I Have a Bed Made of Buttermilk Pancakes

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  Something that lasted only three minutes, and that did not involve touching or words (or almost no words anyway) – something so fleeting can surely be erased?

  I won’t even meet with him to tell him: No More Tennis. Anyway, we couldn’t play, it’s so cold, it’s like another country.

  Also, I will soon be very busy. Listen will be on holidays starting this Friday, and Vernon and I will probably take some time off work and take her on another trip.

  So! No time for the aeronautical engineer!

  I am just about to take down his vision from my corkboard, by the way. Do you know what it is? It’s a coincidence. It has nothing to do with my umbrella experience or my fear of long sharp objects. Nothing at all!

  Sir, I must ask you to excuse me for a moment – an intriguing pink envelope has just been tossed on to my desk by the mailboy. My name appears on the front in swirling purple!

  I will see what it is.

  Kind regards,

  Marbie

  Inside the intriguing pink envelope was a large piece of paper bearing two yellow sticky notes. The first sticky note said in scratchy pen: Just wrote this and you came to mind. So here it is for you.

  On the large piece of paper, vision #1451 was neatly typed.

  The second sticky note said: Tomorrow night. My place. Let’s go all the way.

  The next day, Thursday, Marbie sat at her desk and unwound paperclips. A little pile of ragged wires formed on her desk. Every now and then she took one from this pile and tried to bend it back into paperclip shape. It was never possible.

  The yellow sticky note was on her corkboard: Tomorrow night. My place. Let’s go all the way. Each time she read it, she felt a chill breeze waft through her mind: You must not go! You must not go! You must not go!

  Of course not! She gave a contemptuous laugh. But she continued to unwind paperclips. Then the telephone rang. It was Fancy.

  ‘Marbie!’ said Fancy, urgent and breathless – and Marbie felt at once that Fancy knew. You must not go! Fancy would instruct her. ‘Of course not,’ Marbie would reply.

  ‘Marbie, something terrible has happened! I left a phone bill of mine on the dining room table at the last Intrusion! I just realised! I have to go back in and get it! But what if it’s too late? I can hardly breathe! I’ve called Mum and she’s put out an Urgent Request for a Distraction. So, if we get one, is tonight okay?’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Marbie. ‘I’ll leave work early and wait for your call. I’m sure it’s not too late or we’d have heard something. Just calm down and breathe and have a foot massage.’

  Well, she said to herself, hanging up after several minutes of calming Fancy down. So that’s that then. But a phone bill! Why did she take a phone bill along to an Intrusion?

  She sent a brisk text message to the A.E. (‘Can’t make it’), took down the yellow sticky note, and scraped the misshapen paperclips into the bin.

  Then she got on with her day’s work.

  Listen was allowed to do the next spell on the last Friday of school before the holidays. She would do it as soon as she got home: like a beginning-of-the-holidays reward. On that day, they had Science first, and the teacher made an announcement: ‘Guess what, girls, I’ve just got word that all Year 7 students are allowed to go home at the end of this lesson!’

  Everyone said, ‘Wha-a-a-at?!’ and ‘No way!’ and the Science teacher explained: ‘It’s obviously much too cold to take lessons outside’ – he was interrupted by noisy agreement – ‘and the weather, as you will no doubt have noticed, has become, shall we say, quite strange. The bus companies have hinted that they may be shutting down in the next few hours – so – hush, hush, no need for hysterics – so, we’re arranging a staggered collection throughout the day, and you poor little homeless Year 7s, yes, yes, I know – you poor little homeless Year 7s have been selected as the first lot to go!’

  After that, of course, the lesson was upbeat and hilarious, with nobody paying much attention to the teacher. At Listen’s bench, Donna and Caro passed each other’s homework diaries back and forth between them, writing the names of unlikely movie stars in large red hearts. Then they would show the other what had been written in her diary, and the other would shriek and try to scribble out the name. Well really, thought Listen, why do you keep letting each other write in there if you know you’re both going to write something stupid?

  ‘Hang on, hang on,’ said Caro, ‘I promise, this time, I promise I’m going to write something normal.’ Donna passed her diary back, and Caro wrote, in large letters: ‘Be alert. The world needs more lerts.’

