The Listmaker by Robin Klein Page A

so
contented
with life and everything in it. She even thought the five gold angels were beautiful, and suggested dangling them from the light fitting as a special feature. (Just as she’d pushed in earlier by fixing a crooked branch on the Christmas tree. She’d splinted it with a chopstick and fuse wire, before
I’d
had the chance to think up a remedy.)
    â€˜Those angels have always gone in a line along one wall …’ I began, just to remind her she was only a visitor.
    â€˜What a good idea! They’d look so pretty underneath the light,’ Aunty Nat said at the same time. ‘Grab a chair, dear, and I’ll pass them up one at a time.’
    I wasn’t sure which one of us she meant, but as I’d had quite enough of Corrie raking in praise for good ideas, I got there first. It wasn’t a job to improve anyone’s mood, though. Cotton had to be looped through each halo, and Aunty Nat, who wanted a kind of mobile effect, kept making me shorten or lengthen the threads. Negative thoughts kept fluttering about inside my mind, one for each angel I hung:
I might look really
stupid
in a dress nearly down to my ankles, with little violet flowers all over it. [‘Be careful with this one’s wings, Sarah,’ Aunty Nat said. ‘Some of her feathers seem to be moulting.’]
Piriel, just
possibly
, might have made a mistake choosing a pattern and material like that. [‘Oh, thank you, Corrie; what a bright girl you are! I would never have thought of holding feathers in place with hair spray.’]
Those new shoes definitely
were
the tiniest bit like little girls’ party shoes. [‘Should be some hair spray on my bedroom dressing-table, dear, left-hand side next to the hand lotion …’]
How was it that some kids could walk into a place, immediately feel at home, and everyone automatically liked them straight off? [‘You should have come over for dinner, Corrie, as well as staying overnight. It wouldn’t have been any trouble at all. We just had ham and salad, anyway, because of the heat. There’s still plenty left over in the fridge, so if you get hungry in the middle of the night, please feel free to help yourself. Sometimes it’s very hard to get to sleep in hot weather like this.’]
How would
I
get to sleep with someone I hardly knew in the same room? (Sharing with Tara McCabe at school was difficult enough! For instance, she wasn’t the least bit grateful whenever I tidied up before room inspection. So we wouldn’t lose marks, I’d dash around to pick up her dropped socks from the floor, smooth both our bedspreads, hang up her blazer, put her slippers neatly under the bed where they were supposed to be kept – and I’d never get any thanks for it! She usually just slouched in the doorway glaring at me.)
    â€˜All done,’ Aunty Nat said. ‘Those sweet little angels almost look real floating around up there. Now all we have to do is find the pine wreath for the front door, and we’re all set for our very first Christmas in Avian Cottage!’
    â€˜I have a feeling I might have seen it somewhere or other downstairs,’ Aunt Dorothy said drowsily. ‘Which is where I’m heading now, if nobody minds. I’m ready to hit the sack. Yanking out all that ivy today was hard work, even though Ed Woodley gave me a hand with the worst bits.’
    Aunty Nat, noticing that it was after ten, suggested bedtime for
everyone
, but first she followed us downstairs to hunt for the lost wreath. (It was slung up behind the bathroom door, being used by Aunt Dorothy as a temporary towel hanger.) After Aunty Nat found it, she had a sudden inspiration about louvred doors for my wardrobe. I was secretly relieved when she began to fuss around with a tape measure, because it meant I didn’t have to make stiff conversation with Corrie while we were getting ready for bed. She didn’t seem to feel ill at ease,