‘OK, you can take the kids for the weekend, Tony,’ Penelope’s mum said. ‘I’ll be at the fete anyway – I’m running one of the stalls. But I’ll help Harry pack before I go. Penelope will want to organise herself.’
There was a pause as Penelope’s dad spoke. Then came her mum’s voice again.
‘Oh for God’s sake, Tony, why would you put that idea in her head? I will not take her to the doctor. Being a little bit on the small side is not an illness.’
Penelope rolled her eyes. Sometimes her mum was incredibly stubborn!
There was another pause while her dad talked. Now Penelope could actually hear him through the other end of the phone, though she couldn’t make out what he was saying.
‘Just don’t you disappoint them, Tony. They’re both really looking forward to next weekend. If you let them down again, I swear I’ll –’
Penelope’s mum didn’t finish her sentence. Penelope supposed that was because her dad had hung up. That had happened before.
Suddenly, Penelope felt very cross and frustrated and Not Positive At All. It could have had something to do with Bob (maybe) having a crush on Tommy Stratton. It could have had something to do with Monopoly money.
But mostly, it had to do with her mum being pointy to her dad. Sometimes, Penelope wondered if her dad had left because her mum was pointy to him. Penelope never (even when she felt Extremely Grumpy) talked to her dad like that. She would NEVER EVER take the risk. He might disappear altogether.
She stomped into the kitchen.
‘Hi poss,’ her mum said (as though nothing bad had just happened). ‘How did your jewellery stall go?’
‘Terrible,’ Penelope said huffily. She put her hands on her hips. ‘What percentile am I in?’ she demanded. (Penelope had googled percentiles. She still didn’t quite understand what they were, but she knew it was something to do with measuring sizes.)
Penelope’s mum frowned.
‘I don’t know, Penelope,’ she said. ‘But I do know that I was small when I was your age. And I do know that there’s nothing wrong with that.’
‘So,’ Penelope continued, ‘you don’t even know my percentile.’ She paused and narrowed her eyes. ‘Dad knows Sienna’s percentile. But that’s probably because he cares about her. That’s how things are in his new family.’
She shook her head, feeling the words sting even as she said them. ‘Not like here,’ she finished.
When they hit, her mother’s mouth fell open and there were (possibly, it was hard to be sure) tears in her eyes.
It was all a bit of a shock. Part of Penelope wanted to run up to her mum and hug her. Penelope’s mum hardly ever cried. Penelope had certainly never made her cry before (that she knew of). She felt awful, but in a strange way, kind of powerful.
It was actually quite satisfying to slam the door on her way out.
Penelope lay on her bed wishing her mum would come in. Now, she didn’t feel powerful at all. She just felt mean. And sorry. And she wanted a tight hug. If it was possible to rub out words (like you did if you made a mistake with a drawing) Penelope would have done so in a heartbeat. She squeezed blue teddy hard, which was helpful, but she still found herself looking at the door, wishing it would open.
It was like a miracle when it did. Penelope jumped out of bed, ran over to her mum and hugged her around the waist. It had been a long time since her mum had picked her up, and (even though Penelope was very small for her age) her mum practically toppled over as she carried Penelope to her bed.
She had something with her. It was a booklet with a plastic cover. On the plastic cover, it said CHILD HEALTH RECORD, Penelope Kingston.
‘Poss,’ her mum said, fluffing a pillow and leaning back with Penelope snuggled beside her. ‘I don’t think it matters because you’re absolutely perfect the way you are. But this booklet will tell you what percentile you were on when you were Sienna’s age.’
Penelope’s mum opened the booklet to the tab that said ‘3½ year visit’. Penelope could see that she had been on the fortieth percentile, which meant that she had been a bit below the average height, even then. Then her mum flipped over to a different page. There, stuck in quite randomly, was a photo of Penelope at about 3½ years old. Even though she knew she probably shouldn’t think this about herself, Penelope thought she looked very cute. She was wearing leopard-print leggings and a denim shirt and smiling a very happy smile. She definitely looked like she was cared for.
