Meanwhile on Main Street the citizens of Currawong were working themselves up into a state of potato-induced hysteria. After the excitement of the Capture the Potato Game and the carbohydrates of the baked potatoes they had eaten, everyone was primed to enjoy the highlight of the day – the parade. A temporary stage had been set up in front of the Good Times Cafe, with chairs set out for Mr Lang, the president of the CWA, the Potato Princess Nominees and Dame Bronwyn herself. The crowd couldn’t wait to see the floats and find out who the princess was, but they were even more excited to get a glimpse of that great legend of potato cultivation.
Mr Lang was nervously checking his watch, as if that would make Dame Bronwyn arrive any earlier.
‘She was meant to be here an hour ago,’ he worried.
‘I offered to organise her transport for you,’ said President Sweet, ‘but no, you said it was a council responsibility.’
‘She said she’d arrange her own transport,’ said Mr Lang.
President Sweet smiled and shook her head. ‘Oh dear, you should never have agreed to that.’
‘She’s a Dame!’ protested Mr Lang. ‘You can’t bully a Dame.’
‘You can’t, no,’ agreed President Sweet.
Mr Lang checked his watch again. There was still no change. She still wasn’t there. The eternal progress of time could be a pain in the neck some days.
Just then, at the end of Main Street there was the loud BANG of a car backfiring. Everyone turned to see a small yellow hatchback chugging its way towards them. The car was clean and shiny, but it was at least thirty-five years old.
‘This must be her,’ said the President.
‘You’d think after her service to the potato industry she could afford a better car,’ observed Mr Lang.
‘There’s no money in veg research,’ said President Sweet, sadly.
Eventually the tiny hatchback pulled up in front of the stage, there was a loud wrench of the handbrake being engaged and the driver’s door swung open. But a little old lady did not get out. The driver was a great, big muscly young man. The crowd was surprised. But then the man walked around the car and opened the passenger door, and everyone’s expectations were met.
A tiny old lady wearing a tweed suit and pearl necklace reached out to take the young man’s arm. He helped her to her feet. She tucked her handbag over her elbow and allowed herself to be led slowly up onto the stage.
‘Oh my,’ said Dad, from his position up the back of the crowd with Mum. ‘It’s her!’ He clutched his hands to his heart. He couldn’t keep the smile from his face.
Mum rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, puh-lease.’
People in the crowd were calling out to Dame Bronwyn.
‘Thanks for coming!’
‘You look great!’
‘We love your spud!’
Dame Bronwyn nodded, smiled a smile even smaller than the Mona Lisa’s, and waved regally as she kept walking.
‘What a woman,’ said Dad. ‘Do you think now would be a good time to ask for an autograph?’
‘You know, I’ve worked with the best forgers in the world,’ said Mum. ‘I could just get an autograph forged for you. It would look exactly the same. I could get you Mick Jagger’s as well.’
‘Who?’ asked Dad.
‘Are the only celebrities you’ve ever heard of vegetable-related?’ asked Mum.
‘Yes, I’ve never understood why people are interested in pop musicians or movie stars. They’re all so silly,’ said Dad. ‘Whereas that woman, she is a tuber legend.’
Dame Bronwyn eventually made it up the short flight of steps and onto the stage. Mr Lang went over to shake her hand, and he actually bowed. It was an instinctive response. She just seemed like the type of woman you should bow to.
‘Thank you so much for coming,’ said Mr Lang. ‘You do our town a great honour.’
Dame Bronwyn tilted her head, accepting the compliment. ‘Thank you,’ she said simply.
Mr Lang turned back to the microphone. ‘And now, as acting interim mayor of Currawong I am proud to officially welcome Dame Bronwyn, the mother of the Bronwyn Brown, the pride of Currawong, to our town!’
The crowd clapped and cheered. Dame Bronwyn raised her wrinkled hand and waved at everyone politely.
‘Now that our guest of honour is here, the parade can begin!’ announced Mr Lang.
The crowd cheered even louder.
‘Bring forth the nominees for Potato Princess,’ ordered Mr Lang.
