‘I did it!’ crowed Lulu. She ran from the midday sunshine into the shade of the tarp. ‘I DID IT! I swam in the deep this morning, in the pool, with my head under water, nearly the WHOLE way!’
Mum came puffing up to the tarp, juggling beach bags, hats, wet towels, floaties and an empty coffee cup.
‘Tell them!’ said Lulu, tugging at her red ruffled swimsuit.
‘She did.’ Mum dumped her load onto the table. ‘She swam across the deep, with her head underwater the whole time. With no help at all.’
‘Where’s Reed?’ asked Lulu. ‘Because I need to tell him, RIGHT NOW!’
Dylan slid out a meat pie from a paper bag. ‘He’s over on the inlet side with my dad and Kale, trying his luck under the bridge.’
‘Ha!’ said Lulu. ‘I bet he won’t catch a single fish.’
‘Now, Lulu, that’s not nice talking,’ said Mum. She slung the wet towels on a rack in the sun.
Lulu crossed her arms. ‘Well, he said I’d have to swim in the hot wee-wee baby pool with Kale FOREVER but he was WRONG!’
‘Guess what?’ Dylan took a bite out of his pie.
‘What?’ asked Lulu, leaning on the table and kicking up her legs.
‘I did three new skateboard tricks on the ramp today,’ said Dylan, running his tongue along his teeth. ‘A Casper Slide, a McTwist and a Nuclear Grab.’
‘Whoooooooo,’ said Lulu.
‘I know,’ said Dylan. ‘Amazing, hey.’ And he hoed into the rest of his pie with gusto.
‘Yeah, so!’ said Carey, spreading Nutella like thick icing on a slice of white bread. ‘I just finished The Calvin and Hobbes Tenth Anniversary Book. And it was soooo good. You know my favourite bit? It’s when Calvin becomes Spaceman Spiff, interplanetary explorer extraordinaire, because the aliens are always his mum or dad or his teacher Miss Wormwood! Don’t you think that’s so funny? It kills me, it really does.’
‘Soon I’ll be reading books all on my ownsome,’ said Lulu. ‘When I go to big school. And I will know all the words.’
Carey cut his slice of bread into four neat squares. ‘You will,’ he said. ‘And you’ll also learn how to count, tell news and tie your shoelaces—’
‘I already can count to one hundred and tie my shoelaces. So there!’
‘Oh, okay,’ said Carey, with surprise. ‘Well, that’s good. I couldn’t really tie my shoelaces properly till last year but I always had shoes with velcro to make it easier.’
‘But I can’t count to one hundred by twos yet,’ said Lulu. ‘So maybe they won’t let me in? My friend Leonard Finkler can count to one hundred by twos and write his whole name, even the last one. The surname.’
Dylan wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘That’s why you go to school, Lulu, so they can teach you that stuff.’
‘Leonard Finkler is very smart,’ said Lulu. ‘He can play the violin and speak in French and make real custard and climb a rope all the way to the roof on his ownsome.’ Lulu swooshed her hair away from her face.
‘All at the same time?’ asked Dylan.
‘No, you big silly!’ Lulu blew a raspberry.
‘Yeah, well,’ said Carey, ‘my favourite thing about kindergarten was Friday Friendship because then you got free time and you could do what you wanted and take off your shoes, and even play computer—’
‘It’s your turn now, Heno,’ interrupted Lulu.
‘My turn?’ asked Henry, pouring himself a bowl of Froot Loops. He sploshed the milk into the bowl, spilling just a little bit. ‘What do you mean?’
Lulu’s eyes glistened. ‘Your bike! You know. And then Reed—’
‘Oh, Lulu,’ said Henry.
‘What?’ asked Lulu, lifting her hands.
Just then Dad pulled up in the car, with a jerk. He leapt out. ‘Can someone grab the first-aid kit?’ he called, slamming his door. He ran round to the passenger side.
‘What’s wrong?’ cried Mum. She snatched the first aid kit from the top of the camp fridge.
‘It’s Patch,’ said Dad. ‘He got dumped.’