Penelope leaned into her mum and tucked her head on her shoulder.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
Penelope’s mum kissed the top of her head.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s OK.’
Penelope breathed in.
‘I was cute,’ she said.
‘You were adorable,’ her mum agreed.
Penelope knew that photo must have been taken only months before her parents split up.
‘Then how could Dad leave?’ she asked.
Her mum hugged her tight.
‘Poss, it didn’t have anything to do with you,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t about you and it wasn’t about Harry. It was about him and me. We just weren’t a good match.’
‘That’s not a great answer,’ Penelope told her mum in a teasing voice.
‘It’s all I’ve got, kid,’ her mum replied.
‘But I was adorable?’ Penelope just had to hear it one more time.
Her mum released her from the hug and smiled.
Penelope smiled back. She still didn’t really understand why her dad left them. But she absolutely knew her mum loved her. She thought it was likely that Harry did too, though he would never say anything like that out loud.
‘You still are,’ her mum said with a wink. ‘Some of the time!’
Normally, on a Monday morning, Penelope felt alert, refreshed and ready for a brand new school week. Today, though, she felt tired and floppy. Seeing Bob made her feel a bit better. Well, it did until (before she had even asked to see the Lucky Jars Penelope had made over the weekend!) Bob whispered in her ear.
‘OK, I’m going to talk to Tommy and you tell me how I look.’ Penelope tried not to frown. If Bob had a crush on Tommy, Penelope would probably have to talk her out of it. There was no way she could tolerate Bob getting all headlocky with Tommy. But there was still a chance that Bob was mistaken, so there was probably no point saying anything just yet.
She watched as Bob crossed the courtyard to where Tommy Stratton was playing handball against the free wall with Felix Unger. He was a lot better at handball than he was at singing. The ball flew backwards and forwards between the boys until Bob tapped Tommy on the shoulder. Tommy turned around and missed the next shot altogether. As Felix chased the ball across the courtyard, Penelope focused hard on Bob and Tommy.
Though Penelope couldn’t hear what they were saying, it was clear that Bob was not being her normal self. For starters, she didn’t normally throw her head back when she laughed, like she was doing now. She was also quite red in the face. And after she’d finished talking to Tommy she walked backwards into a pole in a way that looked very clumsy and un-Bob-like. It was not a good sign. In fact (and this was very weird but true), watching Bob behave like that made Penelope feel quite achy in the bones.
‘Oh my God,’ Bob said breathlessly when she reached Penelope. ‘Tommy is the cutest boy ever! I’ve definitely got a crush!’
As far as Penelope was concerned, Tommy Stratton wasn’t even close to being the cutest boy in the world. She put down her school bag carefully (remembering the Lucky Jars inside) and sat down on the bench seat in the courtyard.
Really, this was the time to talk Bob out of having a crush altogether. But somehow, Penelope didn’t feel the strength to even object. She just felt teary and weak (and this was terrible, because crying at school was incredibly embarrassing and almost as bad as having an outburst). Bob sat down next to her.
‘Hey, are you OK, Pen?’ she asked. ‘You look kind of pale.’ Penelope blinked
back a tear.
She was about to mention her worry about Bob spending all her time with Tommy (and away from her) when the bell rang.
Class that morning was very busy. There was reading time and then Penelope did some research for her assignment on her chosen endangered species (Burramys parvus – the mountain pygmy possum). Penelope was very passionate about this project, but today, the information wasn’t sinking in. Penelope’s head felt thick and foggy. Even Joanna (the naughtiest girl in the class) had written more than Penelope. Actually, Penelope felt like everything was moving slower than usual today.
It wasn’t until after recess that Penelope got to show Ms Pike her Lucky Jars.
‘Oh Penelope,’ Ms Pike said as Penelope arranged her Lucky Jars on the teacher’s desk, where they could inspire other kids to bring in their own. ‘These are truly delightful. I can’t even tell what they were originally for, they’re decorated so prettily.’
Each of Penelope’s four Lucky Jars was covered with cloth over the lid, held down by an elastic band. As a special creative touch, she had used spotty towelling from one of the jumpsuits her mum had kept from when she was a baby. The spotty towelling looked great with all the colours of the sweets inside.
