by Various
‘Is that why you don’t have a cake shop any more?’
Mr Sneddley gave a single, sad nod.
Skylar reached out and took his hand and all thoughts of her leaving were gone.
It was during a walk in the woods gathering berries for another of Mrs Sneddley’s cakes that Skylar heard a rustling in the trees. She froze, worried that it was a bear or a wolf, or a forest monster with pointed fangs, when a small dog emerged.
‘Hey, little fella.’ Skylar tickled him under the chin. ‘What are you doing out here?’
The dog barked and ran back into the forest, before stopping and barking again, as if he wanted her to follow.
The Sneddleys told Skylar not to wander too far into the forest because it was easy to get lost, but the barking became more insistent. She followed him through the trees, until she came upon a woman sitting on the ground, with mud splattered on her dress and hands.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, perfectly fine, apart from slipping in the jolly mud.’ The woman patted the dog. ‘You’re a loyal boy, Bertie.’
Skylar thought she recognised the woman. ‘Do I know you?’
‘Perhaps, but I don’t believe we have met officially. I’m Queen Elizabeth.’
Skylar scowled. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘We have a home not far from here and I was taking one of my afternoon strolls. It clears the head for all that royal business one has to do.’
‘So you really are the Queen?’
‘Yes, don’t you believe me?’
‘It’s just that . . . ’ Skylar squinted at the woman’s muddy boots and scarf tied around her unruly grey curls. ‘You don’t look very queenly.’
‘No, I suspect not,’ she said. ‘But you don’t have to look like a queen to be one. It’s how you are inside.’
‘How you are inside?’
‘Yes, that and other things like how you treat people and not losing your temper when someone takes the last jam tart. Even though that is annoying. Oh, and how you hold a cup of tea.’ She demonstrated by holding out a pinkie. ‘Speaking of tea, do you know where one may acquire a cup?’
‘I know where you can get tea and the best cake in the world.’
‘Really? Oh, I do love cake. My royal doctor says I shouldn’t, but his rules give me a pain in my royal behind.’
Skylar giggled as she helped the Queen to her feet and led the way through the forest to the Sneddley cottage.
Where she knocked on the door.
Inside, Mr and Mrs Sneddley looked up.
‘Are you expecting anyone?’ Mrs Sneddley asked.
‘Not that I am aware of,’ Mr Sneddley answered.
There was a small pause before Mrs Sneddley said, ‘I guess we better answer it.’
When she opened the door, her mouth gaped open.
‘This is Queen Elizabeth,’ Skylar said. ‘I’ve invited her over for tea and cake.’
‘I . . . I . . . ’ Mrs Sneddley stopped, unable to say more. Her face was pale and her mouth was still wide open. Mr Sneddley stood behind her looking very much the same.
Skylar worried they weren’t well and was about to ask if they felt okay.
When Mrs Sneddley slammed the door.
‘I’m sorry,’ Skylar apologised. ‘They’re not used to visitors.’
She knocked again.
Urgent whispers were heard from inside.
This time, Mr Sneddley opened the door and stared at the Queen who stood in the doorway in a way that no queen had ever done before. ‘Our humblest apologies,’ he said, bowing so low Skylar worried he’d topple over, ‘Your Majesty.’
‘Not a bother,’ said the Queen. ‘It can be discombobulating to meet a queen. Even though one has never had a door slammed in one’s face before. But now I would very much like some cake if that is possible.’
‘Of course.’
Mrs Sneddley prepared the tea while Skylar set the table and Bertie curled up in front of the fire. Mr Sneddley cut the cake. It was a honey cake with swirls of lavender icing and decorated with Skylar’s freshly picked berries.
The Queen held her fork in the air. She was quite hungry after her walk and it took all her strength not to grab the cake and gobble it in one gulp. Instead, she slid the fork carefully into the cake and placed a dainty sized portion in her mouth.
The Sneddleys and Skylar watched as the Queen closed her eyes and smiled.
‘Do you feel light and dizzy?’ Skylar asked.
‘Yes!’ the Queen said. ‘And my fingers and toes are tingling.’
