Instead, the wards were very visible. The knocker on the front door was shaped like a two-thumbed hand, with an eye embedded in the palm. Five iron nails had been hammered into the wood around it, each bleeding a trail of rust into the milky yellow paint. The only other security was the gate at the bottom of the stairs.
As she unlocked this door, she heard her mother’s voice.
“Careful! The cats!”
She slipped inside and closed the door behind her. The hall was filled with boxes and chairs, and it took her a moment to spot the cat, Minou, balancing on a pile of magazines.
“She’s been trying to get out all day. It’s a wonder she did not slip out when the movers arrived.”
Saraswati, usually so elegant, looked crumpled in sweatpants and an old t-shirt, her black hair falling out of an untidy ponytail.
Nico, as usual, hung onto her waist, pulling her off balance.
“Hi, Mom. Hello Minou.” Gia reached out a finger.
The cat deigned to lift her nose in greeting, before turning her back and washing her shoulder most expressively. Her son, Pouf, wound himself through Gia’s legs, purring a greeting.
“How was your day?” said Saraswati. Then she noticed the food. “Oh, good girl, I’ve not even had breakfast yet.”
Gia squeezed past a stack of chairs and let her mother give her a quick hug and kiss.
“Hello Nico,” she said. “I got you some potato wadas!”
Nico detached himself from Saraswati, and flung his arms around his sister.
“Gia!” And reaching for the bag, “Wada!”
She lifted the bag out of his reach. Mandy appeared in the kitchen door and came hurrying down the corridor.
“Is that food? Give me that. No, Nico, you must wait.”
“Wada!”
Mandy took the food with one hand, and Nico’s arm in the other, and walked him back to the kitchen.
“No, I’m not going to carry you. You must walk like a big boy.”
Saraswati sighed and rubbed a hand across her face.
“Could you help Mandy keep him busy just for a minute? I’ve not had a chance to shower yet today, and I’m all over dust.”
Gia considered telling her mother about the haarskeerders, but thought better of it. Saraswati avoided all things magical, and would probably react with worry out of proportion to the actual danger.
“Wasn’t Mrs Winterbach supposed to be looking after Nico?” she asked instead.
“She cancelled. We’ve had an exciting day,” said Saraswati wryly.
“But everything’s here now?”
Saraswati looked around at the cluttered hallway.
“Everything’s here. And we got quite a lot done. All the big furniture has been moved to the right places, it’s just this smaller stuff we still have to put away. Your bedroom is pretty much ready; you’ll just have to move things where you want them.”
Gia grimaced. Sharing a bedroom with her brother was the worst part of her new home.
Her mother was looking tiredly at the boxes.
“I was hoping to get all this sorted before your father came home,” she said. “But at this rate—”
“Dad seeing a client?”
“Yes. A new one.”
Saraswati picked her way among the clutter toward the bathroom, and soon Gia heard the juddering groan of the old pipes as the shower came on.
Oh great. The whole place rattles every time somebody opens a tap. And the water’s probably filled with rust.
She looked at the objects that filled the hallway.
These must be mostly boxes of magazines. Where on earth would they go? And there were the living room chairs all in a heap. Behind them, almost concealed under a pile of curtains and boxes, was a metal trunk she did not recognise.
Probably full of sheets, or shoes, or something boring like that. Although it’s not really the right size. Not big enough.
Her curiosity roused, she heaved aside the curtains, and found new places for a box of clothes hangers and another box full of Nico’s toys.
I’ll just have a peek.
She tried to lift the lid of the trunk, but it would not come open.
Locked. Odd, to lock up an old trunk like this?
A crash from the kitchen distracted her, and she went to see what Nico was up to.
-oOo-
The crash turned out to be less disastrous than it sounded, just Nico dropping an empty mixing bowl.
“Wow,” said Gia, impressed by the change in the kitchen.
