of things gone astray behind-the-book piece and excerpt
TRANSCRIPT
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BEHIND THE BOOK
By Janina Matthewson author of
OF THINGS GONE ASTRAY
For a long time Ive loved the idea that the world is not quite as normal as we assume. I was raised on
Narnia, and the idea that magic is hiding in ordinary places. Everyone secretly wants to discover
something extraordinary whether its in themselves or the world
around them something that will change their life. But in my
experience, so called life changing experiences dont really do
everything they say on the tin. People just keep living, they get used to
things.
When the earthquakes hit Christchurch it felt like nothing would ever
be the same. And of course it isnt the same the citys still chaotic,
there will be constant road works for years to come, and the city center
is eerily empty. But the people in it are just carrying on. Because thats
what you do. In the aftermath, it seemed to me that when extraordinary
things happen to you, they can stall you, or they can motivate you, but
they very rarely actually change you.
So I think thats what was behind my writing this book. I was interested
in how, in the short term were so easily upset, so easily knocked off
course, and how quickly we can recalibrate afterwards. Theres a kind
of dexterity to it, I think, how we step around things that fall in our path to simply carry on with our lives.
And I wonder sometimes if a reminder that we can do that, is all we need to enable us to do it. We get
stuck because we think life is too much, that whatever has happened to us will leave us foundering
forever. I think telling ourselves that we can get through is instrumental in us actually managing too not
in a gritty, determined way, necessarily, but just with gentle repetition. Getting up every day and deciding
again to live with the new situation.
Books have always helped me to do this; they make you feel connected when you are at your most alone.
And Ive always gravitated to the ones that also make me feel like the world is full of secrets and magic.
Susannah Clarke, Andrew Kaufman, Neil Gaiman people who write about our world, but stranger.
Because the world is strange.
Thats why I like it.
OF THINGS GONE ASTRAY by Janina Matthewson; HarperCollins 360; Publication Date: February 3, 2015;
Trade Paperback; ISBN: 780007562473; Price: $19.99
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Te Friday ProjectAn imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
7785 Fulham Palace RoadHammersmith, London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published by Te Friday Project in 2014
Copyright Janina Matthewson 2014
1
Janina Matthewson asserts the moral rightto be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this bookis available from the British Library
ISBN 978-0-00-756247-3
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may bereproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted,in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the priorwritten permission of the publishers.
Tis novel is entirely a work of fiction.
Find out more about HarperCollins and the environment atwww.harpercollins.co.uk/green
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MRS FEAHERBY
Mrs Featherby had been having pleasant dreams until she woketo discover the ront o her house had vanished overnight.
Tey had been dreams o when she was younger and more
energetic, dreams o a time when she had ull use o her knees.
She had saved someone in one o them, someone helpless, she
thought, but once awake she couldnt remember who or why
or what had happened afer the rescue.
It was the breeze that woke her, naturally. It wasnt that it
was a cold breeze, or even a particularly strong one, but when
a person has gone to sleep in perect stillness, the unexplained
movement o air around the room is a rousing influence, and
Mrs Featherby had never been a deep sleeper.
She looked around her or a moment in a state o bewilder-
ment that ofen occurs in the moments afer waking. Te light
rom the street was flooding into the room through the gaping
hole that, the previous evening, had been her bedroom wall.
Mrs Featherby blinked hard twice and decided to pull hersel
together. She stepped out o her bed and walked to the edge
o the floor, the wind whipping the hem o her ancient night-
gown and pulling at her long, flint-coloured hair.It was early, barely five oclock, so there were no people
around, but Mrs Featherby knew that when there were
people, those people would stare. She knew that they might
even approach the house. Tat they might ask questions. Tat
they might attempt to breach the sanctity o her home, o her
ortress. She set her mouth and turned away.Mrs Featherby, whose irst name was Wendy, or had been
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many years earlier, did not waste time in wondering how a
tonne o brick and mortar could have been uplifed and trans-
ported away without waking her or leaving a trace o masonryon the road. She did what was practical and called the police.
She didnt particularly trust the police, but she elt that it was
the correct procedure.
She was inormed that an officer would be sent within
the hour, so, thanking her stars that the bathroom was at the
back o the house, she perormed her ablutions efficiently and
impeccably and moved downstairs to the sitting room to wait.
She wondered i she should have anything ready or the
constable when he arrived. Shed always considered hersel
lucky to not have had the police in her home beore, but the
downside to this was becoming apparent: she had no idea o
the correct etiquette.
Indeed, it had been so long since shed had anyone o any
kind in the house that shed all but orgotten how to go about
it. Te only person that had crossed her threshold in recent
months was the young man who delivered her groceries at
nine fifeen every uesday.
