Henry popped the last bite of his bun into his mouth and followed her down through the reeds, squelching through the mud and out onto the sandflats.
‘So,’ Cassie said, twisting the hem of her T-shirt. ‘The thing is . . . my mum is coming home from a cruise at the end of February.’
‘Oh wow!’ said Henry, swallowing quickly. ‘That’s good.’
‘I know,’ said Cassie. ‘On the Gypsy Princess.’
Henry dug a big toe into the sand. ‘Well, maybe this time it will be forever. Maybe this time she’ll have grown tired of singing and is going to come home for good.’
Cassie shrugged. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘But I’m still going to keep on wishing. But you know the other best thing?’
‘No. What?’
‘The Gypsy Princess is going to dock in Sydney and my Pop was thinking we could go up to meet her and that when we do, we could perhaps come by and visit you and your family too. And I will get to see you again and not so long away.’ She smiled at him, her eyes shiny and exultant.
A dark rain cloud rose from around Henry’s own heart. Ah, he got it now. He understood. Sometimes it was hard to know just exactly how low and sad you were until the feeling actually lifted.
Henry would get to see Cassie again and not so long away. She wouldn’t be lost to him forever. Even though he was going home to Beatle and to Nonna and to Year Three and to his old friends and a new teacher. Even though his summer holiday was nearly done.
‘Whoo-hooooo!’ he shouted. And all of his loud, gulping, rejoicing delight spilt out like a flood. ‘Whoooooooooooo-hooooooo!’ He zoomed about the sandy shallows, his arms outstretched like a winged horse, skimming and gliding above the earth.
Cassie laughed and laughed. Then she leapt and stretched out her arms and the two of them ran, sweeping and swooping.
Henry would see Cassie again. Yes, he would. The best, grand genius friend he had ever met on his way to somewhere else. Because this wasn’t an ending, but a beginning.
The wind whistled in the roof racks as the car sped along the highway towards home. Every now and again, the trailer jolted and jiggled.
‘You locked it on okay?’ said Henry.
‘Yes, matey,’ said Dad, looking at him in the rear-view mirror. ‘I did. I triple quadruple checked it too.’
Lulu was fast asleep. Her head bobbed up and down and her hot bare foot rested on Henry’s knee. A silvery strand of drool hung like a fishing line right down to her shoulder.
‘Are you sure?’ Henry itched around the scab on his shin.
‘Absolutely.’
‘I don’t want it to fall off.’
‘How much longer?’ Lulu opened her bleary eyes for a second.
‘Five and a half hours!’ grinned Dad.
‘Oh, no,’ groaned Lulu, smooshing her hand across her mouth.
‘Go back to sleep, sweetheart,’ said Mum. ‘It’s a long while yet.’
‘Okay,’ sighed Lulu, licking her lips. She nestled back into her booster, hugging Clover tighter to her chest.
Henry patted Lulu’s foot soothingly. ‘But what if it did fall off?’ He glanced over at Patch. He was leaning his head against the window, his eyes tightly shut, his earphones plugged in, his leg joggling away.
‘Your bike couldn’t get more secure, Heno. I promise you! Okay?’
‘Okay. Good! Fine.’
Henry thought about Peg on the back of the trailer, gleaming like a silver moonbeam, the front wheel whizzing. He couldn’t wait to show Nonna how he could ride. He couldn’t wait until he could show Beatle. Maybe he could even take Beatle for a ride in the dog park. Or maybe he could even start to ride his bike to school on his own? Holy Vamoley! The last thing Henry wanted was for Peg to fall off the back of the trailer into some thicket of bush, never to be found again.
‘You know what?’ said Mum. ‘It’s so funny. When I left home to go on holidays, I felt a little pang of sadness. And now I’m leaving holidays to go home and there it is again, the same little pang. What do you make of that?’
‘You know,’ said Dad, planting a big kiss on the side of Mum’s head, ‘you are a mysterious and wonderful woman.’
Henry thought for a long moment. He pondered the warm comfort of home and Beatle and Nonna and his own squishy bed. And then he thought about his holiday and Cassie, playing cricket and cards, eating feasts with the other families, under a sky full of stars. He thought about the sound of the sea roaring at night, the smell of salt and hot bread and bacon in the morning, making wishes, licking creamy banoffee gelato and trying his first ever kingfish. He thought about Lulu and werewolves and rescuing Clover and Patch teaching him how to ride Peg, on his own. He thought about sadness and magic, and making a true friend and the surprising, unexpected discovery that sometimes a holiday could turn a person inside out like a pocket, into something new.
‘Well . . . maybe all best good true things give you a pang when you leave them or they leave you,’ he said slowly. ‘Otherwise . . . maybe they wouldn’t be best good true things?’
‘Ah, Henry!’ said Mum, breathing out a big sigh. ‘Oh, yes! Of course. It makes sense when you say it like that.’ She rustled around in the glove box. ‘On that lovely note, who would like a lolly?’
‘Not for me, thanks,’ said Dad.
‘Me, please,’ said Henry.
Mum tossed a barley sugar over her shoulder. Henry caught it first go.
‘Great catch, numpty!’ grunted Patch, with his eyes closed.
‘What?’ said Henry. ‘Hey! How did you know?’
Patch opened one eye. ‘It’s my sick extra-sensory perception!’ He winked at Henry. ‘So . . . how about when we get back home, I take you down to the BMX jumps by the duck pond?’
Henry felt a little flutter in his chest.
He imagined Peg flying up and over a giant jump. ‘Ooooh, yeah,’ he breathed.
Patch nodded. ‘Awesome!’
Henry gazed out the window, at the hazy green wide world.
Holy Gramoley! It was a grand, genius summer. There were no other words for it.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A zillion billion thanks…
to Erica Wagner, Hilary Reynolds and the whole team at Allen & Unwin, for the endlessly good ways you have all made Henry so at home in the world,
to Judy Watson for your glorious illustrations, and Debra Billson for your gorgeous design,
to Barbara Mobbs, my agent, for the many tremendous years of straight-up and true wisdom,
to Miss Cole and her class for being such a kind and and generous first audience,
to all the wonderful friends we’ve camped with over the years, but especially the Clement, Russell, Stelzer and Warren families, with deepest gratitude for so many grand, genius summers,
and to Keiran, Bryn, Riley and especially Rohan, who was Henry’s champion from start to finish – bucketloads of love for all the laughs, long hugs and encouragement, and for all the bright, funny moments like small, quiet treasure.
ABOUT the AUTHOR
Lisa Shanahan is an award-winning writer of picture books and fiction for young people. Her first novel for teenagers, My Big Birkett, was published to critical acclaim both in Australia, where it was short-listed for the CBCA Book of the Year for Older Readers, and in the United States. Her picture book Bear and Chook by the Sea, illustrated by Emma Quay, was the CBCA Book of the Year for Early Childhood in 2010. Her picture book Big Pet Day, illustrated by Gus Gordon, was the Speech Pathology Book of the Year for Ages 5–8 in 2015.
Lisa loves moon-gazing, making up words, mango sorbet, mock orange blossom, black cockatoos, shouts of unexpected laughter, the weight of a scruffy dog resting on her knee and hot cups of tea. She lives in Sydney, close to the river of her childhood, with her husband and their three sons.
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The Grand, Genius Summer of Henry Hoobler Page 14