Sunny Side Up Part 7

The first thing I saw when Dad and I arrived at the basketball stadium was Claud and Buster sitting on the bench together giggling into their Gatorade. I wondered whether Claud knew about Uncle Quinny getting arrested and Buster becoming a sort-of orphan, but I didn't wonder for too long because I couldn't even look at them, due to being so angry about everything in general, and the profit jar in particular.

Jet Cooper arrived with Alice and Ruby and Ruby's mum who is our team manager and does the scoring. Dad got us doing some drills and I found I could look at Claud and Buster more easily if it was about catching or throwing or bouncing a ball. I still felt awful, though. I didn't want to admit it, not even to myself, but I think I was dead jealous, just like Steph said, and I really didn't like the idea of being a possessive person at all. I can tell you, feeling jealous would have to be the worst feeling in the world. Worse than being called Canary Legs twice in one day.

Buster got so many fouls against him that Dad had to give him a good talking-to after the game about learning to control his anger a but he made the team all the same. While he was signing up, I grabbed Dad's keys and went and sat in the car so that I didn't have to talk to anybody or put on a fake nice face.

'Poor old Buster's been going through the wringer,' Dad said as we were driving home.

'Yeah,' I said sarcastically. 'Poor old Buster.'

'Lucky he doesn't have to move schools, though. And it'll do him the world of good to stay with Claud's family for a while. They'll be a really good influence. It's a great thing that they do a foster care.'

'Are you freaking serious? Buster is living with Claud!!?'

That night in bed I remembered another thing that They say. They say that jealousy is a curse, which is exactly how it felt. Even though I was justified, I wished like anything I knew how to get the curse removed, like visiting a witch doctor or something. I was worried that if I didn't find a cure quickly, I would have to do something drastic.

I tell you, by Thursday I really needed a day off. You try sitting next to someone you're not talking to for three whole days a it's torture. All that making sure you stare straight ahead so that you can ignore them properly is exhausting.

On Tuesday, Claud pa.s.sed me a note, but I just screwed it up and put it in my mouth and chewed and chewed before spitting it in the bin in the middle of English.

'Freak!' said Claud, as I sat back down.

On Wednesday, she wrote me another note, but this time she held it up in front of my face so I couldn't help reading it. It said she was coming over after school on Friday, for Pizza-A-Go-Girl. I gave Claud the eyebrow, as if to say I'll believe it when I see it, Claud. Besides, I happen to have employed two reliable new workers, if you don't know, and they're not the sort to abandon me right in the middle of orders, or the sort who steal the profits. That's why I like the eyebrow: there's just so much it can help you say.

On Thursday morning, Lyall and Saskia and I all left home together. It was a good thing they went to the Catholic school a that way, they wouldn't have to know about me wagging school to spend the day in the city with Granny Carmelene. And because they didn't know, they wouldn't be tempted to dob, or feel they had to tell a priest about it in confession.

Saskia was worried about Boris and Willow being home alone together all day, especially now that Boris was allowed outside.

'He can just jump up onto the fence again, like he did yesterday,' Lyall said.

'But what if Willow chases him, and Boris runs away?'

I turned the corner as if I was heading in to school. 'Boris will be fine, Saskia. See you later.' I said waving good-bye.

'Bye, Sunny,' Lyall and Saskia said at the same time.

When Lyall and Saskia were out of sight I turned back and cut across the oval to the ca.n.a.l. I sat on the bench to eat my lunch, which was really my breakfast because I was in too much of a hurry to have any, due to the queue for the bathroom. Also, I figured it would be rude to eat my lunch in front of Granny Carmelene, and I didn't think she'd be that excited about sharing a vegemite sandwich and a bunch of grapes. Maybe she had plans to take me somewhere posh, like the Hotel Windsor, where we could have tiny little cakes and tea. While I ate my lunch, I thought of a new word a jangry. It's when you're already hangry but you're cursed with jealousy at the same time.

