At last the trail ran out. Clancy paused for breath, panting, frantically searching for another sign. But the moons and stars, planets and comets and asteroids, had all vanished.
Tash caught up. Her cheeks were red and her forehead gleamed with sweat. ‘What are you doing? Where do you think you’re going?’
‘Nan – Nan’s showing us the way—’ stammered Clancy.
‘What? Are you crazy?’
Tash sucked in a deep breath to give Clancy a proper blast, but before she could launch, Pa interrupted. ‘Sp-sp-sp!’ He twisted round in high excitement to tug at Tash’s arm. ‘Sp-sp-sp!’ He pointed down a nearby laneway, and propelled himself toward it.
‘What’s down there, Pa?’ said Tash.
‘Sp-sp! Sp-sp!’
Puzzled, Tash pushed and Clancy followed as Pa directed them down the lane, around a corner, and through a maze of narrow alleys, until they found themselves standing at the threshold of a covered arcade.
‘Aha!’ cried Pa.
Tash stopped the wheelchair, and Clancy skidded to a breathless halt behind them.
The arcade was roofed with panels of cloudy glass, held aloft by a framework of slender steel. This corner of the city seemed to exist in a hidden pocket, hushed and deserted. The sounds of the surrounding streets faded to a distant murmur like the whisper of the sea.
‘Sp! Sp!’
Slowly Tash pushed the wheelchair forward. The temperature inside the arcade seemed to drop about ten degrees, as if they’d entered a cavern, deep in the earth.
‘Looks like a murderer’s hideout,’ whispered Tash with relish.
‘It looks like—’ Clancy stopped, and goosebumps prickled her arms. What it looked like was a magical alleyway, the kind of place where you turned around and discovered that a hundred years had passed in the blink of an eye. The kind of place where you could buy a wand or a dragon’s egg. The kind of place where you might slip back in time. Oh, please let it be a time-slip alley! prayed Clancy. Surely Nan’s clues had led them here for a reason. Something was going to happen.
Pa stared around intently. ‘Ha!’ He pointed triumphantly to a small, dark shopfront at the arcade’s dead end.
Clancy read out the sign painted on the window in golden letters. ‘The Magpie Bookshop. Rare, Antiquarian and Orphaned Books.’ She glanced doubtfully at Pa. ‘It doesn’t look open.’
Tash cupped her hands to peer through the darkened window. ‘It looks like it hasn’t been open for years.’
‘Sp-sp-sp,’ insisted Pa. He leaned forward and pushed at the door. It swung slightly ajar, and a faraway bell gave a silvery tinkle.
‘I guess it is open,’ muttered Tash, and she held the door wide while Clancy pushed Pa inside. Clancy’s heart was beating fast. Whatever waited for them inside, she felt safer behind the shelter of Pa’s wheelchair. She was glad Tash was there.
Inside, the shop was hushed and cool as a cave. Faint light filtered through the front window and gleamed softly on wooden shelves laden with multi-coloured books. There were no other customers, and Clancy wondered in a sudden panic if the shop really was open. What if the owner swooped at them out of the shadows, shrieking like an angry bat?
Just then, a tall, thin, elderly white woman did appear from the back of the shop and came sweeping toward them. She was dressed in what looked like black silk pyjamas, with a black beret perched on top of her fluffy silver-white hair. Cats-eye glasses rested on her long nose, and ropes of jet beads clinked and rattled softly as she advanced between the shelves with her hands outstretched.
‘Do my eyes deceive me? Is that you, Godfrey? Godfrey Sanderson?’
Pa reached out his hand to her, making happy wordless noises. ‘Ah! Hah! N-n-n!’
The old woman clasped his hand in both of hers, and Clancy saw her dark eyes, bright behind her glasses, quickly darting over the wheelchair, Pa’s limp right hand, his uncombed hair, his tracksuit pants, his stretchy slipper-shoes.
Then she turned her piercing gaze on Clancy and Tash. ‘And who are these delightful young people? Surely you must be Beatrice and Philippa?’
Pa shook with laughter at her mistake. ‘Nah, nah, yeah, nah. Sp-sp! Sp-sp!’ He beamed proudly.
‘Grandchildren? So soon?’
‘We’re Tim’s daughters,’ said Tash.
‘Thomasina and Clarice,’ said Clancy shyly.
