Mostly Sunny with a Chance of Storms (7 page)

‘Are you having a party or something?’ I asked, wondering why on earth he’d need my address. ‘I’ll put my phone number on too.’

‘Don’t have a phone,’ said Finn. ‘I’ll explain later.’

I finished scribbling down our address, closed the notebook and handed it back to him.

‘You around for the hols, Sunny Hathaway?’

‘Yep,’ I said. ‘I’ll be unpacking boxes, unfortunately.’ I was thinking of all that cardboard I’d have to handle.

‘Well, you’ll be hearing from me,’ he said. Finn stepped down from the bus and the doors folded shut behind him.

I turned in my seat and looked over my shoulder to the foggy exhaust of the back window as the bus groaned its way back into the traffic. Pre-crush or not I could sure do with a friend who lived on my side of town. Especially a friend who went to another school and who absolutely nobody else knew. A girl needs a friend all to herself, I tell you. Maybe Finn could be the new model Claud?

When I got
to school, Buster and Claud were sitting over by the basketball court. Buster was eating pieces of cooked sausage out of a tartan thermos with a pair of chopsticks. He must have noticed me giving him
the eyebrow
.

‘What?’ he said. ‘It’s the only way I can reach the bits down the bottom.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Claud, who thought absolutely
anything
Buster said or did was
fair enough
these days, even eating chopped-up sausages out of a drinking vessel first thing in the morning.

‘I forgot about the class party for lunch,’ Buster said. ‘So I’m having lunch now, which is kind of good ’cos I missed breakfast. Want some, Sunny?’ he said, holding a chunk of steamy sausage towards me. ‘There’s sauce down
the bottom, if you want to dip it back in.’

‘Ah, no thanks, Buster, I’ve got a tummy full of porridge.’

At lunch-time all the Year Sixes met in the kitchen area next to the hall for our mid-year break-up party. The windows were all steamed up from the smell of frankfurts, cuppa-soup and party-pies. There was also a slight foot-odour smell, but I shouldn’t talk about that right when I’m talking about lunch.

Miranda Percival’s mum had come to help and was buttering a bag of hot-dog rolls. ‘Going anywhere for the holidays, Sunday?’ Mrs Percival said as I stood in line for a cup of cordial.

‘Not these hols,’ I said, suddenly remembering that we hadn’t really been anywhere last holidays either and that if it became a pattern I had every right to put in a complaint to Mum
and
Dad, in which case there was every chance I could end up getting
two
holidays. It was another up-side to divorce.

‘We’re going skiing,’ said Miranda pushing in next to me.

‘Do you ski, Sunny?’ asked Mrs Percival in an ever-so-sensitive voice, as if not skiing might be a reason to call the Kids Help Line.

‘We snowboard don’t we, Sunny?’ said Claud, butting in.

Claud was going away for the holidays too. She and her brother Walter were booked in to some horse-riding camp. Even Buster was heading up north on a trip with
his mum. Could this mean that my only company for the school hols was destined to be the precookeds? Just as Mrs Percival handed me a hot dog I lost my appetite.

‘Thank you,’ I said, moving over to join the huddle by the heater and looking around for Buster in case I needed someone to eat my hot dog for me. Buster will eat practically anything.

But then I remembered Finn, and the way he called me
Sunny Hathaway
, and how he had said to me on the bus,
you’ll be hearing from me,
and how I really hoped I would.

At that moment I knew the pre-crush was official. After just two meetings. If that was the case, I’d have to get my head around ignoring him, becuase everyone knows it’s the first thing you do when you actually like someone.

Buster ended up sleeping over as well as Claud. Mum and Carl made risotto and we hired a pile of DVDs for a movie night in the gameless games room. At least there was a TV in there now and Mum had bought some beanbags too, so it was kind of a rumpus room just for us kids.

Buster was pretty quiet during dinner, but as soon as Mum and Carl had snuck off to the library he said, ‘Gee, Sunny, if I’d known your Granny was filthy rich I wouldn’t have cried so much at her funeral.’

‘That’s ridiculous, Buster. Everyone knows money doesn’t
really
make people happy.’

‘Rich people sure
look
happy,’ he said. ‘What’s there to be unhappy about?’

‘Well, being rich didn’t prevent Granny Carmelene from having a big fat disease, Buster. Have you thought about that?’

‘I’d still rather be rich and sick than poor and sick, Sunny.’

‘How ’bout rich and dead, Buster? Do you really think being rich helps when you’re dead? You’re seriously deranged.’

Claud gave me a crinkled look as if to say,
Chill, Sunny, there’s no need to get so upset.

But I
was
upset, and if I’d known Buster was going to make me have sad thoughts about Granny Carmelene, I never would have agreed to have him over. And where were Bruce and Terry when I needed them? I needed some
Woe-Be-Gone
grief repellent quick smart.

‘Does anyone want a hot chocolate?’ asked Saskia.

I could tell she was looking for an excuse to leave the room, and Claud obviously had the same idea.

‘Yum,’ said Claud, ‘I’ll help you make it. Come on, Sunny. Show us where everything’s kept. You guys stay here. We’ll be back soon.’ Claud was acting all embarrassed, as if Buster’s stupid comments were somehow
her
fault, and once we were in the kitchen she said, ‘Sorry Sunny, it’s just that he’s—’

‘Forget it, Claud,’ I said, passing her the cocoa and the sugar from out of the pantry. ‘I’d rather talk about something else.’ That’s when I noticed Bruce and Terry standing in the shadows down the back of the pantry.

