Kale danced about in his nappy and gumboots near the edge of the tarp. ‘Hot chocolate,’ he shouted. ‘Hot! Hot! Hot! Now! Now! Now!’
‘Come here, nudie rudie,’ said Mr Barone, lunging out to scoop Kale up, just as a giant torrent of water ran off the tarp – sloosh – directly down the back of his neck. ‘Yeeeoooow,’ gasped Mr Barone. He stood up straight, his T-shirt wet through. ‘Now, that’s seriously cold!’
‘You’re soaked, Dad,’ said Dylan. ‘Sodden!’
‘Wash hair, Daddy,’ said Kale, sliding his hands through his dad’s dripping hair. ‘Close eyes!’
The older boys fell about laughing.
‘Laugh all you like now, boys,’ said Mr Barone. ‘But we all know who will laugh last. Bring on the games! And the pancakes! Hot as they come and many of them! On the double. And a thermal blanket too! Silver foil, if possible.’
‘You don’t ask for much,’ said Mrs Barone, folding her arms.
Mr Barone shivered. ‘I’m almost hypothermic.’
‘Your wish is my command!’ said Mr Carson. He plonked an electric frypan down on the table, plugged it in to an extension cord and switched it on. ‘Get ready for the world’s best pancakes, my friend,’ he said to Mr Barone. He shook a pancake bottle up and down, up and down like a giant maraca. Then he poured a perfect pancake, pale as a full moon.
‘I think we should start with cards first,’ said Patch. ‘Maybe a game of Cheat to get warmed up.’
‘Warmed up,’ said Mr Barone. ‘I like it.’
Dylan rubbed his hands together. ‘Oooh, yeah, I love Cheat.’
‘But don’t forget Up the River, Down the River,’ said Jay. ‘I’m a master at that.’
‘And Poohead,’ added Reed.
‘Yesss!’ breathed Patch.
‘Can I play too?’ asked Henry.
Everyone stopped talking. An awkward silence bloomed. The big boys gazed at their hands and then out towards the distant misty breakwater.
‘Nah,’ said Reed. He gazed over at Henry with a smug smile and beat his pointy fingers like drumsticks against the table. ‘You’re too little!’
‘Ah, Heno!’ said Dad, hesitating. ‘Look . . . I don’t know. These games . . . they’ve got pretty complicated rules. They’re a lot harder than Snakes and Ladders and Steady Eddy and Sleeping Queens and Uno.’
‘But I’m good at games,’ said Henry. ‘I’m telling you, I know how to play.’
‘No munchkins allowed!’ said Patch. ‘They just slow everything down.’
‘I’m not a munchkin,’ said Henry.
Patch laughed. ‘Oooooh, yes, you are!’
‘Why don’t you and I play a game of Uno when I get back from the laundry?’ said Mum to Henry. ‘I won’t be long! Maybe Lulu and Kale can play with us? And we can let Patch, Jay, Dylan and Reed play the men?’
‘But I want to play with the big boys,’ said Henry.
‘But you can’t, because the big boys don’t want to play with you!’ Patch flicked Henry on the ear.
‘Hey, cut that out, Patch!’ said Dad. ‘Hands off! How many times do I have to tell you?’
‘You’ve got to be double figures to play,’ said Reed with a snigger.
‘I’m almost double figures,’ said Henry.
‘Oh, you are not!’ said Reed, rolling his eyes.
Lulu poked out her tongue. ‘You big old bossy-boots.’ She glared at Reed.
‘Oh dear,’ said Mrs Barone. She plopped two lemons down by the frypan and peeped over Mr Carson’s shoulder as he flipped the first pancake. ‘Well, you know, I think you should give Heno a chance. We’re on holidays! We have nearly all the time in the world, don’t we?’ She stared at the big boys pointedly. They grunted and peered down at the grass.
‘Surely it’s now or never to try something a little bit new?’ Mrs Barone asked. ‘Because I’m pretty sure there were plenty of times when you were given some sort of go. Hmmmm?’
The big boys shifted in their seats. There was a long silence. The pancake gently bubbled on the pan.
‘Orright, then.’ Dylan tossed a tennis ball and caught it on the full.
‘One chance, though,’ said Patch. ‘That’s all he gets.’
Reed sniffed. ‘That sounds fair!’
‘Oh, Patch! Oh, Reed,’ said Mrs Barone. ‘I think we can be a little more generous than that, can’t we?’ She raised a thin, perfect eyebrow and waited for a long moment.