‘Tash,’ said Tash firmly, shaking the old woman’s hand. ‘And this is Clancy.’
‘Sp-sp-sp,’ Pa reminded them.
‘And we’ve got a little brother, Bruno,’ added Clancy.
‘But he’s in New Zealand.’
‘Of course he is!’ cried the old lady. She leaned forward to kiss Pa’s whiskery cheek, the ropes of shining beads clicking and clacking against his chest. ‘How time does race by … It’s wonderful to see you, Godfrey. Why, it must be half a dozen years since you paid me a visit. And how is darling Stella? She’s not with you today?’
Pa closed his eyes. ‘Sp-sp-sp.’ He pressed his hand to his heart. ‘Sp-sp-sp.’
Clancy shot a horrified look at Tash, who cleared her throat.
‘Nan died about five years ago,’ she said awkwardly. ‘And then Pa had a stroke.’
The old woman turned pale. Wordlessly she groped for Pa’s hand and squeezed it. Pa pressed his hand to her cheek, and for a moment they were motionless, in a shared, frozen grief.
‘I’m so sorry, Godfrey,’ said the old lady at last, wiping her eyes. ‘No wonder I haven’t seen you for so long. Dear me.’
Tash said, ‘So … you and Pa know each other?’
‘Obviously,’ muttered Clancy.
‘Indeed, Godfrey and Stella and I have been friends for many, many years – since our schooldays! We travelled together, we had all sorts of adventures.’ The old woman drew herself impressively to her full height. ‘My name is Antonia Wildwood. Welcome to my domain.’
She flourished her hand grandly around The Magpie Bookshop. ‘Good heavens,’ she said. ‘It’s terribly gloomy in here.’ She strode to the window and tugged up the half-drawn blind. Clancy blinked as light washed into the shop. Then Antonia flicked a switch by the door, and light bulbs flickered to life. Now the shop looked almost like any ordinary bookstore – except that everything was coated in a light layer of silvery dust.
Antonia Wildwood clasped her hands together. ‘A reunion of old friends – and new friends, I trust?’ She peered at Clancy and Tash over the top of her glasses. ‘Do any urgent appointments claim your time, or would you be free to join me for a spontaneous repast?’
Clancy waited for Tash to reply, but Tash just gaped at Antonia blankly. Clancy realised with a shock that, for once, her sister felt out of her depth.
Timidly Clancy whispered, ‘Do you mean – have lunch with you?’
Antonia beamed. ‘That is precisely what I mean!’
‘I guess we could hang out here for a while.’ Tash shot a look at Clancy, and glanced meaningfully at the door. Message received: they’d be safer hidden in here than outside roaming the streets, where police officers were hunting for them.
Just at that moment, Clancy’s stomach gurgled. Mortified, she flushed red. Pa burst out laughing.
‘Splendid! I shall close the shop!’ announced Antonia, though it was doubtful anyone would even notice. Tash visibly relaxed as Antonia strode across to the door, her silk pants swishing, to flip the lock. ‘There! Now we shan’t be disturbed!’ She beamed around at her visitors, and just for a second Clancy wondered what they’d do if she turned out to be some kind of crazy serial killer …
She took a deep breath, and as she did, she smelled lily-of-the-valley, the strongest whiff of the scent yet. So Nan did want them to be here! Perhaps she was even here herself … Clancy glanced surreptitiously around, but the shop was too brightly lit now to be hiding any ghostly shadows.
Anyway, in an emergency, she and Tash together could probably take Antonia down. Tash was good at tackling, and Clancy could sit on her.
‘You guys were all at school together?’ murmured Tash to Pa, as Clancy clumsily steered the chair between the crowded bookshelves. ‘Seriously?’
‘Sp-sp-sp,’ said Pa proudly. He pointed to Clancy, and held his hand parallel to the ground.
‘You were my age when you all made friends?’ guessed Clancy.
‘Yes!’ Pa thumped the arm of his chair. ‘Sp-sp-sp!’
But Clancy struggled to imagine that. She wasn’t stupid; she knew that Pa must have been young once, that he hadn’t always been old and white-haired, paralysed and speechless. But she found it hard to picture Pa and Antonia and Nan being the same age as her classmates from school, hanging out together, making silly jokes and teasing each other, doing whatever kids did back in the olden days before the internet and social media and – wow, maybe even television! – had been invented.