‘That’s because Mrs Sneddley is the best cake-maker in the world.’
‘She’s won the Muddly Shire Cake Competition five times in a row,’ Mr Sneddley said. ‘She’s unbeatable.’
‘Oh stop now,’ Mrs Sneddley blushed.
‘I won’t,’ Mr Sneddley said. ‘Not when it’s the truth.’
‘Well I think . . . ’ the Queen began when a giant burp escaped from her mouth. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘I’m terribly sorry for my extraordinarily bad royal manners.’
Skylar giggled, and so did the Queen and the Sneddleys.
‘That’s perfectly fine, Your Highness,’ Mr Sneddley said. ‘It is an honour to be in the presence of a royal burp.’
Which made them all giggle even more.
The Queen regaled the Sneddleys and Skylar with stories of royal mishaps, especially with Bertie, who it turned out could be quite cheeky, until the sun had almost fallen behind the horizon.
‘My royal staff will be wondering where I am. Thank you for the most delicious afternoon.’ She shook Mr and Mrs Sneddley’s hands and walked back into the forest.
‘Well how about that?’ said Mr Sneddley. He was still finding it hard to believe they’d had tea and cake with the Queen. ‘The Queen!’
‘It really was quite something,’ Mrs Sneddley said.
It was the second visitor they’d had in years and, despite what Mr and Mrs Sneddley thought of visitors, it wasn’t so bad after all.
It was even rather nice.
Winter passed and Skylar grew taller, her cheeks grew rosier and she was reading books on her own. Smaller ones at first, but she had to start somewhere, Mr Sneddley said.
Then, one day, there was another knock on the door.
‘Are you expecting anyone?’ Mrs Sneddley asked.
‘Not that I am aware of,’ Mr Sneddley answered.
‘I guess we’d better answer it.’ Mrs Sneddley swung the door open.
She gasped at the sight of a small group of people.
Led by the Queen.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ the Queen said, ‘but this is Marge, Vera and Thelma from my book club.’
The Queen held up her book.
‘Charlotte’s Web!’ Skylar cried. ‘That’s my favourite.’
‘Ours too! But before we started our club, I was telling them about Mrs Sneddley’s cake and they wondered if they could try some too.’
‘If that’s okay,’ Marge said.
‘We won’t stay long,’ Vera added.
‘We promise,’ Thelma promised.
‘Of course,’ Mrs Sneddley said, wondering where she might put them all. ‘Please come in.’
Mrs Sneddley prepared the tea while Skylar set the table and Mr Sneddley found some boxes and laid a plank across them with cushions so everyone fitted snugly around the table.
Mr Sneddley cut the cake, carefully handing out each slice.
‘Deeee-licious,’ Marge said.
‘Scrumptious,’ Vera added.
‘Sensational,’ Thelma sighed.
‘I told you so.’ the Queen smiled. ‘Skylar, so why is Charlotte’s Web your favourite book?’
Skylar paused. There were so many reasons, but there was one that stood above all the others.
‘I didn’t know living in the country was about more than wiping cow poo off boots.’
The Queen’s laugh lifted into the ceiling. ‘I couldn’t have said it better myself.’
>
And so the Queen and her friends and the Sneddleys and Skylar ate cake and talked about books until Skylar couldn’t stay awake any longer. Mr Sneddley carried her upstairs, tucked her into bed and quietly tiptoed from the room, when Skylar noticed her parcel caught in the glow of her nightlight.
She crept out of bed and held the letter and, for the very first time, she read out loud, ‘For you to keep.’
Skylar smiled. She carefully folded the note and placed it into the box, which she slipped beneath her bed, and fell asleep to the sound of voices and laughter that rose from below.
SIR
BUM
by
Tony
Wilson
My name is Harland Baum. Mum tells me she and Dad thought twice about calling me Harland because they thought kids might tease me. ‘But it’s a grand name,’ she says. ‘It’s a name fit for a president or prime minister.’
They should have thought three times. They should have run it through the primary school playground filter.
What’s short for Harland?
Harry.
Now say it three times.
Harry Baum. Harry Baum. Hairy Bum.
