A Valentine for Neroli

by Ruth Buchanan

Valentine's Day in Australia - the end of summer. A Valentine for Neroli is a Valentine's Day serial story set in Australia and being put on the WWW for Valentine's Day 1998. It is copyright Ruth Buchanan, 1998 and all rights are reserved.

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION | NEROLI PART 1 | NEROLI PART 2 | NEROLI PART 3 | NEROLI PART 4 | NEROLI PART 5 |

A QUILT OF TALES - MORE STORIES | HOME - THE HEAVEN'S EMBROIDERED CLOTHS

Only when she got home and caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror did Neroli realise why that man - Marcus - had grinned at her. At least the first time. The trees had caught at her hair more than she had realised, and it stuck out like a bird's nest, most unlike its usual neatness. "Rotten dog," she muttered in the direction of an unrepentant Fido, and picked up her hairbrush. She normally wore her hair in a long plait down her back, to hold its generous brown waves in some kind of order.

Next day, the newspaper spoke of ice in Ottawa and snowstorms in Tokyo. She chewed on another mouthful of bagel and looked at the blue sky of a Sydney January. She'd been to Greece in summer, Paris in spring and New England in autumn; the only snow she'd ever seen was once on a school excursion to the Snowy Mountains when she was in high school. What was it like, she wondered, to have snow blocking streets, low grey skies, the ground slippery and scarves a necessity? It seemed a long way removed from the places she knew.

She drove west through the city and out where the streets were wider and leafier, the houses set more separately in quarter-acre blocks, to where her sister Mandy lived. Mandy was married to Nat, whose surname was, unfortunately and unavoidably, Pickles: so Mandy Salter had become Mandy Pickles. Ten years on, most people had forgotten the joke, but it still amused Neroli.

Today Mandy was scheduled to have an ultrasound, and Neroli had volunteered to look after Jarrod and Greta. They tumbled from the house as she arrived, pulling at her hands to show her this picture, that Lego monster. Mandy walked gingerly through a floor covered with Lego and blocks and colouring-in equipment to greet her sister.

"On time, as always. I meant to have the house tidy for you, but it's not easy - " she gestured at the children zooming in and out of the room, the bulge of her belly. "Thanks for coming."

"When is Nat picking you up?"

"In half an hour, he said. Time for a cuppa before he comes, if you'd like one. Children! Jarrod and Greta! Would you like a drink?"

"You sit down, Mandy, I'll get it."

The kitchen table was similarly covered with toys and child-stuff. Mandy sat down with a sigh and cleared a space.

"It's so hot!" sighed Mandy, leaning her head on her hand and watching Neroli efficiently find cups and set the kettle to boiling.

"How much longer to go?"

"Three months."

"At least you don't have to keep a baby cool in this weather."

Jarrod and Greta came into the kitchen, yelling, "Drink, please, want a drink, drink please!"

"Excuse me," said Neroli and looked at them as she looked at impertinent school children.

"Aunt Neroli," said Jarrod after a moment's silence.

"Yes?"

"Are you a teacher?"

"That's right."

"Are you a fierce teacher?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you're a fierce teacher."

"Thank you." Neroli shot a rueful smile at her sister and looked back at Jarrod and Greta. "If you two look in my bag you'll find a green parcel and an orange parcel. Bring them here, please."

The children raced off and were back in moments.

"I like oange," said Greta, who sometimes lost consonants in times of stress.

"Then you may have the orange parcel, and Jarrod the green."

The paper was ripped off in no time; Neroli had bought them plastic lidded cups with long, fantastically convoluted striped straws.

"Fank you Auntie Nel," said Greta.

Jarrod was busy pulling off the lid of his cup.

"Jarrod Pickles!" said his mother.

"Thank you Aunt Neroli," came out in a rush, followed by, "could you fill this for me?"

"Clear up your things from the table and I'll put some cordial in it. For you too, Greta."

Jarrod did a hasty boy-job of table-clearing, putting almost everything into the toybox. Greta, who had a stronger sense of order, picked out the pencils one by one and put them in their container.

They sat around the table once Neroli had made coffee, Mandy dunking her gingernut biscuit as she had always done, the children experimenting with their new cups, slurping up the cordial and watching it coil dropping back through the straw when they stopped sucking.

The sound of a car horn had the children scrambling from their seats and Mandy pulling herself to her feet.

When the bustle of her parents' departure was over, Greta came over to lean against Neroli.

"Mum back soon?"

"Mum back soon," she confirmed. "After lunch."

"Aunt Neroli, what'll we do now?" Jarrod asked.

"I need you to blow up three balloons for me."

She pulled two old shirts from her bag, and the three balloons she handed Jarrod. He puffed without much success while she put a shirt on Greta, then hopped impatiently from foot to foot while she did the same for him.

"It won't blow up!"

