‘Have you ridden down this hill before?’ asked Henry.
‘Only from halfway,’ said Cassie. ‘From near the cemetery. Where my Nan is.’
The cemetery. Oh, gosh, Henry didn’t want to think about the cemetery, in the same way he didn’t want to think about the fact his skull contained a brain. But if you were going to be silly enough to ride down a hill of death, a cemetery was one of the places you could possibly end up in. He knew that for a fact!
‘Let me tell you, it’s still pretty scary riding down, even from halfway.’
Holy Momoley! Was he waiting, again, for the exact right moment? Even though he had survived a ferocious storm on the first day of the holidays, as bad as a gigantic tornado? Even though he’d ventured out and rescued a lost pony in the middle of the night, even though he was petrified of the dark and dragons and werewolves and zombies and all of Lulu’s scary concoctions?
Hadn’t he learnt how to ride his bike, even though he was terrified? Even though he crashed into a prickly rosemary bush? Even though Reed had taunted him the whole time and he was so worried about what everyone might think? Hadn’t he ridden his bike to Nugget Rock with his dad and sped down a small hill of death? Hadn’t he said sorry to Cassie for not being straight-up and true? Hadn’t he touched a fierce, wild animal like Heathcliff with his bare hands? Hadn’t he felt the echo of that fierce, trembling wildness rise up in him too?
Wasn’t he a genius at noticing funny moments like small treasure? And at playing board games and eating gelato and listening and making friends and trying hard? Couldn’t he be good at making a tiny bit of room for the worry, without giving it the whole house?
Henry flicked the spikes on his helmet. He could do it. He wanted to do it. He knew he had the right sort of courage somewhere. He climbed on his bike. He launched out across the road, his legs shaky. The front wheel wobbled from side to side.
‘I’m ready,’ he whispered.
‘Okay,’ said Cassie, tightening the straps of her helmet.
The mothy flutter of worry was in Henry’s chest. But something else too, a secret shimmer in his tummy, like a tiny bunch of glittery fish were waiting to leap towards the sun. He took a deep breath. He turned Peg’s front wheel downwards, towards the wharf side of the hill.
‘Wheeeeeee-heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!’ he screeched, as he lunged forward.
‘Whoooooo-hoooooooooooooooo!’ shrieked Cassie, dinging her bell.
The wind whistled in Henry’s ears.
The cable ties tack-tacked. Cool air puffed from the dappled shade. Heat roared up from the road. Cassie’s wheels purred close behind.
Henry swept down over the very first dip and he felt his tummy rise and float, like it might never come down again. When the bike landed with a smack, he laughed out loud, as if someone had tickled him. He loosened his shoulders, bent his elbows and relaxed his grip. He tucked himself into the bike, until he was tight and small.
He plunged down past the cemetery and the golf course, leaning into the curves. The world poured by in a blur of blue and green and bugs and birds. There were moments when Henry was certain he was skimming above the road, gliding like a grey-winged horse. He was sure the earth was turning in the opposite direction, right before his eyes.
Holy Smamoley!
His heart was hammering. Water was streaming from his eyes and down his cheeks. He wasn’t crying, but maybe he could. But he wanted to laugh too, big, loud, gulping, rejoicing whoo-hoos of delight. He was exuberant, buoyant, afloat, as if nothing would ever sink him.
He knew what a bike meant now.
It was fun, adventure, danger, speed, balance, power and strength. It was wind and wings and freedom, the whole world blooming fresh, right before his eyes.
When Henry reached the bottom, he braked so hard he skidded to a stop in the rubbly shoulder of the road. Leaf litter flung up around him. ‘Whoooaaaaaaaah!’ he breathed.
‘Heeeeeeeeee!’ squealed Cassie, her brakes screeching, as she slithered into the corner. ‘Haaa! We made it!’
They gazed at each other, red-faced and puffing. They were silent for a long moment. A magpie warbled a song in the tree above. Gum leaves twizzled down.
Henry grinned. ‘Do you want to do that again?’
Cassie laughed. ‘Race you to the top!’
Henry and Cassie rode slowly back to the holiday park. ‘Holy Spamoley! My legs are jelly!’ said Henry, with a snort.
Cassie giggled. ‘Maybe six times down that hill was too much.’ Her front wheel wobbled.
