by Bell Davina
‘I wouldn’t normally condone using our clubhouse funds for leisure activities,’ says Belle when we’ve done a selfie, ‘but just this once, do you want to get pre-dinner Judy’s?’
‘One more thing,’ Lola says. ‘Come check this out.’
We open up the black stage curtains that Punk hung up for us. At the back of the stage, along the whole wall, she’s painted the word KINTSUGI really big in black running writing with little rivers of gold running through each letter. It looks beautiful. ‘That’s for you, Killer,’ she says. ‘Remember? The broken bit is beautiful.’
‘My ribs are totally kintsugi,’ says Maisie.
And maybe my heart is too.
Up at Handkerchief Place, there’s a cold wind blowing, but the fairy lights are twinkling on the gazebo and everything feels golden and precious.
Judy’s new flavour of the week is SubLIME and Coconut Bliss, so things with Mikie must be going pretty well. ‘And I’ve made one as a tribute to you guys,’ she says. No way! ‘It’s called Rum and Raisin’ Hell. Do you want …’ I can tell she’s about to offer us a sample but she doesn’t want Belle to see she’s using those little plastic spoons. ‘Do you want me to help out with anything at the rally tomorrow?’ she says instead.
‘You could hand out badges?’ I say, pulling one out of my bag to show her.
Judy doesn’t laugh very often. She’s kind of intense. But when she sees Lemon Tart Magnus, she actually has to lean on the counter, she’s laughing so hard. When she recovers she says, ‘It would be an honour.’
I get Rum and Raisin’ Hell and Belle gets Honey, Comb Your Hair, and the others get the lime one, and we sit out in the cool starlight on the grass, not saying anything at all. I guess we’re all thinking about what’s going to happen at ten o’clock tomorrow. If we can make a difference. If little can beat big. When we finish our ice-creams, we lie down and look up at the moon, our heads all together like four points of a star.
‘Will Mayor Magnus even show up?’ Maisie asks eventually. ‘Or will it just be the guy driving the bulldozer?’ She shudders and we all wince. Poor Corner Park Clubhouse.
‘Oh, he’ll show,’ Belle says spitefully. ‘He can’t keep away from a crowd. He loves the attention.’
‘Will anyone else show up?’ asks Lola. ‘Aside from our families?’
‘I don’t even know if my mum is coming,’ I say. ‘She says she is, but she’ll probably get an urgent work call at the last minute, I just bet. I guess Monday’s a tricky day for everyone.’
‘She’ll come,’ says Maisie.
‘You can share my mum,’ says Lola. ‘She basically wants to adopt you already.’
‘Does your dad know about it?’ Belle asks me. She’s always weirdly fascinated by other people’s dads.
‘No,’ I sigh. ‘I don’t think he’s coming back …’ I think about his shirts in the cupboard. The whole thing’s confusing. ‘I don’t know. Guys? I just want to say …’
I start to feel my throat closing up, my words being swallowed down again. But then I think about Gracie, and about living a big, brave life. I close my eyes, thankful for the velvety darkness, and try again.
‘Whatever happens tomorrow,’ I say, ‘even if nobody shows up, even if the clubhouse gets torn down … I’m proud that you’re my friends. And I’m sorry I haven’t been that good at keeping in touch this year. I really miss you. Like, really.’
‘OMG, that’s just what I was thinking!’ says Lola at the same time as Maisie says, ‘Me too,’ and Belle says, ‘TOTALLY.’
‘I may not always be there with you, but I’ll always be there for you,’ says Lola. ‘That’s not Shakespeare,’ she adds. ‘It’s Instagram.’
‘It’s still nice,’ I say loyally.
‘Hey – Soph!’ calls Judy across the square. ‘Stand up for a second.’
I scramble up and she yells, ‘Catch!’
Two boxes come flying towards me. Ball sports are not my forte, but somehow I catch them both – one in each hand. Gracie would be proud. Actually, she’d be amazed.
The long thin one is sparklers. The short fat one is matches. We all huddle in as we light them so the breeze doesn’t blow the spark away.
As each one catches light, there’s that exciting fizz, and then we’re all holding them, twirling them against the sky.
‘Quick – what should we write? Before they go out!’ says Maisie.
