Perry Angel’s Suitcase Read online

  Dedication

  For Callum James

  —G.M.

  For Lily, Grace, Violet and Quinn

  —S.M.K.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1. A Small and Shabby Suitcase

  2. Names and Nests

  3. Christmas Beetles and Red Balloons

  4. Angel Wings and Raspberry Spiders

  5. The Best Thing about Saturday

  6. The Colour of Heaven

  7. Madonna and the Promise

  8. The Carpenter and the Egg

  9. Eleven Letterboxes

  10. Castaway

  11. Of Cake and Thankfulness

  Some little-known facts about Glenda Millard

  A little-known fact about Stephen Michael King

  Other Books by Glenda Millard

  Copyright

  1. A Small and Shabby Suitcase

  Griffin came into the Silk family after the Rainbow Girls — Scarlet, Indigo, Violet, Amber and Saffron — and before Tishkin. And then came Layla who was not born a Silk, but was sent to comfort them after Tishkin went away.

  Perry Angel came last of all. He arrived on the ten-thirty express with a small and shabby suitcase embossed with five golden letters. It had taken him almost seven years to find the Kingdom of Silk.

  When Layla first learned of Perry’s coming, she imagined all the things she and Griffin, her best friend in the entire universe, would show him. There was Ginger the goose and Fred the gander and their gaggle of downy grey goslings, and the tree house in the Cox’s Orange Pippin. They would teach Perry how to catch yabbies in the dam with a pair of pantyhose and a wire coathanger. He could help them raise the rag sail on the raft that Griffin’s daddy, Ben, had made and they’d go adventuring on the dam until the sky was the colour of Nell’s quince jelly. Then they would return again to the Kingdom of Silk where they would tell tales of their daring and courage around the hiss and spit of a campfire; Layla and Griffin and Perry.

  But two days before Perry was to arrive in Cameron’s Creek, Layla overheard a conversation that made her wonder if his coming might change the Kingdom of Silk forever. The voices came to her seconds before sleep took her down into the velvet dark.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ her mother exclaimed, tugging Layla back from the brink of the deep blue.

  ‘That old house must already be bursting at the seams with nine of them living there. Why on earth would they want another one? Imagine the extra work, the laundry, the cooking, let alone the expense! I’ve got my hands full with only two kids, but seven … My stars, what are they thinking of? Where will they all sleep? Didn’t Layla say Griffin already sleeps on the veranda?’

  Then her daddy’s voice came, steady and soothing, letting Layla slide down deeper, closer to not hearing, not knowing.

  ‘It’s a sleep-out, dear, you know, when part of the veranda is enclosed to make an extra room. Your mother had one, surely you haven’t forgotten?’

  ‘You know, Anthony, the welfare people have strict rules. I’m surprised they would allow a child to go there.’

  Suddenly Layla was wide awake.

  ‘Now, Caroline, don’t say something you’ll regret later. I won’t hear a word against the Silks!’

  Layla couldn’t remember ever having heard her daddy sound so stern, at least not to her mother.

  ‘They might be a bit unusual, but they’re wonderful people and you know it!’ His voice went back to normal then, as though he had surprised even himself. ‘Of course you’re right about Welfare, Caro, they do have their rules and regulations, so they wouldn’t be letting the boy go there if the Silks weren’t suitable.’

  In the quietness that followed, Layla tried to imagine what was happening on the other side of her bedroom wall. Probably Daddy would be giving Mum a big cuddle. Daddy had great faith in the power of a cuddle.

  ‘Nothing beats a cuddle, chicken,’ he’d tell Layla, ‘it works like a charm, every time.’

  When her mother spoke again, her voice had lost its sharp corners and Layla felt peaceful inside. She wasn’t prepared for what came next.

  ‘I suppose you’re right. Anyway, I should be pleased; with another addition to the family the Silks probably won’t have as much time for Layla. Maybe we’ll see her a bit more often.’