Was it correct, Mrs Featherby wondered, to reer to the
impending officer o the law as a guest? I he was to be a guestshe should certainly have, at the very least, a cup o tea waiting,
and possibly a biscuit. Te cake shed made on Sunday had been
past its best yesterday and shed thrown it out. She had intended
to bake a replacement, but doing so beore seven in the morning
simply or the imminent arrival o an officer o the law seemed
a little extravagant. And he might arrive in the middle o theprocess, which would be entirely inappropriate. She would make
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some biscuits later in the day, she decided, as shed intended.
Tere was no need to rush the process.
ea would do, she decided. ea would be enough.Mrs Featherby sat still and upright in her chair, gazing
through her absence o wall into the garden beyond. She sat
still and upright and waited.
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CASSIE
Cassie was lit rom within, or so she elt. She gloried or a momentin how little she cared about the strangers that surrounded her,
that may have noticed her. Let them look, she thought, let them
marvel at her secret joy. Let them recognise her as one o the
ew or whom lie holds wonder. For it must be only a ew, she
thought, that are designed to know this kind o exultation. I it
were everyone, the earths orbit would be altered by it, or ever
thrown off course by the collective gladness o its inhabitants.
Her eyes seemed to throb with the smile hidden behind
them. Te corners o her mouth were set in a curve that any
moment threatened to beam.
Cassie ran a hand through her hair and looked at the
arrivals board.
IB2202 rom So Paulo: LANDED
Te letters rearranged themselves: FLOSS IS HERE.
Cassie had been playing this moment over in her mind or
weeks. Months. All her lie. Tere were many versions.
Tere was the one where Floss ran through the gate, paused
or a moment on her toes, scanning the crowd like a blithe and
confident huntress, until she spotted Cassie and soared intoher arms.
Tere was the version where she walked through slowly
and careully, not even looking at Cassie till they were six
inches apart, but smiling all the while.
Tere was the version where she stopped as soon as shed
come through and the two o them stand there or a ull fiveminutes.. Staring at each other, right in the eyes, across the
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space between them, both knowing they have an eternity in
which to touch.
Now, though, now it was moments away, she couldntimagine anything at all. All she could do was wait and watch.
IB2202 rom So Paulo: LANDED
Cassie watched the steady stream o people walking
through the gate. She wondered how many planes had recently
landed and how many passengers there were on each plane
and what the statistical likelihood was o Floss being the next
person through at any given point. She knew it was stupid,
but it thrilled her to think that the odds were rising with each
reunion.
IB2202 rom So Paulo: LANDED
Tere was a child crying. Cassie watched. Te girls mother
was trying to make her hug her ather, but she wouldnt. He
was in uniorm and Cassie wondered i hed been away so long
his daughter had orgotten him.
Te crowd around her thinned and swelled again.
Cassie hadnt noticed, but the corners o her mouth were
no longer curved. She gazed at the gate.
A flight attendant led through a boy o about seven. His
mother hugged him briefly, cautiously, and took his bag.IB2202 rom So Paulo had disappeared rom the arrivals
board to make way or other flights.
A woman jostled Cassie in an attempt to get to a brown
teenage girl with a pack on her back. Cassie planted her eet
more firmly on the floor.
She planted her eet and waited.She gazed at the gate.
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DELIA
Delia tried to be quiet, she tried really hard, but there was thatdoor, that one door, the one into the kitchen, which always,
every time, in spite o her best efforts, banged just a little as
she closed it.
Bloody bollocks, she muttered, screwing her eyes closed
and waiting.
It was 30 seconds beore the tremulous Dee? floated down
the hall, but it elt longer. Still, it was always going to come,
obviously.
Morning, Mum, Delia called back. Go back to sleep. Im
heading out or a couple o hours. Not long. Ill be back to
make breakast beore youre ready to get up.
Why? Why are you going out?
Delia ought the urge to answer with a petulant I do what
I want.
Its a clear morning, Mum, she said instead. Teres not
another orecast or ages.
Delia waited hopeully, barely breathing, until she was sure
there was going to be no urther reply. She grabbed her bag off
the floor, where shed lef it in preparation, and let hersel out.Te heavy ront door was so much easier to control than the
flighty inside ones.
Te two girls who lived together over the road, who Delia
always thought seemed about twelve, were coming back rom a
party, turning into their house casually, as i this was a perectly
normal thing to be doing shortly afer five oclock in the morningon a weekday. Watching them, Delia immediately elt that she
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was always, and by nature, simultaneously underdressed and
wearing too many clothes. She didnt remember ever going out
with so little clothes on, not even in what she had always consid-ered a particularly wild first year o university.
She wondered briefly what was going on with teenagers
these days, whether they ever properly considered the impres-
sion they were making on the world, beore she elt suddenly
that she was in danger o turning into the worst kind o maiden
aunt. At least, she would be i she had any brothers or sisters.