‘Corner Park Clubhouse,’ says Belle.
‘Too long!’ says Lola as they sizzle closer to our fingers.
‘Then just CPC,’ I say.
CPC, we scrawl in the air, faster and faster, till it’s blazing across the sky.
‘That’s us,’ says Maisie happily when the last sparkler’s finished and Belle’s put all the rubbish in the bin. ‘The Corner Park Club.’
Without anyone saying anything else, we put our arms around each other in a circle, like we’ve been doing since we were eight. Our arms are longer now, but our hearts are the same. Or perhaps they are bigger, too, with everything we’ve been through together.
‘To the CPC,’ Belle says.
‘To the CPC,’ we say together.
‘And to kintsugi,’ I whisper. But I don’t think anyone hears.
Then it starts to spit with rain – just lightly at first, but then harder. Maisie can’t run, so we walk with her, but by the time we make it back across the oval to the clubhouse, we’re all drenched. We all call home and soon our parents arrive with dry clothes and snacks.
‘Is it OK if I stay really late?’ I ask Mum as she hands over a unicorn onesie that I sometimes wear as pyjamas. ‘We haven’t even started the floor yet.’ (We got kind of distracted with the badges, truth be told.)
But Mum doesn’t answer. She’s looking around the clubhouse in wonder. She’s looking at the stage, and I know what she’s seeing: Gracie walking across it, her curls bouncing, to get another certificate, another trophy.
Mum turns to me, her face shining with pride. ‘Sophia, this is an exceptional renovation – and in such a short time too. I couldn’t be more impressed. If you need to, you can stay out all night.’
And that’s just what we do.
By the time we finish the painting, it’s already past our bedtime. And then we have to get down on our hands and knees and put the polish on the floor. We go over the polish with the machine, which is loud and heavy, and then we chase each other around in our socks to give the floor a final bit of sparkle. Maisie sits on the stage and points out bits we’ve missed. She totally gets into it and by the end, she’s being bossier than Belle.
‘Not a bad effort,’ she says when we’re so tired we plonk ourselves down on a pile of the old stage curtains. It must be after midnight. Everything in my body feels sore – even more sore than the holidays I did Ballet Bootcamp at Miss Claudine’s in Cloud Town before my dance exam.
‘What do you mean, “not bad”. It’s perfect!’ says Belle indignantly. ‘Now, all we have left to do is –’
But we don’t hear what she says next, because hail starts to fall and it clatters on the roof so loudly we have to cover our ears. When it finally stops, none of us can get up. We’re too tired.
‘We can finish the rest off in the morning,’ says Belle. ‘I’ll set my phone alarm for seven.’
‘Nine!’ says Lola.
‘Eight-thirty,’ I say, burrowing into the curtains and pulling them over my head.
The wind blows all night, making a tree whip against the side of the clubhouse. It feels like I’m awake at two o’clock and three o’clock and four o’clock, wondering what it all means. If it’s like this in the morning, nobody will come to the protest. But then again maybe you can’t bulldoze a building in the rain, and that means Mayor Magnus will stay away too, and Corner Park Clubhouse will survive another day.
Then I worry that even if it’s sunny nobody will come. I worry that people will be too busy working. I worry that we’ve left it too late – that we should have noticed what was
happening to Sunnystream sooner. I worry that nobody cares like we do. I wish I had my phone so I could google ‘does a bulldozer work in the rain’. I want to snuggle in close to Maisie, but I don’t want to hurt her. I wish I was in Gracie’s bed, where I’d often end up on stormy nights. It must be nearly sunrise by the time I drift off to sleep. Maybe the Eco Worriers are already up, putting rally posters round town.
When Belle’s alarm goes off at eight-thirty, we can barely open our eyes.
‘Did any of you get any sleep?’ I ask. ‘That storm was crazy.’
‘Belle sure did,’ says Lola. ‘She snored in my ear all night.’
‘Did not!’ says Belle. ‘I don’t snore.’
‘How would you even know?’ says Lola. ‘I filmed you, anyway. Check it out.’ She throws Belle her phone, which Belle misses. Practising ball skills is not one of Belle’s top one hundred life priorities.
‘That’s a violation of privacy! That’s a literal crime!’