She showed him how to warm it up between his hands, then blew up the other two while he battled with his balloon. He managed to inflate it a little - she finished the job for him, the lickywet end reminding her of the ball she had caught the day before.

"Next, we have to tear up some newspaper." Jarrod ran to fetch some papers from the recycling bin, and soon both children proved to have considerable skill at newspaper ripping.

Soon they were sitting around the kitchen table - Greta standing on a chair - with runny flour paste, sticking the newspaper strips onto the balloons.

"Whatsit for, Auntie Nel?" asked Greta, who had managed to get several blobs of flour paste on her face.

"What do you think, Jarrod?"

Jarrod, who liked to be much smarter than his sister, wasn't sure.

"A soccer ball?" he asked doubtfully

"No."

Neroli's balloon was well-covered by now. She squished up a bit of pasted newspaper in her hand and shaped it before sticking it onto the balloon.

"What do you think that is?"

She looked at Greta, and pointed at her nose.

"Faces, we're making faces!"

Jarrod wasn't happy to be outguessed by his sister.

"Don't want to make a face."

"What do you want to make? It could be lots of things - the moon, a dog's head, anything."

"The moon!"

"OK, you're making the moon."

"What's on the moon, Aunt Neroli?"

"What do you think?"

"I saw pictures, and it looks dusty and dark. But at night it's light."

"Where does the light come from?"

"I dunno." His hands were busy pasting, sticking, reaching for more paper.

"On the moon, there are places with names. What's the name of where you live?"

"Bracket Street, Lane Cove, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia, the Earth, the Solar System."

"Well, on the moon there are places called the Sea of Tranquillity, the Sea of Rains, Harbinger Mountains, Seething Bay, the Ocean of Storms, the Sea of Clouds, the Bay of Rainbows, the Sea of Cold."

"Is it cold there?"

"Very cold. Cold and quiet."

A happy, sticky hour later they had two heads and a moon hanging out on string to dry on the Hills Hoist washing line in the back yard.

Greta had peanut butter sandwiches for lunch. She had had them for breakfast and would have them for dinner.

"She's going through a phase," Mandy had said.

"She's a girl," was Jarrod's disgusted diagnosis. He ate Vegemite sandwiches, the dark brown savoury spread a favourite of almost all Australian children. Mandy loved it, but Neroli did not.

Neroli ate ham and tomato sandwiches, and they all crunched on Mandy's choc chip biscuits.

Since they were eating out on the lawn in the shade, ("Picnic?" Greta had asked hopefully) the crumbs went to the ants.

Greta was watching the ants when Jarrod said, "Aunt Neroli?"

"Yes?"

"I don't want to go to school." He looked at her quickly and then wouldn't catch her eye.

"Why is that, Jarrod?"

"They call me names."

"Who's they?"

"Some of the kids at school."

"And what do they call you?"

"Jar of Pickles."

"What do you do when they call you names?"

"I don't like it."

"Do you get upset?"

"Sometimes."

"What happens when you get upset?"

"They call me names again. And they laugh."

He'd moved gradually across the rug until he was leaning against her.

"What happens when you don't get upset?"

"Nothing."

"They go away?"

"Yes."

"What do you think is the best thing to do then, the next time they call you names?"

He looked up at her.

"Not get upset?"

"That sounds smart to me."

He threw his arms around her briefly and got up to run and whoop the length of the garden, as if to atone for this moment of weakness.

The painting had begun when Mandy returned. Greta's papier mache head had gained a purple nose and red eyes, while Neroli was painting a face she could use with her class.

Jarrod had made craters on his moon and painted it grey; they had found the atlas and he was carefully copying placenames onto the surface with a thin black felt pen from a list Neroli had written under his instructions.

"Triplets?" enquired Neroli.

"Just one, thank goodness." Mandy sat down at the table. "So what have you been doing while I was gone?"

While the children showed off their work, Neroli prepared a glass of iced water. The afternoon was muggy and hot. Her sister gulped the water gratefully.

"Could you tell what it was?" asked Neroli.

"Didn't ask," said Mandy. "Don't want to know. Either way, one of these two becomes a lonesome cowboy. Talking of which, how are things with you and Hugh?"

"Much the same."

"It's coming time to fish or cut bait, sister dear."

"Well, that's one of the more elegant ways to put it."

"How long have you been going out?"

"Two years," said Neroli defensively.

"Neroli we roll along," sang Mandy rudely. "Time for kids of your own, I think. You put too much time into the kids in your class, and where's the thanks? Stinky toiletries at Christmas and a new class at the end of January. Is Hugh the right one? He's awfully quiet, busy with his work, doesn't seem to have heaps of time for you."

"It's not like that."

"What's it like? You're waiting, Neroli. It's time things started happening."

"Just because Nat found you."

"I found Nat. I was looking too. Nothing ventured, Neroli. Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

"Where is Nat?"

"Back at work - he'll be home for dinner. And you've changed the subject."

