The Spell Book Of Listen Taylor by Jaclyn Moriarty Page B

her eyes on Cassie’s face and said, “Your birthday tomorrow! What are you going to do? Will you have a party? Happy birthday! That’s so exciting.”
    Cassie nodded. “I know. And I’m having a party at my auntie’s place tomorrow.”
    â€œWonderful!” said Cath, still leaning forward. “We’ll have to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ on Monday, but you know, we could have sung it today. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
    Then there was a honk, and Cassie cried, “My mum!” and skidded away.
    Cath straightened up and looked at Warren. “Your wife?” she said, with a friendly smile.
    â€œShe lives up the coast during the week,” he said, “so we only get the weekends? Which is a strain. Which is a drain. Which is a brain drain. ”
    Cath considered him.
    â€œYou didn’t like that one?” he said. “Fair enough. But anyway, I hope you’re not planning to be late?”
    â€œNo, Warren, that’s not what I was planning.”
    â€œGreat!” he said. “See you there!

Two
    In the afternoon light of a summer day, Fancy, a teenager then, sat on her beach towel and watched Radcliffe’s toe. The toe sprouted from his foot like a plump little table-tennis paddle. It also sprouted hairs, like an unkempt hedge. The toe was writing in the sand:
    Radcliffe Mereweather
LOVES
Fancy Zing
    The toe took a long time to write this.
    Next, Fancy was distracted by Radcliffe’s hands. The hands were thin and knobbly, and were clutching at her sunburnt shoulders. I should put some sunblock on those shoulders, Fancy thought. But now was not the time.
    Radcliffe’s hands clutched tightly. He had a tear on the edge of each eye. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he was saying. “I never meant to hurt you.” She stared at him. He was hurting her shoulders, but apart from that, it didn’t really hurt.
    â€œI appreciate your telling me,” she said, pleased by her own maturity.
    Radcliffe had kissed another girl. He had gone to the surf club party the night before, leaving Fancy at home with an asthma attack.
    â€œDid you meet a girl?” she teased him the next day, sitting side by side in the sun.
    â€œWell, kind of,” he replied, alarmed.
    â€œDid you kiss her?” She did not think for one moment that he had.
    â€œWell…” and then he was silent, and the odd feeling started, her face stretched out, and she thought: Perhaps he did!
    And he had.
    Radcliffe! Her First True Love! Her long-lashed boy with the sneakers and guitar! Radcliffe, who bought her marzipan and chocolate, had kissed another girl! They had only been together for a month.
    â€œI don’t want to hurt you,” he said, fervently, and his toe had just proved it by etching in the sand: Radcliffe Mereweather LOVES Fancy Zing.
    They sat solemnly, looking at the words, their legs stretched out in the sun. A man shouted, “Turkey! Win a turkey in the raffle!” Nearby, Marbie shook her towel, and Daddy growled, “Marbie! The sand!” Mummy called, “Look, everyone! There’s a skywriter!” and an announcement warned about the dangers of the riptide.
    â€œIf you will only forgive me”—Radcliffe was anxious—“I will love you forever and ever. Even, say you get old and wrinkled? I will love you. Even, say you get as fat as your mother?”
    At that, Fancy pounced. “ Don’t call my mother fat!”
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œI mean it. That’s a stupid thing to say.”
    â€œSorry, I didn’t know,” he explained. “I didn’t know you were sensitive about your mother’s weight.”
    â€œThat’s not the point! You don’t know a thing about my mother.”
    â€œWhat do you mean? What’s to know?”
    Strange. How she told the whole story, in a flood, right then. Radcliffe stared, the sun burned freckles onto