‘It’s a crime how much you sound like a popcorn machine,’ says Lola. ‘Seriously – listen.’
The others crowd around the phone as I crawl up out of the curtain nest and throw open the (fully functioning!) door.
Oh no.
‘Guys! Get out here!’ I call as I take it all in.
The sky is blue. There’s not a puff of wind. And the garden looks like it’s been attacked by a gang of mutant trolls. There are leaves and bark everywhere, a broken branch, dirt on all the paths between the flower beds. The lavender looks as if it’s been stomped on. The red Japanese maple has lost half its leaves and it looks embarrassed, like someone stole its undies while it was at swimming lessons. Some of the little tiles from Lola’s mosaic have come off the sundial. One of the drainpipes is half hanging off the side of the clubhouse.
‘It’s a disaster zone,’ says Lola flatly. ‘How long till people start arriving?’
‘An hour and a half,’ Belle says, checking her watch. ‘Actually, one hour and twenty-three minutes.’
‘We can do this,’ I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. ‘Remember what Winston Churchill said?’ To tell the truth, I can’t exactly remember but I’m sure Belle does.
‘This is no time for quotes,’ she says. ‘This is time for action. Someone get some garbage bags.’
We work in a panic, crazy fast and super efficient. We stuff leaves in the bags and sweep up the soil. We tie the drainpipe to the building with Lola’s hair ribbons. We pick up the tiles and puff up the lavender. We’re hungry and tired. We sweat. A lot.
And just when we’re finished and ready to get some yoghurt from Buck’s for breakfast, Lola looks at her phone and says, ‘We can’t. It’s ten o’clock. People will be here any second.’
My tummy growls, but suddenly I’m too nervous to think about food. I’m excited, and proud, and impatient, like I’ve mixed a weird potion in my stomach. I look at us, red-faced and dirt-smeared in our weird brought-from-home clothes – Maisie in her skeleton onesie, and Belle in her mum’s psychedelic aerobics leggings, and Lola in Rishi’s old RexRoy band T-shirt and Tally’s plaid pyjama bottoms. I can’t help but smile.
‘We look …’ I don’t have the words.
‘Dedicated to the cause,’ Belle finishes.
‘Like loons,’ says Maisie.
‘Original,’ says Lola.
After that, we don’t say anything at all. Because now it’s five past ten.
And ten past ten.
And quarter past ten.
And nobody – nobody – shows up.
Mayor Magnus isn’t here, which I guess is a good thing. But no-one else is either. The sun might be out, but it’s gloomy as we sit on the steps and wait.
‘Where is everyone?’ Belle asks for the millionth time – the zillionth.
‘Maybe the town has been taken over by aliens,’ says Maisie, who is very interested in the possibility of life on another planet. ‘Maybe we’re the only humans left who haven’t been beamed up into their spaceship. That would be a bummer, by the way. I would hate to miss that.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ I say, and shiver. I’m scared of aliens and I don’t love heights. It’s twenty past ten and now there’s literally nothing else we can do to fix the clubhouse – not a window to shine, not a stray leaf or a patch of grime anywhere. The clubhouse is finished and smells like beeswax and fresh paint. Steps 1 to 5 are over.
As I look up at the little row of windows in their sweet candy colours, I think, If it’s your last day standing, Corner Park Clubhouse, at least you look your best. I think about last days and goodbyes and Gracie’s baseball uniform – dark blue with white stars bursting out like fireworks. How it started out the right size when she wore it to games. How it hung so big and baggy at the end.
‘Let’s go home,’ says Lola, suddenly standing up and holding out her hand to me. ‘This sucks.’ I take it and stand up too, and she puts her arm around me quickly and squeezes.
‘Don’t you want to see what happens?’ asks Maisie.
‘The whole thing was probably just some giant prank by Mayor Magnus,’ Belle says darkly, picking some ants up on a leaf and throwing them into the lavender bush.
‘I don’t understand,’ I whisper. ‘My mum promised she was coming.’
‘All those flyers,’ says Belle. ‘Our strategic five-step campaign. All that meticulous organisation. And for what?’
A cold breeze swirls through the garden, and we shiver. The red Japanese maple sways a little, and a couple more leaves drop to the ground. It’s almost bare now. Soon it will be winter. Summer will be even further away.
