Aisling's Summer Diary

Chapter 5 | Masters of Disguise

After our grand tour of the not-so-grand Sea Crest (thank you, uncle Ciaran, for the history lesson), the three of us are once again stranded, but this time it’s for three whole months!  No TV, no hot water, and VERY sketchy phone coverage.  It’s gonna be a long summer.

7:45 p.m.

Ciaran’s off again—on a “night mission” with the local surf crew.  So not only can’t he take a hint, he’s a bit cracked.  I mean WHO in their right mind goes surfing in the dark?  Ali looked out the window.  “It’s not that dark,” he said and volleyed a ping-pong ball against the upturned side of a table.  “We’re at fifty-two degrees north latitude.  That’s like almost the same as Alaska.”  “Land of the midnight sun,” I said.  “Exactly.” 

Siobhan had given me my phone back on the condition I ONLY used it to call her, Ali, or my parents.  But she didn’t say anything about checking my texts.  I climbed up on the window sill and held the phone above my head, angling for another bar or two.  No messages from Murphy.  Maybe I could give him a quick call.  No.  I promised Siobhan!  I shoved the phone into my pocket. 

 It was a good thing because just then Siobhan breezed in, her uncle’s book under her arm.  She gave us a sour look like the one my maths teacher gives when she catches me sending texts.  “Slacking off?” she asked.  I don’t know about Ali, but this super-bossy, all business Siobhan is starting to get on my nerves.  “There’s not much we can do till your uncle gets back from his surf,” I said.  Siobhan’s lip curled slightly.  “He’s not just messing about out there, you know,” she said.  “He’s making valuable contacts.  And plans.”  I just gaped at her, not knowing what to say.

 “Speaking of plans,” Ali slunk over to us conspiratorially, “I am about to unveil a new act.  But I don’t know what to call it.”  Siobhan put her nose back in uncle Ciaran’s book as if she couldn’t be bothered.  “What do you call yourself?” I asked Ali, and he shrugged.  “Don’t all great magicians have long, flamboyant names?  Like Herbert L. Hegarty or David Nickelby III?”  He mulled these over, then shook his head.  “Too dandified.”  I poked Siobhan: “A name for Ali?”  “What?” she said.  “For his act.”  She closed the book, saving her place with her forefinger, and thought for a moment.  “Gavin,” she said.  I couldn’t help but laugh.  GAVIN?!  Ali reeled, “Gavin is an terrible name for a soon to be renowned illusionist!”  Siobhan flicked her book open.  “Well, I think it’s a grand name,” she said.  “Everyone knows a Gavin.” 

Ali moaned.  “The whole point is to be MYSTERIOUS!”  Siobhan clapped the book shut.  “Right,” she said.  “You want to be mysterious?” she pulled a folded piece of paper from her back pocket.  “Here’s your chance.”  It was the poster from the Lotus Lady’s hotel.  “A Masked Ball in Space.”  “No way,” Ali said, wheeling backward.  “Listen,” Siobhan caught his wrist.  “I’ve been thinking about what my uncle was saying.  About ‘getting to know’ the competition.”  She smiled devilishly.  “We disguise ourselves, go to the party, and size up the competition.”  “Like gate-crashing?” I asked.  They’d find us out for sure!  Siobhan tapped her uncle’s book.  “Industrial espionage.  It’s what you do in business.” 

Ali shook his head, “NO WAY,” he said again.  “Doesn’t that girl from the café live there?  She hates me!”  I had to agree with Ali on this one.  Siobhan’s plan sounded risky.  If the Lotus Lady found out we’d come back, who knows what she’d do!  But Siobhan wasn’t hearing it.  She grabbed my hand and Ali’s and led us up the staircase.  “I think might have something that’ll change your minds,” she said.

We climbed a narrow staircase into a shadow-strewn attic.  A thick layer of dust caked the floor, and poor Ali started wheezing.  “It’s just here,” Siobhan said, and we stooped into a corner piled high with crates and old suitcases and one enormous trunk.  Siobhan tipped back its lid and dug out a bold maroon jacket, the brocade still incandescent, with gold tassels at the shoulders and big brass buttons on the cuffs.  “For you,” she said and handed the jacket to Ali.  His mouth gaped open.  He drew on the jacket and plunked down in the dust to rummage himself.  “Is this a REAL sword?” he asked and yanked a short cutlass from the trunk.  “WHOA.” 

I sunk my hands into one of the crates and pulled out a felted mask—a black cat with glittering whiskers and topaz eyes.  “They have cats in space, right?” I joked to Siobhan who was spinning herself round and round in a swathe of sequins and Christmas lights.  “I’m going as the Milky Way,” she said and twirled, her arms out flung and her face cross-lit with a goofy smile.  There’s the old Siobhan I’ve been missing!  I smiled up at her as the twinkling lights cast an arabesque of color across the bleak attic walls.

  

8 p.m.

We ran downstairs, our costumes flung over our arms, and burst into the kitchen for a pre-party snack.  Uncle Ciaran was bent over the table waxing his board.  There was already a good half inch of gunk on the deck.  How much more wax could he possibly need?!  “Take our picture, uncle Ciaran!” Siobhan gushed.  The three of us crowded together and struck a pose.  “Ali, Aisling, and Siobhan.  Our first night out!”  Ciaran snapped the photo, half-smiled, and went back to waxing his board.   

Ali yanked off his buccaneer’s hat and turned it over in his hands.  “Everything OK, Ali?” I asked.  He looked down at his runners.  “I just don’t know if Gavin’s the right name for an international illusionist.”  Siobhan prodded Ciaran.  He flinched.  “Gavin?” he said, “Gavin’s a great name.  I had a business partner called Gavin.”  Ali brightened.  “Really?!  What’s he do now?”  Ciaran cleared his throat.  “Manages a burger joint.  I think.”  Ali gave me a pained look.     

Siobhan handed a garment bag to her uncle.  “What’s this?” he asked, and she blurted, “Your costume!”  Ciaran waffled, then took the bag reluctantly.  “About that.  I think I’m going to give the party a miss,” he said.  Siobhan’s smile disappeared.  “I’ve just got so much on.”  Siobhan looks at the surfboard, then at her uncle.  “But it’s our first night,” she said.  “We have the whole summer, Siobhan!” Ciaran reached out to her, but then his phone bleeped.  He mouthed “Sorry” and ducked into the back room, the phone to her ear.

I tucked my arm around Siobhan and hugged her to me.  “C’mon,” I said.  “WE are going to have the best summer ever!”  The three of us threw on our costumes—Ali a swashbuckling, punked-out magician, Siobhan a wash of blinking stars, and me, the astro-cat.  Something tells me this is going to be a night I’ll NEVER forget!

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