Patch got out of the car gingerly, a bloodied towel held up to his nose. He trudged over to a seat at the table. Mum poured some water from the kettle into a plastic bowl and grabbed a wad of serviettes.
‘Okay,’ said Dad. ‘Now take the towel away.’
‘Oh, gewwsh! Whoah!’ said Dylan, gripping his stomach. ‘That just put me off my pie.’
‘Sorry, dude,’ said Patch, with a laugh. ‘I’ll eat the rest for you in a sec.’
Dad dabbed at Patch’s nose. ‘Oh, phew,’ he said. ‘It’s just a flesh wound. A tiny nick, really. My word, the way it bled, I was kind of expecting a hole where your nose used to be.’
‘Ah, thanks, Dad,’ said Patch.
‘Were you bleeding in the water?’ asked Henry, suddenly anxious.
‘Well, yeah, at first,’ said Patch. ‘But don’t worry, I kept an eye out for Jaws.’
‘Ah, Heno,’ said Dad, gazing at Henry. ‘What will we do with you, son of my heart?’
‘He’s just troubleshooting.’ Mum bent to stare at Patch’s nose. ‘Somebody in the family has to.’
‘What are you saying?’ asked Dad, with a grin.
‘I send the kids out with you intact,’ said Mum. ‘And you always bring them back maimed!’
‘Aw, now, come on! Maimed? Always?’
‘Nearly always!’
Dad laughed. ‘Noooooo-oooo,’ he said, shaking his head in mock disbelief.
‘What about the time when Patch was seven and rode his bike down that hill of death, with no brakes, through the turnstiles at the bottom, skidding right off near the bridge? I was picking gravel out of his rash for weeks.’
‘Well, there was that,’ said Dad.
‘And the time Henry hammered his toenail off because you forgot to keep an eye on your tools while you were building the cubby?’
‘Sometimes an adventurous life gets messy,’ said Dad, hands on hips.
‘Exactly! But it’s always when they’re with you. Now hold still!’ Mum stooped to place a puff of cotton wool over the graze on Patch’s nose and stuck it down with a band-aid.
‘Aw, not a band-aid,’ groaned Patch. ‘I’ll look like a numpty.’
‘No, you look like a cute little unicorn pony.’ Lulu stared at the large bulge on Patch’s nose.
‘Aw, dog-goggles! Save me from all ponies,’ said Patch. ‘Deliver me from evil, please!’ He glanced over at Dylan’s pie. ‘You finished with that?’
‘Sure,’ said Dylan, holding a hand against his stomach. He slid the paper bag down the table.
Patch snatched it up and wolfed the last bit down in two quick bites. ‘Aaaah, that was great. I’m so famished. Any more where that came from?’
‘Yep,’ said Dylan, sliding a white paper bag over. ‘You can have my sausage roll as well. I don’t want it now.’
‘You know what?’ said Carey, wiping Nutella from the corners of his mouth with a serviette. ‘I think surfing is dangerous. I think you’d be better off spending time in the tent, where it’s nice and safe, reading all about Spaceman Spiff.’
‘Ah, but you know what?’ said Patch. ‘I stood up on my board. On only my tenth go! Can you believe it? And the wave was as high as a cliff and quicksilver beneath my feet and just for a second, the dip down, I’m telling ya, it was like flying.’
‘That’s what it’s like on the skate ramp too,’ said Dylan.
‘I know,’ said Patch. ‘But I haven’t felt that way since I rode my bike down the hill of death!’ He nodded at Henry and grinned.
The hill of death. Henry swallowed. His stomach panged. Lulu’s words echoed in his ears. It’s your turn now.
It was his turn now, his turn to be a daredevil. Everyone was waiting for him to ride his silver bike, to make a plan and to do it, snippety-snack, just like that! But the hill of death. Gosh, he would never do something that dumb, not even for a zillion billion dollars!
Henry rested on his parents’ side of the tent, on their airbed, playing quietly with his Star Wars Lego figurines. Mum popped her head inside. ‘Heno,’ she whispered, ‘a girl called Cassie is here to see you.’
