By the time Dad picked us up for dinner I had a whole speech prepared one that could be delivered in the time it would take for Clementine to go the bathroom at the Chinese restaurant. Fortunately, the toilets at the Wing Ho were way out the back. I’d have loads of time.
‘How’s your tree project going, Alberta?’ Dad asked in the car.
‘It’s not a project, Dad. It’s a campaign.’
‘Haven’t you heard? Alberta’s an eco-activist now,’ Clementine said smugly. ‘She even tweets.’
‘Well someone has to do something,’ I said, ‘when none of the adults seem to care.’
‘Oh, don’t be like that, love.’
‘They’re going to cut down Mikki’s Memory Tree,’ Clementine said. ‘And the rest of the pine forest too.’
‘Clementine, can you stop!’ I said. ‘I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself.’
‘They’re making a TV series out of Mum’s book,’ Clementine said.
‘Clementine!’ I scolded. ‘Mum asked us not to tell anyone!’
‘She did not!’ Clementine yelled. ‘And Dad’s not just anyone!’
‘Clementine,’ Dad said, ‘how ’bout you tell me what you’ve been up to?’
I couldn’t help jumping in. ‘No, let me tell you … mmm, let’s see … this week Clementine covered a hundred library books and spent a grand total of three million hours on her pogo stick. Oh, I forgot to mention the stilts. Add another two mill—’
‘Shut up, Alberta! It’s better than trying to talk to a tree!’
‘Is it though?’ I asked. ‘Is it really?’
Dad pulled up out the front of the Wing Ho. Usually at this time of year you couldn’t get in. But now it was almost empty. Just the red glow of ceiling lanterns above rows and rows of vacant tables.
‘Now, girls,’ Dad said. ‘I hope you’re not going to keep this bickering up once we’re inside?’
The waiter offered us a window table but Dad said he’d prefer the one down the back, in the corner, near the fish tank, I guess to hide from any gossipy locals. It suited me fine, though, I wasn’t in the mood for bumping into anyone either. Not to mention the spectacle of Clementine using chopsticks, no matter how many times she’s been told they weren’t designed as a stabbing implement. We hadn’t even sat down yet when Clementine wanted to order. Dad made a just slow it down a little gesture with both hands, like he was pushing down a helium balloon. ‘Let’s just all take it easy, huh?’
‘Fine!’ said Clementine. She started spinning the lazy Susan around, to see how fast it could go before the bottle of Kikkoman soy sauce flew off.
‘How old are you, three?’ I mocked. ‘Can you stop? The waiter’s coming.’
After we’d ordered, Dad said he had something important to say. The first thing I imagined was that he and Ursula Hoffman were getting married, or worse – having a baby. Can you imagine? Dad cleared his throat.
‘What I want to say to you both … ’ he began. ‘I want you know that what’s happened between your mother and I … none of it is your fault.’
‘Dad!’ I scoffed.
‘Yeah, Dad,’ said Clementine. ‘Mum already told us that every little bit of what’s happened is all your fault.’
Dad looked shocked. ‘Your mother said that? Oh, okay then … I’d just read that sometimes children can feel responsible for—’
I couldn’t help laughing. ‘Dad, you’re the one who ran off with—’
‘Please, Alberta! I hardly ran off—’
‘Mum threw him out remember?’ Clementine shrieked.
‘Shh!’ Dad urged, looking over his shoulder. Then Clementine leaned in close.
‘Remember the clothes all over the lawn, Bertie?’ she whispered.
I could see the waiter approaching with our food.
‘Shut up now, Clementine!’ I whispered back.
‘You two, please!’ Dad said. ‘Look, maybe we’ll talk after our meal?’
‘Here we are,’ the waiter said. He put two plates onto the lazy Susan. ‘Lemon chicken and special fried rice for you. I’ll be straight back with your Mongolian beef.’
Clementine spun the lazy Susan so that the lemon chicken was directly in front of her. Then she started spooning food into her bowl like she hadn’t eaten in ten years. Dad gave her stern eyes.
‘We’re sharing, Clementine,’ he said. ‘Understand?’