‘Two chances then.’ Patch snatched up a deck of cards.
‘Voila!’ said Mr Carson. ‘Here it is! Hot as it comes.’
‘Alright, then,’ said Mrs Barone. She slid a plastic plate towards Mr Carson. ‘I think this first big golden pancake belongs to Henry. And may the best man win!’
The rain drizzled down. It billowed out in clouds of mist. Everything smelt of wet grass and sea.
Dylan shuffled a deck of cards. ‘Let’s go easy on Heno at first,’ he said. ‘Okay.’
‘No special treatment!’ Patch swooshed his fringe to the side, patting it down firmly, like it was an unruly pet.
Reed nodded. ‘Yeah! That’s right.’
‘Don’t be such a meanie,’ said Lulu, glancing up from her My Little Pony colouring book at the end of the table. A smear of maple syrup shone on her cheek.
Mr Barone strung up a side tarp to shelter them from the incoming rain, while Mr Carson switched on the fairy lights beneath the tarp, even though it was day. Lanterns dotted the table, throwing out rays of buttery light.
Dad slid a bowl of pretzels onto the table. ‘Deal the cards out, Dylan!’ he said, grabbing a chair. ‘Let’s get this show on the road!’
The first game they played was Cheat; it was a race to see who could get rid of all of their cards first. Henry held his cards carefully to his chest and watched everyone closely.
He noticed the way Jay spoke very fast when he was trying to cheat and the way Dad started snatching greedily at the pretzels. Patch tried to look guilty on every turn, stroking his fringe and shifting his eyes like he was a burglar, but when he was really trying to get away with something he bit the inside corner of his mouth. When Mr Barone tried to get rid of his extra cards he jiggled his leg extra quick, and Reed started breathing in little huffs.
Then Henry placed his last cards on the pile and said, ‘Two Jacks!’
‘Cheat!’ shouted Mr Barone. He stretched over and lifted the cards up. Two Jacks stared disdainfully back. Everyone groaned and slumped in their chairs.
‘What the heck?’ said Reed.
‘Oh, wowee,’ said Mr Carson. ‘We’ve just been smashed by the puppy!’
Dad tossed his cards on the table. ‘The sneaky assassin!’ he said, shooting Henry a quick grin.
‘Gosh,’ said Mr Barone, ‘talk about coming from behind.’
Jay ran his hands through his hair. ‘But I was so close!’
‘Fluke!’ said Patch, scooping up the cards and starting to shuffle them.
‘Flukey-lukey!’ said Reed.
Henry glared. Patch was always tearing the wrapping paper off any big, good thing he said or did. And Reed was like a loud, bad echo.
‘How about we can the trash talk,’ said Dad, staring at Patch, ‘and try another game.’
When Henry won two rounds straight of Up the River, Down the River, followed by two fast rounds of Poohead, there were great moans of disbelief. ‘Crikey,’ said Mr Barone, sagging in his chair. ‘I’ll be a monkey’s uncle! Where did you get this kid?’
‘Blimey!’ said Mr Carson, banging his forehead against the table. ‘We have just been mauled.’
‘Whiz-kid!’ Dylan pretended to bow down before Henry. ‘Card shark!’
‘How did he get so good?’ asked Mr Carson. ‘Who’s been teaching him?’
Henry tapped his fingers on the messy pile of cards. ‘Nonna,’ he said. ‘I play a lot of games with her on Thursday afternoons, when Patch goes to soccer and Lulu goes to dancing.’
‘You need to speak to that mother-in-law o
f yours,’ said Mr Barone to Dad. He thumped the table. ‘The very least she could do is give you some lessons!’
‘Nothing’s going to save me! Not a million lessons,’ said Dad, with a large grin.
‘You know, I think Heno’s got the magic touch,’ said Mum from the end of the table, where she was folding beach and bath towels.
‘Abracadabra!’ Lulu pointed a texta at Henry.
Mr Barone sighed. ‘He’s King Midas.’
‘Uh-huh,’ said Mr Carson, passing along some guacamole dip and a bowl of corn chips. ‘Everything he touches turns to gold.’
‘Yay, Heno,’ cried Mrs Barone, sweeping Kale up onto her hip. ‘I’m telling you, he’s a genius! He’s a genius for noticing things!’
Genius!
He knew what that word meant.
It meant brilliant. Or like a mastermind. It was the word his teacher Miss Coale used to describe Andrew Chichester, who could do Year Six maths, even in Year Two. It wasn’t a word anyone had ever used to describe Henry, though, and it wasn’t a word he’d ever heard anyone use about something as plain and ordinary as noticing things! Henry’s face was suddenly hot.
