The Secret Life of Maeve Lee Kwong is a companion to Bridie’s Fire, Becoming Billy Dare and A Prayer for Blue Delaney. Each tells a vivid, self-contained story, and can be read on its own. Together, the four books make up the captivating CHILDREN OF THE WIND series, exploring 150 years of Australian life through the adventures of four feisty young people.
‘I loved being in the secret world of Maeve, a place rich in laughter and tears, ghosts and surprises – all the right ingredients for a terrific read.’
Brigid Lowry
‘Kirsty Murray understands families, joy and the relentlessness of grief. This is a stirring story, rigorously researched so that each detail feels true.’
Alyssa Brugman
PRAISE FOR KIRSTY MURRAY’S EARLIER BOOKS
‘Rich with Australian history.’
Australian Bookseller and Publisher
‘I’ve just finished Bridie’s Fire. I loved it!’
Georgia, aged 13
‘Full of incident, adventure and rich detail.’
Viewpoint
‘I really love this series; the books have so much insight. I recommend A Prayer for Blue Delaney for people in the early years of high school right up to the age when you start losing your sight – very hard to put down.’
Carmel, Year 11
KIRSTY MURRAY is a fifth-generation Australian whose ancestors came from Ireland, Scotland, England and Germany. Some of their stories provided her with the backcloth for the CHILDREN OF THE WIND series. Kirsty lives in Melbourne with her husband and a gang of teenagers.
OTHER BOOKS BY KIRSTY MURRAY
FICTION
Zarconi’s Magic Flying Fish
Market Blues
Walking Home with Marie-Claire
Children of the Wind
Bridie’s Fire
Becoming Billy Dare
A Prayer for Blue Delaney
NON-FICTION
Howard Florey, Miracle Maker
Tough Stuff
First published in 2006
Copyright © Kirsty Murray 2006
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.
Allen & Unwin
83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100
Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218
Email: [email protected]
Web: www.allenandunwin.com
A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the
National Library of Australia
www.trove.nla.gov.au
ISBN 1 86508 737 8.
eISBN 978 1 74 269 230 2
This project has been assisted by the
Commonwealth Government through the
Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body
Series designed by Ruth Grüner
Cover image by Pigs Might Fly
Typeset by Ruth Grüner
Teachers’ notes available from www.allenandunwin.com
Contents
Acknowledgements
1 Hungry ghosts
2 God’s athletes
3 Keep it sweet
4 Sudden and laughing
5 Three Musketeers
6 Tunnel vision
7 The black chasm
8 Echoes and angels
9 Dark waters
10 A bridge of magpies
11 Hell to pay
12 Runestones
13 Out of the shadows
14 The first Christmas
15 Kingfisher Creek
16 Written on the hand
17 In morning light
18 The Book of Changes
19 A single creased envelope
20 A promise to break
21 Seussmania
22 WPKA
23 Auld lang syne
24 Missing in action
25 The real thing
26 A gift of the heart
27 Guilty secrets
28 Ghost world
29 Secret-keeper
30 Chameleon man
31 All the dead voices
32 The loudest silence
33 Confessions
34 Full circle
35 Third burren
36 A time to dance
Author’s note
Acknowledgements
It’s easy to imagine that writing a contemporary novel would require less research than a work of historical fiction. When I began writing Maeve’s story, I assumed I knew my own time so well that I wouldn’t need to conduct much research. But I was wrong. Many people both knowingly and unknowingly assisted me in putting Maeve’s story together. I would particularly like to thank the following:
For their guidance and inspiration, Gabrielle Wang and Mabel Wang; for their insights into the lives of modern girls, Lauren Magner, Alice Boyle, Roxane Walker, Niki Minster, and Jocelyn Ainslie; Sandy Yao for the inspiration provided by her story ‘The Mysterious Calendar’; Danny Saks and Janie Forbes, Tim Clarke and Heidi O’Neill, Alice Perceval, David Allen, Jill Delbridge and Ferg Fricke, and Margaret Hoctor for their hospitality and support; Janie Barker for advice on clairvoyance; Patrick Sutton of the Gaiety School of Theatre, Dublin, for explaining his vigorous approach to drama and Irish theatre; staff and students of Saint Scholastica’s College, Sydney, especially Bec, Lorraine, Mary-anne, Emma, Stephanie, Katie, Samantha, Mel and Kayla; Dana Duncan and the Drama department of Methodist Ladies College, Melbourne; also special thanks to Ros Price and Sarah Brenan of Allen & Unwin for their support and their always refreshing good faith. I would also like to acknowledge the Australia Council for its financial support.
The snatches of poetry that Sue recites to Maeve are from ‘The Old Age of Queen Maeve’ by William Butler Yeats and ‘For Maeve’ by Mervyn Peake. The play that the girls rehearse with Patrick Cassidy is ‘Waiting for Godot’ by Samuel Beckett.
Sometimes, particularly when writing, it’s easy to forget that we are all bound by the laws of physics, caught in a moment in time. Thanks to my fellow time travellers who have endured, informed and influenced this book at every step, my ever obliging family: Elwyn, Billy and Ruby Murray, Ken, Bella, Romanie and Theo Harper.
