Miss Understood

by James Roy

  ‘People are always just arriving,’ I said. ‘One time we were eating breakfast and this whole family walked in and started looking in the oven and in the kitchen cupboards and the wardrobe with the sheets and towels and things in it. Mum and Dad get really cross. Mainly Dad, actually.’

  ‘Your father?’ Miss Huntley said. ‘I find it hard to believe that your father gets cross. He always seems so fun and easygoing.’

  ‘He is, most of the time,’ I said. ‘But just lately he’s been getting cross for no reason.’

  ‘I thought you said it was when people tried to get into your house.’

  ‘It’s mainly that, but it’s at other times, too. And sometimes he just seems sad.’

  ‘Such as when you got expelled?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, such as that. It’s like he’s got something else on his head.’

  ‘On his mind, you mean?’

  ‘Yeah, on his mind. Anyway, I’d better get back to school,’ I said as I saw the couple marching up our driveway towards our front door. ‘And I’ve got to tell these people that our house isn’t for sale.’

  ‘Very well. See you around, Miss Elizabeth.’

  I jogged back across the street. ‘Hi there,’ I said to the couple, who were about to open the door. ‘Can I help you?’

  The lady frowned at me. ‘No, thanks,’ she said, all snooty.

  The man was even worse. He didn’t even speak – he barely glanced at me before turning back to the door and reaching for the handle.

  ‘We’ve got a doorbell,’ I said, because we do. And because we like people to use it.

  ‘Thank you, but we’re fine,’ the lady said, which made no sense at all, after what I’d said. I mean, it wasn’t like I was trying to sell them a doorbell. I was just telling them that if they were sure they wanted to come into our house, they could at least ring the bell and wait for a reply, rather than just letting themselves in through the front door.

  ‘You know, you can’t just go into any house you like,’ I said.

  I knew had the man’s attention properly then, because he turned to face me, his fists on his hips. ‘For your information, we can go into any house we like. Besides, Derek from the office sent us down this way. Not that any of this is your business.’

  ‘That’s right,’ the lady said. ‘Anyway, why aren’t you in school?’

  I thought about saying, ‘And that’s none of your business,’ but instead I decided to ignore the question about school and said, ‘What I’m trying to tell you is that –’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Miss Huntley, who’d followed me up our driveway, and was now standing just behind me. ‘Is there a problem?’

  Now the couple could glare at someone who wasn’t me. The man rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘Look, we’re just trying to get a look at the Hutchinson Grande, but unfortunately we were ambushed by her.’ As he said the last word, he kind of sneered at me, as if I wasn’t even worth pointing at!

  ‘Does she belong to you?’ the lady asked, and I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me, or about me.

  Miss Huntley cleared her throat. ‘I think you need to know that you are now trespassing. This is not a display home, which was already clearly explained to you by Elizabeth here. That’s why I’m going to head back over to my house, and if when I get there I don’t see you walking away up the street in that direction, I shall call the police.’

  ‘So this isn’t a display home?’ the lady asked.

  ‘It’s not the Grande?’ the man said.

  ‘No, I live here, with my family,’ I told them.

  ‘Oh!’ the lady said, blushing brightly. ‘Oh, how embarrassing! We’re so sorry! You should have said so!’

  ‘I thought I did,’ I replied.

  ‘We’re very sorry – it’s just a misunderstanding. Obviously the directions we were given weren’t very clear.’

  ‘Obviously,’ Miss Huntley said. ‘So, off you go. Shoo.’ Then she waved her hand at them as if she was brushing away a bit of dandruff.

  ‘Yes, of course. Good afternoon,’ the man said, and they scuttled off down the driveway muttering to each other and not looking back, not even once.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said to Miss Huntley.

  She gave me a shrug and a wink. ‘It was nothing. I used to be matron in a large public hospital, and you don’t put up with any nonsense in that job.’

  ‘It was pretty awesome,’ I said, because it was. ‘Would you really have called the police?’

  She just laughed. ‘The police? Of course not. Why would I want that lot snooping around here?’ Then she adjusted her sunhat and clicked her secateurs twice. ‘Sometimes people just need a bit of a nudge in the right direction.’

