The Grand, Genius Summer of Henry Hoobler

by Lisa Shanahan

  Thank heavens! Henry rested his head and breathed out slowly.

  ‘Neigh!’ Lulu lifted Violet, Peony and Marigold to the window. ‘Neeeeigggh!’ Her hair whipped about, the tips flicking into Henry’s eyes.

  They drove slowly up the main street, past the baker, the butcher, the chemist and supermarket, past the gelato shop with its red and white stripey awning and its long, long line of people out the front. They turned left, bouncing over a speed hump, past a sign with flashy bright letters saying Yelonga Inlet Haven.

  ‘Welcome,’ said Henry, reading the small line beneath the big letters on the sign. ‘You’ll Always Belonga in Yelonga!’

  ‘Aw, dog-goggles,’ said Patch. ‘Don’t tell me some crazy dad-joke maniac runs this caravan park?’

  ‘Who knows,’ said Dad, pulling up outside a squat red-roofed building. ‘But I’ll let you in on a secret, Patch. Crazy dad-joke maniacs are everywhere. They’re irrepressible, like cockroaches. You will never be rid of them.’

  Patch groaned. ‘Spare me, puppetino!’

  ‘Wait here,’ said Mum, opening her car door, ‘while we go and book in at reception. We’ll only be a second.’

  Henry gazed at a whiteboard hanging up near the entrance. It was advertising a fishing charter trip out to the reef, the times for low and high tide, and the temperature of the water.

  Lulu unclicked her seatbelt, scooped up her ponies and clambered across Henry to sit in Patch’s lap. ‘Watch what you’re doing, dingbat,’ grunted Henry, flapping his hand at her legs.

  Lulu poked out her tongue. ‘Mind yourself,’ she said. ‘Look, Patch, there’s a pool and a giant bouncing pillow. Oooh, I can see a bike path through those trees, past the tents. It’s over there!’

  The bike path. Henry slid down in his seat.

  ‘Sheez, those ponies,’ said Patch, pushing them away. One flew up and bounced off the sill and out the car window.

  ‘Hey! Now look what you’ve done,’ said Lulu. ‘She’s one of my FAVOURITES!’ She dropped the other ponies and lunged at Patch’s face.

  ‘Yoweeee.’ Patch grabbed Lulu by the wrists. ‘You need to cut those nails, tiger!’

  ‘I’m not a tiger! Let me go,’ said Lulu, wriggling and kicking. ‘I’m going to get you! I’m going to pluck out your eyes and give them to crows!’

  ‘Wow. Watch out!’ Patch darted forward and seized a handful of ponies and tossed them up. ‘Reach for the sky!’

  ‘HEY!’ cried Lulu.

  A purple pony bounced off Henry’s head and into the front of the car. ‘Ow!’ he groaned, rubbing his forehead.

  ‘Hello, there.’

  A girl about Henry’s age was peering in through the car window. Her brown hair was a squabble of tangles and her nose was freckled and pink-tipped from too much sun. ‘Is this yours?’ She held up a yellow pony by the tail.

  ‘Not mine!’ said Patch, holding up his hands.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lulu, reaching out to take the pony. ‘That’s Marigold! You saved her! THANK YOU!’

  The girl rested her elbow on the windowsill. ‘Whoah! That’s a lot of ponies.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Patch. ‘Too many.’

  ‘My brother is ANNOYING!’

  ‘Which brother?’ said the girl.

  Lulu pointed at Patch. ‘The big one.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the girl. ‘What about the other one?’

  ‘They’re both naughty,’ said Lulu, shaking her head. ‘I’m the only good one.’

  ‘Pig’s bum,’ said Patch, with a snort.

  ‘See?’ said Lulu. ‘He even says RUDE words!’

  The girl laughed. ‘That is terrible!’

  ‘I’m Lulu. And this is Patch.’ Lulu scrunched up her nose at her older brother. She pointed and rolled her eyes. ‘And this is Henry.’

  Henry tried not to stare at the girl. But her eyes were tawny bright and gold and they reminded him of the sheeny wings of a Christmas beetle.

  ‘Who owns the bike?’ asked the girl.

  Lulu peered through the window. ‘Which bike?’

  ‘The silver one.’ The girl turned her head. ‘The one on the back of the trailer.’

  ‘Ah – well, that belongs to Henry.’ Lulu sniffed the mane of her pony.

  ‘Very cool.’ The girl grinned at Henry. ‘Maybe we could go for a ride sometime?’

  ‘Oooooooh, Henry!’ said Patch, lifting an eyebrow.