  When Layla opened her eyes it was Friday, her favourite day of the week. And on top of that it was the last day of school before the holidays. But the first thing she thought about was the conversation she had overheard the night before. Layla pulled the blankets over her head and wished it had been a dream. She felt cross about these unknown welfare people and their rules. Was there a rule against live-in grandmas like Nell, who still played dress-ups now and then, and put magic spells in the stew to make the meat tender? Would they make Ben buy supermarket bread to feed Perry instead of making his own in the outside oven? What if they told Griffin’s mum, Annie, that Perry could only drink milk that came from plastic bottles instead of serving it fresh and warm from Delilah and Jezebel? Did they have a rule about children wearing shoes all the time and not just to school? And what if they made the Silks go to church every Sunday instead of being thankful when they were kneeling in the vegetable patch doing the weeding or collecting eggs in the chook run, or singing ‘What a Wonderful World’ while they spread goats’ poo around the pumpkins? It would be dreadful if the welfare people turned the Silks into boring everyday kind of people. If that was going to be the way of things, Layla wished with all her heart they had never asked this boy called Perry to come to the Kingdom of Silk.

  Layla was still grumpy at breakfast time and to make things worse, her cereal had gone soggy.

  Then her mother said, ‘Stop dawdling, Layla! And why haven’t you got your shoes on?’

  ‘Who makes the rules in this family?’ Layla asked.

  ‘Which rules?’ shouted Mrs Elliott above the hum of the vacuum cleaner.

  ‘The rules about wearing shoes and going to church on Sundays,’ said Layla. ‘Did the welfare people come here before I was born and tell you the rules?’ Mrs Elliott switched off the vacuum cleaner.

  ‘Layla, where on earth do you get these weird ideas?’

  ‘Oh, nowhere, I just wondered,’ answered Layla, trying to act as though it wasn’t important and hoping her mother didn’t guess she’d overheard last night’s conversation. She took a banana from the fruit bowl.

  ‘Bye Mum, I’m going to school now!’ she said, hurrying outside before her mother had time to ask any more questions.

  Even if Welfare didn’t make the rules about shoe wearing and church going, Layla couldn’t help wondering if what her mother said would come true. What if the Silks did get so busy they had no time for her once Perry arrived? Ben might forget his promise to teach her how to knit a beanie on a cotton reel. Would beautiful Annie still have time to give her painting lessons? And what about sleeping over? When Griffin said Perry would be sharing his bedroom, Layla hadn’t given it a second thought. Even if there wasn’t enough space in Griffin’s room she could always bunk in with Saffron or Amber or another of the Rainbow Girls. But her mother’s remarks had made her feel uncertain. She remembered no one had invited her to stay at the Kingdom of Silk for the holidays. Had they forgotten or didn’t they want her there? Was it possible that one little boy would make such a big difference?

  She cheered up a bit once she got to school because Griffin invited her to come and meet the ten-thirty express the next day, along with the rest of his family.

  ‘Please come, Layla,’ he said, and she thought he sounded a tiny bit nervous.

  ‘I’ll ask Daddy,’
she said, ‘Mum won’t be home tonight.’

  Fridays were Mrs Elliott’s regular night-out-with-the-girls’ nights and Layla’s brother, Patrick, who had hairy legs and a big Adam’s apple, was at his friend Scotty McAllister’s house. Layla and her daddy walked to the shops and bought fish and chips. When they got home again they ate them out of the paper and watched television at the same time. And there was no washing up because even their drinks were in cans. Later on Mr Elliott got into one of his philosophical moods and invited Layla to sit with him in the philosophising chair. This was a tricky situation. Sometimes sitting in the philosophising chair led to a tender moment. And when that happened, Layla felt as though she could tell her daddy anything. Most Fridays this would not be a problem, but on this particular Friday, Layla knew it could be. If she accidentally happened to mention the welfare people, Daddy might guess she had listened in last night, and eavesdropping was not a good thing to do. So Layla tried to let her daddy do most of the talking. But before she went to bed, she couldn’t resist asking one small but important question.

  ‘Daddy,’ she said, ‘do you think Griffin will still be my best friend in the entire universe, even after Perry comes?’ When he answered she knew he was telling the truth because he spoke before he had time to think up a fib.

