Dedication
To Nanna, Veronika Gervay,
who will never get old in our hearts.
Contents
Cover
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
About the Author
Other Books by Susanne Gervay
Copyright
Chapter 1
Fungus
Grunt, groan. ‘It’s coming.’ Mum’s face is radish-red. Her blonde hair is exploding into a fuzz ball. ‘Stuck, stuck,’ she yelps, then she starts rocking from side to side. Mum’s daisy skirt swirls around her. Finally she sputters. ‘It’s nearly here.’
My sister Samantha crouches in front of Mum. ‘Do you need help?’
‘No, thank you, darling.’ Mum shakes her head. She hasn’t done this for a long time. Mum puffs and huffs, then puts her hands under her skirt. ‘Wow … one … no …’ laughing, ‘I think there are two.’
Samantha inspects excitedly. ‘Oh, they’re perfect.’ Mum smiles as Samantha dances around the coffee table, bumping into the side of it. She knocks down some of the photo frames on it.
I shout at her, ‘Hey, don’t wreck the table.’ I made that coffee table for Mum. Even though it has one wobbly leg, it is an excellent table. Everyone says that, even Nanna. Samantha is really irritating. She is jumping up and down like a milkshake shaker. I can see the froth coming out of her head. No, no, it’s only sherbet. Dizzy and fizzy. Ha, ha.
I stand up the photographs. ‘Mum ONLY laid eggs, Samantha. Perfect? As if.’ My sister is an exaggerator.
‘They ARE perfect. And anyway, no one else’s Mum can lay eggs.’
I think about that one. It is true. I don’t know of one other mother who can do that. For a long time, I didn’t know that it was just a game. I am twelve now, and too old to believe that Mum can lay eggs. Still, I pretend to believe. It makes Mum and Samantha happy.
Mum is giggling. ‘I haven’t done that for a while.’ She flounces into the kitchen with Samantha running behind her. ‘How do you want them? Scrambled or sunny side up?’
Samantha hates the drippy, gooey yolk, so she always asks for scrambled. Mum knows that.
‘Sunny side up for me,’ I call out.
It’s the best breakfast today. This Saturday, Rob, our sort-of-step-dad, is working at the spare car parts warehouse. So it is Mum, Samantha and me. Just the three of us. I think that is why Mum laid eggs this morning. She hasn’t done it for ages. Mum is usually too busy with her new job as a library assistant. This morning she actually slept in. She hardly ever does that.
‘So how is your school assignment going, Samantha?’
Oh no, that is so boring. I give Mum a doggy woof. She laughs, then I start to explain all about my A-plus assignment on mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. The first aid course is the only good thing we’ve done at school this year.
‘You can tell me all about your first aid course after Samantha.’
After? What’s wrong with Mum? Samantha sticks her tongue out at me. I just know she will go on and on about her dog project. She is insane about dogs. Samantha even sleeps with Floppy, who is a huge, brown and white, stuffed, FLAT dog. How many FLAT dogs do you know? NONE. I’ve told her that lots of times. ‘Floppy is a stupid FLAT dog. Flat tail, flat body, flat head. Dumb, dumb, dumb.’ When I called Floppy ‘dumb’ last week, Samantha threw her lunch box at me. Since her lunch box had a left-over rotten banana in it, it was a disgusting thing to do. But I kept the banana. I am using it in my new fungus experiment. It has white mould growing up one side and green slime at the top. I think that’s where Samantha took a bite.
Samantha has posters of dogs all over her walls. She really wants a puppy, but no one is allowed to have dogs in our block of units. She loves Dalmatians and has made her own spotty dog drawing. Actually, Samantha is a very good drawer. She has a specially signed Selby the Talking Dog poster, signed by Selby with an original paw print. She emails Selby the Talking Dog on a regular basis. Selby is her best friend. Can you believe that?
My best friend is Anna, who is twelve like me. She lives next door, above her parents’ fruitology market. I know Mum likes Anna, because Mum laid an egg for her. She has never done that in front of any of my other friends, or even Rob or Nanna. Mum says laying an egg is very private.
