‘Well—’ said Cassie, smiling.
‘Or do you think her eyes are wonky?’ Lulu whispered. She held Clover up for inspection.
Cassie stared closely at the green pony. ‘Maybe.’
‘That’s what I think! And the other ponies say so too,’ said Lulu, nodding her head sadly. ‘Even though I tell them not to mention it!’
‘It’s a problem alright,’ said Mum. ‘Now, let’s not take up all of Cassie’s time, because she’s come here to say hello to Henry.’
‘Hello,’ said Henry. He stood awkwardly by the camp fridge. His hands dangled like lumpy puffer fish.
‘Hello,’ said Cassie, smiling at him. ‘I told you I’d see you round.’
‘Yes,’ said Henry. ‘You did say that.’
‘How’s your bike?’ she asked. ‘Is it fixed yet?’
‘Fixed?’ Dad looked up from the table, where he was chopping parsley.
‘Aaaaaah,’ said Henry.
‘The brakes?’ asked Cassie.
A bunch of newborn moths rose up in his chest. Henry snatched a breath of warm, muggy air.
Dad lifted an eyebrow. ‘The brakes?’
‘Yeah . . . well . . . ah—’ Henry cleared his throat.
Dad put down his knife. ‘Hey there, now . . . Heno . . .’
‘Because I’ve got some fish scraps for Heathcliff,’ said Cassie. ‘And I thought we could ride round to the wharf to drop them off.’ She tugged at the straps of her floral backpack.
Lulu stopped nibbling the ear of her green pony. She placed Clover carefully next to Violet. ‘Who’s Heathcliff?’
‘He’s an old stingray,’ said Cassie, hopping off her bike and leaning it against the table. ‘I bring him fish scraps every afternoon, down by the wharf.’
Dad looked over at Cassie. ‘Heathcliff? Now that’s an unusual name for a stingray.’
‘My mum is a singer on the cruise ships,’ said Cassie. ‘And one of her best, hardest songs is about a boy called Heathcliff and a girl called Cathy. It’s got very high notes. She can almost crack the wine glasses when she sings it.’
‘Aah, I see,’ said Dad. ‘“Wuthering Heights” by Kate Bush. That explains it!’
‘That’s it,’ nodded Cassie.
‘So . . . Heathcliff – is he . . . safe?’ asked Mum.
‘Oh yes,’ said Cassie. ‘He lost most of his tail a long time ago. No one knows exactly how. Maybe it was a fishing accident. But he doesn’t have a barb, so he’s very safe. He’s a bit of a sook, really. That’s what my Pop reckons.’
‘Can I come?’ asked Lulu.
‘No,’ said Henry, quickly.
‘It’s not fair,’ said Lulu. ‘I never get to do anything fun.’
‘Never?’ asked Dad.
‘NEVER!’ said Lulu. She snatched up Peony and stomped off into the tent.
‘Gosh, she’s a bit overtired,’ said Mum, with an apologetic grimace. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s okay,’ said Cassie. ‘So do you want to come?’ She tilted her head, waiting for Henry’s answer. ‘Don’t worry! I always feed Heathcliff down by the table where they gut the fish in the shallows. So it’s not deep.’
Henry bit his top lip and blinked furiously, as if a spotlight was shining suddenly and he could barely see. Cassie gazed around the campsite and over towards the trailer. She nodded at Henry. ‘Is that your bike under there?’
A shiver prickled down Henry’s spine. The bike was locked up tight to the trailer, covered in a tarp to keep it from rusting. But even so the front wheel was peeking out, like a nosy uninvited guest. Something stuck hard in Henry’s throat.
‘What’s wrong with the brakes?’ asked Cassie.
‘Well,’ said Dad. ‘The thing is, Cassie, that . . . um—’
Henry was hot and cold at the same time and everything was beginning to be edged in grey fur. ‘Dad,’ he murmured.
Mum opened her eyes wide. ‘Daniel,’ she said. She pursed her lips tight.
‘I’ll go with you!’ Reed burst out of his tent like a jack-in-the-box. ‘I’d love to get up close and personal to an old stingray.’ He stood there, smirking his usual cheesy, smartypants grin. ‘I’ll get my bike.’
Cassie glanced at Henry. ‘Well—’
‘NO!’ It came out like a loud bark. A lick of hot anger curled right through Henry. He glared at greedy-guts Reed, wishing his eyes were fierce laser points so he could wither him up on the spot like a dry brown leaf. ‘You can’t come!’ he hissed.
