Smooch & Rose (2 page)

3. Carol's Place

It had been my idea to open a stall to sell damaged
strawberries. We sold ‘Nunn's Famous Strawberries'
for three dollars a kilo out the front of our place
every Saturday during strawberry season. We had no
shortage of customers since our tiny farm had become squashed in between all the new houses in Wellington Point. We weren't too far from anything anymore. People could easily wander over and pick out a punnet or two. It turned out that city people liked farm-fresh strawberries, even if they were funny shapes and sizes. Probably because they still tasted of sunshine. It was kind of nice seeing all those reject berries making people happy instead of ending up on the compost heap. And, of course, Gran was pleased to see the extra cash.

The Saturday after Carol dropped by, I couldn't wait to close up the stall. The minute the last punnet sold, I raced down to the creek and collected an armful of leaves. I practically ran the whole three blocks to Carol's house.

‘I brought these,' I said, trying not to puff. ‘I hope they're okay.' I'd also brought my teddy, Brownie, just in case Smooch was pining for his mum. It had been a present when Mum and Dad died and always did the trick when I was missing them.

Carol reached for the leaves and beckoned me inside. ‘Good on you. Just what we need.'

I peered around the front room. I couldn't see any baby koalas – just Carol's unusually large belly.

Carol caught me looking. ‘You didn't think I'd been scoffing ice-creams, did you?' she said, reaching into the bottom of her jumper. She used both hands to ease out a round bundle wrapped up in a T-shirt. Two grey and white fluffy ears appeared from the bundle. Two bright button eyes followed.

‘I told your little man you were coming,' she said. ‘Here, sit down on the couch. Have a look at the beautiful bub you found.'

Smooch
was
beautiful. His furry face looked up trustingly at me as Carol placed him gently on my lap. White hairs stuck out of his ears, like an old man who'd just got out of bed. His black-brown eyes were ringed with white and his fur was springy, like the wool on a woolly sheep. He was a real, live teddy bear. So perfect, so soft.

I didn't know where to put my hands. They seemed big and clunky next to Smooch. He was about the size of the Beanie Babies the other girls brought to school and must have weighed about the same as a kilo punnet of strawberries. But he was way better than strawberries. I didn't want to hurt him so I sat statue still.

‘You're doing good,' said Carol, nodding at me. ‘Real good. But maybe breathe now, hey?'

I took a breath and as I did Smooch looked up at my shoulder. He stared for a second and then lifted his front paws, like he was going to grab at my neck. I stiffened. Was he going to bite me?

‘It's okay,' said Carol when she saw my frozen face. ‘He wants to snuggle, that's all. Relax. Just see what he does.' Smooch reached his claws up and gripped onto my jumper. I held my breath again. He crawled up my chest and then onto my shoulder. My hair hung loose in a tangled mess and Smooch reached for it, his soft fur brushing against my chin. He wriggled around the back of my neck until he was comfortably nestled in my hair. He wasn't heavy and his claws weren't sharp, but I wasn't sure what to do. What do you do when there's a koala in your hair?

‘It's okay, he won't hurt you,' said Carol. She offered Smooch a fresh gumleaf. ‘Come on, buddy, it's not nap time. Don't you want your lunch?' He reluctantly untangled himself and took the leaf between one finger and his first tiny thumb. He sat on my lap, nibbling the leaf daintily, as if he wasn't really sure what it was.

‘In the wild, koala babies learn to eat solid food when they're about six months old,' Carol told me. ‘They start with something called pap. It's basically their mum's poo.'

I screwed up my nose. ‘Eugh. Really? Poo?'

Carol laughed at my funny face. ‘Oh, it's not that bad. It's how the mums pass on good bacteria for their bub's stomach. Smooch's mum already started him on it before she died, so his stomach can handle gumleaves. If she hadn't, they'd be poisonous for him. Pretty smart, hey?'

It took Smooch ages to eat just three leaves. His mouth was small and he chewed very slowly. When he lost interest, he ditched the leaf he was holding and clambered unsteadily off the couch. Once he was down, he waddled over to where Brownie lay on the floor. He sniffed him and then pounced, wrestling the teddy and trying to bite his ears. Brownie fell sideways on top of Smooch and I sprang from my seat.

‘He'll be okay,' said Carol, beckoning for me to sit back down. ‘He's just playing. I think your teddy does remind him of his mum.'

I smiled. I understood completely. Although I'd never exactly wrestled Brownie, I knew how nice it was to have a big brown bear to cuddle. I was glad I'd chosen to give Brownie to Smooch now.

After he'd played for a while, Smooch was ready for another sleep. Carol said koalas slept a lot. She carefully bundled him up in her make-do pouch and popped him back inside her jumper.

