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  PENGUIN BOOKS

  All Together Now

  MONICA MCINERNEY grew up in a family of seven children in the Clare Valley wine region of South Australia, where her father was the railway stationmaster. She is the author of the bestselling novels A Taste for It, Upside Down Inside Out, Spin the Bottle, The Alphabet Sisters and Family Baggage, published internationally and in translation. In 2006 she was the ambassador for the Australian Government initiative Books Alive, with her novella Odd One Out. Her most recent novel, Those Faraday Girls, won the General Fiction Book of the Year at the 2008 Australian Book Industry Awards. She currently lives in Dublin with her Irish husband.

  For more information please visit

  www.monicamcinerney.com

  Also by Monica McInerney

  A Taste for It

  Upside Down Inside Out

  Spin the Bottle

  The Alphabet Sisters

  Family Baggage

  Odd One Out

  Those Faraday Girls

  MONICA

  MINERNEY

  All Together Now

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (Australia)

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  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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  Penguin Group (Canada)

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  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London, WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2008

  This edition published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2009

  Copyright © Monica McInerney 2008

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Cover design by Laura Thomas © Penguin Group (Australia)

  Cover photograph by altanaka/Shutterstock

  penguin.com.au

  ISBN: 978-1-74-228364-7

  For my dear friend and

  wise mentor, Max Fatchen,

  with love and thanks

  Contents

  Introduction

  Hippy Hippy Shake

  Spellbound

  Just Desserts

  Sweet Charity

  The Long Way Home

  The Role Model

  Wedding Fever

  Odd One Out

  Acknowledgements

  Sneak peek of Hello From the Gillespies

  Introduction

  I was eight years old when I wrote my first story, the tale of a family called the Smiths who travel to Perth on a train. After great deliberation, I called it ‘The Smith Family Goes to Perth on the Train’. Thirty-five years later, I’ve realised two things about my writing: one, I don’t need to sum up the entire plot in the title and, two, I’m still intrigued by the same themes – families and the journeys they take, physically and emotionally.

  I’m sure I have my childhood to blame. I grew up as the middle child in a family of nine, in what I’d call a cauldron of words. Every day brought drama, laughter and entertainment, all the ingredients I now like to include in my writing.

  The stories in this collection were written over the past ten years for magazines, anthologies and the Books Alive reading campaign, and include two new stories written especially for this book. Gathering them together has been like looking back through a photo album. I can remember where I was when I wrote each one, what idea sparked the story, what was happening in my life, even where the names of characters came from.

  A sighting of a girl in full Goth regalia walking beside a make-up-free girl led to ‘Hippy Hippy Shake’. I bought a box of secondhand books in a market one day and found an old book of household tips buried at the bottom. ‘Spellbound’ was written around that time. An article in a magazine about food trends sparked ‘Just Desserts’. I wrote ‘Sweet Charity’ because I had just finished my fourth novel, The Alphabet Sisters, and wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Lola, the fearless and fashion-challenged grandmother at the heart of the story.

  Living in Dublin, I often see tour parties around the city. A group of young, happy travellers caught my eye one afternoon. At the back was an older, sadder woman, who seemed apart from the others. I couldn’t get her face out of my mind. ‘The Long Way Home’ was written for her.

  ‘The Role Model’ was sparked by friends joining a weight-loss group and changing, physically and emotionally, before my eyes. ‘Wedding Fever’ came from a neighbour guiltily telling me she’d hired a cleaning lady and had been up all night scrubbing the house before her arrival.

  I wrote my novella Odd One Out after seeing a magazine story about a family of artists and painters, illustrated with a glamorous photo of the parents and three beautiful daughters around a table. The caption mentioned casually that there was a fourth daughter who wasn’t pictured. The story of Sylvie, the ‘invisible’ daughter, started to take shape that same day.

  Although each of these stories is very different, they all touch on subjects close to my heart: family, friendship, love, travel and adventure. It’s the everyday dilemmas of life that intrigue me, the choices we all face, the mistakes we make, our yearning for happiness and understanding.

  I’m delighted to bring my stories between two covers for the first time and I hope you enjoy them all.

  Warmest wishes and happy reading.

  Monica McInerney

  Dublin

  Hippy Hippy Shake

  Dee’s cheery greeting to her sister came to an abrupt stop as the front door of the flat slowly opened.

  Before her was a figure sporting long, tangled hair, multicoloured layers of beads, bells and scarves and a fringed skirt edged in grass and leaves. A cloud of incense and the odour of aromatic oils wafted around her.

  Last week her sister had looked like one of the Spice Girls. Now she was more like the Herb Queen.

  ‘Liz?’ Dee squeaked. ‘Is that you? What on earth’s happened? Why are you wearing that costume?’

  Liz gave her older sister a beatific smile. ‘It’s not a costume, Dee, and please don’t call me “Liz”. After tonight’s renaming ceremony I’ll only answer to my new name.’

