Mostly Sunny with a Chance of Storms

by Marion Roberts

  It was a cold old winter morning, and even though I was meant to be helping with the moving, and even though I could only find one glove, I wanted to take Willow for one last run on Elwood beach. To say goodbye.

  ‘Twenty minutes, Sunday!’ Mum called as Willow and I disappeared out the front gate.

  ‘’Kay!’ I hollered back. ‘Come on, Willow, we’ll have to run.’

  On the way I said goodbye to absolutely everything. I said goodbye to every house in our street and every house on the way to the oval. I let Willow off her leash to do one last lap of the grass before clipping her back on as we made our way down to the canal. I said goodbye to the shopping trolley that Buster Conroy had pushed over the edge last summer. I said goodbye to every bridge along the way and to all the tiles with the stories on them. (Even though Claud and I wished we could have made the stories a whole lot better by including Street Poetry.) I said goodbye to Jerry’s Milk Bar and Marine Parade, and as I crossed the road I looked up to Uncle Quinny’s apartment block and said goodbye to that as well. I let Willow off her leash again and she did crazy circles around the grass near the beach.

  I said goodbye to the monkey bars and the footbridge that Willow used to be too scared to cross, and I ran up the grassy hill right to the top of Point Ormond. There I stood up high on one of the concrete pylons and looked across the whole bay and the whole city, and Willow stood beside me, puffing and smiling.

  ‘Bye-bye, Point Ormond,’ I said, tagging the side of the tower and making a run for it down to the beach. Willow ran at full speed along the bluestone wall before flying off onto the sand in pursuit of a seagull. I said goodbye to the stale-hot-chip-smelling kiosk on the way.

  Without knowing it was her last, Willow dug a frantic hole in the sand and stuck her snout deep down inside. Then, just as if she’d been bitten on the nose by a crab, she took off in full greyhound fashion down the beach. I was kind of worried she might be in the mood for finding something dead and revolting to roll in and knew Mum would be super unimpressed if we arrived home with Willow needing a bath.

  ‘W-i-l-l-o-w!’ I yelled after her, but the wind blew my voice straight back to me. Still, she must have heard a smidgen of it because she actually did run back, and then straight into the water to cool off.

  When we got home, the entire house had been emptied and the guys in the removalist vans were strapping in all the pot plants, Willow’s kennel and the stuff from the shed – like bicycles, my old scooter, my Totem Tennis pole and my pogo stick. I ran and said goodbye to the shed while no one was in there and then made my way back to the house.

  ‘There you are, Sunny,’ said Mum, putting her arm around me. ‘You all set? My car is completely loaded up, so you go with Carl and the others and I’ll follow, okay?’

  ‘I’ve just got to say goodbye to my bedroom, Mum,’ I said, suddenly feeling nervous that I might be left behind.

  It didn’t feel at all like the house I’d spent my whole life in. There were no traces of life left in it, just bare walls and clunky wooden floors echoing through the empty rooms that used to be my world. I looked about my old yellow bedroom. There was paint peeling off in all sorts of areas that were usually covered with furniture.

  ‘Bye-bye, old bedroom,’ I said, staring up at the bare light globe hanging from the ceiling. Bruce and Terry better be on the job, I thought to myself.

  4.

  As Carl pulled up in the driveway, my first impression was that Granny Carmelene’s house looked dead spooky, especially as it was winter and some of the trees were bare, like bony fingers clawing up at the sky.

  It was really hard not to think about the last time I’d seen the house (with an alive grandmother inside), but I didn’t feel sad. I just felt … blank, and while feeling blank might not be very exciting, it sure is better than feeling tragic

  ‘Nice one, Bruce and Terry,’ I said to myself.

  ‘What was that, Sunny?’ said Carl.

  ‘Windermere,’ interrupted Lyall, reading the black lettering above the front verandah.

  ‘Sunny’s mum already told us about that, Lyall,’ said Saskia. ‘It’s the name of some old lake in England. I bags being the first one inside!’ Saskia shot out the car door with Lyall right behind her, while I was kind of stuck because I had to hold Willow in case she ran away.