When she’d last seen it, it had been a gloomy, dusty room. But Mandy had been busy. The linoleum floor, faded though it was, gleamed with polish. The windows were clean, and let in more light than they probably had for decades. The familiar table from their previous kitchen took pride of place in the middle of the room, covered in the same striped cloth she knew so well.
“Tadaa!” Mandy grinned, seeing her surprise. “We’ve been working, while you were lazing away at school.”
“It looks fantastic.”
“It’s going to look fantastic, if I ever find room for all this stuff,” said Mandy. “This kitchen must be half the size of the Plumstead one. Lucky thing these old houses have lots of built-in cupboards.
“Gia, put some plates on the table and let’s have a sit-down meal for a change. We won’t wait for your mom. Once she’s in the shower she stays in there all day.”
Mandy had been with the family as far back as Gia could remember, cooking, cleaning and babysitting, freeing Saraswati to do her part in the dressmaking business.
Now, Mandy tucked an escaped curl of grey hair out of sight under her headscarf, drew out a chair, and sat in it, as at home in the new kitchen as she had been in the old. She lifted an eyebrow at Nico to stop him rocking on his chair, and picked up her knife and fork with a contented sigh.
“Ah, it’s a pleasure to eat something you’ve not cooked yourself for a change,” she said.
Gia ate her roeti straight from its paper wrapping. She was glad to see that Nico ate without any fuss.
That was a good sign. Usually, the slightest deviation from his routine caused him to become anxious, and when he was anxious, Nico did not eat.
Still, he was not completely at ease. Gia could see the signs. He ate mostly with one hand, the other reaching out every now and then to touch Mandy’s sleeve. As long as he focused on his food he seemed fine, if a little twitchy. But whenever he caught sight of the unfamiliar kitchen, he flinched, narrowing his eyes as if against a too-bright light.
-oOo-
Gia and Mandy had started shifting the boxes out of the corridor by the time Saraswati emerged from the shower, rubbing her hair with a towel.
“Those empty boxes are going to recycling, so just pile them up next to the door,” she said. “Where’s Nico?”
Gia nodded at the corner where her brother was dismantling a toy telephone. Then she pointed at the trunk she’d been wondering about earlier.
“What’s in that, Mom? And why’s it locked?”
Saraswati turned to look at the trunk and, for a moment, Gia thought that she stared in surprise. Then she seemed to recover herself.
“That goes in our bedroom. Your father can move it when he gets here.” She frowned at Gia. “You going to stay in that school uniform all day long?”
Gia was taken aback at the edge in her mother’s voice.
Why should Dad move it? It can’t be all that heavy.
“Where are my clothes?” she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.
“They’re in your room. Still packed.”
Gia went to look.
The room she was to share with Nico was next to her parents’, and was far from ready. The furniture had been moved in, but nothing was where it should be. The little tank with Nico’s latest watery creature experiment was on the floor in one corner, with only enough water in it to keep the occupants alive. His rat, in its cage for once, was balanced on top of the record player. The poste
rs and drawings that had plastered Nico’s walls in their Plumstead home were still in rolls on his bed, and all his toys, books, and other possessions were in boxes.
Her own things were in a stack of boxes and suitcases against one wall.
Gia looked around, calculating.
The room was much smaller than either her or Nico’s rooms had been, but it had similar proportions to Nico’s old room, with the door and window facing one another.
If I move his bed over there, it will be pretty much in the same place it was at home. Then I can move the bookshelf over there…
After a good deal of shoving and dragging, she’d arranged the furniture to her liking. The second bed went next to the door, as nearly out of sight as possible, and all her boxes were either hidden under it or stacked on top.
She arranged everything else as nearly as possible as it had been in Nico’s room in their old house.
The door opened and Mandy looked through. “Can I leave Nico with you?” she asked. “It’s hard to clean with him hanging onto me all the time.”
“Sure. He can help me in here.”
Nico went straight to the tank and peered into it with a worried expression.
“Nico,” said Gia. “Do you know where the buckets are? Why don’t you fill that tank?”