They must have played football, Clancy decided. She knew that had been around for at least a hundred years.
At the back of the shop was a big, untidy, purple-painted room that seemed to be part storeroom and part living space. An enormous table sat in the middle of the room, overflowing with piles of old books. A fat tabby cat stared up at them balefully from a couch in one corner. In another corner was a kitchenette, with a sink and a microwave, a small fridge and a shelf of mugs.
Clancy halted in the doorway, unable to push Pa’s wheelchair past the boxes and cushions and armchairs and books and baskets that blocked the way through the room.
‘Oh, dear!’ cried Antonia. ‘Just push all that clutter aside, Thomasina, dear.’
Tash heaved up a box, staggering under its unexpected weight; but then she couldn’t find a space to put it down. Meanwhile Antonia was sweeping books and mugs and newspapers off the table and onto the floor, or the chairs, or the couch, to clear a space at one end, while Clancy inched Pa into the room.
‘There – our banqueting board is prepared!’ Antonia eyed the tabletop. ‘A little grimy, perhaps, but that’s soon remedied.’ She whisked a cloth over the table, and clouds of dust rose into the air. Pa broke into a coughing fit.
‘I’m afraid I haven’t had time for spring-cleaning lately,’ said Antonia. ‘And besides, I find myself in agreement with Quentin Crisp.’
‘Who’s that?’ asked Tash.
‘A very wise man. According to Mr Crisp, if one neglects one’s housekeeping, after the first four years, the dirt doesn’t grow any worse.’ Antonia smiled benignly, but Clancy wasn’t sure that she was joking. This room certainly looked as if it hadn’t been tidied up for about fifty years, let alone four. Clancy picked up a newspaper from a chair so she could sit down, and saw that it was dated from several years ago. Fastidious Polly would have freaked out big time if she’d seen this place. But it was such a cheerful, colourful muddle of books and cushions and pictures and rugs that most of the time Clancy didn’t really notice whether or not it was clean.
Antonia glided majestically to the kitchenette and began to open cupboards and peer into boxes. ‘Now, let me see. What can I offer you by way of a celebratory repast?’
The cat stretched in a leisurely way, leapt off the table and wreathed hopefully around Antonia’s ankles. Clancy bent down to stroke his fur, which the cat endured, staring at her with enigmatic amber eyes.
‘Soup to begin, then risotto, and chocolate pudding for dessert,’ murmured Antonia. ‘Does that sound acceptable?’
‘That sounds stellar,’ said Tash.
‘Sp-sp-sp?’ said Pa.
‘You shouldn’t go to all that trouble just for us,’ said Clancy awkwardly.
Antonia Wildwood waved her hand airily. ‘It’s no trouble at all, my dear Clarice! These days, I do all my cooking in mugs. It’s miraculous! Each guest can choose what they please, portion control is automatic, and best of all, the washing-up is practically negligible.’
‘That means almost non-existent,’ whispered Clancy to Tash.
Tash scowled. ‘I know!’
Antonia fanned packets of cup-of-soup mix on the table like a deck of cards. ‘Tomato, chicken noodle, cream of mushroom, laksa, pea and ham …’
Tash wrinkled her nose, less enthusiastic now; she didn’t approve of processed food. Clancy picked beef with noodles, Pa chose gourmet tomato with croutons, Tash eventually selected laksa, and Antonia had spring vegetable.
For their second course, Antonia managed to produce mugs of pumpkin risotto for Tash and Pa, and bacon and mushroom for herself. Clancy felt that she’d eaten enough rice for one day, so Antonia made her a cheesy muffin, also in a mug. Everything was cooked in the microwave.
‘And now for pudding!’
The pudding was the best part. Clancy slipped off her chair to watch Antonia make it. She mixed together a heaped tablespoon of self-raising flour, a heaped tablespoon of sugar and the same amount of cocoa, then stirred in two tablespoons of milk.
‘One minute in the microwave, and it’s done!’ Antonia whipped the mug from the oven with a flourish. ‘Would you care to try your hand?’
‘Oh, no.’ Clancy stepped back. ‘I can’t cook. I’d mess it up.’
‘Impossible! With the chef at your shoulder providing step-by-step directions? The secret is that you must stir the dry ingredients thoroughly – the elimination of lumps is essential.’
Clancy shook her head.
