Super Jack

by Susanne Gervay

  Mr Napoli wanders out of his fruitologist market rubbing a red apple. When he sees Nanna, he starts singing very loudly in Italian. I can just hear him. ‘Buon giorno, bella Nonna.’ That means ‘Good morning, beautiful Grandma.’ Mr Napoli is like that. I wonder if all Italians sing. Must ask Anna. Mr Napoli always compliments Nanna on her hair. Nanna loves that. She goes every week to the hairdresser, so that her hair is a hard puffed ball. No one else is allowed to touch her hair in case they mess it up.

  Mr Napoli hands Nanna the red apple, which she puts into her bag. She’ll probably give it to Mum. Nanna can’t eat apples any more. Too tricky, with her false teeth. She has had two teeth missing and a big crack in her front tooth ever since her teeth fell out and slid under the kitchen table. Mum wants her to fix the crack, but Nanna doesn’t. ‘Now, if you could give me my old teeth back, then I’d get them fixed.’ Nanna misses her real teeth. She is always telling us to brush ours, ‘otherwise they’ll drop out and you won’t be able to eat hard caramels’. Nanna would love to eat hard caramels.

  ‘Going to help Nanna come upstairs,’ I shout to Mum as I race through the lounge room. ‘Come on, Samantha. Stop mucking around.’ Samantha gives me a smudgy look, then dashes through the front door just before I slam it shut.

  ‘Don’t slam the door,’ Mum calls out. Too late.

  I race to the fifth step, then do a mighty leap. Success. Second floor landing. Another mighty leap. First floor landing. ‘Seven steps in one go. A record!’ I yell out to Samantha to move.

  ‘I’ll get to the bottom before you,’ she laughs. I can’t jump because Samantha is in the way. I run down the steps after her, but she is fast and sneaky. ‘Beat you.’ She giggles and sticks out her tongue.

  I chase her down the driveway and past our block of units, and grab her right in front of the Napolis’ Super Delicioso Fruitologist Market. ‘Got you.’ This is a great tickle opportunity. It ‘drives Samantha crazy.

  ‘Stop, stop. I give up … ha, ha … no tickling … ha, ha.’

  Anna bounds out from inside the fruitologist market and tries to grab my arm. ‘Stop tickling her, Jack.’ But I’m too fast and she is not strong enough to keep hold. I tickle and tickle Samantha until she begs for mercy and promises to take my dishes to the kitchen sink every breakfast.

  Mr Napoli pats Nanna’s arm. His eyes crinkle into a smile. ‘You know how boys are.’

  Nanna doesn’t have a chance to answer because Anna butts in. ‘Papa, that is so unfair. It’s not boys. It’s Jack.’ She stamps her foot. ‘You’re sexist.’

  Mr Napoli’s moustache quivers. ‘Sexist, is this?’

  ‘Yes, Papa.’ His moustache is still quivering. Anna stamps her foot again. Her long curly black hair springs down her back as she tosses a look at me.

  Anna has amazing licorice twirl hair. She doesn’t like it because she thinks it’s messy and too curly. I don’t think that at all. I watch her dark eyes cannonball at her father until he puts his arms around her. Then her eyes soften into chocolate drops.

  ‘We’re going to the Gold Coast for holidays,’ I tell Mr Napoli and Anna.

  ‘You’ll have so much fun.’ Anna’s chocolate eyes shine.

  Anna is like that. She is really happy for us. We spend ages talking about the theme parks and water slides. Suddenly a gurgling burp pops inside me. Hunger. This is no time to talk. I pat my stomach. ‘Mum always cooks something good on Saturdays.’ I look at Mr Napoli. ‘Can Anna come over? We can check out Mum’s cooking.’

  ‘You’ve just eaten, Jack,’ Samantha pipes in. What would she know?

  ‘A boy has to eat.’ Mr Napoli smiles at Anna. ‘A girl too. See, I am not this sexist. Just go and have a good time, Anna.’

  Anna and I walk ahead. ‘I wish you could come on holidays with us, but there’s not enough room in the car.’

  ‘That’s sweet of you to think of me, Jack.’

  ‘That’s okay.’ I feel my face getting hot. ‘We’re staying at Port Macquarie on the way up.’ I scratch my ear thinking. ‘Leo lives there. We’re going to see him. Why do you think Rob didn’t talk about him before?’

  ‘Maybe Rob wanted to be part of your family first.’ Anna speaks seriously.

  ‘Wonder what Leo is like.’

  ‘He’ll be nice.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Rob is his dad, so he has to be.’