‘Psst! Close the door a minute, Sunny,’ Terry said.

I flicked a glance over to Claud and Saskia, who were busy getting cups out and heating milk on the stove, and I quietly slid the door closed. Bruce held the can of grief repellent high above my head.

‘Close your eyes,’ he said, and I immediately felt the soothing mist settle over me. ‘Now, scram!’ he said, as Terry slid open the door for me.

‘Claud, did you know there’s a high chance I might be dyslexic?’ said Saskia, stirring the milk.

Claud gave her
the eyebrow
. ‘Ah, no, Sunny didn’t tell me.’

‘It’s because I’m so good at art,’ said Saskia, as though it was the most obvious thing on earth. ‘Isn’t it, Sunny?’

I was looking about for Granny’s old autotray (a trolley on wheels) so we could wheel our hot chocolates back and join the others.

‘Oh, there it is,’ I said, ignoring Saskia’s question and removing a pile of newspapers from the top of the trolley. ‘Did you put enough sugar in, Claud? That cocoa is bitter as.’ As I was taste-testing further with a teaspoon I realised just how potent Bruce and Terry’s grief repellent actually was. I was completely cured, I tell you. Cured.

After the movie we all scrambled up to the turret. Claud and I were in my bed while Buster, Lyall and Saskia each had a sleeping bag and a sleeping mat and sardined themselves on the floor. Then we set about spooking ourselves with scary stories until Buster had to go and ruin it all by telling a
true
one. It was about two Goths on the Sandringham train and how one of them was propped up against the other one like she might be feeling sick or something, but it turned out the leaning over one was actually dead, and the holding-her-up one actually had a knife.

Saskia started crying. ‘Now I’m never going to be able to catch a train again,’ she sobbed, and we all looked at Lyall as if to say,
She’s your responsibility, dude.

‘Come on,’ said Lyall, ‘I’ll take you downstairs to Dad and Alex.’

‘Sorry,’ said Buster. ‘I thought everyone had heard that one.’

‘I’m only nine, you know, Buster!’ Saskia yelled back at him on her way out. Then she started crying again. I could tell being
only nine
didn’t mean that much to Buster.

‘Talk about sensitive!’ he said to Claud, rolling his eyes.

Talk about insensitive!
I thought to myself.

By the next afternoon I was a little ‘peopled out’. So it was perfect timing that I was heading off to Dad and Steph’s.
Also, I couldn’t wait to see Flora. I really do miss her when I’m not around. Don’t get me wrong, I miss Dad and Steph too. It’s just that being only five months old and my real little baby half-sister, Flora is way cuter than anything else in my world, even Willow’s puppy photos.

I left Claud and Buster up in the turret, taking turns with the telescope and possibly pashing, and went to see how lunch was going. With Buster around all the time, I hadn’t even had a chance to tell Claud about Finn.

‘I’ll call you guys when it’s ready,’ I said as I thumped down the narrow stairs. I was so hungry my stomach growled.

Mum and Carl were in the kitchen doing – wait for it –
the crossword.
Even sadder than having parental figures who are addicted to crosswords is having parental figures who are addicted to
cryptic crosswords.
At least with the Quick I could sometimes help. Seriously, besides making new rules and rosters every five seconds, cryptic crossword clues are practically all Mum and Carl ever talk about, and believe me, they make no sense at all.

‘Oh, that’s an easy one,’ said Mum, as Carl took a pie out of the oven. ‘Fifteen down.
Stars tell how horrors manage
– it’s horoscope.’

‘Good work, love,’ said Carl peering over Mum’s shoulder. ‘So what does that make eighteen across now? Fourth letter is ‘r’.
Scorched salt water crimson.’

‘Looks delicious,’ I said. ‘What is it?’

‘Hunza pie,’ said Carl. ‘Made completely from the vegetable garden.’

‘Oh,’ I said, hoping to hide my disappointment. I could hear Saskia coming in the back door.

‘Are we ever going to
eat
?’ she asked, still puffing from running around with Willow, who gulped down half a bowl of water before collapsing on the floor under the table.

‘Yeah, Mum,’ I said. ‘You know,
eat -
three letters, what growing children need to do three times a day?’

‘All right, Sunny,’ said Mum, putting the newspaper aside. ‘No need to be sarcastic. Why don’t you go and find Lyall and help set the table.’

‘I’ll get him!’ said Saskia. She darted out into the entrance hall, stood at the base of the stairs and yelled ‘
L-y-y-y-y-a-a-ll, l-u-u-u-u-nch!’
at the top of her voice. Then she came back into the kitchen, still short of breath, and said, ‘Settimio told me off. Sunny’s right. He
is
mean.’

I could hear Lyall thumping down the stairs.

‘That reminds me, Sunny,’ said Carl. ‘Have you apologised to Settimio yet?’

I glared at Saskia for being the one to remind him. ‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘But not now, I’ve got friends over.’

Mum and Carl gave each other
the eyebrow
, and Mum pointed towards the back door and said, ‘Now, Sunny.
You’ll be off to your dad and Steph’s soon. Do it now, please.’