Ha! Did you just say ‘Hairy Bum’?
Haaaaaa! Hairy Bum! Get it? His name is Hairy Bum!
My backside is not hairy, by the way. It’s a rear end of standard ten-year-old non-hairiness. But the playground doesn’t care. It doesn’t help that my bum is bigger and rounder than it might ideally be once your nickname is ‘Hairy Bum’. Overall, I’m a big and round kid. Mum says that if anyone ever calls me fat, I should tell a teacher straight away. But they don’t. Not even the mean kids.
Everyone’s plenty happy just calling me Hairy Bum.
The Backwash Twins aren’t so much mean as borderline insane. Our teacher, Ms Keenan-Mount, says they’re ‘vigorous’. I say they’re crazy.
They’re not really named Backwash, either, any more than I’m Hairy Bum. Their real names are Mickey and Maurice Backhouse. Unlike me—they invented their own nickname in Year Three, when they spent two whole terms stealing drink bottles and deliberately backwashing into the nozzles.
‘Enjoy!’ they’d guffaw, as they handed the drink bottle back. ‘Ha! There’s a little present in there from the Backwash Twins.’
None of us can tell the Backwash Twins apart. They both have shaggy blond hair, tanned skin and giant overlapping front teeth. They both wear baggy shorts, basketball singlets, and backwards-facing baseball caps. They both have disgustingly similar backwashing techniques, which involve plenty of back-of-throat work. Eventually, Scarlett Tremayne’s mum complained to the school. The Backwash Twins terrorised our drinking equipment no more.
The Backwash Twins would be easier to avoid if they didn’t live two doors up from me. I often see them climbing onto their roof and then leaping with blood-curdling screams onto a trampoline below. Once I even saw a Backwash Twin on old Mrs Branchflower’s roof, the one between our house and theirs. He was just perched up there, throwing rocks. I wondered if they’d one day invade our roof, those insane tile-hopping Backwashes.
They sometimes knock on the door to ask me over to play. ‘Yo, Mrs Bum! Can the great Harland Bum come over?’
Mum always says tightly that ‘the name is Baum, rhymes with storm’ and that I’m busy with piano practice. Normally I hate piano, but anything to make good Mum’s excuse. Anything to avoid play-dates skipping daintily across neighbourhood rooftops with the Backwashes.
On the day it all happened, there was a knock at the front door after school.
Mum answered. ‘Well, hello there.’ I could tell by the warm note of surprise that she liked the look of whoever it was.
‘Hello, Mrs Baum,’ said a young girl’s voice, doing a bang-up job of rhyming with storm. ‘Is Harland there?’
I peered around my mum’s ample behind to see who it was.
Far out! It was Louisa Lim! Louisa Lim is the funniest, feistiest, sportiest, brainiest, everything-iest girl in Year Five. She has thick, wild, black hair, which she never ties back, even when she does high jump, which actually cost her first place in the school sports carnival last term. She has long limbs and perfect skin, which shows off teeth so straight and so white that I find myself just staring at them whenever Queen Louisa deigns to speak to me—which is normally about once or twice a year.
So what was Louisa Lim doing on my doorstep?
‘Would Harry like to come out for a play?’ She smiled. Those teeth were working their magic on Mum now. ‘Of course,’ Mum replied. ‘I mean, I’d have to ask him, but . . . look, he’s right here and as you can see, he’s not busy . . . ’
Five minutes later Louisa and I were walking down the steps of our porch.
‘Hi,’ Louisa said, arching one of her perfect eyebrows.
‘Hi,’ I said, feeling very confused.
‘Hi!’ the Backwash Twins yelled, jumping out from behind the two cumquat bushes that frame our driveway.
I nearly had a heart attack. Louisa laughed, and slapped me on the back. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said. ‘Mikey and Maurice do martial arts with me after school on Thursdays. My mum picks me up from their house. They said you wouldn’t come out unless I did the knocking.’
‘Yeeehaaaa!’ hollered one of the Backwashes, and jumped onto my back to ride me like a cowboy. While I staggered, the other Backwash jumped on him to wrestle him to the nature strip. They only stopped when Louisa pointed out a dog turd they were about to roll in.