‘A girl,’ said Patch, looking up from his phone. He rolled over onto his back. ‘Whoaah-ho! Fast mover.’ He gave Henry a nudge.
‘Shhh, you!’ Mum waved a finger.
Henry leapt up from the airbed. He slipped the Lego figurines into the tent pocket, then smoothed down his hair. When he came outside, he found Lulu talking to Cassie.
‘Look . . . look . . . these are my favourites, these three,’ she said, lining up the ponies on the table. ‘This is Peony that you saved from terrible doom! And this is Marigold and Violet. But I have lots of others. See, this one is Bluebell but she is quite greedy and ate too many apples and got sick and spent a lot of time in hospital and now, here, she has lost half the hair from her tail. This green one is Clover. One time, she was galloping and fell out the car window accidentally and got run over by a truck. That’s why she’s a bit flat and not so fast anymore. This one is Poppy and this one is Tulip and this one is Primrose. Primrose is bossy and always telling the others what to do. She thinks she is the most beautiful pony in the world, just because her tail is rainbow glitter. She is always telling the other ponies that they are not as beautiful as her and they don’t like to hear it.’
‘I guess they wouldn’t,’ said Cassie.
‘Do you think this one is pretty?’ asked Lulu.
‘Well—’ said Cassie, smiling.
‘Or do you think her eyes are wonky?’ Lulu whispered. She held Clover up for inspection.
Cassie stared closely at the green pony. ‘Maybe.’
‘That’s what I think! And the other ponies say so too,’ said Lulu, nodding her head sadly. ‘Even though I tell them not to mention it!’
‘It’s a problem alright,’ said Mum. ‘Now, let’s not take up all of Cassie’s time, because she’s come here to say hello to Henry.’
‘Hello,’ said Henry. He stood awkwardly by the camp fridge. His hands dangled like lumpy puffer fish.
‘Hello,’ said Cassie, smiling at him. ‘I told you I’d see you round.’
‘Yes,’ said Henry. ‘You did say that.’
‘How’s your bike?’ she asked. ‘Is it fixed yet?’
‘Fixed?’ Dad looked up from the table, where he was chopping parsley.
‘Aaaaaah,’ said Henry.
‘The brakes?’ asked Cassie.
A bunch of newborn moths rose up in his chest. Henry snatched a breath of warm, muggy air.
Dad lifted an eyebrow. ‘The brakes?’
‘Yeah . . . well . . . ah—’ Henry cleared his throat.
Dad put down his knife. ‘Hey there, now . . . Heno . . .’
‘Because I’ve got some fish scraps for Heathcliff,’ said Cassie. ‘And I thought we could ride round to the wharf to drop them off.’ She tugged at the straps of her floral backpack.
Lulu stopped nibbling the ear of her green pony. She placed Clover carefully next to Violet. ‘Who’s Heathcliff?’
‘He’s an old stingray,’ said Cassie, hopping off her bike and leaning it against the table. ‘I bring him fish scraps every afternoon, down by the wharf.’
Dad looked over at Cassie. ‘Heathcliff? Now that’s an unusual name for a stingray.’
‘My mum is a singer on the cruise ships,’ said Cassie. ‘And one of her best, hardest songs is about a boy called Heathcliff and a girl called Cathy. It’s got very high notes. She can almost crack the wine glasses when she sings it.’
‘Aah, I see,’ said Dad. ‘“Wuthering Heights” by Kate Bush. That explains it!’
‘That’s it,’ nodded Cassie.
‘So . . . Heathcliff – is he . . . safe?’ asked Mum.
‘Oh yes,’ said Cassie. ‘He lost most of his tail a long time ago. No one knows exactly how. Maybe it was a fishing accident. But he doesn’t have a barb, so he’s very safe. He’s a bit of a sook, really. That’s what my Pop reckons.’
‘Can I come?’ asked Lulu.
‘No,’ said Henry, quickly.
‘It’s not fair,’ said Lulu. ‘I never get to do anything fun.’