From the far end of the street, there was the piercing blast of a whistle. Constable Pike was waving the first float forward. The forklift from the co-op nosed its way round the corner. The driver being extra cautious partly because of the teenage girl sitting on the raised prongs of his fork, but mainly because his view was obscured by the thousands of toilet paper rosettes over every square inch of his vehicle. The crowd cheered and clapped approvingly.
At the back of the line of floats, April was sitting on top of the Giant Potato with Pumpkin on her lap. She wasn’t meant to be last, but the tractor had stalled and Neil had to tinker with the engine to get it going again. It wasn’t anything serious, but it’s a hassle to adjust the throttle when you have to climb into a giant potato to do it.
‘What’s the hold up?’ April called down. There was a hole right between her feet, so she could speak to the driver. It was windy on top of the Giant Potato and the whole thing creaked and moved with each gust. It was unnerving. Pumpkin barked hysterically as if the wind was attacking him. April didn’t want to stay up there any longer than she had to.
‘Nearly there,’ said Neil, as he struggled to adjust the choke.
‘Hurry up,’ urged April. ‘The other floats are all pulling away. We’re going to miss out!’
‘Turn it over!’ called Neil.
Fin got into the driver’s seat, put one foot on the clutch, the other on the brake and turned the key, the engine grumbled for a bit but eventually roared to life.
‘Go!’ urged Neil.
‘Me? Drive this?!’ asked Fin. He had to yell, because inside the potato the sound of the engine was so loud.
‘It’s April’s big moment,’ said Neil. ‘She can’t miss out.’
Fin slid the tractor into gear and they started bunny hopping forward with Neil clutching the bonnet. The tractor and the two boys were totally encased inside the potato, so Fin could barely see where he was going. He only had the one hole to look through. But he had mounted four video cameras to the outside of the Giant Potato, so he could get a better view via an old TV they had welded to the bonnet of the tractor. The problem was you had to change channels to select a different camera view and the TV was so old it didn’t have a remote control.
It wasn’t a lot of fun for April either, every vibration and lurch of the tractor was amplified up through the potato. She clung to the arms of her chair for dear life. Pumpkin loved it. He barked excitedly at each lurch and shake of the vehicle. The whole thing was terrifying, which was a good thing because it totally took April’s mind off what she was doing. She totally forgot she was sitting on a potato as she swung into full view of Main Street.
Suddenly, there was a deafening roar. Thousands of people were cheering. A chant was starting up, ‘Spud, spud, spud, spud.’ They were cheering for her! April would have waved, if she wasn’t so frightened of letting go for even a second.
‘Is that my April?’ marvelled Mum.
‘Oh, so it is,’ said Dad. ‘I didn’t notice her. I was looking at the potato. It’s a magnificent representation.’
The Potato Princess Parade may have been silly, and an extreme waste of toilet paper, but it was an impressive sight. A tiny, old-fashioned town in the middle of nowhere, in which every resident within a hundred kilometre radius had gathered to celebrate the importance of potatoes to their region. It may have been a brutally competitive event, but as every girl sat atop her own special float, waving to the delighted cheering crowd, every one of them felt like a princess.
One by one the floats pulled up in front of the stage, and the nominees were each handed a bouquet of roses as they stepped off to take their spot on the podium. April was the last to arrive. It was a bit harder for her to get off her float, because the potato was so big and she was so high off the ground. In the end, she had to lie face down on the potato and slide backwards as far as she could before gravity took over and she dropped the rest of the way. She landed in a crumpled heap at Dame Bronwyn’s feet, with Pumpkin tumbling into her lap, barking and startling the old lady.
‘No worries,’ April reassured her. ‘I’m fine.’ April scrambled up, tucked Pumpkin under her arm and strode in a most unladylike manner to her spot.
Mr Lang handed her a bunch of roses.
‘What’s this?’ asked April.
‘A bouquet of flowers,’ said Mr Lang.
‘What am I supposed to do with them?’ asked April. ‘I don’t have a vase in my pocket.’