  Listen, reading over Caro’s shoulder, giggled. At this, Caro grimaced as if she had been asked to dissect a frog. She closed the diary and slid it back along the bench towards Donna, who gave her a sympathetic pat.

  ‘Excuse me for living,’ murmured Listen, and shifted her stool a little further from them.

  As the period drew to an end, the teacher’s voice rose again. ‘Okay, guys, the bell’s about to go, so, while I have your attention, two things! Obviously, I don’t need to remind you that you must all report to Redwood Primary at the start of next term! I know! I know that it’s a primary school, but I expect you will survive. And I also expect to see your assignments that very day! I assume you’ve already got it well under way!’

  Everybody laughed.

  ‘Well, you’ve had a whole week! Who can remind me what the topic is? Nobody? Choose two creatures of the sea. They may be mythical creatures and they need not be fish!’

  Donna raised her hand and said, ‘How can they be creatures of the sea and not be fish?’

  With an elaborate sigh, the teacher declared: ‘Donna Turnbull. Is it possible that you have not heard a single word of what I have said today?’

  Donna shrugged and said, ‘It’s possible,’ and beside her Caro made a snorting noise. Donna kept a straight face but it crinkled around the edges.

  ‘Donna,’ said the teacher, ‘have we been talking, this lesson, about whales?’

  ‘Have we?’

  ‘And, Donna, is a whale a type of fish?’

  Donna stared, while Caro grabbed at her arm. The bell rang shrilly for the end of the lesson.

  ‘Okay! Nobody steps out of that door until someone has told Donna what kind of animal a whale is!’

  Then half the class shouted, ‘It’s a mammal,’ while Donna opened her mouth wide, and Caro slithered down in shrieks of giggles. Next thing they were all tipping their stools backwards, talking, and reaching for school bags, and leaning for pens which had dropped onto the floor.

  Listen Taylor, however, sat at her bench for a moment, as if she had forgotten where she was, watching the girls packing up to go, and also watching Donna and Caro helping each other through the classroom door, both by now crippled with laughter.

  Marbie stood in the corridor with Tabitha, Toni, Abi and Rhamie, and watched Tabitha talk about her pregnant sister. The other girls were gasping and shaking their heads, so Marbie joined in when they did. But what she was really thinking was: I am the luckiest girl in the world. I am so lucky that Fancy called yesterday and we had to do another Intrusion last night, so that Fancy could get her phone bill back. Because that meant I couldn’t go to the A.E.’s house. I can’t believe I was even considering it. Just because he sent me a vision about my superstitions. A lot of people are superstitious, you know. I am SO lucky.

  ‘That’s your mobile, isn’t it, Marbie?’ said Tabitha.

  ‘Sorry!’ said Marbie, and slid into her office.

  She had missed the phone call and there was no message. But as she stared at the ‘1 MISSED CALL’, a text message arrived: ‘2day then, my plce, 1 pm. Lv wk nw.’

  She stared at this for a while. ‘Lv wk nw.’ Lv wk nw. What did that mean? Love wake new? But what did that mean?

  Leave work now, she realised.

  At which moment, Tabitha leaned into her office and said, ‘Leave work now, Marbie! It’s all over the news! They’re expecti
ng freezing rain or snow, and if we don’t leave now, we will never get home! They’re about to cancel all public transport!’

  HELLO AGAIN! said the Spell Book. ‘Hello,’ said Listen, automatically, and then stopped.

  Hasn’t it been ages? Well, and how do you feel today? I hope you feel fine. I myself feel JUST fine. Here is the next Spell.

  This is A Spell To Make Two Happy People Have A HUGE Fight Over Absolutely NOTHING!

  Here are the instructions:

  1. Do twenty star-jumps.

  2. Take a piece of paper, write the heading ‘Things That Make Me Sad’, then fill the page with the things that make you sad.

  3. Put the piece of paper at the bottom of a full box of tissues (bury it carefully under all the tissues!).

  Close the book, put it under your pillow, and we’ll see you again for the next Spell TOMORROW!