Ms Pike was a lovely teacher and at any other time, her praise would have made Penelope feel warm inside. But, oddly, she actually felt kind of cold.
Oscar walked up behind her and put his Lucky Jars next to Penelope’s. Though they definitely weren’t as pretty as Penelope’s, he’d done quite a good job. Oscar’s lids were all black (Penelope suspected he’d coloured them in with a permanent marker) with a white skull and crossbones (liquid paper).
Although she detected that there were fart bombs in among the sweets, and Penelope felt like telling Oscar to remove them, for some reason, she couldn’t be bothered mentioning it. There were only three other jars on Ms Pike’s desk so far (and all three looked suspiciously like someone had been taking things out of them, rather than putting things in), but Penelope did not comment. She just stared at them until they went fuzzy in front of her eyes. She felt very weird.
‘Penelope,’ Ms Pike said, ‘I don’t think you’re well.’ She put her hand on Penelope’s forehead. ‘Oh you poor thing,’ she said soothingly, ‘you’re all clammy.’
Ms Pike looked around the classroom.
‘Bob,’ she said, ‘could you take Penelope to sick bay please?’
Penelope was hardly ever sick enough to miss school, but the next day – even though she really wanted to be there to help inspire kids to bring their Lucky Jars and to double-check whether Bob was going to get weird now that she had a crush on Tommy Stratton – there was no way she could make it. Having the flu was like having a cold, but multiplied by ten. One minute Penelope was on fire, and the next minute she felt as though icicles were being pressed into her.
Penelope’s mum had to work that day and the next, so she dropped Penelope (in her pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers and an overnight bag with blue teddy on the top) off at Grandpa George’s.
If Penelope absolutely had to be sick, it was best to be sick at her grandpa’s house. Grandpa George tucked Penelope into the big bed in the spare room and, without Penelope even having to ask, snuggled blue teddy in with her.
Penelope drifted in and out of sleep. Some of the drifting was quite nice. A bit like Pleasant Images, but sleepier. At one stage, she and Oscar were back at assembly doing the Lucky Jar rap. It was similar to the real experience except that Penelope was wearing a beautiful pink gown, and Oscar was in a suit.
One bit of drifting, though, was not nice at all. In this, Penelope was surrounded by a circle of girls who were, somehow, all Rita Azul. Through the gap between two of the Rita Azuls, Penelope could see Bob across the oval in the distance. She called out to her very best friend. Penelope held her breath as Bob started running towards her. Then (right in the middle of Penelope’s drift, where he certainly wasn’t welcome!) Tommy Stratton appeared. And instead of rescuing Penelope, Bob flew into Tommy’s arms.
That drift was extremely upsetting. Fortunately it was cut off by Grandpa’s voice as he recited poems while sitting in the chair beside her bed.
Penelope didn’t really understand much about the poems he recited, but she didn’t care. There was something soothing about a tiger burning bright and mermaids singing, though she wasn’t sure why. It was just nice to hear his voice.
By the following day, Penelope felt well enough to get out of bed and go into Grandpa George’s living room.
Normally, Penelope liked things that matched, but she adored Grandpa George’s chaotic living room because it matched him. She liked his giant desk with the purple fringed lamp and she liked the glass cabinet that held fourteen very unusual teapots (her favourite was the Angelfish, where the spout was the fish’s mouth). But what she adored most about Grandpa George’s living room was the ceiling. It was covered with stars, like in a planetarium, and, at this time in the afternoon, just as it was getting dark, the stars started to glow.
Penelope lay back on the red velvet couch and Grandpa covered her with a mohair rug. Though she wasn’t going hot and cold any more, Penelope was extremely snotty. Grandpa put a fresh box of tissues next to her and lay back on the green couch opposite.
‘Your mum’s picking you up at seven,’ he said, ‘straight after the fete meeting.’
Penelope nodded. This year, her mum was in charge of the craft stall, which was selling her jewellery, as well as other things.
‘And she had to do a bit of wrangling, but she managed to get the day off work tomorrow to look after you at home.’