‘You’re meant to hold them elegantly,’ said Mr Lang.
‘Fine,’ said April, tucking the bunch under her armpit so she could keep both hands free. Pumpkin grabbed a rose in his mouth and savaged it.
‘Now that all the nominees have arrived,’ said Mr Lang. ‘I call upon the President of the CWA to tell us the results of the Potato Princess Poll,’ said Mr Lang.
President Sweet stepped forward amongst much clapping and cheering. She took out a wad of notes.
‘Thank you,’ she began, waiting for the crowd to quiet down. ‘The members of the CWA stayed up late last night counting all the votes, and then recounting them to make sure there were no mistakes. This year we have a clear winner. You, the citizens of Currawong, were asked to vote for the girl who had done the most to make this town a better place and eighty-one per cent of you voted for the same candidate.’
A hush fell over the crowd. You could have heard a square of toilet paper drop.
President Sweet cleared her throat, ‘Achem . . . This year’s Potato Princess is . . . April Peski!’
All 3000 people present at the parade collectively gasped. Then there was an explosion of gabbling and conversation.
‘I don’t believe it!’
‘It’s rigged!’
‘She’s off her rocker!’
But the person who was most vocal in her response was Matilda Voss-Nevers. ‘Nooooooooo!’ she screamed. ‘No no no!’ She lunged at April, belting her about the head with her bouquet of roses.
‘Ow!’ said April, ducking and weaving to avoid the rain of blows. ‘Those roses have thorns.’
‘IT IS NOT FAIR!’ screamed Matilda.
‘Stop that!’ yelled Daisy Odinsdottir, rushing forward and knocking Matilda out of the way. ‘I’m going to kill her!’ Daisy lunged for April, but Loretta deftly used her own bouquet to trip Daisy, causing her to topple head first off the front of the stage and land right in Constable Pike’s arms.
‘You’re under arrest,’ said Constable Pike.
‘You can’t arrest me!’ demanded Daisy. ‘Arrest her!’
‘Girls!’ snapped Mr Lang, ‘Control yourselves. Give the President a chance to speak and explain herself.’
‘It can’t be right!’ wailed Matilda. ‘Who on earth would vote for her?!’ Matilda turned on the crowd. ‘Those pesky Peski kids must have rigged the election. No one here would have actually voted for April Peski as Potato Princess!’
There was silence for a moment. Then a woman in the middle of the crowd put her hand up. ‘I did,’ she said. ‘I’m the chairperson of the local branch of the RSPCA. There’s lots of people who fight for the rights of cute animals like koalas and puppies, but April Peski fought for the rights of an aging escaped circus bear. She earned my vote.’
At the back of the crowd another man put his hand up. ‘I run the council animal shelter and April Peski comes in once a week to read picture books to the unwanted dogs,’ said the man. ‘She earned my vote. She always shows them each page so they can have a good look at every picture.’
The crowd mumbled.
‘April always stops and talks to us old folks at the retirement home,’ an octogenarian man called out. ‘Well to be strictly accurate, she yells abuse at us for being the generation that ruined the planet. But most people patronise us and talk to us like we’re toddlers so we find her vitriolic insults refreshing. It’s the highlight of my day.’
‘She exposed the cheating at the cockroach race!’ called out another citizen.
‘She helps disabled people,’ called out someone else. ‘She helped that blind boy participate in a mud run.’
‘He’s not blind,’ snapped April. ‘He’s vision impaired. At least he says he is. I’m not a hundred per cent convinced.’
‘I voted for her because she caught those bank robbers,’ said someone else.
‘She got my vote because she keeps Constable Dimwit on his toes,’ added the Cat Lady.
‘You see,’ said President Sweet. ‘The results are conclusive. Currawong loves you.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ said the Cat Lady. ‘We just like her more than the others.’
Matilda stared for a moment, drew a deep breath then broke into racking sobs, collapsing on Dame Bronwyn’s shoulder.
Dame Bronwyn did not look like a woman used to giving comfort. Not to humans anyway. Mr Lang took Matilda by the shoulders and led her away.
