Mostly Sunny with a Chance of Storms (2 page)

Boris would most definitely not survive another move, as it’s a well-known fact that cats are bad at travelling.

I am a person who isn’t so good with change. And, let’s face it, I’ve had to adjust to a lot lately: Carl and his kids moving in; my baby sister, Flora, being born;
Mum giving up smoking. I mean, another big change could really tip me over the edge.

Living in a huge mansion might make us become big fat rich snobs.

How about all those paintings at Granny Carmelene’s with the accusatory eyes that follow you around the room and make you feel guilty for stuff you haven’t even done? Seriously, who needs that?

There would most definitely be a higher likelihood of tubes with fangs living at Granny Carmelene’s. Everybody knows snakes live near rivers, and besides, Mum even told me that there are tiger snakes there, and they’re not the type of snake to slither away when they hear you coming, they’re the type of snake that chases you.

Willow agreed with every one of my points (except maybe the one about Boris), until Carl came home and she jumped down from my bed and scratched at the door to be let out. I closed the door quietly behind her, not feeling ready to go and join the others. My anger with Mum had given way to throat-aching sadness. The very thing I’d been trying to stomp and slam away.

You see, I hadn’t told Willow that the real reason I was so upset was not because I didn’t
want
to move into Granny Carmelene’s house, it was simply that I couldn’t
bear
to.

Since Granny Carmelene had passed away, I’d been doing my very best not to think about her. Not one little bit. Even the slightest memory made me giddy and sad and feel as if I had to sit my whole body down – like after a gut-wrenching rollercoaster when you have to put your head on your knees and wait for the world to stop spinning.

Every single inch of Granny Carmelene’s house was soaked in memories and would make me ask questions that, as far as I knew, nobody could help me answer. Questions like: Where exactly does a person go when they stop being
somewhere
and you suddenly have to deal with them being
nowhere.
I mean, where exactly is
nowhere
?

I figured the
best approach was to simply ignore the whole
moving into Granny Carmelene’s house
thing entirely. I stayed in my room until the last possible moment. Back in the good old days I would have been able to extend the last possible moment basically forever, but these days there was a real chance I would miss out on being fed. Especially with Lyall around. So I just slipped into my place at the table without saying anything at all.

We ate in perfect silence until Saskia had to go and spoil it. ‘Come on, Sunny, the whole house is surrounded by oodles and poodles of lawn. Willow would love it.’

Mum and Carl both looked up hopefully from their dinner plates, and I gave them both
the eyebrow.

Lyall shovelled his last wedge of roast potato into
his mouth then leant over with his fork and stole one of Saskia’s.

‘Lyall! Manners, please,’ said Carl. Then he turned to me and said very earnestly, ‘Sunny, I understand your reservations, but we
do
have to make a decision at some stage. Preferably soon.’

‘It’s true, Sunny,’ said Mum. ‘A house like that needs to be lived in. It’s what your grandmother would have wanted.’

‘Mum, are there any more potatoes?’ I stood up, went into the kitchen and brought the baking tray back to the table. ‘Who else wants some more?’ I asked. ‘There’s probably enough for one more each.’

‘Me please!’ Lyall and Saskia sung out. Carl nodded too.

‘When would we move then?’ I asked, looking Mum straight in the eye.

Until Saskia blurted out, ‘Next week!’

‘Saskia!’ Carl scolded.

And it was right at that moment that I realised moving to Granny Carmelene’s was inevitable. I was totally outnumbered. Everyone was just going through the motions of having a discussion about it to make me feel as if I had some kind of
choice.
Mum had probably already booked the removalists. I tried to hold Mum’s gaze but she was busy trying to catch Carl’s eye for some support.

‘More wine, love?’ he asked, filling up her glass.

‘Well, Mum?’ I asked.

And because she knew she was completely busted she lowered her voice and said, ‘We more or less tossed about the idea of being out of here just before the end of term. Then we’d have the whole winter holidays to settle in.’

Lyall and Saskia took to the task of eating their potatoes with similar levels of concentration required for a maths exam.

‘So, what you really mean, Mum, is that we’re moving
next week,
like Saskia said?’

