‘Stop wriggling, Vicki,’ barked Sam.
Vicki’s expression suddenly changed. She rested her head pathetically on Sam’s shoulder. ‘My leg hurts,’ she whined softly.
Suddenly the sky flashed and rain came in a heavy shower. ‘Into my shop,’ called Mr Caruso, ‘and we will have a cake picnic.’
The last picnic Danny remembered was at Howler’s Tunnel.
Thunder followed the lightning dutifully. Baboom!
Vicki jumped. She grabbed fiercely at Sam’s head, her fingers poking him in the eyes.
‘Ouch!’
‘Run, Sam! Run!’
‘Oh! That rain is cold!’ cried Danny’s mum as she sought protection under her husband’s swooping arm. They laughed, running huddled together like children in a three-legged race.
Mr Caruso pulled his collar up around his neck and ran to his wife, who was at the shop door. ‘Carlo! Hurry up and get out of that rain. You will catch your death of cold, you silly man.’
Danny watched as the big man leapt unsuccessfully over the stream of water surging down the gutter. Splash! His left foot hit the stream hard. The mini rapids swished momentarily around his thick ankle and his bright-red sock was soaked, his size-thirteen shoe full of water.
The streams of water were fast, but Maggie was slow, like the bird when it was tangled. Despite the rain, Danny hung back and took her by the arm. They walked together side by side.
Inside the shop everyone gathered around the display case full of very large cupcakes. There was a host of flavours: choc-chip, blueberry, lemon tang (whatever that was) and orange-choc, just to name a few. All of them were capped with thick icing, some with sprinkles and some without.
Mr Caruso opened the display. ‘You may all choose your favourite,’ he declared.
The rain grew heavier. It pelted down and was noisy on the hard concrete and tar of the city. The small crowd that gathered in the colourful shop, dripping wet and accepting offers of towels from Mrs Caruso, made more noise.
Mr and Mrs Caruso were wonderful hosts. They offered more cakes than anyone could eat, just like Aunty Jean when she took out her biscuit tins.
‘Maggie and I are very worried about the possums,’ said Mr Caruso solemnly. ‘That’s why I wanted to see your husband, Mrs Allen.’
‘That’s right,’ said Danny’s dad, grinning brightly. ‘I have a job!’ Danny smiled up at him as he adjusted his hat. The oil stain that looked like a tiny map of Africa was clearly visible.
‘What?’ Danny and Sam chorused.
‘We can’t have possums trying to cross the busy streets,’ continued Mr Caruso. ‘I am on the city council and we have a plan to help them.’ He proudly slapped Danny’s dad on the back. ‘Mr Allen is going to build possum boxes for us. We will hang them in the trees in the park.’
‘A possum city!’ beamed Danny. ‘Wicked!’
‘Exactly!’ cried Mr Caruso. ‘A safe possum city. He will be a busy man because the council has another job for him also. We need carpenters for restoration work.’ He turned and motioned to the Old Kings Theatre. ‘We are fixing up the old theatre.’
‘Wow!’ said Danny. ‘Two jobs, Dad!’
There was clapping and cheering and Danny’s dad got a soggy embrace from his wife. They twirled a little just as they had done sometimes in the kitchen in Mundowie. Then everyone sat around telling one another about themselves.
Maggie talked about acting, singing, dancing and how much she loved the old theatre. ‘So full of memories,’ she smiled dreamily.
Danny understood how she felt.
‘I like to dance!’ cried Vicki. Maggie and Vicki tried twirling . . . until the inevitable: ‘My leg hurts, Muuuum.’
‘Don’t worry, little one,’ said Mr Caruso. ‘We will find something to take the pain away.’
‘I want one of them,’ Vicki cried, pointing eagerly to a giant chocolate frog.
‘Vicki!’ her mother scolded. ‘Remember your manners, please, young lady.’
‘But I like them, Mum.’
Then Maggie said, ‘Enough about me, tell me all about yourself and this country town you come from.’
The Allen family all started talking at once. When they calmed down, Danny’s dad said, ‘Danny is the best storyteller, we’ll let him tell you about it.’
