Sunny Days and Moon Cakes (12 page)

“What are they?” Min has woken up and is peering at my drawings.

I flick to the back of my sketchbook where there is a spare page and write, “Monster babies. It’s part of my Lotus Flower story. I’ll show you when it’s finished.” I can’t talk on the aeroplane. Most of the passengers are asleep, but the air steward might hear me.

“OK,” she says. “They look scary but kind of cute.” She yawns. “I’m all tired and stiff.”

“Go back to sleep then,” I write.

She ignores me. “Sunny, are you glad we went to China?”

I think about this for a second and then nod. It doesn’t seem to have helped with my anxiety or my problem with speaking in public. And it was hard, because it reminded me of what we’d both lost. But it also reminded me of happy times: going shopping with Mama, visiting the temple with Mama Wei, playing with Puggy. And the nicest thing of all was sharing some of my memories with Min. I’ve always felt close to her – she’s my only sister after all – but now I feel super close, like we’re two peanuts in one shell. I know she’d never admit it, but I think she feels the same way.

“Very glad,” I write.

“Me too,” she says. “Sunny, can I share your bed?”

I smile and she climbs in next to me, twisting around until her little body is curled against my back.

“Night, Sunny,” she whispers.

Night, Min Yen
, I say in my head.

The Friday after we get back to Little Bird, I’m drawing more of my Lotus Flower comic when I hear voices outside. I peer out of the arrow-slit window. It’s Mum and Rosie. Mum collected her off the ferry. Even though I like Rosie, the thought of what’s ahead makes me nervous. She’s here to try another “sliding in” session, but I’m not in the mood. I’m still tired from the trip to China.

Although things have pretty much gone back to normal, there is one thing that is completely different – Min. Every day she asks me new questions about Papa and Mama. I haven’t shown her the photos yet. I know it’s selfish, but I want to keep them to myself for a few more days. I’ve decided I’ll show her at the weekend, on Sunday maybe.

Rosie and Mum are in the kitchen now. I can hear their voices bubbling up through the cracks in the floor. I put down my sketchbook and roll back the rug so that I can see them and hear what they’re saying. Mum is standing in her usual place – leaning against the kitchen counter – and Rosie is sitting on the edge of the table. Dad’s there too.

While Mum is making coffee, Rosie asks, “So how did the China trip go?”

“It was really a special family holiday,” Mum says. “The girls got to see the orphanage and the area they once lived in, which is important. But…” She falters. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s nothing. I guess … I think we were just hoping for too much.”

“What were you hoping for?” Rosie asks.

“For some … change in Sunny, I suppose,” Dad says. “We thought that if we visited the orphanage and were able to fill in some of the gaps in Sunny’s memory of the place, then it might help her somehow.”

“We found out they had to sleep in different rooms at the orphanage,” Mum adds. “Maybe that contributed to Sunny feeling so vulnerable and worried. Apparently, Sunny used to sneak into Min’s room and sleep on the floor, holding her hand – isn’t that sweet? She clearly couldn’t bear to be separated from her.”

“That is very sweet,” Rosie says. “They’re obviously incredibly close.”

Dad sighs. “I really hoped the trip might change things for Sunny. You know, help her put the past behind her and kick-start her into action in some way. I got the feeling Sunny thought so too. On the afternoon of the day we visited the orphanage, she tried to speak to Nadia – didn’t she, darling? It was on a public street.”

Rosie leans forward. “Really? What happened?”

“Nothing – she couldn’t get the words out,” Dad says.

“She did try, though,” Mum adds. “That’s the important thing. We need to be patient, Smiles.”

“Interesting,” Rosie says. “And you’re right, Nadia – it’s great she tried. It means the desire is there. But I’m afraid there are rarely miracles when it comes to anxiety disorders. I did warn you not to look for a quick fix, Smiles.”

“I know,” Dad says. “I’m an impatient kind of person. I’m not good at waiting. And the whole thing gets to me sometimes. Why is this happening to Sunny? It’s not fair. She’s been through so much already and she’s such a great kid. I guess I just want to jump in and fix things for her.”

“I understand your frustration,” Rosie says. “You love her and you want her to be happy. Let’s give the sliding in a few more weeks. I really do think it’s the best way forward at this point. It’s been successful with lots of other children I’ve worked with. Hopefully it will help Sunny too.”