It was one of those perfect, gentle, summery days that aren't too hot and don't make me scared about global warming and polar bears. I lay on the cool morning gra.s.s by the ca.n.a.l. There were some newly hatched ducklings following their mother up towards the golf course, and a huddle of kids from the high school were smoking cigarettes under a cypress tree on the opposite side. I closed my eyes and looked up to the sky through warm purple eye-lids. For a few minutes I felt completely at ease, but then I ruined it by thinking about Claud and Buster, so I stood up and set off for the station, because sometimes when you walk fast you can leave unwanted thoughts behind.

Granny Carmelene was on the steps under the clocks at Flinders Street right on 10 o'clock. I could see her from behind, checking her watch as I came out of the gates. She had her hair up in a tall, twisty bun just like last time, and she wore a greenish flowery dress, pale alligator-skin shoes and a matching handbag.

'h.e.l.lo, Granny Carmelene,' I said, leaning in to give her a kiss.

'Sunday! You're right on time. I'm so glad you could come. I know it was a little inconvenient, missing school and all.'

'No, I wanted to come, really,' I said, just as a busker playing the bagpipes got started and made Granny Carmelene jump.

'Oh dear!' she said, looking over her shoulder at the busker. 'Let's get going, I need to go to the map shop in Little Bourke Street. I'm planning a short trip to Tasmania.'

We crossed over Flinders Street and made our way down Swanston Street, fighting through a stream of people coming the other way. It made me wonder why they don't have white lines down the middle of busy footpaths, just like on a road, so that people would stick to their side. But then I guess it would be hard for people to stop and look in shops if you were on the wrong side of the line. There were so many words coming out of the street, like the city had something big to say and that n.o.body would listen. It made me think of street poetry and how a Swanston Street version would be a good one for the book. Almost every shop had a spruiker out front with a microphone. Only ten dollars, ladies and gentlemen, ten dollars is all you'll pay, ten dollars for two . . .

'Ghastly racket!' said Granny Carmelene, and I smiled back at her to let her know I agreed, because it was too loud to answer with words.

We cut down Royal Arcade, past the old fas.h.i.+oned lolly shop where a girl was working fast to stretch a hunk of warm yellow toffee around a hook on the wall. The more it stretched, the paler and s.h.i.+nier it became, until it looked like a thick strand of pearly hair that reminded me of the Rapunzel story. Granny Carmelene and I stood inside and watched her and another guy plonking and stretching and rolling the coloured toffees into one another, then rolling and stretching them out again. Finally, he snapped hundreds of brittle hunks off with a cutter and held out a scoop of tiny sweets for us to try.

'Pesshenfruit rock?' He said with a smile, but itwasn't until I tasted it that I knew he meant Pa.s.sionfruit, and that he was from New Zealand. It really did taste like pa.s.sionfruit, too. Not like how chicken chips taste nothing like chicken, and barbeque chips taste nothing like chops and sausages. It made me want to try all the flavours, but I could tell Granny Carmelene was tired of standing up, so we kept going.

In Little Bourke Street, over the road from where Granny Carmelene wanted to get her map, I spotted a shop called Spellbox. Maybe they would have something to help remove my jealousy curse?

'We can have a look in there afterwards, if you like?' said Granny Carmelene, who must have noticed me reading the tarot signs out the front of the shop.

'Okay,' I said, 'if we've got time.'

'We've got all the time in the world,' said Granny Carmelene holding open the door of the map shop for me.

There were all sorts of maps, for absolutely every place on earth, and lots of globes of the world too. But there was also a sign that said you weren't allowed to touch any of them or spin them around. While Granny Carmelene was in the Australian section, I tried to find a map of Transylvania, but I couldn't even find a listing for Transylvania in the European index.

'What are you looking for, Sunny?' said Granny Carmelene, appearing behind me.

'I'm trying to look up Transylvania, but I can't seem to find it anywhere,' I said, running my finger down the long list of places starting with T.

'Are you sure you don't mean Tasmania, Sunday?' Granny Carmelene chuckled. 'I'm planning a trip to Tasmania, not Transylvania. Besides, I think they call it Romania these days dear.'

'Oh,' I said, feeling like I really should have known that myself, given that Transylvania was my favourite country, not to mention being the homeland of The Theys.

