I can’t wait to tell Anna about our holidays. Anna. Suddenly, I get this idea. Anna on holidays with us. Maybe Mum will let her come to the Gold Coast. It would be fantastic. I stuff my last piece of toast into my mouth and blurt out, ‘Hey, Mum.’ There is a splattering explosion as bits of toast catapult across the table. It’s because of the gap in my front teeth. Mum says my teeth will grow together one day, but not today. I’ve got a gap.
Samantha jumps up, crashing her chair to the floor. ‘Disgusting, Jack.’ Her pigtails are bobbing around like ducks’ bums on a pond. ‘Mum, Mum, Jack’s spitting toast.’
‘Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean it.’ I point to my gappy front teeth. Samantha screws up her nose in disgust, but I can see she believes me. I start wiping away the toasty bits from the table.
Mum shakes her head and continues squeezing orange juice with Rob’s super juicer. Well, it’s not that super. It is hard yellow plastic with a spout and a squisher knob that you turn the orange on. Mum gives a huge thump to the orange and accidentally propels a pip into Samantha’s head.
‘Hey, watch out,’ Samantha squeaks.
Poor Samantha. Looks like she is in for a rotten day. I shove Mum. ‘Move over.’ I grab the squisher. I am not bad at making orange juice. Not too many pips and lumpy bits. But to be honest, Rob is better at it than me.
‘Thank you, Jack.’ Mum is smiling. That is a good sign. Mum takes a glass of orange juice and I start talking about the Gold Coast. Mum’s eyes light up, and in between mouthfuls of juice she blurts out how happy Nanna is about the holiday. Nanna. I forgot Nanna. There are only five seats in the car and Nanna has got wobblier and rounder lately. It’s all the chocolate chip cookies she keeps eating, but you can’t stop Nanna when there are cookies around.
Nanna. She’ll hardly squash in between Samantha and me in the back seat of Mum’s old car. Anna won’t fit. Puss wanders past, then rubs her back against my leg. I tickle under her chin. Puss purrs. Puss. Wow, Puss — you’ve given me a great idea. Nanna won’t mind if we leave her at home to mind Puss. Someone has to do it. Puss and Nanna. They’ll like being together. The Napolis will keep an eye on Nanna as well, so Mum won’t have to worry. This is all working out.
I follow Mum into the kitchen and start telling her that Nanna would love to stay home. Oh no, my coffee table. I trip on its wobbly leg and land on my knees, staring at a photo of Nanna. Her face is a huge smile under a yellow straw sun hat. She is standing beside Grandad’s grave. Suddenly this sinking, rotten feeling forms a lump in the bottom of my stomach. Nanna misses Grandad a lot. I rub my head. She would miss us too if we went on holidays. No. Nanna wouldn’t like to stay home, even with Puss. I finish my orange juice. I can’t ask about Anna.
Breakfast over. Mum bounds out of her chair and heads for the kitchen sink. ‘What about the dishes?’ she sings.
‘Dishes?’ I moan. ‘Dishes? Sure, sure Mum.’ I take two plates and slide them into the sink.
Holidays. I will buy something terrific for Anna from the Gold Coast. She will like that. I start to exit the kitchen. Well, nearly. Samantha is clutching my T-shirt with her two grubby fists. I am dragged to a grinding halt. ‘Hey, get your paws off my shirt.’ Get it? Paws. Dogs. I am thinking of being a stand-up comic when I leave school. ‘Let go of my shirt.’
‘What about the rest of the dishes on the table? You NEVER clear the table or ever wash up.’ Samantha stamps her foot.
‘I do. Anyway, that’s why Rob is here. It’s his job.’
‘It’s not his job,’ Mum puts her hands on her hips.
‘He is a great dish washer, Mum. Maybe even the best dish washer in the world.’ Mum loves it when I tell her that Rob is a great person. It is so obvious that Mum wants him to be our dad. Samantha always says that Rob is her Dad. It’s dumb. We have never had a dad before and we don’t need one now.
‘Rob does make the glasses sparkle.’ Mum gets this dog-eared smile across her face. (See? I am a great comedian, even when I’m not in the mood. I have to think of more dog jokes.)
‘But Rob isn’t here to wash up.’ Samantha stands with her arms crossed. ‘And Jack left a disgusting plate covered in tomato sauce in MY bedroom. It smelt awful.’