‘Never?’ asked Dad.
‘NEVER!’ said Lulu. She snatched up Peony and stomped off into the tent.
‘Gosh, she’s a bit overtired,’ said Mum, with an apologetic grimace. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s okay,’ said Cassie. ‘So do you want to come?’ She tilted her head, waiting for Henry’s answer. ‘Don’t worry! I always feed Heathcliff down by the table where they gut the fish in the shallows. So it’s not deep.’
Henry bit his top lip and blinked furiously, as if a spotlight was shining suddenly and he could barely see. Cassie gazed around the campsite and over towards the trailer. She nodded at Henry. ‘Is that your bike under there?’
A shiver prickled down Henry’s spine. The bike was locked up tight to the trailer, covered in a tarp to keep it from rusting. But even so the front wheel was peeking out, like a nosy uninvited guest. Something stuck hard in Henry’s throat.
‘What’s wrong with the brakes?’ asked Cassie.
‘Well,’ said Dad. ‘The thing is, Cassie, that . . . um—’
Henry was hot and cold at the same time and everything was beginning to be edged in grey fur. ‘Dad,’ he murmured.
Mum opened her eyes wide. ‘Daniel,’ she said. She pursed her lips tight.
‘I’ll go with you!’ Reed burst out of his tent like a jack-in-the-box. ‘I’d love to get up close and personal to an old stingray.’ He stood there, smirking his usual cheesy, smartypants grin. ‘I’ll get my bike.’
Cassie glanced at Henry. ‘Well—’
‘NO!’ It came out like a loud bark. A lick of hot anger curled right through Henry. He glared at greedy-guts Reed, wishing his eyes were fierce laser points so he could wither him up on the spot like a dry brown leaf. ‘You can’t come!’ he hissed.
‘You can’t stop me!’ said Reed. His whole face flushed a dark cherry red.
Dad coughed. ‘Now, boys.’
Reed shoved a fist into the pocket of his shorts. He glared at Cassie. ‘If you want to ride with Hennie,’ he said, with a sneer, ‘you’d better get ready to wait for eternity because he—’
‘SHUT UP,’ said Henry, lunging forward. He snatched up Lulu’s battered green pony from the table and chucked it hard at Reed’s head.
Reed ducked and the pony bounced off the side of the tent and plopped straight into a red bucket. ‘Whoops! You missed!’ said Reed, with a snigger. ‘Except now you’ve done it! Because that pony is swimming in my bait bucket and it’s going to stink of squid. Hope you’re okay about breaking the bad news to Lulu?’
‘Okay, Reed, big fella,’ said Dad, standing up. ‘I think that’s enough. How about you go check on the older boys in the rec room and tell them we’re just about to get the World Cup cricket match started?’
Reed sniffed. ‘Sure thing, Mr Hoobler.’ He shot Henry a sneaky side-glance. ‘I might take my bike though,’ he said. ‘Because it’ll be faster than walking.’
‘Thanks mate, you do that,’ said Dad, with a sigh. He strode over to the Barones’ tent and fished the battered green pony out of the bait bucket. ‘I’ll just go and give Clover a wash at the sink,’ he whispered, holding the dripping pony by her tail. He snatched the pump soap from the top of the camp fridge.
Henry gazed at his mum in despair. He felt hollowed out, like a bushfire had raged through him. Why did he let Reed Barone get under his skin? Why couldn’t he think of something smartypants funny to say? Why did all his words get bottled up in the back of his throat? Now Cassie would be thinking he was some kind of crazy hot-head kid and she would never want to spend any time with him again.
Mum shook out a tea towel. ‘Are you staying around here, Cassie?’
‘Well, I live here,’ said Cassie, nodding. ‘With my Pop. In the caravan with the meerkats behind the fancy cabins, near the toilet block.’
‘Oh, wow,’ said Mum. ‘Not real meerkats?’
‘No,’ said Cassie, smiling. ‘Just funny stuffed ones. But my Pop reckons they put thieves off. They’ve got very beady eyes, and at night they sure look like the real thing.’