‘I’ll have a go.’ Tash scraped out the last crumbs from the bottom of her mug. ‘But, I have to warn you, I might need a few tries to get it perfect.’
After Antonia had made them all hot drinks – she had a tin containing every imaginable variety of tea – she dragged out a battered tin trunk and produced a shoebox filled with old photographs, all jumbled together, from tiny faded black-and-white squares to polaroids to glossy colour prints.
‘Let me see – this was an experimental theatre group I belonged to for a time … Here I am with Juan in Buenos Aires … That was my old motorcycle. I rode it all the way across Communist Russia …’
‘Wow,’ said Tash. ‘You really got around.’
‘Ah, this is what I was searching for.’ Antonia plucked out a slightly blurred photograph of three young people standing in a park with their arms around each other. ‘Do you recognise yourself, Godfrey?’
‘With a beard?’ shouted Tash. ‘No way!’
Clancy leaned across the table to look. The photo showed a young man with a sandy-coloured beard standing between two young women. One, tall and thin, with wild dark hair, huge sunglasses and a flowing red dress, was still recognisable as Antonia. The other woman was shorter, plumper than Antonia, with a round, dimpled face and soft, curling brown hair.
Clancy knew the answer before she asked, but just to make sure, she tapped Antonia’s arm. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Sp-sp-sp!’ cried Pa. He pointed to Clancy, to Tash, to himself.
‘That’s Nan, of course,’ said Tash. ‘Peabrain. Who else would it be?’
‘Darling Stella.’ Antonia smiled sadly.
Clancy picked up the photograph, and summoned her courage. ‘Would it be okay if – could I keep this?’
Antonia turned to Clancy, surprised, and gave her a piercing look over the top of her spectacles. ‘Of course. Unless you want to to take it, Godfrey?’
Pa gently tapped his temple. ‘Sp-sp-sp.’
Antonia smiled. ‘Take it, Clarice. Your grandfather and I don’t need photographs. We have our memories.’
When Antonia left the room to go to the toilet, Clancy whispered to Tash, ‘I think we should ask Antonia what to do. You know, about Pa, and – everything.’
Tash scowled. ‘Why? We’re doing all right on our own.’
‘Oh, yeah? So what are we going to do next?’
Tash’s scowl deepened. ‘I haven’t decided yet.’
‘We could at least ask—’ Clancy broke off as Antonia returned. She stopped and smiled when she saw that Pa had drifted off to sleep in h
is chair, with Louis the cat curled on his lap.
‘Poor Godfrey!’
‘He didn’t sleep very well last night,’ explained Clancy.
‘Oh dear, why was that?’
Tash glared at her sister. ‘No particular reason.’
Clancy gave Tash a pleading look. But Tash just folded her arms. Obviously she wasn’t going to cooperate. It was up to Clancy. She summoned up the memory of that shooting star at Rosella, the signs and signals that had brought them here, and the clear scent of lily-of-the-valley in the bookshop. She took a deep breath.
‘Antonia – I think we should tell you what’s really going on.’
‘Oh, my.’ Antonia set down her mug of peppermint tea, looking faintly alarmed. ‘What a sinister beginning. You’re not in trouble with the law, I trust?’
‘Well – we kind of are.’ Clancy shot a look at Tash. ‘We’ve kidnapped Pa and the police are after us and we don’t know what to do.’
‘Dear me!’ Antonia rose abruptly and glided out into the shop, her beads clinking. A moment later she was back. ‘I have bolted the door, just in case. Now I think you’d better tell me the whole story.’
It all tumbled out. Tim and Harriet and Bruno rushing off to New Zealand to rescue Mark. Polly running away to Sydney. The mass escape from The Elms. And at last, the three of them fleeing from Rosella with Agent Melissa and the police on their trail.
The only part of the story that Clancy kept to herself was Nan’s helping hand. She wasn’t sure yet if Antonia was the kind of person who believed in ghosts and magic; but she knew that Tash wasn’t, and she couldn’t face her sister’s mockery again.
‘My heavens.’ Antonia wrapped her hands around her mug with a troubled expression. ‘It does sound like a delicate situation.’
Tash leaned across the table and spoke for the first time. ‘The main thing, the crucial thing, is that Pa can’t go back to The Elms. When we talked about taking him back there, he cried. So we have to find him somewhere else to live.’
The January Stars Page 7