Mostly Sunny with a Chance of Storms (9 page)

‘Just start without me,’ said Steph, with Flora almost
dozing over her shoulder. ‘She’s got a sixth sense for meal times. The minute the food’s on the table …’

‘No no no,’ said Dad. ‘I want us all to have dinner together. She’s almost there – look, she can hardly keep her eyes open. Want to try putting her down?’

Steph gently peeled Flora from her shoulder and laid her in the pram. Then she started rocking it. Flora’s eyes shot open and her face winced up as though she was about to cry, but then she suddenly relaxed and drifted off to sleep. Dad wheeled the pram over to his seat, so that he could keep it rocking while we had dinner.

‘I haven’t even had time to have a shower today,’ sighed Steph as she sat down. ‘Anyhow, hardly very interesting. How’s things in the outside world, Sunny? Are you all settled in at Carmelene’s?’

‘Pretty much. Although being there makes it impossible not to feel sad sometimes. And seriously, I seem to be the only one who misses Granny Carmelene because I’m the only one who really knew her. Recently, I mean. Willow’s made herself a racetrack right around the house, and we’re even thinking of starting up our own neighbourhood doggie entertainment business. It was kind of Lyall’s idea, which is a major worry because he’s going to think he’s the boss and I can tell you right now …’

I noticed a tear rolling down Steph’s face, and she was biting into her bottom lip, trying to stop it from wobbling.
I felt awful. It must have been something I said that made her so upset, but I couldn’t think what. I mean, I thought Steph
liked
dogs. I looked over to Dad, hoping he could do something to fix it, because, let’s face it, Steph is kind of more his project than anyone else’s.

‘Sorry, Sunny, it’s not you … it’s just …
everything
,’ Steph said, pushing her food around her plate. ‘I’ll be right. Just never imagined life could whittle down to wanting a night’s sleep more than winning the lottery.’

‘Have your dinner, love,’ said Dad, still rocking Flora in the pram. ‘And a nice bath. Sunny and I will take care of everything out here, won’t we, Sunny?’

‘Sure will,’ I said, hoping like anything that Steph wouldn’t break out into a full-blown blub. That’d mean seeing two adults cry in the same day. Don’t they know that kids simply can’t handle seeing them cry? They’re
meant
to be setting an example. So, just in case, I was out of there. Especially as I’d been upgraded to first class.

‘Have you had a chance to peruse the menu, Miss Hathaway?’ the hostess said.

‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘I’m still looking at all the in-flight movies.’

Because it was
holidays, I stayed at Dad and Steph’s till halfway through Monday. I didn’t sleep too well, though, because I could hear Steph up with Flora in the night, and at one stage Steph even had the TV on, which is right outside my bedroom door. I think she’d just plain forgotten I was there. Then, right when I was deeply asleep, Dad came in to say goodbye and woke me up
again.

‘Sorry, Sunny,’ he said, ‘but I won’t see you all week. ‘You be a big help to Steph today, now won’t you?’

‘Sure, Dad,’ I said propping myself up on my elbows to give him a sleepy kiss goodbye. ‘I’ll try.’

But the problem was, I didn’t really know
how
to be a big help to Steph. I wasn’t even sure that she wanted me there, or
what
she wanted any more, for that matter.
I wasn’t even sure that she wanted Flora. Still, I got up straight away, thinking I could offer to make some toast, and a cup of tea. I was good at that.

Steph was setting the baby bath up on the kitchen bench. ‘Morning, Sunny,’ she said. ‘Want to help me bath Flora?’

‘Sure,’ I said, looking about to see where Flora actually was.

‘She’s in our bed. You can go get her if you like.’

Flora was awake, looking at a flickering shaft of light that was shifting about as the curtain waved. She looked so tiny all by herself in Dad and Steph’s big bed.

‘Hey Flora Galora!’ I whispered, making sure I didn’t give her a fright. Flora looked over to me, gave a huge gummy smile and kicked one leg frantically, as though it didn’t actually belong to her body. ‘Hello, Button, it’s bath time.’

Flora kicked both legs and flapped her arms. It was a definite advantage in communicating with babies that I was already so good at communicating with dogs. Plus, I’d not only done a lot of research into Reverse Psychology, but also a lot of research into babies. I slid my arms gently underneath her, making sure I had her head well-supported, because babies’ necks take a while to strengthen up. I rested her carefully over one shoulder. She smelt a little sour-milky and I noticed a wet patch on
the sheets where she had been lying.

‘It’s a good thing you’re having a bath, Flora,’ I said, on my way out to the kitchen. ‘Can I make you some toast, Steph?’ I asked, handing Flora over. ‘Maybe a cup of tea?’

‘Oh dear, she’s wet through,’ said Steph, lying Flora on a towel and peeling off her sleep suit.

Steph didn’t answer me, so I thought I’d just go ahead and make tea anyway. While Steph was bathing Flora I toasted and buttered some fruit bread too. Soon Flora was all swaddled up in a big fluffy towel.

‘If you hold her for me, Sunny, I can get a load of washing on and change our bed.’ She passed Flora over as though Flora was a bag of shopping, and didn’t even notice the toast. Flora looked slightly bewildered.

‘It’s okay, Flora, it’s just me again.’

‘She’ll be squawking for another feed soon,’ said Steph, turning her back. There was something about the way Steph handled Flora that gave me mild throat ache. It was as if Flora was a big chore, rather than a cherished little person. I don’t know what Steph was expecting when she wanted to have a baby, but she sure made it seem obvious that Flora wasn’t ‘it’.

