by R. A. Spratt
‘What about your brain?’ asked April. ‘Perhaps it turned to mush from eating all that prison food.’
Mum was taken aback.
‘April, that is no way to speak to your mother,’ said Dad. ‘She has been under a great deal of stress lately. And by lately, I mean for the last twenty-five years. If she has started seeing infamous enemy operatives everywhere, it’s not surprising.’
‘I haven’t gone mad,’ protested Mum.
‘Of course not,’ said Dad, kindly, taking her hand and patting it. ‘But stress can do terrible things to the human brain. After Professor Maynard kidnapped me and forced me to move here, one day I forgot to water my delphiniums, and it was a hot day, and they all withered and died. I cried and cried like a baby for three days. And I think that had more to do with stress than the actual delphiniums. Although . . .’ Dad sniffed. ‘They were beautiful plants. They didn’t deserve to be cut down so young.’ Dad sobbed.
‘I’m not suffering stress,’ said Mum.
‘Of course you’re not,’ said Loretta. ‘Stress is so twentieth century. You’re suffering from PTSD.’
‘Painfully thick stupid disease?’ asked April.
‘Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,’ said Loretta.
‘Perhaps you should see someone,’ said Dad.
‘Good idea,’ said Loretta. ‘The town psychiatrist is due back in four and a half months. Do you think you can hang on to the shreds of your sanity for that long?’
Mum wasn’t listening any more. She watched Mrs Bellamy turn the corner and disappear from view.
‘We should regroup at the safe house to strategise,’ said Mum.
‘Okay,’ said April. ‘You do that, but we’re going to go and regroup at school to get educated, because we’re kids and we haven’t got time to chase imaginary spooks about the streets of Currawong.’
‘But, Mum, didn’t you want to come and see our school?’ asked Fin.
‘Why would she want to do that?’ asked April.
‘It’s the place we spend all our time,’ said Fin. ‘I think it’s normal for parents to want to see their child’s school.’
‘Puh-lease,’ said April. ‘If you’re still expecting our parents to behave normally, you’re the one whose brain is fried.’
‘Of course I want to see it,’ said Mum, although her tone wasn’t terribly convincing. ‘But there’s something I need to take care of first.’
‘Humpf,’ said April. ‘Whenever you or Professor Maynard say you’re going to “take care of something” it never means you are going to feed a newborn kitten with an eyedropper full of milk.’
‘Come along, Bertha,’ said Dad. ‘I’ve got some camomile tea at home. The packet says it’s supposed to be very restful.’
April stalked down the main street, a few paces ahead of the others. She would have quite liked to kick something, but the town had been tidied for the upcoming Potato Festival and there was nothing to kick.
Up ahead of them, the large papier-mâché potato was about to be raised. It was roughly the size of an Indian elephant, so it was not a simple job. Four ropes were attached to four telegraph poles, two on either side of the street, with pulleys to help lift it.
‘Right,’ said the fire chief. ‘On the count of three, we all heave together. One . . . two . . . three . . . heave!’
Unfortunately, at the exact moment the fire chief said ‘heave’, Pumpkin recognised one of the rope pullers. It was his old friend, Sam the postman. Pumpkin yelped a bark of delighted recognition and rocketed forward to say hello. The problem was, Pumpkin’s idea of how you say ‘hello’ to a postman was to sink his razor-sharp teeth into the postman’s naked calf.
‘Aaaaaggghhh!’ screamed the postman, partly from shock and partly from the very real pain of having forty-two teeth pierce his leg simultaneously.
Pumpkin loved this attention. He bit down harder. The postman let go of his rope to try to detach the dog. The cable whistled up through the pulley and the huge potato swung away from the limp rope.
‘Look out!’ cried the fire chief. Although it was unnecessary. No one in the street could take their eyes off the unfolding disaster.
The big potato swooped across the street. Two pedestrians were able to leap out of the way, but there was a parked car and parked cars can’t leap anywhere. The potato slammed into the side of the bright red SUV. Luckily the papier-mâché was still quite wet so the huge potato hit the car with more of a splat than a thud.
There was a moment’s pause, then muffled screaming.
‘Aaaaggghh! Aaagghh! Aaagghh!’
‘I think there is someone in that car,’ said Fin.
