Sunny Days and Moon Cakes

by Sarah Webb

  “There’s absolutely no pressure to speak today, Sunny,” Rosie says. “Your mum and dad have explained that you only talk to them and your sister. And only at home or where you feel safe, like in the car or a private room, is that right?”

  I nod again.

  “I’m a speech therapist,” she continues. “And you’re not to worry. It won’t be like this for ever – I promise. I’ve helped lots of children just like you who find speaking hard. Your parents said starting school on the island was difficult for you and that was when your problem first began. I’m not surprised. Schools are very different to home. And you hadn’t been speaking English very long, so that must have made it even harder. You were probably scared and worried about getting things mixed up. Is that right?”

  I nod firmly. I found English really difficult at first and everything about school terrified me. On my first day, I was so worried about being separated from Mum and Dad and Min that I was shaking like a leaf. I was too scared to even ask to go to the toilet – I just couldn’t get the words out – so I wet myself. Lauren Cotter called me “Soggy Pants” from that moment on. She bullied me so badly, but I didn’t tell anyone except Min what was happening. And she told Mum. After that, Mum took me out of school and taught me herself.

  Rosie leans towards me. “You try to speak, don’t you? But you get scared and your voice gets all caught up in your throat. Something’s stopping your voice coming out, isn’t it?” She touches her hand to her throat.

  That’s it exactly! She really does get it. I nod again.

  “Most people don’t understand, but I do,” she adds. “You know what your condition’s called, don’t you, Sunny? Selective mutism. It is unusual, but there are seven girls or boys just like you in every thousand. So you’re not alone.”

  I give her a small smile. It makes me feel better knowing that it’s not just me.

  Rosie smiles back. “That’s enough talking for the moment. Let’s make these famous fairy cakes your mum promised. We’re going to spend this morning getting to know each other a little better. I have some art books to show you once we’ve finished baking. You like art, don’t you?”

  I give another nod.

  “She’s brilliant at drawing,” Mum says, sliding a steaming mug of tea in front of Rosie and then sitting down at the table with her own.

  “Thanks for the tea, Nadia.” Rosie smiles over at Mum. “And don’t worry, Sunny. Like now, I’ll be doing all the talking and your mum will stay in the room. And then after lunch we’ll do one final thing before I go down to the ferry – an exercise called sliding in. I’ll tell you more about it later. Is that OK?”

  I nod again. I like the way she’s explaining everything to me. Knowing what to expect makes me less nervous. Goldie pads into the room then and Rosie reaches down and rubs him behind his ears – the way he likes it.

  “Beautiful dog,” Rosie says. “You must love him, Sunny. What’s his name, Nadia?”

  “Goldie,” Mum says. “And, yes, she’s mad about him. Sunny adores dogs. She had one in China called Puggy.”

  I’m surprised that Mum remembers Puggy. I told her about him a long time ago. Puggy was small and black. When I sat at the table to draw, he would jump onto my knees and curl up, like a live hot-water bottle. His yap was high-pitched, almost squeaky. Papa hated it – “mouse-bark” he used to call it – but I thought it was very sweet. When Papa died, we had to give Puggy to our neighbour Mama Wei.

  “We’re off to China in two weeks, in fact,” Mum says. “The trip is Sunny’s birthday present. She just turned thirteen.”

  “Happy birthday, Sunny,” Rosie says. She looks at me for a moment. “China? It’s quite a long trip, isn’t it? How do you feel about that?”

  I shrug and stare down at the table. Right now I’m more nervous about Rosie and what she might expect of me today. I reach down and stroke Goldie’s silky head.

  “You’re very brave to go, Sunny,” Rosie says. “I’m sure it’ll be brilliant. I’ve always wanted to visit China. Will you show me the photos when you get back?”

  I nod, my fingers resting on Goldie’s warm back.

  “Would it be OK if Goldie stayed with us today?” Rosie asks Mum.

  “Of course,” Mum replies. “I think Sunny would like that.”

  Rosie takes a sip of her tea and then looks around the kitchen. “Amazing place you have here. Did you do it up yourselves?”

