by J A Mawter
‘It didn’t say clippers,’ said Rob.
Geoff stopped searching through the shelves lining the back of the carport. He looked at Rob and sighed. ‘I need them for “Toe of mog”,’ he said.
Rob blanched and stepped backwards. ‘Yuck! You must be desperate to make your sister disappear.’
Geoff nodded, saying, ‘Sure am.’
When Geoff returned to his room he found that most of his belongings were missing. His trophies had been removed from the bookshelf and replaced with fluffy stuffed toys. The posters and tarantula were gone from the wall beside his bed. His kite had been taken down. Even his collection of cicada shells had disappeared.
‘They’re in there,’ said Caterina, pointing to a garbage bag on the floor. ‘I’m helping you to move out,’ she said by way of explanation.
Geoff picked up the bag and placed it on his bed, careful not to show how upset he was.
Caterina was giving herself a pedicure. Geoff watched as each toenail was filed to perfection. Next, she applied her nail polish, coat after coat. Passion Pink, the label said.
Should be called Jellybean, thought Geoff. ‘Cause that’s what her toes look like — jellybean toes.
‘Only twelve hours to go,’ crowed Caterina. ‘Then you can sleep in the gutter for all I care.’
Mumbling, ‘toe of mog’ and ‘wool of rat’, Geoff walked out. As quietly as possible, he crept into his parents’ room and shut the door. There was something he had to borrow.
‘Geoffrey!’ called his mother. ‘Phone!’
Stuffing the razor in his pocket, Geoff answered, ‘Coming!’
‘Whatcha going to do for toe of mog and wool of rat?’ It was Rob. ‘It’s a toughie.’
‘You’ll see,’ said Geoff. ‘I’ll show you tomorrow.’
‘What about the tongue?’ asked Rob. ‘I saw some up at the butchers.’
‘It’s all under control,’ said Geoff. ‘Tomorrow Princess Pruneface will have disappeared and I will have the room to myself.’
‘Evanescence,’ said Rob with a laugh. ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’
‘You’ll see it tomorrow,’ said Geoff. ‘Be here by eleven.’
Five minutes later when Geoff knocked at their bedroom door, Caterina ignored him. ‘Can I come in?’ he called.
‘No!’
‘Please.’
‘Go away.’
‘But I want to go to bed!’ Geoff was about to barge in, when Caterina did what only Princess Pruneface could do …
The door almost left the hinges as she wrenched it open. ‘In twelve hours’ time this is my room, not yours, you snivelling little snot!’
‘What’s your problem?’ asked Geoff. And with that he set off a tirade.
‘You. You don’t deserve a beautiful room like this. Bugging people all the time. The verandah’s too good for you. Know what you are? A bloodsucker! I’m so sick of sharing with a moron of a brother! Why couldn’t I get a sister? A nice one I could swap clothes with. Not a drongo who prowls around —’
‘I don’t prowl!’
‘Creeping about like a … a …’
‘A what?’
‘A creep!’
‘How original,’ said Geoff.
Caterina stamped her foot. ‘You’ve got twelve hours — twelve hours, mind — then you pack.’
By now, Geoff had pushed his way into the room. ‘Yes, but tonight I’m still sleeping here.’
‘Mine!’ shrieked Caterina. ‘This room will be mine!’
You mean mine, corrected Geoff.
Chapter Seven
That evening Caterina repeated the whole tiresome going-to-bed routine. ‘G’night,’ said Geoff.
Caterina settled back on her pillow. ‘Saturday tomorrow. I can’t wait,’ was her reply.
Thinking of the spell and the next step in his plan Geoff did not answer. What he was about to do required all his patience and skill.
Quicker than he expected, Caterina fell asleep.
Geoff slipped out of bed, reaching for the clippers that were hidden under his pillow. He went over to Caterina and eased up the bed covers from the bottom end. Ten pink pearls lay glistening in the pale light. Geoff grabbed the clippers, placed them blades open around Caterina’s toe and …
Hack! Hack! Hack!
Item three — success.
‘Now for the wool of rat,’ said Geoff, reaching for the razor. Quietly and with grim determination, he went about his business.
Snip! Slide! Glide!
Item four — success.
