The Grand, Genius Summer of Henry Hoobler
Page 3
Henry pretended not to hear. The roof of his mouth felt dry.
‘Yeee-heee!’ Kale swung on Henry’s hand, as if it was a vine and he was a monkey. Henry staggered forwards, nearly falling over.
‘Chasey!’ Kale called, slipping away.
Henry pretended to run very fast, hurtling after Kale, glad to get away from those confident big girls. Why did they always travel in clumps?
‘Can’t me catch!’ Kale scurried fast on his chubby legs, past neat and sparkly tents, with tidy entrances and everything in its right place.
‘I’m going to get you!’ said Henry, chasing Kale around a messy tent strewn with buckets, scattered shoes, surfboards and skateboards, like a higgledy-piggledy obstacle course.
‘I too fast!’ cried Kale.
Henry ducked beneath a makeshift string clothesline, flapping with stripy swimming cozzies and rash shirts and damp towels. Kale squealed and squealed.
‘Hey, slow down. Not near the road!’ Henry clambered over wobbly pine roots, scaly as old birds’ feet. ‘Stop! Freeze! STOP!’
A white ute drove up the gravel road, a huge boat strapped onto the trailer behind it. Music doofdoofed so loud it shook the the ground beneath their feet.
‘Big boat!’ said Kale.
‘Yes,’ said Henry, breathing out a deep sigh of relief. He grabbed hold of Kale’s sweaty, grubby hand. ‘Now come away from here.’
There were huge tents with fridges and toasters and kettles and lamps and even televisions. He wondered what his mum would make of that! She was not so fond of screens of any sort, especially on holidays.
They had come to the end of the long line of tents but there was still no sign of the girl on the crimson dragster. Maybe she lived in one of the cabins?
A group of bikies stood by their tents, folding their gleaming motorbikes in grey tarps, as if they were wrapping babies in blankets. ‘Big storm coming!’ said the biggest bikie, scratching his steel-wool beard.
A long growl of thunder rumbled from the back of the inlet.
‘Yes,’ said Henry, shuddering. He bit his lip. ‘Let’s go, Kale. Come on.’
Kale itched his nose. ‘It rain snails?’
‘What?’
‘The white ones!’ Kale pointed up at the sky.
‘Oh,’ said Henry. ‘You mean hail.’
‘Yes,’ said Kale.
‘Hmmm!’ said Henry. ‘Well?’ He turned and glanced at the clouds roiling towards them. He scratched his head. Hail!
Of course there couldn’t be just the problem of his bike to worry about, and bugs and spiders and snakes and stingers and blue-ringed octopi and tsunamis and sharks and stingrays and whale sharks. Of course there had to be hail too! What if the hail was as large as giant meteors? Should they go and sit in the car, with the windows up?
A gust of wind blew hard, lifting small twigs and leaves and filling the tents like balloons. A palm tree rustled overhead. Everyone was popping out of their tents now, pulling a line here, re-anchoring a line there, hammers starting up, dinging and ringing, like a bunch of miners digging for gold.
‘Kites!’ said Kale, pointing.
‘Not kites,’ said Henry. ‘Tents!’ He held on to Kale’s hot, plump, sticky fingers even tighter. Gosh, what if the wind just snatched Kale straight up and zoomed him away? How could he ever explain that to Mrs Barone?
A bright, alfoil flash of light sparked across the sky.
Holy Zingaroley!
‘Let’s run,’ Henry said.
Kale slumped to the ground. ‘No, no, me no go!’ he cried. ‘Me go bike now! Back! Go back!’
‘Later.’ Henry tried to scoop Kale up but he was slippery as jelly.
‘Bike!’ howled Kale, kicking his legs.
Another crack of thunder echoed around the inlet. Dark clouds were sweeping low now. Out past the estuary, in the channel, the water was rimmed with white horses and boats were swivelling wildly on their buoys.
‘Me ride!’ cried Kale. ‘My turn! NOW!’ He punched the grass with his fists. Henry gazed about helplessly. Holy Tamoley! Toddlers were more changeable than the weather, going from clear and sunny to cyclone in a matter of minutes.
‘Kale.’ Henry crouched by his side. ‘Please!’
Then came roaring as if a train was bearing down over the mountain, and a rush of wind so fierce even Kale’s eyelashes flickered.
‘Please, Kale! Come on!’
