Anyway, unfortunately because Wolfie was so huge, no-one wanted to take him home. So, Mum took him; she had a really soft heart like that. I don’t think we were enough for Wolfie, though. He lay on the front veranda most days and watched the driveway and always had this look of sad expectation on his face, like he was waiting for his Napoléon to walk back into the picture.
I decided to ride up to the main road to get the mail. I had a feeling that my report card would be arriving any day and I knew I hadn’t done well. I didn’t want to give Kevin another reason to have a go at me. Best to intercept such unpleasantness.
My bike rattled as I coasted down the first slope into the gully. In the wet season, the gully swelled into a river and I remember Grandma saying that the house, being on higher ground, was sometimes marooned on an island in the middle of a flood. As a kid I wanted to be on that island, with a moat all around me, like I was a princess or something. Kids think about stupid things like that.
When I got up to the top gate, I was sweaty and puffed. With my bike clutched between my legs, I opened the old diesel drum that served as a mailbox and pulled out a wad of letters and flyers. A quick sort revealed no report card. I peered in to see if I’d missed anything and saw something at the back: a roll of paper. I reached in past the spider webs and pulled it out. My name was scribbled on the outside of the scroll and I recognised what it was straightaway; Matt’s pencil etchings were visible through the paper. I threw the wad of letters back into the drum and unrolled the paper.
It was the drawing he’d shown me at the creek. The shading was finished, the faces intricately detailed and filled in; the water swirled, the hands and arms reached from the surface. Images of my dream and Dylan in the water flashed through my mind and I gasped. It felt like a sick joke, like Matt knew about my dream and wanted to frighten me. My fingers let the paper roll up and it dropped to the dusty ground.
The Harrison house was old like Grandma’s but smaller and highset. Dogs barked as I rode up and moments later two blue heelers ran over to greet me. I stopped and waited for them to check me out. I knew heelers would bite if people got too close or threatened them.
The dogs circled and sniffed my feet. I wheeled my bike closer to the house and noticed a familiar white van parked over near the packing shed. An orchard of avocado trees lined the driveway and under the nearby shed two people stood, sorting through what I assumed were bins of fruit. One of them was Matt and when he saw me I raised my hand in a small wave.
He said something to the woman beside him and came over, barefooted, hair tied back. ‘Hi.’ He smiled, looking sweaty but still impossibly striking.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Sorry. I’m interrupting your work.’ Now that I was there I wanted to leave.
He laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I was about to have a break anyway. Come over to the shade, it’s boiling out here.’ I left my bike and followed him to the shed where he introduced me to his mother. She was thin with long dark hair and dark eyes. Matt looked a lot like her.
‘You coming?’ he said to her as we headed back toward the house.
‘I’ll keep going. You go ahead.’ She smiled.
‘So, how are you?’ he said as we walked underneath the house. He glanced at the paper in my hand. ‘I see you got it.’ I could have sworn his ears went a little red but it was difficult to see in the shade.
‘Yeah. Thanks. It was nice of you.’
‘I wrote on it, see?’ He pointed to the dedication at the bottom of the drawing.
For Sunny
‘Yeah. I saw that. My very own original drawing. That’s really great.’
He looked at me for a second, tilting his head. ‘Did I spell your name wrong?’
‘Oh, no, no. That’s me, Sunny like the weather.’ I tried to laugh.
‘Are you okay? You look a little … I don’t know, pale.’
Act happy. Act grateful. ‘No, I’m fine. Don’t worry, I’m not going to throw up again or anything.’ Yeah great. Remind him about that.
‘That’s a relief,’ he said. ‘I might get paranoid if you throw up every time you see me. Come upstairs. I’ll get you a drink of water.’ He raised his eyebrow. ‘Just in case.’
We climbed the stairs at the back of the house and the chimes hanging by the door tinkled in the light breeze. Matt held a curtain of purple beads aside and I went through. The kitchen was a similar vintage to ours, though much smaller. A dining table was pushed up against one wall draped with a bright patterned cloth and the timber cupboards, which may have been from Grandma’s era, were painted light green. They looked as though no-one had bothered to restore them except by plastering on a new layer of enamel paint every couple of years. The lumpy floor squeaked under my feet as I trod across the grey linoleum.
‘Water or juice?’ Matt walked past me to the sink.
‘Water, please.’
On the kitchen bench, a stick of incense protruding from a blue-and-green vase gently smoked. I had to admit the smell gave the house a sense of calm.
Matt filled an enamel cup and came over to me. ‘I like your place,’ I said, taking the cup and drinking.
‘Nice of you to say, but actually it’s a dump,’ he said, looking around. ‘The landlord wouldn’t even get the fans fixed for us, even though Mum’s asked three times.’
I looked up at the ceiling fan, stained
