Magic Within the Waves

Chapter Two - The Magic of Books

Chapter Two

The Magic of Books

***

It was an arduous task, but I took the pile of books back to my room and stacked them beside my bed in the same way Mum did when I was a child. The top book now was: Familiarising Yourself with Different Types of Four-Legged Beasts and it was the first book Mum had ever shown me. The words were still fresh in my mind, and the images could never be forgotten.

The sky was growing darker now, night was heavy upon us. Even the lamp beside my bed did little to let the light in. Constantly yawning – the exhaustion from sorrow weighing me down, I laid back on my bed with my head full of memories and thoughts of Mum. It had been at least two hours since I had spoken to Dad and he still wasn’t home. But I knew not to worry. I was sure the stop at Uncle John’s place would take longer than Dad had anticipated. It always did.

Knowing Uncle John, the way I did, the second he opened the door Dad would have had no escape. He would have patted Dad so hard on the back it would knock him forward. Even if Dad looked lean in a brief glance, he was far from weak. He had always been tough and didn’t need bulging muscles to prove it. But Uncle John was very different. He was the size of a brick house and just as strong. He could lift Dad, Mum and me over his shoulders and still have strength left over for Aunt Shelby and his son, Scotty … And Scotty was not a small man.

After John helped Dad to his feet, he would order him to sit on the old sofa beside the fireplace – the one with the torn backrest and the finger grooves in the armrests. He would tell him to put his feet up and would refuse to take no for an answer. Aunt Shelby would serve up a dish of her famous chocolate brownies on the old wooden serving tray Mum had brought them for a wedding present. The engraved tractor on the side would have faded by now, but Uncle John would refuse to throw it out. Even if Aunt Shelby suggested such a thing, he would argue tooth and nail to keep it. Scotty would be sitting on the couch across from him, attempting to make small talk – anything to do with the price of wool, or if it was lambing season.

While John boiled a pot of his tangy lemon tea with a hint of secret – not so secret homemade brandy, he would call back through the kitchen doorway, ‘She’ll be right, Tony. My sista’ was a sheila who’ll likely give God a run for his money…’

Good old Uncle John, I thought, picturing the way his fiery red hair bounced against his titanium-tank shoulders.

John and Mum were as opposite as milk and honey. It was hard to accept they were brother and sister. As different as they were, the two of them blended well together. Not only was John the biggest sceptic you could ever come across, but he believed Mum had to have been conceived by cabbage patch people and left upon the doorstep – as her mind was always entwined with myths and magic or … away with the fairies.

‘Literally,’ he would laugh, making his boisterous voice even louder. ‘Don’ know where she wen’ an’ got all those crazy notions from, but she’s the kinda sheila that would make the biggest sceptic believe Elvis was still alive an’ disguised as one of them brass pigs down ol’ Rundle Mall.’

My first memory of Uncle John was when I was four. He had just returned to South Australia after living for two years overseas with his much younger wife, Shelby, whom he had met after his divorce from his first wife, Marge – Scott’s Mum. Shelby was a wonderful woman, with the very essence of family rolled into her short frame.

‘By golly Miss Molly, your girl’s goin’ grow up to be a mighty fine sheila. All those boys will be breakin’ down your front door just to get a look at her,’ John commented, pinching my already aching cheeks from Aunt Shelby who had already pinned them between her thin fingers. ‘Be pretty soon when she breaks a few them boys’ hearts too ... gotta’ keep an eye on her.’

He was as Mum described, a typical old-fashioned farmer, always dressed in a pair of jeans with a blue singlet underneath a flannelette shirt, his thick arms almost bursting through the seams. He smelt like freshly chopped grass and hay and always had his favourite band – Redgum, blaring from the stereo. People often mistook him for a Scotsman because of his fiery red hair, but when they got him talking, his strong Australian accent blew them away. For all his hardness and brawn, there was a giant heart hidden, and hidden well.

Mum was softly spoken and gentle like she was one of those fairytale nymphs. She never yelled or raised her voice above a tone that would seem un-ladylike. Her soft light red hair was always washed and styled so neatly. If you were looking for her, you would either find her pottering in her rose gardens – with her nose in a book – or in her sewing room, adding more magic to everything she touched.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, John,’ Mum laughed, brushing my fringe from my eyes. ‘I am bringing Melinda up with the notion her first real boyfriend will be her Prince Charming. He will appear like magic into her life and sweep her off her feet. It will be true love John, not a comical romance! Because my daughter deserves nothing less! Nothing like your boy Scott, out there in the field working at the age of nine. Why, he will never find his true love if you run him ragged.’

Uncle John rolled his eyes – the Sims’ family green eyes. ‘Ah Molly, your head should come down from the ceilin’ before you get dizzy. You know as well as the next person, romance is nothin’ like the stories you fill Mel’s head with. You meet… You get along enough not to want to kill each other, so you get married. That’s what our Mum always used to say an’ that’s the way I’m raisin’ my Scotty.’

Pulling me into her side, Mum peered down at me with her loving gaze. ‘Don’t listen to John, Mel. Our Mum was a very dismal – very cynical person who was heartbroken after Dad left. So she raised John and I to believe there was no such thing as true love. Of course, I always believed. I also believe you will be one of the lucky ones. You will find love easily, just like I found your father. He was my knight in shining armour… My Prince Charming.’

‘Ah Molly, was it one of your bloomin’ fairies that told you that?’ John groaned, shaking his round head.