Granny Carmelene opened out a map of Tasmania and put her gla.s.ses on to have a better look. 'Are you called to travel Sunny?'

'I've been to Bali,' I said. 'But I was just a baby. When we finish school, Claud and I want to go to Naples, 'cos that's the home of pizza making. And I really want to go to Madagascar, 'cos that's where vanilla beans come from, and they're my favourite sort of bean. Oh, and I want to go to Disneyland, 'cos, who wouldn't really? Is this where you get your old Chinese maps from, Granny? I'd like to go to China, too.'

'Good heavens no! My maps are antiques. I have an art dealer who specialises in old maps. He's found some very rare ones and is on the lookout for me all the time. Ah, here's what I need.' She pointed to a place on the map called Mole Creek. 'Right here, Sunday, is where you'll find King Solomon's Caves . . . Now, did you want to look in that shop over the road?'

Granny Carmelene paid for her map, put it in her handbag and we crossed the road to Spellbox. I could smell incense as we climbed the narrow stairs. A woman with waist-long hair and hoopy earrings smiled and said h.e.l.lo. I was too embarra.s.sed to ask how to lift a curse of jealousy that caused throatache and heartache, so I just looked around at all the witchy things and hoped the curse-lifting section would jump out at me. Being there also made me think of Mum, and I wondered whether she knew about this shop.

I found the pre-prepared spells section. It was full of kits and instructions. There were spells for love, for banishment, for a change in luck and for prosperity and protection, but I didn't see anything about removing a curse. There were coloured candles, too, which are meant to help with stuff when you light them. I read all the labels while Granny Carmelene browsed through the books. There were yellow candles to help with study, childhood issues (whatever they are), travel and confidence. Orange was for success, which I thought might be good to burn on Pizza-A-Go-Girl nights, and blue was for healing and relaxation. There was also a completely empty box for green candles, which were supposed to help with money, fertility, luck and employment. At least I wasn't the sort of person in need of green, not that a bit of extra luck ever goes astray.

I bought an orange candle and a yellow one, and went over to where Granny Carmelene was flicking through a book.

'You know, Sunday,' she said, 'the women in our family have a lot of intuition. It's in the blood line.'

'Is that like being psychic?'

'It can be, but not always. You should listen to your intuition though, Sunday. The more you listen, the more it guides you,' she said, putting the book back on the shelf. 'And it's very rarely wrong.'

I was worried Granny Carmelene was going to launch into one of her talks again, about things I didn't really understand. But I did understand what she meant about intuition, 'cos I get strong feelings about things, and sometimes it helps me make decisions. Like when Uncle Quinny ordered pizzas for his card game that night. I had a big bad feeling about the whole thing, and not just because we'd seen Buster down by the ca.n.a.l. It's pretty hard to listen to your intuition, though, with somebody like Claud around, who just says yes to everything, and a double yes to dangerous things that turn out to be a bad idea (even if they are profitable).

Granny Carmelene didn't take me to the Hotel Windsor for lunch. We went to the Hopetoun Tea Rooms in the Block Arcade instead, and we walked over thousands and thousands of miniscule tiles which made up the mosaic floor. The window of the Hopetoun Tea Rooms was full of old-fas.h.i.+oned cakes a like pavlovas and lamingtons a and inside there were tea sets for sale in all shapes and sizes, even one in the shape of a cat. There was a strange cash register that swivelled around. A waiter showed us over to a marble-topped table near the wall.

'On the topic of mosaics,' said Granny Carmelene as we sat down, 'I went to the most wonderful cathedral once. It was in Sicily, and the whole of the interior was covered in mosaic tiles depicting the stories of the Old Testament. The floors, the walls, even the ceiling. It was just marvellous! If you ever get a chance to go, Sunday . . . Are you hungry?'

'Very,' I said, even though it wasn't really true because I'd already eaten my lunch for breakfast. I had a look at the menu.

'What's Welsh rarebit?' I asked. 'Is it really rabbit?'

'No, no,' Granny Carmelene chuckled, 'it's a type of mustardy cheese on toast.'