And so he did. With the hissing backdrop of falling rain Danny started to tell Maggie about his Mundowie days: tadpole hunting in summer storms, how Tippy had saved Sam’s life in the brave battle with the brown snake and the thrill of surfing down sand dunes on sheets of iron. Danny talked and talked. ‘We had a rope bridge that stretched between two pepper trees. There was a creek and I had a rope hanging from a tree and I could swing from one side to the other. When the creek was dry it felt like I was swinging across a great canyon far away in somewhere like Arizona. And when it was flooding it was like swinging across raging rapids in a wild wilderness like Africa. Sometimes we’d go . . .’
Maggie listened . . . and listened . . . and listened. She asked for more and more stories and Danny was happy to oblige. Sometimes Danny’s mum and dad added bits of their own, and so did Sam and Vicki.
Maggie loved the stories.
‘I was the best tadpole catcher,’ Vicki said. ‘I got three and we had one each!’
‘I designed the rope bridge,’ said Sam proudly.
In the middle of Danny’s story about a ram called Stanley he talked about his Aunty Jean and how she made the best Anzac biscuits in the world. Licking his lips, Mr Caruso turned to Danny and said, ‘How do I get them? I would like to sell them in my shop.’
Danny knew they were the best biscuits in the world. ‘I’ll check with Aunty Jean,’ he said brightly.
‘And maybe,’ Mr Caruso went on, ‘you, Mrs Allen, can bake bread some days for my shop. I love the smell.’ He closed his eyes and rubbed his large belly. ‘Mmmmm!’
‘Me too,’ said Danny. ‘There’s no better smell than freshly baked bread.’ He paused thoughtfully then added, ‘Except maybe rain on a hot dusty day.’
‘Ah yesss!’ Mr Caruso placed his fingers to his mouth as if pinching a kiss and throwing it to the air. ‘Then the world is wonderful.’ He burst spontaneously into an operatic version of Louis Armstrong’s ‘What a Wonderful World’.
Maggie joined in. Her voice was beautiful. Then Danny’s mum joined in and her voice was terrible!
Sam leaned towards Danny’s ear. ‘So, Mad Maggie doesn’t eat birds then?’
Danny shook his head. ‘No.’
‘What about possums?’
Danny shook his head again. ‘Wait till I see Aine and Weaver,’ he mumbled out of the side of his mouth.
‘We’ll be seeing them lots, I reckon. Especially now that Dad will be working with Aine’s dad.’
Danny nodded. The thought made him feel good inside.
The shop was warm like a country kitchen. Everyone was laughing, singing, eating, drinking tea and hot chocolate with steam rising in ribbons around happy faces.
Outside the window, the globe of the world spun slowly. What a wonderful world it was. Africa . . . Europe . . . Ireland and somewhere, in the greatness of it all, Mundowie and the city, spinning on the same ball. Danny looked at it and smiled. I wonder where Mr Caruso comes from? he thought. Further away than Mundowie, no doubt. And Weaver’s folks are from Spain. I have no idea where that is.
Leaving the world to spin, he took off to find out.
Hey there Allen boys,
Mum said I should write you a letter.
I hope you’re not dead by the time you get this.
I’m okay.
Write back.
See Ya,
Thommo
Hey Thommo,
I’ve got lots of news.
I could tell you about our school but I don’t want to talk about that.
I’ll tell you how Dad’s jobs are going. He’s working hard and spends a lot of time in the old workshop behind the theatre. He’s got all these tools an
d things that were in the workshop from the days when they used to make old sets and props.
He loves it! He’s made some great possum houses! Sam’s been drawing designs for him and making models in clay, Lego and cardboard. He’s designed castles and mansions, and he designed one like Buckingham Palace. Dad built it and it looks wicked! Maggie called the possum that lives in there ‘Queenie’. She’s funny. I like Maggie and I’m glad she’s not mad. Billy’s out of the kennel. He’s staying over at Mr and Mrs Caruso’s. The yard at the back of the shop is big enough for him and he gets lots of walks in the park. Mr Caruso says it’s good to have a watch dog.
