by Lisa Ireland
About The Art of Friendship
We all expect our friendships from childhood to last forever . . .
Libby and Kit have been best friends ever since the day 11-year-old Kit bounded up to Libby’s bedroom window. They’ve seen each other through first kisses, bad break-ups and everything in-between. It’s almost 20 years since Libby moved to Sydney, but they’ve remained close, despite the distance and the different paths their lives have taken.
So when Libby announces she’s moving back to Melbourne, Kit is overjoyed. They’re best friends – practically family – so it doesn’t matter that she and Libby now have different . . . well, different everything, actually, or so it seems when they’re finally living in the same city again.
Or does it?
Praise for Lisa Ireland –
“Lisa Ireland gets right to the heart of female friendship, exploring topics every woman can relate to.” Rachael Johns, author of The Greatest Gift
“This is an important book, and one everyone should read.” Sally Hepworth, author of The Family Next Door, on Lisa Ireland’s The Shape of Us
Contents
Cover
About The Art of Friendship
Dedication
SUMMER
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
AUTUMN
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
WINTER
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
SPRING
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About Lisa Ireland
Also by Lisa Ireland
Copyright page
For my friends old and new
most especially
Fiona, John, Jenelle
and
Amanda
Summer
Chapter 1
January, 1989
The one good thing about Libby Talbot’s new bedroom – possibly the smallest bedroom she’d ever seen – was that it had a large window looking out onto the street. Her bed was wedged up against the wall below the window to allow room for her dressing table on the other side, so it was a comfy spot to position herself to view the world outside. She pushed back the sheer curtains, wound the window out as far as it would go and knelt on the bed, resting her arms and chin on the windowsill so she could get a good look at her new neighbourhood.
Her family had arrived in Powell Street, Woodvale, late yesterday afternoon. When her parents had announced the family was moving to Melbourne, this suburb – far away from the city – wasn’t what she’d imagined. She’d thought of tall buildings and trams and lots of traffic. She’d imagined herself living in an apartment with a balcony and an elevator and had thought that might actually be pretty cool.
But there were no skyscrapers here in Woodvale. She’d seen some yesterday as they drove around the outskirts of the city and then over the West Gate Bridge. They’d kept on going for another half-hour, past suburbs with small houses jammed together, then factories and empty weed-filled paddocks until finally they’d turned off the highway to Woodvale. After crossing a railway line and passing a little shopping strip they’d pulled into the driveway of the place they were now to call home.
The orange-brick house was tiny compared to the weatherboard farmhouse her family had left behind. Comprising three small bedrooms, a compact kitchen, a bathroom, a laundry, and a living room her father had called ‘cosy’, the house seemed to Libby like a model from a miniature village rather than a place people could actually live. She’d done her best to make her bedroom feel like home. Her favourite books now sat on the shelf above her bed. There wasn’t enough room to fit her bookcase in here, so the rest of her collection had to be stored in boxes under her bed. Thankfully, the white cast-iron bedframe – that had once belonged to her great-grandmother – was taller than more modern beds, so there was plenty of room to store things underneath. She’d covered her new pink quilt cover with the crochet rug that her nanna had helped her make and pinned a drawing of her pony, Skeeta, on the wall, but it hadn’t helped. This room still didn’t feel like home.
From her vantage point on the bed she peered out into the street. There wasn’t much to see in her front yard. Parched, yellowing grass led to a pointless orange and brown brick fence that was so low Libby couldn’t imagine it keeping anything – not even a chihuahua – contained. Besides, there was no gate, just a massive gap at the end of the concrete driveway. A long narrow garden bed bordered the square of grass. Maybe flowers had grown there once, but right now it was filled with weeds.
The tarred road in front of the house was a bonus. Maybe now she could get rollerskates. There’d been no point at the farm – no smooth surfaces to use them on. But her mum wouldn’t be thrilled about her using them on the road. Libby’d lived here less than twenty-four hours and already she’d been given a lecture about the dangers of traffic, and of talking to strangers. ‘Goodness only knows what sorts we’ll find in this street. Best keep yourself to yourself, Libby. No chatting to people we don’t know. We’re not in the country anymore.’ How different could the people in this street be to her own family? But Libby didn’t argue. Mum had been in a mood ever since they left the farm. So the best course of action was to agree with everything she said.
Across the road sat another house just like her own. Same horrible orange bricks, same fence, same concrete driveway, even the same weeds. The only difference she could see was a flywire door in the entry way, meaning whoever lived there could leave the front door open and allow the breeze to flow through their house. Libby was immediately envious.