‘Will you come back next Saturday?' she asked as I stood up to go. ‘Meet the rest of my babies?'

There were more? My eyes grew wide. I quickly nodded. ‘Yes, please,' I said. ‘I'll bring more leaves.'

After I'd said goodbye, I ran the whole way home. I couldn't wait to tell Gran and Lizzie all about Carol and Smooch. I wondered what it would take to become a wildlife carer. Perhaps Carol could train me and then I could do it too? My head began to explode with possibilities. Imagine all the animals we could fit on the farm. Imagine caring for animals like Smooch – for the rest of my life!

4. Bush Babies

Strawberry season came around only once a year. It was the best time of year because we got to fill our bellies with fresh juicy strawberries, but it was also the worst time because it was winter and always cold. Our big old verandah wrapped all the way around our creaky timber house and with the huge ancient trees crowding up over our roof, practically no sun got in. It was a dark house at that time of year and the first thing Gran and I did every afternoon was switch on the bright cheery lights in the kitchen.

‘Hey, guess what?' I shouted when I got home from Carol's late that afternoon. Strange. Gran hadn't turned on any lights. Even though it was nearly time for tea. I threw my runners off in the hall and flicked the switch in the kitchen.

My hand froze at the wall. Gran sat at the kitchen table, her head buried in her hands.

‘Gran?'

She looked up at me and blinked against the yellow light. Her eyes were red, like she'd been crying.

I started towards her. But then I stopped. A torn envelope sat beside her elbow on the table. A piece of scrunched-up paper lay on the floor by her feet.

‘What's happened?' I asked, not daring to take another step. The envelope wasn't bright and colourful, like a birthday card or party invitation. It was slim and white and crisp. And very serious-looking.

It must have been. Gran never cried.

Gran rummaged in her pocket for a tissue and quickly blew her nose. ‘It's okay, Rosie,' she said. ‘Just that . . . things are a bit tough, that's all. The bills are mounting up, the strawberry price is down, and now this.' Her eyes fell to the envelope. It might have been a huge black hairy huntsman the way she looked at it. ‘It's from the bank. I've been expecting it for months. Your Uncle Malcolm said this would happen.'

I gritted my teeth. Uncle Malcolm! He was Dad's younger brother and he lived in the city. It had been hard for Gran to care for me and run the farm after Mum and Dad died, so Gran had asked Uncle Malcolm for help. He was always too busy selling big city houses to rich city people, so he'd given Gran money instead.

But last year people stopped buying big houses in the city and Uncle Malcolm ran out of money to spare. He started ringing up Gran every week, telling her to sell the farm and cut her losses. He wanted Gran and me to move in with him so he could keep an eye on us.

But Gran told him no.

She said she'd
never
sell the farm.

Uncle Malcolm wouldn't let Lizzie come if we moved in with him. He was allergic to everything.
Everything!
And that included dogs, even smart ones with soft brown eyes and a taste for berries.

Uncle Malcolm had become furious when Gran said no. He shouted at her, a loud booming shout that made our timber windows rattle. A shout that still gave me nightmares. ‘You're being ridiculous!' he'd roared. ‘The bank will come knocking. Dog or no dog. Give it time, you'll see!'

I'd hugged Brownie close the night Uncle Malcolm had shouted at Gran. We'd never leave Lizzie behind. Would we?

And now it seemed Uncle Malcolm had been right. The bank
had
come knocking. I looked at Gran's face, all crumpled and red. They couldn't make us move. I wouldn't let them.

‘Don't worry, Gran,' I assured her, using my bravest voice. ‘We don't need Uncle Malcolm. Something'll come up. It'll be okay.' I tried to sound upbeat, but Gran didn't look convinced. I crossed my fingers behind my back.

The following Saturday took forever to arrive. When it finally did, and the strawberry stall had sold out, I gathered an armful of leaves and headed to Carol's. This time Lizzie came too. At first Carol wasn't sure about having a dog inside, but it wasn't long before she realised that Lizzie wasn't an ordinary old dog and let her stay.

We met Jedda, the kangaroo joey who slept in a knitted red jumper with the bottom sewn up, and Pip, the wallaby so young she looked like a tiny pink bird. Then there was Maggie, the magpie who could dribble a soccer ball with her beak, and Ned and Nellie and Piggy and . . . There were so many animals, I lost count! They all loved Lizzie, especially Smooch, who thought I'd brought him another teddy bear to wrestle. Carol told me she'd been caring for injured or orphaned animals for over 30 years.

That explained her worn-out hands.

Bunny rugs and blankets were tossed over every surface in Carol's house. The kitchen bench was completely hidden under bottles of formula and bags of green pellets and boxes of birdseed. The whole place smelt of warm soggy Weet-Bix.