Penelope blew her nose. It was the type of gurgly nose blow that could have been extremely embarrassing, but it didn’t really matter in front of Grandpa George.
‘I HAVE to be better before the weekend,’ Penelope said in a cloggy voice. Penelope knew that her snotty nose and cloggy voice meant she would have to stay home again tomorrow. Which meant that the earliest she would be well again and back at school was Friday. That was cutting it pretty fine to make sure the Lucky Jars were under control. The idea of not being well by the weekend was unthinkable!
‘You know, Dad’s coming over for the fete –’ (unfortunately Penelope snorted mid-sentence, but then she soldiered on) ‘– and Harry’s soccer match. It’s going to be just the three of us, and we’re going to stay at a fancy hotel.’
Penelope must have been getting at least a little bit better, because she was able to conjure up several different Pleasant Images of hotel rooms.
‘If I’m not better by the time Dad arrives I’ll absolutely die,’ she said dramatically.
Penelope looked sideways at her grandpa to check that he understood how serious the situation was. Though he was still looking up at the stars, she could detect a slight frown. But he didn’t say anything.
‘If I’m not better by the time Dad arrives, I’ll absolutely DIE,’ Penelope repeated, in case he didn’t hear her properly the first time.
Grandpa George still didn’t answer.
Sometimes, Grandpa George didn’t hear too well, but Penelope was fairly sure he had heard her. It seemed to Penelope that Grandpa’s hearing got worse when her dad was mentioned. He never said anything bad about Penelope’s father, but sometimes Penelope got the feeling that he wasn’t Grandpa George’s favourite person. Grandpa George was her mum’s dad, so Penelope supposed that he had to be on her side.
When he spoke, he was his usual gentle self. ‘I’m sure you’ll be all better by the weekend,’ he said softly. ‘And I truly hope you have a lovely time with your father, sweetheart.’ He opened his mouth, like he was about to say something else, but then closed it again. (Sometimes he could be very like Harry, thought Penelope – though clearly Grandpa was a lot wiser.) ‘Shall we consult your chart?’
Penelope sat up a little. It was always a treat to have Grandpa consult her chart. Being a Gemini (the twins) was tricky. Sometimes Penelope felt like she had two different people
inside her. It was one of the reasons why Penelope used to have outbursts (before she almost definitely grew out of them). Grandpa’s charts could be confusing, like the poetry he read to her yesterday. But usually (if she could figure out what it meant) they gave her some good advice.
Penelope waited while her Grandpa rustled around in his desk.
Finally, he came back with a printout. He sat at the end of Penelope’s couch and lifted her feet onto his lap. He gave them a quick rub, then began reading aloud.
Communication is important this week. Sometimes the truth needs to be spoken, even when it’s unpleasant.
Grandpa paused. ‘Hmmm, that’s interesting,’ he said. ‘Is there anything going on in your life that this might relate to?’
Penelope thought hard.
Perhaps the truth that needed to be spoken was about Bob and her silly crush on Tommy Stratton? Now that Penelope was starting to feel better, she did think she might be able to talk Bob out of it.
In fact (since the truth had to be spoken, even if it was unpleasant), she already had some very good points to help Bob see things her way.
By Thursday Penelope didn’t feel nearly as sick. But her nose was runny in a way that would have been difficult (and embarrassing) to deal with at school, so she stayed home with her mum.
Penelope had to put away Harry’s soccer boots (which he had left right in the middle of the floor) and his dirty jersey (flung over the back of the couch) and pack away her mum’s card game (floor and couch) before she could relax in the lounge room. But, after that, Penelope and her mum curled up on the couch and watched an old movie.
Straight after the movie there was an advertisement for a GIANT bra. It was the sort of GIANT bra that no child should have to look at while having a sick day, so Penelope switched channels.
And there he was. On TV. Penelope’s father.
Even though it had been happening quite a lot lately, it always came as a surprise for Penelope to see him on TV. Penelope fought the urge to walk right up to the screen and wave.
Lucky Jars and Broken Promises Page 3
