Smooch & Rose (6 page)

11. Bulldozers

I woke up to the sound of Mickey whinnying. A high-pitched, terrified whinny. Over and over again. I raced outside in my pyjamas. He was galloping back and forth across his paddock, his nostrils wide. His tail was held high and his neck was arched. His body was slick with sweat. I vaulted off the verandah and ran to his fence.

‘Mickey!' I yelled. ‘Mickey!'

He stopped and swivelled in my direction, ears straining and nostrils quivering. Finally, his tail dropped and he cantered over to me. He nuzzled my outstretched palm for carrots, but when he realised I didn't have any, he took off. His tail streamed behind him as he galloped.

I scanned the strawberry patches first. What was he so upset about? Was he spooked by something flapping in the breeze? Like a piece of silver plastic broken free from under the strawberry plants and caught around a fence post? No. It had to be more than that. Mickey was going crazy. I turned to check the rest of the farm. That's when I saw it. I clamped my hands to my head. A huge orange bulldozer was winding its way towards the creek!

I didn't care about being in my pyjamas and started running. I ran through Mickey's paddock and ducked under the fence. My bare feet pounded the damp grass.

The bulldozer roared forwards through the trees. Saplings split and cracked against its hard metal blade. The air smelt of eucalyptus and diesel. I sprinted up to the huge machine and leapt up and down beside the cab. ‘Stop!' I yelled. ‘You have to stop!' The driver was so high above me he didn't see me at first. He was staring straight ahead as though knocking down trees was the most boring job on earth. I waved my arms frantically above my head. I yelled and jumped some more. ‘Stop! Slow down!'

Eventually, the driver saw me and slowed the bulldozer down. When it fully stopped, the window popped open and a yellow helmet appeared. The driver leant out and looked down at me with surprise. ‘What on earth . . . ?' he shouted above the roar of the engine.

‘You can't come through here. It's private property!' I shouted.

He turned the engine off and swung open the door. He pulled a pile of papers from the dashboard and flicked through them with thick, hairy hands. ‘Don't say that here, sweetheart,' he said. ‘Says it's the property of Hall and Young. Got orders to flatten the lot. All 'cept the house and yards. I'd stand clear if I was you.' He threw the papers down onto the seat beside him and reached to close the door.

‘No!' I screamed. But the driver shook his head and I tripped backwards as the bulldozer roared back to life. The caterpillar tyres rolled forwards and the enormous orange monster lurched towards the trees. My heart lurched with it. I had to do
something
!
Anything
!

There was only one thing to do. Before I could change my mind, I ran to Smooch's tallowwood tree. I hugged my arms around it, clasping the trunk like a sinking life raft in the ocean. I squeezed my eyes shut. The only way I could stop myself from running away was to imagine I was riding Mickey, high above the clouds. His chestnut coat glistened like the Melbourne Cup favourite Dad had hoped he would be. We flew in perfect silence, he and I, his mane drifting like silk behind us.

‘I said – MOVE!'

Mickey and I crashed to the ground. The driver was stomping across the dewy grass towards me. Now that the engine had stopped, I could hear Mickey, still whinnying in his paddock.

I held my breath. The driver was getting closer. What was he going to do to me? His arms were so strong and muscly. They looked more like legs than arms. They could crush a girl like me in seconds . . .

A strange sound came from high up in the tree. The driver stopped and looked up. The sound came again. A mixture of a pig's grunt and cow's bellow. With my arms still around the trunk, I tipped my head up too. A familiar grey shape sat high in the canopy of the tallowwood tree.

Smooch!

My heart swooped. He was alive! He was actually alive! Carol must have been right – he'd just gone walkabout and now here he was, as if nothing had happened!

I grinned. It was great to see him.

But his timing couldn't have been worse.

The driver started towards me again. He was close enough for me to smell his sweat. My stomach squirmed. I prepared for the worst. Suddenly, a loud voice shouted, ‘Don't take another step. If you lay a hand on my granddaughter . . .'

Gran was wearing her usual green overalls, the ones with strawberry stains down the front. She planted herself firmly between the driver and me. ‘You okay, Rosie?' she said from the corner of her mouth.

I nodded. She smelt like strawberries.

‘You'll have to move!' shouted the driver. ‘I ain't got time for games. I got wages to earn.' He flicked a broad hand at me as if I were a wasp buzzing around his head.