Clementine filled her bowl then went quiet. It wasn’t because Dad had told her off. She was just hoping Dad and I would busy ourselves talking so that she could shovel extra spoonfuls into her bowl without us noticing. Share plates with Clementine around was never a good idea. When the waiter returned with our Mongolian beef I asked for a fork. I was definitely at a competitive disadvantage with chopsticks.
Tammy’s Tips
#14 proper use of a lazy susan
When eating at a table with a lazy Susan, always check if anyone is taking food from a dish before you spin it around to yourself. When it’s your turn, always spin it clockwise, and try to keep the serving dish on the lazy Susan when serving food into your own bowl, even if that means moving your bowl closer.
Dad was staring into his bowl with watery eyes. Was this how it would be from now on, meeting up in restaurants to argue? Was Dad about to cry? Everyone knows kids can’t handle it if their parent cries.
‘Dad? Are you okay?’ I asked.
Dad cleared his throat. ‘Look,’ he sniffed. ‘You’re not the only one fighting for something here, Alberta. If you know what I mean?’
The problem was I didn’t know what Dad meant. Not one bit. I gave him a confused look. Clementine spun the lazy Susan again, piling Mongolian beef on top of her lemon chicken.
‘What I mean is …’ Dad said. ‘You’re trying to save your … what’s it called …?’
‘Memory Tree!’ Clementine said with her mouth stuffed full. ‘And I’ve seen the videos you and … who is it … Mikey?’ ‘Mikki!’ Clementine shrieked.
‘I can see you’re really fighting to save something,’ he said. ‘And don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great.’
‘It won’t work,’ said Clementine. ‘As if anyone’s going to listen to Alberta!’ It took all the restraint I could muster not to punch her in the arm.
‘Would you just let Dad finish, Clementine?’
‘What I’m saying,’ Dad continued, ‘is that I’m fighting for something too, okay?’
‘Okay …’ I said, still a little confused.
‘I made a mistake. With Ursula. I don’t know how it happened. Your mother’s been so absorbed with her book this past year … it hasn’t been easy.’
‘Tell me about it!’ said Clementine, wiping her face with her napkin.
‘But I’m hoping she’ll give me a second chance. I just want you two to know that.’
Clementine laughed. ‘As if Mum’s going to give you a second chance while the whole town’s talking about you and that Ursula Hoffman!’ With that I did actually punch Clementine in the arm.
‘Ouch!’ she complained.
‘Nothing is more important to me than you three,’ Dad continued.
‘What about Sascha?’ Clementine argued. ‘Or is Renaldo your new best friend too now?’
‘Of course not, Clementine!’ Dad said.
‘How could you trade Sascha for a blind chihuahua, Dad!’ Clementine taunted.
‘Wait,’ I said. ‘I don’t get it. Does this mean you’re coming back, Dad?’
Clementine’s eyes lit up. ‘Are you, Dad? Are you?’
‘Look, I’m not perfect,’ Dad continued. ‘Parents aren’t perfect. I know you kids think they are but—’
Clementine started laughing uncontrollably.
‘Do you want another punch, Clementine?’ I taunted.
‘Parents are just people,’ Dad said. ‘People who make mistakes, people who lose their way. Your mum has every right to be angry. She should have been able to enjoy her success without … I’m just hoping that one day she can find it in her heart to forgive me.’
Finally, Clementine went to the bathroom and I could talk to Dad alone, even if he was almost crying.
‘Dad,’ I said. ‘I did some reading and what Mum’s been doing … it’s called “nonsensical shoplifting”, and it’s an actual thing. She needs to get help, Dad. I read that some people shoplift as a way of dealing with stress and loss. I’m worried sick about it, Dad. People know, and if they went to the police—’
‘Alberta! She’s not going—’
‘I can’t tell you how many lipstick testers I found stashed in the back of the bathroom cabinet, Dad. Like … ew! Testers!’
I felt tears welling up in my eyes too. ‘Oh, great,’ I said, looking over my shoulder. ‘Here comes Clementine.’
Dad squeezed my leg under the table. ‘Try not to worry, love,’ he said reassuringly. ‘But I agree, your mum needs help. As soon as she starts taking my calls … I’ll talk to her, I promise.’
Clementine sat back down at the table, wiping her wet hands on the legs of her jeans. She scanned the lazy Susan for anything still worth eating.
‘Can we get fried ice cream?’ she asked.