President Sweet continued, ‘Miss Peski’s demeanour may be non-traditional, but the sheer weight of statistics does not lie. Miss Peski has at all times, even when not asked to do so, articulated her firm beliefs in feminism, animal conservation and against hypocrisy.’
‘That’s true enough,’ said Mr Lang, dabbing his forehead. He had been on the end of April’s harangues more than anyone.
‘Doing good works in the community is rarely pretty or fun,’ said President Sweet. ‘Standing up for good values is rarely popular or appreciated. That is why we have competitions like this to recognise people who buck the trend, not for the way it makes them look, but simply because it is the right thing to do. It gives me great pride to name this year’s Potato Princess – April Peski. Dame Bronwyn, could you please crown our new princess?’
Dame Bronwyn stepped forward and took the crown from the President. It was not diamond studded, or even fake-diamond studded, it was potato studded. It was the ugliest crown April had ever seen.
She barked a snort of laughter. ‘That is so cool! Dad will love it.’
As Dame Bronwyn lowered the crown onto April’s head, she spoke into the microphone in a quavering voice, ‘I feel as proud of this moment as I was the first time I pruned a potato plant.’
These words caught Dad’s attention, ‘What did she say?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Mum, dabbing a tear from her eye. ‘I’ve got something in my eye.’
‘She said something about pruning, didn’t she?’ asked Dad.
‘I wasn’t listening to that bit,’ said Mum. ‘Did you hear what that woman said about our daughter? Aren’t you proud?’
‘Yes yes, of course, I’m proud of April every day,’ said Dad. ‘But Dame Bronwyn said she pruned a potato! That’s preposterous. That woman is a fraud.’
‘Oh Harold,’ said Mum. ‘Please don’t cause a scene now.’
Up on stage Dame Bronwyn was starting to get in the swing of things. She seemed to enjoy the sound of her own voice amplified out across Main Street. ‘Your mother must be so proud of you, young lady. I would love to meet the woman who raised you. Where is Mrs Peski?’
April had already spotted her mother in the crowd. She pointed straight at her. ‘Over there.’
‘Marvellous!’ said Dame Bronwyn. ‘Come up on stage. You deserve acclaim too for raising such a wonderful daughter.’
Mum shook her head and waved to indicate that she didn’t want to.
‘No no, I insist,’ said Dame Bronwyn. ‘Come along, everyone, give Mrs Peski a round of applause to get her up here.’
The crowd all clapped rapturously. People began to part to let her through. Mum started forward.
‘Don’t go,’ said Dad. He reached and grabbed her sleeve.
‘Don’t be silly, Harold,’ said Mum. Despite being a hard-nosed international operative, she was caught up in the moment. The idea that perhaps she had been a good mother after all. That she had done a good job of raising April without even realising, was just too entrancing to resist. Somewhere deep beneath all her training as a ruthless killer, buried below so many archaeological layers of false identities, there lurked a guilty mother. And Dame Bronwyn was holding out an olive branch to this poor fragment of her psyche. Of course Mum couldn’t resist. She pushed forward, detaching her wrist neatly from her husband’s grasp, with a deft hapkido joint twist.
Dad wasn’t entirely sure why he was suddenly kneeling on the street while the shooting pain in his arm receded, but as he looked up Mum had disappeared into the masses.
‘No!’ said Dad, scrambling to his feet, but the crowd had moved back. No one wanted to move for an overweight man in a saggy cardigan, rudely trying to push his way through. ‘Stop!’ cried Dad. ‘This isn’t right!’
Mum was stepping up onto the stage now. April beamed at her.
‘Wow,’ said Loretta, she had joined Joe and Fin down in the crowd. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen April smile before. She’s almost pretty when she smiles.’
Joe squinted, trying to see what Loretta meant.
‘Well, maybe not pretty,’ conceded Loretta. ‘But certainly a lot less terrifying.’
April threw herself into her mother’s arms, giving her a big hug.
Fin suddenly sobbed loudly. Joe turned to him in alarm. There were big fat tears welling in Fin’s eyes.
