Sunny Side Up Part 1

Sunny Side Up.

Marion Roberts.

For Oscar.

And special thanks to John, Ava, Lucian, Willow and Arthur.

for their unending support.

and inspiration.

Warning! This book may contain traces of nuts.

That was the summer when everything started to change, and let me tell you, change is not my strong point. For starters, Mum insisted that Carl (her boyfriend), and his kids (Lyall and Saskia), help decorate our Christmas tree.

Can you imagine? Tree decorating has always been my job.

'I want to put the angel on,' shouted Saskia, pulling a dining chair over towards the tree. Saskia is nine and Lyall is eleven.

'I'm doing the lights then,' said Lyall, taking them out of their box.

'Mind you don't get them all tangled,' said Carl giving Lyall a hand.

I gave Mum a blank stare, and raised one eyebrow as if to say Good one, Mum. I guess that just leaves me to throw on a bit of tinsel then, fine! I was actually a little worried about the Christmas lights. Mum said there have been cases where faulty lights set Christmas trees on fire, which you have to agree would be a total disaster because the first thing to burn down would be all your presents.

The following week Mum invited Carl, Lyall and Saskia over for Christmas morning and present-opening a without even checking with me. I mean, doesn't everyone know that Christmas is not a time to spend with people who aren't actually part of your family? It's meant to be just about Mum and me and Dad and Steph (my stepmother who's going to have a baby, possibly very soon).

But this year, we all squashed into the lounge room around the tree a even our dog Willow, who had been very naughty and already chewed the paper off two presents. She'd even eaten the cards. One of the presents was for me, from Carl. It was a T-s.h.i.+rt with red writing on it saying If you can read this, you can read, which is a lot like Carl's sense of humour.

'Do you like it?' he said, as I was checking the size. 'It was between that and another one which said, Smile If You're Gay.'

'Daaad-duh!' yelled Saskia, punching Carl in the arm.

'Yeah, Dad!' said Lyall. 'As if she's going to want a T-s.h.i.+rt saying that!'

'I really like this one,' I said. 'Thanks, Carl.' I gave him a kiss on the cheek and could smell straight away that he'd had a cigarette, which probably explained why he and Mum had disappeared out to the shed for a while just before Dad and Steph arrived. It's also part of the reason I became a social activist and founder of Children Living With Hypocritical Parents Who Smoke. At the moment I'm the only member of the organisation, but I'm sure more kids will join because I'm not the only one living with parents who pretend not to smoke and constantly fail to give up. Seriously, my mum rings the Quit Line so often they probably think she's a stalker.

Don't get me wrong about Carl. I like him, I really do a even if he is the sort of guy who wears man-perfume. Carl's cool, he rides a Vespa and tells lots of jokes. The only problem with Carl (apart from being a smoker) is that he comes with kid baggage, of the Lyall and Saskia variety. I don't exactly not like them, it's more that I simply don't want to see them all the time or have Christmas with them. Also, Lyall and Saskia argue a lot, and I'm an only child who's used to peaceful and harmonious living conditions, and I really do want to keep it that way.

Being an only child is total bliss, even though lots of people feel sorry for you or think your parents are selfish for not providing brothers and sisters. As far as I can see (and I've done my research), all siblings do is argue and bash each other and have to take turns riding in the front seat. Being an only child might have been h.e.l.lish if I had mean parents who locked me in a cupboard, but I have quality parents a even if they are divorced (in a friendly way). Anyway, at Mum's place we don't even have cupboards. She uses a clothing rack and still sleeps on a futon.

When I've been over at Claud's house (that's Claudia, my best friend) I sometimes come home exhausted by all the noise and fighting that goes on with her brother Walter, who is always hiding the remote control and has a permanent case of head lice. And sometimes it's not just Walter and Claud. Their family does foster care, and depending on who they have staying with them you can't guarantee getting a seat on the couch at all. That's when I appreciate my biffo-free conditions the most. I can lie on the couch watching any show I like, without someone changing the channel or bas.h.i.+ng me up and infecting me with lice.