  What new name? Dee thought. And what naming ceremony? She thought she’d been invited over for a flat-warming dinner … ‘What is your new name?’

  ‘Waveflow,’ Liz answered, serenely.

  Dee made a strange noise. ‘Waveflow,’ she said slowly. ‘Uh huh. And what do I call you for short, “Wave” or “Flow”?’ she asked, failing to control her grin.

  Liz was unmoved. ‘By poking fun at others you are e
xpressing your own unhappiness with the world, Dee. I seek a life in harmony with nature and the elements and my new name reflects that. I ask you to respect it.’

  How can I respect a name that sounds like a new toilet cleaner? Dee thought. Still, better go along with it for the moment, she decided. It couldn’t be worse than Liz’s last craze as a Trekkie, when you couldn’t move in her bedroom without bumping against objects wrapped in silver foil and models of space ships suspended from the ceiling. Or the time last year when Liz had suddenly become horse-mad. For a month she’d worn nothing but jodhpurs and riding boots and talked incessantly about gymkhanas and dressage competitions – despite the fact she’d never even ridden a horse.

  Following her sister into the kitchen, Dee winced at the smell of incense and oils. Reluctantly, she accepted a glass of dandelion wine, thinking longingly of the bottle of champagne she’d brought over.

  ‘I’m ready to begin the ceremony when you are, Dee,’ Liz said, moving a tall candle onto the table.

  ‘Oh, I’m more than ready,’ Dee said, gagging at the taste of the wine. Ready to call the funny farm, she thought.

  Eyes shut, Liz lowered herself to the hessian mat on the floor, took a slow, deep breath and began to move her arms in a swaying movement in front of her, whispering ‘Waveflow’ over and over again.

  It was going to be a long night. Dee sighed, looking around the room for clues to this latest, sudden character transformation.

  Her sister’s flat was in the basement of a rambling old house owned by their cousins, who had always lived what their parents called an ‘alternative’ lifestyle. Alternative and contagious, Dee thought.

  Dee took advantage of Liz’s sudden trance to cast an eye over her CD collection. There wasn’t a pop singer in sight. Instead the shelf was filled with dolphin cries, natural bush sounds and one promising the ‘gentle lapping of the Mediterranean Sea on a still moonlit night’. ‘As if the Mediterranean sounds different to any other sea,’ Dee muttered, startling Liz from her trance. ‘You do know all these effects are done on a synthesiser, Liz, don’t you?’

  ‘That’s your perception, Dee. Nature’s sounds have their own music, whatever the delivery process, and through that they soothe my soul and release my inner creativity …’

  Dee snapped. ‘Soothe your soul? Creativity? How can the sound of three bison rooting through some undergrowth inspire creativity? You’d be better off buying a weekly pass to the zoo – at least you’d get to see the animals!’

  Liz ignored her, returning to her chanting. Dee opted for a more direct approach.

  ‘Liz, you’re thirty years old – it’s time to put these fads behind you. Look at yourself. For heaven’s sake, your hair looks like it hasn’t been combed in days.’

  ‘It hasn’t,’ Liz said. ‘Combing the hair strips the body of a protective circle of electricity that —’

  ‘All right, all right. But what about your clothes? And those earrings – you look like you’ve just lost a fight in a chicken shed.’

  ‘They are not earrings, Dee, they are miniature dream catchers based on an ancient Indian tradition —’

  ‘Liz, I’m sorry, but this time I think you’ve gone too far. Quite frankly, I’d be embarrassed to walk down the street with you.’

  With that, Dee stalked down the hall towards the front door. As she fumbled in her bag for her car keys, she caught sight of herself in the wall mirror. With a practised hand she fluffed up her orange Mohawk, reapplied her black lipstick and adjusted her razor-blade nose-ring.

  Be seen with a hippy? No way. A girl had to have some self-respect.

  Spellbound

  Lucy stomped into the living room, slamming the door behind her.

  ‘Never again, Jill. If you ever hear me say the words “Internet dating” again, lock me in a cupboard and never let me out.’

  Jill looked up calmly from the floor, where she was sitting unpacking a box of books.

  Lucy was in a right state. ‘Forget blind dates, speed dating, matchmaking, all of them!’

  ‘He was that bad?’

  ‘Worse. There must have been a virus in the computer when they matched us up. He was a beer-swilling, football-mad, leering, belching chauvinist pig. I had to escape through the back door of the restaurant. He’s probably still there, balancing empty glasses on his head by now. I’ll just have to face facts, I’m going to be on my own for the rest of my life.’

  Jill reached up and patted her sister affectionately. ‘You just have to be patient. You know what Mum says, every pot has its lid.’

  ‘Oh, sure. It’s all right for you, you’ve had Tom following you around adoringly since you were in primary school. I’m nearly thirty, Jill, I’m getting desperate. I haven’t met a decent man in years. The only way I’ll ever get a man to fall in love with me is through hypnosis or witchcraft.’