As she stared at the door it swung open and a short, tanned girl, who looked around Libby’s age, appeared on the steps. The girl fiddled with a buckle on her sandal for a moment and then stood up and stared right at Libby’s window. Libby ducked her head beneath the windowsill, her heart beating fast all of a sudden. Had the girl seen her? What if she thought Libby was spying on her? What if she came over here? Libby wasn’t ready to meet a city kid just yet. Her cousin Belinda had told her city kids were different. Apparently they were ‘tough’ and they all smoked and swore. She knew that she’d have to come into contact with one sooner or later – she was going to school here, after all – but it was too soon. She needed time to get to know the neighbourhood and maybe watch people’s behaviour from a distance first. That way she’d have a better idea of how to act around them.
Carefully she raised her head until her eyes were just above the sill. The girl was now walking along the top of her stumpy brick fence, bouncing a rubber ball in front of her as she went. She didn’t look the way Libby expected a city kid to look. From Belinda’s description she’d expected someone dressed from head to toe in denim, and kind of scruffy looking with a permanent scowl etched on their face. But the girl wore purple shorts, a pale green t-shirt with a glittery rainbow on the front and
white sandals on her feet. Her dark hair was done in Punky Brewster-style pigtails and she appeared to be singing or chanting something as she bounced along the fence line.
Suddenly she pirouetted – rather awkwardly, Libby noted – off the fence and landed facing Libby’s window. She looked up, grinned and waved. Sprung. Libby had no choice but to wave back. This was all the invitation the girl needed. She bounded across the road and up to the window.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’m Kit. Who are you?’
‘Libby. We just moved here.’ Libby bit her lip. What a dumb thing to say.
But Kit smiled anyway. ‘Wanna come out and play?’
Libby shrugged. ‘Um, my mum might not let me. I’m supposed to be helping unpack.’
‘Well why don’t you ask her? I’ll knock on the front door and we can do it together.’ It wasn’t a question.
Libby jumped down from her bed and went to find the adults. She located her mother in the kitchen just as Kit pressed the doorbell. Her mother looked up from the sink and clicked her tongue. ‘Who could that be?’ She pulled her hands from the soapy water and wiped them on her apron.
‘I’ll get it,’ Libby ventured.
Her mother frowned at her. ‘Don’t be silly. We have no idea who it is. It could be anyone.’
Libby followed her down the hallway to the entry and stood behind her as she opened the door.
Kit smiled. ‘Hello. I’m Kit Munroe. I’m your neighbour. I was wondering if Libby could come out to play.’
Her mother didn’t answer. Instead she turned to face Libby. ‘How does this child know your name?’
Libby felt herself blushing. ‘I told her. She . . . I . . .’
‘It was my fault, Mrs . . . sorry, I don’t know your name.’ Kit looked up at Libby’s mum expectantly.
‘It’s Mrs Talbot.’
‘Sorry, Mrs Talbot, but it was my fault. I came over and introduced myself through the window.’
‘Libby, what did I tell you about talking to strangers?’
‘But I’m not a stranger. I’m your neighbour,’ Kit interrupted.
Libby stared at her feet, waiting for the ticking-off that was about to come, but Kit kept right on talking without giving her mother a chance to respond.
‘So can Libby come out to play? I live right across the street over there. You can come and meet my mum if you like. But not right now because she’s still in bed.’
Libby wondered what sort of a mum was still in bed when it was already past lunchtime. No matter how early Libby got up her mum was always up before her.
She heard her mother sniff. ‘At this time of the day?’
Kit nodded. ‘Yeah, she worked late last night so she’s sleeping in today.’
‘Oh.’ This stumped Libby’s mother for a moment, but she soon recovered. ‘Well, Kit, thank you for coming over and introducing yourself, but Libby can’t play right now. She’s too busy unpacking.’
Kit wasn’t deterred. ‘That’s okay. I can help.’ She started unbuckling her sandals.
Libby’s eyes widened, wondering how her mother would handle this development, but before she could protest, her father walked up behind them. ‘Well, who have we here?’
Kit smiled. ‘I’m Kit.’
‘The neighbour girl,’ her mum said, speaking over the top of her. ‘She’s apparently going to help Libby unpack.’
‘Actually I’ve finished unpacking,’ Libby said.
‘Great,’ said her dad. ‘Then perhaps you two can play outside for a bit.’
Her mum shook her head. ‘There’s still plenty of work to be done.’
Her dad put his hand on her mum’s shoulder. ‘Let her go, Mary. It’s good for her to make some friends before school starts.’
Her dad had spoken. Libby grabbed her new rainbow thongs from the shoe basket at the front door then ran outside and down the steps, Kit following behind.
‘One hour,’ her mother called after her. ‘And don’t go past the end of the street.’
The girls walked across the road, stopping outside Kit’s house. Kit took a seat on the brick fence and Libby sat down beside her, being careful not to let any bare skin touch the baking hot surface.
‘So, what do you wanna play?’
Libby shrugged. ‘I dunno. Maybe we could ride our bikes.’
Kit shook her head. ‘Nah. Don’t have a bike.’ Her face suddenly brightened. ‘But you can dink me on yours if you like.’