  ‘I guess.’ I get this choking feeling inside. My father has never even phoned me.

  We stop to let Samantha and Nanna catch up. Samantha is holding Nanna’s sore hand. It’s the arthritis. But her hands weren’t always like that. Nanna used to be a great sewer. I suddenly smile. When I was three, she made me a Superman shirt with a red cape. I’d whizz around thinking I could fly. Ha, ha, Flying Jack. Nanna doesn’t sew any more.

  Nanna arrives at last, then stops. ‘I’ve bought something special for you.’

  Oh, this looks interesting. Nanna is definitely the world’s best bargain hunter and specials buyer. I like it when she buys cherries and doughnuts. The trouble is that she really, truly likes buying socks and underpants. Lots of them, especially if they are cheap.

  ‘What do you think I’ve bought?’

  ‘Cookies.’ Samantha gives a know-all grin.

  ‘Chocolate chip cookies.’ Nanna smiles at Anna. ‘I bought an extra one just for you, Anna. And there’s something else.’ Nanna passes Samantha her walking stick and digs deep inside her bag. There is an excited smile on her face. She has found it. Her green eyes twinkle. ‘I am so lucky. Your old ones must be worn out by now. I’ve been into the shop every week for months to see if they have a sale of them.’

  Oh, no. Nanna radiates happiness as she holds them up. Right in the middle of the street. One, two, three, four giant-sized pairs of bright fluorescent purple underpants.

  Anna and Samantha are laughing. I look up at our third floor window. Mum is watching and swirling around so that her hair is flying into a tizz. Then I see something horrible. The window is wide open. The sunlight pours into it. Everyone can see. Mum’s head disappears from view for a second, then it’s back, then it disappears, then it’s back … her hands clap above her head, her feet propel into star jumps.

  ‘Mum, don’t.’ I glance nervously around. I hope no one I know sees her. I hope it is not hereditary.

  Nanna looks up happily at Mum doing star jumps and waves the purple underpants like a flag.

  Chapter 3

  Hector the Rat

  Samantha is already at the top landing. Anna is behind me. I am behind Nanna in case she slips backwards. I wait and wait as she wobbles onto every step. She is so SLOW. I want to shout at her to MOVE, but I just grit my teeth. She holds on to the handrail like glue. At last she makes it.

  ‘Let’s go in, Nanna. Let’s go in.’ Nanna raises her hand, gulping small puffs of air. Her face crinkles like a bulldog’s. Her pink tongue flickers between her teeth. (Dog joke.) She looks funny, snatching short breaths. I start laughing until Anna elbows me in the back. We wait, wait, then wait some more.

  At last Nanna is on the move again. She shuffles forward and nearly trips. As I grab her arm, I look down at her black lace-up orthopaedic shoes. I shudder. They must be hot. Nanna used to wear sandals. She could run in them. I liked it when Nanna could run. Run? Even walking would be great. I take her knobby hand. She squeezes my fingers softly. Suddenly a throb pounds through my head. When did Nanna get so old?

  Her bum wobbles as she shuffles excitedly towards the front door. She is desperate to show Mum her super bargain — four pairs of purple fluorescent underpants.

  Mum has left the door open for us. She isn’t star jumping any more. No, she is waving her old wooden spoon in the air like she is conducting a symphony orchestra. Music from the radio is blaring through the lounge room and Mum is singing. She sounds awful. ‘Mum, stop,’ I call out. Anna is too polite to say anything. Mum shouldn’t sing. It is like nails scraping down a blackboard, but Mum doesn’t GET IT. Nanna thinks Mum sou
nds lovely because Mum used to sing in the children’s choir. That was a LONG time ago. Also Nanna is half-deaf.

  Mum just laughs. She thinks we are kidding. ‘We’re having my famous quiche today.’ Mum is very proud of her famous ‘melt-in-your-mouth’ tomato, cheese, bacon and egg quiche. ‘It’s for lunch.’ Mum twirls around to the music.

  I snatch an apple from the fruit bowl. That should stop my stomach’s hunger growls. ‘Come on,’ I say to Anna, pointing to my room. ‘Before Mum starts star jumping again.’ I grab Samantha’s long black checked sausage-dog door stopper on the way.

  ‘Hey, what are you doing with my sausage dog?’ Samantha is very protective about her super-tidy room.

  ‘Need it to stop Mum’s voice sneaking under the door and blasting into my bedroom.’

  Samantha starts to object until Mum begins singing ‘Help’. The Beatles didn’t realise the damage they were doing when they wrote that song. Help is right. We need it. Anna and Samantha run after me into my room, then I wedge the sausage dog against the door. I turn on the radio. Relief.