  ‘Oh, no doubt about it, chicken,’ he said, which was Layla’s favourite nickname of all, ‘I reckon he might even need you to be his friend more than ever.’

  2. Names and Nests

  The arrival of a child into the family of Silk was always celebrated with love and great happiness. Annie had given birth to all her babies at home. Then, twelve months after each of their birthdays, a Naming Day ceremony was held. Even for Tishkin, who had come after Griffin and who had died when the yellow daisies were in bloom.

  But this time was different. Perry had been born somewhere else. Nell had not helped him into the world. Mama had not held him, all slippery and new, to her heart. Daddy had not kissed them both and cried. The Rainbow Girls had not sung him lullabies or taken him for walks in the old wicker pram. Griffin had not made him a daisy-chain crown. And somebody else had named him. Griffin wondered who it was and if they had chosen carefully. Had they waited until they got to know him, the way Mama and Daddy did? That was why, in the Silk family, Naming Day was celebrated one whole year after the birth of the baby. Daddy said he had only once known straightaway what the baby’s name should be, and that was when Griffin came into the Silk family.

  Griffin arrived early, far too early. He was tiny, too small even to breathe by himself. An air ambulance flew him and Annie and Ben to a hospital in the city where a machine breathed for him.

  ‘Your skin was as thin as dragonfly wings, I could almost see through it to your soul,’ Daddy told Griffin. ‘There were many times when I thought it would escape your little body. Day by day Mama and I watched you struggle bravely to stay with us and, though we loved you, I sometimes wished you wings to fly away. It was clear to me even then that your name should be Griffin: courage of a lion, wings of an eagle.’

  Because school finished early on the last day before the holidays, Griffin was first to arrive home. Usually Layla would have been with him, but everything was going to be different from today. Everything except Blue, Griffin thought, as he ran towards his dog and flung his arms around his neck. Blue didn’t know things were going to be different. To begin with, he was deaf, so he couldn’t have heard the family discussions about the coming of Perry. And even if he had been able to hear, Griffin knew nothing would stop his faithful friend from waiting at the gate at the bottom of the long red gravel drive until his master came home.

  Griffin and Blue trudged up the hill. Griffin could see Nell sitting on the couch on the front veranda waiting for him the way she always did, but for some reason it pleased him more than ever that afternoon. He and Blue ran the rest of the way and Griffin flung himself down on the couch next to Nell and gave her a kiss.

  ‘What was that for?’ Nell asked, looking pleased.

  ‘Just because,’ said Griffin. They sat together for a while on the old red sofa the way they had ever since Griffin’s first day at school — Nell and Griffin up the smooth end and Blue down the end with the horsehair stuffing poking through. Griffin leaned against Nell. She smelled like melting moments. He watched her hands shelling peas, her thumb sliding into the plump pod, splitting it open along the seam, the peas rolling like perfect green pearls into the saucepan between her knees. After a while he said, ‘Nell, can I please borrow your book of names?’

  ‘Of course you can. I’ll get it for you. I’m going inside to make afternoon tea now anyway.’

  Nell put the book on the kitchen table in front of Griffin. ‘It’s short for Peregrine,’ she said, even though Griffin hadn’t told her which name he was looking for. Griffin had grown accustomed to this kind of magic. It was only after Layla pointed out not everyone had these powers that he asked Nell if she would teach him. Nell said you couldn’t learn that sort of magic overnight. It had taken her nearly seventy years of practice to get the hang of it.

  Griffin found the page and read the entry aloud.

  ‘PEREGRINE: (Latin) strange traveller/pilgrim. Diminutive: Perry.’

  ‘What’s a pilgrim?’ he asked. Nell wiped her hands on her apron and took the big dictionary down from the top shelf of the pantry. She ran a floury finger down a tissue-thin page.

  ‘Here it is,’ she said, squinting her eyes to read the small print. ‘A person who travels to a sacred place.’

  ‘Do you think Perry is a pilgrim?’