They had other strange things on the menu, like pinwheels, which sounded sharp as if they might get stuck in my throat. So, because the waiter was standing there and looking impatient, I quickly ordered some chicken sandwiches with crispy bacon and mango mayonnaise. Granny Carmelene chose a sandwich with red salmon and cuc.u.mber, as well as a pot of tea.

There were a lot of grannies at the Hopetoun Tea Rooms, as if it was the cool spot for grannies to go. Most of them had blue hair and wore pastel blue and pink, like babies' clothes. I was glad my Granny Carmelene didn't dress like a baby; she looked more like someone all dressed up for the Melbourne Cup.

'You know, Sunny,' she said, after the waiter delivered our sandwiches, 'there is something important I need to tell you, but you must promise me to keep it to yourself. I've not told anyone at all.'

Like I needed another secret! The Stash-O-Matic started humming even before Granny Carmelene told me her secret, because it has sensors that tell when a new one is hovering about.

Granny poured her tea slowly through the strainer and stirred in some milk. I didn't tell her about all the other secrets I was keeping, or how I'd had to invent the Stash-O-Matic to manage them all, because even if you are completely full of secrets it's still very exciting when someone gives you one more a especially one that absolutely n.o.body else knows about, and even more especially if you think it might be the big big secret about Mum and Granny Carmelene's divorce.

'I'm good at keeping secrets,' I said, as I bit into my sandwich, which was cold, obviously from having spent time pre-prepared in a fridge.

'Well, dear, I don't want you to get upset,' she said, placing the tea spoon carefully on her saucer. 'This is very difficult to say . . . It's about my health. I have, what you might call a condition.'

'Like a disease?' I asked, feeling my stomach tighten.

'It's called CLL, Sunday. Chronic lymphocytic leukaemia. It's a cancer of the blood.'

'But . . . can't you get better? Claud's auntie had cancer and got skinny and bald and everything, but now she's fine and the cancer's gone away. Can't there be a cure?'

'There's treatment, Sunday, but no cure I'm afraid. Besides, I'm not interested in becoming skinny and bald. There's no dignity in that at all.'

'But-'

'Sunday, I know you might not understand, but it's my choice to accept my time when it comes and pa.s.s gracefully when I'm called to go. It's a decision I've made. Now you must promise not to breathe a word of this, especially not to your mother.'

I didn't feel like the rest of my sandwich. All I could think about was Mum, and how if she knew Granny Carmelene was sick and dying she mightn't be so stubborn and angry towards her, and how the hugeness of Granny's secret was causing the Stash-O-Matic to ping loudly. I thought of Claud, and I suddenly realised I wasn't angry anymore, or even jealous. It was like the news about Granny Carmelene's illness had broken the curse. I could feel my eyes welling up and wanting to cry, so I looked down at the curly parsley on my plate, hoping that if I concentrated really hard, I could make the crying stop. Let's face it, breaking into a blub in front of someone you've only met once before would be dead embarra.s.sing.

'Come now, Sunny,' said Granny Carmelene reaching over to hold my hand. 'I've lived with this for many years now, and I intend to keep on living for as long as I can. Life is so precious a sometimes it's only when you know it might be taken away that you can begin to really appreciate it. I feel quite liberated, to be honest. There's nothing at all to fear, don't you worry.'

'Aren't you scared, Granny?'

'Of dying? Not at all. I'm more scared of not living. I intend to live and live, until I'm asked to let living go. And now that you're here to share some of my living, Sunday, I feel happier than ever. It's all just perfectly marvellous.'

It didn't feel so marvellous to me. I mean, you wouldn't read about it (except that you are): you find your long lost blood relative, only to discover she's got cancer of the blood. It was enough to put me off having any pavlova, even though I knew I'd be missing out on a chance to sneak some sugar without Mum telling me it's bad, or Dad and Steph reminding me it's banned. Then I thought of that old lady and the snake again and wondered whether, if it was your turn to die, it might be better to just pop off with a bite to the hand while picking a pa.s.sionfruit.

'Sunny?' said Granny Carmelene, who must have sensed I was off on a tangent. 'You know those caves I told you about, in Tasmania?'