‘You can’t stop me!’ said Reed. His whole face flushed a dark cherry red.
Dad coughed. ‘Now, boys.’
Reed shoved a fist into the pocket of his shorts. He glared at Cassie. ‘If you want to ride with Hennie,’ he said, with a sneer, ‘you’d better get ready to wait for eternity because he—’
‘SHUT UP,’ said Henry, lunging forward. He snatched up Lulu’s battered green pony from the table and chucked it hard at Reed’s head.
Reed ducked and the pony bounced off the side of the tent and plopped straight into a red bucket. ‘Whoops! You missed!’ said Reed, with a snigger. ‘Except now you’ve done it! Because that pony is swimming in my bait bucket and it’s going to stink of squid. Hope you’re okay about breaking the bad news to Lulu?’
‘Okay, Reed, big fella,’ said Dad, standing up. ‘I think that’s enough. How about you go check on the older boys in the rec room and tell them we’re just about to get the World Cup cricket match started?’
Reed sniffed. ‘Sure thing, Mr Hoobler.’ He shot Henry a sneaky side-glance. ‘I might take my bike though,’ he said. ‘Because it’ll be faster than walking.’
‘Thanks mate, you do that,’ said Dad, with a sigh. He strode over to the Barones’ tent and fished the battered green pony out of the bait bucket. ‘I’ll just go and give Clover a wash at the sink,’ he whispered, holding the dripping pony by her tail. He snatched the pump soap from the top of the camp fridge.
Henry gazed at his mum in despair. He felt hollowed out, like a bushfire had raged through him. Why did he let Reed Barone get under his skin? Why couldn’t he think of something smartypants funny to say? Why did all his words get bottled up in the back of his throat? Now Cassie would be thinking he was some kind of crazy hot-head kid and she would never want to spend any time with him again.
Mum shook out a tea towel. ‘Are you staying around here, Cassie?’
‘Well, I live here,’ said Cassie, nodding. ‘With my Pop. In the caravan with the meerkats behind the fancy cabins, near the toilet block.’
‘Oh, wow,’ said Mum. ‘Not real meerkats?’
‘No,’ said Cassie, smiling. ‘Just funny stuffed ones. But my Pop reckons they put thieves off. They’ve got very beady eyes, and at night they sure look like the real thing.’
‘Beady eyes!’ said Mum. ‘I love it!’
‘I used to live with my Nan too,’ said Cassie. ‘But she got sick and died last year. Her liver stopped working.’
‘Oh, Cassie,’ said Mum, dropping her tea towel.
Cassie nodded. ‘It happened quick.’
‘That’s terrible. I’m so sorry to hear that!’
‘Nan and Pop had been married for fifty-nine years and three hundred and fifty days!’
‘Oh, so close to sixty!’ Mum cried, her eyes shiny. ‘Such a long time.’
‘Yes,’ said Cassie, swivelling her bike bell. ‘But the strangest thing is the day after Nan died, Pop packed up all her clothes and took them to the op shop, just like that. I don’t know what made him do that. Maybe he was too sad to see Nan’s slippers poking out from underneath the bed, like they were waiting for her to come back any minute.’ She looked up and shrugged.
‘Yes,’ said Mum, nodding. ‘Yes. Perhaps that’s it. Everyone has a different way of being sad.’
‘But I went up to the shop later and bought her pink dressing-gown back with my own pocket money, and when I go to bed at night I hug it up close because it still smells just like her. Like Crabtree and Evelyn
. Like roses.’ Cassie’s golden eyes were sheeny. She sniffed and tapped her bike bell. ‘You know,’ she said, flicking a straggly curl over her shoulder, ‘I’m pretty good at cricket.’
‘I bet you are,’ said Mum.
‘My Pop almost played for Australia.’
‘Really!’
Cassie nodded. ‘So I can bowl a pretty mean googly!’
Dad plodded back from the gazebo, carrying the sodden pony out in front. ‘Hope that does the trick,’ he said. He pegged it up on the clothing rack.
‘Cassie can bowl a pretty mean googly,’ said Mum, turning her head. ‘Her Pop almost played for Australia!’
‘Woweeee,’ said Dad, rubbing his hands together. ‘Yes! A spin bowler. You sound like a lethal weapon!’
‘Maybe,’ said Cassie, with a grin.
‘Well, would you like to do us a massive favour and give us a hand this arvo? I reckon the kids will need all the help they can get, taking on us mighty warriors.’
‘Mighty warriors?’ called Patch, from the tent. ‘Peuuuwww! More like tarnished golden oldies.’