  ‘Well, this will get you started then,’ Jill grinned, holding up an old notebook covered in peeling brown paper. ‘I found it with these books I bought at the garage sale on Sunday.’

  Lucy read the spidery handwriting on the cover. ‘ “Wizard’s Tips”. What is it, a book of spells?’

  ‘It’s hard to tell, half the pages are falling to bits. It’s got everything from how to use honey to heal wounds to guessing the date by looking at the moon.’

  ‘Sounds more like handy household hints than witchcraft,’ Lucy said, still in a grumpy mood after her disappointing night.

  ‘Come on, you’re the one who said you were desperate. I’m sure I saw something in here about finding love. Here it is – the page is a bit ripped but it sounds like just what you need: “How to attract love”.’

  Lucy threw herself onto the couch in a dramatic movement. ‘What do I have to do, catch frogs and swallow them whole?’

  Jill read slowly, having difficulty with the faded handwriting. ‘It sounds much nicer than that. “Carefully prepare a bed of earth close to your home, choose a favoured selection of flower seedlings, plant in a row representing …” It’s hard to read, something about sowing them in the shape of your name “… to face the sunshine. Talk to them each morning, sprinkle with scented rose water and treat gently.” ’ Jill looked up. ‘Well, it certainly sounds romantic.’

  ‘It could be my last chance,’ Lucy sighed dramatically.

  By the time Jill came out next morning for her breakfast, Lucy had made a shopping list of spell ingredients.

  ‘Don’t look so surprised – I told you I was desperate. I’ll go to that new garden centre near work at lunchtime. At least it will keep me out of singles’ bars for a while.’

  When Jill arrived home from work Lucy was on her knees in the front garden, surrounded by compost, rose water and dozens of seedlings. She grinned sheepishly.

  ‘We couldn’t work out exactly which flowers the spell was referring to, so we decided to go for one of each variety.’

  ‘Who’s we?’

  ‘Robert Kelly, do you remember him from school? I hadn’t seen him in years. He’s back from overseas and working in the garden store. He was really helpful.’

  By the first week the entire front garden bed had been lovingly dug and prepared, and all the flower seedlings planted.

  ‘The book said plant them in the pattern of a name, but I bought so many seedlings I’ve spelt out my name, your name, your Tom’s name and Mum and Dad’s names.’ Lucy was very animated. ‘I’ve decided to get something else going as well, while I wait for the spell to work. Robert reckons now’s the right time to plant summer vegetables too. I may as well dig up that side bed. It’s full of weeds at the moment.’

  A week later, the side garden was transformed.

  ‘There are tomatoes, beans and corn coming along now. Robert says I should also think about a few herbs, they keep the insects away, he says, and they’ll be great for cooking too.’

  Another week passed. ‘Jill, do you want to keep those old daisies around the tank at the back? It’s just that Robert suggested a new variety of iv
y that looks brilliant growing up the side of tanks.’

  Nearly five weeks had gone by before Jill realised she hadn’t heard Lucy bemoan her lack of boyfriends for ages. In fact, she wasn’t bemoaning anything much at all. Every spare minute she had she was in the garden digging and planting, or at the garden store trying to decide what to dig or plant next.

  Robert had started to call around to lend a hand. In the fifteen years since Jill had last seen him he had grown from a gangly teenager into a strong, good-looking man; a real outdoor type.

  Six weeks after Lucy’s first attempt at gardening, the bed at the front of the house was a riot of colourful flowers: mauves and pinks, deep blues and crimson reds. Jill went up to the attic room so she could look down and make out all the flowery signatures. From her vantage point, she could also see Robert and Lucy laughing and chatting to each other as they pruned the grapevine growing over the front verandah.

  The flowers suddenly reminded Jill of the spell that had started this whole planting craze. Now that gardening and Robert filled all her spare time, Lucy seemed to have forgotten all about it. Jill went downstairs and rummaged through the box of books she had pushed under the staircase. As she lifted out the book of spells, the brown wrapping slipped off and a scrap of paper floated down. A line of writing was now visible across the front cover. ‘This book belongs to Esther Vizard’ Jill read. Vizard. It had been Vizard’s Tips, not Wizard’s Tips, she realised.

  The loose slip of paper looked like it could be the missing section of the love spell. Jill quickly found the torn page. The slip of paper matched exactly. The writing was still faint, but Jill gave a loud laugh as she read the now complete sentence.

  ‘ “How to attract lovebirds to your garden”.’

  She looked out of the front window as Robert and Lucy walked up the path, holding hands. As she watched, Robert leaned down to kiss the top of Lucy’s head.

  Jill smiled. ‘There must have been some magic in that book,’ she decided. ‘Because that’s a pair of lovebirds if ever I saw one.’