Mostly Sunny with a Chance of Storms (10 page)

I took a deep breath as I approached Settimio’s door. Surely he wouldn’t close it in my face when he knew I had a parcel for him. I could hear him clunking about and there was a warm waft of garlic in the air and the sound of a radio. I knocked gently on the door. The radio faded out as if it had been switched off at the wall, and Settimio appeared in the doorway, leaning on one crutch. Obviously this time he’d been expecting me.

‘Come!’ he said, motioning with his head. ‘Inside.’

The kitchen was hobbit-house small, with a round wooden table in the middle and a real wood stove with a fire inside. Off the kitchen was a door to the sitting room and I could see old Marmalade in there, safely asleep on a chair. I put the chemist parcel on the kitchen table.

‘There you go, Settimio,’ I said politely. ‘Do you need help with anything else?’ I was hoping like crazy he’d say no, so I could scoot off as soon as possible, but then I noticed the shoe box on the table. The one I’d seen through the telescope. Sitting on top was a heart-shaped locket on a silver chain. I was overcome with curiosity.

‘That’s nice,’ I said, pointing to the locket.

Settimio looked at me suspiciously before picking it up and opening the tiny heart-shaped frame.

‘Your grandmother was
good
woman,’ he said, like an accusation. ‘It belongs to her; I find it buried in the garden.
For many years now I have kept this locket.’

‘Why?’ I asked. ‘If you found it, why didn’t you give it back to her?’ It was becoming glaringly obvious to me that not only was Settimio a dog-and-child-hater but clearly also a thief. My thoughts were interrupted by Settimio handing me the locket.

‘Not lost.’ He scolded. ‘Carmelene, she throw away.’ He flicked the air with one hand as though he was tossing confetti into a gusty wind. ‘When your Grandfather Henry leave.’

I looked closely at the tiny photograph inside. It was Grandpa Henry all right. I recognised him from other photos I’d seen.

‘He brok-ed her heart. She never trust again.’

‘I know, double betrayal,’ I said. ‘It’s the worst kind. Mum told me.’

Settimio took my two hands in his and closed all our hands around the locket.

‘You have, Sunday. It is yours. Carmelene would like it to be in this manner.’ He squeezed my hands together for a moment and gave them two solid shakes, as if he was sealing the deal and there were to be no arguments.

‘Wow, thanks,’ I said, gently releasing his grip and wondering why he was suddenly being so nice to me. It was dead confusing I can tell you.

But one thing I did understand was that Settimio
really missed Granny Carmelene, and that he’d known her for a lot longer than I had. I know it seems obvious, but I guess with him being so mean and all, I just hadn’t been able to imagine him and Granny Carmelene being friends. He must have been having mountains of sad thoughts. Mountains. Maybe he needed Bruce and Terry?

I didn’t tell Mum about the locket. I don’t know why. I put it in my bedside table on top of Finn’s letter. But beforehand, I looked at it more closely. It had a silver engraving of an angel on the outside of the heart. I remembered back to my secret trip to Tasmania with Granny Carmelene, and how she’d held my hand deep down in King Solomon’s Cave. And how I’d seen an angel disappearing up and out of a crack in the ceiling towards the light.

I turned off my lamp and waited until my eyes adjusted to the dark. I could just make out the outline of the cypress trees by Settimio’s cottage, and for the first time I felt comforted by the idea that he was living down there and wondered if Granny Carmelene had felt the same way. I was thankful that she had had Settimio to watch over her for all those years. And maybe, just maybe, it could be possible that if I liked Granny Carmelene and Granny Carmelene liked me, and Granny Carmelene liked Settimio, and Settimio liked her, then possibly, just possibly, one day Settimio and I might like one another too.

I woke up
the next morning thinking about Finn, which was slightly disturbing, because usually I woke up and simply thought about breakfast. So even though writing a letter kind of felt like homework, I conjured up my best handwriting and did it anyway.

It was a rainy old day so there was absolutely no point getting out of my pyjamas. I climbed downstairs and knocked on Lyall’s door. We had planned to make the brochures for Boredom Control, and Saskia had convinced us that she’d be the best one to design them as she was almost certain she had a full-blown case of dyslexia. I had to make sure Lyall didn’t sleep all morning.

‘The brochures?’ I said poking my head inside. I think I was trying to start acting like a manager type, just in case he really did think he owned the business. I heard him
grunt and turn over, so I went and knocked on Saskia’s door, across the hall. ‘Saskia, you awake?’

‘Come in,’ she said. ‘I’ve been working on ideas.’ I pushed open the door. There were drawings laid out all over the floor.

‘I did a lot of work in the night,’ she said, snapping the lid back on one of her textas.

‘Wow! They look amazing.’ I picked up one drawing. It was a whole group of assorted dogs running around an obstacle course. ‘Did you sleep at all?’