When Geoff woke the next morning he lay still, pretending to be asleep. Between a gap in the bed covers he watched Caterina. First, she inspected her fingernails, huffing on the polish and rubbing them on her pyjamas to buff them up. Then she stretched and yawned before flinging back her sheets.
Without her contact lenses Caterina could not see her feet.
‘Morning,’ said Geoff, hoping that for once she’d avoid the mirror.
Caterina flung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up.
Furtively, Geoff glanced at her toes. The nails were rough and uneven, some pointy, some blunt, but most were sort of jagged.
They look like they’ve been attacked with a can-opener, thought Geoff.
‘I’m having first shower,’ said Caterina. ‘While I’m gone you can start packing!’ Grabbing a towel from the end of her bed, she walked out.
Five, four, three, two, counted Geoff in anticipation.
‘Aaaagh!’
Right on cue, thought Geoff with a chuckle. ‘Ooooooh!’
‘Caterina!’ Mr Polo stood banging on the bathroom door, his hair sticking up at odd angles and his eyes heavy with sleep. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Eeeeekh!’
‘Caterina?’ gasped Mrs Polo. ‘Are you all right?’
Geoff came out of the bedroom and joined them, yawning and stretching to look like he’d just woken up. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
Caterina flung open the bathroom door. Her eyes were wide in her face and her skin was deathly pale.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Mr Polo.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Mrs Polo. ‘You look — somehow — different.’
Caterina looked from her mother to her father. She pointed to her toes, then face. ‘Can’t say,’ she sobbed and hurled herself into their arms.
Chapter Eight
Rob met Geoff at exactly eleven o’clock the next morning. ‘Bet you didn’t find all the stuff for that stupid spell.’
‘Yes, I did,’ said Geoff. He pulled out the Book of Spells from a drawer and turned to page 72, saying, ‘I’ll show you.’ Opening a bag he reached in, removing three envelopes and a tissue.
‘You’re nuts,’ said Rob, picking up the tissue. ‘The spell says, eyes and toes and wool and tongues. What’s this supposed to be?’
Geoff leant back in his chair, a smug look on his face. ‘It’s the tongue of hog,’ he said.
Rob tilted his head. ‘This is a joke, right?’
‘Uh-uh!’ Geoff smiled. ‘You know how police use fingerprints to catch criminals?’
Rob nodded.
‘Another sort of print is a tongue print.’ ‘You mean, thumb print,’ corrected Rob. Geoff shook his head. ‘No. I mean tongue print.’ Rob’s eyebrows rose quizzically. ‘You’ve lost me,’ he said.
Geoff held up the tissue so that the light was behind it. Using his pinkie he drew round the tongue print, explaining, ‘Here’s the base, the tip, back to the base.’
‘Whose tongue is it?’ asked Rob.
‘Pruneface’s!’ Geoff ploughed on. ‘And you know how Princess Pruneface does not want to share this room?’
‘Yes
‘She wants to have it all to herself. She wants to hog it.’ ‘So-o
‘Pruneface is the hog.’
‘Pruneface is the hog?’ repeated Rob, trying to understand.
‘That’s right,’ said Geoff, holding up the tissue. ‘And this is her tongu
e print.’
Rob’s eyes lit up. ‘Tongue of hog, eh?’ Geoff nodded.
‘You’re stretching the interpretation,’ said Rob, pursing his lips and shaking his head. ‘Don’t know if it’ll count.’
‘Trust me,’ said Geoff, lowering his voice to sound older and wiser. ‘This old spell’s open to a modern interpretation.’
Rob reached for the envelopes. ‘So what’s in here?’ He felt through the paper with his fingers. ‘No toes or eyes that I can tell.’
Geoff opened one envelope and tipped the contents into his palm. Something small and slippery lay there. He picked it up, squeezing it gently between his fingers.
‘Can’t wait to hear how you’re going to explain that,’ said Rob. ‘It’s a plastic contact lens.’
‘Pruneface’s contact lens. For her eyes. I reckon this is as good as I’ll get to eye of beaut.’
Rob threw up his hands. ‘The eye bit I accept, but the beaut?’
Geoff chuckled. ‘I agree. Newt would be a better description for Pruneface. Beaut really is stretching it.’
Rob laughed, saying, ‘Go on.’ ‘You’ll need to have an open mind for the next two.’
‘An open mind!’ exclaimed Rob. ‘Any more open and it would be missing.’
