‘Yes?’ Anna craned her head around again.
‘Will you go on with the story tomorrow?’
‘Yes. No. If it’s raining maybe. I thought you didn’t like it.’
‘It’s alright,’ said Mark.
chapter two
Mark Decides
Something was wrong. Unfinished. It niggled at him all the way through school.
It was Anna’s story of course. That’s what was wrong. She wasn’t telling it properly, not like it should be told.
Because somehow Mark knew that the story was THERE, in Anna’s mind. She shouldn’t have let them butt in. It was almost, almost like she didn’t want to tell it at all.
It shouldn’t have mattered, of course. It was just one of Anna’s stories, like the one about the goldfish that swam to Tasmania or the wild horses that took over the school or the secret gold mine under the butcher’s.
But somehow Heidi had become real…no, she wasn’t real, not yet. It was as though she MIGHT be real, if Anna just told them more.
And suddenly Mark wanted more than anything to know more.
The buses lined the road next to the school. When he’d been small Mark had thought they looked like lions waiting to swallow you and then burp you out at your bus stop.
Mark sat with Bonzo, as he always did, in the seat behind Anna and Big Tracey. Little Tracey sat with a kid almost as small as her. Ben sat in the back seat with his mates.
One by one all the other kids got off. Little Tracey’s friend first, and Ben’s mates and Bonzo at the stop by the store, then finally Big Tracey at Dirty Butter Creek.
Mark leant forward and tapped Anna on the shoulder. ‘Hey, guess what?’ he said.
‘What?’
‘I just worked out why it’s called Dirty Butter Creek. I used to think there must have been a dairy or something here.’
‘Wasn’t there?’
‘No. I asked Dad once and he said there weren’t any dairies around here. Just look at it now.’ Mark gazed down into the swirling yellow water.
‘Hey, I see…’ cried Anna. ‘It looks just like dirty butter, doesn’t it? Yuk…all yellow and brown.’
‘Yeah. Anna, will you go on with the story tomorrow?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Anna slowly.
‘Please.’
‘If you really want me to,’ said Anna, even more slowly.
‘Yeah, I do,’ said Mark. ‘Look, how about getting down to the bus stop a bit earlier tomorrow, so you’ve got more time. I’ll ask Mum, and your mum can pick up Little Tracey, say, fifteen minutes earlier.’
‘Mum won’t have time for a cup of tea. Oh, alright. I’ll say we need to talk about a project for school.’
‘Thanks,’ said Mark. He leant back in his seat again, then changed his mind and tapped her arm again.
‘Anna.’
‘Yes.’
‘
‘What about Ben? Are you going to ask him to come early too.’
‘You can get the story going before he gets there.’ Somehow he knew the story wouldn’t go right if Ben were there.
chapter three
The Story Continues
The rain gurgled along the gutter and into the tank outside the kitchen window, almost drowning out the yelling of the frogs in the creek. Down on the flat the creek groaned and rumbled, so the air seemed to vibrate with the noise.
‘The tank will overflow if this goes on,’ said Mum, shoving the plates into the dishwasher. ‘Mark, turn the radio off, would you? I don’t want to listen to the news this morning. It’s too depressing. Have you got your homework?’
‘Yep.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yep. Come on, Mum. I’ll be late for the bus.’
His mother looked up from the dishwasher, surprised. ‘We’ve got ages yet.’
‘But it’ll be slower because it’s muddy. That’s what you said yesterday.’
‘Maybe you’re right. Oh look, the umbrella’s still wet. I hate it when it drips like that. You run down the path first and I’ll follow you, alright?’
Mark nodded. Whenever it rained the roses along the path hung wet and heavy, so that if you brushed against them water tipped from their leaves and petals down your shoulders and arms. Mum never cut them back enough, Dad said. She was too softhearted even with the roses.
The car was cold and smelt of wet dog.
‘I shouldn’t have let Bubbles ride in the car yesterday,’ said Mum, turning the demister to maximum. ‘Oh yuk, the smell’s even worse with the heater on.’
The car squelched through the puddles on the driveway, then squished onto the mud of the road.
‘Mum?’
‘Mmm?’ Mum was concentrating on steering around the puddles. ‘Heaven knows when the council will get round to grading this road again.’
‘What’s the longest time it’s ever rained?’
‘Good grief, I don’t know. Forty days and forty nights. That’s what it was supposed to be for Noah’s flood. Oh, and for six weeks back in forty-seven, so your nanna told me. Fog and rain for six weeks.’
‘Six sevens are forty-two, that’s forty-two days and beats Noah,’ said Mark with satisfaction. ‘Did it flood?’
‘Right up to the garden fence where the vegie garden is now,’ said Mum. ‘Your nanna said no one could get out for weeks, and Mrs Hilson down the valley had her baby and they had to call a helicopter in. Oops, sorry about that,’ as the car plunged into a puddle. ‘I didn’t realise it was so deep. Oh, look at that cow…get off the road you stupid creature.’
‘Hey, Mum.’ Mark watched the cow slowly amble to the side of the road. ‘Do cows ever sneeze?’
‘Mmm. What was that?’ Mum carefully circled the cow in case it decided to step back into the path of the car. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’ve no idea. I’d better give Ned a ring when I get back and tell him there’s a cow on the road…’
‘Mum? What do you know about Hitler?’
Mum blinked, and the car shot into a puddle. ‘Blast. Hitler? What brought that up?’
‘Nothing,’ said Mark.
Mum shrugged. ‘You choose the worst times to ask questions. What do you want to know about him?’
‘What was he like?’
‘Oh, Mark, not now, it’s bad enough trying to keep the car on the road with all this mud.’
‘Please, Mum, I want to know.’
‘Well, he was a monster, of course,’ said Mum reluctantly, still battling with the steering wheel. ‘All the