"That's right. I'll make dinner for you, if you like, but I'd like to get home before the traffic goes entirely berserk."

She left an hour later, encountering some traffic but not an unbearable amount, with a box in the back of the car which Mandy had given her just before she left.

"I was doing some sorting out, and this stuff is yours," was all she said.

Fido was glad to see her, and eagerly towed her off in the direction of the park. All the way, the conversation with Mandy replayed in her head. Boring Hugh was the rhythm of her feet on the pavement. Get a move on. Fish or cut bait. At the park she sat on a bench and kept an eye on Fido, until a damp whiffling near her ear caused her to jump up.

"Finn was just being friendly," said Marcus. Finn had started back, ears up.

"I didn't know we were so friendly," replied Neroli.

"He likes apologies."

"I don't like being eaten."

"I'll stop him before that happens."

"Thank you very much," she said sarcastically, then turned to the dog and held out her hand.

He sniffed it carefully, then licked it.

"Well, that takes care of washing it for a week," she said.

"It needed washing. You've been painting," he said.

"How - ?" She twisted her arm and realised she still had grey and purple paint blotches. "I was looking after my niece and nephew today."

"You don't work?"

"On holidays."

"Teacher?"

"Curiosity killed the cat. Do you live around here?"

"As you say, curiosity - yes, I do. Went to school at St Thomas's Primary, and in third class, my teacher was Miss Rast." He stopped speaking and looked at her. "And you?"

"St Thomas's. Miss Rast. Third class. But in fourth class I had Mr Gardener."

"So - " he was interrupted by Fido's return. Neroli caught him just in time, and clipped on his lead. "We could try seeing if they are going to eat each other," said Marcus, changing the subject.

Nothing ventured said Mandy's voice in her head. "OK."

They each walked to the end of the bench that separated them, leads in hand. Fido barked once, Finn twice, and then they touched noses.

"Looks safe enough to let them go," said Marcus, unclipping Finn. Neroli followed suit, and the dogs raced off together, Fido only just managing to keep up with Finn.

"Butterscotch?" asked Marcus, proffering an open bag he'd taken from his pocket.

"My mother told me not to take sweets from strangers in parks," said Neroli primly, sitting down on the bench.

"Quite right too," said Marcus, sitting beside her. "But we're not strangers. I remembered on my way home last night. Neroli, you said your name was?"

"That's right."

"Neroli Salter!" he said triumphantly.

"Marcus - Mark Brodie?" she asked.

"The very same. Miss Rast's third class. And you hated me."

"What?"'

"I made this great Valentine card and you threw it away."

"I didn't!" she said indignantly.

"Good. I was afraid you had. Now will you have a butterscotch?"

They stayed on the bench, talking easily - he talked about his work as vet, and asked about her work as a teacher. When the summer light began to fade, they called the dogs, who had been playing together, and walked to the park entrance.

"May I walk you home?" Marcus asked.

Did she mind him knowing where she lived? Nothing ventured....

"I hope it isn't too much out of your way."

"Nope." He waited for her to set off, then fell in step beside her. "So what were you painting purple and grey today?"

"One face, one moon."

He looked up. The moon was a pale apricot ball.

"The Sea of Tranquillity. The Ocean of Storms." He grinned at her and went on, "Birmingham. Sheepshanks. The Sea of Fertility."

"You're making those up."

"Not a one. They're all there, if you know where to look."

"Why do you know so much about the moon?"

"I was an astronomy nut in high school."

They talked on, easy conversation about ordinary things, until they reached her street.

"You live along here?" asked Marcus. She nodded. "Let me guess the house."

"Why?"

"It's fun."

She shrugged her shoulders. "OK, fine by me." Night had not fallen completely, but the streetlights had already come on. She wouldn't normally have stayed so long at the park.

Her street had about thirty houses in it. They walked along slowly. Hers was near the other end. They had almost reached it when Neroli recognised the car parked behind hers. She was about to say something when Marcus spoke.

"Number 15, Number 10 or that one - Number 3." He looked to see her reaction.

"Number 3 it is," she said, watching Hugh get out of his car. There was no time for her to say any more. Fido pulled out to the end of his lead and barked a welcome to Hugh, who often had a dog biscuit for him.

"Hello," said Hugh, looking from her to Marcus to Finn and back.

"Hello. This Marcus Brodie, we were at school together. I met him at the park. Marcus, this is my friend Hugh Jackson."

They shook hands. There was an awkward moment, then Marcus said, "Well, see you at the park again sometime. Come, Finn." He walked off, disappearing around the corner at the end of the street.

"Neroli, you've never mentioned him before."

"Just met him yesterday," she replied, fussing with the gate. How had Marcus known this was her house? She'd have to ask him. If she saw him again. When she saw him again.

"Neroli - ?" said Hugh, following her up the path to her front door.

END OF PART 2. TO BE CONTINUED

When Part 3- The Valentine Gifts is available, a link will be provided here.

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