  “Yes,” Mum says proudly. “Or rather, the architect and the builders did. Me and Smiles, sorry, John, my husband, were very involved, though. He’s on a conference call this morning, but he’s going to join us for lunch. We worked in Hong Kong for years, and when we came back, we wanted to live somewhere quiet with lots of space. We fell head over heels with this place when we first saw it. It’s a complete money pit, but we love it.”

  “I can see why. What do your girls make of living in a castle? Must be pretty exciting?”

  Mum smiles. “They love it. Sunny’s sketchbooks are full of drawings of the castle and the island.”

  “I can’t wait to see her sketchbooks.” Rosie turns to me. “If you don’t mind showing them to me, Sunny?”

  I shrug, then give a nod.

  “I’d love Sunny to go to art college some day,” Mum says. “There’s an art course on Sherkin Island, so she wouldn’t have to travel too far if she didn’t want to.”

  Rosie looks at me. “That probably sounds like a scary thought right now, Sunny. Art college, I mean. But anything’s possible. Let’s just take it one step at a time. Don’t worry about the future for the moment.”

  I nod at her gratefully. Right now, even leaving the house can be scary. I can’t imagine going to college. It’s like telling me that I’ll climb Mount Everest one day. Mum and Dad have all these big hopes for me. I don’t want them to be disappointed.

  Once Rosie and Mum have finished their tea, we start making the fairy cakes. Well, Rosie and I do. Mum just takes out the ingredients and the equipment and then watches.

  I check the quantities in my recipe book. Then I weigh the butter and sugar on our pink kitchen scales and put them in a bowl. I love weighing things – it’s fun! Alanna always lets me do that bit in the cafe. After that, Rosie creams the butter and sugar together in a big bowl, while I carefully crack the eggs into a smaller bowl.

  “I can tell you’ve done that before,” Rosie says. “I always get egg white all over the counter or shell in the bowl.”

  I smile at her as I beat the whites and yolks together. Then I point at the larger bowl.

  “Yes,” she says, understanding my gesture, “you add the egg and I’ll stir.” When it’s all mixed in, Rosie asks, “Do you mind if I lick the spoon?”

  Mum laughs. I’d almost forgotten she was in the room.

  “Min loves doing that too,” Mum says. “Go ahead. I’m sure Sunny won’t mind.”

  I shake my head and smile again. Then I weigh the final ingredient – the flour. Once that’s folded in, I spoon a dollop of the mixture into each of the cake cases that Mum has laid out on two trays. When each one is half full, Mum pops the trays into the oven.

  “I can’t wait to eat them,” Rosie says. “How long will they take?”

  I read the recipe book, then hold up both my hands and then only one hand.

  “Fifteen minutes,” Rosie says. “Perfect.”

  “Would you like to see the rest of the castle while we’re waiting?” Mum asks.

  Rosie grins. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Chapter 6

  Rosie loves our castle. She says it’s like something out of a fairy tale. As we show her around, she “ooh”s and “ahh”s. She gets especially excited when we walk up the wooden stairs towards the parapets.

  “Can you actually go outside onto the roof?” she asks.

  “Yes,” Mum says. “The edge of it anyway. Wait till you see the view.”

  There’s a small landing at the top of the stairs. On it is a suit of armour that Dad bou
ght. I used to think it was rusty, until Dad explained it was made from copper. It’s so windy outside that the suit rattles when Mum opens the door onto the thin walkway that runs around the top of the castle.

  “I think your soldier’s about to come alive,” Rosie says.

  “That suit of armour is John’s pride and joy,” Mum says. “It’s from Cromwell’s time. John loves history. He collects old coins and lead shot from muskets. We found loads of both when they were rebuilding this place. Ready to go out?”

  Rosie beams. “You bet.”

  “Watch your step,” Mum says as she leads her outside. I follow behind them and watch as Rosie shakes her head at the view.

  “Just look at that!” she says. She has to talk loudly over the wind, which is whipping her hair around her face. “Is that Fastnet Lighthouse?”

  “Yes,” Mum says. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  It’s cold up here, so we only stay outside for a few minutes. Rosie’s eyes are watering from the icy wind by the time we get back inside, and she hugs herself and rubs her upper arms. “This is the most incredible house ever. Thanks for showing me around, girls.”