Geoff grinned. ‘Okay, my friend …’ Reaching for the second envelope he tipped some nail clippings onto the bed. They were pink, more jagged than the tooth of a hacksaw.
‘Let me guess,’ said Rob, beginning to enjoy himself. ‘It can’t be the wool of rat, so it must be the toe of mog.’
‘You’re good,’ said Geoff.
Rob scratched his head. ‘I know the nails come from toes, and I’m cool with that, but what about the moggie? Toe of mog,’ he repeated.
‘Simple,’ said Geoff. ‘The mog is Caterina. Caterina. Get it?’
Rob shook his head in admiration. ‘How’d you get her to give you this stuff?’
‘She didn’t,’ said Geoff. ‘Let’s just say, the Cat burglar took it.’
‘Pruneface must’ve flipped when she saw her toes,’ said Rob with a smile.
‘Flipped isn’t the word,’ said Geoff. ‘She was terrified.’
Rob looked at the empty space that once held Caterina’s bed. ‘How’d you do it?’ he asked. ‘How’d you make her clear out?’
‘The Spell of Evanescence. It frightened her out of the room.’
‘Pruneface has gone for good?’
‘Yes,’ said Geoff, pointing at the trophies on the shelf. There was not a stuffed toy in sight. In fact, not one of Caterina’s things was left in the room. ‘It’s all mine!’
‘Where has she gone?’ asked Rob,
‘To Mum and Dad’s room,’ said Geoff. ‘She’s petrified. You see, she keeps losing things.’
‘What else did she lose?’ asked Rob.
‘We’ve had eye of beaut and toe of mog and tongue of hog. Now, I’m going to explain the last one,’ said Geoff, picking up the final envelope. ‘Wool of rat.’ He tipped a small pile of fuzz into Rob’s hand.
Rob fingered it, a puzzled look on his face.
Geoff burst out laughing. ‘I have to say it, this one is good.’ He stood up, hovering over Rob.
‘Sure is funny sort of wool,’ said Rob.
Geoff nodded, trying to keep a straight face. ‘You could say that. It’s not real wool. It’s hair. Wool — hair — they’re all the same.’
‘What sort of rat does it come from?’
‘A Pruneface sort of rat.’
‘Huh?’
‘My sister can be a real rat,’ explained Geoff. ‘This is from her.’
Rob frowned, saying, ‘This isn’t Caterina’s hair. She’s a redhead.’
Geoff giggled. ‘Not every part of her is red.’
‘But Caterina’s hair is straight and long.’
Geoff giggled, again. ‘Some of it is short and spiky.’
Rob looked at the pile of hair in his palm. It was thicker and coarser than Caterina’s usual hair. ‘You mean …?’
‘Yes,’ cried Geoff, before snorting with laughter. ‘Wool of rat. It’s Caterina’s hair. You know, her golden angel eyebrows!’
Rob flung the hairball into the air and spat on his hands to clean them. ‘Gross!’
Geoff laughed so hard his tummy hurt.
‘How did you get them?’ asked Rob, wiping his hands on his jeans.
Geoff shrugged modestly. Holding up the razor he said, ‘Let’s just say … it was a close shave!’
Acknowledgments
As always, this could not have been written without the love of my family; Tullia, Shevaughn, Hugh and David and my parents, Nola and Garry.
Thank-you to authors Sue Murray, Pauline O’Carolan, Anne Melano and Alan Mills for their advice and encouragement. Special thanks to Susanne Gervay and the Sydney Children’s Writers and Illustrators Network of the Hughenden Boutique Hotel for their support. An extra big thank-you goes to Lisa Berryman, for her vision and warped sense of humour, and to Gus Gordon, for his wicked illustrations.
About the author
J.A. Mawter had a misspent childhood, concocting vomit and faking weird diseases. The vomit looked suspiciously like cordial with bits of carrot in it, and the weird disease was ‘outed’ as a rolling-in-the-grass sort of rash. This search for the ultimate sickie helps to explain J.A. Mawter’s continued fixation with the fouler side of life.
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Copyright
Angus&Robertson
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers, Australia
First published in Australia in 2002
This edition published in 2010
by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited
ABN 36 009 913 517
Copyright © J. A. Mawter 2002
Illustrations copyright © Gus Gordon 2002
The right of J. A. Mawter to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.