‘Wait!’ says Maisie, pointing to the oval. ‘Look.’
Someone is running really fast across the grass, pumping their arms determinedly. It’s –
‘JUDY!’ we all yell together as she comes into sight.
When she reaches us, she’s panting so hard she can’t talk.
‘Sorry – girls,’ she says when she catches her breath, her hands on her knees. ‘Freezer – Mikie – cut.’
We look at each other, confused. Mikie cut himself on a freezer? That guy really needs to be more careful.
‘Well, you needn’t have bothered sprinting over here,’ says Belle. ‘As you can see, nobody’s going to show.’
‘The storm,’ Judy says, straightening up. ‘I had to get a generator for the freezer so the ice-cream wouldn’t melt. Because of the power cut,’ she adds, looking at our blank faces.
‘What power cut?’ asks Maisie.
‘The storm blew a tree onto the powerlines,’ says Judy. ‘The whole of Sunnystream has no electricity. That’s probably why no-one’s here yet. Mikie’s just getting his coffee cart. Mr Doozy is putting his dairy stuff into my freezer. Mr Green is packing up all the pies from Sookie La La to bring over here because he’s had to shut too.’ She grins at us. ‘Every single business is going to be closed. Nobody’s going to be working. You can expect a big crowd, my friends.’
As usual, Judy is right – within a couple of minutes, people start to flow in from all directions, talking about fridges full of food that might go bad, and meetings being cancelled, and phones that went flat. There’s an excitement in the air, an everything-out-of-the-ordinary feeling. Eek! They’re here – they’re here and they care. If I think about it too much, my heart feels so full that I get teary, so I focus on searching through the crowd to see if I can find Mum.
But not everyone is Full-Heart happy.
‘THERE’S NO POWER?’ says Belle, sounding kind of shrill. ‘What about my microphone?! What are we going to do now? This is all my fault. I should have planned a back-up alternative power source. We should have used some of the bake-sale funds to buy a second-hand generator. I knew there was something I was missing. I knew that –’
‘Shut up about that for a second,’ says Maisie. ‘How are RexRoy going to play if there’s no power?’
Oh. That’s not good. And RexRoy aren’t even here yet (I think with flat phones and no alarm c
locks, there’s no way they’d be awake before noon). Lola runs home to fetch them as we watch the crowd build. So many people! How are they going to hear Belle’s speech? If Mayor Magnus shows up, he’s just going to yell right over the top.
Belle’s still going on and on about how stupid she is (um, what? That’s ridiculous) when Lola and RexRoy arrive with all their gear. Rishi winks at me, and I practically melt like an ice-cream in a power cut. Then I remember that I’m wearing a dirty unicorn onesie.
‘We should have put solar panels on the roof,’ Belle raves, ‘and installed a mini wind turbine to generate electricity.’
OK, that’s insanity, but something she’s said is clicking around my mind.
‘A generator,’ I say slowly. ‘Doesn’t someone else in town have one of those?’ We all think about it for a minute. ‘MIKIE!’ I say triumphantly. ‘He’s got one on his coffee cart. I don’t know if it’s big enough for RexRoy, though …’ We all look at Rishi’s giant amps doubtfully.
‘I’ve got another amp – a smaller one,’ he says. ‘Just for the electric banjo and the mic. It means we couldn’t mic the bass or the drums. Does that matter?’
‘No!’ we say together.
Lola and Maisie go off to find Mikie as Belle suddenly squeals. ‘The author of Sunnystream: A History is here!’ She points through the crowd at an older lady wearing sandals and a jacket made of a bed quilt. ‘I think I’m going to faint. MOIRA!’ she yells, and dodges through the people. A lot of them are wearing our badges. Judy says she’s already run out.
I wish Gracie could see Lemon Tart on the badges. She would have got a real kick out of that. I wish she could see the bright blue door. I stand by myself to the side of the steps, imagining what she’d say. And then I wonder if there’ll be a time when I can’t remember her voice anymore. I wonder how you hold on to a voice in your mind – if there’s anything you can do to keep it there, or if it’s like a snowflake, and eventually it’ll just melt away so quickly that you won’t even be able to say for sure the moment that it left.