So anyway, I'm slightly off the topic now, but that's something you'd better get used to because I'm the sort of person whose mind accidentally runs off on tangents. That's why I've had to invent the Tangent Police, who are meant to step into my brain and blow a whistle if I'm off the point. In reality though, the Tangent Police are often out on a boozy lunch, and I don't realise I'm off on a tangent until someone like Mrs Ha.s.slebrack (my maths teacher) sees me staring out the window and says, 'Sunny Hathaway, are you paying even the slightest bit of attention?'

So the other totally odd thing to happen at Christmas was that Mum and I got presents from Granny Carmelene, which has absolutely never happened because Mum and Granny Carmelene haven't spoken to each other in about twenty years. Whenever I ask Mum what all the fuss is about she just gets really angry (in a silent way) and says things like: 'Not all relations.h.i.+ps necessarily last for ever Sunny,' or even, 'It's none of your business, Sunny. For heaven's sake you're just like a dog with a bone.' And that totally makes my throat ache.

Mum had bought some presents that I could pretend I'd bought for Lyall and Saskia. I (Mum) got Lyall a book about making horror movies and I (Mum) got Saskia a flower garden set. I was more excited about the present we'd wrapped up for Willow. It was a giant bone from the butcher.

'There you go girl,' I said, handing the parcel to Willow, 'Merry Christmas.' She took one quick sniff at the paper, then grabbed it (in a gentle greyhound way) and galloped out the back door. Willow usually buries bones straight away then digs them up again later. Don't ask me why. Maybe dirt gives bones an added crunch?

Dad and Steph bought me a new basketball and some basketball shoes.

'They should get you moving,' Dad said, because he's what you might call sports obsessed and is going to be coaching our team once school goes back. I think he's planning to train us extra hard. Then he handed me the present from Granny Carmelene, and I noticed Mum's top lip go all tight and thin as I opened the card.

Dear Sunday, It sometimes makes me sad that we've never had a chance to get to know one another. I was thinking that it might be nice for you to come to visit me one day, if you'd like to.

Maybe you could give me a call? I'm in the book you know. I hope you have a lovely Christmas.

All my love, your grandmother, Carmelene Aberdeen.

xx.

Granny Carmelene had given me some posh writing paper and fifty dollars. She'd also sent photographs of her rose garden, which looked very Botanical Gardensy, all surrounded by green spongy lawn. I reached under the tree and pa.s.sed Mum the present Granny Carmelene had sent for her.

'Aren't you going to open it?' I asked.

'No, I'm not, actually,' Mum said, and she stormed into the kitchen. Everyone looked at me as though it was my fault, so I followed her out there. Carl started telling a joke to smooth things over.

Mum was putting on the kettle for a cup of tea.

'I knew she'd do this,' she said, banging a cup down on the bench.

'Do what? It's Christmas, Mum. It's normal to send presents.'

'It's not normal for her.'

'Well, maybe she's trying to make up.'

'Well, maybe there are some things that can't be made up for, Sunny.'

'She can't be that bad, Mum, she's your mother.'

'She b.l.o.o.d.y well can be that bad, and the fact is, Sunny, I just want you to stay out of it. None of it concerns you. None of it.'

'She's my grandmother,' I said under my breath.

'What? No Sunny! I know what you're thinking. You're not to have anything to do with her. Do you understand?' She opened the biscuit tin with the White Christmas slices that I'd made the day before. Willow appeared in the doorway wagging her tail. She had dirt all over her nose.

'Here, put these out for everyone would you please?'

'But what about-'

'Just drop it, Sunny! You're not to see her. Promise?'

I picked a bit of marshmallow out of one of the slices and put eight out on a plate, including one for Willow, who is the sort of dog who loves White Christmas, even though sugar is meant to be bad for dogs and (according to Mum) bad for people, too.

'Sunny?' Mum said.

'Mum?' I replied.

'Promise me you won't have anything to do with her. Look me in the eye and promise.'

I gave her a darting look.

'I promise,' I said, hoping she wouldn't notice I had my fingers crossed.