Gran squinted at the driver. Her lips thinned. ‘Bobby Dwyer?' she said. ‘Ginnie's youngest? I always wondered what became of you.'

Bobby let his hands fall from his hips. He pulled off his helmet and glanced nervously at the bulldozer and then back at Gran. ‘With all due respect, Mrs Nunn, we gotta job to do here. Can't you—?'

‘How's your mum doing, Bobby? She's up at the retirement village now, isn't she?' asked Gran.

Bobby shuffled in his big worn boots. He fiddled with his ear and kept his eyes down. He cradled his helmet in one arm like it was a round yellow baby. ‘Mrs Nunn, we've got orders. We have to—'

‘Be sure to say hello from me next time you visit her, won't you, Bobby?' said Gran, her voice all deep and growly.

Bobby swallowed. ‘Yep, yep, sure will.' His voice sounded kind of squeaky. He mumbled something I couldn't hear and then, with a scratch of his head, suggested he get Mr Young from the developer's office. ‘You know. Just to sort everythin' out.' He turned to leave. ‘Good luck to ya, Mrs Nunn.'

‘Yes, thank you, Bobby,' said Gran. ‘See you.' We watched him lumber back to his bulldozer and grab his keys before stomping off towards the road. I wished he'd taken the bulldozer. It towered like a huge metal predator over the broken trees.

‘Rosie love,' whispered Gran when he'd gone. ‘You can't stay here. You heard what Bobby said. They've been told to clear all the trees. It's too late, Rosie. It's going to happen.' She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. A fat hot tear rolled down my cheek.

‘But Gran, Smooch is back. They'll kill him if they knock down his trees,' I sobbed. ‘If I go, they'll bulldoze him.'

Gran shook her head. ‘I'm sorry, Rosie. You'll get hurt if you stay here. I know it's awful, but you're going to have to move.'

I opened my mouth to say no but I closed it again when I heard a horrible ear-splitting squeal. Someone was using a chainsaw!

‘They're coming from the other side of the creek!' I shouted. ‘Stay here. Guard Smooch!' I broke away from Gran and ran towards the sound. I weaved between the trees and shimmied across the log over the creek. Then I saw something that made my breath catch sharply in my throat.

A man with a helmet and a chainsaw stood at the base of a large gum tree. Beside him were two other men and a mulcher. They must have gotten through the fence between the new townhouses and our farm.

‘Stop!' I screamed. ‘Stop! There's a koala. These are
his
trees!'

It was useless shouting. The men were wearing earmuffs. I waved my arms around wildly, but I was too scared to get any closer. What if the tree they were sawing fell on top of me?

This wasn't supposed to happen. This was exactly what my petition was supposed to stop. Didn't Mrs Glover say they'd have to listen? I stood for a moment, clenching my fists, not sure what to do. Then I turned and sped back to Smooch's tree. Gran was still standing in front of it but she was talking to a man in a black suit. He had a briefcase in one hand and in the other, a smart black clipboard with the words ‘Hall and Young Development' plastered across the back.

‘Yes, Mr Young, I understand there wasn't a koala here when the council checked,' Gran was saying when I joined her. ‘But now there is.' She had to raise her voice to be heard over the chainsaws. She pointed up at Smooch nestled in his tallowwood tree. His big brown eyes were wide open and his mouth was slightly apart. He was panting in fear.

‘See? You can't knock it down while he's up there. You'll have to call a stop to the works while we sort this out.'

The chainsaws were getting closer. I felt sick.

Mr Young put down his briefcase. ‘All these trees will go eventually,' he said, waving his arm towards the creek. ‘What difference does it make? See this one?' He tapped his pen against the trunk of Smooch's tree. ‘It's in the middle of a proposed driveway.' He opened his folder and showed Gran some complicated drawings. I leant over to take a look. There were black lines covered with numbers and letters – none of it made any sense.

Gran shook her head and tutted. ‘But the driveway could easily have a few bends in it, Mr Young. Surely you can be flexible when . . .'

Then Gran did something incredible. More incredible than scaring off wild dogs. More incredible than standing up to angry bulldozer drivers. She used the words I'd told her from the websites. Words I'd thought she hadn't heard. Words like ‘endangered', ‘corridors' and ‘short-sighted'. Mr Young answered with different words. He said things like ‘budget', ‘timeframe' and ‘difficult'. All the while, the chainsaws shrieked. They were getting closer and closer. Soon, they'd be right here, right at Smooch's tree.

