Mostly Sunny with a Chance of Storms (15 page)

‘Here’s her leash, Sunny,’ said Kara. ‘Just leave her inside the gate when you get back. I’ll put her dinner out because I’ll be working late again tonight.’ Kara bent down and gave Sophia a rub. ‘You be a good girl now, won’t you?’ she said, and Sophia nodded her whole body in agreement.

When I got back to Windermere, Lyall and Saskia were already there with Banjo and Woolfie, and Willow was doing the Washing Machine interspersed with high-speed laps around the house. As I introduced Sophia, I caught a glimpse of Settimio peering out from his lounge-room window and disappearing again behind the curtain. I realised that the small amount of ground I’d made in getting him to like me had most likely been completely obliterated.

Once Willow had calmed down a little, we gathered all four dogs into a group at the front of the house and let them sniff each other to say hello. Luckily, there was tail wagging all round.

‘Okay,’ said Lyall, as if he was taking a PE class. ‘First we’re going to play Race Around the House, then we’ll see how they go with the dogstacle course.’

‘When can we start teaching them tricks?’ asked Saskia, holding Willow’s collar so that she didn’t set the dogs off too soon.

‘Later,’ said Lyall, which if you ask me was sibling talk for
never
.

‘I’ll run ahead and get the race going,’ I said. ‘Just give me a few seconds head start before you let them off their leashes!’

Lyall and Saskia had all four dogs in sitting position: big tall Woolfie with his old-man scratchy grey hair; Banjo,
all red and grey with his mischievous glinty eyes; Sophia, shiny smooth and black; and Willow, barely able to contain the excitement of having new friends.

I took off as fast as I could across the front garden.

‘Ready … Setty … SPAGHETTI!’ shouted Saskia behind me, and I presumed it was at the
spaghetti
part that she and Lyall let all four dogs run free. Within milliseconds Willow had outrun me, and Woolfie wasn’t far behind. The two of them disappeared out of sight down the side of the house. That’s when I glanced back and noticed Banjo, and how he wasn’t at all interested in chasing Willow and Woolfie. Nor was he interested in Sophia, who had darted off in exactly the opposite direction. What Banjo was absolutely and undeniably interested in … was me!

He started barking and barking and darting to and fro in front of me, trying to cut me off. ‘Shoo, Banjo!’ I yelled. ‘Go catch up with the others.’

He took one almighty lunge and nipped me square on my stripy-socked ankle. The pain, I tell you!
‘Ouuuuuuuch!’

Willow and Woolfie raced up behind me and ran past for another lap. Banjo didn’t even notice them. He didn’t take his eyes off me, but crouched low, ready to pounce again if I moved even a muscle.

‘Lyaaaaaaaalll!’ I hollered. ‘Saaaaaaaaaskiaaaaa! Will somebody get this dog AWAY from me! Willow!’

But it was no use. Lyall and Saskia had taken off after
Sophia and were already down by the dogstacle course. I figured that if I stayed statue-still, Banjo might get bored and run off to the join others.

But no, it seemed Banjo was willing to keep guarding me endlessly. I made myself so still that I could have qualified as a museum exhibit. ‘Shoo, Banjo!’ I said, without even moving my lips.

Then I noticed Settimio hobbling through the orchard on his crutches, holding his plastered leg away from the wet grass. You could actually
see
the cogs of Banjo’s mind ticking over, thinking he should round the both of us up into one cluster. He darted away from me over to Settimio and made a good solid lunge at Settimio’s ankle.

For an old guy, Settimio sure had good reflexes. He managed to whack Banjo right across the nose with the end of one of his crutches, making Banjo run off yelping.

‘
Cane stupido!
’ Settimio called out after him.

And I said, ‘Stupid dog!’ Just in case Banjo couldn’t understand Italian.

‘Thanks, Settimio,’ I said, bending down to inspect my ankle, which still hurt like anything and was even oozing blood.

‘Come with me, Sunday. You need alcohol spirit for disinfecting. I fix for you.’