‘Really?’ she said. ‘Gosh, no, that can’t be right? Is it that soon, Carl?’

‘The end of next week,’ confirmed Carl. ‘And you get to take the Friday off school!’

‘Terrific,’ I said.

‘And we’re all getting new beds!’ squeaked Saskia, earning herself a triple glare from Lyall, Mum and Carl.

‘Can I please leave the table?’ I asked, putting my knife and fork together.

‘Sure, sweetheart,’ said Mum.

‘Can I have your potatoes?’ Lyall asked with his mouth full.

‘Knock yourself out, Lyall.’

I left my half-eaten meal on the table, went back to my room and climbed up to the top bunk – because I didn’t feel
like any company, not even from Willow. Plus, it’s always in the top bunk that I come up with my best inventions. I was going to need something, fast! Some kind of state-of-the-art anti-grief contraption, kind of like my trusty old Stash-O-Matic, which used to hold all my secrets until I threw it into Bass Strait. A Sad Thoughts Obliterator? A No-Thinky-Granny-Thingy?

Mum came in eventually to tuck me in. She must have sensed I wasn’t in a talking mood becuase she just kissed me on the forehead and gave me one of her
it’s all going to be okay
looks.

I lay awake most of the night waiting for the perfect design to come. But nothing did. Not even eventually.

Then, right when I was about to give up, they arrived. Not a contraption, but a duo. Bruce and Terry. Grief bouncers. Who would have thought?

Bruce and Terry were just like those guys you see outside nightclubs whose job it is to keep the riffraff out. It was brilliant! With Bruce and Terry on the door, I could be assured that no nasty, throat-achy feelings would be allowed access to my brain. While Bruce was keeping sad feelings away, Terry would be preventing big questions from barging in. With
no
sad thoughts and
no
big questions, maybe I could be happy at Granny Carmelene’s after all? I mean, stranger things have happened, right?

‘Ahem, Miss, before we clock on as your personal
Grief Bouncers, we are required to ask for a
brief
– a set of instructions, if you will. Oh, and I’m Bruce. Pleased to be invented by you.’ Bruce held out his hand and shook mine.

‘Pleased to meet you too,’ said Terry.

‘I like your suit,’ I said as he shook my hand. (Don’t ask me why, but Bruce and Terry were definitely retro. I must have imagined them from one of those old cop shows. Bruce wore a tight shirt and flares, and Terry was in a chocolate-brown suit with the widest lapels ever.)

Realising that it wasn’t polite to stare at other people’s clothes for too long, I got out my notebook and scribbled down a list of instructions.

Bruce read the list and then passed it to Terry.

‘Not a problem, Sunday,’ said Terry. ‘You can take it from me that you will not have
one
sad thought about that grandmother of yours. Not one.’ Terry wore a gold chain and spoke in a British accent a lot like how Carl
sounds when he’s pretending to be Michael Caine. He also pointed at me when he spoke, as though I was in trouble, which gave me a lot of confidence in his abilities.

‘Even if I’m living in her house, Terry? Can you be absolutely sure?’

‘Tell you what,’ said Terry. ‘You have
one
sad thought, and we’ll give you your money back – guaranteed. Won’t we, Bruce?’

Bruce nodded earnestly.

‘I’ll give it a go then,’ I said, suddenly feeling very tired. For a moment, I pictured Granny Carmelene’s big old house, as empty as can be, on its own bend in the river. And I remembered how it also had a tower (Granny Carmelene said it was called a
turret
), which had the cutest red carpety stairs leading up to it from the second storey landing. And I thought about how if we
did
move into the big old white-and-black mansion, the turret could possibly be my bedroom. Can you imagine? My own tower! (That’s if the precookeds didn’t suddenly want it for themselves. Siblings, I tell you; the minute they see you want something they become desperate for it themselves. They can’t help it; it’s in their breeding.)

You’ll be really
pleased to know that I’m not going to tell you about the actual moving. Let’s face it, even if we were rock-stars or royalty I’d be stretching it to find something interesting to say about packing our whole life up into boxes. Especially if you have a full-blown aversion to cardboard like I do.