  The girl wrinkled her nose. ‘You’re right, Lulu! Your older brother is rude.’ She smiled at Patch. A musk pink crept across his cheeks.

  ‘I know,’ said Lulu. ‘He’s preposterous!’

  The girl laughed and glanced over at Henry. ‘See you round like a rissole,’ she said. She pushed off from the car and Henry realised then that she had been balancing on a crimson bike the whole time.

  ‘What sort of bike is that?’

  ‘A dragster,’ said the girl.

  Lulu shoved her head out the window. ‘And how long are you staying?’ she cried.

  ‘Probably forever,’ called the girl, waving a hand as she swerved around a speed bump and the red and white boom gate.

  ‘Forever?’ Lulu asked Henry. ‘I thought this place was just for holidays.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Henry, leaning forward between the seats. He watched the girl ride away between the tents, down towards the water and the bike path.

  Their dad opened the car door and hopped in. ‘Sorry about that. It took forever! They couldn’t find the darn booking, for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘Thank you for waiting so patiently,’ said Mum.

  ‘Oi!’ Dad sat bolt upright and slid a flattened purple pony out from beneath his bottom. ‘Who put this here?’

  ‘Patch!’ said Lulu, with a scowl.

  ‘You’ve got to stop playing with ponies, mate. How many times do I have to tell you?’ Their dad chuckled at his own joke and started the car. He drove up to the boom gate and punched in a code. The gate joggled upwards and they drove past a small blackboard advertising a Sunday night Lions barbecue.

  The estuary glittered in the distance. Henry wondered about the girl on the crimson dragster. The moment she’d popped her freckled face into the car, it was like the sun had burst through the clouds. Even thinking about her, he found himself wanting to sit up straighter and taller. Was it possible to meet someone for the very first time and feel like you had always known them? Or was that just plain, silly preposterousness?

  The RIGHT SORT of COURAGE

  ‘Well, hey, hey, hey!’ Mr Barone poked his head out of his trailer and clapped his hands. ‘The Hooblers have arrived. Hello, slowcoaches!’

  ‘Why, thank you. Thank you!’ said Dad. He leapt out of the car and bowed with a grand flourish.

  ‘The funnies,’ said Kale Barone, toddling about in a circle, a fishing net jammed tight on his head.

  ‘Ooh, yes,’ said Mrs Barone, coming over to hug Henry’s mum. ‘So glad you’re here! Isn’t this place great? I had no idea it was going to be this beautiful.’

  ‘All together at last,’ said Dad, shaking hands with Mr Barone and Mr Carson.

  Mrs Carson dropped the tennis racquets she was carrying and raced over to Henry’s mum. ‘You made it!’ she cried.

  ‘In one piece,’ said Mum. ‘But what a drive! I went through two whole bags of barley sugar.’

  They laughed and kissed cheeks. ‘Hope you’re feeling ready for our first ever joint family camping trip?’ said Mrs Carson, giving a little grimace of mock terror.

  ‘Of course.’ Mum gave Mrs Carson a reassuring pat. ‘I’m certain it’s going to be lovely!’ She paused for a second. ‘Although I keep thinking I’ve left something crucial behind.’

  ‘Well, as long as you remembered the kids,’ said Mr Carson.

  ‘Tick!’ said Dad, with a chuckle. ‘Though it was a close call.’

  ‘Not to mention Lulu’s ponies?’ added Mrs Carson.

  ‘Ooooh yes,’ said Mum. ‘We’ve got the whole team here—’

 
‘In all of their aromatic glory!’ said Dad, tapping his nose.

  Dylan Barone loped over to the car and lunged through the back window. He wore a singlet top and was all olive skin and long limbs. His baseball cap was tilted up. He and Patch slapped hands. ‘Dude,’ he said. ‘What took you so long?’

  Patch glanced at Henry, and then shrugged. ‘Bad traffic.’

  ‘We left early,’ said Dylan, grinning. ‘Even had time for a swim along the way.’

  ‘And a fish!’ hollered Reed Barone, rushing up. ‘I nearly caught a snapper.’

  ‘Aaaah, you did not,’ said Dylan. ‘That was just your overactive imagination.’

  ‘I’m going to catch all sorts of fish this holiday,’ said Reed, pretending to hold an invisible bending fishing rod. ‘Maybe some albacore, a bream or a tailor. Maybe even some trevally or flounder. But the fish I really want is a kingie out from the island. Oooooh, yeah, bring it on!’ He pointed out to sea. ‘They’re out there in the deep, on the reef, never knowing they’re gonna be on the end of my fishing line before the end of the week.’