‘No way! You can’t be a genius just because you’re good at games,’ said Reed, throwing down his cards. ‘Just because you’re good at noticing something.’
‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong, Reedie,’ said Mr Barone. ‘Just look at all the chess champions in the world.’
‘Let’s give Sequence a go.’ Patch grabbed the board game from the crate.
‘Bags being on the Genius’s team,’ said Dylan, scooping guacamole with a corn chip.
‘I’m not playing,’ said Reed, flushing red. He glared at his brother.
‘Come on, mate,’ said Mr Carson. ‘I’ll be on your team.’
Patch snapped the board open and divvied the cards and counters up between the teams. ‘Best of three games,’ he said, glancing around the group.
Henry and Dylan won the first round. It was like the patterns leapt right up before Henry’s eyes, all the straights and diagonals, before anyone else even had a chance to see them. He loved the crisp fresh smell of the cards and the feel of the counters, the ridged edges against his fingers and the bright explosion of colour on the board.
They lost the second game to Patch and Mr Barone. ‘Ay, caramba!’ shouted Mr Barone, snapping down his green chip. ‘At last. Victory!’
Everyone hunched around the board on the third game. They played quietly and quickly at first. Mr Barone laughed maniacally every now and again whenever he or Patch thwarted Henry and Dylan. Everyone’s tummies rumbled and gurgled, but no one paid them any attention. Henry wanted to pray for the magic card, he really did. The excitement in his stomach was as big as Christmas.
‘No sniffing,’ said Patch to Dylan. ‘That’s table talk.’
‘Oh bull, settle down,’ said Dylan. ‘I’ve got a runny nose, you big goober.’
And then it was Henry’s turn again and he scooped up the ace of spades. He swallowed and licked his bottom lip.
The winning card was now in his hand, but he needed to keep his face calm. He had to keep a tight lid on all the fizzing. He sighed and glanced away, as if his new card was nothing special, even a little bit disappointing. He gazed at the drips hanging off the edge of the tarp, like tiny icicles.
But Holy Slamoley, why was everyone else suddenly taking so long? Everyone was checking their cards, checking the board, tipping their necks from side to side, checking their cards, checking the board, fingers dithering, as if there was all eternity to play the game. Henry flattened his cards against his chest, as if that might help to keep him from suddenly screaming his head off like a nutso.
‘It’s your turn now,’ said Dad, nodding at Patch.
‘I know,’ said Patch, glaring back.
‘I’m just saying!’ said Dad.
Patch raised an eyebrow. ‘Okay. Whatever.’
‘A quick game’s a good game.’ Dad grinned and tapped his foot against the table leg.
Patch sniffed. ‘Enough, Dad!’
‘No sniffing,’ said Dylan to Patch, with a smirk. ‘It’s against the rules!’
‘Ooooh, it’s tense. It’s tense here in the stadium tonight, folks!’ said Mr Carson, rubbing his hands greedily together. ‘It’s a colossal match of epic proportions.’
Patch placed a three of hearts and a chip on the board, then picked up a card from the deck.
Henry glanced out the front. He saw the girl on the crimson dragster weaving her way down the bike path through the puddles, water spraying behind her. He wondered where she was going so fast and what best things she might see along the way. But then it was his turn and he laid his card gently down, followed by his chip. ‘Voila!’ he said, looking around the table.
‘What!’ Reed stood up.
‘Woot!’ cried Dylan, leaping up. ‘Woot! Woot! There it is. That’s magic! It’s all over, red rover. We are the champions. High five, buddy!’
Henry slapped his palm against Dylan’s outstretched hand.
‘Oh, rats,’ said Patch, shaking his head. ‘Rats, rats, RATS!’
‘Well played,’ said Mr Barone, ruffling Henry’s hair. ‘You won that fair and square.’
‘All hail the grandmaster!’ cried Dylan.
Reed flung his chips down. They bounced off the table and landed in the grass. ‘I’m going fishing,’ he cried, stomping off.
Mrs Barone marched over to the edge of the tarp. ‘You come back here, Reed Barone. RIGHT NOW! Everyone needs to help pack up!’
‘NO!’
‘Oh, gosh.’ Mrs Barone turned back and gazed at the group helplessly.
Lulu looked up from combing her ponies. ‘He’s incorrigible!’
‘Oh, now, Lulu,’ said Mum quickly. ‘You don’t need to say a single thing.’