Joe’s natural heroic instincts kicked in. He ran around to the driver’s door and yanked it open. The screaming became deafening. Joe reached in and pulled out – Daisy Odinsdottir.
‘It’s okay, y-y-you’re safe,’ Joe assured her.
‘The car was hit by a giant rock!’ wailed Daisy. ‘I could have died.’
‘It’s just a potato made out of papier-mâché,’ said April. ‘The whole thing probably only weighs fifty kilos. I doubt it dented your car.’ She kicked the car to demonstrate how robust it was.
‘It was terrifying,’ said Daisy. ‘Hold me.’ She threw herself at Joe’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her reflexively to stop himself toppling backwards.
Then there was a second bout of screaming, ‘Aaaagggghhhhh!’
Joe looked up to see who it was. At first his brain couldn’t comprehend what he saw. It was as if he had jumped in a time machine, gone forward thirty years into the future and was watching an older version of Daisy screaming again. Then his brain figured it out. This must be Daisy’s mother.
‘What have you done to my beautiful car?’ she cried.
‘It’s only paper, flour and water,’ said Fin. ‘It should come off easily enough.’
‘It’s a mess,’ yelled Mrs Odinsdottir. ‘Who did this to me?’
‘It was an accident, really,’ said Loretta. ‘An unfortunate consequence of circumstance.’
‘It was the dog that did it!’ accused the postman, still clutching his leg.
All eyes turned to Pumpkin. He sat dutifully at April’s heel, his tail wagging vigorously. He was having a fabulous morning so far.
‘That’s it,’ said Mrs Odinsdottir. ‘I’m reporting you lot to the police. You’re a menace to society.’
‘No, Mum! You can’t!’ cried Daisy, as she nestled into Joe’s arms. ‘Not now Joe is my boyfriend.’
‘What?!’ exclaimed Joe. He looked down and realised he was still holding Daisy. He let go of her quickly and stumbled backwards. ‘No, I’m n-n-not.’
‘Are you the boy who broke my Daisy’s heart at the Cockroach Race Ball?’ demanded Mrs Odinsdottir. ‘She told me all about you.’
‘I d-d-d-d-d-d . . .’ Joe desperately tried to say something in his defence, but his tongue couldn’t form words. There wasn’t enough oxygen getting to his brain.
‘No,’ said Loretta, firmly stepping forward. ‘Joe is not Daisy’s boyfriend. Because Joe is my boyfriend.’
Fin made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. Fin had been secretly in love with Loretta since he first saw the morning sun glistening off her silky black hair as she crashed Vladimir through Dad’s flowerbeds. Hearing that Joe was Loretta’s boyfriend made Fin feel like he had been punched in the heart.
Joe was equally distressed. ‘What?!’ he cried. ‘B-b-b-b-b . . .’ This was going from bad to worse.
‘I’m sorry, Joe,’ said Loretta. ‘I know it’s a lot for you to take in, but six weeks and three days ago you bought me an ice-cream.’
Daisy and her mother gasped. They appreciated the enormity of this gesture.
‘So?’ asked Joe
‘It was a double scoop with sprinkles,’ added Loretta, rubbing Daisy’s nose in her triumph. ‘It is a widely known custom in Currawong that to buy a girl an ice-cream is to ask her to be your girlfriend.’
‘
B-b-but I didn’t know that,’ said Joe.
‘Ignorance is no defence,’ said Loretta. ‘You bought me the ice-cream. I ate the ice-cream. The die has been cast.’
‘You’re going down, Peski,’ said Daisy. ‘I am going to crush you.’
‘I’m calling the police right now,’ said Daisy’s mum, fishing her phone from her handbag.
‘Good luck,’ said April. ‘Constable Pike is still in hospital recovering from a head injury.’
‘Then I’m calling the animal control officer,’ said Daisy’s mum.
‘That won’t work either,’ said Fin. ‘He’s still in jail for trying to shoot us with a dart gun.’
‘You’re destroying this town one institution at a time,’ accused Mrs Odinsdottir. ‘Currawong has become totally lawless. It’s like the Wild West.’
‘HEY!’ Kieran, a know-it-all boy from their school, yelled out to them. ‘Hey! You lot!’ He was running towards them, while waving a small piece of paper in his hand.
‘Urgh,’ said April. ‘What does he want?’