  ‘Poor little mite probably doesn’t have much say in the matter of where he’s going yet,’ said Nell.

  ‘What does sacred mean?’ Nell licked her thumb and began to leaf through the dictionary. ‘No, Nell,’ said Griffin, ‘I’ve looked it up before, but it’s hard to understand. Can’t you just tell me what you think it means?’

  Nell started kneading dough on the table and staring out the kitchen window at the hollow tree where the rosellas nested. After a while she said, ‘Sometimes I get a feeling that there’s some invisible part of me that’s gone missing. It’s a bit like when you do a jigsaw puzzle and you can’t find that last piece to finish the picture. I know I’m in a sacred place when I stop searching, it feels like I’ve found what I’ve been looking for and everything’s perfect. Does that make sense?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Griffin. ‘So it’s not only churches?’

  ‘Some people feel that way about churches, but not everyone,’ said Nell. ‘The Australian Aborigines have sacred sites.’

  ‘You mean, like Uluru?’

  ‘That’s right,’ answered Nell, pushing an upside-down glass into the soft dough, making scone shapes and flipping them onto a baking tray. ‘Here, paint the tops of these while I whip the cream.’ Griffin dipped a brush into some milk. When he’d finished Nell handed him the whisk with a smear of sweetened cream left on it. She slid the tray of scones into the hot oven and looked at the clock.

  ‘Good,’ she said, ‘we’ve got half an hour to spare before the girls get home. Wash your hands when you’ve finished licking the cream off that whisk. I want you to go and get Miss Amelie’s bird book. There’s something in it you might be interested in.’

  Before their dear old friend Miss Amelie had been laid to rest last spring, she had made arrangements for Griffin and Layla to have some of her books. Among them was the Comprehensive Illustrated Ornithologist’s Bible. It was a large, heavy book with beautiful illustrations of hundreds of different bird species.

  ‘Peregrine is also the name of a falcon,’ said Nell. ‘Now what have I done with my glasses? Here, you read it for me, will you Griffin?’ Nell’s glasses were perched on the end of her nose. Griffin didn’t bother to tell her because he liked reading to her, but he wondered why her magic didn’t work for those kinds of things. He read aloud through the sections that described the bird, the way it flew, what it ate and where it lived. Then he came t
o the breeding section and paused for a few minutes, skimming silently through the words. Nell took the golden brown scones from the oven and put them on a cake rack to cool, then spooned some homemade blackberry jam into a bowl.

  ‘Listen to this, Nell,’ said Griffin. ‘The female peregrine falcon doesn’t build a nest. She lays her eggs on a bare ledge or a rocky crevice and sometimes in the deserted nest of another bird of prey.’

  ‘Isn’t that interesting?’ said Nell. ‘Oh, I think I hear the school bus. Best put the book away now, love. Then pop down and tell your mama to come up for afternoon tea.’

  On his way down to the small mud-brick building Annie used as an art studio, Griffin wondered if Perry’s mother knew about the Peregrine falcon before she named him. Perhaps she was like the bird that didn’t make a downy nest for her chicks. Only a careless mother would do that, he thought. But when he said this to his mother, she suggested a different way of looking at things.

  ‘Perhaps the falcon is a good and wise mother, Griffin,’ she said. ‘Think about it. She lays her eggs in a place where no predators can reach them when she isn’t there to care for them.’

  ‘You mean, Perry’s mother knew she wouldn’t be around to look after him?’

  ‘I don’t know, but if she did, perhaps she thought a welfare organisation was the safest place to leave him. You’re still happy about Perry coming aren’t you?’ Annie cupped a paint-smeared hand under his chin. ‘We’re all a bit nervous Griff,’ she said gently, ‘but there are ten of us to look after each other. Imagine what it must be like for Perry with no-one.’ Griffin noticed his mother had counted one extra in the family and for a heartbeat he thought she meant Tishkin, but then he understood she had included Layla. Layla would be pleased when he told her.

  ‘Did you tell Layla which train Perry will be on tomorrow? I’m sure she’ll want to be there when he arrives,’ she said.