‘Now, now,’ said Dad. ‘How about you show a little bit of respect in there?’ He clutched his side. ‘Although the old back is not what it was, that’s for sure. So . . . what do you reckon, Cassie? You up for the big bash?’ He slid the cutting board across the table and scraped a small mountain of parsley into a Tupperware container.
‘I’d love to,’ said Cassie. She turned and gazed at Henry directly. Her eyes lit up like the jasper stones on his Nonna’s mantelpiece, her whole face glowing like she had been given an extraordinary prize, even though all they were going to do was play a dumb old game of cricket. ‘Would it be alright if I just go and change my shoes and tell my Pop that I’m going to play?’
‘No problem,’ said Dad. ‘Invite your Pop along too, if you want.’
‘Ah, no,’ said Cassie. ‘He likes to have a nap in the arvo. He’s pretty old, you know, practically ancient. He even has ear tufts.’
‘Almost a caveman.’ Dad touched his own ears.
‘How about Heathcliff?’ asked Mum.
‘I’ll feed him later. He won’t mind.’ Cassie turned to Henry. ‘Maybe we can go for a ride another time?’
Henry’s heart pounded in his ears.
‘When your bike is—’
‘Sure,’ interrupted Henry, his voice cracking. ‘Another time.’ He shot a quick glance at his dad.
‘That’s one flash bike,’ said Dad to Cassie. ‘A dragster. I love it.’
‘I know’, said Cassie. ‘It used to belong to my mum. My Pop fixed it up for me, like new.’
‘Well, I’m sure it’s going to be a heap of fun to ride around together,‘ said Dad. He pinched his chin and nodded at Henry. ‘Another time. Now that sounds like a plan.’
WORLD CUP CRICKET
When it was Henry’s turn to bat that afternoon, he ducked every ball, even the gentle, juicy, smashable ones. The other kids groaned in agony. ‘Ohhh, nooooooo!’
‘I told you we should have played him as twelfth man,’ said Reed. ‘Even Lulu could do better!’
Cassie ignored them all and kept clapping harder. She fluttered up and down the sidelines, calling out instructions. ‘That’s the way. Take your time, Henry. Get your eye in. Hold firm and play it forward, okay? And don’t forget to move your feet! Straight down the wicket, yeah? You’re doing well.’
When Henry smashed Mr Carson down the bike path for four on the very next ball, Cassie did three cartwheels in a row and cried out, ‘Hello, Mr Cricket! Did you see? Whoo-hooo! A lofted drive! Take a bow!’ And Henry laughed and bowed to her and to his dad and to the rest of his team.
‘Well done, Heno!’ said Dad. ‘That’s the ticket.’
‘Hey!’ called Mr Barone from the sand flats. ‘Just remember whose side you’re on.’
Patch clapped. ‘See, you can do it, Henry. You just have to focus.’
Henry nodded. He cleared his throat. He licked his lips. He clunked his bat against the bike path, like a warrior, inviting the contest, welcoming it even. The skin tingled on the back of his hands. As Mr Carson bolted down the path, Henry lifted his bat and shuffled forwards. But the ball came skimming through so fast and low that he felt the breeze of it, before he’d even spotted it. It smacked hard against the boogie board wicket, flinging it sideways.
‘Howzat!’ cried Mr Carson, trotting backwards, waving a finger in the air.
Reed rolled his eyes. ‘Aw, geez, Henny. Clean bowled! Typical.’
‘Neeeeigh,’ said Lulu to Reed. ‘If you’ve got nothing nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything, Reed Barone.’
‘You should take your own advice, Lulu Poobler,’ said Reed.
Henry slunk back to the sideline, kicking at the grass, suddenly angry and disappointed. Cassie patted him on the shoulder. ‘Ah, bummer,’ she said. ‘What a daisycutter! You know, that ball would have taken out anyone, even Donald Bradman, the very best batsman in the whole wide world!’
Henry sniffed. ‘Really?’ he said, slumping down on the grass.
‘For sure! It was a hard-to-read ball,’ said Cassie.
‘Really?’
‘Promise,’ said Cassie. ‘I swear on my Nan’s Bible.’ And for some reason, the way Cassie held Henry’s gaze for a long moment, her golden eyes so clear and vivid, made the fuzzy ball of worry in his chest suddenly lift and float away.
When Cassie’s turn came to bat, she belted the ball; hooking, pulling, sweeping and slogging, smashing it through the gaps, over the tents, out on the sand flats, down the bike path, in between the cabins. She dashed down the pitch with a leap, a skip and a fiery ‘YES!’ as she hunted down more and more runs with each of her batting partners, first Dylan, then Jay and finally Patch.