  ‘Enough about the kingfish already,’ said Dylan. ‘It’s been six hours straight of kingfish and Dad singing Elvis and Mum wondering if she locked the back door. I tell ya, I’m at my limit.’

  Lulu leant over to glare at Reed. ‘Ha!’ she said. ‘Catching a big fish is nothing! I’m going to swim in the deep end of the pool and put my head RIGHT UNDER THE WATER.’

  ‘Nah, you won’t,’ said Reed. ‘You’ll have to swim in the hot wee wee toddler pool with Kale forever.’

  ‘Will not!’ Lulu shook her pink pony in Reed’s direction. ‘Because Kale is just a baby who still wears nappies!’

  ‘What are you going to do these holidays?’ asked Dylan, nodding at Patch.

  Patch rubbed his nose. ‘I don’t know. Might learn to surf. Be good to stand up.’

  ‘They’ve got a skate park,’ said Dylan. ‘Reckon I’ll give that a whirl.’

  ‘What about you, Hennie?’ Reed poked his head through the crook of Dylan’s arm. ‘What special thing you gonna do that you’ve never done before?’

  ‘Henry’s going to ride his new silver bike,’ said Lulu.

  ‘Hah!’ said Reed. ‘He will not. That’s a big boy bike! He’s too little for that.’

  ‘Without training wheels!’ said Lulu.

  ‘Shhh, Lulu.’ The problem with Reed was he had an opinion about everything and once he got started, it was hard to get him to stop.

  ‘Haaah, what? You don’t still need training wheels, do you?’ Reed slapped his hand against the car door and laughed out loud. ‘Are you still some crazy baby or something?’

  Henry shook his head. He should have stayed home in his hidey-hole and pinned all his hopes on the kindness of Mrs Neale from next door. He wasn’t sure eating bucketloads of gelato and playing a zillion board games was going to be enough to make up for having to put up with smartypants Reed for ten days straight.

  ‘Shut up, eejit,’ said Dylan, squeezing Reed’s head.

  ‘Yeoww!’ said Reed. ‘I’ll tell Mum!’

  Dylan sniffed. ‘Whatever.’

  ‘Henry’s going to ride a real big boy bike and that’s better than catching a big fish! So there, you ninny head!’ Lulu kicked the seat in front.

  A wave of hotness rolled through Henry. ‘Just be quiet!’ he said, nudging Lulu fiercely. ‘You don’t have to tell everybody everything!’

  ‘Hells bells, why are you such a cranky-pants, Lulu Hoobler?’ said Reed.

  ‘Neigh!’ Lulu reared her ponies menacingly at both Reed and Henry.

  Dylan opened the car door. ‘You want to kick a footy, Patch?’ he asked. ‘Jay’s here but he doesn’t want to do anything yet. Just hang round with Carey in the car and read comics.’

  ‘Nah, sorry, guys,’ said Dad, jogging towards them. ‘No riding or kicking or fishing just yet. It’s time to unpack the car and set up the tent. Time to build a home.’

  ‘There’s a storm brewing at the back of the inlet,’ said Mr Barone, with a groan. He wiped his forehead.

  ‘Ooooh yeah,’ said Dad, gazing back. ‘Looks a big ’un.’ He threw the keys to the trailer up in the air and caught them in the palm of his right hand. ‘It’s a race then.’

  ‘It’s on for young and old,’ called Mr Carson, with a grin.

  Mum clapped her hands. ‘Let’s get cracking.’

  ‘Do you want to lend me a hand getting your bike off the rack, Heno?’ asked Dad, waving a key in the window.

  The roof and doors, pillows and the stench of perfumed ponies pressed in on Henry. A raggedy flutter started up in his chest. ‘No thanks,’ he said, hunching down.

  Patch hopped out of the car. ‘I’ll give you a hand, old man.’

  ‘Well, that could make an old man break into a song and dance routine,’ said Dad, shuffling his feet.

  ‘Don’t get overexcited,’ said Patch, with a snort.

  Henry fiddled with the neckband of his T-shirt. He wished with all his might that his stupid bike had fallen off the back of the trailer. That right now it was resting in some deep thicket of bush where it could never be found.

  ‘Here it is, Heno.’ Patch whizzed past the open car door, a silver streak.

  The moths whirred in Henry’s chest. ‘Great,’ he murmured, dipping his head between his knees.

  Tap, tap, tap. The hammers rang out, pegs biting through the grass. Clouds thickened and swirled over the big blue mountain.