Cups, newspapers, bowls, sunscreen, hats, dust, sticks and boogie boards cartwheeled around them. People came bolting from every direction; chasing belongings, holding down tarps, splashing out through the reeds, wading into the estuary to collect kids on canoes before they were swept away.
FLASH!
Henry heaved Kale up like a sack and began to run, his heart beating in his chest like a hummingbird. How close was the storm? He needed to count the seconds between the lightning and the rolls of thunder. If the lightning and thunder came close together, he’d know the storm was right above them.
One hippopotamus, two hippopotamus, three hippopotamus, four hippopotamus, five hippopotamus—
But wait a second! Was that right? Maybe it should be hippopotami?
BANG! There came the thunder! Yoweee!
Henry ran faster, Kale’s legs flailing about like they belonged to a rag doll. What if they both got struck by lightning? Was that Kale’s hair standing up on end? Was a strike imminent? Maybe Henry needed to crouch down now and rest on the balls of his feet? It was hard to tell. Maybe Kale’s hair was just sticking up because he was being jiggled around like a bag of potatoes?
FLASH!
One hippopotamus, two hippopotami, three hippopotami, four hippopotami, five hippopotami—
BANG!
Strange facts began to float through Henry’s mind. How lightning was six times hotter than the sun! How at any moment there were about fifty flashes of lightning somewhere in the world! How the mountain village of Kifuka in the Democratic Republic of Congo was one of the most-struck places on earth, with an average of one hundred and fifty-eight strikes per year!
FLASH!
One hippopotamus, two hippopotami, three hippopotami—
BANG!
The sky was looking strangely greeny-yellow now and raindrops were landing on Henry’s face like small slaps. If it was going to hail, maybe he should think about leaving his bike out in it? Henry had heard hail could damage a car so badly it couldn’t even be driven anymore. Maybe the same could happen to a bike? At least that was a comforting thought.
FLASH!
One hippopotamus, two hippopotami—
BANG!
They were almost there. Henry felt Kale sliding through his arms. Who knew one small kid could be so heavy? He could see their three tents though, all set up now and covered by large silver tarps, huddled close like comforting igloos in a snowstorm. He wanted to burst into tears of rejoicing. He hauled Kale higher. And just as he was about to dive in under his tent tarp, he saw her.
The crimson dragster girl was weaving her bike along the bike path, all on her own, like she had all the time in the world. He wanted to shout out a warning, to let her know she should get under cover and stay away from metal, hills, backpacks, open fields, boats, tractors, puddles and corded telephones! But wait a second! The crimson dragster girl wasn’t even wearing a bike helmet. Maybe she was a crazy daredevil? Maybe she was one of those loopy storm chasers he had seen on television?
FLASH!
One hippopotami—
BANG!
Henry turned and bolted under the tarp into the tent. He flung Kale to the ground, hurled a sleeping-bag over them both and closed his eyes.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
‘Don’t just stand there looking, sunshine,’ shouted Dad, from outside the tent. ‘Grab that corner. Quick!’
‘I am!’ cried Patch, over the howling wind.
‘Hold it! Blast and damnation! With both hands! Stop worrying about your hair!’
‘It’s going to flood, Henry!’ exclaimed Lulu, from their parent’s side of the tent. ‘Maybe we’re just going to float away like Noah’s ark!’
FLASH!
BANG!
FLASH!
BANG!
The wind roared outside. The tarp whipped and flapped like a giant angry bird. The tent strained and groaned, the walls sucking in and out.
‘Maybe a tornado is coming!’ gasped Lulu.
It could be true! Henry was pretty sure this was no ordinary storm. The dark, greenish-yellow sky. The wind like a freight train. The whirling dust. Oh, gosh, what if all the pegs pinged and the tent took off? Just lifted up and flew away like Dorothy’s house in The Wizard of Oz?
Henry bunkered down into the moist darkness of his sleeping bag cave, waiting for it all to be over. He’d been so worried about the problem of his bike and bugs and spiders and snakes and stingers and blue-ringed octopi and tsunamis and sharks and whale sharks, when all along what he should have been worried about was hail and lightning and floods and tornadoes!
Kale tapped him on his nose. ‘Pony gone,’ he whispered.
‘What!’ A stab of horror winced right through Henry. He dug around, searching desperately behind Kale’s sweaty back and beneath his legs.
