Sunny Days and Moon Cakes (7 page)

“Maybe it is, Min,” Landy says. “I’m not ruling it out.”

“Really?” Mollie asks, surprised.

He shrugs. “There must be something behind all those old fairy myths. And look at all the coins and things that people have left on the doorstep. They’re gifts for the fairies. To grant wishes. In fact, we should all make a wish right now and leave an offering. Here you go.” Landy reaches into his pocket and then hands each of us a coin.

“Thanks, Landy,” Min says, her eyes twinkling at him. She really does have it bad.

Mollie and Min place their coins on the doorstep.

I hold mine tightly in my hand.

“Sunny?” Mollie says. “Aren’t you going to make a wish?”

What’s the point? If the Little People do exist, they know what I want. It’s what I’ve wanted for years – to be able to speak.

I’m sorry, fairies
, I think as I place my coin on the pile.
I’m happy to give you this coin, but right now I’m all wished out
.

“Can we see the other fairy houses now?” Min asks, hopping from foot to foot.

Mollie rolls her eyes at me and I smile. Min’s so impatient, but I’m glad to see she’s back to her usual self. I was beginning to wonder what I’d done to annoy her.

We find the second one easily – a midnight-blue door set into the earth under a big twisted tree root. The third one is harder to spot.

“I think it’s down by the lake,” Landy says. After leaving the path and climbing over some fallen tree trunks, we reach the mud and rushes at the edge of Lough Cara.

“There it is,” Landy says, pointing at a rocky outcrop. This one isn’t just a door but a whole house! It is made from wood and painted a mossy green, and is three storeys tall. It has two small red chimneys sticking out of a real tile roof and Gothic windows with pointed tips. It’s tucked under an overhanging rock to keep it dry.

“Someone’s put a lot of work into that,” Mollie says, crouching down to look at it more closely.

I look around then, wondering why Min isn’t squealing with excitement. She loves this kind of thing. I can’t see her anywhere. Where is she?

Mollie and Landy are so busy studying the house and talking about the real glass in the windows that they haven’t noticed she’s missing. I peer into the forest, looking for her yellow rain jacket or pink wellies, but I can’t see anything.

I pull at Mollie’s sleeve. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she says, gesturing at the house.

“Min,” I mouth at her.

“Sorry, Sunny? I don’t understand.”

I mouth my sister’s name again, but she’s still not getting it, so I tweak her arm and then point at the forest behind us.

“You’re right, Sunny. Min will love this one,” Landy says, standing up.

I shake my head and wave my arms around while mouthing “Min” again. This time Mollie clicks.

“Oh,
Min
!” she cries. “Where is she?”

I throw both my hands up to say,
I don’t know
.

“Min!” Mollie calls loudly.

Landy joins in. “Min!” he shouts. “Can you hear us?”

There’s a splash from further down the lake. My heart stops. Min is a terrible swimmer. If she’s fallen in…

Then there’s a shout. “Over here! Help! I think I’m stuck.”

It’s Min.

Relief floods over me and I run towards the sound of her voice. She’s at the edge of the lake, up to her knees in sinking mud. When I reach her, she pulls one leg out, but the boot stays behind.
Stay still
, I want to tell her,
you’re going to lose your balance otherwise
. And just as I think it, Min tips sideways and lands in the brown gloop.

“Min!” Mollie yells, coming up behind me. “What are you doing? You’ll sink in that mud. It’s dangerous. Get up.”

Min is lying on her side in the soft mud, squealing. The mud is up to the top of her legs and she’s sinking fast.

“I thought I’d be able to get out on my own,” she says. “Stupid mud.” She hits the mud with her hand, making a big splash.

“Stay still, Min, or you’ll sink even deeper,” Landy says. “I’m coming in to get you.”

“I’ll help you,” Mollie tells him.

He wades in slowly, and it takes a while, but he finally manages to pull Min out by the arms. Mollie holds his waist to make sure he doesn’t get sucked in too. Then, while Landy lifts Min onto solid ground, Mollie tries to fish out Min’s boots with a stick. It’s no use – they’re stuck in too far.

“You shouldn’t go near that lake mud, Min,” Landy says when they’re all back beside me on dry land. “It’s lethal stuff. Every year at least one cow or sheep gets stuck in it. And they’re not as lucky as you. They don’t always get rescued. Sometimes they drown.”

I shiver. Min may drive me crazy, but I don’t want to lose her.