No, not vigorous, Ms Keenan-Mount. Crazy.
‘We’ve invented a game called “One Two Three Bum”,’ said one of the Backwash Twins as he performed some impossible twisting somersault combination on the trampoline. It was one of those super bouncy, in-ground, Olympic-sized numbers. ‘You gotta get on here! We all gotta hold hands!’
Louisa grabbed me by the hand. I was so surprised I forgot to object to what would no doubt be some insane and possibly deadly Backwash Twins® production.
Mikey Backwash started to explain the rules. I found out it was Mikey because Louisa said, ‘Cool, Mikey!’ after he finished. I wasn’t really listening to the rules because I was still thinking about Louisa Lim holding my hand.
Maurice, the other Backwash Twin, said, ‘And then we go, “One Two Three BUM!” and do a “sit” together.’
We started bouncing. We started bouncing high —much higher than I felt comfortable bouncing. I could see over the Backhouses’ fence into the nature reserve that bordered our back fence too. I could see old Mrs Branchflower watering her dahlias next door. All four of us hit the trampoline mat at exactly the same time. I was still holding hands with Louisa. Louisa’s hand was about five thousand times less clammy than Maurice’s. We were getting serious elevation now. Maurice and Louisa were such good bouncers they were almost pulling me up with them.
‘One Two Three BUM!’ we shouted, and we all did a sit.
My trampoline skills are not world class, but I can do a sit.
We let go of each other’s hands and landed in perfect synch. It actually felt quite glorious. I laughed along with Louisa and the Backwashes. Maybe I’d been wrong all along? Maybe stupid, reckless games where you could possibly kill yourself are fun and worth playing? Did I want to play again? Yeah! I reached for Louisa’s lovely slender hand . . .
. . . only for a Backwash Twin to grab my hand first!
‘Can I have this dance?’ he giggled maniacally. I’d forgotten which twin was which again. The other Backwash Twin grabbed my other hand. They really were completely identical, right down to hand clamminess. Louisa was now opposite, staring at me with her beautiful eyes. We made our circle.
‘Okay, Bum, we sit on “Bum’’,’ said the Backwash Twin to my right.
‘Yeah, on “Bum”, Hairy Bum!’ giggled the Backwash Twin to my left.
We found our rhythm. I might have been unsteady but the Backwash Twins kept me in perfect time. Louisa was as graceful at trampolining as she is at everything else.
Bounce, bounce, bounce.
We were getting higher now.
Bounce, bounce, bounce.
The weight of the four of us almost made the mat sag to the ground.
Bounce, bounce, bounce.
The leaves of the overhanging lilly pilly brushed against my head.
‘One!’
Oh dear, this feels a bit high.
‘Two!’
The springs screamed as they flung us skywards.
‘Three!’
Get through this. Just close your eyes and get through this!
On either side, I felt a tug as Mikey and Maurice pulled on my arms. However high those two were, they were throwing me that little bit higher.
They let go.
I flapped my arms.
I was wildly out of control.
I attempted a sit.
I landed that fraction of a second after the three of them.
‘BUUUUUM!!’
It wasn’t double-bouncing. That’s for when there are two people on the trampoline. It wasn’t triple-bouncing either, which happens with groups of three. This was quadruple-bouncing, which I don’t think even had a name before this moment.
I was flung from the mat like a human cannon-ball. If my trajectory had been straight, I would have disappeared into the topmost branches of the lilly pilly above, before making a safe, if terrifying, fall back to earth. But my sit had not been good. The throw from the Backwash Twins had tossed me off balance, and I’d hit the mat at an awkward angle.
When I opened my eyes, I was flying.
Away from the trampoline.
Away from the Backhouses’ house.
Away and across and over their back fence.
I heard Louisa scream with terror. The high-pitched giggles of the Backwashes died as they realised the seriousness of what was happening. The wind whooshed in my ears. I experienced the sensation of defying gravity for as long as a trampoline-powered human has ever defied gravity. I must have flown ten, maybe even 20 metres. The ground had to be coming. I cried out, and prepared myself for the pain.