‘It no here!’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ said Kale, with a mournful sniff. ‘Pony gone, gone.’
Holy Palomino! Kale must have accidentally dropped it. Lulu’s pony was out in the storm, facing lightning, wind, hail and floods all on her own. That fresh, sweet-smelling, expecting-the-best-of-everyone strawberry-pink pony.
Oh, gosh, telling Lulu was going to be worse than facing the problem of his silver bike. Worse than facing a teeming bunch of bugs, spiders, snakes, stingers, blue-ringed octopi, tsunamis, sharks, stingrays, whale sharks, hail, lightning, floods and tornadoes all at once!
Henry should go out into the wild storm to rescue that poor pink pony. He should dash out and be brave and noble! He should be a daredevil, like the girl on the crimson dragster! But how could he, when he didn’t have an ounce of the right sort of courage?
The VERY WORST THING
‘Do you think my pony will be in China by now?’ asked Lulu. She swivelled on her stool and gazed out the shop window at the bright orange-and-gold sky.
‘No,’ said Mum, licking her spoon. ‘I don’t.’
‘Maybe tomorrow she will arrive on the wind and ride in a rickshaw and gallop along the Great Wall?’
‘Oh, Lulu,’ said Mum.
‘She’ll probably eat rice noodles and find another little girl to love and I will never see her again.’
‘Oh, try to enjoy your gelato, Lulu! It’s not often you get to have it for dinner,’ said Dad.
‘I’m having bubblegum and raspberry sorbet.’ Lulu swirled her gelato dolefully around her cup. ‘Even though they are not my favourite. Because they are pink. Like Peony.’
‘Oh, dog-goggles,’ said Patch. ‘It’s just a dumb pony. It’s not like you don’t have twenty more of them.’
‘It’s not just a pony!’ Lulu grew bright red. ‘You don’t know anything.’
Mum nodded. ‘Okay. That’s enough, Patch.’ She stroked Lulu’s hair. ‘I’m sure Peony will show up in the morning, when everyone has had some time to do a bit of sorting. Try not to worry, Lulu.’
Henry dropped his spoon. It was hard to eat his gelato when he was sitting across from Lulu’s glum face.
‘But what if she’s gone forever?’ said Lulu. ‘And how will I tell the other ponies?’
‘Maybe you could make up a Wanted poster?’ Patch bit the end of his waffle cone.
‘Or a Lost notice,’ said Mum. ‘That’s probably better.’
Lulu swirled her gelato. ‘But I don’t have a reward.’
‘You could always offer up Henry,’ said Patch, wiping his mouth and grinning. ‘Seeing the pony got lost on his watch.’
‘Oh, Patch.’ Mum scooped up a drip of cherry coconut ripple. ‘Now you’re just being a troublemaker.’
Henry gazed down at the caramel and real banana and broken biscuits and crunchy peanuts. He wasn’t sure he could eat the rest, which was a shame because it had taken him ages to choose. His mum had persuaded him to try a double scoop of plain vanilla and the curiously named banoffee, because she reckoned it was always a wise thing to choose a little taste of home and a little taste of adventure. It was strange how something so light and sweet could suddenly turn so sticky and heavy.
‘Mine’s delish,’ said Patch. ‘Chocolate peanut crunch is da bomb, I’m telling you. Yummo.’
‘Well, was that four seasons in a day, or what?’ asked Dad, shaking his head. He drummed his hands against his stomach and grinned with satisfaction.
Mum squeezed Henry’s shoulder. ‘Eat up, Heno. Everything will be okay. Peony will turn up, I’m sure of it.’
‘I’ll eat yours if you can’t finish,’ said Patch, clicking his fingers under Henry’s nose.
Henry slid his gelato cup quickly out of reach. No meal was secure around Patch now. His glittering seagull eyes hovered over every plate, waiting for the moment when he could lunge forward and scoop up last bites and leftovers.
‘Look at it this way,’ said Dad, gazing outside. ‘The worst has happened. And the best is yet to come.’
Henry mushed his spoon through his gelato, turning it into a gloop. How could his dad be so certain? How could he know? What if the storm was just the beginning of all their troubles?
Mum dabbed her lips with a serviette. ‘The tent stayed up. The tarp stood strong. We are damp but undefeated.’