For Kenneth Harper,
my secret-keeper,
with love
1
Hungry ghosts
‘So – time to talk to the dead!’ said Maeve. She flipped open the ouija board and set it in front of her friends. In the glow of the bedside lamp, Stephanie’s eyes shone with excitement, but Bianca sat on a pile of doonas chewing the ends of her long blonde hair and frowning.
‘I’m not sure I want to do this,’ she said. ‘Remember The Exorcist?’
Maeve laughed. ‘Hey Bunka, it’s okay. You could look cool with your head on backwards!’
‘We’re not speaking to the dead,’ said Steph, pushing pillows and cushions away from the ouija board. ‘They’re just going to send us some messages. You know, they’re on “the other side”, sort of outside time, so they can see the future.’
Maeve smiled and winked at Bianca. Steph always took anything to do with fortune-telling way too seriously.
‘It’s so br
ight in here,’ said Stephanie. ‘No spirits are going to show with the place lit up like this. We need total darkness.’
‘How are we meant to read the ouija board if there’s no light?’ asked Bianca.
‘Candlelight, remember!’ said Stephanie. ‘Don’t tell me you forgot to bring the extras, Bunka!’
Bianca rustled around in her backpack and pulled out two fat pink candles while Maeve gathered all the tea-lights scattered along her shelves and set them in a circle on the floor. It felt more like a fairy party than a séance.
Bianca wrapped her doona around her head like a hood. ‘Omigod! This is so like something out of Charmed or that Wicca film. I am so spooked.’
‘Yeah, we might scare up some hungry ghosts,’ said Maeve.
‘Hungry ghosts?’
‘They’re Chinese ghosts, spirits with tiny little mouths and great big stomachs full of fire, and my grandmother reckons they are deeply pissed off with the living.’
Bianca let out a squeal and pulled the doona over her head completely.
‘Bunka,’ pleaded Steph. ‘Cut the scaredy-cat crap. I know you’re faking.’
‘I think I’ll turn out the hall lights,’ said Maeve. She tiptoed past her little brother’s bedroom, switched off the light that hung over the stairway and then hurried back to her room. ‘Hope Mum doesn’t spring us,’ she said. ‘She’ll definitely wreck the mood. She is a total sceptic.’
Bianca giggled. ‘My mum would probably want to join us. She’s such an old hippy.’
‘Definitely no mothers allowed,’ said Steph. They wriggled in closer together until all their knees were touching.
Maeve glanced through the list of instructions. ‘Where’s the planchette?’
‘The what?’ asked Steph.
‘It says here in the instructions that there’s meant to be a “planchette” that we all put our fingers on.’
‘Tim lost it on school camp. He said we can use a glass upside down. That’s just as good. But first we have to do something to invoke the spirits.’
‘Like what?’ asked Bianca.
‘We have to chant “power words” to attract something into the room.’
‘Like “Josh Whitton is gorgeous, Josh Whitton’s a spunk”,’ said Maeve.
Bianca covered her mouth to hide her smile. ‘I could so handle attracting him into the room.’
‘Get serious, you two,’ said Steph.
‘How about Om mani padme hum,’ said Bianca, humming the last word.
‘That sounds like some sort of hippy chant.’
‘So, it’s still kinda magic. My mum says it when she’s meditating. At least it should attract a good spirit.’
Stephanie shrugged. ‘It can’t hurt to try,’ she said. Together they all chanted the mantra. ‘Om mani padme hummmmmm.’
‘Now, we all have to put our fingertips on the edge of the glass, like this.’
Stephanie centred the glass on the battered ouija board. Maeve wondered how it was going to slide across the scratched surface. There were two arcs of letters, a row of numbers and ‘GOODBYE’ written across the bottom of the board. In the top right-hand corner there was a picture of a crescent moon and ‘NO’ in big letters. In the opposite corner there was a smiling sun and the word ‘YES’.
For a long moment, they were all silent, waiting for something to happen.
‘Is there anyone out there?’ Stephanie tried to make her voice sound deep and magical, but she choked on the last word and it came out squeaky.
Maeve bit her lip to stifle the laughter that kept threatening to burst out. But suddenly the glass began to move.
‘Are you pushing it, Steph?’ she asked.
‘No, shhhhh . . .’
The three girls leant in closer as the glass slid across the ouija board to the smiling sun and the word ‘YES’.
Bianca caught her breath. ‘Are you a friendly spirit?’ she asked.
The glass began to move towards ‘NO’ on the opposite side of the board. Maeve wanted to snatch her hand away but it felt as if her fingertips were fused to the glass. She looked across at Stephanie, trying to decide whether her friend was guiding it or whether it really was moving of its own volition. Suddenly, the glass veered around again and headed back towards ‘YES’. They all sighed with relief.
‘Think of good questions,’ whispered Steph.
‘Who does Josh Whitton really like?’ asked Bianca.
The glass moved down to the letters on the ouija board and stopped over the letter ‘B’ then headed determinedly towards ‘I’.