Settimio’s cottage was toasty warm, and as he sat me down at the kitchen table I promised myself I wouldn’t spy
on him any more through Granny Carmelene’s telescope.

It seemed kind of strange: an old man on crutches with a bandaged nose patching up a kid with a hole in her ankle, and it occurred to me that I still didn’t know how Settimio had hurt himself in the first place. He was filling a small bowl with water and soaking a wad of cotton wool when I asked him.

‘I can’t tell you, Sunny. You might laugh at me.’

‘Really, Settimio, I wouldn’t laugh. That’d be rude,’ I said taking off my sock and rolling up my jeans a little. You could see one big Banjo tooth-hole with a bruise already forming around it.

‘Maybe I tell you another time,’ he said, dabbing the wound clean. ‘I’m sure your grandmother laughs, too. God bless her soul.’

And I was tempted to ask Settimio exactly where he thought she was laughing, but I managed to restrain myself in case my question resulted in tears. I wasn’t certain if those tears would be just mine either, nor whether Bruce and Terry could find me all the way out in Settimio’s cottage.

To be successful in completely changing the topic, I focused my attention on the stone mantle above his kitchen fireplace. There were all sorts of little ornaments up there, as well as a candle burning, a small arrangement of roses from the garden and a photo of Granny Carmelene.

‘Is how I honour her memory,’ he said. Then he upturned
a brown glass bottle onto a fresh wad of cotton wool and positioned himself on the chair next to mine.

‘This hurt a little bit maybe,’ he said as he dabbed it on my sore ankle.

He was right; it hurt.

But luckily I was distracted by the sound of Saskia screaming hysterically from down by the river.

I jumped up and looked out the window. It was Sophia. She was right in the middle of the river all right, dog paddling around in circles. Lyall and Saskia were kneeling on the jetty trying to encourage her to swim back to shore. Before I could even think about getting my shoes back on I saw Woolfie and Banjo jump in after her. The only sensible dog was Willow, who (understanding that her skinny greyhound legs would be totally naff at dog paddle) had positioned herself safely on the jetty, where she could bark along with the others.

‘Do something, Lyall!’ I heard Saskia shouting. ‘All our customers are going to drown!’

‘I’ve got to go, Settimio,’ I said. ‘Thanks so much for the rescue mission.’

‘Is okay, Sunny. But you should show your mother. You maybe need to visit doctor for injection.’

I smiled inwardly at the idea of actually volunteering information that might possibly lead to getting an injection. Was he for real?

‘Good idea, Settimio,’ I lied. ‘I’ll tell Mum as soon as she finishes work.’

By the time I got down to the river, Lyall and Saskia had all three dogs out of the water and back on their leashes.

‘Gee, guys,’ I said. ‘Thanks for all your concern.’ I showed them my ankle. ‘Banjo’s a delinquent; I vote he gets expelled from Boredom Control. And these are my favourite socks, too. Ruined!’

‘Ow, Sunny,’ said Saskia in empathy. ‘I had no idea you got bitten.’

‘Come on,’ said Lyall. ‘We’ve got to give him another chance. I’ll handle him better next time, I promise.’

Carl seemed to be in a super-good mood at dinner that night. He didn’t even notice that Saskia licked her knife with practically every mouthful, or that I fed most of my broccoli to Willow under the table.

‘So, Lyall,’ Mum said. ‘What did the Archers’ have to say about Banjo when you dropped him back. Did you happen to mention that he’d
bitten
Sunny?’ (I’d had to tell Mum about the bite, but luckily she hadn’t jumped on the injection idea.)

‘Sort of,’ said Lyall sheepishly.

Mum gave him an impatient glare. What exactly does
sort of
mean, Lyall? What did you
sort of
say?’

‘Just that Banjo was very
spirited,’
Lyall said, making a focused effort to avoid eye contact with absolutely everyone.

‘Spirited
?’ I shouted. ‘He’s
mental
, Lyall.’

‘Aw, come on, Sunny, it was our first day. I didn’t want to lose business. Banjo will settle down. We’ll do some obedience training.’