Lulu double-sniffed. ‘Peony probably got sizzled up by the lightning.’ Her eyes glimmered with real tears. ‘And the only thing left is a single strand of her tail!’
Henry pushed his gelato cup across the table. ‘You can have it,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘Yipp-ee,’ said Patch, his voice suddenly splintering into a loud squawk. He scooped a giant dollop straight into his mouth. ‘Oh, banoffee is superb. I can’t believe you can’t finish it. What’s wrong with you? Hmmm . . . mmmm. This is a mouthful of paradise.’
After Henry had been to the bathroom to clean his teeth, he slid into his sleeping-bag. He popped his lantern down just behind his pillow.
Lulu was already sound asleep, breathing through her mouth, tiny beads of sweat on her forehead. A long line of Little Ponies kept watch along the edge of the tent. The whites of their eyes glinted, even in the shadows.
Patch lay on his side, tapping away on his phone.
Outside, there was the clatter of dice on a table, the clink of bottles and the gentle babble of voices. His mum was moving here and there in the camp kitchen, her shadow stretching and shrinking against the skin of the tent. ‘Lights off, Heno,’ she murmured.
Henry switched his lantern off.
A soft breeze swelled through the tent. It was like living in an animal. It was like being flat bang in the middle of a giant lung or something.
Lulu snored and turned over, planting her hand smack against his cheek. Henry lifted it off and tucked it beneath her sleeping-bag.
The corellas meowed mournfully in the pine trees. How could his dad be so confident that the best was yet to come? Did he just pretend that there were no bugs and spiders and snakes and stingers and blue-ringed octopi and sharks and stingrays and whale sharks out there? Or did he just forget? Because there it was now – the ocean – roaring in the distance. How come it was so loud, when Henry hadn’t noticed it all afternoon? What if a tsunami came rolling in? Would the breakwaters be enough to hold it back? Where would he run to first? Should he climb a tree? Or the roof of a building? Climb the tennis nets? Or make for the hill?
Who would look after Lulu? She wouldn’t leave unless she gathered up all the ponies first. And boy, imagine if another one got lost! She’d make
the hugest fuss, chuck the world’s biggest tantrum and she wouldn’t leave without it and the next thing you know the water would be tumbling them about like they were a bunch of odd socks in a washing machine. Maybe he should pack those ponies into their boxes right now, just in case?
Henry sighed. When his thoughts began to blizzard, his dad would scruff his hair and say, ‘Now, now, Mr Worst Case Scenario! Let’s settle it down.’ He took another deep breath.
‘You gonna try that bike of yours tomorrow?’ asked Patch, rolling over.
A cloud of moths rose up in Henry’s chest. ‘Not sure,’ he murmured.
‘It’s a cool bike,’ said Patch, sliding his phone underneath his Therm-a-Rest.
Henry lay on his back, paralysed with dread.
The bike. It was not cool. It was the very worst thing. It was his biggest problem, even more terrifying than bugs and spiders and snakes and stingers and blue-ringed octopi and tsunamis and sharks and stingrays and whale sharks!
That bike would be waiting for him the next day and the day after that and the day after that one. It would be with him forever. Nothing could shake it off. Everyone would always be asking him about it, waiting for the moment when he was meant to conquer it.
‘I could teach you.’
Henry snatched up the hood of his sleeping bag and squeezed it tight around his head. He didn’t want to think about the bike. He didn’t want to think about it at all. ‘I’ll see.’
‘Whatever,’ grunted Patch, rolling away.
But then a new thought struck Henry. What if someone wandered through the holiday park and stole his bike? What if they snipped the chain and rode off on it?
Good gravy . . . that would be one Worst Case Scenario he would love! It would be some kind of miracle! He crossed his fingers and wished with all his might for a crafty thief to come.
The tarps whispered on the breeze.
Henry heard them rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall, until his thoughts slowed right down and he was lulled, at last, into a deep sleep.
A KNIGHT on a SHINING BIKE
The screeching of lorikeets woke Henry early. His mouth was dry as a desert and he was desperate to go to the bathroom. He slid out of his sleeping bag and tiptoed around Lulu and her ponies, which seemed to have scattered all over the floor in the night, like wild brumbies on the run. He unzipped the tent and fly and crawled through the small hole. His dad was sitting on a camp chair near the edge of their tarp, holding a mug of coffee in his hand. He was staring out at the water, toasting his hairy legs in the sun.