  After the tour of the house, Mum and Rosie go back down to the kitchen to collect Rosie’s things. I wait for them in the sitting room with Goldie. My sketchbook and pencil are on the coffee table, so I pick them up and start to draw more of my latest comic strip. It’s about a fairy called Lotus Flower who is looking for her sister, Cherry Blossom, in a strange land – a crowded city of the future, full of towering glass skyscrapers, sky cars and robots. Lotus Flower’s quest is almost impossible as she can only talk to her own kind – other fairies – not humans or robots, and Lotus Flower and Cherry Blossom are the only fairies left in the whole world. Luckily, Lotus Flower has Firecracker, her tiny talking dog, to help her.

  As I hear footsteps coming up the stairs, my stomach starts to go jittery again. I’m worried that Rosie will expect me to speak, despite what she said earlier. I put down my pencil and do some milkshake breathing.

  When Mum and Rosie come into the living room, I’m giving Goldie a rub. There’s a tray in Mum’s hands. On it is a pitcher of her homemade lemonade, three glasses, three side plates and a large plate piled high with golden fairy cakes. “I’ll put this down on the coffee table so everyone can help themselves and I’ll sit over there.” Mum gestures with her head at the armchair. “And, Rosie, you take a seat next to Sunny on the sofa.”

  As soon as Mum puts down the tray, the delicious smell of the cakes wafts towards me. But I’m so anxious, I know I won’t be able to swallow one.

  Rosie sees me looking at the cakes and hesitating. “Would you like to have a snack later?” she asks. “I’m sure your mum won’t mind.”

  I nod at her gratefully.

  “Good idea,” Mum says. When she moves the tray onto the side table, I’m relieved.

  “I’ll read my book now,” Mum tells Rosie. “If you need anything, just ask.” She takes a crime novel out of her back pocket, sits down and opens it.

  “Thanks, Nadia. Right, Sunny, I have something special in here to show you.” Rosie unzips her red rucksack and pulls out a large spiral-bound sketchpad, plus a pencil case, which is full of really cool Derwent art pencils, all different leads – soft and hard – a plastic bag of oil pastels and a whole rainbow of Sharpies.

  “As I said before,” Rosie goes on, “there’s no need to talk unless you’d like to, Sunny. If you have anything you want to share with me, you can write it down or draw something if you’d prefer.” She opens the sketchpad and taps a blank page. “And your mum is staying here, remember?” she adds. “And Goldie too.”

  I give Rosie another nod. I feel much more relaxed now.

  She smiles back at me. “Good. Now, I want to show you some of my favourite paintings and drawings. Then maybe you can show me which ones you like.” She takes a white hardback book out of her rucksack. It says “Art” on the front cover in red letters. There are coloured sticky notes marking lots of the pages. Rosie thumbs through the book.

  “There,” she says, opening to a page with a painting of a woman with black hair, dark eyes, red lips and eyebrows that meet in the middle. She’s not pretty exactly, but she’s strangely beautiful. I can’t take my eyes off her. There’s a small black monkey on her left shoulder and a dog in front of her.

  “Frida Kahlo,” Rosie says. “It’s a self-portrait. I love the way she’s staring straight out of the picture, like she’s challenging you. She looks like she’s thinking deeply about something, doesn’t she?”

  Rosie turns the page and there she is again – Frida Kahlo. This time she’s painted herself with green jungle leaves behind her. There’s a monkey, a cat and a bird in the picture too – but what really catches my eye is the necklace made of thorns around her neck. Some of the thorns are piercing her skin. I stare at the picture for a long time, taking in what I’m seeing.

  “Her art really makes you think, doesn’t it?” Rosie says. “That’s why I like it. She had a hard life. When she was a teenager she had a terrible accident and was in pain for most of her life. She had to paint lying down sometimes.” She shows me a photo of Frida lying on her back, painting in bed. “Would you like to see another painting I love?”

  I nod.

  She flicks back through the pages until she comes to a swirling blue night sky. The stars are picked out in bright yellow.

  “‘The Starry Night’ by Vincent van Gogh,” Rosie says. “I love the colours. And also in this picture, by Monet.” She turns to another painting. This time it’s one I recognize – a pond with pink, blue and green water lilies.