  ‘Come on,’ cried Dad. ‘Faster. Faster!’

  ‘Keep an eye on Kale,’ called Mum. She darted back and forth, stretching and tightening the long lines of rope, trying to peg down the tent, shivering in the breeze. ‘Don’t let him wander off, Henry. You help too, Lulu.’

  ‘Make sure he looks after Peony, Henry!’ commanded Lulu, from the boot of the car. ‘I’m only lending her to him. It’s not for keeps. I want her back.’

  ‘Okay, Lulu,’ said Henry. ‘I heard you.’

  ‘You’re doing a great job, Heno,’ said Mrs Barone, dashing past with a basket, her red curly hair springy with sweat. ‘Keep it up. That boy’s an escape artist. We should have called him Houdini.’

  Henry took Kale’s sticky hand and led him to the open grass near the bike path.

  ‘I sit you?’ asked Kale.

  Henry nodded. ‘Sure. Okay,’ he said.

  Kale flopped down onto Henry’s lap. His head smelt sweet, like an overripe mango.

  ‘Don’t let him lose her, Henry!’ called Lulu.

  ‘It’s okay, Lulu. You don’t have to keep saying the same thing.’

  Kale galloped the pink pony over his chubby, dirty knees. ‘You kiss?’ he asked, holding the pony up to Henry’s lips.

  Henry pushed the pony away. ‘Ah, not today! No thanks!’ He wiped a dollop of spittle from his cheek.

  ‘Don’t let him eat it, Henry!’

  ‘I’m not letting him eat it, Lulu!’ Henry shrugged. But gosh, what was the point of making a pony smell like a strawberry tart if you didn’t want someone to eat it?

  Lulu carried another box of ponies out from the car. ‘I need to show these ones their new home,’ she called, ducking into the tent. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Henry gazed up and down the bike path. He wondered about the girl on the crimson dragster. Did she live in a tent? What would that feel like? Would living here be like always being on holidays or would she hardly even notice anymore?

  Kale stood up. ‘Me go walk.’ He donked the pony against his nose and ambled off along the grass in front of a long line of tents facing out towards the water.

  ‘Hey!’ said Henry. ‘Wait up.’

  Every now and again there was a gap between the tents, like a missing tooth, with a faded yellow grassy patch waiting for a new tent and family to move in. And directly behind was the second line of tents hugging the shade of the pine trees. Everything tucked up close and snug.

  ‘Come back, Kale,’ said Henry.

  Kale po
inted up. ‘Bird!’ he said, shaking his pony.

  ‘Yep,’ said Henry, gazing up at a seagull. He pondered the tall pine trees. Maybe they should be setting their tent further forward? Perhaps it would be better if they all moved to a waterfront tent site, either side of the Carsons? Maybe he should mention this to his dad and to Mr Barone? Then they could talk to the front desk people at Yelonga Inlet Haven. Lightning liked tall pointed objects best, that’s what he had learnt. Especially trees because they were full of moisture. Sometimes lightning could zap the sap inside a tree and make it boil so fierce and fast, it blew up the whole tree like a stick of dynamite!

  ‘Bike,’ said Kale. He wandered over towards a trike lying abandoned on the grass.

  Henry hurried after him.

  Didn’t his Nonna crawl underneath the dining room table as soon as a storm hit? Everyone knew why she was there, even though she made up the same funny excuse every time, like she was still, after all these years, searching for a missing diamond from her mother’s engagement ring, small as a chip of ice.

  If there was going to be a storm, Henry hoped there was going to be rain. A lot of rain, first! Enough to soak the trees right through, because if they were completely soggy, it was much less likely they’d be hit by lightning.

  ‘Me have turn,’ said Kale, picking up the trike and setting it upright. He swung his little leg over the seat.

  ‘No . . . no . . . that’s not yours! Don’t touch.’ Henry rushed over. He grasped Kale’s hand.

  ‘He can have a ride,’ called a woman wearing a pretty headscarf. ‘It’s no problem!’ She was scrubbing a barbecue out the front of her tent, with a scourer and a bucket. She glanced over her shoulder and shuddered. ‘Inshallah, God willing, that big storm goes its own way. Somewhere else. Yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Henry, suddenly overcome by a rush of shyness.

  A bunch of teenage girls swooshed down the bike path, in a cloud of coconut sunscreen. Their thongs snocked loudly against their heels and they were elbowing each other and giggling, their hands cupped over their mouths.

  ‘He’s a cutie!’ Henry heard one of them murmur.

  ‘How old is your brother?’ called a girl with a swinging brown plait.