That night I heard Mum talking on the phone to Carl. They were having the let's all move in together conversation again, which freaked me right out. Can you imagine? I'd have precooked siblings. We'd be one of those modern blended families like the Brady Bunch. But the idea of blending didn't really blend in my mind, if you know what I mean. The whole concept felt more like a murky pond with a slick of rainbow-coloured oil over the surface. There're no prizes for guessing that the slick of oil, the non-blending part, was me. I wished like anything that Claud was back, because it's one thing to enjoy being an only child, but it's another thing entirely to be an only child while your bestest-ever friend is away in Queensland, and you have absolutely n.o.body to talk to about being forced to become blended. Besides, Claud and I had business responsibilities to deal with, because we're not just best friends, we're also entrepreneurs.

I know you can't blame everything on global warming, but it sure seemed as if it was around the time the ma.s.sive heat-wave came, and the wind grew all mad and bl.u.s.tery, that my whole life got blown around in circles and whipped out of shape. It was as though we were fighting awar against high temperatures,keeping all our doors and windows closed during the day to stop the hotness stealing inside and smothering the last patches of cool. Even thinking about how hot it was makes me start to wilt, and to wonder if I can continue with this story. But I will, because I'm trying to become the sort of person who finishes what they start.

After Christmas, Mum got into a lot of gardening at night, which is how I knew she was feeling positive about life. When she lets the vegies die and the gra.s.s get wild, I can tell she's sad and feels like giving up. But Mum had been pulling weeds and planting lettuces and singing songs and watering at night, so I knew she must be feeling up. She was still sneaking around the side of the house to smoke, though, and still pretending she'd quit, which is the totally pathetic part of this story.

There were days when it was perfect and summery, and days when it was a bit too hot, and then there were the forty-something degree days that made it an official heat-wave. After about four days of totally mad temperatures, I started to wonder whether G.o.d might actually be bored and that maybe we should think about getting a place in Tasmania. Somewhere inland and up high, so that we'd still have a home when Greenland melts and the sea levels rise, or if G.o.d gets extra bored and causes another tsunami.

I was lying on the couch, waiting for Mum to get home. We'd planned to walk to the beach together, after dinner, even though Willow couldn't come because dogs aren't allowed on the beach at night in December. I wanted to escape from the unbearableness of living in my own warm-blooded skin, so I closed my eyes and tried some creative visualisation techniques. That's when you imagine things exactly the way you want them to be, and then your life is meant to just turn out that way. Don't ask me why, but I visualised myself as a pink rubber hot-water bottle lying flat on the racks inside an empty refrigerator. I could hear the gentle fridge hum as I became colder and colder, from the outside in. The only problem was that imagining myself with cold blood led me to thinking about cold-bloodedness in general, and after a bit I was thinking of cold-bloodedness in particular.

Pretty soon I had forgotten about being a pink hot.w.a.ter bottle in the refrigerator and found myself thinking about the very thing I was absolutely and undeniably afraid of; the most sinister creatures of sneakiness and cold-bloodedness, which, as far as I'm concerned, have no place of value on this earth. You guessed it. Snakes. See? Even the word snake doesn't sound like something you could trust. They're just so . . . snakey.

I closed my eyes very tightly and tried to focus on all the things that were the opposite of snakes, so I could hotfoot it right off the topic. I thought about animals with fur and pouches and big paws; animals that roll around and never squirm or hiss; animals you can snuggle up to, and ones that smell nice when they're asleep; animals with ears and cute b.u.t.ton noses and fluffy parts that you can brush; animals that make you feel warm. But then I started feeling all warm, on top of already feeling impossibly hot, so I had to open my eyes and abandon visualising completely.

I stood up on the couch and jumped off as far as I could into the middle of the lounge room, just in case my visualisation had backfired and actually created a snake (or two) and it was waiting under the couch to lurch at my ankle. I thumped into the laundry (snakes are scared of big vibrations), took off my T-s.h.i.+rt, wet it in the laundry tub, wrung it out and put it back on again. This is the best method of cooling down if you can't actually have a swim.