‘I didn’t realise how much I’d missed Mum,’ blubbered Fin. ‘You know, old Mum. Like she was before we found out it was all fake. I miss her.’
‘Me too,’ said Joe.
They weren’t the type of brothers to hug. Joe patted Fin on the shoulder instead.
Loretta rolled her eyes. ‘Boys!’ She threw her hands up in exasperation. ‘You’re so good at changing light bulbs and catching spiders, but so terrible at the important things.’ She threw her arm around Fin and pulled his head to her shoulder. ‘There there, you have a good cry. It’s very therapeutic.’
‘Right,’ said Mr Lang, trying to regain the crowd’s attention. ‘Now it is time for the Potato Princess to return to her float and continue on in her victory parade to the Daffodil Gardens where mashed potato and gravy will be served.’
April was helped back up onto the Giant Potato and Pumpkin was passed up to her. Fin and Neil climbed back inside to drive. Everyone was cheering and clapping as the potato started to pull away, so at first no one noticed the sound of the approaching helicopter. But it was not a regular helicopter, the type used by TV stations to report on the weather or billionaires to avoid commuter traffic. This helicopter was a different beast. It was large and powerful, the type the military use and it was flying in low, heading straight up Main Street.
Eventually Mum heard the whop-whop-whop sound of the blades and turned away from watching April. ‘What is . . .?’ she began to ask.
‘Eurgh,’ groaned Dame Bronwyn. ‘My heart!’ She clutched her chest and toppled sideways, crashing into Mum. She caught the elderly woman before she hit the ground.
‘I’ve got you,’ said Mum.
‘My medicine, it’s in my handbag,’ said Dame Bronwyn as she groped in her purse. ‘Ah, here it is.’
Dame Bronwyn pulled out what looked like an EpiPen, but she didn’t use it on herself. Before Mum could react, Dame Bronwyn stabbed her with the injection. Mum’s legs went limp, she couldn’t breathe, she was falling. Strong arms caught her. It was Dame Bronwyn’s too-muscly assistant. This was a trap. She’d been caught in a trap.
The helicopter swooped in fast and low, hovering near the stage as commandos repelled down. Dame Bronwyn’s assistant ran towards them, carrying Mum. Dame Bronwyn had ditched her tweed skirt, revealing that she had been wearing lycra leggings underneath. She sprinted towards the chopper too – the frailty had been an act. She was an imposter. This woman might be old but she was incredibly fit.
‘Stop them!’ yelled Dad.
All of a sudden something clicked. Everyone in Currawong unanimously and without discussion realised that the time for playing games was over. People began to launch into action.
For a start, the two people dressed as potatoes sprinted after Mum and her kidnapper. One of the potatoes was particularly athletic. Despite the encumbrance of wearing a huge foam suit, the potato caught up with the kidnapper and crash-tackled him to the ground. Mum tumbled down too. The foam head fell off the potato person revealing that it was – Ingrid! The other potato arrived and jumped on top of the kidnapper, helping to subdue him. She whipped off her own foam head so she could see better. It was Joy, the grumpy waitress, moving with more zeal and energy than she ever had when waiting on tables.
Mum sat up. She was very dazed and confused.
Dad raced forward to help. The commandos were bearing down on her. They were going to get to her first. Even if Dad could get there in time, there was very little he could do to stop four super fit, highly armed operatives.
‘Bertha!’ cried Dad. ‘Run!’
‘Eurgh,’ moaned Mum. She tried to stand but her legs wouldn’t work.
Dame Bronwyn grabbed Mum and was dragging her towards the commandos, who were only a few metres away, when all of a sudden, something came swooping out of the sky!
It was the papier-mâché potato that had slammed into the Odinsdottir’s car. The potato had been repaired and rehung over Main Street. Someone had cut one of the ropes. It skittled all four commandos like a tenpin bowling ball.