“What were you doing in the mud anyway?” Mollie asks.

“Looking for another fairy house,” Min says huffily. “Landy said there might be more hidden around the place.”

“In the forest,” Mollie says. “Not in the mud. Come and see the one we found and then we’d better get you home before you freeze to death.”

“I have no boots,” Min says. “Someone’s going to have to carry me.” She looks pointedly at Landy.

Mollie rolls her eyes at me, but Landy just laughs.

“No problem, Min,” he says. “I’ll get you home safely.”

I’m so relieved that Min is all right that I don’t even feel irritated. That’s my sister for you. She can wrap anyone around her little finger.

After taking another quick look at the fairy house, we walk back home with Min riding high on Landy’s shoulders, her filthy jeans matting his blond hair with mud.

I love her so much. Despite how much she annoys me sometimes, she means everything to me. And I couldn’t even tell my friends that she was in danger. As the reality of it all sinks in, I realize that I have to get better, for my sister’s sake as much as my own. How can I possibly keep her safe otherwise?

On the afternoon we’re leaving for China, Mum’s in a complete flap. She’s racing around the house, collecting even more of our clothes to squeeze into an already bulging suitcase. Dad and Min are waiting in the jeep outside. They’ve just dropped Goldie off at Mollie’s house. Dad is getting impatient now. He keeps beeping the horn, which is making Mum even more frazzled.

“Mum, they’re waiting for us,” I tell her as she stuffs raincoats into our suitcase, along with more swimming costumes.

“I thought it was supposed to be hot,” I add. “And I’ve already packed my togs. I don’t need another pair.”

Dad beeps the horn again.

“OK, OK,” Mum mutters. “I’m coming.” She shuts the final suitcase and I wheel it outside while she locks up the house.

Dad gets out of the jeep to load up the boot. “Do you have the passports?” he asks her.

Mum looks anxious for a moment, then rummages in her handbag, pulls out her pink leather travel wallet and opens it. “All here. Plus the tickets and the visas.” She tucks everything safely back into her bag.

“And I have plenty of Hong Kong dollars, Chinese yuan and my credit cards.” Dad gives her a hug. “Stop worrying, Nadia. If we’ve forgotten anything, we can buy it over there.”

It takes nearly two hours to get to Cork airport and then it’s another two hours before we arrive at Heathrow in London, where we will catch the plane to Hong Kong.

The boarding area at Heathrow is brightly lit, with a lot of glass and steel. And it’s so busy! There are people everywhere, bustling along with wheelie suitcases, dozing on the seats, or hunched over playing games on their iPads, or reading.

I spot a Chinese family with a daughter who looks just like Min, although she’s a bit younger, I think – six or seven. I catch the girl glancing at me and Min and then at Mum and Dad. In Ireland, it is me and Min that people stare at because we’re the ones who look different, so it’s funny for Mum and Dad to be examined so closely. To this Chinese girl we must look like a strange family unit, with our two pale-skinned Irish parents. I wonder if she has worked out that we’re adopted.

No one else in my family has noticed the girl. They’re not as observant as me. Being quiet and slipping into the background has its advantages.

Min’s moaning breaks into my thoughts. We haven’t even got on the plane for Hong Kong yet and she’s already complaining loudly. Unlike me, she’s not afraid of making a scene. She’s lying with her head on Mum’s lap and sighing every few seconds.

“This is really boring,” she moans. “When will they let us on the plane?”

Mum strokes her head. “Soon, pet,” she says. “You’re just tired. It’s way past your bedtime. Hopefully you’ll sleep during the flight.”

Min sits up. “Are you crazy? I’m much too excited to sleep. I can’t wait to see all the skyscrapers and the lights. What’s the first thing we’re going to do when we get to Hong Kong?”

“Rest after all the travelling,” Mum says.

Min fakes a yawn. “Boring. No, I mean, the first fun thing?”

“As soon as we’ve checked into the hotel, we’re going to take you to our favourite noodle bar in Hong Kong,” Dad says. “Lucky’s. Then we’ll visit the city on the mainland, Kowloon, and The Peak on Hong Kong Island. The Peak is where we used to live. It’s really pretty around there. The hotel we’re staying in is near the harbour, but it’s not far from our old apartment. Then we’ll do lots more sightseeing and finally, on our last day, we might visit Shenzhen and the orphanage – but that’s Sunny’s choice.”

“What about me?” Min asks. “How come she gets a choice about what we’re doing and I don’t? It’s not fair.”