Mum’s blonde fuzz is frizzling. Lately she has been getting a bit wacky about tidiness. She has been nagging me about my room. How can she expect me to keep fungus and living organisms in neat rows? Also, I can’t see the point of emptying my waste paper basket every day. That is why I have two waste paper baskets and a cardboard box next to them for the overflow. I think Mum is trying to impress Rob, which is very unfair, since I was here first.
Rob is a tidy freak, except when he leaves his shoes in the lounge room. Mum gets so mad when he does that. But mostly he is a tidy freak, which is one of the dumb things about him. He irons his shirts for hours and thinks my school shirts and even my T-shirts should be ironed. Mum NEVER irons. We have always been the crushed kids and I like it that way. Rob says that I am old enough to iron my own shirts. As if that’s right. Rob even irons his handkerchiefs. Now, how stupid is that?
‘Jack, you have to clean up after yourself.’
I feel my prickly short hair stand up like a porcupine. ‘But I do, Mum.’
Mum takes a daisy from the vase on the table. She puts it behind her ear. Flowers bring peace according to Mum. Peace is Mum’s favourite topic. Samantha says she loves flowers too. She always copies Mum. I don’t. I’m grafting a daisy onto a tomato vine at the moment. I could be the creator of an edible daisy. That would be something.
Mum runs the sponge over the last dirty plate. ‘Done.’ She looks at me in this Mum-disappointed way. It’s like watching a poppy wilt. I hate that look, and I DO help with the dishes. (Sometimes.)
‘I’ll clear the table next time,’ I mumble.
Samantha hugs Mum. ‘I really liked my egg.’ Mum takes the daisy from behind her ear and fixes it into Samantha’s hair. Samantha heads for the window. ‘Nanna should be here soon.’ Nanna always comes over on Saturday morning. Samantha presses her nose against the pane, waiting until she sees her. Quickly, she pushes the window up and shouts out of the window, ‘Nanna. Nanna.’ I don’t know why Samantha is shouting. Nanna can’t hear, even though Nanna thinks she can. I rush over to see what’s happening.
Nanna is outside the Napolis’ Super Delicioso Fruitologist Market. She is leaning on her black walking stick. The doctor told her that she has to use it. Nanna pretends to forget to take it when she goes out, but I know it’s a lie. She just doesn’t want to.
Mr Napoli wanders out of his fruitologist market rubbing a red apple. When he sees Nanna, he starts singing very loudly in Italian. I can just hear him. ‘Buon giorno, bella Nonna.’ That means ‘Good morning, beautiful Grandma.’ Mr Napoli is like that. I wonder if all Italians sing. Must ask Anna. Mr Napoli always compliments Nanna on her hair. Nanna loves that. She goes every week to the hairdresser, so that her hair is a hard puffed ball. No one else is allowed to touch her hair in case they mess it up.
Mr Napoli hands Nanna the red apple, which she puts into her bag. She’ll probably give it to Mum. Nanna can’t eat apples any more. Too tricky, with her false teeth. She has had two teeth missing and a big crack in her front tooth ever since her teeth fell out and slid under the kitchen table. Mum wants her to fix the crack, but Nanna doesn’t. ‘Now, if you could give me my old teeth back, then I’d get them fixed.’ Nanna misses her real teeth. She is always telling us to brush ours, ‘otherwise they’ll drop out and you won’t be able to eat hard caramels’. Nanna would love to eat hard caramels.
‘Going to help Nanna come upstairs,’ I shout to Mum as I race through the lounge room. ‘Come on, Samantha. Stop mucking around.’ Samantha gives me a smudgy look, then dashes through the front door just before I slam it shut.
‘Don’t slam the door,’ Mum calls out. Too late.
I race to the fifth step, then do a mighty leap. Success. Second floor landing. Another mighty leap. First floor landing. ‘Seven steps in one go. A record!’ I yell out to Samantha to move.
‘I’ll get to the bottom before you,’ she laughs. I can’t jump because Samantha is in the way. I run down the steps after her, but she is fast and sneaky. ‘Beat you.’ She giggles and sticks out her tongue.
I chase her down the driveway and past our block of units, and grab her right in front of the Napolis’ Super Delicioso Fruitologist Market. ‘Got you.’ This is a great tickle opportunity. It ‘drives Samantha crazy.