‘Henry,’ shouted Lulu. She dropped her skipping rope and danced down the bike path towards them. ‘Henry! Guess what! GUESS WHAT! Reed caught five kingies, three albacore, seven bream, six tailors, two trevallies, eight flounders and four mullets. And he’s saved the best and biggest kingie for you. And we are going to have a fish feast. And everyone’s been invited, the WHOLE holiday park, as soon as Reed gets back from the hospital.’ Her eyes were wide, her cheeks round and pink as plums.
‘The hospital?’ Henry braked. He balanced on one foot. ‘Did he hurt himself?’
‘No . . . no . . . no,’ Lulu said. ‘But he was very sick out on the boat.’ She nodded at Cassie. ‘Your Pop said he did an awful lot of vomiting. The most vomiting he has ever seen. But Reed didn’t let that stop him because he was too busting to catch a kingie. And when the fish started biting, he didn’t want to stop, even though his dad wanted him to.’
‘Is he going to be okay?’ asked Henry.
‘Oh, yes! They’re just taking him to the hospital as a . . . what do you call it . . . a pre . . . something—’
‘Precaution?’ suggested Cassie.
‘Yes! That’s right,’ said Lulu. ‘In case they need to dehydrate him!’
‘Rehydrate, I think.’ Cassie pressed a hand against her lips. She stole a quick glance at Henry. He swallowed back a smile.
‘Yes, that’s what I said,’ exclaimed Lulu, shaking her head in annoyance. ‘But he made me promise to tell you, Henry, that the big kingfish is just for you!’
‘Woweee!’ said Henry.
‘And he was so happy, Henry,’ said Lulu. ‘Even though his face was green as a gherkin, he was smiling. Smiling so huge, it was like he found every single present on his Christmas list right underneath his tree.’ Lulu hopped about on one foot. ‘And Reed’s dad said it was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and that Reed’s holiday has now been well and truly made!’
Well and truly made! Henry thought about those words for a second. A crisp, clear gladness crinkled right through him.
‘And Henry,’ interrupted Lulu, ‘can I have a bite of your big kingie?’
Henry nodded. ‘Sure thing, Lulu.’
Lulu skipped away. ‘Super!’ she sang. ‘Super-dooper! Super-dooper-pooper!’
A HUGE, HEAPED PLATE
Henry and Cassie cruised the tables spread out with food.
‘Crispy noodle salad,’ said Henry, pointing at a dish. ‘Tick! My favourite. I’m going to have a big scoop of that!’
Cassie slid further down. ‘A beefy thing here. With nuts!’
‘Someone else can eat that.’
‘It might be nice,’ said Cassie.
‘I don’t think so.’
Cassie laughed. ‘You never know.’
Fish were sizzling on a nearby barbecue. Pop and Reed were standing side by side, wrapped in navy aprons. They were click-clacking their tongs and flapping their flippers like they were conductors.
‘The maestros are at work,’ said Dad to Henry, with a wink.
Crowds of people were gathered around, sniffing up the fresh deliciousness of lemon and salt and garlic and chilli. The nuggety rugrats from next door were listening eagerly to Pop’s tales of Reed’s daring adventure. ‘Now let me tell you about how the lad reeled this one in! It was an epic Moby-Dick fight, I’m telling you,’ cried Pop, pointing at the biggest fish on the barbecue.
Patch and Jay and Dylan lounged on the grass, near the water’s
edge, talking with the coconut girls.
Dad slid a salad bowl onto the table. ‘Whoo-hooo! Here’s another potluck dish! Corn and bacon and avocado, with a twist of lime. So I’ve been told.’
‘Hmmm-mmm,’ said Henry to Cassie. He licked his lips. ‘Ba-con. I lo-ove bacon.’
‘Would you look at this feast!’ said Dad. ‘So much bounty to share! I can’t wait to taste them all.’ He bent and scruffed Lulu’s hair.
‘Don’t!’ Lulu reached up and pressed her hair back down. She was sitting on the grass, surrounded by the big bikies. Each one held a pony on their lap, because Lulu was teaching them, in great detail, about the art of grooming. ‘Their manes can be quite tricky,’ she confided. ‘And they get very fussy and snorty when you have to work through their knots. I find it helps if you sing to them very loudly. But not lullabies. They hate lullabies. But they LOVE love songs.’
Henry leant over another bowl and sniffed. ‘Potato salad with egg and tiny green things. Yeulch!’