Samantha’s brown eyes flash as she describes every minute detail of her dog project to Mum. Paw prints, bones, dog tails. She has actually stuck dog tails (not real ones) along the border. There is a spotty cotton-bud tail for a Dalmatian, a stubby pencil for a fox terrier, a black wool tail for the killer guard dog. Then I see it. Fuzz tail. Ha, ha. Fuzz tail. It is soft and blonde and fluffy. My brain gets into gear. This is a tactical opportunity to divert Mum’s attention away from Samantha’s project.
‘Hey Mum, your hair is stuck next to the fox terrier.’
‘What?’ Mum rubs her fuzzy blonde hair, checking for snags. Parts of her hair are always fluffed into curly knots.
I pretend to be serious and stare at Samantha’s dog project. ‘Sorry. Mistake. I thought that was your head, Mum.’ Swallowing a laugh, I point to the poodle’s tail glued into the corner of Samantha’s project.
Mum is laughing. ‘At least my hair isn’t spiky like yours, Jack.’ She pushes Samantha’s project to the side of the table. ‘I’ll look at the rest of your work later,’ she tells her. Samantha starts to complain, but stops when Mum says, ‘Nanna will be here after lunch. She’ll love looking at it with all of us.’
That is true. Nanna loves anything we do.
Mum flattens her exploding hair. Samantha squeezes Mum’s hand.
‘I have a few things to talk to you about.’ Mum gives a crooked smile, so it can’t be too serious. ‘Firstly, about Nanna.’
I flip the poodle tail into a twist. Samantha tries to hit my hand. ‘Missed.’ Ha, ha.
‘Don’t, Jack.’ Mum’s voice is soft. ‘Nanna needs more help.’ She looks at Samantha, then me.
‘I’ll help her,’ Samantha pipes in. Honestly, she is such a crawler. I’ll help Nanna too, but I don’t say it. Mum just knows that I will. Mum hugs Samantha.
‘It’s school holidays next week.’ Yes, yes, excellent! ‘I’ve been thinking about a trip away. It’ll give us all time to work things out with Nanna and our family.’ Nanna? Family? What is Mum talking about? Holidays. We always go to Port Macquarie and stay at Mum’s friend’s holiday house. Surf and ice cream. I love it there. ‘It’s going to be our first family holiday with everyone.’ Mum hesitates. ‘Rob is coming. And there’s …’
Samantha doesn’t let Mum finish. ‘I love Rob.’
That is so soppy. Nearly vomit-producing. I stick my finger in my mouth and pretend to throw up. Rob, Rob, Rob. He moved in a few months ago FULL-TIME. Mum asked us if it was okay. But there was no choice. I had to say ‘yes’ even though there is NO room in our unit. Rob hardly fits into Mum’s bedroom, so he had to put a lot of his stuff in the garage. It’s lucky we have a garage. Straightaway Rob put a photo of his son Leo on my wobbly coffee table. I don’t know why Rob sticks Leo in our faces all the time now. Before he moved in full-time he didn’t. It’s annoying.
‘Mum, can I take Floppy on holidays?’
What is Samantha going on about? Floppy? She doesn’t understand anything. This is about Rob, not a dumb flat stuffed dog. Samantha doesn’t realise the BIG problem of Rob in Mum’s bed all
the time. She doesn’t mind right now, but she will. There won’t be any night when she can get into Mum’s bed. Mum used to leave her door open on non-Rob days, so that Samantha and I could come in any time, especially when we needed something important. Now Samantha has to knock on Mum’s door and Mum says ‘come in’, but I’ve never heard Rob say that.
I don’t knock on Mum’s door any more. Well, I never really did before. I’d just run into her room. Sometimes I would hit the door as I crashed past it. Mum never minded, even when she was asleep. Now, I have to make a loud stamping sound and when Mum hears me coming, she calls out, ‘Is that you, Jack?’
Mum says Rob is our step-dad, but they don’t wear wedding rings. Rob was married once before. That’s where Leo comes from. Rob never used to talk about Leo. Maybe because Leo doesn’t live in Sydney. Hey, I just remembered. Leo lives in Port Macquarie.
Samantha is STILL hugging Floppy. ‘Wish I had a puppy.’ She looks at Mum with big doggy eyes.
I think Samantha loves Rob because he pretends to be a dog. Before she goes to bed, he woofs at her door and scrambles around her room on his hands and knees. He does look like a dog when he’s wagging his bum and sticking out his tongue. Rob nuzzles Samantha’s arms and she rubs his short spiky hair. (Rob and I have the same haircut.) ‘Woof, woof.’ He tickles her. Mum laughs in the doorway. I pretend to be a dog too, but Rob isn’t interested. He doesn’t want me there and neither does Samantha. Rob is the dog and they both ignore me.