‘Not really,’ said Saskia. ‘But a lot of artists work through the night. You just have to ride the wave of inspiration when it comes.’ She did an enormous yawn, which made me yawn too, even though I’d just woken up.

‘Maybe you’d better get some more sleep,’ I said. ‘Lyall’s still snoozing too. Besides, all this yawning is contagious.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said, yawning some more and flopping back into bed.

I really wanted to slide down the banister, but I could hear Mum down in the library, so I took the stairs the regular old way instead.

‘Morning, sweetheart,’ she said, looking at her watch. ‘I’ve got my first client in half an hour. I’m just making sure the library’s ready for tonight’s meeting.’

Mum and Carl had invited the neighbours over to see if they’d be interested in forming an environmental action
group. It was Carl’s idea, of course. Besides the fact that he made a living out of trying to get huge corporations to reduce their carbon footprint, Carl said it would be wrong to be living in such a super-privileged way, in such a ridiculously big house, without setting an example for other people living in super-privileged ways in ridiculously big houses. But it was completely obvious to me that what the neighbours were
mostly
interested in was having a stickybeak at our house.

‘So, Sunny,’ Mum went on. ‘Will you three be mindful that I’m working today and not be too rowdy?’

‘Sure, Mum,’ I said. ‘We’re just making our brochures. It’s not a very noisy activity.’

‘And if there’s a break in this weather, Willow will need a walk.’

‘I’ve got to go post a letter, so I’ll take Willow with me.’

‘Make sure you call by Settimio’s place and see if he needs anything at the shops.’

‘Consider it done, Mum.’

But as Mum’s string of clients came and went and Lyall and Saskia didn’t wake up, and it was
still
raining, I snuck Willow onto the couch in the gameless games room and we watched hours of daytime television without anybody to tell us not to. It was just like old times, only in a bigger house.

That night Carl was stressed to the max, which pretty much meant that he and Lyall would end up having an argument. It’s just the way it is with them, because when it comes to Lyall, Carl’s got what you might call a
short fuse
.

‘Now listen, Lyall,’ said Carl, ‘I don’t want you goofing off on MySpace all night; do you hear? I want you to help serve refreshments.’

‘Okay. Chill, Dad,’ said Lyall.

‘Don’t
chill
me, Lyall. There are jobs to do. It’s our first night and we’ve got three people coming, which isn’t bad considering most punters around here think they need four-wheel drive trucks just to get their kids to school.’

‘Oh no,’ said Saskia, making up a jug of lemon cordial. ‘Don’t get Dad started on the
truck
issue.’

‘They should be banned,’ said Carl. ‘Or, if you really need a truck to keep up with the Joneses, you should at least have to pay more to register the damn things. You wouldn’t believe the scene the other day in Malvern Road. Trucks everywhere. All with just one person in them. It’s a disgrace.’

‘What do you suggest then, Carl, shared Kombi Vans run on bio-diesel?’ I said.

‘Sunny!’ said Mum, giving me
the eyebrow
. ‘Don’t be smart.’

‘What I
am
suggesting Sunny, is
change
. Is that such a difficult concept?’

Apart from the fact that change
was
a difficult concept for me, I didn’t like it when Carl told me off, because he isn’t actually my father. When Dad tells me off I don’t even care, but Carl made my cheeks burn red. I wished I could turn invisible. To be honest, I think Mum should have stuck up for me. It’s not as if he doesn’t have two kids of his own to vent on.

‘Lyall,’ continued Carl. ‘I’ll need you to get the whiteboard out of the laundry for me. And Saskia, once you’ve finished making the cordial you can put out a plate of biscuits too. And some glasses, of course.’

‘Sure, Dad,’ said Saskia, who knew the exact level of agreeability to prevent an argument when Carl was stressed.

‘Sunny, it can be your job to clear up afterwards.’

‘Fine,’ I said.

‘
Lyall!
’ Carl yelled. ‘How many times do I have to ask you to go and get the whiteboard?’

‘Come on, Lyall,’ I said, wanting an excuse to leave the room. ‘I’ll help.’

Once the three guests arrived, and Mum and Carl were occupied in the library, Lyall and Saskia and I went up to Lyall’s room and finished our brochures for Boredom Control. All we had to do was print some off and we’d be ready to deliver in the morning.

After the meeting, Carl came upstairs to let us know the guests had gone, which was my cue to start the clearing up. Thankfully, he seemed a little more relaxed.

‘These are excellent,’ he said, looking at our brochures.

‘Saskia did them,’ I said.

‘Dad,’ said Saskia. ‘Sometimes when I’m reading, the words swirl around on the page and the letters get all mixed up.’

‘She’s lying, Dad,’ said Lyall. ‘She’s just trying to convince you she’s dyslexic.’

‘Go away, Lyall. Dad, it’s true. I told Mrs Pattison but she just ignored me.’