Magenta McPhee

by Catherine Bateson

  ‘Or just to eat pizza with in front of the television!’ Spooky said, still stirring her coffee.

  ‘Or to go for a Sunday stroll after the changeover shift,’ Dad said. ‘You know, when you get home and the house seems too quiet.’

  ‘That doesn’t happen regularly with us,’ Spooky admitted, ‘because Cal’s Dad lives in Queensland now, but Cal goes there for holidays, don’t you, darling? So I know what you mean.’

  Cal had gone back to his game but he was also listening, unusual for a boy. He nodded at the mention of his name, and his thick fringe of dark hair kind of bounced once. I wished that he would look up again because I’d been so preoccupied with my confession that I hadn’t taken in any of his features. Spooky seemed to read my mind.

  ‘Do put that thing away, Cal,’ she said. My mother would have sounded grumpy but Spooky sounded as though she was asking for a favour, rather than being stern. ‘I want us all to get to know each other, and that includes you, Cal. Max and Magenta do lots of great things together. Cal and I,’ she turned to me and Dad, ‘feel that we’ve got a bit stuck in a rut, you know. It seems like there’s never quite enough money to do what we’d really like to do ... Not that I’m complaining, I know there are people worse off than us. But still. We’d thought of going to Tasmania. Just by ourselves. A kind of chill-out time. I checked the Internet but everything was just a little expensive. Except if you camped. I don’t feel confident about camping, really. It was something Cal’s dad and I were always going to do when Cal got a bit older. By the time that happened we’d split up.’

  ‘Camping’s pretty easy,’ I said, ‘isn’t it, Dad? We do it all through the summer holidays. It’s not a big deal. You just need good equipment.’

  ‘It’s all in the equipment,’ Dad said. ‘Luckily we have good stuff. It’s no fun camping with holey tents or a faulty stove. I used to do that when I was younger, of course, and didn’t even notice. But kids these days – raised with five-star expectations!’

  ‘I know what you mean.’ Spooky shot Cal a look.

  He stared back at her, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly into the smallest of smiles. He had a thin face, like Spooky’s, but his eyes were long and darkly fringed. Why do boys always have good eyelashes? His mouth curled up at the edges as though he spent a lot of the time doing his little twitchy smile. He didn’t look like a five-star kid. He looked like the kind of boy who’d try to be cheerful under most circumstances. I thought Spooky was being mean. Dad must have agreed with me.

  ‘I bet you’re more of a stars-for-your-roof than spa-in-your-room kind of guy,’ Dad said. I hadn’t heard him this cheerful for ages. My spirits lifted. Maybe he would fall in love with Spooky after all. Maybe he already had.

  ‘I’m adaptable,’ Cal said. He gave me a sideways look as though he was checking me out, but not so obviously that I’d be offended. ‘I think that’s the saving grace of humanity, our adaptability. Don’t you, sir?’

  ‘You don’t need to call me sir,’ Dad said, raising his eyebrows, ‘Max is fine. And yes, I agree with you. Particularly in a world that’s changing so rapidly. Adaptability might save us.’

  ‘Dad thinks the world is doomed,’ I told Cal just so he’d look at me properly. He had a high forehead. I’d read somewhere this was a mark of intelligence. ‘But he also thinks we need to keep doing our little bit. That’s why we grow our own vegies and I walk to school, mostly, and we don’t have any electrical equipment at all – not even an old PlayStation.’

  ‘My dad gave me this,’ Cal told me, ‘to keep me quiet last holidays. It’s more guilt than goodness.’

  ‘Oh Cal, I’m sure he thought it would make you happy,’ Spooky said anxiously. ‘It does, doesn’t it, darling?’

  Cal ignored her. ‘You can have a go if you want,’ he said and handed it over to me.

  ‘I’m not very good at these,’ I said apologetically, ‘never having had the experience.’ I glared at Dad who was too busy doing his global warming rant at Spooky to take any notice.

  ‘Here, it’s easy – you just shoot at those little dudes when they poke their heads up. See?’

  I tried but they kept coming at me too quickly and I got my left and right hands mixed up. ‘I’m not very good,’ I said.