Kieran ran right up to the Peskis but he couldn’t explain himself, gasping for breath. He had evidently been running for some time.
‘What is it?’ asked Loretta.
Kieran’s mouth opened and closed but no words came out. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an asthma inhaler. He handed the slip of paper to Joe, and took a deep inhale of ventolin.
‘What is it?’ asked Fin, trying to read over Joe’s shoulder, but it was hard because Joe was so much taller.
‘We’ve been invited to t-t-tea and scones by the President of the Country Women’s Association,’ said Joe.
‘Oh dear!’ said Loretta.
‘You’re going to get it now,’ said Daisy, a smug grin on her spiteful face.
‘Don’t even talk to them,’ said Mrs Odinsdottir. ‘If the CWA are involved, they’ll get their just desserts.’
‘Not dessert,’ said Joe. ‘Just scones.’
‘They’ll make mincemeat out of you,’ said Mrs Odinsdottir. ‘And it’s nothing less than you deserve. Come along, Daisy. Get in and I’ll drive you to school.’
‘Are you sure that’s roadworthy?’ asked Fin, looking at the SUV with a giant potato stuck on the side.
‘No one asked you, nerd,’ retorted Daisy, as she slammed the door.
They drove away, narrowly missing Sam the postman, who Mrs Odinsdottir had no chance of seeing through all the papier-mâché.
‘Well, I don’t care what anyone says,’ said April, ‘I’m not going to be late for school just to drink tea with a bunch of old ladies.’
‘Oh no, you can’t ignore a summons from the CWA,’ said Loretta.
‘Why not?’ asked Fin.
‘You just can’t,’ said Kieran. He’d recovered himself enough to speak.
‘They run this town,’ said Loretta.
‘Then they’re doing a really bad job,’ said April. ‘This town is a shambles.’
‘But that’s their genius,’ said Loretta. ‘They run it on Machiavellian principles. The town veers from one chaotically organised festival to the next. Everyone is always preparing for, or recovering from, some major event. It’s chaos. And chaos is the perfect environment for manipulative passive aggressive old ladies to wield their power.’
‘Puh-lease,’ said April. ‘I know what old people are like. They can’t remember if they took their medication or not, so how are they going to run a whole town.’
‘I want to go,’ said Joe.
‘You want the scones!’ snapped April.
Joe nodded, ‘There’ll be jam and c-cream too.’ The thought of homemade baked goods was almost helping him get over the devastation of the egg and bacon rolls.
The Peski Kids found themselves standing in front of a trestle table. Three old ladies were sitting on the other side.
They already knew Mrs Bellamy, the owner of Princess Anastasia, the morbidly obese cat. They also knew Miss Tinker because she was a resident at the retirement home they passed every day on the way to school. April was forever getting into arguments with the elderly residents. She was convinced they only played croquet so they could whack the ball at Pumpkin. Pumpkin was, in fact, growling at Miss Tinker now. He knew how good her ankles tasted.
The only person they didn’t know was the lady sitting in the middle. She was clearly very old. It was hard to tell how old exactly, but she was so small and withered and wrinkly it could have been anywhere between 80 and 180.
‘This is President Sweet,’ said Loretta. ‘Madam President, I don’t believe you’ve met the Peskis before.’
The wrinkled old lady lifted the glasses that were hanging on a chain around her neck. She carefully balanced them on her ears and nose.
‘Not met, no,’ President Sweet agreed in a quavery voice. She peered closer at Pumpkin sitting happily in April’s arms. ‘Although I believe that dog once relieved himself on my mobility scooter.’
‘So you’re the one who owns that red mobility scooter?’ accused April. ‘Then yes, he did pee on it. I encouraged him. You’d parked it in a very inconvenient place blocking the bicycle rack near the post office. If you don’t want dog pee on your scooter, try following the road rules.’
‘Really!’ exclaimed Mrs Bellamy. She was clattering unnecessarily and glaring at the Peski Kids as she set out tea cups. ‘We should wait until Constable Pike is back and have them arrested. A maximum security juvenile detention facility is where this lot belong.’
‘That’s as may be,’ said President Sweet. Her voice was so weak everyone leaned in to make out what she was saying. It was a neat trick to get people to pay attention. ‘But that won’t get us what we want.’