I roll the rug back over the crack in the floor then, and sit on the sofa. Poor Mum and Dad. I hate disappointing them all the time. I’ll have to try really hard today with Rosie. I want to make them proud of me.

The session with Rosie starts off OK. Mum and Rosie chat at the kitchen table about the China trip, mainly the sightseeing stuff: Kowloon, The Peak, the food, the shops. Goldie is under the table and Rosie reaches down to pet him. Then Rosie turns to me and asks, “Was it strange being back in China, Sunny?”

I nod.

“Did you recognize the streets where you used to live?”

I give a second nod.

“What about the orphanage? Did you remember that, too?”

And another nod.

“Had much changed?”

At this stage, I open my sketchbook to a blank page at the back and write: “There were new murals on the walls.” I draw one quickly.

Then I write: “And the cherry tree in the garden was bigger.”

Rosie smiles at me gently. “I’m glad you had a good time and were able to remember some happy things from your life there. Your dad said you tried to talk in public. You were brave to give it a go, even if it didn’t work out. Very brave. Shall we work towards that goal, Sunny? Getting you to say a few words in public? I believe you can do it.”

I shrug. I don’t see how I will ever get over my fear, but then I remember the promise I made to myself to try my hardest today, and I nod.

“Good for you,” Rosie says. “Let’s get started with today’s session.”

At Rosie’s request, Mum sets up a game of Connect 4 on the kitchen table. We decided earlier that we’d play that first, and then Pictionary.

“I want you to show me where I can stand today, Sunny,” Rosie says when the game is ready. “I’d like to leave the door open a little, if possible. Would that be all right?”

I feel the familiar tension in my body and I try to breathe through it. After a long while I manage to give a tiny nod.

“Just give it a go,” Rosie says. “If it’s too much, we can close the door. There’s no pressure.”

I show her where to stand, halfway down the corridor.

“I’m going to walk with you to the door,” she says. “Then I’ll leave it open a crack and go back to stand where you asked me to. You go in and play with your mum as if I’m not here. Is that all right, Sunny?”

Even though my hands are shaking, I nod. I don’t understand why I’m more nervous today than I was the last time we tried this. Maybe it’s because I really, really want it to work now.

When I sit down with Mum to start playing, I can’t stop staring at the slightly open door and thinking of Rosie standing just outside it.

“Would you like to be yellow?” Mum asks me. “It’s your favourite colour.”

I know I’m supposed to say, “Yes,” out loud, but it won’t come out. So I just nod.

“That’s all right, Sunny,” Mum says. “No need to talk immediately. Just take it slowly. Try some deep breaths.”

I do my milkshake breathing, but I still feel all prickly and nervy. So I close my eyes and picture myself lying in a boat with Min on Monet’s water-lily pond. That helps a bit. I open my eyes and give Goldie a rub behind his ears and then try to concentrate on the game again.

Mum slides a red counter into the blue plastic grid. “That’s my first go. A red disk right in the middle. Where are you going to go?”

I pick up one of the yellow disks. I open my mouth to say, “Right beside your red,” but my throat feels tight and nothing is able to come out.

Mum looks over at the door. “Rosie, can we close the door for a little while?”

“Of course you can if you need to,” Rosie says, coming back into the room. “Just take it nice and slowly, Sunny. Baby steps, as they say.”

Once the door is closed and Rosie is on the other side of it, we try again. But it’s just the same. I try to talk and nothing comes out.

Mum is attempting to stay all smiley and positive, but I can see that she’s upset. After half an hour of failure after failure, she goes into the corridor to talk to Rosie.

“I’m sorry,” I hear Mum say. “It’s not working today. I’m doing my best.”

There’s quiet for a moment and then a sniff and Rosie says, “Oh, Nadia. Don’t upset yourself. This happens sometimes. She’s had a lot to take in over the last week, with the trip and visiting the orphanage and everything. Let’s go back inside and talk to her.”

Mum’s eyes are glittering with tears when she walks back into the kitchen, but she still manages to smile at me.

“Sunny, I don’t want you to worry about this,” Rosie says. “I’m sure you’re still tired after China. We’ll meet again when you’re feeling a bit fresher, say in a week’s time. It’s perfectly normal to have off days. Lots of the girls and boys I’ve helped have them. This doesn’t mean it’s not going to work.”

I nod, but right now I’m not sure I believe her.

