I thought about the vision of Rumer I had seen in the bathtub on the night of the robbery that could just as easily have been Rebecca lying there under the water. I thought about the taps in the bathtub that would mysteriously run in the middle of the night, and the bathplug that would sometimes fall into place and allow the bath to fill. I wondered what time Rebecca went down to Bluff Beach that day before Rumer’s third birthday. The time 2.47 am, bright on my mobile screen, was clear in my mind.
Grandma and I watched the end of the movie and I tried to pretend that I didn’t notice her tears, which had nothing to do with what was happening on the screen.
And I tried to pretend that Grandma’s story hadn’t sent a shiver up my spine.
Later that night the grandfather clock from the entry hall woke me with its chiming. By the time it had finished I was totally awake, so I slipped out of bed and went into the hallway, where I noticed a faint light spilling down the attic stairs, just as I had expected. In the attic I stood for a while at the octagonal window, looking out past the bluff to the choppy waves that gleamed silver in the pale moonlight. After a while I turned to the floor-length mirror.
The mirror from the Blue Room.
Rebecca’s old bedroom.
I didn’t have an answer to the mystery of the shining light, the light that had led Rumer and I to safety the night before, except that it came from that mirror. I had seen the light several times over the years at Vinegar House and I wasn’t sure what, or who, was responsible for it. But that night I looked deep and long into its depths and for a moment I thought I caught a flash of blond hair in the cracked corner.
“Thank you,” I said.
And then I left.
I thought about the mirror for a long time after that, then I just let it be. I didn’t tell anyone – not even Holly. So don’t tell anyone, will you? It can be our secret.
There are three things you should know about me if we’re ever going to be friends. The first thing is my name – which you already know. Isabella said that I could legally change my name when I get older, but I’m kind of used to it now and I think I might as well just keep it. Even though Luke Hart still likes to tease me about it whenever he can.
The second thing is that I don’t believe in ghosts – not the scary white sheet, boogie-woogie type of ghost, anyway – although the Blue Room still makes me feel uncomfortable. But what I do believe is that if you’re a girl who was born in Homsea, a girl who lives in a nothing kind of house with an ordinary kind of family, then you can’t know everything about the world and that it’s probably good to keep an open mind about things, just in case.
And the third thing is that I believe in karma. I should never have taken the love notes from under Rumer’s door. They were never intended for me.
And I should never have run away from the crying Suzanne Crompt at Tara Wilcock’s party. I should have stayed and tried to tell her exactly what happened, instead of running off into the night like a scared little mouse.
And I shouldn’t get cross with the Colonel with his stomping ways …
Actually, I’m not a saint. Scrap that last thought.
Anyway, thinking about those things now, I’ve realised that karma is already here, slapping me in the face like one of Mrs Skelton’s wet sheets, and it has arrived in the shape of Luke Hart. Luke is going to be the biggest load of payback karma that I’ve ever had to deal with before IN MY LIFE. He’s already expecting me to do things, like making me watch him play football on weekends, or telling him that the biggest squid caught at high tide on Saturday morning is the one sitting in his bucket (when it is clearly in mine), or having to listen to his mother just about picking out our wedding invitations.
That woman should stick to singing.
The other day I had a dream that Luke and I were dancing like Fred Astaire and his girlfriend in that movie I watched with Grandma. I was wearing a long soft kind of dress and Luke was wearing a suit, and we were floating about the dance floor, somehow knowing all the right steps and keeping in time to the music while Luke sang to me …
In fact, this wasn’t quite a daydream. It happened yesterday. Luke asked me if I could teach him how to dance one of those slow waltzy kind of dances because we’d both been invited to Porky Sudholz’s sister’s wedding, as she is his mother’s cousin, once removed. We were sitting on the edge of the jetty with our squid lines in the water. The morning sun was sparkling like diamonds off the waves as I ordered Luke to stand up and hold out his arms. Then I slid in close to him, placed his right hand on my back and I held his other hand in mine. A couple of the fishermen down the jetty whistled, and I told them to shut up. Luke was embarrassed enough without that.
“Can you count to three?’ I asked.
In my head I could hear the music from that old movie as we fumbled our steps at the end of the jetty and Luke sang those three little words, “One, two, three. One, two three. One, two, three.” For a moment the diamonds of light reminded me of Vinegar House and I sent a silent hello to it from across the water, just in case it was watching.
There are other things you should probably know about me as well, but those are the three things that you should know for now: my name, the ghost thing and the fact that I believe in karma.
But enough about me …
I think you’ve got something on the end of your line.
Acknowledgements
Love Notes from Vinegar House was developed during a Creative Time Residential Fellowship provided by the May Gibbs Children’s Literature Trust. With special thanks to Elizabeth, Ian, Nan, Alle and Sally.
To Chris, Bryce and Caity – with thanks and love.
Thanks as always to friends and family who put up with my absence.
To my personal readers who took the time to read the manuscript and get back with comments – Alison, Bernie, BK, Bryce, Caitlin, Corinne, Dee, Jordan, Maddy and Sue.
To the Cranny’s Lane Writing Group who not only read and encourage, but question, suggest, support and laugh in equal measure. The food is also good.
To Walker Books, thanks for the opportunity to come onboard.
To Mary, guardian of over-used words and strict punctuation, thank you for using pencil and not red pen.
To Maryann, publisher of the black dog books imprint, my editor and friend indeed.
But mostly, and most sincerely, to black dog books who have figured largely in my life these last ten years. To Andrew Kelly, and his partner and publishing director, Maryann Ballantyne, for their amazing contribution to the Australian publishing industry during their time at black dog books. Your legacy includes a list of “discovered” authors and illustrators who continue to produce quality fiction and non-fiction for children, both in Australia and around the world. Thank you for the opportunity to hop on this crazy merry-go-round known as publishing. What an amazing ride it is.
About the Author
KAREN TAYLEUR spent a large part of her teen years being spooked by things that went bump in the night.
Karen ignored the first three hours of labour with her second child by reading Peter Straub’s Ghost Story. She has been known to cover her eyes during the scary bits at the movies. She doesn’t actually believe in ghosts … but she doesn’t disbelieve either. She’s sitting with Freya on the fence.
The author gratefully acknowledges the support
of the May Gibbs Children’s Literature Trust.
First published in 2012
by Black Dog Books
an imprint of Walker Books Australia Pty Ltd
Locked Bag 22, Newtown
NSW 2042 Australia
www.walkerbooks.com.au
This ebook edition published in 2014
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Text © 2012 Karen Tayleur
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or
otherwise – without the prior written permission of the publisher.
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Tayleur, Karen, 1961– author.
Love notes from vinegar house / Karen Tayleur.
For young adults.
Subjects: Teenagers – Juvenile fiction.
Secrets – Juvenile fiction.
A823.4
ISBN: 978-1-925126-18-1 (ePub)
ISBN: 978-1-925126-17-4 (e-PDF)
ISBN: 978-1-925126-19-8 (.PRC)
Cover images © Marcus Lindstrom/Vetta/Getty Images
For Alex Segulin,
fellow spy, evader of piranha and
Deadly Ernest devotee;
and for those of us who will miss him.
Other Books by
Karen Tayleur
Six
Hostage
Chasing Boys
Love Notes from Vinegar House Page 15