Te worst kind o spinster. I she continued on this way, shed
end up a bitter old woman who lived alone and never spoke
to anyone. Who resented the laughter she heard on the street
because it interrupted her peaceul, isolated days; trapped in a
prison o her own bitterness, shed wither and die and no one
would know.
She sighed, and resolved, not or the first time, to be less
judgemental o how stupid all the young people were. o be
less judgemental in general. Afer all, those girls couldnt have
been twelve they lived alone, that would be ridiculous. Prob-
ably they were twenty, maybe even as old as 22. Tey may have
been at high school at the same time as Delia. I theyd gone to
the same school, she could have been their preect. She couldhave told them that skirts are traditionally worn to conceal the
buttocks, rather than to reveal them, and that they can actu-
ally do so and still look quite alluring. Presuming that still held
true, o course; Delia suddenly elt unsure.
As she wended her way through the neighbourhood, Delia
began constructing a detailed antasy in which the two girls raninto a string o amusing mishaps, and came to Delia or advice.
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Tey looked at her in wide eyed gratitude as she dispensed the
theories she held on lie and love and the world, that a serious
lack o lie experience had thus ar prevented her rom provingcorrect. She walked with a kind o sick eagerness. It had rained
brutally or the last two weeks, leaving her in dire need o escape.
Tere was a small square on a small hill a short walk away
rom the house. Delia planned to sit in it, on her avourite
bench, breathe the air, and let the world wake around her.
Afer hal an hour she realised to her surprise that, instead
o being at the small square, she was close to the much larger
park. She was disconcerted, the park wasnt anywhere near the
square, she couldnt figure out how shed got there. She must
have just not been paying attention to her route.. Her eet had
heard park and her head had said square and the two hadnt
communicated. She told hersel to be more o a grown up, and
headed through the entrance.
Tis was a park shed once gone to every fine day.
Tere was a picnic rug she used take, and a thermos, and a
basket with room or books as well as ood to last her hours. Shed
sit near a particular tree, an oak tree, moving in and out o the
shade every so ofen, books and notes spread out around her,
which shed weighed down with rocks to stop them flying away.Being outside had made her eel like her studying was less
evered and panicked. It had made her eel like the stakes were
lower, or like the outcome was already assured. When she was
outside, even i it was the day beore an exam, it elt like a gentle,
pleasant pastime, rather than a stressul and emotionally raught
step on the way to her happy and successul uture. She alwaysdid better with assignments and tests when the weather was fine.
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When shed moved away to university, shed spent an entire month
trying to find a tree as effective as the one in this park.
Delia wandered through the park looking around; suddenlyshe wanted to find her old study tree. Maybe shed read beside
it or a while. Maybe shed just sit there and watch the sun
rise. She walked around what she thought was the entire
park without finding it, wondering i maybe it had been cut
down. O course that was a ridiculous thing to think; the tree
had been large and healthy, and i someone had been oolish
enough to slay it, there would have been a giant tree trunk in
place o the tree itsel.
Delia was becoming petulant. Te tree, her tree, didnt
seem to be anywhere. She elt betrayed, as i the park, unhappy
at her long absence, had reconfigured itsel like a labyrinth,
had made itsel a stranger to her. She walked round and round
and up and down, until, rustrated, she threw hersel down on
the top o the hill in the middle o the park. She drew her knees
up and buried her ace in her crossed arms.
She stayed like that or several moments, beore raising her
head and looking out.
Te clear dawn that had been promised turned out to be
twenty minutes o low morning sun beore a bank o cloudsswallowed the light. Te city was now spread grey beore her,
but Delia kind o liked it that way.
She knew her mother would be up soon, and Cassie knew
she should be there to help her, but she couldnt resist staying
a while longer. She would only be ten minutes. en minutes
couldnt hurt.
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ROBER
It was as i the alarm clock had gone off. But it hadnt. Robertlay, blinking, eeling the ring echo in his ears as i hed heard it
moments beore. But he hadnt.
Mara was asleep beside him, her ace serious in a way it
never was when she was awake. Te light o the alarm clock
spilled across her orehead.
5:07
Robert was at a loss. He hated being inactive and he very
rarely was. Tere was always something to do. Tere was
always an excess o things to do. But not at just afer five in the
morning.
He groaned with rustration, and then grimaced with guilt
and glanced at Mara. She slept on.
Robert careully slid out o bed. Hed go or a run. It had
been months since hed ound the time. He hunted out his
battered running shoes, the same hed had since university,
and changed into an old t-shirt and shorts.
Te air was clear and easy to breathe, and Robert elt ener-
gised and enthusiastic as he jogged past the silent houses on
his street.Afer hal a mile a rown crossed his ace. Tis was harder
than hed thought it would be.
He kept going.
He reached a nearby park and slipped inside to run on the
grass, eeling a moment o relie as his knees registered the
absence o concrete. Ten he developed a stitch.He came to a panting halt and bent over, clutching his
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sides. aking a couple o breaths, he staggered on.