Mrs Bellamy pressed her lips together. She clearly wanted to say more, but knew she shouldn’t. She sat down in her chair and folded her arms instead.
‘If you’ve got something to say to us, shouldn’t you get on with it?’ prompted April. ‘We should be at school, learning.’
‘You’ve never cared about school in your life,’ objected Fin.
‘They don’t know that,’ said April.
‘We’re just waiting for another member of the executive,’ said President Sweet.
‘We need a quorum,’ said Mrs Bellamy. ‘Four members of the executive must be present to make a disciplinary decision.’
‘I thought we’d been invited for scones,’ said April.
‘This is the CWA,’ said President Sweet, ‘we give everyone scones.’
‘Sorry I’m late.’ The door banged open and the Cat Lady strode in. She was still wearing mucky wellington boots, she’d obviously come straight from the farm. ‘The bull got out and chased my grandson. He had to hide in an old abandoned tractor in the bottom paddock. I didn’t realise ’til he’d been there for six hours.’
Pumpkin barked happily. He liked the Cat Lady. She smelled of animals, and knew just the right spot to scratch him behind the ears.
‘Is Neil all right?’ asked Fin. The Cat Lady’s grandson was Fin’s best, and only, friend.
‘Seemed fine,’ said the Cat Lady. ‘Nothing bleeding.’ The Cat Lady went round to the far side of the table and sat down.
‘Very well,’ said President Sweet, ‘let’s begin. Who wants scones?’
‘Can’t we get on with . . . ow!’ said April.
Loretta had kicked her in the ankle. ‘Yes, please,’ interrupted Loretta.
Eventually after much fuss all the Peski kids and Loretta had a scone, jam, cream and a cup of tea. It was hard to hold it all because they had not been invited to sit down. Indeed there were no chairs for them. The old ladies sat on the other side of the table, comfortably sipping their tea and nibbling their scones.
Joe desperately wanted to shove his whole scone in his mouth and perhaps take five or six more, but the tea cup and saucer in his right hand shook and spilled slightly every time he tried to bring the scone closer to his mouth.
‘I expect you’re wondering why we invited you her
e,’ said President Sweet.
‘It’s because of the papier-mâché mess on Mrs Odinsdottir’s car,’ said April. ‘But it’s not our fault. It’s the postman who should be in trouble. He’s the one who let go of his rope. Pumpkin only gave him the tiniest nip hello.’
‘Really?’ said Mrs Bellamy, ‘Nice Dr Singh told me that last week he had to put six stiches in Sam’s bottom because your dog wouldn’t let him put the power bill in your letterbox.’
April shrugged and hugged Pumpkin tighter. ‘Perhaps he got bitten by another larger dog later in the day. He isn’t very good with animals.’
‘She’s got a point,’ said the Cat Lady. ‘He’s always been frightened of my bear.’
‘But we mustn’t get sidetracked,’ said Mrs Bellamy. ‘These kids constantly talk jibber-jabber so we’ll forget what they’ve done. Well, I haven’t forgotten. We should tell them why they’re here.’
‘Oh yes,’ agreed President Sweet. ‘We want to discuss reparations.’
‘Huh?’ said April.
‘Reparations are how you make up for damage you caused,’ explained Fin.
‘I know that!’ said April, whacking Fin in the arm. ‘My huh meant, reparations for what?’
‘The damage you caused to the Giant Potato last Friday,’ said Miss Tinker. ‘The dinosaur is still impaled head first in the Giant Potato. The Potato Festival is this coming weekend. The Giant Potato will be the focal point.’
‘And it’s a very special Potato Festival this year,’ added Mrs Bellamy. ‘The CWA has been working tirelessly to ensure that Dame Bronwyn herself will be here to officiate the parade and award the brown crown to the Potato Princess.’
‘We can’t have a dinosaur sticking out of the monument to her great contribution to horticulture,’ said President Sweet.
‘But that’s not our fault,’ said April. ‘We didn’t hijack the bus or crash it.’
‘Really?’ said President Sweet. ‘I was told that one of you sabotaged the bus using a blind boy’s white cane.’
‘He’s not blind,’ said April. ‘He’s vision impaired.’
‘Who told you about that, anyway?’ Fin asked the President.
‘Probably Tom,’ said April. ‘He’s such a dibber-dobber.’