The walkie-talkie in my hand bursts to life with Ivy saying ‘Focus for tuna’ again.
It really is hard work, having a little sister like Ivy. ‘Come and get some tuna if you want it, over and out!’ I say, and click my walkie-talkie off. I’ve got better things to do than deal with Ivy. I’ve got to stop that development and save Hummingbird House and my mullolly tree – or we will never have a chance to be a family again.
IF MY LIFE WERE A TV SHOW …
You know that feeling you get when you realise you have done something wrong? It’s like the floor falls away. Your tummy feels churned up – like you ate too much fairy floss and that made you thirsty so you drank a whole bottle of creaming soda and then you went on the Crazy Coaster. Nope. It is not a good feeling at all.
Well, that’s the feeling I get when I go to our room to practise guitar, unzip the guitar case and suddenly realise the thing I’ve forgotten. My guitar music. Of all the ‘one-of’ things I have to take from house to house, my guitar music is probably the most important.
How will I tell Mum? She hates contacting Dad. It’s against the rules of week-about. But I really need my music. I need to practise. There’s a school music concert coming up and I’m finding my part really hard. There’s some big stretches and complicated fingerpicking going on. And have I mentioned my guitar partner in the concert is Taylor Dellabella? And that sometimes I play guitar like I’ve got two left feet? Or so Taylor tells me.
I go to Mum’s room. She’s at the computer.
‘Hi, Hattie! What’s up?’
I try a delay tactic. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask.
‘I’m researching the apartment development at the old mansion. There’s not much information about it yet. But look – we’re not the only ones upset about this. There’s a Facebook page against the development and it already has plenty of likes. And there’s going to be a protest on Sunday. Look.’ Mum clicks to the next photo. I read the caption. Mayor approves development at Hummingbird House. The mayor looks like a doll. Her tanned skin highlights the whites of her eyes and her teeth glint. Her hair is super straight and blonde and stiff, as if it is frozen. Crisp, I would call her. Mum clicks through more photos of the mayor cutting ribbons and looking pleased with herself. I can’t work out if she looks young and nice or haggard and scary. She’s like the optical illusion of the young woman/old woman that totally freaks my brain out. If she were a character in a fairytale, she would be the Ice Witch. In the last photo she is shaking hands with a man in a suit who looks like a movie star. Or a superhero. If he were a character in a fairytale he would definitely be the handsome prince. The next picture is a computer image of the development, complete with happy people drinking coffee and riding bikes. Seeing it made real like that makes my chest feel like a squeezed face washer.
‘What an eyesore!’ Mum says.
The building is huge with funny shapes all over it. It looks sad. I can literally see a sad face in the arrangement of balconies and windows. I want to tell the building not to worry. To cheer up. I don’t think I could handle seeing such a huge, sad face on my way to school every day. Looking at it does in fact make my eyes sore and sting. Or maybe that’s the strain of holding back tears.
‘I really hope our mullolly tree doesn’t get cut down, Mum.’ But I can see in the pictures that there will be nothing left of what I know and love at Hummingbird House. I think about all the times Mum, Dad, Ivy and I have been in the mullolly tree. Together. How the branches are so thick you can stand up and walk along them like a balance beam. And how the mulberries are always ripe for Halloween and we pretend the juice is blood for our costumes. And how the leaves are waxy and big and have silkworms on them. Surely no one could cut down a tree like that?
I lean on Mum’s shoulder and she gives me a hug while she uploads photos to the Save Hummingbird House Facebook page. There is one from the first time we took Ivy there. A newborn baby, straight from the hospital. We used the timer on the camera so we are all standing together. Mum is holding tiny baby Ivy and I am looking up and giggling at Dad who is so tall his head is hidden in the leaves of the tree. When I look at it, it is hard to think we are still the same people. That we are still the same family. Because I am not sure we are.
While my head is on Mum’s shoulder I say, ‘Mum, I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten my guitar music.’
I feel her shoulders stiffen and she stops typing.
‘O…kay,’ she says, in a forced-calm sort of way. ‘Maybe you can just go without it this week, hey?’
I love my Mum and I hate upsetting her, especially since the Big Split, but I really need my music. So I just have to say it.
‘I can’t, Mum. I really can’t. I need my music to practise.’
‘Well, is it available online or something?’ She opens a new tab. ‘What’s the song called? I’m sure I can find it.’
‘Mum. It’s just at Dad’s – and it has notes on it I need.’
Mum sighs. I don’t have to be Einstein to know she really doesn’t want to call Dad.
‘I’ll think about it. Just let me finish this.’
Then I do something I really shouldn’t do. As I leave Mum’s room, I swipe her phone. And then I do another thing I really shouldn’t do. I text Dad.
Hattie forgot her guitar music
It pings back straight away.
Okay then come and get it
I reply:
Maybe you can drop it off?
And straight back comes:
No. Why don’t you come and get it?
I get frustrated. This is so like them. So I try another way.
Why don’t you bring it over and stay for dinner?
There’s a pause. I go and get my netball and while I’m going outside to practise goals, I hear the phone ping.
Okay sure. See you around 6.30
Great! I reply and add a smiley face.