  Then she clicked her secateurs again, three more times, and I went inside and locked the front door.

  CHAPTER 9

  Mum is the main cook in our house. I reckon it’s kind of weird that Dad knows so much about food but is so bad at cooking it. And yeah, he’s pretty bad. I’ve seen him turn scrambled eggs bright green and cucumber purple, and he’s set the kitchen on fire twice, three times if you count the camping cooker. I’ve also heard Mum tell people that Dad could burn water, but that doesn’t make any sense at all if you think about it. (Mind you, I reckon he would give it a go.)

  And that’s why Mum does most of the cooking in our house.

  The thing is, I don’t want to grow up to be a bad cook like my dad, and that’s why later that afternoon I asked Mum if I could make dinner.

  ‘Ooh!’ she said, her eyes going all wide and excited. ‘Of course, yes, if that’s what you’d like to do. What did you have in mind?’

  ‘I’ll get on the internet and find something,’ I said. And that’s what I did. I found a really interesting salad recipe that looked like it could work, so I printed it off and took it to Mum.

  ‘Do we have all these ingredients?’ I asked her.

  ‘I really hope so,’ she said, licking her lips as she looked at the picture. ‘Let’s see now. Um . . .We’ve got eggs . . . and lettuce . . . I’ll have to check that the bacon is still in date, but I think it’s okay.’

  ‘I don’t want to get sick,’ I said. ‘Maybe I should leave the bacon out.’

  ‘No, I’m sure it’s fine. Now, if we use mayonnaise instead of caesar dressing and cashews instead of pecans, I think we can do it. Yes, I think we can totally do it.’

  ‘Is it easy enough?’ I asked. ‘For me, I mean.’

  ‘Oh, you can make this so easily, Lizzie. I think it’ll be delicious.’

  ‘Cool!’ I said, because it was. ‘Can I start now? I just need to know how to boil the eggs.’

  ‘Sure – we can make it a learning experience.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  I guess I must have sounded disappointed, because straight away Mum said, ‘Or, if you’d rather, you can just make us a yummy dinner.’

  ‘That,’ I said. ‘I want to do that.’

  ‘Good. Then let’s do it.’

  And it was a yummy dinner. I tried a couple of bits when I was making it, and when I’d made it, and when I was putting it in the fancy serving bowl. Mum even got out three wine glasses and a bottle of wine. (That’s what she poured into the glasses for her and dad – I had lemonade in mine.) Then she called Dad. She called him twice, actually, and eventually he came downstairs. He wasn’t really dressed for dinner, I thought – a polar-fleece top, baggy track-pants and his ugg-boot slippers.

  ‘Why is the dog inside?’ he growled, and put Muppet out. Then he came and sat down at the table.

  ‘We’re introducing a new chef in Henry Court tonight,’ Mum said when we were all settled. ‘Marty, did you hear what I said? Marty?’

  ‘Um . . . yeah. A new chef. Who?’

  Mum made a great big flourishy gesture towards me. ‘Chef Lizzie Adams has created this wonderfully inventive menu,’ she said.

  ‘You made this?’ Dad said, looking at the salad like he was reading a power bill. ‘Wow, that’s great,
Betty.’ But he didn’t sound very wow, to be honest.

  ‘So go ahead and serve yourself, Marty,’ Mum said, and Dad scooped some of the salad onto his plate.

  ‘Oh, thish ish great,’ Mum said after she’d taken her first bite. ‘Lizzie! Thish ish fantashdic!’ (That’s what she sounded like because her mouth was full of amazing salad made by me, Lizzie Adams.) ‘What do you think, Marty?’

  ‘Yeah, nice,’ he said.

  ‘In fact . . .’ Mum went on, but before she said anything more, she laid down her knife and fork and patted the corners of her mouth with her serviette. Then she cleared her throat. ‘Tonight I was fortunate enough to score an invitation to the grand opening of the latest in a long line of wonderful Henry Court establishments. This one goes by the name of . . .’ She stopped and raised her eyebrows at me. ‘Name, Chef?’