  Everyone says hello to Hector, my experimental white rat. I got him last birthday after two weeks of begging. Mum doesn’t like rats — not that she would hurt them, but she didn’t want Hector. It was desperate. A life and death situation. The pet shop owner said that no one wanted Hector and that he was too old to sell. I could have Hector for FREE, otherwise he was going to flush Hector down the drain. When I told Mum, she took the daisy from her hair and smelt it, but I saw her bottom lip trembling. So Hector moved in.

  Samantha opens the cage. ‘You’re cute, Hector.’ She crouches down to pat him.

  ‘He’s not a dog, Samantha. Ha, ha.’ As she gets up she bumps my collection of snakes and bugs. ‘Watch out, Clumsy.’

  ‘I’m not clumsy.’ She turns up her nose at me. ‘What do you expect? Your room is a mess.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ I shove my books about scorpions to the side of my desk. I will need them tonight to finish my homework. Why do teachers have to ruin your life with homework? I look at Anna. ‘Hey, make yourself at home.’

  Anna is shaking her head. She starts to huff and puff and her lips pucker into a whinge. ‘How can you live like this?’ She picks up some of my clothes from the floor.

  ‘Hey, leave my stuff alone. That’s for the washing basket.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you put it INSIDE the basket?’

  Samantha is laughing. Anna’s chocolate drop eyes have changed to bullet-size ammunition. She is firing at me. ‘I can’t sit anywhere.’ She shoves my clothes off my bed. They flop onto the carpet and land on my camera.

  ‘Watch out.’ I grab my camera. I need it to record developments in my important experiments.

  Anna just ignores me. ‘Now I have somewhere to sit.’

  Samantha has this grin on her face as she plunks herself next to Anna. They are staring at each other, nodding in agreement. I hate that. As if tidying my bedroom matters. Did they ever make a ponto? My famous half-onion, half-potato vegetable? (I’ve been trying to make another ponto ever since my first success, but no luck yet.) Can they make an edible daisy? (Or a nearly edible daisy, anyway.) No way. I look at Anna. Her nose is squished into this disgusted look. It’s only the smell of the fungus.

  I feel my prickly hair get pricklier. I am getting angry. This is MY room. I start telling them to get out, when I notice Anna’s cute dimples. She hates her dimples, but I don’t. ‘Jack, you should tidy your …’

  What? I shake my head hard. Anna is talking about emptying the waste paper basket and putting away my clothes. Then she points to my fungus. This is moving towards a disaster. I have no choice but to fight back, even if Anna has cute dimples. Think, Jack, think. I need ammunition. A joke, a joke.

  ‘Hey, I’ve got a gag.’ Anna stops her ‘helpful’ advice. Samantha wants to hear the gag. She loves my humour, except when it’s about her. ‘Why did the sausage dog wear sunglasses?’

  Samantha’s cheeks go red, which means she is thinking. ‘The sausage dog wore sunglasses because … hmm …’

  I look at them. They shake their heads. ‘Okay, give up?’ They think for a bit longer.

  ‘What’s the answer?’ Samantha twirls her pigtails.

  ‘So as not to be recognised.’

  Samantha sniffs. ‘That’s a bit funny.’

  Anna tosses a pillow at me. ‘Funny.’

  I toss the pillow back at her. Then Samantha throws a pillow and it’s on. Blankets, pillows, sheets fly through the air, dropping like nose-diving pigeons. Anna flings a sheet over my head and sits on me. Samantha copies her until I’m lying in a heap on the floor laughing. ‘Enough, enough,’ I splutter.

  ‘Any more jokes?’ Anna’s dark curls ripple over me and a tingle spreads through me like bubbles up my nose.

  ‘No, no, no more.’ Not for now, anyway.

  I help Anna and Samantha make my bed. Crinkle-free blankets. It is the best I have ever seen it, except when Mum does one of her rare mega-cleans. ‘Great job,’ I tell them.

  ‘You should always keep your bed like this.’

  No lectures. I think fast and sidetrack Anna, pointing to my scientific work. She is interested. There is research about sharks and cane toads spread out on my desk. I really want to bring back a cane toad from the Gold Coast. There is a plague of them up there. Interesting stuff. Anna is looking at my jars and beakers. I have had plenty of disappointments. Dead daisies. Dead tomato vines. Dead pontos. Decaying life forms. But that is the way it is with scientists. You have to keep working on new methods and techniques.