‘Beady eyes!’ said Mum. ‘I love it!’
‘I used to live with my Nan too,’ said Cassie. ‘But she got sick and died last year. Her liver stopped working.’
‘Oh, Cassie,’ said Mum, dropping her tea towel.
Cassie nodded. ‘It happened quick.’
‘That’s terrible. I’m so sorry to hear that!’
‘Nan and Pop had been married for fifty-nine years and three hundred and fifty days!’
‘Oh, so close to sixty!’ Mum cried, her eyes shiny. ‘Such a long time.’
‘Yes,’ said Cassie, swivelling her bike bell. ‘But the strangest thing is the day after Nan died, Pop packed up all her clothes and took them to the op shop, just like that. I don’t know what made him do that. Maybe he was too sad to see Nan’s slippers poking out from underneath the bed, like they were waiting for her to come back any minute.’ She looked up and shrugged.
‘Yes,’ said Mum, nodding. ‘Yes. Perhaps that’s it. Everyone has a different way of being sad.’
‘But I went up to the shop later and bought her pink dressing-gown back with my own pocket money, and when I go to bed at night I hug it up close because it still smells just like her. Like Crabtree and Evelyn. Like roses.’ Cassie’s golden eyes were sheeny. She sniffed and tapped her bike bell. ‘You know,’ she said, flicking a straggly curl over her shoulder, ‘I’m pretty good at cricket.’
‘I bet you are,’ said Mum.
‘My Pop almost played for Australia.’
‘Really!’
Cassie nodded. ‘So I can bowl a pretty mean googly!’
Dad plodded back from the gazebo, carrying the sodden pony out in front. ‘Hope that does the trick,’ he said. He pegged it up on the clothing rack.
‘Cassie can bowl a pretty mean googly,’ said Mum, turning her head. ‘Her Pop almost played for Australia!’
‘Woweeee,’ said Dad, rubbing his hands together. ‘Yes! A spin bowler. You sound like a lethal weapon!’
‘Maybe,’ said Cassie, with a grin.
‘Well, would you like to do us a massive favour and give us a hand this arvo? I reckon the kids will need all the help they can get, taking on us mighty warriors.’
‘Mighty warriors?’ called Patch, from the tent. ‘Peuuuwww! More like tarnished golden oldies.’
‘Now, now,’ said Dad. ‘How about you show a little bit of respect in there?’ He clutched his side. ‘Although the old back is not what it was, that’s for sure. So . . . what do you reckon, Cassie? You up for the big bash?’ He slid the cutting board across the table and scraped a small mountain of parsley into a Tupperware container.
‘I’d love to,’ said Cassie. She turned and gazed at Henry directly. Her eyes lit up like the jasper stones on his Nonna’s mantelpiece, her whole face glowing like she had been given an extraordinary prize, even though all they were going to do was play a dumb old game of cricket. ‘Would it be alright if I just go and change my shoes and tell my Pop that I’m going to play?’
‘No problem,’ said Dad. ‘Invite your Pop along too, if you want.’
‘Ah, no,’ said Cassie. ‘He likes to have a nap in the arvo. He’s pretty old, you know, practically ancient. He even has ear tufts.’
‘Almost a caveman.’ Dad touched his own ears.
‘How about Heathcliff?’ asked Mum.
‘I’ll feed him later. He won’t mind.’ Cassie turned to Henry. ‘Maybe we can go for a ride another time?’
Henry’s heart pounded in his ears.
‘When your bike is—’
‘Sure,’ interrupted Henry, his voice cracking. ‘Another time.’ He shot a quick glance at his dad.
‘That’s one flash bike,’ said Dad to Cassie. ‘A dragster. I love it.’
‘I know’, said Cassie. ‘It used to belong to my mum. My Pop fixed it up for me, like new.’
‘Well, I’m sure it’s going to be a heap of fun to ride around together,‘ said Dad. He pinched his chin and nodded at Henry. ‘Another time. Now that sounds like a plan.’