‘What do you have to do to become a wildlife carer?' I asked. ‘Do you have to go to university?' I bit my lip and reached down to rub between Lizzie's ears. I wasn't smart like Kellee and Tahlia. I'd never got an ‘A' in my life. ‘It's just that . . . well . . . I'm not that good at school. Do you think, maybe I . . .'

‘You rescued Smooch, didn't you? You'd breeze it in,' said Carol. ‘These guys need caring people exactly like you.' She scratched her head with her wide brown hands. ‘As long as you don't mind smelling of baby formula, that is, and getting no sleep, never having a holiday and . . . oh . . . having no money. What do you think?'

I laughed and scooped Lizzie into my arms. I didn't mind how I smelt. And having no money or holidays? That was old news at our place. I nodded happily. ‘Yes, yes, I'd love to.' Lizzie licked my face in approval.

Carol shrugged. ‘Tell you what, why not practise right now? Smooch is ready for a snooze. You can be mum. Go on, tuck your T-shirt in.'

I released Lizzie in a flurry and jammed my T-shirt into my jeans. Carol snuggled Smooch up in his pouch and passed me the bundle. With trembling hands, I slid it down the neck of my T-shirt until it was safely nestled against my skin, just above the waistband of my jeans. Now I had a Santa belly just like Carol. My cheeks ached from my massive grin.

I stood perfectly still, feeling Smooch's gentle breathing tickle my tummy. I couldn't budge. What if I woke him? What if he got hurt? Carol eventually convinced me that it was okay to move, saying there was too much to do to just stand around like a lump. She passed me some ointment to rub on Pip the wallaby, asked me to cut up apples for the possums, and then showed me how to make up a bowl of warm cereal. ‘For Jedda,' she said. ‘We're trying to fatten her up.'

Jedda's red jumper was slung across the back of a chair. The neck hung open like the opening to a pouch. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do. Pull her out? What if I frightened her?

‘Jedda,' I said gently, crouching awkwardly beside the jumper. ‘Lunchtime.' The jumper moved. A small pointed brown face appeared through the neck hole. Two enormous ears poked out. Jedda's wet nose twitched in the direction of my bowl. Not long afterwards, her whole body emerged from the jumper. Her back legs were long and spindly with the knobbliest knees I'd ever seen. She had three toes on each foot. Then came her never-ending tail. Her shiny eyes stared at the cereal.

I smiled. Lizzie lay on the floor beside me while I scooped a small amount of cereal onto the spoon and offered it to the hungry kangaroo. The end of her pink tongue dipped daintily into the cereal like she was worried she'd make a mess of her whiskers if she ate too fast. Each time the spoon emptied, I filled it again. Jedda took so long Lizzie was snoring before we were even halfway done.

On the third-last spoonful, the bundle inside my T-shirt began to move. It felt like Smooch was doing a tumble turn. One tumble turn became three.

‘Carol!' I cried, trying not to panic. Lizzie sat bolt upright and tipped her head to the side. A volcano was erupting in my Santa belly. Perhaps Smooch didn't like me after all?

Carol was standing at the kitchen bench, rewrapping a bandage on an injured possum. She was at the tricky bit where you had to make sure it didn't all unravel, so she didn't look up when I called. ‘What?' she said absently. Then, when she saw my stricken face, she added, ‘First, calm down and then just stick your hand into your shirt and ease the pouch out. No need to panic.'

My mouth had gone completely dry. How would I know which end was up? What if he slipped out and cracked his head on the floor? I was supposed to be caring for him, not making things worse. So far I was a failure as a koala mother.

‘Use both hands to unwrap the pouch. When you get to his body, hold him close. He might get a fright when he realises you're not me.'

I carefully unravelled the pouch until Smooch's grey fluffy ears and bright button eyes appeared. My hands were shaking but he wasn't the least bit worried that I wasn't Carol. He clawed his way out and clung onto my neck. Then he turned his head to look at Jedda's bowl.

Carol laughed. ‘Greedy guts,' she said. ‘He's got a whiff of Jedda's lunch. Stay there. I'll make him up a bottle.'

Jedda was getting fidgety. She wanted the last of her food and Smooch was making her wait. ‘Here, give me the bowl,' said Carol when she came back from the kitchen. ‘I'll finish up with Jedda and you feed Smooch. I think you're his favourite anyway.' She passed me a fresh warm bottle and I prised Smooch away from my neck. He guzzled down the whole lot and then snuggled into my lap for another snooze. I cuddled him into my arms and stroked his hairy ear with my thumb.

‘You're my favourite too,' I whispered.