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HE WAS LATE FOR LUNCH. His parents were annoyed, and so was big sister Beau. It was Sunday, the day she was allowed to drive the family car. Since she’s got her learner’s license she had become a total pain. (Before that she’d only been a partial pain, which was painful enough!)
“Hurry up and eat!” she chanted at Randy relentlessly as he ate his half-cold lunch, while his mother and father did the dishes nearby. So Randy slowed down.
“Quit it!” Beau snapped, “You’re only doing that to bug me!”
“Beau!” came a warning from Mother, “And Randy, don’t do that to your sister!”
“Do what?” he asked in an injured tone.
“You know what!”
Randy said nothing and kept eating, normal human speed. His true speed was Human-Vacuum-Cleaner speed.
Okay: lunch done. It was Sunday-drive time. He changed his clothes and dutifully took his place in the car. Beau got into the driving seat, immediately adjusting the mirror so she could give him a nasty look before adjusting it quickly away to its proper position. She was in Big Sister Heaven. Randy stuck out his tongue. His mother, beside him, growled dangerously. He hunched down, scowling. He was in Little Brother Hell.
#
THEY DROVE. IT WAS boring. They went the same way they always went. It was so very very boring. 'Why has Sunday been invented?' he wondered quietly to himself, 'To bore me to death before I ever reach sixteen, that’s why!'
'If only I had some money,' he thought, 'If I had money I wouldn’t be here. I’d be ...' But he couldn’t really think where he would be. Pig hunting? No. Playing video games? No. Then he saw a car in front. ‘I’D RATHER BE SAILING’ said the bumper sticker.
'Sailing?' He thought about it for a moment. 'Nah.'
#
AFTER AN HOUR OF THIS they arrived at the same café they always went to. Beau carefully parked the car and they went in, and ... 'Oh my God!' ...there was Tammy! She was with her father, having a slap-up afternoon tea together.
Randy’s heart missed a beat. Then a few more for good measure.
But she hadn’t seen him yet. Maybe he could just...
“Hey, Tammy!” called Beau cheerfully. The Turingers looked up. First Tammy smiled, showing her adorable front teeth, then she saw Randy and her lips went tight.
Chit-chat happened between the various adults (counting Beau, who really didn't deserve it), while Randy waited uncomfortably in the background.
He tried to catch Tammy’s eye and flash her a big heart-warming smile. But Tammy was as cold as a supermarket pizza.
Finally it was over.
“Think we’d better grab a table while we can,” said Beau, and they moved on. Randy sank limply into a chair and grabbed a magazine to hide behind, thinking 'My life sucks!'
Sadly, his magazine wasn't called that. It was ‘LIFE-STYLERS’.
He read the headlines;
‘Stable Living - Opening Doors after the Horse is Gone.’
‘Herb Power; - A Growing Business’
‘Bakery Buddies; - Twin Sisters Cook Up Success.’
‘Black Gold; - Truffles a Winner’
'Geez! Some people! I mean - does anybody actually live like this?!'
They ordered from the waitress. Then they waited. And waited. Pretentious people came in and went out. Everyone looked so damn rich! Randy, out of sheer boredom, picked up the magazine again. Then the Turingers got up and left, politely exchanging a few words as they passed towards the door. Randy glanced up from his magazine where he’d been pretending to be deeply involved in an article, and for once he managed to catch Tammy’s eye. What was that he saw: a trace of softness? A temperature above zero? Quickly he let the faintest quiver of a smile show on his face, then she was gone.
And the café seemed a dimmer place.
This was hopeless. He was still in love. Unrequited love. How could he undo the damages done? Would she ever speak to him again? How could he get through to her...?
“Randy?” called a distant voice, “Randy?”
“Huh? Eh what?”
“Finish your food,” said his Dad, “We’re ready to go.”
Randy returned to Planet Earth, realising he’d been sitting for ages gazing blankly at the same page in the magazine. They were all standing, waiting. Beau was jingling the car keys in that annoying way. So he chugged his fruit juice and wrapped up his little cakey thing in a paper serviette and stuffed it into his pocket. The magazine lay open before him: “TRUFFLES: Digging For Nature’s Black Gold.” He flicked it shut and jumped up.
Two minutes later they were heading home.
#
THE CAR WAS SLOWING down. Dad was giving Beau some new instructions. Randy looked up. They were turning into a side road he didn’t recognise. This was more interesting. It was a narrow country road that twisted and turned through the rolling farm-land; so typical of the area around Kainui. Up ahead he could see a big hill covered in scruffy autumn trees. Even from this angle he was pretty sure it was the same place he'd been that morning, but he was now on the other side of it. And just ahead, behind a big old trimmed hedge, were the tall pointy gables of a grand old brick house.
“Go slow here,” said Dad to Beau, “I think that's the Wentworth Manor.”
“Yes that’s it,” said Mum, “It's where the Environmental Arts Festival will be held.”
Randy saw Beau’s ears prick up. Anything with the word ‘art’ in it (except the word ‘fart’; he’d discovered) always got her interested.
“What festival’s that?” asked Dad in the front.
“Oh, it’s just suddenly popped up,” said Mum, “I saw a poster for it this morning. The ‘Environmental Arts Festival’, in two weeks time.”
“Environmental Arts Festival?” mused Dad, “Whatever’s that?”
“Blowed if I know, it’s the first I’d heard of it.”
By now the car had gone past the big fancy gateway and was coming to a country intersection. Beau stopped the car. They all peered at the signpost. Both arrows said the same thing; Kainui 3km. “Which way?” Beau asked.
“Errr,” said Dad, “right, I guess.”
She turned right. Almost at once they were assailed by a dreadful stench.
“Ugh! What’s that?” gasped Mum.
“Pig farm.” answered Dad knowingly. After all, he was a truck driver.
Sure enough, up ahead was a farm gate with muddy trails coming out onto the road. As they passed they all glanced in. There wasn’t much to see, just a muddy yard, a few low concrete buildings, some feed silos, and jutted up from behind it all was some sort of strange, and very new-looking, industrial installation. But what caught Randy’s eye was a flashy new sign on the cruddy old gate that said: UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT.
'Huh,' he thought 'new management, same old shit.'
They drove on. Soon the road took a big turn to the left and began going uphill beside those autumn trees. It was unmistakable; definitely the Journale Reserve.
“Ooo, how beautiful!” exclaimed Mum, “I didn’t know this was here!”
Randy glanced back, trying to get a better view of that installation out the back of the pig farm. It was like something in a sci-fi movie. What in the world could it possibly be?