‘But he’s being very obtreperosis.’
‘That’s enough!’ said Dad.
They listened to the sound of rain speckling the tarp.
‘I’ll go,’ said Mr Barone, standing up with a sigh. He reached over and shook Henry’s hand firmly. ‘Thanks for the games, Heno.’
Dad slapped Henry on the back. ‘Well done, mate,’ he said. ‘Well played.’
Mr Carson nodded. ‘Great game.’
Patch stood up and stretched his arms over head. ‘Okay, Heno,’ he said, as he cricked his knuckles. ‘Well done, you blooming grand genius! Next time, you have to play on my team, alright?’
Henry shrugged. ‘Okay.’
‘Awesome!’ Patch tackled him. ‘Because we munchkins need to stick together.’ And he gave Henry’s head a big tight squeeze.
SURPRISES
That night, Dylan shouted Henry a special three-scoop gelato sundae. ‘Here ya go, grandmaster,’ he said, sliding it across the table to Henry. ‘This is for you. Banoffee, vanilla and cherry coconut ripple. Enjoy!’
‘Reed had to stay in the tent,’ confided Lulu, ‘because he wouldn’t say sorry, not even when his mum and dad told him to a hundred times and now he has to miss out and tonight they have pavlova flavour.’ She nodded her head vigorously. ‘And when he finds out about that I’m pretty sure he will be sorry about not being sorry!’
‘Oh, Lulu,’ breathed Mum. ‘Please!’
Lulu nibbled her waffle cone. ‘Maybe some people are just big scaredy-cats about saying an incy-wincy word like sorry!’ A drip of watermelon gelato hung off her chin.
‘Just eat up,’ said Mum, reaching over to swipe it away.
‘Ow!’ wailed Lulu. ‘You’re hurting me!’
Henry scratched his nose. He didn’t think sorry was an incy-wincy word. It always felt like a word that weighed a lot. Sometimes after he had done the wrong thing and spoken it out loud, the space still ached where it used to be, in a way that was both happy and sad. He gazed down at his gelato.
‘Whoo-heee,’ said Dad. ‘There’s a lot there, Heno. I’ll be happy to give you a hand if that gets too much for you.’
‘I’
ll be okay,’ said Henry, elbowing his dad away. He ate slowly, savouring every mouthful. Gosh, there were no better flavours! The cherry coconut ripple even had real toasted coconut and dark chocolate chunks.
‘It’s been a good day, yeah?’ said Mum. She licked the drips running down her lemon sorbet waffle cone.
‘Yep,’ said Henry. ‘The best.’
‘I hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow, but,’ said Patch. ‘Because I want to get out and surf again. Today was okay, but give me a day with some sun, please.’
Lulu dipped her tongue into her cone. ‘But if it rains tomorrow,’ she said, her teeth bright pink, ‘we can all play the My Little Pony Memory Game. It’s very hard. You have to match the ponies and to do that you have to remember where they are and flip them over and I am very good at making matches.’
‘Oh, no!’ cried Patch. ‘Spare me the giddy-up, partner. I’m trying to forget ponies, not remember them.’
‘You big meanie.’ Lulu kicked Patch’s shin fiercely.
‘Owww! She just broke my leg. Did you see that?’
‘Settle down, tulips,’ said Dad.
‘Settle down?’ said Patch. ‘Do you call that discipline? I’m going to start wearing my hair in pigtails with cute little boggly boos and hug a pony, if that means you can get away with everything.’
‘Shhhh,’ said Mum. ‘You’re making too much noise!’
‘How about you say sorry, munchkin,’ said Patch, glaring at Lulu.
Lulu shook her head. ‘No!’
Patch coughed. ‘Scaredy-cat!’
Lulu stood up. ‘He called me scaredy-cat!’ She stamped her foot.
‘That’s enough,’ said Dad. ‘Don’t make a scene.’
Patch grunted. ‘Ah, geez, we all know who the golden child is—’
‘So Henry,’ interrupted Mum. She nodded at his sundae. ‘Is this your favourite part of today?’
‘Uh-huh.’ It was pretty awesome. Even a double scoop of gelato seemed sad and lonely next to this triple-whammy mountain range.
But later on, after they had finished eating, when Henry was crossing the road back to the holiday park and he was holding Dad’s hand and the stars were coming out between the clouds, he couldn’t help thinking it wasn’t the winning or the three-scoop sundae or even discovering that he was a genius at noticing things that was the best part of the day.
The Grand, Genius Summer of Henry Hoobler Page 5