  ‘No,’ he agreed – but without sounding mean about it. ‘You don’t seem to have got the hang of it yet. Do you want to go for a walk instead? There’s a skate park up the road. We could just hang out there for a while and watch them? Leave these two getting to know each other better.’

  ‘That’d be great!’

  I’d never walked to a skate park to just hang out with a guy before. But Cal seemed to take it in his stride.

  ‘That was pretty cool,’ he said, ‘what you did for your dad. What exactly made you do it?’

  ‘I thought he was depressed,’ I said. ‘I got worried, you know. You read about middle-aged men who have lost everything, doing something stupid.’

  ‘But he’s got a vegie garden,’ Cal pointed out. ‘Gardeners don’t tend to be stupid people. They like seeing their crops come up, or planning for next season’s planting.’

  ‘I should have thought of that,’ I said.

  ‘Oh well, you’re probably younger than I am.’

  It turned out I was only just two years younger than Cal. The perfect age gap according to some magazine I’d read. He didn’t even have much acne. Of course, he wasn’t Richard. He seemed much more serious and didn’t joke around like Richard. But that also meant that he didn’t tease me the way Richard did. He listened to me talk about the Chronicles and then he told me who his favourite fantasy writer was and he didn’t call me Magwheels once.

  We hung out for so long that Dad and Spooky came to find us.

  ‘We thought you’d run away with the circus,’ Dad said. ‘Time to go now, Magenta. I’ve invited Lianna back for some cold chicken and salad – the tomatoes this season have been sensational, Lianna – and you should taste these heirloom ones I’ve planted. They are the best, aren’t they, Magenta.’

  ‘They’re really sweet,’ I agreed. Spooky was coming for dinner, which meant Cal was coming for dinner. That was a step in exactly the right direction. I beamed at Dad but he just smiled blandly back at me.

  Spooky took off her high-heeled sandals so she could march out to the backyard where she oohed and ahhed over our vegie patch.

  ‘And you dug it up from scratch, Max. That’s amazing. I wouldn’t know where to put something like that.’

  ‘You just watch the sun,’ Dad explained, ‘You pick the sunniest spot. It’s pretty easy, Lianna. If you wanted to do something like this, I’d be happy to help.’

  ‘It’s just a wasted effort in a rental,’ Spooky said, ‘you never know when you might have to move. That’s the only thing I hate. The last place? We were there for two years, really settled. Then the landlady’s daughter came back from overseas. It was awful, wasn’t it, Cal?’

  Cal shrugged and stubbed the ground with his foot. ‘It wasn’t that bad,’ he said.

  ‘Some suburbs have community allotments,’ Dad said. ‘I’ve been hassling the council about doing something like that here. It would bring the community together more. Particularly now that so many people, like yourself, are forced to rent.’

  ‘Oh Max, you’re so full of great ideas. I can’t understand why someone as creative as you hasn’t just walked into a terrific job. The workplace needs people like you.’

  Dad shrugged and looked away to the horizon. ‘I’ve got some ideas,’ he said, ‘I’m thinking – but it’s a bit premature to talk about it. I’ve been doing some research though.’

  ‘I just don’t know how you find the time,’ Spooky said, gazing at the vegie garden as though it was some kind of shrine. ‘It seems to me that I scarcely get the place clean, go to the gym – I do believe in keeping up one’s physical health – and t
hen Cal’s home with his demands and then I cook dinner and that’s practically my day. Gone. Oh and on Thursdays and Fridays I help out at my friend’s café. I’m also part of a women’s ring? We meet every fortnight.’

  ‘You sound pretty busy to me,’ Dad smiled at her, ‘it sounds like a full kind of life.’

  ‘Well, not completely.’ Spooky glanced at him very quickly and then went back to staring at the vegie garden.

  ‘Come on then,’ Dad said, ‘let’s pick some of these beautiful tomatoes. Magenta, you grab a lettuce, will you?’

  ‘I’ll make the salad,’ Spooky said, once we’d brought it all into the kitchen. ‘Have you any eggs, Max? And olive oil? I’ll make a mayonnaise.’

  ‘We’ve got some mayo in the fridge,’ I told her. ‘That stuff that’s 98 per cent fat-free with no added sugar?’

  ‘That’s not mayonnaise.’ Spooky smiled at me and patted my arm. ‘That stuff is to real mayonnaise like Mills and Boon is to real passion. You just wait until you taste my mayo. You won’t want that chemically enhanced glue ever again!’