Mum’s been baking bread for Mr Caruso when she’s got the time. He sells heaps! When she’s baking Mr Caruso puts a fan on and blows the smell out into the street. People walk past twitching their noses. Mr Caruso says they can’t pass without going in. He’s right. Vicki and I have watched them from the window. The guys from the Mercedes showroom always go over. They love Mum’s bread. And hey, they got our car cleaned for us. It looks great! Mum told Vicki the car fairy had done it. Vicki believed her.
Maggie says there’s going to be a play on in the theatre when it re-opens. She’s going to be in it and so is Mr Caruso. You won’t believe what the play is going to be about, you’ll never guess, ever.
It’s going to be the best surprise so I can’t tell you, you’ll have to wait and see. She says we can invite anyone so we’ll invite you.
I have to go, Thommo, Vicki’s annoying me. She needs thumping!
See ya,
Danny Allen
P.S. We might be buying a house right near Aine and Weaver.
P.P.S. We’re coming back to Mundowie next Saturday to pick up some furniture and Anzac biscuits from Aunty Jean. Aine and Weaver are coming. Do you want to go dune surfing?
6
Opening Night
The night the Old Kings Theatre re-opened, Danny was nervous. He felt stiff in his best jacket, black with gold buttons. He pulled and tugged at it as he walked down the dark stairwell of Waterford Towers and out into the street. He could hear pigeons cooing.
Danny’s dad was wearing his best dark suit with a new shirt and tie. He didn’t like getting dressed up and, like Danny, was squirming about as though he were a caterpillar trapped in a cocoon. He kept patting his hair with a flat hand. ‘I wish you’d let me wear my hat,’ he said to Danny’s mum.
‘You can’t expect to wear that old oil-stained thing to a night like this,’ she replied. Danny’s dad shrugged his shoulders and continued to pull at his tie.
Danny’s mum turned her attention to the children. She frowned as she reached for Danny. ‘Did you comb your hair?’
Danny rolled his eyes and pulled away. ‘Yes, Mum,’ he said.
She took Danny’s dad by the hand and tugged at his arm. ‘Stop fidgeting with that tie.’
He wrapped her hand in his grasp and smiled at her. She leant into him and smiled back. The sound of her heels echoed like horses’ hooves. She was wearing her best shoes, shiny black ones with ribbons at the front.
Danny walked beside her. She looked so different when her hair wasn’t pushed up in wild bunches with hastily attached clips. It was wavy like a movie star’s and Danny thought her face should be on a poster in the foyer. He liked the way her necklace made her eyes sparkle and how her slender fingers, with fingernails painted the same deep red as her lipstick, wrapped themselves in his dad’s strong hand.
Heading toward the theatre, Danny looked up at the name emblazoned in brilliant lights: The Old Kings Theatre. There were no missing letters now: lots of new globes had been installed.
Danny was almost blinded by the sparkle of the foyer. He gazed in through glass so clean it was nearly invisible. It was better, more enticing, than the Mercedes showroom.
The car salesmen, the ones who had managed to get Danny’s car clean, were standing, dressed in suits as usual, on the steps outside. ‘Hello,’ they waved. ‘Can’t wait to see the play.’
Danny waved back. He couldn’t remember their names, but was happy to see them.
Danny watched as Vicki waltzed onto the little red carpet that had been laid at the front of the theatre. She spun and twirled, making her new dress that was patterned with flowers and trimmed with lace fan out. The beads of her necklace whipped Sam’s shoulder.
He turned to thump her but held back when he saw the warning glare from his dad.
‘Don’t twirl near me!’ he said.
‘I can if I want.’ And she did. Tra la la la la.
Danny moved away from the trouble. He walked up the steps.
The large doors – clean and polished like the Mercedes cars – were wide open and welcoming. The deep-red carpets were clean, the walls painted, the gold handles polished and the old posters set in new frames. He spied Maggie’s picture. She looked wonderful, almost as wonderful as his mum.
There were people in penguin suits milling around in corners. They were laughing and chatting.
When he was in the middle of the foyer Danny looked up. The pigeons were still sitting on the clean atrium dome and Danny was glad.
‘I’m running upstairs to check our seats before the others get here,’ he said. With that he flew from his parents’ side and up the stairs, jumping two, sometimes three steps at a time.
‘Good idea,’ said Sam, leaping after him.
‘Me too,’ said Vicki.
‘No,’ Sam barked. ‘You wait with Mum and Dad.’