‘You’ll love where we’re going.’
I look suspiciously at Mum. ‘Is it Port Macquarie?’
‘We’re staying there overnight, on the way up. Rob wants to see Leo.’ Mum crinkles her daisy skirt in her hands. ‘We all do.’
A funny feeling flushes through me. I am not sure about this Leo. I don’t even know him. Why is Rob changing everything?
‘We’re going somewhere else these holidays.’
‘Where, where, where?’ Samantha squeaks. She always squeaks when she is excited.
Mum makes us guess. Samantha guesses everywhere from the Snowy Mountains to the desert to the Barrier Reef. ‘No. No. No.’ Mum smiles, shaking her head.
Samantha isn’t chubby, but her cheeks are. They are going red, which means she is thinking, really thinking.
I can’t take it. ‘Tell us, Mum. Just tell us.’
‘I’ll give you hints.’ Mum enjoys torturing us with long-drawn-out clues. ‘A marine biologist would like staying there.’ ‘It’s warm.’ ‘You’ll need swimming costumes.’ ‘There’s fishing there.’ ‘Surfing.’
‘A beach,’ Samantha and I call out together.
Mum laughs. ‘You’re right, but not just any beach.’ She pauses for dramatic tension. ‘We’re going to the Gold Coast!’
Samantha jumps around like a cocker spaniel, all drippy and waggy. Wow, theme parks, water slides, surfing. This is the best, best, best. Mum’s face glows like a sunflower. What a great breakfast. We ask Mum lots and lots of questions until she is laughing. Then I have a great thought. My fungus will grow really well in hot weather.
‘Mum, can I take my fungus?’
‘No!’ Samantha and Mum shout together.
Chapter 2
Jack’s Spitting Toast
I can’t wait to tell Anna about our holidays. Anna. Suddenly, I get this idea. Anna on holidays with us. Maybe Mum will let her come to the Gold Coast. It would be fantastic. I stuff my last piece of toast into my mouth and blurt out, ‘Hey, Mum.’ There is a splattering explosion as bits of toast catapult across the table. It’s because of the gap in my front teeth. Mum says my teeth will grow together one day, but not today. I’ve got a gap.
Samantha jumps up, crashing her chair to the floor. ‘Disgusting, Jack.’ Her pigtails are bobbing around like ducks’ bums on a pond. ‘Mum, Mum, Jack’s spitting toast.’
‘Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean it.’ I point to my gappy front teeth. Samantha screws up her nose in disgust, but I can see she believes me. I start wiping away the toasty bits from the table.
Mum shakes her head and continues squeezing orange juice with Rob’s super juicer. Well, it’s not that super. It is hard yellow plastic with a spout and a squisher knob that you turn the orange on. Mum gives a huge thump to the orange and accidentally propels a pip into Samantha’s head.
‘Hey, watch out,’ Samantha squeaks.
Poor Samantha. Looks like she is in for a rotten day. I shove Mum. ‘Move over.’ I grab the squisher. I am not bad at making orange juice. Not too many pips and lumpy bits. But to be honest, Rob is better at it than me.
‘Thank you, Jack.’ Mum is smiling. That is a good sign. Mum takes a glass of orange juice and I start talking about the Gold Coast. Mum’s eyes light up, and in between mouthfuls of juice she blurts out how happy Nanna is about the holiday. Nanna. I forgot Nanna. There are only five seats in the car and Nanna has got wobblier and rounder lately. It’s all the chocolate chip cookies she keeps eating, but you can’t stop Nanna when there are cookies around.
Nanna. She’ll hardly squash in between Samantha and me in the back seat of Mum’s old car. Anna won’t fit. Puss wanders past, then rubs her back against my leg. I tickle under her chin. Puss purrs. Puss. Wow, Puss — you’ve given me a great idea. Nanna won’t mind if we leave her at home to mind Puss. Someone has to do it. Puss and Nanna. They’ll like being together. The Napolis will keep an eye on Nanna as well, so Mum won’t have to worry. This is all working out.
