I sit up and look at her. ‘You don’t have to look at the sky. Look at the cake Ivy made.’

‘Take me back up to the house. I’m too scared to go alone,’ Esmeralda says.

I cross my legs like I’ve got all day. ‘You were really brave when you let the house go and just ran.’

‘Peony! You have to do what I say!’ Esmeralda says.

‘Nah,’ I say. ‘I think I’m going to sit here and eat this big ol’ picnic cake. If you don’t want any, I’ll eat the whole thing. I never had a cake like this before.’ I pull the cake over to me, and use the slicer to heft a big slice of it onto my plate.

Esmeralda is fuming hot beside me. Her lips are sucked in tight, like she’s trying to stop from yelling at me.

I pull the slice apart in the middle and shove it into my mouth. It’s sweet and fruity-fragrant and there’s silky cream in the middle, and super sweet icing on top. ‘Thith ith amathing!’ I say around the cake in my mouth.

‘You eat like a pig!’ Ez says. She sticks out her finger, scoops a hunk of cream out of the middle of the cake and wipes it on my nose.

‘Hey!’ I say, looking from the big dent in the cream on the perfect cake and the blob of white on my nose. ‘You can’t do that!’

‘I don’t have to do what you say!’ Ez says and digs her fingers into the edge of the cake, picks up a lump and holds it like she’s about to slam it into my face.

I jump up. ‘No! Ez, this is the best cake ever! Don’t waste it!’

Ez jumps up too and runs around the edge of the blanket with the cake in her hand. ‘Are you afraid of it?’ she asks, and she bites a hunk out of the middle of the cake. Cream rings her mouth. She licks her lips. ‘Want some?’ she says and shoves it at me.

‘No!’ I yell and run. She chases me, around and around the lawn, laughing like a kookaburra.

‘You’s crazy!’ I yell and run back to the house, coz that’s the only thing that’s going to make her stop.

She trips me before I get to the paving. I hit the grass and roll onto my back, and she crawls on top of me, shoving the cake at my face, and I can’t waste it, even if it’s too sweet, so I bite it and eat it as fast as a hungry dog, but she’s shoving it so hard it spreads out over my cheeks.

‘Eg, margh!’ I yell but I have to chew and swallow, and squirm my head back and forth to even breathe.

A clip-clopping sound stops my heart dead. Ez sits up. I look up at Mrs Pasquale, in her tall shoes, her pulled back hair, her stitched-on dress, her frown.

‘What!’ she yells, then takes a deep breath and makes her voice tight and quiet. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Thorry, Ma’am,’ I say and scramble out from under Ez.