  ‘Don’t worry, Sunny,’ said Carl, turning off the engine, taking the keys from the ignition and dangling them up near the rear-view mirror. ‘They won’t get far without these.’

  ‘Maybe I should leave Willow in the car for a while,’ I said. ‘Just until Mum arrives and the vans are gone and we can lock the front gate.’

  ‘Ah, no thank you, Sunny,’ said Carl. ‘Your mother told me how Willow chewed through all four seat belts in her car. And the handbrake!’

  Willow looked a little embarrassed, as if to say, Ease up, Carl, that was when I was a puppy, and they did leave me all alone in the car for a whole hour.

  ‘I’ll just keep her on the leash then,’ I said. ‘Come on, Willow.’ And I tried to get her to have a wee on the grass, because often it’s the first thing she thinks of doing when she gets inside a new house.

  Lyall and Saskia were peering through the front window into the library.

  ‘Oh my goodness, Sunny!’ said Saskia. ‘Did your grandmother actually read all those books?’

  ‘Now, you two,’ said Carl in a stern voice. ‘Let Sunny show you around, and remember, if you can’t agree nicely about bedrooms we’ll be drawing them out of a hat.’ He swung open the heavy front door, and Lyall and Saskia rushed in, just as Mum arrived with her car packed full.

  I started to follow them in, but as I approached the big heavy door I couldn’t help imagining Granny Carmelene being carried out of it on some sort of stretcher (or however it is that they carry people who have died in their sleep). And then I began to wonder things like: Where do they take dead people to anyway?

  ‘Now, listen here, Miss,’ said Terry, suddenly appearing in the doorway with his arms crossed. ‘That sort of thinking is going to do you no good at all!’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Bruce, shouldering past Terry. ‘Now, listen up, Sunny. You’ve got important work to do. If you don’t claim that turret room, those precooked siblings of yours are going to be all over it. You dig?’

  Terry took something out of his jacket pocket. It looked like a tiny can of fly spray.

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked, starting to feel a little urgent about getting inside to join the others.

  ‘This, my friend,’ said Terry, spraying a fine mist all over me, ‘is what you might call grief repellent.’ He showed me the label on the front of the can.

  WOE-BE-GONE

  Quick Knockdown

  Kills Sorrow Fast

  Multi Purpose Low-irritant Anti-grief Spray

  ‘That should do it,’ he said. ‘Now you better get inside, Sunny!’

  Bruce and Terry were right. I had to stop those precookeds from taking the bedroom that was rightfully mine. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

  ‘It’s enormous!’ Saskia was saying as she twirled around and around the tiled floor of the entrance hall. ‘I can’t believe we’re actually going to live here!’

  Lyall was heading for the library.

  ‘Hey, hold up!’ I said. ‘I’m in charge of showing you around, remember?’ I put on my best tour-guide voice. ‘Ladies and Gentleman, as you can see, Windermere has been constructed from the finest materials money can buy. You will notice each tile in the entrance hall is made from the same marble as the Taj Mahal, and the walls are panelled with mahogany hand-cut from ancient forests by monks.’

  ‘Oh, for sure, Sunny. That’s not even funny,’ said Saskia. ‘You’re just weird.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss, there will be time for questions at the end of the tour.’ I continued. ‘Now, to our raart you will notice the laaarbrary and to our left the famous drawing room. If you continue straight ahead you will find the master bedroom, the gam
eless games room, the dining room, the conservatory, the kitchen, the laundry and the study. Or you can take the stairs to the second floor where you will find three double bedrooms, all with ensuites, and of course Windermere’s very own private observation tower fully equipped with its own super-duper telescope.

  ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind coming this way I’d like you to experience the drawing room, which, you may remember from the guide book, is where Sunny Hathaway first sat and waited while Granny Carmelene made tea, on the occasion of their first meeting.’

  ‘I’m with Saskia,’ said Lyall. ‘You’re just plain weird, Sunny.’

  ‘Please come inside quietly,’ I said ushering them both into the drawing room. ‘Have a seat.’

  There were two grass-green velvet armchairs in front of a fireplace and Lyall and Saskia both ran to sit in the same one. Typical.

  ‘No, Lyall!’ screeched Saskia as he tried to push her onto the floor.