I sucked in a deep breath and grabbed on to the lower limbs of the tallowwood. I hauled myself up onto the first branch. And then onto the second. I edged upwards and upwards until I found a safe V between the trunk and a branch, just like Smooch. I could see him from where I sat, but couldn't quite reach him. ‘Smooch,' I called. ‘Smooch, it's okay! I'm here now. I won't let them hurt you.'

But Smooch wasn't listening. He was throwing his head in the air and squealing. And rocking forwards and backwards on his branch.

‘Smooch, don't! It'll be alright. I'm going to stop them. I promise.'

I filled my lungs and yelled in the direction of the chainsaws. ‘Stop! Stop cutting down the trees!'

Nothing happened.

I tried again. ‘Stop!'

Below me Gran and Mr Young kept talking. Over to my right, the chainsaws kept roaring. In the branch above me, Smooch squealed louder.

I cupped my hands around my mouth and screamed with all my might. ‘STOP! RIGHT NOW!'

Still nothing. My right foot was getting a cramp. Ants were running up and down the trunk. My voice hurt from shouting. The chainsaws were getting closer . . .

One more time.

‘I said STOP!'

Gran swung around. Mr Young leapt sideways. Their heads jerked upwards towards me. Gran's arms flew in the air. They both raced to the foot of the tree. Their mouths moved. Mr Young punched numbers into his phone.

The chainsaws stopped.

12. The City

‘Rosie! Come on, love. They've gone now. It's time to get down.' Gran stood beside the tree trunk, not daring to take her eyes off me. Mr Young had gone. The chainsaws had gone. Only Gran was left. She begged and pleaded and even tried shouting a few times. But I still wouldn't come down.

And then Uncle Malcolm arrived. He paced up and down beside Gran, muttering loudly and shaking his head. Glimpses of his green and yellow shorts flashed as he walked. Gran must have called him in the middle of his golf game. Such bright stripy shorts would normally have looked funny, but nothing was very funny today.

‘Rosie, I promise you. Uncle Malcolm will make the developers stop. We'll get this whole koala thing sorted out. There's no need for you to guard that tree anymore. Now come on, love. Down you get.'

I didn't move. Adults always say stuff they don't mean when they want you to do something. How did I know the men with the chainsaws had stopped for good? They were probably just having smoko. Any minute now the roaring could start again.

‘Rosie, now that's enough, love,' pleaded Gran. ‘Come down and I'll make us some sandwiches. There's a girl.'

I still didn't move. Uncle Malcolm was probably over-the-top mad because I'd held up the developers. Mad because I'd made the bulldozers stop when it was him who'd sold the land to them in the first place. Who knew what he'd do if I got down from Smooch's tree.

‘Rose, do what your grandmother says! Get down from that tree! This minute!'

So I was right. Uncle Malcolm
was
mad. I was definitely not getting down now.

Smooch was still rocking back and forth on his branch and looked ready to move away. What if he decided to find another tree to hide in? I couldn't spend the rest of my life following him around, protecting every tree he climbed. But I couldn't leave him here either. What should I do? I looked down at Gran. She was still waiting below me, her face growing more anxious by the minute. Uncle Malcolm was crouched beside her, making call after call on his phone. The ground suddenly seemed a long way down. I suddenly seemed a long way up. Why was Gran's face going wavy and in and out of focus? I clasped my branch more firmly and made myself count to 100.

‘Ro-ose? Ro-ose? Are you there?' The bushes along the creek began swaying and snapping, like someone was trying to get through. They needn't have bothered. The bulldozer had left a thick ugly scar from the road – they could have easily followed that. Whoever it was, I could hear them talking and calling and arguing all the way, and I craned my neck to have a look. They didn't sound like chainsawers at least. Eventually, five brightly dressed ladies untangled themselves from the vines and creepers and headed towards Smooch's tree.

‘Rose! Can you hear me?' Carol sounded out of breath. She and four other women crowded around the base of the tree and stared worriedly up at me. ‘We've done up a roster. Me and the other carers. We'll watch over the creek. At least until we can get some guarantees from the developers about the trees. You can come down and go with your gran. Leave it to us, okay?'