That kept him busy while she set up the record player. The familiar ritual of preparing the water with purifying chemicals and siphoning it into the tank seemed to calm him.
Gia lowered the needle onto his favourite record, and he looked up with a smile as the first chords played.
“The solar system,” said a deep voice. “This is a journey. A journey into space…”
Nico settled cross-legged on the floor. He’d taken Poepie out of his cage. The rat sat on Nico’s shoulder, whiskers twitching as he surveyed his unfamiliar surroundings. Gia was just putting up the last of Nico’s drawings— an enormous dinosaur drawn in cross-section to show its remarkably complicated inner workings— when Saraswati put her head round the door.
“Oh!” she said when she saw the room. “Gia, that’s wonderful. But where’s your stuff going to go?”
Before Gia could reply, keys rattled in the front door.
Nico was on his feet and down the passage in a flash. Saraswati and Gia followed, in time to see the door open and Nico fling himself at his father.
“Whoa, boy, you’ll knock me downstairs.” Karel grunted. “No, you’re too big to pick up now.”
He gave Nico a friendly shake, careful not to dislodge the rat, who still perched on Nico’s shoulder.
“Sari,” he said with a smile at his wife.
“Close the door,” said Saraswati, giving her husband a kiss. “The cats will get out—”
“Gia, there’s a visitor for you,” said Karel.
Gia tried to see who stood behind him.
“Fatima!”
The girls embraced, a little clumsily because Fatima held a motorbike helmet.
“I missed you!” said Fatima. “You should have come with. We had the best time.”
“My school started on Monday already,” said Gia. “And I had to help here.”
“I suppose. Has Ben been round yet?”
“No, I think he’s still at that math camp thing.”
Karel, one arm still around his wife, said, “Why don’t you two move into the kitchen? It’s a bit crowded here.”
“Sure,” said Fatima, moving down the corridor. “You guys still unpacking boxes? Jeez, I’m hungry. My mother’s starving me. This the kitchen? Hi Mandy— did you have a good holiday?”
She plunked her helmet on the kitchen table and stuck her head in the fridge.
Saraswati looked on bemused. “Fatima, if your mother has you on a diet, I don’t think—”
“Oh, she’ll never know. Anyway, there’s nothing here. You guys seriously need to do a shop.”
Fatima closed the fridge and sighed dramatically.
“I’m doomed to starvation. Wanna go out Gia? There’s a new burger place at the Gardens Centre.”
“I’m afraid not,” said Saraswati. “Gia has to unpack her bedroom, and I’m sure she has homework. And this evening she has to watch her brother.”
She turned a serious look on Gia.
“We have to meet the new client, so I’m relying on you to look after Nico. And it’s a week night in any case.”
“Oh, Mom!” flashed Gia. “As though I ever stay out late. I always get stuck looking after Nico, and I’ve not seen Fatima for weeks—”
Her mother’s lips narrowed. “Gia Rozalia, don’t take that tone with me. I’m not repeating myself. You know our rules.”
Gia felt her cheeks flush. It was one thing for her mother to nag when they were alone together. But to speak like that in front of her friends—
Karel appeared in the door behind Saraswati.
“Gia, why don’t you show Fatima around the house, and the studio. She’s not seen that yet, have you Fatima?”
“Oh cool! I’d love that,” said Fatima. “But Mr Grobbelaar, check it out.”
She struck a model pose, hooking her thumbs under the collar of her leather jacket.
“Tibetan Troll-hunter’s jacket. Cool, no?”
Karel moved in for a closer look. It was an eye-catching jacket. Blood red leather, figure hugging, with a high ribbed collar and sleeves belling out into exaggerated cuffs.
Karel ran a professional finger down a shoulder seam. “Not bad.” He tweaked at the collar. “Quite well made too. Mass produced?”
“Oh, I got it at Edgars! But it’s pretty nice.”