  Spooky’s mayo took about half an hour to make. She needed an electric blender but of course we didn’t have one.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ she said, ‘some electrical goods are worth hanging on to, Max. Pumpkin soup is a winter standby for us, isn’t it, Cal? No blender, no pumpkin soup!’

  ‘You can always have lumpy pumpkin soup,’ my dad said. He was looking through the bottom drawer, trying to find a whisk. ‘Here, is this what you want?’

  ‘Hmm. That should do it. It’ll be a bit more work, but it will be worth it. Sometimes doing things the old-fashioned way is good for the soul. Perhaps you’re right about the soup. You could always use a potato masher, I guess. Here goes. Now the trick is to trickle that oil in so slowly it doesn’t have a chance to curdle.’

  Spooky’s mayo was fine – but it lacked a certain something.

  When I told Polly later she knew immediately. ‘Sugar, that’s what it was missing. Chemically enhanced glue, as she called it, always has sugar in it. To make you like it. What you had was the proper thing, Magenta. Which, as the daughter of a caterer, I can assure you is better than the pre-made stuff.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t think so.’

  ‘Anyway, what was she like? Do you think they’ll fall in love?’

  ‘They didn’t eat much,’ I said. ‘Well, they ate lots of lettuce and cucumber and tomatoes but they didn’t want any chicken really, although Cal had a piece and Spooky picked at the stuffing. Dad kept saying it was free-range chicken and Spooky said, “Well, if it’s free range...” and put another piece on Cal’s plate and frowned at him. Then they talked about grown-up stuff. World issues. Dad talked about world issues and Spooky listened.’

  ‘What’s the boy like?’

  ‘He’s great. He’s really cool, actually. He reads a lot, doesn’t like sport except for swimming and tennis. I can’t play tennis but he offered to teach me one day. He hasn’t any acne at all and he has these great, long eyes.’

  ‘Sounds weird,’ Polly said, ‘long eyes?’

  ‘You know – big eyes but not round. Long big.’

  ‘Gee, Magenta, you may need to reconsider your chosen career – I don’t think much of that description.’

  ‘He’s kind of cute,’ I said. I’d saved the best news for last but I was tempted not to tell Polly because she was being so strange.

  ‘A good practice boy, then,’ she said, ‘like Hentley?’

  I couldn’t keep secrets. I was hopeless. ‘The best thing is that we’re all going camping in two weekends’ time. Cal will be there because it’s partly for him that we’re going. Spooky’s got this real thing about male role models. She doesn’t want him to miss out on anything just because he’s living with her and not his dad.’

  ‘I’ll make a love potion,’ Polly said immediately. ‘Everything will be fine.’

  ‘I don’t want a love potion. I mean, I’m not sure that I like him that much and anyway, it feels like cheating.’

  ‘Not for you, you dope. For your dad and Spooky.’

  ‘Oh.’ I blushed even though there was no one to see me. ‘Yes, of course. Sorry.’

  ‘So you do like him, then!’

  ‘Well, sure, because he listens, Polly, and he’s got this little smile. He’s really nice. But that’s all.’

  ‘Time will tell,’ Polly said with her irritating superior air, ‘time and camping. If you can go camping with someone and come out the other side still liking them, it’s a done thing.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh get real, Magenta. Camping? No showers. Or if there are showers, no hot water. Or they’re just too far away to bother with. Twigs in your hair. No mirror so you can’t see the twigs, or the fact that your face is all creased right through breakfast. You start to smell and your hair goes oily. A mosquito bite on your face gets infected and looks like the world’s biggest pimple and every time you tell anyone it’s just a mozzie bite they go, oh yeah, sure. Someone who shan’t be mentioned forgets to bring the olive oil, so all the gourmet fat-free sausages burn and stick to the metal barbecue which you didn’t like the idea of anyway, because how would you know it was really clean?’

  ‘Okay, okay. It won’t be that bad. I’ve been camping with Dad lots of times and nothing like that happens. I can take a mirror – there’s even a little place in our tent to hang it. We take mozzie repellant and coils so that’s okay. And Dad never buys fat-free sausages. Ever.’