  I sat quietly on the other chair, with Willow on a short leash sitting gently at my feet. ‘They can see you, you know, and they think you’re pathetic,’ I said.

  ‘Who?’ asked Lyall.

  ‘Them,’ I said, nodding to the paintings crowded onto every patch of wall: big ones, small ones, a huge one above the fireplace, and in every single one of them an eerie-looking old person with accusing eyes that followed you around the room. ‘The Scrrrrutin-eye-zers.’

  Lyall and Saskia stopped fighting one another and looked at the portraits more carefully

  ‘Eeeew, creepy,’ said Saskia ‘They’re looking right at me!’

  ‘No, they’re not. They’re looking at me!’ said Lyall. ‘How do they do that?’

  ‘They’re actually looking at me too,’ I said. ‘That’s what they do. That’s why I call them the Scrrrrutin-eye-zers. Mwa ha ha ha!’

  ‘Don’t, Sunny!’ squealed Saskia, turning her face to the back of the chair. ‘Make them stop! Where’s Dad?’

  Lyall was pretending not to be freaked out, but the more portraits he noticed staring at him, the paler he became.

  ‘You think that’s scary, Lyall? Imagine how I felt when I was sitting here all alone being scrutinized by a whole roomful of portraits and then one of them actually spoke!’

  Saskia looked as though she might burst into tears.

  ‘It’s a joke, silly!’ said Lyall. ‘Isn’t it, Sunny?’

  But I just gave Lyall the eyebrow.

  Lyall leapt off his chair and made for the door, with Saskia right behind him, clutching the back of his top so she could keep her eyes shut while he led the way.

  ‘Hey, you two! I’ve only just started the tour. Wait up.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m kind of ready to have a tour of the garden!’ said Lyall.

  ‘Me too!’ said Saskia.

  I ran ahead of them to regain control as tour operator, and because I could tell Willow was keen to get outside, meaning that at any moment she might be prone to having an accident, which in her case means wee.

  There was a huge old key in the back door, which I was finding difficult to unlock. Saskia was still snivelling and wiping her eyes, while Lyall kept flicking glances over his shoulder as if he were expecting to see one of the people in the portraits walking right down the hall after him.

  ‘Hurry, Sunny,’ he said. ‘Open up.’

  All four of us (Willow included) spilled out the door and onto the back verandah, then down the steps and onto the Botanical Gardensy spongy grass.

  I pointed to the weeping willow by the river. ‘There’s a rickety old jetty down there and even a little river boat. Come and I’ll show you.’

  Willow tugged on her leash, wanting to be set free. ‘Okay then, Willow, but stick by me, okay?’ I unclipped her and she circled around all of us excitedly as we made our way down to the river. Her circles got bigger and bigger until something caught her eye and she shot out of sight.

  That’s when we heard the unmistakable screeching of a cat, followed by a yelp from Willow and a loud thump, like something being knocked over. Then there was roaring from a really angry man, a second thud, a second yelp, and then Willow was scurrying back towards us with her tail between her legs. She buried her nose deep between my knees.

  ‘What was that?’ yelled Lyall.

  ‘Could be anything,’ I said putting Willow’s leash back on. ‘Let’s go see.’

  ‘How ’bout let’s not go see?’ whined Saskia, but Lyall and I were already running towards where we had heard the commotion. Saskia followed, so I guess in the end she didn’t want to be left by herself.

  On the other side of the orchard was a cottage surrounded by a faded picket fence. I suddenly remembered seeing it when Granny Carmelene and I had had our little tea party down under the willow tree.

  ‘That’s right!’ I said. The gate to the cottage garden was wide open. ‘There used to be some old man who lived here. The gardener, I think.’

  Willow was hesitant, but Lyall and Saskia were already thumping about on the verandah and peering through the front window.

  ‘Cool!’ said Lyall. ‘My own pad!

  ‘It’s not yours, Lyall! Anyway, I’m going to need an art studio,’ said Saskia. ‘It’s perfect.’

  That’s when the front door of the cottage opened all by itself, and out of the shadows came the meanest looking old man you’ve ever seen in your life. On crutches. And, with a bandage across his hundred-year-old nose.