Swinging on the back of the potato and steering it through the air was the Cat Lady. She might be eighty-six years old, but once a trapeze artist always a trapeze artist. The commandos were knocked off their feet and they all smashed into the front window of the Good Times Cafe. The Cat Lady slid from the spud and landed, cat-like, on the road. Broken glass was scattered everywhere. Out through the freshly smashed window strode Chef Klaus, rolling pin in one hand and cooking twine in the other.
‘You shouldn’t have come here, boys,’ said the chef. He then unleashed on them a startling display of rolling-pin-based martial arts.
One of them tried to make a run for it, but when he scrambled to his feet Mrs Bellamy was standing in his way. ‘Move!’ bellowed the commando as he grabbed the old lady by the shoulder and tried to shove her, but suddenly he found a handbag crashing into his forearm. The handbag felt like it was made of lead. Probably because it was. Then there was a searing pain in his shin where he had just been whacked in the shin. And before he knew it, he found himself sitting on the ground, nursing a broken arm.
Another commando lunged forward to help him, but soon found his legs knocked out from under him by Mrs Bellamy’s handbag. When he hit the pavement face-first, he was knocked unconscious.
Joe caught up to Dame Bronwyn and grabbed the shoulder pad of her tweed jacket but to no avail. When the imposter potato guru spun around she held the taser to Mum’s throat.
‘Don’t come any closer, boy. Not if you want your mother to keep breathing,’ she threatened.
The fake Dame had backed up against one of the Potato Princess floats. It was the forklift covered in toilet paper rosettes. She shoved Mum into the princess throne on the prongs of the forklift, jumped into the driver’s seat and took off down Main Street.
‘Quick, after her!’ yelled April.
Fin ground the gears on the tractor, found first and the Giant Potato took off at top speed. This was about five kilometres per hour, but he worked his way up through the gears as fast as he could. ‘Doesn’t this thing go any faster?’ Fin pleaded to Neil.
‘Actually,’ said Neil. ‘It does. Hit the red button.’
On the dashboard, a red button had been gaffer taped to the console.
‘What does it do?’ asked Fin.
‘You’ll see,’ said Neil.
Fin hit the button – the engine roared, the tractor shook and the whole Giant Potato lunged forward, accelerating rapidly.
‘I put in a nitrous-oxide booster,’ Neil yelled over the sound of the engine.
‘Why?’ asked Fin, terrified and adrenalised as he drove the speeding spud down Main Street with no peripheral vision, just the sight of the forklift his mother was being kidnapped on up ahead.
‘In case of emergencies,’ said Neil.
‘How did you know there would be an emergency?’ asked Fin.
‘Always is with your family,’ said Neil.
Back on Main Street, Joe was chasing after them all as fast as he could on foot, but he couldn’t keep up. He heard a honk behind him. Jo turned to see President Sweet’s bright red mobility scooter bearing down on him, with Tom clinging to the back. Joe leapt to one side. The scooter pulled up short and Loretta leaned out the window. ‘Jump on!’ she urged.
‘Can this thing move three people?’ asked Joe.
‘Oh yes,’ said Loretta.
‘Fin put in a bigger engine,’ explained Tom.
Joe noticed that the bonnet had been removed and what looked like an outboard motor from a speedboat was shackled to the chassis. He climbed on the back. He didn’t want to get left behind.
The forklift Dame Bronwyn was driving was nearing the outskirts of Currawong. It was about to reach the bridge that led out of town.
‘They must be heading for some back-up rendezvous point,’ said Fin.
‘Where?’ asked Neil.
Suddenly, the helicopter swooped low over the potato and hovered directly above the bridge.
The forklift sped towards it.
‘If they get to the helicopter first, we’ll never save Mum!’ yelled April.
Fin pressed the accelerator flat to the floor and the potato shot forward as fast as possible.
The commandos were all still back in Currawong, so the helicopter had to land to pick up Dame Bronwyn and Mum. It touched down on the bridge. Dame Bronwyn stopped the forklift and pulled Mum off the front.
The Giant Potato still had a hundred metres to cover to get there.
‘No!’ cried Fin.