  Listen lay on her bed, on her side, and read the spell over twice. And what she was thinking was that this spell was easy, and quite good exercise. She was thinking that she wouldn’t mind writing out the things that made her sad and burying them in the bottom of a tissue box. She was thinking that tomorrow was an unusually short time to wait for the next spell.

  But what she was really thinking was: why would anybody do a spell to make two happy people have a fight?

  Before she got time to think of an answer she was already on star-jump number five.

  Things That Make Me Sad. Listen poured herself a glass of juice, sat at her bedroom desk, and stared at the heading she had written on a blank piece of foolscap paper. Then she moved her pen to the line beneath the heading and began.

  ‘Donna has a table tennis table in the basement of her house,’ she wrote, ‘and once Sia’s mother made us all eat spaghetti squash. The first thing that makes me sad is that I’ll never get to play table tennis at Donna’s place again. Caro and I used to be the best team when we played doubles. The second thing is that I’ll never get to eat spaghetti squash at Sia’s place again, even though I actually don’t like it.’

  She continued writing until she had filled both sides of the paper, and had reached ‘the 33rd thing that makes me sad is that I don’t see any point in my existence.’

  The aeronautical engineer met Marbie at his doorway with one red rose and a kiss. He was on his front verandah, waving at the No 73 bus. Marbie was skidding on the icy path to his doorway. The red rose was waving in his hand, clutching at rain and dipping at wind. The kiss was quick, and met Marbie’s lips.

  Too soon! thought Marbie. Too soon!

  The aeronautical engineer took her by the hand into his hallway, where she said, ‘Wait a moment,’ and took off her coat. She sat on the cold of the tiled hall floor to unlace her boots, one by icy one, and he crouched beside her, took both her hands in his and said, ‘Cold hands, Marbie, my princess!’

  Princess, thought Marbie, well!

  He murmured in her ear, in a tickly way, ‘You are cold, my princess, let us to the fire!’

  ‘Oh, well,’ Marbie explained, ‘I haven’t taken my boots off yet, you see?’ She showed him the one boot on and the one boot off.

  He caught at her hand. ‘Come along!’ he said, shrugging expansively at her one boot, and took her tripping to the fireside, where he made her sit on the floor.

  Too soon! thought Marbie.

  He seemed to sense her owlish tune, and he paused at her feet. Marbie sat, demure by the fireside, her arms around her knees. He unlaced her boot, crisscrossing down amongst the eyelets. He went too far. He slid the entire lace out until it leapt from the boot. Surprised, Marbie said, ‘Do you not understand how shoelaces work?’

  But he was ignoring her. He was sliding off her boot, which was easy with the shoelace gone. He took a glass of champagne from the mantelpiece and in one smooth move had the cold glass in her hand.

  ‘Champagne?’ said Marbie. ‘What’s it doing on your mantelpiece?’

  She took a sip while the aeronautical engineer hit the PLAY button on the CD.

  ‘Jazz,’ said Marbie. ‘A lot of people like jazz. Not so much myself. I’m not what you’d call a jazz kind of person. Fancy is. My sister Fancy? You wouldn’t think it because –’

  ‘All right,’ interrupted the aeronautical engineer, leaning back to the CD player, ‘no jazz then.’

  The CD tray slid open slowly, presenting the CD like a waiter with a plate.

  ‘Oh well, that jazz,’ cried Marbie. ‘Switch it back on. That sort of jazz I do like. Not so much Fancy. That’s not her kind of jazz. I think.’

  He replaced the CD.

  ‘Lovely,’ said Marbie. ‘Jazz.’

  ‘Marbie,’ said the aeronautical engineer, sitting cross-legged next to her. ‘How long do you have?’

  ‘Just the lunch hour, really,’ she lied. ‘I’ll have to go back to work.’

  She tapped her stockinged toe to the jazz. ‘It’s tricky, isn’t it?’ she chatted. ‘Tapping to jazz? Maybe that’s why I don’t like it. What do you think?’

  He moved towards her, in a sort of slide across the carpet on his bottom.

  She felt alarmed.

  He said, ‘Let’s take these stockings off, no?’