‘I don’t have to.’
And she didn’t.
The boys ran fast up the stairs. Vicki followed. ‘Hey! Wait!’
Danny, his family and friends had been given the best seats in the house. Maggie had made sure of that. They were in a large private box on one side of the theatre and the mayor and other important people were in the large box on the other side.
Danny had a lot of friends coming. He had more than the mayor! The box would be crowded with VIPs. Maggie wouldn’t be sitting with him; nor would Mr Caruso: they were stars in the play.
Danny was testing the bounciness of his seat when the first of his VIPs arrived. ‘Hellooooo, Danny Allen!’
He knew the sound of that musical voice. Beaming, he turned to face the open arms of his Aunty Jean.
‘Ha ha, Danny, come here, my boy!’ She was glittering like his mum, only more silver in colour because of the grey hair. Danny sprang from his seat. He ran to her just as he had done many times in Mundowie, especially when she had a full biscuit tin on offer. ‘Hi, Aunty Jean!’
He flew into her arms and Danny was pleased to note that she smelt just the same – lavender. She squeezed Danny hard and he squeezed her back.
She was just the first of a flood of friendly faces that walked up the stairs to join Danny.
The entire Fogarty family were next to arrive. Danny was soon surrounded.
‘Hey there, Danny Allen!’
‘Hey, boy!’
‘Daaaaaannnny!’
Weaver and Aine arrived with Aine’s dad. Weaver looked odd without a skateboard under his arm. He still seemed to glide across the carpet though.
‘Wahoo! Danny, Sam, Vicki!’ He cried.
Aine didn’t look much different. Her hair was still in a rope-like plait. ‘This is going to be awesome, Danny!’ she exclaimed.
Thommo and his parents arrived at the top of the stairs with Danny’s mum and dad. Mr Thompson was limping a little, but Thommo wasn’t. He marched in loud and strong.
‘I’m here!’ he announced, throwing his arms into the air. ‘I’ve arrived! You can start the show now.’ Vicki clapped, Sam laughed and so did Thommo. He always laughed at his own jokes.
‘Thommooooo!’ chorused Aine and Weaver.
‘Hey, Thommo, look,’ said Vicki, twirling. ‘I’ve got a new dress.’
‘Nice,’ nodded Thommo politely.
Danny patted Thommo on the back. ‘Hey, Thommo. Thanks for coming.’
‘Danny Allen, my main man! I wouldn’t mis
s this for anything.’
Danny’s private box was noisy. Everyone stood around chatting and laughing. They looked like sheep crowded under a shady tree on a scorching hot day.
When the lights dimmed they settled into their seats.
Aunty Jean winked at Danny as she slid a small tin under her seat. She’d brought a few Anzac biscuits for the interval. Mr Wallace couldn’t resist having one before the show. He was a big man. The result of too many Anzac biscuits was Danny’s guess. Danny sat between Aine and Weaver; Thommo and Sam were behind him. He was well shielded from Vicki and the Fogarty kids.
It was a wise choice: the Fogarty kids were the last to settle.
‘Get off.’
‘No.’
‘I can’t see.’
‘Muuuum. Finley smells.’
The lights dimmed. The heavy red curtains drew back to hush the audience.
The stage was slowly lit with an orange sunset glow. Danny felt weird. There was a lump in his throat and something bigger than butterflies flying about in his stomach.
Danny glanced down at his program. The cover showed a picture of three boys at the top of a red sand dune, one surfing down on a sheet of iron. He proudly read the title of the play everyone had come to see: Danny Allen was Here.
The crowd let out a collective gasp of amazement at the wonderful red-sand country setting that had been created on the stage. The light was orange as if streaming down from a late evening sky just before sunset. There was a large sand-dune backdrop. Suddenly, above the soothing whisper of a gentle breeze and the chirping orchestration of busy birds, the sound of excited boys reached out in echoes across the theatre and filled the scene. ‘I’ll go first, I’m not scared.’
‘You can’t surf down that.’
‘You just watch me!’
Then, from the top of the dune, where the orange sunset glow was at its most vibrant, the silhouette of three boys caught the audience’s attention.
Take it Easy, Danny Allen Page 12