I don't know why I'm so scared of snakes, I mean they're just a tube with fangs, and most of the time they're so scared of you they slink off when they hear (feel) you coming. Only some of them chase you, like tiger snakes for instance . . . I think I'd better get off the topic now or I might be reminded of that old lady in Heidelberg who was innocently picking pa.s.sionfruit, which she probably needed for a pavlova she was making. She was a nice old lady, the sort with blue hair and a shopping buggy, who wouldn't hurt anybody. And I could imagine her thinking pleasant, old-lady-cakey thoughts as she plucked a pa.s.sionfruit from the vine on her back fence, not knowing that it was the home of a mean old tiger snake who bit her fair and square on her thin, veiny hand. And if it wasn't for her Jack Russell terrier, who barked and barked (as they do) until the neighbours came to see what the fuss was about a and noticed the old lady lying on the gra.s.s with just enough life left in her to tell them about the tube with fangs a if it wasn't for that incredibly loyal and yappy dog, she'd be deadib.u.ms. I don't reckon Willow would be like that, though. She'd probably catch the snake and throw it back on me, thinking it was a game of Dog, Snake and Dying Owner.

See what I mean about the tangents? According to Mum, it's because I'm an introvert. I should also mention that apart from being an introvert and an entrepreneur I'm also an inventor, a poet, a dog trainer and part-owner of Pizza-A-Go-Girl, our deluxe, wood-fired, Friday night pizza delivery service. I also like learning about psychological theories. I used to be very good at keeping secrets, but have noticed lately that I'm getting worse. Oh, and I also have the hugest collection of stripey toe-socks, and my favourite dessert is bombe alaska (even though I haven't actually tried it yet).

Snakes are kind of relevant though, because if they're not hiding under your couch they often live in holes, and that summer was making me feel all holed-up, like an animal that needs to shelter all day. We'd been forced to become all in-doorsy a and not the type of indoors that has air-conditioning, either, because Mum and Carl say air-conditioners add to the problems we've got going with greenhouse gas.

I know you're probably thinking that going for walks with your Mum at night would be a dead bore, and that if I'd had a brother or a sister I could be making prank calls or throwing rotten tomatoes at next door's rollerblind, but I like going for walks with Mum because of the conversations we have. It's true. We have really good ones when there's no one else to b.u.t.t in. As long as the conversations don't involve Granny Carmelene, that is. Plus, I had arranged to meet Claud down at Elwood beach, because she had finally come back from visiting her grandparents, in Queensland, who not only had a freezer in the garage full of Weiss Bars but also took her and Walter to The Worlds, three times. Seriously, neither of my parents has ever taken me to see anything bigger than the Giant Worm, which is why I should report them to the Kids Help Line.

It was almost dark and the whole of the foresh.o.r.e smelt of burnt chops. The air was cooler, though, and felt like a substance you could actually breathe with. There were people dotted all over the gra.s.s and the sand, and bobbing out in the water as if they were desperately waiting for a rescue mission to take them to Antarctica.

'Where did you say you'd meet Claud?' asked Mum.

'Under the tower thingy,' I said, pointing to the top of the hill at Point Ormond, which was brown and dry and almost completely bald of gra.s.s.

'Poor Willow,' said Mum. 'You'll have to give her a big walk in the morning, before it gets too hot.'

'I will,' I said. 'Promise!' I raced ahead of her, up to the top of the hill, because sometimes it's easier to run when hills are steep, plus it takes less time. From up top I could see right over the city. The huge scorching sun was making the mirrored skysc.r.a.pers all orange as it swooped over the sea to the horizon. It was comforting up there because not only was it breezy but I like the way life feels from above: almost as if you're looking at a map. My favourite feeling, though, is when you lean your forehead on the inside of an aeroplane window and peer down at the earth below. Everything becomes minute and insignificant, and trees look like florets of broccoli, and your life starts to change shape and feel like a toy-life in a board game, and all your worries go away. That evening, from seat 44K of my imaginary aeroplane, I saw the beach as a big swirling paisley carpet. But I didn't think about it for too long because I spotted Claud jogging towards me.

She was wearing new green boardies and her frisbee was poking out of her bag. She's an absolutely and undeniably impressive frisbee thrower, as well as being good at practically everything, and a tom-boy in general. I, on the other hand, am a wobbly frisbee thrower with incredibly dodgy aim, who always blames it on the wind. Luckily, I've since been learning about wrist action and following through.

'Hey, Sunny!' said Claud, puffing and smiling. She was tanned and her hair was blonder (I think from chlorine, or maybe just from being in Queensland where the sun is a little gentler and you can actually go outside).