“This is Sunny’s birthday trip, Min,” Mum says. “You’ll get your own trip another time.”

“It better be a good one,” Min says.

Mum frowns at her. “Min Sullivan, stop being such a madam. Why don’t you play your DS until we board?”

While Min is busy with her new Pokémon game, I pull my sketchbook out of my rucksack, open to a fresh page and start drawing Puggy. Since meeting Rosie, I’ve been sketching him quite a lot and I’ve got much better at capturing his funny sticky-out left ear and his paws. I use the side of my pencil lead to shade in his soft velvety fur. I begin to add a cherry tree beside him, but then I stop and rub it out. No! I don’t want to remember anything about the orphanage. Instead, I draw our old home, remembering the musty smell in the lift of the tower block and its flickering light. And the cats. Lots of silky grey cats. They didn’t live in our block, though. I can’t recall exactly where I saw them or who owned them, but I have a feeling that they weren’t strays.

And then I sketch our funny old neighbour Mama Wei, with her wrinkly brown face like a walnut. When Mama died, Mama Wei looked after Min during the day and collected me from school when Papa was working in the factory. She was strict but kind and she cooked great noodles. She used to let Puggy stay with us in the afternoons. She understood that having Puggy around to hug and curl up with helped me to deal with how much I missed Mama (Min was too small to remember Mama). Puggy loved snuggling.

“Are you sure we’re supposed to be in this bit?” Min whispers, after the air steward has shown us to our seats in business class. “We’re not posh business people. We’re just kids.”

“Anyone who can pay for the seats is welcome in business class,” Dad says. “Trust me.”

“It’s a lovely treat, isn’t it, girls?” Mum says. “I for one am looking forward to lying down. I know we only left the island this afternoon, but it feels like we’ve been travelling for days.” She yawns, making me yawn too.

The seats are really cool, much bigger than normal ones on aeroplanes. They fold down into mini-beds too, and they have their own built-in movie screens. The air steward brings us chicken and noodles to eat with a choice of real metal cutlery or chopsticks. We all choose chopsticks. Then Mum makes us put on our pyjamas and do our teeth in the tiny loo.

Min falls asleep almost as soon as she lies down. So much for being too excited to rest! Dad’s been snoring away since the minute they dimmed the lights – he never has any problem sleeping – and Mum has just dozed off too. So it’s only me still awake. I’m lying here with my eyes closed, trying to get to sleep, but my mind won’t let me. Behind me, the Chinese girl from the boarding area is being settled down.

“Close your eyes now, little one,” her mum is telling her in Cantonese.

“Can I have a song, Mama?” the girl asks.

Her mum starts to sing very softly, a song about a little bird:

“Once I saw a little bird come hop, hop hop
.

And I cried, ‘Little bird, please stop, stop, stop…’”

I know that song! Mama used to sing it to me and Min every night. I close my eyes and try to imagine that it’s Mama singing to me.

Mama.

I have a photo of her tucked into the back of my sketchbook. In it she is about ten years old. She’s wearing a traditional red-and-blue silk tunic dress over matching trousers. She is small like Min, with paintbrush plaits and bright eyes. I also have a photo of Puggy – his coat all shiny and black. And a photo of Mama and Papa’s wedding day. Papa’s in a smart black suit and Mama’s wearing a red silk dress with a gold dragon twisting down the front. Her hair’s tied up in a bun and there’s a red flower tucked behind her ear. She looks beautiful.

The final photograph that I have is of my whole Chinese family: Mama, Papa, me and Min. It was taken just after Min was born and she is all wrapped up like a caterpillar in a white blanket. Mama is holding her tight against her chest. Papa is next to Mama, his bald head shining in the light, just like his eyes. I am standing in front of them both, looking a bit serious, and Papa has his hand on my shoulder.

Mum and Dad don’t know I have these photos and I’ve never shown them to Min. They’re the only thing I still have from my old life and I want to keep them a secret, just for me – my own special link to China. Usually they live in a shoebox at the bottom of my wardrobe with my other special things, but I put them in the back of my sketchbook before we left the house this afternoon because I wanted to bring them with me.

I check that Mum is fast asleep and then I slide out the wedding photo and study it. Mama smiles at me with dark laughing eyes. Papa’s smiling too. He’s holding Mama’s hand, his chin tilted up proudly. I hold the photo in my hand, drinking them in, before slipping it away again.