'King-?'

'Yes, those are the ones. King Solomon's Caves. I went there once as a girl, and I've never forgotten. For some reason, I just have to go back. It's my intuition, Sunday. Have you ever been inside a cave? This one is over twenty million years old. Can you believe it?'

'I find caves a bit freaky, actually,' I said, happy that the topic change had made my tears go away.

'Well I think you'd be surprised at just how majestic a cave can be. Will you come with me to Tasmania? We'll go for a weekend and I'll show you. Do tell me you'll come, Sunday.'

It was a bit tense that night at dinner. Carl and Lyall had been arguing about Lyall forgetting to put the bins out that morning, and when people argue it makes me feel uneasy, as if it might all be my fault, even though I know it isn't.

'It was up on the whiteboard, Lyall, there's no excuse,' saidCarl. 'Now we're going to have stinking rubbish hanging around all week long.'

'Yeah, Lyall,' said Saskia, 'You should have to do the dishes tonight all by yourself. Shouldn't he, Dad?'

'That's enough from you, miss,' Carl said, spooning some brussels sprouts onto Saskia's plate.

'Dad-duh! You know I hate brussels sprouts, they look like green sparrows with no heads and legs-uh!'

'Please stop whining, Saskia,' said Carl.

'Yeah, Saskia,' said Lyall, and he punched her arm.

Mum had the look she gets when her nerves are jangled a her lips were all thin. She was probably having a craving because she'd started hypnosis and hadn't had a cigarette in three days.

'Come on, everyone.' she said, 'Let's just enjoy our meal. Sunny, would you pa.s.s the salad please?'

And I said, 'Sure.' But what I really wanted to say was Sure, and if you care at all, your mother's dying and I said I'd go to Tasmania with her for a weekend, if that's okay with you.

I mean, the thing is, I really did want to go to King Solomon's Caves with Granny Carmelene, even though I didn't like the idea of being underground. I'd even done some research on the net and read about how a farmer had discovered the caves back in the nineteen twenties when his dog was chasing a wallaby. The wallaby disappeared down a hole, which turned out to be an entrance dropping nine metres below the surface to the caves. I also looked up CLL, which was totally depressing because there's not much hope for you if you're an old lady with cancer of the blood. Especially when you're the sort of old lady who thinks medical treatment is undignified and doesn't believe in drugs.

'What is it, Sunny? You look miles away,' said Mum, 'And you haven't touched your chicken.'

'I'm just not that hungry, thanks, Mum.' I said, pus.h.i.+ng the food around my plate.

'Did you hear the one about the cat who swallowed the ball of wool?' said Carl, trying to improve the mood. Lyall and Saskia rolled their eyes.

'She had mittens!' said Carl. 'Or how about this one? Why don't cannibals like eating comedians?'

'Daad-uh!' squealed Saskia 'Would you just stop?'

'Because they taste funny!' giggled Carl.

We all laughed too, except for Lyall who said, with a deadpan face, 'Dad, that's not funny, that's just lame,' and he started clearing the plates so that we could wash up.

Just then there was a sudden yelp from Willow and she ran into the shed with her tail between her legs and Boris chasing close behind. Boris was all puffed up with his ears down flat. Willow cowered in a corner as Boris growled and closed in on her with sideways steps. Then Boris flung himself at Willow a just like one of those gliding marsupials. Willow let out another yelp as Boris hissed and scratched her on the face three times, then Boris bolted outside and jumped up onto the fence. Willow burrowed into the couch and curled into a ball with her head hidden between the cus.h.i.+ons.

'Did you see that?' laughed Lyall, 'Go, Boris!'

'Yay, Boris!' shrieked Saskia, 'You show 'em, Boris!'

Mum and Carl looked around in a daze. 'Can I get you a vodka, darl?' Carl asked.

'Perhaps a peppermint tea,' said Mum, tight lipped.

I gave Willow a big hug. She had a deep scratch right across the end of her nose. There was even blood. She was shaking and crying in a dog way, which doesn't involve tears or making noises, but just looking up sorrowfully and showing the whites of her eyes.