‘You’re pushing the glass, Bianca,’ said Stephanie.
‘I am not!’
It took a few minutes for the board to spell out Bianca’s name.
Steph rolled her eyes and then leant forward, as if she were speaking to the board. ‘Will I be famous and find success as an actress?’
The glass moved quickly towards ‘YES’. Steph smiled. ‘You ask next,’ she said, nodding at Maeve.
Maeve tried to think what to ask. She didn’t really want a boyfriend yet and she didn’t know if she liked the idea of being famous. She bit her lower lip, trying to come up with a good question.
‘Will all my dreams come true?’ she asked finally.
The glass began to glide across the board, circling the letters in the middle and then it looked as if it was going to dip down towards ‘GOODBYE’. Maeve felt annoyed that she’d asked such a lame question. Now she wasn’t even going to get an answer. Suddenly, the glass started to twitch. It was as if two opposing forces were trying to move it in different directions. Maeve tried to let go, but before she could, there was a popping noise and the glass exploded beneath their fingertips.
Bianca screamed, the room was plunged into darkness and Maeve felt a slicing pain in her finger.
Steph leapt up and switched on the overhead light. Maeve held her hand up to show a drop of red blood beading on her fingertip. ‘Check this out. I thought it said it was a good spirit!’ she said shakily.
‘Tim told me sometimes things can go weird,’ said Steph. ‘He said his friend Damien got a bad spirit who told the séance about all the evil stuff that Damien had been doing behind everyone’s backs, but . . . nothing like this.’
From the next room, Ned set up a wail. There were footsteps in the hall. Maeve quickly dropped her pillow over the board and the fragments of broken glass.
‘Is everything all right in here?’ asked her mother, opening the door and peering into the bedroom. She held Ned on one hip, cradling his head against her shoulder.
‘Fine, Mum. We were just mucking around.’
‘You need to keep the volume down. You woke Ned. And it’s getting late, girls. You’ve all got dance in the morning so it’s time you switched off. I don’t want to have to come and tell you again.’
When the door closed, Maeve hurriedly picked up the board and tipped the broken glass into her wastepaper basket. No one spoke as they settled down into their makeshift beds on the floor.
‘That was too weird,’ said Bianca, her voice small in the darkness.
‘I feel a little bit freaked,’ said Steph.
‘Let’s try not to think about it,’ said Maeve. ‘We’ll all feel better in the morning.’ She put an arm around each of her friends and drew them closer.
There was a long silence and then Bianca whispered, ‘It’s okay for now, but what about tomorrow night when I’m in my own bed and you guys aren’t around to make me feel safe? Then I’ll really flip out.’
‘Hey,’ said Maeve, turning on the bedside lamp. ‘I’ve got an idea.’
She pulled open her desk drawer, took out a pair of scissors and handed them to Bianca. ‘Friendship braids,’ she said. ‘That’s what we need. What we do is braid a really skinny plait into everyone’s hair. That way, when you’re by yourself tomorrow night you can wrap it round your finger and know that we’re out there. Sort of like a lucky charm.’
Maeve brushed her dark hair forward. ‘Cut,’ s
he said.
Bianca snipped with the scissors. The cold metal made Maeve’s skin prickle.
‘Got it.’ Bianca held up a strand of Maeve’s silky hair.
‘Cool. Now you let me cut some of yours, and then we’ll do Steph.’
Bianca knelt in front of them both, her long blonde hair spread in a fan across the pillow. Maeve cut a lock from the nape of her neck and held it up to check it was the same length as her own. Then she cut a ringlet from Steph’s thick red-gold curls.
She set the three locks of hair in a row on her dresser and divided them into piles. Maeve’s long hair was brownish-black in winter, but in summer the sun touched it with dark gold streaks so that it glowed like rich, dark chocolate. Steph’s hair was a curly, gingery mane with bright red highlights and Bianca’s hair was white-gold. When they walked with their arms linked and their heads together, they made a perfect combination. Ever since primary school, everyone had joked that Maeve, Bianca and Steph were like a bowl of Neapolitan ice-cream; Balmain’s triple treat of chocolate, strawberry and vanilla.
They sat in a tight triangle, each braiding the two opposing colours into the other’s hair where the single tress had been cut. ‘Now, no matter what happens, we’re tangled up with each other,’ said Maeve. ‘Three in one and one in three. If you get scared, you know that you can always count on your best friends. Always.’
2
God’s athletes
Sunlight streamed in through the bedroom window as Maeve angled the tweezers and carefully lifted out the shard of glass that was still lodged in her fingertip. Bianca turned away from the mirror.
‘That was really freaky, what happened last night.’
‘We were probably all pushing too hard and the glass was bodgy,’ said Maeve.
‘No, I think it was trying to tell us something,’ said Steph.
Maeve shrugged. ‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe something really big and important is going to happen. Maybe something like 9/11 right here in Sydney. I hate not knowing the future.’
Maeve looked out the window at a tiny triangle of Sydney Harbour, the blue water shimmering in the sunlight. It felt as if last night had happened to someone else.
The Secret Life of Maeve Lee Kwong Page 1