‘This one is chicken caesar salad,’ said Cassie. ‘It’s got the little bread cubes in it. They are so crunchy. Sometimes they have anchovies. Do you know what they are?’
Henry shook his head. ‘Nope.’
‘They’re tiny little fish with the biggest ker-pow taste. My Nan loved them so much she could eat them all on their own, straight from the jar. I don’t like them. They’re too salty and oily and sluggy and—whoah!’ Cassie pointed at a dish in the middle of the table. ‘Who made that?’
‘Who made what?’ asked Henry. He stared at a basket containing a crusty buttered breadstick.
‘That salad!’ said Cassie, pointing at a cracked yellow bowl, edged with pink rosebuds.
‘Are you sure that is a salad?’ Henry stood on tiptoe to look closer. It looked nothing like a salad to him. There was not one iota of green in it, for a start. ‘What are those white things?’
‘Marshmallows,’ said Cassie.
Henry screwed up his nose. ‘And the orange stuff?’
‘Mandarin,’ said Cassie. ‘Little segments of mandarin. And crushed pineapple and shredded coconut. All stirred in together with sour cream.’
‘Sour cream!’ said Henry. ‘Holy Glamoley! That doesn’t sound like a salad at all!’
‘Where did it come from?’ Cassie peered around the tents. ‘Do you know?’
Henry tugged at the collar of his shirt. ‘Nope,’ he said. ‘Anybody could have brought it.’
‘Oh, my goodness!’ Cassie rushed forward around the tables, across the grass. She gazed down the bike path as if she was searching for something. She turned and looked up the bike path.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Henry.
Cassie circled back. Her face was flushed and she was breathless, like she had run a long way. ‘That salad . . . it was my Nan’s favourite.’ She trudged back across the grass, pinching her bottom lip. ‘She always made it . . . on special occasions. And just for a second I—’
‘Ah, gosh,’ said Henry.
‘I thought . . . but then . . . of course, you know.’ Cassie’s head drooped. Her neck was thin and pale as a stalk.
Henry gazed up at the sky, at the first wish star beginning to bloom. ‘You know what?’ He stood up straight. ‘I’m going to eat a double helping of that salad.’ He clenched his fingers tight. ‘And I’m pretty sure it’s going to be delicious. The nicest thing I’ve ever eaten. Even if it does have mandarin in it.’
Cassie sniffed, then laughed, her eyes glistening.
Henry crumpled the edges of the tablecloth. ‘And anyway, who’s to say your Nan wouldn’t send you a marshmallow salad? Who’s to say she wouldn’t send you that, instead of a shooting star, so you can know she’s still thinking of you even in heaven?’
‘Oh, Henry,’ whispered Cassie. ‘Yes!’ A smile broke out across her face.
Henry blushed, red as a can of crushed tomatoes. He opened his mouth to say something more, but just at that moment Reed rushed up, huffy and sweaty. He held out a platter like he was making an offering to royalty. ‘Henry!’ he said, almost bowing. ‘The big kingie. It’s ready. It’s done. It’s all yours. I hope you enjoy it.’
Henry gazed down at the fish. It was gigantic, staring up at him with a fevered, disapproving eye. Holy Dramoley! He wasn’t sure he could eat it. He swallowed, trying to dislodge the big lump in his throat.
‘I’m going to stay right here with you, to see you take your very first bite,’ said Reed. ‘I want to know what you think!’
Henry nodded. He took the proffered platter. A puff of soy and ginger stung his nose. He glanced at Reed’s flushed, proud, anxious face.
It came to Henry then that perhaps true friends could be found in unexpected places. It struck him that sometimes a fish was more than just a fish. That sometimes a salad was more than just the bits and pieces that made it up. He knew in a flash that eating a huge, heaped plate of marshmallow salad with mandarin, topped with a barbecued kingfish with a bulging, mad eye was a big, wild way of saying yes to the grand, genius adventure of being a straight-up and true friend. And funnily enough, he wouldn’t change a thing.
BEGINNINGS and ENDINGS
On the morning they packed up, all the grown-ups were snappy and cranky. Even Dad was grumpy, his happy mood sunk like a tall ship. ‘Would you hurry it up!’ he growled at Patch, who was fiddling with the tarp ropes. ‘We’re not on teenage time now. We need to fold this tarp up, collapse the tent, pack the trailer, hitch it on and be out of this place by ten, so the next family can move in.’
