Mostly Sunny with a Chance of Storms (12 page)

‘Yeah, hi, and this is my sister Saskia and this is my – um – kind of like stepsister, kind of like—’

‘I’m Sunny,’ I said holding out my hand. ‘As in Sunday.’

Kara Bleakly had one of those limp, wet-fish handshakes, but I didn’t have to endure it for too long because Sophia jumped up and almost knocked me over.

‘Down, Sophia,’ said Kara. ‘Sorry, you can see she’s got a lot of energy – most of which she puts towards digging holes, I’m afraid. Oh and over-eating, of course.’ Kara nodded at all the holes Sophia had dug in the garden, and that’s when she noticed Saskia’s shoes.

‘Oh dear, you’re wearing those unfortunate shoes. What are they called again? Crocs?’

Saskia blushed with embarrassment as we all looked down at her red socks and purple Crocs. There was an awful silence that seemed to last forever, until she said (in a tiny little Miss Mousy voice), ‘They’re actually
really
comfortable.’

‘I’m sorry, Saskia, that came out all wrong. They’re a perfect shoe for a child, it’s the adults who wear them I worry about. They really have taken over like the plague. Everywhere you look it’s Crocs, Crocs, Crocs. All year round. Why anyone would want to wear buckets on their feet is beyond me. They really do look ridiculous.’

‘How old is Sophia?’ I asked, trying to change the subject, but it didn’t really work because Kara Bleakly kept on and
on about Crocs, and then she bent down to our level and leant in like she was about to tell us a big secret, and before we knew it we were all in a huddle in Kara Bleakly’s bleak front garden, and she whispered, ‘Guess what?’

And we whispered back, ‘What?’

‘I wouldn’t date a man who wore Crocs if he were the last male specimen on this earth.’

For me, that was solid proof that Kara Bleakly didn’t have the first idea about what to say to children. You know, like those adults who have nothing to say to you other than
How’s school?

‘So,’ said Kara. ‘I’m working ridiculously long hours at the moment.’ Then she leant down once more and started talking in a hushed voice again, like she had
the
most incredible thing to say. We all leant in close, only to hear that all Kara Bleakly wanted to tell us was: ‘Whatever you do, don’t become a lawyer.’

‘I want to be an artist,’ said Saskia. ‘I’m even—’

‘Do you think you could manage Sophia for an hour a day?’ Kara asked. ‘I’ll give you a key to the gate and you can get her any time that suits.’

‘Sure,’ said Lyall.

The Archers had an Australian cattle dog (which Mum says is the wrong sort of dog to have in the city), a red heeler called Banjo.

‘He could run all day and it still wouldn’t be enough,’ said Mr Archer. ‘And we just don’t have the time any more, not since the twins came along.’

‘Does Banjo like to chase balls?’ I asked, thinking it might be a good way of wearing him out.

‘Sure does,’ said Mr Archer. ‘But he mostly likes to chase ankles.’

‘Oh,’ I said, wondering how exactly that might pan out.

‘Can he swim?’ asked Lyall.

‘Because we’ve got our own patch of river,’ said Saskia. ‘With a bend in it.’

‘Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out down there at Boredom Control headquarters,’ said Mr Archer. ‘How ’bout you take him for three sessions each week?’

‘Perfect,’ I said, shaking Mr Archer’s hand.

Next was Woolfie. He was an enormous shaggy Irish wolfhound belonging to Ritchie Draper, who was the first person we remembered to talk to about Mum and Carl’s sustainability group. He looked like a bit of a greenie, even if he did have a job thinking up ads for a living, which Carl says is a profession that abuses its power to manipulate the masses.

‘Mmm, sustainability action group, huh? Sounds like a top idea,’ said Ritchie. ‘You can count me in.’

Ritchie also signed Woolfie up for three sessions a week at Boredom Control.

‘Wow, with all three dogs that’s one hundred and ten dollars a week!’ said Lyall on the way home. ‘And I really like Ritchie; he seems cool.’

‘Lyall, we used to make more than that in just one day selling pizzas, remember?’ I said. ‘Our record night was one hundred and fifty dollars! Now we have to work
every day
, well with Sophia at least, and three days a week with the others, and all for less money.’

‘How much do we get each?’ asked Saskia.

Lyall took out his phone to use the calculator part.

‘It’s thirty-six dollars point six six six six six six seven cents, and I don’t care, Sunny – it’s not always about money.’

‘No,’ I said sarcastically. ‘Business isn’t about money; how could I be so silly?’

‘Advertising would be such a cool job,’ Lyall said, to avoid the harsh reality that pizzas made better business sense than dogs.

‘Did anyone notice what I noticed?’ I asked. ‘Ritchie’s not as cool as you might think, Lyall.’

‘Why?’

‘I saw a pair of Crocs. Bright tragic green ones, right there on Ritchie’s front verandah.

Auntie Guff was
over at Dad and Steph’s when I got there. She was cooking up a storm, as Dad would say, making loads of freezer meals for later. The whole house was steamed up with the smell of lamb-shank soup.