I follow Mum into the kitchen and start telling her that Nanna would love to stay home. Oh no, my coffee table. I trip on its wobbly leg and land on my knees, staring at a photo of Nanna. Her face is a huge smile under a yellow straw sun hat. She is standing beside Grandad’s grave. Suddenly this sinking, rotten feeling forms a lump in the bottom of my stomach. Nanna misses Grandad a lot. I rub my head. She would miss us too if we went on holidays. No. Nanna wouldn’t like to stay home, even with Puss. I finish my orange juice. I can’t ask about Anna.
Breakfast over. Mum bounds out of her chair and heads for the kitchen sink. ‘What about the dishes?’ she sings.
‘Dishes?’ I moan. ‘Dishes? Sure, sure Mum.’ I take two plates and slide them into the sink.
Holidays. I will buy something terrific for Anna from the Gold Coast. She will like that. I start to exit the kitchen. Well, nearly. Samantha is clutching my T-shirt with her two grubby fists. I am dragged to a grinding halt. ‘Hey, get your paws off my shirt.’ Get it? Paws. Dogs. I am thinking of being a stand-up comic when I leave school. ‘Let go of my shirt.’
‘What about the rest of the dishes on the table? You NEVER clear the table or ever wash up.’ Samantha stamps her foot.
‘I do. Anyway, that’s why Rob is here. It’s his job.’
‘It’s not his job,’ Mum puts her hands on her hips.
‘He is a great dish washer, Mum. Maybe even the best dish washer in the world.’ Mum loves it when I tell her that Rob is a great person. It is so obvious that Mum wants him to be our dad. Samantha always says that Rob is her Dad. It’s dumb. We have never had a dad before and we don’t need one now.
‘Rob does make the glasses sparkle.’ Mum gets this dog-eared smile across her face. (See? I am a great comedian, even when I’m not in the mood. I have to think of more dog jokes.)
‘But Rob isn’t here to wash up.’ Samantha stands with her arms crossed. ‘And Jack left a disgusting plate covered in tomato sauce in MY bedroom. It smelt awful.’
Mum’s blonde fuzz is frizzling. Lately she has been getting a bit wacky about tidiness. She has been nagging me about my room. How can she expect me to keep fungus and living organisms in neat rows? Also, I can’t see the point of emptying my waste paper basket every day. That is why I have two waste paper baskets and a cardboard box next to them for the overflow. I think Mum is trying to impress Rob, which is very unfair, since I was here first.
Rob is a tidy freak, except when he leaves his shoes in the lounge room. Mum gets so mad when he does that. But most
ly he is a tidy freak, which is one of the dumb things about him. He irons his shirts for hours and thinks my school shirts and even my T-shirts should be ironed. Mum NEVER irons. We have always been the crushed kids and I like it that way. Rob says that I am old enough to iron my own shirts. As if that’s right. Rob even irons his handkerchiefs. Now, how stupid is that?
‘Jack, you have to clean up after yourself.’
I feel my prickly short hair stand up like a porcupine. ‘But I do, Mum.’
Mum takes a daisy from the vase on the table. She puts it behind her ear. Flowers bring peace according to Mum. Peace is Mum’s favourite topic. Samantha says she loves flowers too. She always copies Mum. I don’t. I’m grafting a daisy onto a tomato vine at the moment. I could be the creator of an edible daisy. That would be something.
Mum runs the sponge over the last dirty plate. ‘Done.’ She looks at me in this Mum-disappointed way. It’s like watching a poppy wilt. I hate that look, and I DO help with the dishes. (Sometimes.)
‘I’ll clear the table next time,’ I mumble.
Samantha hugs Mum. ‘I really liked my egg.’ Mum takes the daisy from behind her ear and fixes it into Samantha’s hair. Samantha heads for the window. ‘Nanna should be here soon.’ Nanna always comes over on Saturday morning. Samantha presses her nose against the pane, waiting until she sees her. Quickly, she pushes the window up and shouts out of the window, ‘Nanna. Nanna.’ I don’t know why Samantha is shouting. Nanna can’t hear, even though Nanna thinks she can. I rush over to see what’s happening.
Nanna is outside the Napolis’ Super Delicioso Fruitologist Market. She is leaning on her black walking stick. The doctor told her that she has to use it. Nanna pretends to forget to take it when she goes out, but I know it’s a lie. She just doesn’t want to.
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