, for it is fifteen years since Borgny and I saw you. And I want from the heart for you to bring one of your dear children, whom none of us have seen though we love them greatly. If I could I would pay for all, and Heather your wife as well, but I cannot afford that.

  There was silence in the kitchen. Heather knew the contents of the letter already, and glanced with sparkling eyes from one of her children to another. The children were speechless. Always in the back of their lives had been the picture of Denmark as Laurens had described it to them—a lovely country of canals, quaint houses, churches with spires scaled in green copper, flowers and fairytales. Hans Andersen’s country, where storks nested on farmhouse roofs, and very likely elves lived behind cupboards and fireplaces.

  Marius and his parents lived in Elsinore, quite near Hamlet’s castle. Callie had gained much glory in class because of the photographs Marius had sent. Mr Anger had explained that Kronborg Castle, its real name, had never had a prince called Hamlet, but most likely Shakespeare had visited there when he was an actor. So he had set his play within its gloomy walls.

  After that the class was keen about Shakespeare, especially when Mr Anger explained that the Elizabethan theatre was rude and knockabout, and William Shakespeare when an actor probably wore a red nose and had the seat out of his pants. Mr Anger didn’t mind a bit when the class voted to do some comic scenes from A Midsummer Night’s Dream rather than Hamlet.

  ‘You’ll come to Hamlet later,’ he said, ‘maybe after Callie has visited the castle and seen where the ghost of Hamlet’s father walked.’

  At the time Callie had laughed. But now—Dad and one child! She stole a look at her father, and caught Dan doing the same.

  Aunt Mette had arranged everything with a Copenhagen travel agent. Laurens had only to get the passports, and pick up the flight tickets.

  But he shook his head. ‘I cannot. No, never. Do you see what she has paid, Heather? More than three thousand dollars! How many crowns is that? A fortune!’

  ‘You are go
ing, Laurens,’ said Heather firmly.

  ‘My work,’ protested Laurens. ‘And also there is you, dear Heather. I cannot leave you all alone with the children. What might happen without me here? No, no, it cannot be.’

  ‘Laurens,’ said Heather calmly, ‘you are going to Denmark as Mette wishes. She is so kind and generous and you mean to disappoint her? You are going, and one of the family is going too, and we shall all be happy about it.’

  Suddenly such excitement seized Callie she could scarcely breathe. She felt she would burst if she didn’t tell someone. She tore out of the room and rang Frances.

  Frances’s parents were separated. Her mother worked in a city office. When Frances reached home after school, she began preparations for dinner, and put a load of washing into the machine. Sometimes she hosed the garden, or ironed some clothes for the next day. She was very capable.

  ‘I don’t mind, except now and then,’ she told Callie. ‘It’s the way things are. It’s the kids who get me down.’

  Callie could hear Frances’s three brothers squabbling and shouting in the background. It sounded like the zoo at feeding time. She gasped out her news.

  ‘Oh, Callie, you’ll meet Marius! Oh, wow! Double WOW!’

  ‘But Dad didn’t say it’d be me, Frances.’

  ‘What? Oh, belt up, will you, you guys? Geoff, you’ll pull the TV on top of yourself…Roddy, make him stop that…oh, come on, Callie, of course it will be you!’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ breathed Callie.

  ‘You’re the one who writes to your auntie, and Marius…I mean, they sort of know you, Callie.’

  ‘And I’m practically grown up. I wouldn’t be any trouble on the plane or anything. I might even be a help.’

  Callie babbled on, and the more she babbled the more she felt that she would be the lucky one. After a while she realised there was silence at the other end of the phone.

  ‘Frances, you still there?’

  A kind of snort exploded in her ear, and a strangled voice said: ‘It’s not fair!’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’ cried Callie.

  ‘You’ve got the cupola and everything and now, and now…everything nice happens to you, Callie!’

  A crash in the background drowned out Frances’s voice. Perhaps the TV had indeed toppled over on Geoff. Through the yells and the uproar Callie made out a voice broken by sobs: ‘I wish something exciting would happen to me sometimes!’

  She had gone. Callie didn’t know whether to ring back or not. Frances was a sunshower person, all tears and thunderclouds one day and bright as could be the next. Probably at this very minute she was feeling envious and put upon, but tomorrow things would look different.

  Gret stampeded past. She was so big and rosy and strong, her mane of hair so brightly golden that she looked like a furious fairy. When Laurens told the children tales of the fierce Norse maidens who went around killing the enemy wounded on olden time battlefields Callie felt they had looked exactly like Gret.

  ‘Your turn to set the table!’ Gret snapped. ‘And clear it. And dry the dishes.’

  ‘Oh, mind your own business!’ snapped back Callie. ‘Cranky little cow!’

  Gret slammed off without a word.

  Callie knew she could not settle to the wheat project when such exciting things were in the air. She burst into the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, Mum, please, you’ve got to tell us!’

  ‘No, she hasn’t,’ said Dan virtuously. He was peeling potatoes. Callie looked at him with hate. She always hated him when he was being marvellous, and drawing everyone’s attention to it.

  ‘But the suspense is killing me!’ wailed Callie.

  ‘You’ll live,’ said Dan. ‘After all, I am,’ he pointed out.

  ‘I just don’t know,’ said their mother. ‘It will have to be decided. And there’s another thing, you two. Let it go for now. Aunt Mette, everything. You know what a worrier your father is.’

  Callie nodded. She began to set the table. She felt hungry and mixed-up and anxious all at the same time.