  ‘Um . . . Henry Court Good Cooking Kitchen Room,’ I said, which I know sounds pretty dumb, but she had asked me for a name, and I had to give her one without having any chance to really think. (If I’d had more time, I probably would have called it something like ‘Yumbo-Jumbo’ or ‘Geschmackvoll Salat’, which means ‘tasty salad’. But I didn’t have time, which is why I said the dumb one.)

  Mum didn’t care. She just nodded and said, ‘Henry Court Good Cooking Kitchen Room blends homey family atmosphere with top-class culinary innovation. The medley salad I tried melded exotic ingredients such as cos lettuce, crispy Asian noodles and Praise mayonnaise with the more earthy notes of bacon, cashews and shaved parmesan cheese. I look forward to more from this bright new wunderkind of the scene, but for now I give it five stars. How about you, Marty?’

  We both looked straight at Dad. I couldn’t wait to hear what he was going to say about my cooking! I’d heard him review Mum’s food so many times, but I’d never heard him review something I’d made. This is going to be so good, I thought.

  ‘Marty?’ Mum said.

  ‘I’m sorry, what?’

  ‘The salad.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I told you, it’s good.’

  ‘Lizzie made it.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I just reviewed it.’

  ‘Yeah. I know. Five stars?’

  ‘Yes, Marty, five stars. I gave it five stars. How about you?’

  He stared at the plate, then at Mum, then at me, back at the plate, kind of bunched up his eyebrows a bit, and then said, ‘Four and a half stars from me.’

  ‘Marty!’ Mum snapped, and I looked in her direction just in time to catch her giving him this huge scowl.

  ‘Fine,’ he said, ‘five stars. It’s a five-star meal. It’s great. Thanks, Lizzie.’

  ‘Marty!’

  ‘What?’

  That was when Mum pushed back her chair, picked up Dad’s plate, and took it out into the kitchen.

  ‘Hey!’ Dad said, first looking all blinky and surprised, then standing up and going after her. ‘What are you doing? I was eating that!’

  I heard them arguing quietly for a while, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying, since they were arguing in voices only a bit louder than whispers. But a little later Mum came back into the dining room and lifted Richie out of his highchair, bent down and kissed me on the top of the head and said, ‘Thanks for a delicious dinner, Lizzie.’ Then she went.

  Dad had followed her back from the kitchen, and with a deep sigh, he sat down at the table once more. He scooped up a huge forkful of salad straight from the serving bowl and stuffed it into his mouth. ‘Mmm, great stuff, Betty,’ he said.

  ‘Do you like it?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, it’s very tasty. Thanks.’

  ‘Mum didn’t very like it, did she?’ I said.

  ‘Why would you say that?’

  ‘She left most of hers behind,’ I replied.

  Later, when I was in bed and about to turn off the light, Mum knocked quietly on my door and came in. She sat on my bed and rested the palm of one hand on the side of my face. Her skin was cool against my cheek. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked me.

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Why wouldn’t I be okay?’

  ‘Dinner.’

  ‘Are you sick?’ I asked, feeling my stomach go droppy. ‘The bacon was out of date, wasn’t it?’

  Mum frowned for a second. ‘No, it was fine. It was good. I’m talking about the way . . .’ She stopped. ‘Lizzie, your dad feels bad.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You know he appreciated it, right?’

  ‘Yeah, of course,’ I said.

  But I was almost telling a lie.

  CHAPTER 10

  It was early the following afternoon, and I was working on some maths questions when I heard Dad go into the garage. That didn’t mean much – he goes into the garage for all sorts of things, like to fix stuff, or to find nails to bang into the walls to hang pictures on, or to drive our car (although he doesn’t really drive the car in the garage, but into and out of it).

  Most of the time, when Dad goes into the garage he doesn’t scream, and he doesn’t yell. But this time he did both. First there was a huge crash, then another smaller crash, then a scream, then a yell which included a whole heap of new words that I didn’t know.

  A minute later I heard Dad slam the door that leads from our entryway into the garage. Then he walked into the dining room where I was working, and he just stood there.

  I stopped doing my maths and looked up at him. He was staring at me, with his hands on his hips and a cranky expression on his face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked, since I’m not very good at reading people’s minds.