'Hi, Claud,' I beamed. I really wanted to hug her but ended up just giving her a nudge with my shoulder in a leaning-in sort of a way, because Claud's not the kind of girl who's into hugging. I also wanted to avoid the situation where I was hugging her but she wasn't hugging me back. That's a bad scene. Plus, I was distracted by Mum's mobile phone ringing and I noticed she was sitting on the bluestone wall kicking off her thongs and looking all smiley and girlie, which meant pretty much for certain she was talking to Carl, who makes her act all teenagey sometimes because she's in love.

I was reminded of one of Carl's jokes that I wanted to tell Claud, but then I realised I'd forgotten the punch line. It's like that with jokes a I've usually forgotten the punchline before I even stop laughing. They tend to go all slippery when I try to make them stick to my memory.

Ouch! The Tangent Police just blew their whistles really loudly in my ear, which is a good sign because it means they're actually doing some work for a change.

Claud and I raced each other down the hill and she beat me onto the sand, where we dumped our bags. Claud laughed at the T-s.h.i.+rt Carl gave me, but I figured it was better than one saying Piping Hot or Superman or Roxy, which is the sort everyone else wears and it makes you feel as ordinary as a number 14 BBQ chicken all basted and lined up in the bain-marie at Tennyson Street Foodworks, ready to be stuffed into a silver-lined bag. We waded into the water, being super careful not tokick any rocks disguised as sponges. As soon as it was deep enough we duck dived and came up at exactly the same time. I kicked out to sea a bit, to make some s.p.a.ce for a game of frisbee.

'So how was it?' I shouted to Claud as I threw her the frisbee, meaning Queensland in general, and The Worlds in particular.

'It was so cool,' said Claud. 'Even the third time.' She hurled herself sideways to catch one of my wobbly throws and disappeared under the water, holding the frisbee up above her like a trophy.

'There were these guys,' Claud said when she surfaced. 'I met them in the queue for The Tower of Terror, and they were sort of bogans, but one of them was really cute. He went on the Giant Drop with me because Walter was too scared. His name was Mitch, and we hung out for, like, the whole day. It was so cool.'

'Was it really scary?'

'It was so scary! You drop really fast and you scream and scream. We went on it three times, then Mitch said we could go back to his resort, 'cos they were staying at Seaworld Nara, and we didn't get out of the pool for, like, three hours. Seriously, it was awesome. And the next day he texted me, and we met at Wet'n'Wild and Mitch came with me on Terror Canyon 2.'

'Was Walter too scared again?' I asked, practising my wrist action.

'Nah, I just wanted to go on it with Mitch,' said Claud as she lunged out wide to catch another one of my dodgy throws.

'Oh, sorry Claud!'

'Tomorrow's going to be 43 degrees,' she said, skimming the frisbee back to me in the straightest line possible. It caught a breath of wind and sailed above the surface of the water like a low-flying sea bird.

'I know,' I said. 'Not exactly ideal for pizza making, but it's Friday, we've got orders.'

'Business is business!' said Claud.

We've got a wood-fired oven in our back shed, which is part of the reason Claud and I had the idea for our deluxe pizza delivery business, Pizza-A-Go-Girl. We've got regular satisfied customers and a jar full of profits, because if there's one thing Claud and I are good at it's having ideas that work.

When it was getting so dark we could hardly see, we waded out of the water and found our towels.

'Hey, Claud? I did some more artwork for the pizza boxes while you were away.'

'Great. Oh, you should see how much they charge for pizza up on the Gold Coast, and they're not even good. My grandma nearly had a fit. They charge you four dollars just for a c.o.ke. Maybe we should put our prices up? Or maybe we should open Pizza-A-Go-Girl up there when we're a bit older.'

'Pizza-A-Go-Girl goes world wide,' I said, drawing a huge circle in the sand with the edge of the Frisbee.

'I can see it now,' said Claud. 'Elwood, Gold Coast, Paris, New York, London-'

'And Transylvania,' I said. 'Don't forget Transylvania.'

'Bags not doing home deliveries in Transylvania. Too many vampires.'

'What about Rome?'