I tried to be a
big help
to Steph as much as I could, but once she and Flora had both fallen asleep on the couch there wasn’t much else I could think of to do. The dishwasher was empty, the kitchen was clean and the
washing all done, so I called Dad and he said to leave a note to Steph and catch the bus back to Mum’s before it got too peak-hourish. I slipped quietly out the back door, feeling a whole lot lighter just being out of Dad and Steph’s house.

Being on the bus made me think of Finn and his stripy scarf again, and how he surely must have finished it because he probably wasn’t allowed to watch TV, and how I didn’t even know if he had brothers and sisters. I thought about Finn the whole way home, which I kind of found disturbing because my brain seemed to be on
autopilot
. It just seemed to want to wonder about the world of Finn, and notice how I liked all kinds of things about him, like the clothes he wore and how they weren’t the sort of clothes that made him look like he was wearing a uniform like everyone else.

I could see Willow’s snout squashed under our gate when I walked towards the house. She must have smelt me coming. At least I hoped she had, because I sure wouldn’t like to think she’d spent the whole day with her nose squished under the gate like that – it was undignified.

‘Willow!’ I said as I opened the gate. ‘Hello, girl. I’m home, and it’s holidays!’ She was crouching down on her back legs like a wind-up toy, ready to spring into action. I could tell she was trying her best not to jump up on me because ever since Mum went feral at her for tearing her
favourite silk-velvet stockings, Willow’s been clawing at people’s legs far less. ‘Come on, girl!’ I said, dropping my backpack near the gate. ‘I’ll race you!’

Willow sprung off like a kangaroo, because if there’s one thing that greyhounds are extra good at, it’s acceleration. She had me outrun in milliseconds, did one super speedy racehorse lap of the house (checking behind her the whole way to make sure I was still in the race), and then broke into the Washing Machine, whirling around and around on the spot, which was a clear indication that her dog-joy levels were so high they literally sent her into a spin. There is nothing that makes Willow happier than when I do the Washing Machine too. I had a quick look around to make sure there was nobody about, because even though
They
say you should love like you’ve never been hurt before, and dance like nobody is watching, I’m still embarrassed even thinking about the older kids who saw me doing the Washing Machine with Willow at Elwood beach. Especially as I thought I’d made absolutely sure I was alone. Who would have thought to check if there was anyone watching from boats?

Willow barked at me as if to say,
Come on, Sunny, we haven’t done the Washing Machine for ages and what is the point of having all this room and all this green spongy lawn if we can’t do the Washing Machine any old time we like?

Willow and I were in the full swing (or spin) when
the front door opened and Mum appeared on the porch, seeing one of her clients out.

‘Oh, Sunday, you’re home,’ Mum said. ‘You look just like a whirling dervish.’ And both she and the client had a little giggle at my expense.

I gave Mum
the eyebrow
. Nothing brings the Washing Machine to a clunking halt quite like discovering your mum and some possibly lactose-intolerant client are looking on. Even Willow looked embarrassed and pretended she had suddenly found something fascinating to sniff in the garden.

Afterwards in the kitchen, Mum handed me a letter while I was gulping down a glass of water. ‘Lovely envelope,’ she said.

It was from Finn. I could tell by the Steiner rainbow on the back.

‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ she asked. ‘Might be an invitation.’

‘I’ll check it out later,’ I said, remembering my lesson in nonchalance from Reverse Psychology. Let’s face it, the last person you want to have around when opening a letter from an official pre-crush, maybe actual crush, is your mum. I put the letter in the back pocket of my jeans.

‘How’s it going with Steph and the baby?’ Mum asked.

‘Flora is sooo cute,’ I said. ‘But Steph’s a bit weirded out.’

‘Well I hope you’re being helpful when you’re around there,’ she said. ‘And not leaving all your things all over the house.’

‘Oh don’t worry, Mum,’ I said. I couldn’t wait any longer to open Finn’s letter. ‘I’m a
big
help,’ I called over my shoulder as I ran upstairs to the turret.

‘Sunny, come back here!’ shouted Mum. ‘I need you to run an errand for me.’

‘I’ll be down in a minute!’ I yelled back, knowing I only had a small window before the precookeds got home. I closed the turret door behind me, took the envelope out of my pocket, carefully unstuck the pointy part and unfolded the letter. Finn had drawn colours over the whole page and then written really neatly over the top. So I was super-impressed, even before I’d read what he had to say:

Weird!
I thought to myself. But kind of cool. Could he be serious about the pigeon post though?

‘Sunday!’ Mum called from downstairs. I put the letter in my bedside drawer and went back down to the kitchen. Mum was looking through a Thai recipe book, which I must say worried me slightly. Last time Mum made a Thai curry she used so much chilli that even Carl couldn’t stomach it. It was around the time when Mum was still acting all girly and Carl was still doing a lot of fake enthusiasm about her cooking.

‘I’d like you to run an errand for Settimio. He needs a few things at the chemist.’

‘Do I get paid?’ I asked, looking over her shoulder. ‘And why do I have to do it? What about Lyall and Saskia?’

‘They can do it next time. Besides, they’re not home yet.’

‘So, do I?’ I repeated.

‘Do you what?’ asked Mum.

‘Get paid?’

‘No, Sunny. It’s called
helping,
and maybe one day, when you’re an old lady, and unfortunate enough to have a broken leg and a broken nose, there might be people around to help you too.’

‘What’s for dinner?’ I asked.

‘Thai fish cakes,’ Mum said, and she gave me a fifty-dollar note and a list of things to pick up for Settimio. ‘And no junk food, Sunny.’