  “We saw some Monet paintings in Paris last year,” Mum says, looking up from her book. “Sunny loved the art galleries.”

  “I’m sure she did.” Rosie smiles at me again. “This one makes me feel calm and happy. I can imagine myself floating over the lilies in a rowing boat, the sun on my face. The last painting I’m going to show you is the ‘Mona Lisa’. I bet you know it too.”

  I nod. Everyone knows the “Mona Lisa” and her strange half-smile.

  “Do you think she looks happy or sad, Sunny?” Rosie asks.

  “Bored,” I write on the sketchpad. “From sitting still for the artist.”

  Rosie laughs. “You’re probably right. I prefer the Frida Kahlo portraits myself. They’re full of emotion, aren’t they?”

  I nod again.

  “The best paintings make you think, don’t they? And they make you feel something. Lots of artists express their feelings through their art. How do you feel, Sunny? When you think about speaking in front of strangers, I mean. Can you draw it for me?”

  She’s been so kind to me, showing me all the paintings and talking to me like a real person, that I take a pencil out of her pencil case – a 4B, which has a nice soft lead – and start to draw.

  I imagine that I have to speak to Rosie, right now. My heart starts to beat faster and I get that familiar scared and jittery feeling, like I have no control over my body or anything that’s happening to me.

  I draw a girl in a dark forest. The trees are reaching for her, their branches pressing into her skin, like the thorns in the Frida Kahlo painting, until she’s crushed. She’s alone and scared. There is no one to come and save her. Using an even softer 8B pencil, I frame the forest with a black box. Then I fill the box with swirling shapes, pushing the tip of the pencil into the paper, harder, harder, until suddenly the lead snaps. I drop my head, feeling ashamed that I’ve ruined Rosie’s pencil.

  “Don’t worry, Sunny; the pencils are there to be used,” Rosie says. “And that’s an amazing picture. Is that you lost in the forest? With all those trees attacking you?”

  I shrug, looking down at the floor, still feeling bad about her pencil.

  “Sunny, do you feel you are under a lot of pressure to talk and be a ‘normal’ girl?”

  I nod.

  “I hear you, Sunny,” she says. “I hear you.”

  And even
though I haven’t said a word, I know Rosie’s telling the truth.

  Chapter 7

  Before lunch, I draw more pictures for Rosie. I use my own sketchbook – hers reminds me of the forest. Rosie’s very interested in China, so I sketch her some pictures of my life there: the apartment, the park we used to play in with the red wooden humpback bridge over the pond, and Puggy. Dogs are hard to draw, but I do my best.

  “He looks like a right little scamp,” Rosie says of Puggy with a laugh.

  I smile and nod. He was always stealing Mama’s silk slippers and chewing them so the stuffing came out.

  Mum is looking at the drawings with interest. “What’s that in the park?” she asks. “The piece of stone?”

  “Chessboard,” I write on the sketchpad.

  “Ah, right, of course. I’d forgotten about the outdoor chess games,” Mum says. “Where we lived it was mainly old men playing. They sometimes brought their birds with them in beautiful cages. Did you ever see them, Sunny?”

  I nod enthusiastically. The man who lived next door to us in Shenzhen walked his bird every morning. It was tiny and blue and sang the most beautiful song. I used to bump into him on the way to school with Mama and then, after she died, with Mama Wei. I draw a quick sketch of him and his bird’s ornate cage.

  “Is that someone you knew, Sunny?” Mum asks.

  I write, “Our neighbour in Shenzhen,” underneath the drawing.

  “Anyone hungry?” Dad asks, coming into the room, rubbing his stomach. “I certainly am. The bagels are heating in the oven so you’d better be quick.” He smiles at Rosie. “You must be Miss Lee. Nadia’s told me all about you. I’m John, Sunny’s dad. But everyone calls me Smiles. We’re hoping you can work miracles with our girl here.”

  Rosie stands up and shakes his hand. “Rosie, please. And I don’t know about miracles, but I’ll certainly do my best. That’s one fine artist you have there. And a very smart girl.”

  “We think so,” Dad says. His eyes are gleaming. I can tell he’s pleased and that makes me happy. All I’ve ever wanted to do is make my parents proud of me.