Getting the bike meant going back home, which might not be the best idea. Besides, now that she thought about it, Libby wasn’t even sure where her bike was. ‘It’s a bit hot for dinking.’
‘We can’t go inside my place because my mum’s sleeping, and I don’t think your mum would be too keen on me playing at your place.’
Libby studied the multicoloured rubber of her thongs for a minute in an effort to hide her embarrassment. Kit seemed nice. Not at all scary. And it would be, as her dad had said, nice to start school having already made a friend. She wasn’t sure why her mum was being so prickly about everything. She’d always been a bit strict and had a tendency for ‘plain speaking’, as Aunty Anne called it. But back home in Lindenow no one minded. Everyone knew her there. She was Mary Talbot, wife of Peter Talbot of Lindenow Dairy, and everyone in town was used to her. But maybe here in Woodvale she wouldn’t fit in as well.
‘My mum’s just a bit cranky because of the move,’ she finally offered. ‘You can come to play another day.’
‘Where did you move from?’
‘Lindenow.’
‘Never heard of it. Is it far from here?’
Libby nodded. ‘Yeah. It took us hours to drive here.’
‘What’s it near?’
‘Have you ever been to Bairnsdale?’
Kit shook her head. ‘Nup. But I’ve been to Yarraville on the train with my mum lots of times. My pa lives there. Once we went all the way to the city, to see the Myer windows at Christmas time.’
Libby didn’t know where Yarraville was or what the Myer windows were, but she didn’t want to appear ignorant so she nodded her head and hoped Kit wouldn’t ask her anything that required insider knowledge.
‘So this place you lived, it’s in the country, right?’
Libby nodded. ‘Yeah. We live on a farm. I mean, we used to.’
‘Wow. All that space to play would be so cool. So why did you move?’
Good question. Libby didn’t know all the details of why they’d had to leave the farm behind, but she knew her parents hadn’t been telling the truth when they’d said it was a ‘great opportunity’ and they ‘felt like a change of scenery’. Because if that was the case then surely they would have chosen somewhere more scenic than Woodvale. And besides, she’d heard them arguing at night, after they thought she was asleep. From what she could work out it had something to do with money, and her father not doing the right thing. ‘How could you do this to us, Peter?’ her mother had cried. ‘As if I haven’t been through enough.’ Whatever had happened, it wasn’t good, and according to her mother it was all her father’s fault.
She glanced at Kit, who was waiting for an answer, and shrugged. ‘I don’t know. My dad got a new job, I guess.’
Kit nodded at this information as if it made sense, and kept on talking. ‘Do you have a horse, I mean did you, at your old place?’
Tears pricked the back of Libby’s eyes as an image of Skeeta flashed through her mind. She’d had to leave him with Belinda. ‘You can visit him anytime you like,’ Aunty Anne had said, but of course that wasn’t exactly true. It wasn’t as if Libby could ride her bike to Lindenow to visit Skeeta. It would take days to get there. She’d have to wait for her parents to take her, and now that Dad was going to be working at the Toyota factory she didn’t know when there would be time. She quickly blinked back the tears, not wanting Kit to think
she was a baby. ‘Yeah, I had a pony but I had to leave him with my cousin. I’d had him since I was five so he was getting too small for me anyway.’
‘Oh, that’s sad. But I’ll bet you were lonely on that farm, right? I mean, did you even have neighbours? Was it hard to find someone to play with?’
Libby shook her head. ‘Not really. Sometimes my friends came home on the school bus with me and my mum drove them home later. And I could ride my bike or my pony to my next-door neighbour’s house. Shelley lived on the same road as me.’ Her eyes began to sting and a lump formed in her throat. Luckily Kit didn’t seem to notice. She’d moved on to another topic.
‘How about I give you a tour of the neighbourhood?’
Libby slid off the fence and smiled. ‘Yeah, that’d be great. Just so long as we don’t go out of our street. My mum would have a heart attack if I disobeyed her.’
‘That’s okay. I’ll tell you all about who lives in all the houses. And there’s sort of a park at the end of the street.’
Libby lifted her gaze from the shimmering asphalt and looked in the direction Kit was pointing. The ‘park’ appeared to be an empty block of land bordered by pine log fencing.
‘We call it The Walkthrough because you have to walk through it to get to the street on the other side. That’s the way we go to school. That is if you’re going to Woodvale Primary School. You go the other way to the Catholic school, but it’s a long walk. There’s a bus that you can catch from the shops, but they’re around the corner, so I can’t show you them today.’
‘I think I’m going to Woodvale. My dad said there was a school close by, so I guess that’s it.’
Kit nodded. ‘There aren’t any other schools close by, so that’ll be the one. That’s great. We can go together. What grade are you in?’
‘I’m starting grade six.’
‘Me too. If we’re lucky they might put us in the same class.’
‘What do you mean?’ At Libby’s last school all the kids had been in one room together. Sometimes Mrs Hedrick would split them up into groups for maths or spelling but there were no different classes.