  Samantha is scrunching up her lips at the dead life forms when Mum opens my bedroom door. ‘Rob’s here and it’s lunch time. Well, quiche time.’ Mum laughs because she thinks she is hilarious. Mum will never make a great comedian, but I can’t tell her that. It would hurt her feelings.

  Rob. I need to ask him if he can get some big bolts, so that I can screw two brackets under my window sill. There is not enough space for all my bottles on the sill any more.

  Rob is giving Mum a hug. ‘Rob,’ I call out. He is carrying two shelves and bolts. ‘For me? Are those for me?’

  Rob smiles. ‘Yes, for you. These should be the right size.’

  ‘How did you know that I needed them? I really do.’

  ‘A scientist has to have room for his work.’ He pretends to thump my arm. ‘We’ll put it up together after lunch. All right?’

  Rob has his tools all organised in neat rows in the garage. ‘Will we use your hammer drill with a masonry bit?’

  ‘Sounds right, Jack.’

  This is so good. I take the shelves and bolts into my room. By the time I am back in the lounge room, everyone is crammed around the dining table. I squish in next to Anna. She smells like peppermint. I like peppermint.

  Quiche arrives on the table. Nanna is only having a small piece because she brought cookies and doesn’t want to spoil her appetite. Rob and I have the biggest slices. Anna says that she really likes the quiche. Mum beams, because she loves compliments.

  The phone rings. It keeps ringing and ringing. Anna raises her eyebrows at me. Conversation stops dead. No one dares pick it up because of Mum’s law — her the-phone-is-never-to-disturb-the-family-meal law. Once I picked up the phone in the middle of spaghetti bolognaise. Mum went bright red. Steam looked like it was coming out of her ears. It was horrible. ‘They’ll phone back if they really want to talk to you,’ she said to me. ‘This is family time.’ Mum is so serious about this rule. There could be an earthquake or a tidal wave, or a giant octopus could be taking over the world, but no, we can never, ever, pick up that receiver.

  We are sitting like stuffed dummies waiting for the phone to stop when Rob gets up. ‘Could be Leo,’ he mumbles. ‘Exception. You understand,’ he apologises to Mum, then takes the handset into the bedroom.

  Mum doesn’t explode. She doesn’t even get a tiny bit angry. ‘Why?’ I mouth to Samantha. She shakes her head and pulls one pigtail hard. But NO ONE
I have ever known has broken the phone rule. Nanna stops eating her cookie for a second. Anna shakes her head, because she knows Mum’s rule too. This is BIG.

  Suddenly Rob sticks his head out of the room. ‘Leo wants to say hello to Jack and Samantha.’

  ‘Mum?’ I look at her.

  ‘Please, Jack,’ she says under her breath. ‘It’s a special situation.’

  Special? Unfair, more like it. Is Leo that important? I push back my chair. What am I supposed to talk about anyway? The weather? ‘Right, okay. I’ve got the phone, Rob. Hi, Leo. Yes, it’s sunny down here.’ Phew. Who can believe this? Saved by the weather. ‘Sunny at Port too? That’s good.’ Hmmm. ‘It’ll be great to meet when we’re up there.’ Don’t know about that. ‘Here, Samantha.’ I hand her the receiver. That was so boring.

  Oh no, Samantha is talking to Leo about her dog project. BAD NEWS. Rob is smiling. Has he lost his mind? Samantha gives Rob the phone and goes back to the table. The DOG PROJECT.

  I shuffle back to the table too. My head is throbbing. I don’t get why the phone rule was broken.

  Nanna is already looking at the dog project in between mouthfuls of food. I close my left eye so that I can’t see Nanna’s teeth sliding in and out. Samantha is reading everything aloud. Five whole minutes pass of Samantha’s dog talk and Nanna’s teeth sliding in and out. My stomach is turning. I thump my watch. Nanna gulps and her teeth get stuck inside her mouth. Good. But Samantha doesn’t stop. Bad. I have to do something NOW.

  I scrape back my chair with a long screechy tear-your-eardrum-out sound. Samantha keeps reading. I crash my fork on my plate and nearly crack the plate. She keeps reading. I yawn loudly for at least ten seconds. She looks up, then gives me one of her famous don’t-you-dare-disturb-me-again stares. She looks like a zombie. I am not going to get her to shut up. I give up.

  Anna is squishing against my arm. Suddenly flushes start to track up the sides of my nose. Anna asks if I’m all right and touches my hand. I feel the red spread out across my face to my ears. My arms are crawly with goosebumps. What is wrong with me? An allergy, probably.