‘But what if they come back?' I called out, trying not to sound hysterical. ‘They could clear the lot by tomorrow.'

‘Don't worry,' Carol insisted. ‘Take a look at us. No-one will sneak past us in a hurry. We promise we'll keep Smooch safe. Now come on, I think your uncle wants to talk to you.'

I looked at Smooch and then at Carol. She'd been right about everything else so far, and she loved Smooch just as much as I did. Well, nearly as much as me. I knew for sure she wouldn't let anyone hurt him.

‘Be brave,' I whispered to Smooch before slithering down the tree. I stood with my head bowed in front of Uncle Malcolm and Gran, waiting for the worst. But there was no worst. Instead Gran took my hand and said gently, ‘It's nice to have you back, Rosie.'

At the house I changed out of my pyjamas and met Gran in the kitchen for lunch. ‘What does Uncle Malcolm want to talk to me about?' I asked once we'd sat down to eat some sandwiches. Uncle Malcolm was out on the verandah, pacing up and down with his phone pressed to his ear. But Gran wouldn't tell me a thing. It was hopeless trying to interpret her eyeball swivels and wiggly eyebrows. I would just have to wait.

I could hardly sit still until Uncle Malcolm finally came inside. ‘Rose, I need you to come with me,' he said, leaning over to give Gran a goodbye kiss. ‘I'm taking you to the city. I need to show you something.'

I looked desperately at Gran. She couldn't be serious? Who knew what Uncle Malcolm would do to keep me away from the bulldozers?

I dug my elbows into the table. There was no way I would go. But Gran's face went all crumply. ‘Go on,' she said. ‘He just wants to help, you'll see.'

I had to go. For Gran.

‘You'll be alright, love,' she added as I slid into the passenger seat of Uncle Malcolm's fancy sports car.

As soon as I was buckled up, Uncle Malcolm drove off. He kept his eyes on the road and drove and drove. I tried not to sniffle. I swiped my nose every now and then as I watched the enormous skyscrapers grow closer and closer. I'd only been to the city twice and both times had been scary. But driving there with Uncle Malcolm today was the scariest of all. So much glass and steel and so many peaks of all different shapes and sizes. My head swirled seeing all those buildings towering so high.

Eventually, we exited the freeway and wound around the skinny side streets between the buildings. We only stopped when we came to a massive house with three roller doors and a wide paved driveway.

‘Here we are,' Uncle Malcolm said, turning off the engine.

It looked pretty nice for a house so close to the skyscrapers. Two enormous black dogs sprung towards us when we got out. Black curly hair flopped over their faces, hiding their eyes but not their long pink lolling tongues. Their tails turned into helicopter blades when they saw Uncle Malcolm – wagging around and around in circles as they bounded excitedly about. Uncle Malcolm rubbed his hand absently over the back of the dog with the pink collar. The one with the blue collar sat on my foot. I gave his head a pat. How come Uncle Malcolm had dogs? Wasn't he allergic to . . .

‘That's George and this here is Mildred. They're totally harmless, just a little bouncy. Now, come inside, I want to show you something.'

Uncle Malcolm walked on ahead and I dragged my feet after him. I hardly dared to think what he wanted to show me. He stopped at the front door to take off his yellow and red lace-up golf shoes. Once I'd taken off my shoes, he opened the door and motioned me inside. I followed him in silence, wishing Lizzie were with me to make me brave. The whole house was white. All the walls were white. All the floors were white. All the chairs were white. Every­thing was white except the plump red cushions propped neatly on the couches.

Finally, Uncle Malcolm led me into the kitchen. He pushed a grey cat off one of the kitchen stools and pointed for me to sit down. Another cat eyed me suspiciously from the windowsill. Both of them had enormous pointy ears – ears almost twice the size you'd expect a cat to have. I could hardly believe it. First dogs, now cats? I wondered what other animals Uncle Malcolm might have stashed in the backyard.

Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was spotless. The benchtop was almost as big as Gran's double bed and was so clean it glimmered like a sheet of polished ice. There was nothing on it except for a shiny metal bowl filled with plastic oranges. I wondered why they were plastic ones, not real ones. Perhaps Uncle Malcolm was allergic to fruit too.

He pulled up a stool and sat down beside me. ‘So, you see now, there's no need to go hiding up trees. You and Gran will be perfectly comfortable here. There's plenty of room for the two of you, and I'm positive you'll like it more than you think. I've got wireless internet and Foxtel and I . . .'