Mum faced him. Although her eyebrows were pinching together, she was still beautiful. ‘Why are you such a sceptic, John, even after all these years? Even after the story about the tree nymph that led me to Anthony?’ She looked back down at me, and her eyes brightened. ‘I know one day… you too will see your own special magical creature who will lead the way to your true love.’

‘You sista’, you can convince a priest to become a sinner with a flutter of your eyelashes. That’s why you won Tony’s heart, not ’cause of a blooming fairy, pixie or whatever they’re called.’

Laughing to myself, I glanced over at last year’s Christmas family photograph on the dressing table. The whole family was there – me, my older cousin Scotty, who was a mirror-image of Uncle John, Aunty Shelby, Dad and Mum, Aunt Hilda, Dad’s sister and her daughters Maddie and Holly and not to forget Dad’s brother, Michael, who looked very similar to Dad, just not as handsome in my opinion.

We were standing around Uncle John’s kitchen table with enough Christmas food to feed the entire country. Everything was festive red and green, all the faces filled with the kind of Christmas cheer seen in magazines.

I had slipped the picture from one of our photo albums and displayed it in a gold frame the day I realised Mum was never returning from the hospital. Mum was the prettiest person in the entire photo. It was as though a ray of golden light singled her out amongst the rest. Mum had told me the light was the trick of a sneaky pincer adjusting the lens.

‘Pincers are similar in appearance to spiders with sharp nail-sized nippers and an outer pearl-brown shell. They look menacing but they’re not dangerous to humans. In fact, they prefer human company to their own. The only problem is their short lifespan. Whenever they reveal themselves to a human, they are either frightened away or mistaken for a bug, and evidently killed.’ Her words were so clear in my head it was like Mum was right beside me, whispering. ‘They love to play tricks, more than any elf or garden gnome. They can be calmed with a soothing stroke down the middle of their shell ... gentle but mischievous creatures.’

‘Bright Eyes, are you still awake?’ Dad called through the door.

I had been so lost in my thoughts that I had missed the hum of his car pulling into the driveway.

Sitting up on my bed, I folded my legs under me, and then patted the side. ‘You can come in...’

The door opened and Dad stepped through, looking more fatigued than I had ever seen him before. The bags under his eyes had another layer of bags beneath them. ‘Hey, my Bright Eyes, sorry I took so long. I dropped in to see Uncle John and he convinced me to stay for one of his cuppas. Aunt Shelby had to feed me her choc chip scones before I left ... Can you believe they still use that old tray? It has seen better days…’ He crossed the room. ‘She gave me a few scones for you too. They’re in the fridge when you want some.’

How things never change. I smiled. ‘I had a feeling you would be for there a long time… Uncle John can be very … persuasive.’

Sitting beside me, Dad placed a hand on my knee. His eyes softened. ‘Mum gave me something for you, Mel. She specifically told me to give this to you just before the – let’s see if I have this right… ‘deathly pixies came down and took her into the other realm’, whatever deathly pixies are.’ He held his hand out in front of me. Mum’s unicorn locket dangled between his fingers. ‘Her dying words were, “Anthony, make sure Melinda gets this. This will guide her way when everything seems to be at an end,” then ... she was gone.’

Tears fell from his eyes as he placed the unicorn locket in my hands and folded my fingers over it. ‘Your Mum has loved you since before you were born and she will continue to love you from the heavens. Even where she is now, you will always be her special little girl.’

I clung to the pendant as Dad wiped away his tears and climbed to his feet. ‘Dad, wait ...’

He paused and spun back to me. ‘What’s wrong, Bright Eyes?’

‘Dad, I need to ask ... what’s going to happen now?’

‘Oh…’ He collapsed back on the bed and cuddled me in his arms. His warm embrace brought the tears I had been fighting back to my eyes. ‘The first thing we need to do is grieve for Mum. Everyone grieves differently. Some people spend their time crying, others cry for a moment and then return to their lives … while others never cry … they just move on in this world, lost and confused. Mourning is a painful process we all must go through.’

‘But Mum said not to mourn for her,’ I interrupted, still hearing her words in my mind. ‘I promised not to mourn because it was her wish.’

‘Oh, Bright Eyes…’ laughing, he kissed the top of my head. ‘You really are your mother’s daughter. Mum knows you need to mourn. It was just her way of letting you know she will always be with you.’

‘But I feel so numb inside.’

‘That’s normal. We all deal with loss differently, and I know for a fact I still haven’t cried enough and you ...’ he squeezed me, leaning his head against mine, ‘you feel numb because it hasn’t sunk in yet.’ Sighing, he held me at arm’s length, his blue eyes focusing on mine. ‘Just don’t let yourself fall into depression. Now it’s just you and me, and I wouldn’t be me without you. Oh, that reminds me,’ he reached into his jacket pocket and took out a lighter and a white candle. ‘Let’s burn this for Mum.’

I watched as he lit the wick, the yellow flame hypnotising me with its elegant dance. ‘Dad, do you remember the day Mum swore she saw a unicorn amongst those horses Mr Tailer keeps in that paddock … the one just up the road? And how she made us stop the car so she could get out?’

‘Ah, yes it’s a day I will never forget.’ He chuckled. ‘And I’m sure Mr Tailer will never forget the way Mum jumped the fence and ran past him, chasing after the unicorn only she could see. Good memories ... your mum has given us loads of good memories.’