Dame Bronwyn and Mum took their first step towards the helicopter, but at that exact moment, there was a terrible creaking noise. Dame Bronwyn stopped in her tracks. The noise stopped. Then suddenly, the bridge collapsed. The helicopter fell with it, plummeting into the river below.
‘Wow!’ said Fin. ‘I did not see that coming.’
Mr Lang was acting interim mayor because the former mayor had failed to properly maintain the local infrastructure, specifically the bridge, which had already had the guardrail knocked off by a runaway psychiatrist’s van (for more information see Peski Kids 2, Bear in the Woods). Mr Lang had been acting mayor for over a month now, but he still had a full-time job at the school so he hadn’t got around to fixing the infrastructure either. Which turned out to be a good thing, because in this instance the laziness and inefficiency of the local council was literally lifesaving.
Fin and Neil scrambled out of the potato to go and help Mum, but they didn’t get a chance. A horse galloped past them. They assumed it was Loretta, but no – they saw Dad bearing down on Dame Bronwyn, urging Vladimir on at a full gallop.
‘Go, Dad!’ yelled Fin.
Dad leapt off Vladimir and tackled Dame Bronwyn with even more enthusiasm than he would have done if he had still wanted her autograph. Dame Bronwyn might be an international operative but she was still an old lady so she was winded by having an overweight man land on top of her. Dad was soon on his feet again and running over to Mum.
‘Oh Bertha,’ cried Dad. ‘Are you all right? Did she hurt you?’
‘I’m fine, Harold,’ said Mum. ‘Just dazed. And a bit confused. Did I just get rescued by a giant poo and a horse?’
‘I’m just so glad you’re all right,’ said Dad. ‘I couldn’t bear to lose you again.’ He wrapped Mum in a big bear hug and gave her a kiss. Admittedly it was on the top of the head, which isn’t the most romantic way to kiss the woman who used to pretend to be your wife, but for Dad this was a pretty impressive public display of affection.
Loretta, Joe and Tom had just pulled up on President Sweet’s mobility scooter.
‘Well done, Mr Peski,’ said Loretta. ‘You make a wonderful knight in shining armour!’
‘Bertha,’ said Dad. ‘I know our entire relationship has been a farce. But please, I’m begging you. Marry me. And for real this time. Because life is so complicated and I can’t cope alone. And I know it’s stupid of me, but I can’t help myself – I love you.’
April sobbed. Pumpkin licked the tears that started to roll down her face.
‘It’s not stupid, Harold,’ said Mum. ‘Not all of our entire relationship was a farce. We did have three very real children. Pretty wonderful children too.’
‘Four,’ said Loretta. ‘You shouldn’t put adopted children in a separate category. It diminishes adoption, which, if anything, is even more special than a biological relationship.’
‘She does realise that she isn’t adopted, doesn’t she?’ Mum asked Dad.
‘I find it best to just go along with whatever Loretta wants,’ said Dad. ‘It’s easier.’
‘April!’ Neil almost shouted. He was caught up in the emotion of the moment. ‘There’s something I want to tell you.’
‘What?’ asked April, wiping tears from her eyes with the heel of her hand.
‘I love you,’ said Neil. He lunged lips-first and planted a kiss on her cheek.
‘Ew! Gross!’ yelled April, shoving Neil so hard he lost his balance and tumbled backwards into the river with a big splash. As soon as his head bobbed above water, April started yelling at him, ‘I’m only twelve! I’m too young for that sort of malarkey!’
‘April,’ declared Tom, ‘I love you too!’
‘Can you swim?’ asked April.
‘Of course, vision-impaired people are perfectly capable of . . .’ began Tom.
He never got to finish his sentence because April pushed him in the river too.
‘Neil,’ April yelled to him as he waded to the bank. ‘While you’re in there, can you make sure Tom doesn’t drown?’
Neil nodded and went back to grab Tom by the collar.
‘Well done, Neil,’ called Fin, giving his friend the thumbs up. ‘That went pretty well.’
Neil smiled too as he helped Tom up on the bank. He knew that April was not the sort to be easily won. He was in no rush.