‘I thought you said you were a bowler?’ said Dad, scratching his head, after he had finally bowled Patch out.
‘I can bat a bit,’ said Cassie.
‘A bit! Sheezy-wheezy. That might be the understatement of the century. You’re a whirlwind. I’ve never had to run so much. Every single one of us has shredded feet from chasing your shots through the reeds and I’m pretty sure I’m going to need to see a chiropractor tomorrow. I might even need traction!’
‘Here we go! Drinks time,’ said Mr Barone, carrying out a tray. He crouched down and placed it on the grass and then handed Dad a plastic cup. ‘Pink lemonade. It’s the closest thing we have to a sports drink. But it should do the trick. Get us back on track. Or at the very least send the kids hypo.’
Lulu pranced about on the grass. ‘I LOVE pink lemonade,’ she said. She scooped up a glass and took a long gulp and smiled, a rosy moustache stained across her top lip. ‘Are we winning yet?’
‘Not yet,’ said Dylan. ‘But we’re on the way.’
‘Haha,’ said Patch, giving Dad a little shove in the back. ‘You ready for your thrashing yet? No more excuses now. It’s time to bat, old man.’ He threw the ball to Cassie. ‘You take the new ball, champ.’
‘Nah,’ said Cassie, smiling. ‘You go first.’ She tossed it back.
Patch rubbed the ball while he waited for Dad and Mrs Barone to take their positions. And then he charged down the pitch, hurling ball after ball like he was throwing lightning bolts. But even though he steamed in like an express train, bowling long-hops and yorkers, pounding the pitch with sledgehammer feet, only one wicket came his way.
When everyone had taken their turn to bowl – Dylan, Jay, Carey, Reed, Henry, even Lulu and Kale – and the runs were mounting and the adults were beginning to get lighthearted and giddy, sensing a win within their grasp, Dylan turned to Cassie and knelt before her. ‘Help us, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re our only hope.’
Cassie laughed. She tossed the ball up and down, up and down with one hand and then she reset the field, pointing at Dylan, Patch and Jay, bringing all of her big boy fielders up close to the strike end. ‘It’s best to cook your victims slowly,’ she called with a big grin. ‘That’s what my Pop says.’<
br />
‘Whomp! Them’s fighting words,’ cried Mr Barone. ‘Bring it on!’
Four balls later, Cassie had two wickets. And two overs later the game was finished and the kids had won the first ever Yelonga World Camp Cricket Cup. The big boys bolted around the grass with their T-shirts flapped over their heads, singing ‘Victory!’ They slapped hands, swapped T-shirts and laughed and sang all the way to the bathroom to wash up for dinner.
The moon rose like a pale pearl.
Kale held Henry’s hand as they walked back to the tent. He smiled at the painted walking figure on the bike path. ‘Hello, man,’ he said.
‘That’s not a man!’ said Lulu. ‘It’s not even real, you silly!’
Dad limped in front. ‘Egad, Cassie, you’re a hypnotist!’
‘A snake charmer, more like it,’ said Mr Carson. ‘Did you see the way the ball danced down the pitch? One second it was going one way and the next it was striking you on the pads.’
‘How did you get so good?’ asked Mum.
‘She’s some kind of genius,’ said Mrs Barone. ‘Like Heno at board games. Is that right?’
‘Nope!’ Cassie scrunched up her nose. ‘Mostly I just got good because my Pop is always taking me down to the nets when he picks me up from school. We go there nearly every day, except for in the summer, when there’s a lot of cricket to watch on telly instead.’
‘Ah,’ said Dad. ‘So it’s all practice!’ He arched his eyebrows at Henry. ‘Just practice, practice, practice.’
Henry shook his head. He turned to his mum. ‘Can Cassie stay for dinner?’
‘If she’d like to,’ said Mum.
‘Sure I would,’ said Cassie.
‘Do you need to go tell your Pop?’ Mum touched Cassie gently on the shoulder.
‘It’s okay. He’s gone to the bowling club now to play a little bit of bingo, so it’s leftovers for me tonight.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Mum, glancing over at Dad.
Lulu tucked her hand through Cassie’s arm. ‘Maybe we can go for a walk to the park after dinner and have a go on the big nest swing and the pirate ship?’
‘Maybe,’ said Cassie. She gazed over at Henry. ‘If you want to.’
The Grand, Genius Summer of Henry Hoobler Page 7