  ‘Where’s your mum?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, because I didn’t. ‘Playing with Richie probably, or maybe changing his nappy. He was really smelly a minute ago.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Dad grunted. ‘Well, when she comes back, can you tell her that I’ve gone to the hardware shop?’

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘Because the whipper snipper keeps falling on my head,’ he answered. ‘Therefore I’ve decided that hooks are in order.’

  ‘What do you mean, “hooks are in order”? Like, little ones at one end, bigger ones at the other?’

  Dad made his eyes all squinty. I think he was trying to work out if I was joking. I wasn’t – I really didn’t know what he meant, mainly because he wasn’t being very clear or making much sense.

  ‘What I’m saying is that I need to get some hooks. For the whipper snipper. Which keeps falling on my head.’

  ‘Oh,’ I answered. ‘So why didn’t you say that?’

  He sighed. ‘Anyway, tell Mum where I’m going. I’ll be back in about twenty minutes.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Have fun.’

  He was almost at the door when he stopped and turned back. ‘Hey, d’you want to come with me, Betty?’

  ‘To the hardware shop? Are you going anywhere else?’

  Dad shrugged. ‘I was thinking we might be able to find the time for a quick visit to The Green Gecko.’

  ‘I’ll get my shoes and tell Mum I’m coming with you,’ I said.

  So now I guess you’re wondering what The Green Gecko is. It’s only the coolest cafe in the world. Okay, I know I haven’t been to every single cafe in the world – there might only be three or four people who have – but I’m pretty sure that this one would be in the top ten at least. I especially like the green that they’ve painted the walls. It’s not an ordinary green – it’s kind of greyish-green. Once, me and Dad tried to think of what else might be the same colour. I thought it was the leaves on a gum tree, but Dad reckoned it was more like the colour of the waves at his favourite beach at Seal Rocks. I’ve never been to Seal Rocks, so I don’t know who’s right. Maybe we both are, since I could be thinking about a kind of gum tree that’s different from the kind of gum tree he’s thinking of. I mean, there are heaps of different kinds of gum tree, aren’t there? And a few different kinds of waves, too, I guess.
/>   We also like the little booths they have at The Green Gecko. The seats are just wood, but they have all these bright cushions that you can sit on, or just slouch against. And the food is really good, too. Once Dad wrote a glowing review about it, and now Lou (he’s the owner) gives us special prices whenever we go there.

  But first we had to visit the hardware shop and buy the hooks for the whipper snipper (as well as four folding camping chairs, a couple of those bamboo mozzie torch thingos, and a big bag stuffed with rags which Dad didn’t really need, but would definitely use at some stage).

  When we got to The Green Gecko, Lou was behind the huge silver coffee machine, making it whoosh and hiss. ‘Hey, look who it is! Great to see you guys!’ he called out. ‘It’s been a couple of weeks, huh?’

  ‘About that,’ Dad said.

  ‘Welcome back. Sit anywhere you like – I’ll just finish this, and I’ll come over.’

  We sat in our favourite booth, which is in the far corner. I like to sit with my back to the wall so I can see the other customers. I sit and watch everyone coming in and going out and sitting down and talking and playing with their phones and reading their books and playing chess and arguing and holding hands and breaking up. (I don’t actually like that last one, but I find it interesting.)

  Lou came over before we’d even had a chance to look at the menus. That’s okay, though, because we usually know what we’re going to get even before we go in past the strings of wooden beads that hang in the doorway.

  ‘Afternoon, guys,’ Lou said. ‘What can I get you? Let’s start with the lady. Betty?’ (Lou’s the only person other than my dad who gets to call me Betty. I guess it’s because the first time I met him, Dad introduced me that way, and it just stuck. I don’t really mind, so long as it doesn’t take off. I really wouldn’t like it if everyone called me that.)

  ‘Have you got any of that yummy apple crumble?’ I asked him. ‘Because I’d like some of that, and an iced chocolate, please.’

  Dad cleared his throat and looked a bit embarrassed. ‘You know, we might not eat anything today, Betty. Maybe just the iced chocolate.’