Henry hated the idea of another family moving into their spot. He hated thinking about them setting up their tent and their tarp and their kitchen and camp chairs, riding their bikes on the bike path out front. He wanted to pretend that this site would be empty for the whole year, waiting for them to come back the very next summer.
The sun beat down like a hot hissing iron against the top of his head.
Every time Henry wanted to go and find Cassie, his mum found him another job. First he carried the clothing crates and pillows and bed rests to the trailer. Then he helped Lulu fold her sleeping bag. After they finished wrestling the slippery, rustling thing back in its bag, like some kind of crazy miracle, Henry was ordered to wash and dry the breakfast dishes. Later he followed Mum around the tent, while she swept every blade of grass and every speck of dirt into his dustpan.
‘Why isn’t Lulu helping more?’ said Henry, groaning. His back and legs were aching from too much crouching.
‘Don’t you worry about Lulu,’ said Mum. ‘She’s keeping Kale entertained and that’s a harder job than sweeping, let me tell you! It’s going to take all her powers of persuasion and every pony trick in her repertoire to keep Houdini from escaping.’
‘Henry, just worry about yourself!’ cried Dad, from outside the tent. ‘I’ve already told you!’
Holy Scramoley! Henry could tell even breathing might get him into trouble today. Just one tiny whistle out of his nose and his dad might go ballistic.
‘It’s like a hot-air balloon in here.’ Mum wiped her top lip. ‘I’m about ready to ignite!’
‘At least it’s not raining, that’s all I can say,’ grunted Dad, as he dragged the fly off the tent. ‘Patch, would you get over here now and stop looking at that phone! If I catch you so much glancing at it again, it’s gone for the whole trip home.’
‘Someone woke up at the wrong end of the sleeping bag,’ muttered Patch through the mesh window, rolling his eyes.
‘When you’ve finished in there, Henry, I want you to move your bike and the scooters and skateboards over to the trailer,’ called Dad.
‘No one’s to go back into the tent now,’ said Mum. ‘It’s been swept clean and I don’t want anyone clodhopping through it.’
Henry dragged the scooters and the skateboards, one by one, towards the trailer. He saved Peg for last. The water glittered. The sky arched above him, an impossibly dreamy blue, while the grass beside the bike path rolled away smooth and green as a Gr
anny Smith apple. Everything was so fresh and clear, inviting him, almost tempting him to go for one last ride . . . no, summoning him to stay forever, making it as difficult as possible to say goodbye.
‘Yoooo-hoooo!’ said Pop, ambling towards them through the pine trees. ‘We’ve brought some sustenance, otherwise known as morning tea.’
‘Yummy!’ cried Lulu, letting go of Kale’s hand. ‘Mango! My favourite.’
‘And some iced tea,’ said Mrs Barone. ‘What a lifesaver!’
‘And apple-blackberry juice!’ shouted Lulu.
‘Yum.’ Kale poked his head through his legs.
‘Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!’ Mum rested her chin against her clasped hands, as if Pop and Cassie were an answer to prayer.
‘And a pink tea bun,’ said Cassie, grinning. ‘Without sultanas.’
‘Whoo-hoo!’ cried Patch. ‘Morning tea time! Ding-a-ling-ting!’
Everyone emerged from behind their trailers and tents, wiping their sweaty faces and sighing with relief, eager to forget the racing clock. They drank iced tea and juice, munched on tea bun and sucked on the mango cheeks until they were bare, while everyone laughed and joked and told stories and teased and lived back on holiday time, just for a little while.
Henry and Cassie wandered down towards the water’s edge. ‘Everyone’s been so mad today.’ Henry licked the icing off the end of his bun.
Cassie wiped a crumb from her top lip. ‘Well, my Nan always says being mad is just another way of being sad,’ she said.
Henry stopped licking. ‘Oh.’ He chewed that thought over in his mind for a second. He hadn’t thought of getting mad like that before. But maybe if you were a grown-up and you wanted a holiday to go on forever and ever, then the end of a holiday would be as horrible as a dark rain cloud shadowing your heart. Maybe if you were a grown-up, getting grumpy was a little bit easier than bawling your eyes out.
Cassie beckoned to Henry. ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ she whispered.
The Grand, Genius Summer of Henry Hoobler Page 13