Fatima unzipped the jacket to reveal the black silk lining. “And look— ” She patted her hip. “These loop things are what the troll hunters hook their metal probes on. Red hot. That’s why it’s all scorched there. But that’s just kamma-kamma, of course, not the real thing. And these— ” She ran a finger and thumb over a series of large metal rivets. “These are supposed to be a record of how many trolls you’ve killed.”
Karel lifted his eyebrows in mock respect. “You are clearly a dangerous young lady.”
Saraswati was also studying the jacket with interest. “It’s nicely put together, for a mass-market jacket. Lovely colour. This is popular now, Fatima?”
“Oh, it’s the hottest thing.”
“Well, it’s certainly slimming.”
Fatima laughed. “There’s that, too. Well Gia, you going to show me around?”
“Sure. Let’s start downstairs.”
-oOo-
It was fun showing Fatima around the new studio. She was suitably impressed with the gleaming expanse of floor, and looked with interest as Gia pointed out where the interior walls had been taken down to open the space.
“Your dad did all of this himself?”
“Well, he got people to help him, of course, but he did as much as he could himself. This is the fitting room.”
She held aside the curtain so that Fatima could see inside.
“Wow. That’s from your old place, isn’t it, that mirror? But it looks so much better here.” She posed in front of the antique three-way mirror. “Nice light in here. Flattering. People are going to love this.”
“You think so?”
“Oh yes. It’s all so exclusive looking.”
They inspected the workroom at the back, a space rarely seen by clients and consequently a lot less glossy. This was where most of the equipment was housed. Overlockers, sewing machines, presses, and shelves full of patterns and rolls of fabric.
Upstairs, they sidled through the main bedroom, which was filled with boxes, and peeked into the en-suite bathroom, still steamy from the shower.
“Good thing your parents have got this,” said Fatima. “Just imagine if you all had to share the same bathroom. Why does the shower look like that?”
The shower stall had a waist-high wall, so that the lower half was more like a small, square bathtub.
“Mom likes it like that, so she can soak properly. This is
the only bit that’s been changed about the upstairs. The rest is all still the same.”
Gia showed the other bathroom, a much dingier room with a rusted bath, tiny basin, and a toilet with a cistern high up against the ceiling that had to be flushed by pulling at a dangling chain.
The living room was a jumble of furniture and boxes and they decided not to risk going out onto the balcony.
“That’s scary,” said Fatima, looking down at the street through the holes in the boards. Then she noticed the work table that had been shoved in between the sofa and the display cabinet.
“That’s your mother’s spot? Is she working on another dress? Why doesn’t she set up downstairs in the studio? Lots more space there.”
Gia shrugged. “I think she likes to do that kind of work away from the client stuff. And Dad gets on her nerves when she’s working on her own things.”
“Is she doing another peacock dress? That was stunning.”
“Something like that. But this one is white.”
After a quick glance at the door, Gia opened one of the boxes. “Look,” she said, lifting a length of white silk. “She’s already started embroidering.”
“Wow. That’s so cool.”
The ice-white fabric was criss-crossed with undulating lines of black embroidery that branched and curled like the tendrils of a bramble, studded with tiny, sharp, embroidered thorns. Some of the thorns bore little red glass beads that glinted like drops of blood.
Fatima sighed in admiration.
“Wow,” she said again. “It’s going to be gorgeous.”
Gia opened another box, and both girls looked at the rows and rows of little bottles full of beads.
“Look at these!” said Gia, and she lifted out a small box. Inside it nestled four large beads. They were shaped like smooth teardrops, each as large around as one of her fingers. From their weight Gia guessed they must be some kind of semi-precious stone, and they had a depth and lustre that drew the eye. Each was like a tiny clot of blood, living red on the surface, but with a curl of black in its heart.
But now Fatima was getting uneasy. “Better put those back,” she said. “Before somebody comes in here and catches us snooping.”
Gia replaced the beads reluctantly. She felt the urge to suck her fingertips, as if the beads might have stained them.
Crooks and Straights Page 2