So this was his way of tricking me? Making me think he was nice, that his house was nice, so I'd agree to move to the city with him? Well, he was wrong. I knew better than to fall for that. I was considering demanding he drive me home when the grey cat sprung onto my lap and let me stroke his warm head. He was the same colour as Smooch and just as soft. What was happening to Smooch while I sat here? What if he was already dead? My throat tightened. Before I could stop it, a huge sob escaped my lips.

‘What is it? Tell me what's wrong.'

I didn't want to tell Uncle Malcolm. Someone like him would never understand. But then the cat on my lap tipped its head up and licked away my leaking tears with its small scratchy tongue. The way Lizzie used to lick them. My lips trembled. Lizzie was gone. Mum was gone. And Dad was gone too.

What if Smooch was next?

I ended up telling Uncle Malcolm the whole story. Surprisingly, he listened quietly without interrupting, although he got up a couple of times to pass me tissues.

‘I see,' he said when I'd finished. He poured us both a drink of water and handed me a sparkling crystal glass. ‘You're right. All that tree clearing has become quite a problem in places like Cleveland and Wellington Point. They're so beautiful that everyone wants to live there, but after all those new houses are built, they're not beautiful anymore.'

I nodded and blew my nose.

‘Okay, well, here's what we're going to do,' Uncle Malcolm said briskly. ‘Mr Bantex, the mayor of the Bay district, and I were playing golf this morning when your gran called me. We were about to tee off from the eighth hole . . .' He cleared his throat and scratched the top of his forehead. He frowned. ‘You made your gran very worried, you know.'

I squirmed in my seat. I hadn't meant to worry Gran. She had enough problems to deal with.

‘Anyway, after what you've just told me, I think it might be worth giving him a call. Perhaps I could arrange for the two of you to meet?'

I put down the plastic orange I'd been fiddling with. I didn't know what was more astonishing: Uncle Malcolm knowing the Mayor of Redland Bay, or me possibly meeting him.

‘It sounds like you've got a whole swag of ideas about how we could save your koala,' Uncle Malcolm said. ‘Why don't we see if Mayor Bantex can help you with them? He's a good man, I'm sure he would listen. What do you think? Rose?'

I opened my mouth but no words came out.

‘Perhaps you could even give a short presentation about your proposals. We could ask a representative from Hall and Young Development to come along and one or two of the councillors. Perhaps even your local State Member. What do you think?'

A presentation! Proposals! I couldn't possibly give a presentation. ‘But I'm useless at public speaking,' I squeaked. ‘What will I say?'

‘Well, for one, you can't just front up and tell the mayor, the councillors and the developers that they can't have progress. You'll need to show them how it can be done to suit everyone: you, the developers and your koala. You need to offer alternatives. We should arrange this as soon as possible. Before any more damage can be done. What about Friday? That gives you two days to prepare.'

‘Friday?' I nearly shouted. My head went all woozy. I couldn't speak to the mayor on Friday! I needed more time. ‘But I thought you hated animals.'

Uncle Malcolm looked shocked. ‘Whatever gave you that idea? Of course I don't hate animals. I'm allergic to most of them, that's all. George and
Mildred are giant poodles – strictly hypo-allergenic
. And the cats are hairless sphynxs. So you see, animals suit me just fine. I mean, I'm not offering to cuddle your smelly little koala or anything and you're certainly not bringing him here. I just don't want you hiding in trees and worrying your grandmother half to death. After all the stress the sale has caused her, the least I can do is help. Besides, your dad loved that creek. So . . . what do you think?'

I hardly had time to worry about Smooch for the rest of the week. Uncle Malcolm and I were too busy preparing my speech. He came over every afternoon after work and helped me make a ton of phone calls. We spoke to everyone we could think of who might give us some ideas for Smooch's creek. We googled ‘safe koala development' on Uncle Malcolm's laptop and found a place in New South Wales where they'd built a new housing estate without destroying koala trees. They sent us copies of their newsletters and spoke to us about the things that worked in their development, and the things that didn't. There were more ideas on the koala websites I'd found and Uncle Malcolm even lent me his expensive camera to take photos of Smooch to add to the presentation.

By Friday, my speech was ready. All I had to do was make sure I didn't muck it up.