‘The whole thing was a disaster, Lyall. It’s all right for you, you didn’t get a hole in your ankle. Boredom
Control
? Give me a break; we had no control at all.’

‘And we didn’t even get to use the dogstacle course,’ said Saskia.

‘At least we got a new member for the environment group. When I dropped Woolfie back, Ritchie said he’d come for sure,’ said Lyall, trying desperately to find a positive angle.’

Mum and Carl both looked delighted.

‘Well done, Lyall,’ Mum said. ‘We really appreciate your help. Don’t we, Carl?’

‘I’m seriously thinking Boredom Control isn’t the business for me,’ I broke in. Entrepreneurs shouldn’t have to deal with dog bites. That’s what postmen are for.’

‘Richard Branson’s a billionaire entrepreneur,’ said Saskia, enthusiastically. ‘
And
he’s dyslexic.’

‘Care factor zero, Saskia,’ said Lyall. ‘Unless someone comes up with a better idea, we’re sticking with Boredom
Control. You can’t bail before we’ve even properly started. Can she, Dad?’ Lyall knew Carl would have to agree with him because he’s always banging on about commitment and
seeing things through
.

‘Lyall’s right,’ said Carl. ‘At least see it through as a good holiday job.’

Later in the evening, when were supposed to be in bed, Saskia and I snuck into Lyall’s room. He had the surveillance monitor set up on his desk and the screen was alight with a full view of the library. It was perfectly silent and black-and-white, like an old movie.

‘We’ll just sit and wait,’ said Lyall. ‘Like detectives.’

‘Who’s in charge of coffee and doughnuts?’ I asked as I picked up a book (
Slam
by Nick Hornby) that was next to Lyall’s bed. ‘When did you get this?’

‘Ritchie said I could borrow it,’ said Lyall. ‘He’s such a cool guy. When I dropped Woolfie home he showed me inside. He’s got a huge plasma and one of those fridges with an icemaker.’

‘You just don’t get it, do you, Lyall?’ I said. ‘The guy simply
can’t
be cool if he wears Crocs.
Cool Crocs
. It’s an oxymoron.’

‘I agree,’ said Saskia, sitting down beside me and leaning against Lyall’s bed. ‘What a moron!’

Lyall punched Saskia’s arm. ‘She said oxymoron, stupid.’

‘Ow! I don’t care what sort of moron he is.’

‘Anyway,’ said Lyall, ‘When did Kara Bleakly become an authority on what’s cool? So what if she doesn’t like Crocs. She’s just a hung-up kind of person.’

‘She is not hung-up,’ I said. ‘I think she’s just a little lonely.

‘Shh! said Saskia, still clutching her arm. ‘Look!’

There was movement on the monitor as Mum and Carl came into the library. Willow followed close behind and immediately lay down in front of the fire. Mum had a folded newspaper under her arm and sat down on one of the reading chairs.

‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘They’re going to do the crossword. They’ll be there for hours!’

‘Boring!’ said Lyall. ‘Dad’s even got his glasses on.’

‘I’d seriously rather watch washing dry,’ I said.

‘Or grass grow,’ piped in Saskia.

‘Or do Theodore Costa’s homework,’ I said.

‘Or go to confession,’ said Saskia.

‘As if an angel is going to appear in front of two middle-aged crossword junkies and a greyhound,’ said Lyall.

Mum had opened the paper out onto a small side table next to one of the reading chairs. Carl warmed himself by the fire for a moment before suddenly taking off his glasses. He stood right in front of Mum’s chair. She was madly scrawling a clue she’d obviously just cracked on
the crossword grid. It looked as though she hadn’t even finished the word when Carl grabbed the pen out of her hand.

We couldn’t hear what she said, but you could tell she was annoyed as. Carl held out his hand and took one of hers, pulling her up out of her chair. He led her over to the fireplace and nudged Willow out of the way with one foot. Then, still holding Mum’s hand, he reached into his pocket, as if he were looking for some small change. Out came a small box.