Stillwater Creek Read Free Page B

was cut in the same style as Zidra’s but prettier; Zidra hated her own curls.
    â€˜I saw you this morning throwing rocks.’ Zidra tried to keep the admiration out of her voice.
    â€˜That was just at Barry,’ the girl said. ‘He started it. Gotter stick up for yerself at school. No one else will. Anyway, I knew you were under the hedge. The others didn’t, but I did.’
    â€˜How did you know?’
    â€˜Saw your face. Couldn’t miss that little yellow moon shining out of the bushes.’
    Zidra laughed. She liked this image and the kindliness she felt in the girl. ‘What’s your name?’
    â€˜Lorna Hunter. I know yours already. Heard your mum call you this morning.’
    â€˜Bet you don’t know my last name though,’ Zidra said, and then wished she hadn’t. Kids sometimes laughed when they heard it.
    â€˜What is it?’
    â€˜Talivaldis.’
    Lorna didn’t laugh. ‘It’s nice,’ she said. ‘Sounds like a song. I’ve heard music coming from your house. Do you play the pianner?’
    â€˜I’m learning but I hate it. She’s a teacher.’
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜My mother. She sings too.’
    â€˜I love singing.’ Lorna broke into song. Her voice seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her. There were no words to the song, just pure sound. I’ve never heard anything so beautiful, Zidra thought, even Mama singing.
    â€˜You’ve got a lovely voice,’ she said.
    Lorna gave her infectious smile again. ‘I can show you some really good places to play,’ she said. ‘Maybe after school one afternoon.’
    â€˜What sort of places?’
    â€˜Bush places, swimming holes in Stillwater Creek, that sort of thing. Why doncha go to school?’
    â€˜I’m starting a week on Monday.’
    â€˜They might gang up on you, some of them. ’Specially the boys. I’ll look out for you, though. Miss Neville will too. She’s tough but she’s nice when you get to know her.’
    â€˜I met her yesterday and she wasn’t all that nice. Put me right off the tables.’
    â€˜She’s got a thing about multiplication tables. Gotter learn them off by heart.’
    Zidra was just about to reply when her mother came out of the front door and down the front path. ‘Zidra!’ she called. ‘Who are you talking to under the hedge?’ She bent down, smiling.
    â€˜My friend, Lorna.’ When Zidra looked around she saw that Lorna had gone as noiselessly as she had arrived.
    â€˜Is that a pretend friend or a real one?’
    â€˜A real one, of course,’ said Zidra, embarrassed in case Lorna was in the street, listening. She wriggled through the hedge and peered out the front but Lorna was already at the bottom of the hill, almost as far as the lagoon.
    â€˜You will make lots of friends when you start school,’ Mama said, when Zidra crawled out of the hedge. ‘And now we must remove all those leaves from your hair before you come inside.’
    â€˜She was here a minute ago,’ Zidra said, scuffing at a stone with her foot. ‘She’s not pretend. You frightened her away.’
    â€˜Of course she was here.’ Mama put her arm around Zidra’s shoulder and gave her a little squeeze. ‘Try not to damage your shoes, darling. I polished them only this morning.’ Together they inspected the shoes; they were dusty and scratched.
    â€˜I need sandshoes for playing in,’ said Zidra. ‘Like Lorna’s.’

    Zidra refused to go into the post office with her mother. Mama was going to ask Mrs Blunkett to put her advertisement for piano lessons in the window. There was a queue inside and waiting in that couldn’t possibly be as interesting as hanging about outside.
    A rickety old picket fence surrounded the small square of garden next door to the post office. One of the pickets had fallen sideways. Zidra thought it would