That evening, when we’re curled up in bed, Min asks me about Rosie. “You were very quiet at dinner,” she says. “Mum was too. And you didn’t say much about that Rosie lady coming round today.”

I tell Min what happened earlier and how disappointed Mum was that I wasn’t able to talk today. “Rosie told me that everyone has off days, though,” I add. “She said not to worry about it.”

“I don’t mind if you never talk,” Min says, giving me a hug. “You’re still my sister, no matter what.”

“Thanks, Min.”

She snuggles up closer to me.

On Saturday morning, Mum walks into the kitchen and says, “Girls, there’s something wrong with Goldie’s eye. He cut it on a bramble the other day and I think it’s infected. I’m going to have to take him to the vet in Redrock. Get your coat, please, Min. Your dad won’t be back from London until this evening, so you’ll have to come with me.”

“What about Sunny?” Min asks.

“Sunny’s thirteen now,” Mum says. “She can look after herself for a few hours.”

Min scowls. “That’s not fair. I hate that stinky old ferry. And Goldie always pukes when he’s on it.”

“That’s hardly the poor dog’s fault,” Mum says. “Come on, we’ll miss it if you don’t hurry up.”

“I’ll look after Min if you like,” I say.

“Really?” Mum asks me. “Are you sure? It’s a big responsibility.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“But only when I’ve gone to the shop or the cafe,” Mum says. “This would be all afternoon.”

“Please can I stay here, Mum?” Min begs. “I’ll be as good as gold. Cross my heart and hope to die.” Min crosses herself, but gets it all wrong and manages to hit herself in the face.

Mum laughs. “Min, stop! I don’t want to have to deal with two eye injuries. OK, you can stay here if you promise to be good and if you’re positive you can cope, Sunny?”

“It’ll be fine, Mum,” I say. “Trust me.”

“I’m bored,” Min says, coming into the living room, where I’m trying to read my manga book. Mum’s only been gone for half an hour and Min’s already moaning.

“Watch telly then.”

“Mum says I’m not allowed to when it’s nice out, remember?”

“She’s not here, is she.”

“I suppose.” Min picks up the remote control from the coffee table. She channel hops for ages – which is very annoying – before settling on an episode of
SpongeBob
.

After only a few seconds, she switches off the telly and sighs deeply. “I’ve seen that one before.”

“Watch a DVD,” I say.

“I’ve seen all of them, too.”

“Do some drawing then.”

“Boring.”

“Play with Goldie in the garden,” I suggest.

“Duh! He’s with Mum.”

“Jump on the trampoline.”

“Boring.”

I slam my book closed. “Min! Stop annoying me. Go and do something, anything.”

“But there’s nothing to do.” She starts to jump up and down on the armchair beside me, her feet smashing into the cushions.

I feel like yelling at her, but I know that won’t help, so I force myself to be calm as I tell her to get down. “I’m never, ever looking after you again. You’re driving me crazy.”

She flops down into the armchair, sending tiny dust motes into the air. “You’re supposed to be playing with me. You’re a rubbish babysitter.”

I glare at her. “I’m not your babysitter – I’m your sister. I’m not getting paid or anything. Just get lost, OK.”

“Fine.” She storms off in a huff.

Next thing, I hear her climbing up the wooden staircase towards the parapets. She’s not allowed up there on her own, but, to be honest, I’m past worrying. She can fall over the edge for all I care.

A few seconds later she shouts, “Sunny!”

My heart almost stops – has she fallen and hurt herself? I’m such a terrible sister. I didn’t mean what I thought before! I drop my book and run up the stairs to the roof.
Please let her be all right
, I think as I fly through the door and out onto the roof.

Min is jumping up and down excitedly. “Look!” she cries, pointing out to sea. “Whales!”

Min’s right – there are three adult whales and a baby whale swimming off Fastnet Point, which is near Cara Woods on the far side of the island. We take turns watching them through the telescope that Dad set up on the roof. One of the adults is spyhopping – sticking its head out of the water – and it has deep grooves on its underside so it must be a humpback. Cal’s mum, Mattie, taught me that when we went out on her sea safari last summer. She’s a whale expert, so she told us all about them – how they live and how to tell the different species apart.

“Can we go to Fastnet Point to watch them?” Min begs. “Please? The baby one is so cute, and we’ll get a brilliant view from there.”