  ‘You go away, you hear me?’ he croaked, stepping out onto the verandah. Lyall and Saskia edged backwards.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Saskia. ‘We didn’t know anybody lived here.’

  ‘What did you do to your leg?’ asked Lyall.

  ‘Non sono affari tuoi!’ he said angrily, pointing one of his crutches towards Lyall as if it might have been a machine gun. ‘And no dogs here, capito? Niente cani.’

  ‘Sor-ry,’ said Lyall. ‘I was just trying to make conversation.

  ‘You’re Italian!’ said Saskia. ‘We’re learning Italian at school, aren’t we, Lyall?’

  ‘Sì,’ said Lyall. ‘Il mio nome è Lyall, questo è Saskia e questo è Sunday.’ You could tell Lyall was dead proud of himself for being able to remember how to introduce himself in Italian. ‘Come ti chiami?’ Lyall continued, which means What’s your name, in Italian. Even I knew that.

  ‘Lasciatemi in pace!’ the man said and slammed the door as hard as he could in our faces.

  ‘What sort of name is that?’ I asked.

  ‘He said, “Leave me in peace”. In other words, Rack off!’ said Lyall.

  ‘Weird old rude mean man!’ said Saskia.

  Good one, Mum, I thought to myself. Why didn’t you tell us there was a psychopath at the bottom of the garden? Granny’s house has been empty for months. Why is he still here?’

  After we’d explored absolutely every square inch of the house and the garden, we all gathered in the kitchen where Mum and Carl were sorting through boxes.

  ‘Yum. What’s cooking?’ I asked.

  ‘Lasagne,’ Mum said. ‘Carl made a couple of trays and froze them before we moved, so we’d have something ready on our first night.’ Mum looked all goo-goo eyed at Carl, as though he were the cleverest man on earth, and Carl looked as if he agreed with Mum wholeheartedly.

  ‘Yep – just need to make a salad,’ he said.

  Then they let us in on the news that although they’d ordered our new beds weeks ago, the beds weren’t going to make it in time for our first night.

  ‘It’s not so bad,’ said Carl. ‘You guys can set up camp in the games room. It will be a good opportunity to get to know all the new noises and creaks the house makes.’

  ‘Dad, why is it called a games room when there are no games in it?’ asked Saskia.

  ‘There used to be a big billiard table,’ said Mum. ‘But Granny sold it when you-know-who went away.’ (I think Mum was referring to Grandpa Henry.)

  ‘Oh,’ said Saskia. ‘That’s a shame.’

  ‘So,’ said Carl, ‘have y
ou three come to any kind of arrangement about which bedrooms you’d like? I presume you all want to sleep upstairs?’

  ‘Mum, when is the mean old dude in the cottage moving out?’ I asked, hoping the precookeds weren’t reading my mind as I thought about myself all tucked up in my new double bed up in the turret.

  ‘His name is Settimio, Sunny,’ said Mum, taking the newspaper wrapping off some wine glasses.

  ‘Whatever. Why is he still here? Is it just because he can’t move out till his leg gets better?’

  Mum looked me straight in the eye. ‘Settimio isn’t going to be moving out I’m afraid, Sunny. Your grandmother gave him the cottage. He was her gardener for over forty years, you know. They were dear old friends. And it was Settimio, actually, who found Granny Carmelene the day she died, and phoned to let us know.’

  ‘This is a disaster!’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Mum?’

  ‘I’m sure you kids will soon get to know him,’ said Carl. ‘But maybe, for a little while, it might be worth keeping out of his way.’

  ‘You know, Carl,’ said Mum. ‘I think we should just put all this stuff up in the attic. There’s not one thing that this kitchen hasn’t already got.’

  ‘Sure, darl. I’m making a pile in the games room for attic-bound objects. Lyall, do us a favour and put these things in there, will you?’

  ‘Sure, Dad,’ said Lyall.

  ‘And Sunny,’ continued Carl. ‘For the winter months at least, your job is to make sure there’s plenty of firewood in the boxes in the library. You know where to get the wood from? There’s a woodpile down near—’

  ‘Near Settimio’s! You just finished telling me to stay away from him! You guys are so confusing. It’s no wonder the kids of today have issues.’