  ‘I don’t want a lot of chat about it at school, either,’ added Mrs Beck. ‘Not till everything is settled.’

  ‘I did tell Frances,’ confessed Callie. ‘Not much,’ she lied, ‘because her little brothers were cutting up.’

  ‘Well, maybe she’ll have forgotten by tomorrow,’ said their mother.

  Dan didn’t think so. Callie could tell. He had an awful way of pinching in the nostrils of his thin white nose when he disapproved of something. Now he pinched them in so far it was a wonder he could breathe. Callie hoped he’d drop unconscious with suffocation. But he didn’t.

  2

  Laurens and Heather discussed Aunt Mette’s offer late into the night. The result was that next morning everyone slept in.

  ‘I hate and I hate getting up late!’ moaned Callie, banging burned toast out of the toaster. Dan appeared, dressed for school, white in the face and shaking with temper.

  ‘Gret’s locked herself in the bathroom,’ he protested. ‘She’s just sitting there grinning fiendishly.’

  ‘How do you know?’ asked Laurens curiously.

  ‘Because that’s what he’d be doing if he’d got in first,’ said Callie smartly.

  Dan let out a wail and darted away. He was half out of his mind about his lateness. He couldn’t bear to be late for anything.

  ‘Wait!’ called Dad. ‘I’ll drive you.’

  But Dan had gone, running as if his life depended on it, muttering to himself, praying he’d have time to get to the toilet block before the bell rang. He was intelligent enough to wish he were not anxious about everything, but he couldn’t help himself.

  Laurens took the other three children in his truck. The two schools, junior and senior, stood amongst trees on a huge block of land, with playgrounds and entrances separate.

  ‘Goodbye, fiend,’ Laurens said to Gret, as she gave him a smacking kiss. ‘No more wickedness today, now.’

  ‘She’s all right,’ said Callie in a grown-up way, as they drove round to the other gateway. ‘See you, Dad!’

  Callie was not very late, but by the time she reached the classroom everyone, teachers, students, tuckshop ladies, even the Principal—knew that Carol Cameron was going to Denmark with her father.

  ‘But I didn’t tell you that, Frances,’ protested Callie. ‘I just said—’

  ‘Oh, of course you’ll be going!’ Frances said jubilantly. She had quite forgotten she had been tearful and envious the previous evening. She nudged Callie and whispered: ‘Just look at the face on Belinda McKay! She’s so mad she could bite her fingers off.’

  Belinda was the class beauty. She could dance and sing, and she was training for Young Talent Time on television. Frances and Callie thought she was a drip, even with her earrings like mobiles, and her sensational clothes. But secretly they would have given anything to be as gorgeous as Belinda, even if it meant being a drip as well. Now Callie felt triumphant that she had something Belinda wanted, and Frances felt exactly the same.

  ‘I guess Marius will take you everywhere,’ prompted Frances. ‘To see the Little Mermaid, and everything.’

  ‘Well, Marius and his friend always stay with Auntie Mette during the summer,’ said Callie rather loudly, watching Belinda from the corner of her eye. ‘We’ll have a terrific time.’

  The class made knowing noises, because Callie had taken the boy’s photograph to school, and everyone knew that Marius Karlsen was a knockout. The picture showed him and his great friend August Bok, who boarded with the Karlsens, on a ferry. The boys wore student caps with long red tassels. Their hair was ash blond and cut differently from that of Sydney boys. Not that any haircut in the world would have improved August Bok, who was about as big as a bean, with a bony face and white eyes. August was referred to by Marius as Gus. Callie knew that this name was pronounced Goos. Naturally all the girls in her class began to call him The Goose. Even Callie did after a while. The name seemed to suit August even though
Marius praised him constantly for his maths, his brilliant skating, his English. To Callie this was merely proof that, aside from being marvellous, Marius was also a loyal friend.

  She flushed when the class made rude noises. It was as if they had guessed she had romantic dreams about Marius. And she said again, crossly: ‘Nothing’s settled.’

  But her classmates were so thrilled, so glad for her (all except Belinda McKay) that she forgot her mother had asked the family not to talk about the trip until everything was settled. She had not really forgotten. Her mother’s words just drifted to the back of her mind, and she didn’t look at them any more.

  ‘You’ll be missing a lot of school, Carol,’ said Mr Anger, doubtfully. ‘Your parents had better have a chat with the Principal, I think.’

  ‘I’ll bet Dan’s savage about it,’ laughed Frances as they went out at break. And he was. He was pale with rage.

  ‘Why do you think you’re going with Dad, I’d like to know!’

  ‘I didn’t say,’ began Callie, but Frances, who was tall and strong, and never hesitated to thump her little brothers when they were grottier than usual, jumped in:

  ‘I suppose you’ll run home at lunchtime to tell Mummy, you wimp! Well, tell her that it wasn’t Callie who talked about the trip to Denmark, it was me.’

  But that was not what was worrying Dan.

  ‘You’re not a real relation of Auntie Mette’s, Callie Cameron. Why should she want to see you?’

  ‘I don’t see why not!’ said Callie, outraged. ‘I write to her and Marius all the time. You could do that too, but you can’t be bothered.’

  ‘He’s too busy being fussed over by his mummy,’ jeered Frances.

  ‘Why should you be chosen?’ cried Callie angrily. ‘Just tell me!’

  ‘You’ll find out,’ said Dan doggedly. As he marched away he shouted: ‘And I’m soon going to have the cupola too!’

  ‘What a nerd,’ said Frances loftily. ‘Pay no attention, Callie.’