  She was not sure if that was possible. ‘You mean without me taking my skirt off first?’

  ‘Lie down,’ he suggested.

  She was worried she would knock the champagne over and hovered it about in the air until he took it and placed it back on the mantelpiece.

  She lay down flat on the carpet now, and sneezed, once.

  ‘Perhaps I’m allergic to the rug,’ she chatted.

  He unbuttoned the skirt, at the side.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘That will make it easier.’

  He reached both hands underneath her skirt. He looked at her face as he did so, and concentrated, his head tilting, reaching along the sides of her thighs as if he was a burglar working in the dark, reaching for the wires to cut off the alarm. He found the waistline of her stockings, and began to roll them down, with great caution, over her hips, over her thighs, across the knees, down to the toes. ‘There!’ he said, holding up the crumpled stockings.

  Marbie lifted her head and saw her legs looking white on the carpet. ‘Shall I sit up?’

  ‘No.’

  He wanted her blouse off now, and was reaching for the buttons, and taking them one by one until the blouse fell open around her, and she lifted her head from the floor and saw her breasts standing up in their bra.

  ‘Isn’t my bra lovely? My sister gave it to me for my last birthday. I only wear it on special occasions such as Fridays. I’m talking about Fancy a lot, aren’t I?’

  ‘Your bra is beautiful.’

  He had decided to take off her skirt, which was easy enough because it was already unbuttoned, but she had to lift her hips in the air to help.

  ‘Sit up,’ he asked her.

  ‘Oh well, now you want me to sit up? I kind of feel like I’m at the dentist.’

  He burst out laughing and said that this was not flattering.

  She sat up and he slid off the unbuttoned blouse, too.

  ‘Lie back down now.’

  ‘Oh well. All right.’ Although the carpet felt prickly on her back and she believed it would make her sneeze. Her throat itched too, and she clicked at it, once.

  ‘Aren’t my underpants nice too? They match the bra, see?’

  ‘So they do.’

  He was standing up and looking over her, white upon the carpet in her white bra and underpants. He was wearing tracksuit pants and a T-shirt, both of which are very simple to remove, and he did so. Now he was in his boxers.

  ‘Oh gosh,’ said Marbie suddenly.

  ‘What?’ He had been reaching for his champagne again but stopped.

  ‘We’re not going to play that game, are we? Where we don’t do anything? We just be naked?’

  ‘Maybe,’ he said, sipping the champagne, calm again. ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘If we are,’ said Marbie, ‘I’m going bac
k to the office. I don’t want to.’

  ‘All right then. We’re not. You see?’

  From the mantelpiece he slid a small blue square, which Marbie had not noticed before. Protection. She felt as if her vision were speckling. What are you doing? she thought suddenly. Somehow, until this very moment, it had all been a game. Now she saw that it was real.

  ‘All right?’

  ‘All right,’ she whispered. And then more loudly, ‘All right, but for heaven’s sakes, let’s just do it! Hurry up!’

  He dropped the blue square package to the carpet, and knelt slowly by her side. He took her arm and kissed the inside of her elbow.

  Intriguing, thought Marbie, relieved at the distraction.

  But then he lifted his body so he was lying on her, his chest against her bra, his boxers brushing her thighs.

  ‘Well –’ began Marbie.

  But he leaned down and stopped her with a kiss.

  He had his shower and bathtub all in one, which is common, he said, or did she not know?

  ‘May I watch you shower?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh well, if it were a normal shower. But this is a shower in a tub, you see?’

  ‘Ah then. Shall I make us an omelette or some bacon and eggs?’

  She said, ‘That would be breakfast, and this is afternoon.’

  ‘Ah then,’ he agreed, and: ‘Must you really go back to work?’ And she said, ‘I know. It’s terrible. Have you got a towel for me?’

  He had a towel for her, a great, soft, white towel, a cosy, hotel towel, the sort that Marbie always dreamed of, for burying her face in, or for drying herself.

  ‘I can’t watch you shower then?’ he tried again.

  ‘Oh well,’ said Marbie, ‘not really’, and she closed the bathroom door.

  She stood in the bathtub and filled up the room, which was pink, with steam.