‘Sunny! Long time no see, Miss!’ Guff held her arms out wide and I gave her a hug, which always makes me want to sneeze on account of Guff’s frizzy hair that tickles your nose. Maybe it’s the frizz that’s stopping Guff from finding a boyfriend? I mean, it’d have to be an issue, wouldn’t it: a girlfriend with hair that made you sneeze?

‘Hi, Guff!’ I said, pulling back a little. ‘How long are you staying?’

‘It’s all a bit up in the air right now. I’m waiting for the go-ahead on a film shoot in South Africa. You know how
it goes, Sunny. They’ll probably call me in a panic the day before and I’ll have to drop everything and fly on over.’

Dad came out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

‘Still both asleep,’ he said in a hushed voice, but right when he said so Flora started crying. ‘Whoops, spoke too soon,’ he said, rolling his eyes.

A few minutes later Steph came out from the bedroom all bleary eyed (without Flora), and walked across the lounge room to the kitchen.

‘Oh, hi, Sunny,’ she said, rubbing her eyes, and kind of pushing past me to get to the sink. Flora was still crying from her cot in Dad and Steph’s room, but Steph was acting as if she hadn’t even noticed.

‘Shall I go pick her up?’ I asked, because apart from the sound of Flora crying being one of the most unbearable sounds on earth, I was absolutely dying to see her.

‘What? Oh, I guess so,’ said Steph blankly.

Flora stopped crying the moment I picked her up. I’m sure she remembered who I was, because babies (like dogs) have far better memories than people give them credit for. But she soon started squirming and grouching again, turning her little open birdie mouth towards me as though perhaps she thought I might feed her. I put the end of my little finger in her mouth because I’ve seen Dad do that and it can really help. Flora sucked it for a
moment, but it didn’t work for long. She a good look at me, realised for certain that I wasn’t Steph, arched her back and shifted her crying into second gear. I carried her over to Steph, who was on the couch flicking through channels on the TV.

‘I think she’s hungry,’ I said, getting ready to hand Flora over.

Steph sighed and heaved herself up as if she actually
resented
being the only one Flora really needed. She pulled a cushion in behind her and stacked some around her, including one for her lap. Then, without even looking up from the TV, she pulled up her shirt, undid her bra, reached out for Flora and plonked her on her breast.

As I watched I sure hoped that breast milk didn’t transmit emotions because Steph really had become one big moody-broody person in a permanent grump. With everyone. But the scariest part was the way Steph hardly seemed to
look
at Flora, or smile at her. I could feel in my intuition that this was just plain wrong, not to mention rude. I mean, I felt unwelcome and I’m old enough to kind of know it’s just because Steph isn’t getting much sleep. How’s Flora meant to work it out? It’s not as if Flora has any imaginary inventions to help her out when life becomes overwhelming, like a seat up in the sky where they treat you even better than before because you’ve been all upgraded …

They give you pyjamas in first class. And a whole package full of skin products, as well as those eye-mask things and a pair of socks. I put my pyjamas on straight away, even though it was still daytime. I felt instantly comforted about Steph, confident, even, that she’d snap out of her bad mood and realise how lucky she was to have her very own baby Flora.

The hostess appeared with a tray of steaming hot refresher towels piled up in scrolls. She noticed my clothing in a pile on the floor.

‘Would you like me to hang those up for you, Miss Hathaway?’ she said, handing me a towel with a pair of tongs.

‘Thank you,’ I said, tossing the hot towel from one hand to the other until it was cool enough to put over my face. Then I used it to clean both my hands.

The hostess held out a small plastic tray for me to dispose of the crumpled face washer.

‘Thanks so much,’ I said, and reached for the menu, feeling very excited about the upgrade. And that’s when it all went horribly wrong.

It was the food, I tell you. There was hardly
anything
that I liked. It was all so horribly …
adult
. It was an absolute and undeniable disaster!

See for yourself:

Tartlet of mushroom ragout with porcini

Yuck.

Chilled cauliflower soup with salmon roe

Cold Cauliflower! As if hot cauliflower isn’t bad enough – but with fish eggs? Please!

Leek and Roquefort soup with chervil

I’ve been craving those particular three ingredients. Not.

Prawn and celeriac remoulade

Maybe, if I was absolutely desperate I could eat the prawn part.

Signature steak sandwich with relish

Now we’re talking, depending on whose signature you get.

They’d even ruined the desserts:

Ginger cake

Ginger! Why not chocolate or banana?

Raspberry friand

At least it’s not a ginger friend.

Gypsy cream biscuits

Are they stolen?

Fresh whole fruit

As if I don’t have enough of that from Mum.

Chocolate coated vanilla ice-cream

Why didn’t you say so earlier?!!

I buzzed the hostess and ordered two serves of ice-cream.

‘That won’t be long, Sunday,’ she said.

‘Can I ask you just one more thing?’

‘Certainly,’ she said. ‘Anything at all.’

‘Any chance I could have my old seat back? No offence, but I was kind of fond of seat 44K.’

‘Sunny! Hel
lo
!’ said Auntie Guff, waving her hands across my eyes. ‘Anyone home? You’re miles away.’

‘I was,’ I said. ‘Sorry, I think I’m in need of a snack.’

‘How about some soup,’ asked Guff. ‘And I picked up some fresh bread too.’ She nodded towards a brown parcel on the bench, all wrapped up like a present.