‘Stop, stop. I give up … ha, ha … no tickling … ha, ha.’
Anna bounds out from inside the fruitologist market and tries to grab my arm. ‘Stop tickling her, Jack.’ But I’m too fast and she is not strong enough to keep hold. I tickle and tickle Samantha until she begs for mercy and promises to take my dishes to the kitchen sink every breakfast.
Mr Napoli pats Nanna’s arm. His eyes crinkle into a smile. ‘You know how boys are.’
Nanna doesn’t have a chance to answer because Anna butts in. ‘Papa, that is so unfair. It’s not boys. It’s Jack.’ She stamps her foot. ‘You’re sexist.’
Mr Napoli’s moustache quivers. ‘Sexist, is this?’
‘Yes, Papa.’ His moustache is still quivering. Anna stamps her foot again. Her long curly black hair springs down her back as she tosses a look at me.
Anna has amazing licorice twirl hair. She doesn’t like it because she thinks it’s messy and too curly. I don’t think that at all. I watch her dark eyes cannonball at her father until he puts his arms around her. Then her eyes soften into chocolate drops.
‘We’re going to the Gold Coast for holidays,’ I tell Mr Napoli and Anna.
‘You’ll have so much fun.’ Anna’s chocolate eyes shine.
Anna is like that. She is really happy for us. We spend ages talking about the theme parks and water slides. Suddenly a gurgling burp pops inside me. Hunger. This is no time to talk. I pat my stomach. ‘Mum always cooks something good on Saturdays.’ I look at Mr Napoli. ‘Can Anna come over? We can check out Mum’s cooking.’
‘You’ve just eaten, Jack,’ Samantha pipes in. What would she know?
‘A boy has to eat.’ Mr Napoli smiles at Anna. ‘A girl too. See, I am not this sexist. Just go and have a good time, Anna.’
Anna and I walk ahead. ‘I wish you could come on holidays with us, but there’s not enough room in the car.’
‘That’s sweet of you to think of me, Jack.’
‘That’s okay.’ I feel my face getting hot. ‘We’re staying at Port Macquarie on the way up.’ I scratch my ear thinking. ‘Leo lives there. We’re going to see him. Why do you think Rob didn’t talk about him before?’
‘Maybe Rob wanted to be part of your family first.’ Anna speaks seriously.
‘Wonder what Leo is like.’
‘He’ll be nice.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Rob is his dad, so he has to be.’
‘I guess.’ I get this choking feeling inside. My father has never even phoned me.
We stop to let Samantha and Nanna catch up. Samantha is holding Nanna’s sore hand. It’s the arthritis. But her hands weren’t always like that. Nanna used to be a great sewer. I suddenly smile. When I was three, she made me a Superman shirt with a red cape. I’d whizz around thinking I could fly. Ha, ha, Flying Jack. Nanna doesn’t sew any more.
Nanna arrives at last, then stops. ‘I’ve bought something special for you.’
Oh, this looks interesting. Nanna is definitely the world’s best bargain hunter and specials buyer. I like it when she buys cherries and doughnuts. The trouble is that she really, truly likes buying socks and underpants. Lots of them, especially if they are cheap.
‘What do you think I’ve bought?’
‘Cookies.’ Samantha gives a know-all grin.
‘Chocolate chip cookies.’ Nanna smiles at Anna. ‘I bought an extra one just for you, Anna. And there’s something else.’ Nanna passes Samantha her walking stick and digs deep inside her bag. There is an excited smile on her face. She has found it. Her green eyes twinkle. ‘I am so lucky. Your old ones must be worn out by now. I’ve been into the shop every week for months to see if they have a sale of them.’
Oh, no. Nanna radiates happiness as she holds them up. Right in the middle of the street. One, two, three, four giant-sized pairs of bright fluorescent purple underpants.
Anna and Samantha are laughing. I look up at our third floor window. Mum is watching and swirling around so that her hair is flying into a tizz. Then I see something horrible. The window is wide open. The sunlight pours into it. Everyone can see. Mum’s head disappears from view for a second, then it’s back, then it disappears, then it’s back … her hands clap above her head, her feet propel into star jumps.
‘Mum, don’t.’ I glance nervously around. I hope no one I know sees her. I hope it is not hereditary.
Nanna looks up happily at Mum doing star jumps and waves the purple underpants like a flag.