Mostly Sunny with a Chance of Storms

by Marion Roberts

  ‘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.

  15.

  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! Hello!’ 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.

  ‘And a cup of tea?’ said Dad, looking up from the paper. ‘Be a love, Sunny, and put the kettle on, would you? We’ll make a pot.’

  I filled the kettle at the tap while remembering I’d been saving up my angel questions for Guff. ‘That reminds me, Guff,’ I said. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask – do you think angels are a way dead people communicate with the people left behind?’

  Guff looked a little shocked. I guess she’d just been thinking about soup all afternoon.

  ‘Lordy, Sunny! I presume you’re talking about your grandmother?’ she said, passing me a bowl of steaming-hot soup. ‘You must miss her, huh?’ She unwrapped the bread and cut me off a big fresh slice. ‘Butter?’

  ‘Yes please. Do you believe in angels, Guff?’ I asked. ‘I mean, it’s fine not to, it’s just that I saw one the other day, and I thought maybe it was Granny Carmelene trying to give me a message or something.’

  Guff shot Dad an anxious look as he peered up momentarily from the paper. It was as if each was hoping the other one would come up with the answer. I dipped my bread in the soup and took a bite.

  ‘Mmm, delicious,’ I said.

  Dad had suddenly busied himself making tea, probably so that he didn’t have to get involved in a conversation about spirits and angels. Then he started humming to himself, which is Dad’s version of having a Do Not Disturb sign on his forehead. He also made extra loud clunking noises with the crockery.

  ‘Sorry, Guff,’ I said. ‘It’s just that you’ve got those angel cards and all. I thought you might have inside information.’

  ‘Gosh, okay, um, I have heard of angel-sightings, Sunny, but I’ve not actually seen one myself.’

  ‘Do you think it’s possible to see an angel on a surveillance monitor? I mean, you know how vampires don’t show up in mirrors or on film? Is it the same with angels do you think?’

  ‘I honestly couldn’t tell you, Sunny,’ said Guff. ‘Guff?’ I said, sensing it might be time to change the topic.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Why is your name Guff?’

  ‘Hasn’t your dad told you?’ she said, chuckling (probably with relief). Even Dad stopped humming and clunking. ‘Like many nicknames it came about because when I was small I couldn’t say my name properly.’

  ‘How do you get Guff out of Justine?’

  ‘I used to say Guffgeen, apparently. I don’t know, I was probably only two years old at the time, but the Guff part stuck.’

  ‘Do they call you Guff at work?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What about if you went on a date, would you say, Hi, I’m Guff?’

  ‘Well maybe not if it was a complete stranger. What’s with all the questions, Sunny?’

  ‘Nothing really, just wondering.’

  ‘Is it sad not having your grandmother around?’

  Dad started humming again as he got the milk out of the fridge.

  ‘It is lately,’ I said. ‘But luckily I managed to get my hands on some Woe-Be-Gone grief repellent. Bruce and Terry put me onto it.’

  ‘Who the hell are Bruce and Terry?’ Dad asked.

  ‘They’re grief bouncers. They stop sad thoughts getting in. I mean, it’s not exactly easy moving into a house that someone just died in. Anyway, Bruce and Terry have been great, but now I’m thinking that Granny Carmelene might actually be still around. You know, in the form of an angel. We’re trying to prove it by catching the angel on Lyall’s surveillance camera. I’ve also got a new friend called Finn, who knits and who no one’s even met. He’s coming around on Monday with a box full of pigeons.’

  ‘Ah ha,’ said Guff looking bewildered.

  ‘That explains everything,’ said Dad, heading back to the paper.

  ‘I kind of have to replace Claud, you dig?’

  ‘Replace?’

  ‘Since Buster came along, I’ve lost my one-on-one friend, and, well, I need a new best friend. It’s really clear.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Have you been dating much yourself, Guff?’

  ‘I’ve given up, Sunny. Most dates I’ve been on lately have bored me to tears, and I’m not really sold on this one-on-one thing, Sunny. It’s like the whole world is only set up for couples and families. What happens to the people who aren’t part of a couple-centric ideal?’ Guff suddenly looked puffed up and angry. ‘And I’m just not buying into it, to be perfectly frank, Sunny’

  ‘Frank? Who’s Frank?’ I asked.

  ‘Sunny Hathaway, you are incorrigible!’ said Guff.

  Later on, I typed ‘angel sightings’ into YouTube. There were heaps of clips, but to be frank (which Guff had told me actually means straightforward and to the point), I couldn’t actually see an angel in any of them. Most of what were meant to be angels were just blurry marks that could have been something on the camera lens, like fluff, or a spider. In one clip there were just tiny white dots, and no matter how many different ways I looked at them I couldn’t see an angel, just tiny white dots.

  My angel was an angel of the traditional variety, with fluttery wings and a halo of golden light. So I googled for more info, but there was mostly stuff about guardian angels and how we’re all meant to have been born with seven of them. I couldn’t find a thing about angels that might be your grandmother or acting on your grandmother’s behalf. Nothing at all.

  Still, it wasn’t that I needed proof or anything. I’m no sceptic like Lyall. I believe all sorts of stuff without needing solid evidence. Because when I know something is true, it’s not just a knowing I get in my head, but a knowing I get with my entire
body.

  16.

  Dad dropped me back at Windermere on his way to work on Monday morning. I was dead excited because Finn was coming over at ten o’clock.

  ‘Getting a bit of work done?’ said Dad, nodding at the two vans from Green Plumbing parked in the driveway.

  ‘We’re getting rainwater tanks put in, and a grey water system for the garden, and solar hot water as well as solar everything else.’

  ‘All very environmental of you,’ said Dad.

  ‘It’s Carl,’ I said. ‘He says sustainability is everyone’s responsibility.’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Dad. ‘He’s probably right.’ He gave me a kiss on the cheek. ‘I’ll see you on Thursday. Can you make your own way over?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, stepping out of the car. ‘But Dad, does Steph actually mind me coming?’ I asked.

  ‘Course not! Besides, it’s not up to Steph, it’s up to me. See you Thursday.’

  If you ask me, the way Dad answered me sounded pretty much like Steph did mind me being there. If Steph really didn’t mind surely Dad would have put up much more of a fight to try to convince me otherwise. The thing is, I was starting to mind Steph being there. With her moods lately, I’d started wishing it could just be me, Dad and Flora.

  Willow came running as soon as she heard the gate click open and threw herself at my feet and squirmed around on her back. I leant down and gave her some friendly dog-slaps on her big pokey-out greyhound chest.

  ‘Oh, Willow, you’re seriously not normal!’ I said. Then she flipped back onto her legs in one movement and raced me to the front door, managing to cram in two laps of the rose garden and a few quick Washing Machines on her way.

  ‘Hel-lo!’ I yelled out as I opened the door. I could hear noises in the kitchen and could smell toast and coffee.

  ‘Hi, sweetheart!’ said Mum appearing in the entrance hall. She gave me a big hug and a kiss. ‘I’m glad you’re back. How’s your little sister?’

  ‘Mum, were you all grumpy with me when I was a baby? Like, when I cried or was hungry, was it a giant hassle?’