  ‘It’s your funeral,’ Polly said darkly. ‘I hope he’s worth it.’

  ‘It’s not about Cal,’ I said. ‘It’s about Spooky and Dad getting together and being happy for the rest of their lives.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to eat proper French mayo forever,’ Polly said.

  She did love getting the last word.

  Plump Roses and Revision

  Mum asked me questions about Spooky all week. Was she skinny or plump? What did she do? What colour was her hair? Was it dyed? Did I like her? Oh, and why did she call herself Spooky?

  ‘She’s in-between. I don’t know. Blonde-ish. She doesn’t call herself Spooky, it was a sort of joke. Cal said it would scare losers away. But, Mum, we hardly know her,’ I said for the umpteenth time, ‘honestly.’ I had decided to avoid telling Mum my whole role in the Spooky affair. I didn’t exactly lie, but I certainly made it sound as though Dad had put his profile on the Internet himself.

  ‘Of course everyone is doing it these days,’ Mum said, ‘you read about it all the time in the paper. I say, good for him. About time.’ But she didn’t sound as though she entirely meant it. We were having a late pancake breakfast. Trib was interstate again and Mum had splurged on real maple syrup and trashy magazines.

  ‘You’ve got Trib,’ I pointed out. ‘You’re getting married. Dad should at least go on a date.’

  ‘Did I say he shouldn’t?’ Mum asked.

  ‘Nooo, but you didn’t sound as glad as you might have. After all he sent you a congratulations card when you and Trib got engaged.’ Actually Dad didn’t send the card, I did. I forged his handwriting. I was used to doing that because he always forgot the excursion permission forms on his week.

  ‘Did he?’ Mum sounded vague. She turned on the electric blender and the noise filled the kitchen.

  ‘You know he did,’ I said when she stopped the mixer. ‘You even said how generous it was.’

  ‘I can’t remember now,’ Mum lied. ‘Lots of people sent cards. That’s what people do. I am glad for your dad, of course I am. I’m just ... wondering what’s she’s like, that’s all. Dad must have been curious about Trib.’

  ‘He met him,’ I pointed out to her. ‘He met Trib because he had to drop me off early. Remember? Trib was wearing a towel. They tried to shake hands?’

  Mum’s mouth twitched. ‘You’re right,’
she said. ‘It’s high time your dad went on a date. Even if it is a camping date.’

  ‘I think camping’s great. Mum, I really need a new pair of trainers. Really, really. I’m thinking of getting serious about the cross-country and trainers help you ... train.’ I was hoping to get Mum in a shopping mood while Trib was away. There were heaps of things I needed for the camping trip if I was going to look sophisticated and avoid camp-dagginess.

  ‘Of course,’ Mum said without much enthusiasm, ‘Training trainers for the cross-country. Let’s eat first, okay?’

  She cheered up over pancakes and by the time we’d stacked the dishwasher she’d started a shopping list. We hit the shops just before lunch. It’s the ideal time to start shopping because you do a bit before hunger strikes, then you have a break and return with renewed energy.

  Mum was looking for something garden-partyish for the wedding. While she did that I was keeping an eye out for camp essentials like a simple but stylish three-quarter-sleeve black top, denim shorts or cutoff jeans and new PJs. Definitely new PJs. I wasn’t going to be seen dead or alive in my old teddy-bear ones that I kept at Dad’s. I needed Felix the Cat ones. Eventually, after Mum had tried on three hundred skirts, not one of which was perfect, I steered her into the PJs section.

  ‘I need new ones,’ I said. ‘Really, truly. For Dad’s place.’

  ‘Isn’t that your Dad’s responsibility?’ Mum asked. Her face looked pink in a cross way. ‘Did you think I looked, um ... plumpish in that skirt with roses? Like really plumpish?’

  ‘No,’ I said for the thousandth time, ‘I didn’t think you looked plump, not even slightly plumpish. The rose skirt was my personal favourite. But when I said that, you said the roses were too plump.’

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t the roses. I was just projecting plumpness on to them. I’m never going to find anything to wear for this wedding.’

  ‘Pyjamas...’

  ‘Oh Magenta, I’ve already bought training trainers, a black top (though I really do think you’re too young for a black top) and shorts (even though it must be the end of summer soon), and now you want pyjamas.’