By the time he got back home, his ace was red and
streaming and he was limping. He stood outside the house ortwo minutes, arms akimbo, gasping or air, beore he opened
the door and dragged himsel upstairs. As he walked into the
bedroom Mara stirred and opened her eyes. She blinked at
him a couple o times and burst out laughing.
Robert poked his tongue out at her and headed or the
bathroom.
You shouldnt laugh you know, he said over his shoulder.
Tis is me recognising the need to hang onto you by main-
taining a slammin bod.
Oh god, please dont take my laughter as a sign Im not
grateul.
Ill fill your grate, Robert said. Be quiet and let me shower,
woman.
He could hear Mara chuckling into her pillow as he closed
the bedroom door on her, trying to make sure she didnt see
him wince.
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MARCUS
Birds. Didnt eel like time yet. Didnt eel late enough or birds.But there they were, so that was that. Birds could sense time
better than him, so they must be right.
He opened his eyes. Ah. Tere was the problem. Te blinds
were down. He usually slept with them open, he usually woke
with the light.
Strange. Tat they were closed.
He sat up and slid on his glasses. He crossed to the window
and opened the blinds. It was later than hed thought. It was
later than he usually woke up. It was much later.
He had a routine or the mornings. Always the same. A
light breakast o ruit. A ull breakast later, afer some time
in the music room. Now it wouldnt work. Now it had gone
wrong. It was already too late.
He went downstairs and stood in the kitchen. He was hungrier
than usual. He opened the ridge and took out the eggs.
It wasnt until almost eight oclock that he made it to the
music room. Much later than normal.
Te music room was the nicest room in the house. It
was the most important room in the house. Floor to ceilingwindows along two walls. Lots o light. He liked lots o light
to practice, although when he perormed he always requested
that the stage be kept as dim as possible. People should be
listening, he said, not looking.
When he had perormed. When he used to perorm. It had
always seemed important.Te rest o the house was covered in pictures, in paintings
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and photos and sketches. Not here. Just one small photo o
Albert propped on top o the shel by the door.
Te piano stood in the middle o the room.He walked around it a couple o times, as he always did. He
closed his eyes and threw his head back. He breathed deeply,
and sat down.
He rested his hands or a moment on the cover beore
lifing it.
He stared. His hands, always so reliable, began to shake.
Te world had ended. His lie had ended.
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JAKE
Jake stands on the ootpath acing his house.Hisschoolbag is heavy because o all the library books his
mother has finally remembered he has to take back.
No, that wasnt right. He hadnt been going to school that
day. I hed been going to school he would have been there
already, or hours.
Jake stands on the ootpath acing his house. he street
is quiet or a Saturday. Because it isnt Saturday. Its
uesday. It eels like Saturday to Jake because hes not
wearing his school uniorm. Hes not going to school.
Why was he not going to school?
It wasnt the holidays.
Hes not going to school because he has a doctors
appointment about his oot and then his mum is going
to take him to McDonalds or a sof serve. He wonders i
shell let him have one with a flake.
He is sweating. He is sweating because it is very hot. Te sun
is big and bright above him and seems to be soaking him
right through to his bones. Deeper than his bones. He wishes
he was wearing sandals instead o lace up shoes. His mum
doesnt like him to wear sandals anymore because she likeshim to always wear his orthotics. Jake looks down at his eet
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and rowns. He hadnt thought his eet would betray him like
this. Hed thought they were allies.
He wishes his mum would hurry up. Shes gone back in to
the house because she orgot to bring
What? What had she orgotten?
She orgot to bring something or the smiling lady that had
visited last week. She promised to drop something off to
her and shes annoyed about it.
Jakes mum is also annoyed that they have to go to the doctors
at midday. When theyve gone beore its always been afer
school but she couldnt get an appointment with the doctor
because the doctors about to get married and go away, Jake
thinks perhaps orever. He thinks that maybe i the doctor gets
married and goes away orever hell be able to stop wearing his
orthotics and his mum wont be able to tell him off.
Jake has been waiting or a long time. At least seven hours he
thinks. He wonders i his mum would notice i he snuck pasther upstairs and put on his sandals.
When the ground moves, he isnt scared. It does that a lot and
all that happens is his cat will run all over the house really ast.
Jake thinks that is pretty unny.
He doesnt expect the house to all down like it does.
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Jake lay still on his bed or a while. He didnt think he was right
about it being that hot. He thought he was right about most
things, but he didnt think it had been hot that day.He didnt eel much like going downstairs. On this day
two years ago his mum had made waffles with bacon and
banana and syrup or breakast, with a candle sticking out o
one o the waffles.
Jake didnt think there would be waffles this morning.
He didnt think there would be waffles any morning.