Pearlie's Pet Rescue (12 page)

Here's a sneak peek at Meet Lina

L
INA
woke to the sound of the old rooster crowing in the backyard. It can't be morning already! she thought, peering out through the curtains at the velvety grey sky. In the distance she could hear the rumble of the delivery trucks on Lygon Street and the clip-clopping of the milkman with his horse and cart.

Time for chores, I guess. Sighing, she quickly slipped a jumper over her nightdress and, standing barefoot on the freezing linoleum floor, teeth chattering, hunted for a pair of warm socks in the chest of drawers she shared with her grandmother.

At the back door, Lina pulled on a pair of her father's work boots and the padded jacket that had once belonged to her brother. Her older brothers were already outside doing their chores in the long narrow garden of their terrace house in Carlton. In the pale morning light she could just make out the hunched-over shape of her eldest brother, Pierino, turning over the frosted earth around the broad beans and broccoli.

Lina fed the chickens then marched back to the house, stomping her feet against the cold. She prised off her muddy boots and went inside. The stove was on and the kitchen was warm and Lina could smell the oily metallic smell of her father's work clothes. Dad must be home, she thought. Sure enough, her father stood at the sink, scrub-scrub-scrubbing at the grease compacted under his nails. No amount of soap could ever completely bring back the smell he'd had before he began working at the car plant – of olives and sunshine and coffee.

‘Hey,
cara mia
,' Lina's father said wearily. ‘How you doing this morning?'

‘Good thanks, Papa,' Lina said, leaning in to receive a kiss.

‘Mama's already left?'

Lina nodded. ‘And Nonna's in the garden.'

‘You make me a coffee, love?'

‘Sure,' said Lina. ‘Aren't you going to bed?'

Lina's father gave her a slow cheeky smile. ‘You think I forget? Today is your assembly performance, no?' His eyes crinkled at the corners.

‘Oh,' said Lina, her cheeks stinging pink. ‘That. I didn't mean you had to come and watch, Papa. It's not important. Kids read stuff out in assembly all the time.'

Her father's face dropped into a frown. ‘You sounded like it was important the other day.'

Lina's cheeks burned hotter. She wished she hadn't mentioned it at dinner last week. ‘I know, but you're tired, Papa. You've worked all night . . .' Lina's voice petered out. How could she tell him she really didn't want him to come? With his grease-stained hands and his shabby suit jacket and thick Italian accent. What if the girls at school made fun of him?

It's not that I don't love him, Lina told herself. Lina loved her father so much that sometimes she felt her heart might burst. I just don't want to stand out any more than I have to – than I already do, she thought desperately.

Lina hung her head and a lie crept out over her lips. ‘Actually, it's been cancelled. I just remembered. They only told us yesterday. They said they weren't doing performances in assembly anymore.' Her voice came out ashamed and small.

Lina's father stood quietly for a while, his hands still foamy in the sink. ‘All right, love,' he said slowly. ‘Another time. Go wake your little brother and I'll be off to bed, then.'

Lina slunk down the corridor, relieved to escape her father's eyes, but with a cold dark lump of badness lodged in her gut. She slipped into the stuffy dimness of her brothers' bedroom and jerked back the curtains.

‘Get up,' Lina told the pile of blankets.

Lina's little brother, Enzo, peeked his sleepy face out of the muddle. He stuck out his arms towards Lina. ‘Cuddle?' he said in a baby voice, but Lina wasn't in the mood. She pulled his clothes off the chair and tossed them onto the bed.

‘Up, Enzo!' she repeated.

Enzo sat up obediently, blinking. Lina huffed and yanked his pyjama top over his head.

‘Ouch!' Enzo squeaked and scrunched up his forehead. He rubbed his eyes with his fists. Despite her grumpy mood, Lina couldn't hold herself back from giving him a cuddle. He was so warm and soft in the mornings, with his skinny white arms sticking out of his singlet like sticks of spaghetti. Enzo squeezed Lina tight and she buried her face in his downy neck, and as she did, she felt that black lump in her stomach soften and melt away.

‘Thanks, Enzo,' she whispered in his ear. Then she tickled him until he squealed. ‘Come on! Nonna will spank you if you're late for breakfast.'

Lina helped Enzo put on his clothes then chased him down the corridor.

When they entered the kitchen, Nonna was already busy, kneading the dough for the evening's
zeppoli
, up to her elbows in flour.

At the other end of the wooden table, there were three neat bundles tied up in Papa's big cotton handkerchiefs. Lina took a peek at her lunch for the day. Inside was a hunk of crusty white bread, a wedge of Parmesan cheese and a hard-boiled egg. ‘Nonna! I told you I can't take Parmesan to school anymore,' Lina complained. ‘The girls don't like it. They say it smells like vomit.'

‘Rubbish,' said Nonna, kneading furiously. ‘They don't even know what is cheese. They eat that yellow plastic stuff they call cheese. That's not cheese. You eat what I give you, all right? Here,' she said, wiping her floury hands on her apron. ‘Take your
zio
his coffee and tell him to get up. He's not going to find a job in bed!' Nonna handed Lina a tiny white cup of steaming black liquid.

Never mind, thought Lina. I'll just throw out the cheese on my way to school and tell Miss Spring I forgot my lunch again. Getting in trouble is still better than that horrible Sarah Buttersworth telling everyone I vomited in my school bag. Lina breathed in the coffee fumes and wrapped her cold hands around the cup. How can coffee smell so good when it tastes so awful? she wondered. And Parmesan smell so awful when it tastes so good?

Lina walked down the hallway and knocked on the door of the room where her uncle slept. Before he had arrived from Italy, three months ago, this had been the sitting room. Now the only place to sit was in the kitchen or at the long wooden table outside, under the grapevines. In winter it was too cold to sit out there and the vines were spindly and bare, but in summer they became a dappled green shelter, dripping with plump ruby and emerald fruit, like clumps of sweet jewels.

Lina knocked again and when there was no reply, she pushed the door open a crack. ‘Zio!' she called quietly into the dark. ‘Your coffee.'

Lina could just make out the shadowy bulk of her uncle asleep on the couch under a mound of flowery bedclothes. ‘Zio,' she called again, a little louder, but not so loud that she might wake her father, who had just got into bed. Her uncle's only response was a snuffle and a snort, then one arm snaked out from under the blankets and waved towards the dresser. Lina frowned and plonked the little cup onto the furniture by the door. ‘Drink it cold then,' she hissed under her breath.

Lina closed the door and hurried back into the warm kitchen, where Enzo was dipping bread into a bowl of hot milk. Lina helped herself to a chunk of old bread and dropped it into a bowl. Then she took the saucepan of milk from the stove and poured it over the bread to soften it.

Pierino stomped into the kitchen, school bag slung over his shoulder, shirt ironed into sharp creases. ‘Aren't you even dressed yet?' he growled at Lina. ‘It's nearly seven o'clock. You'll miss your bus!' He picked up the lunch Nonna had prepared for him and allowed her to kiss him on both cheeks.

Lina frowned and shoved the last bit of wet bread into her mouth. ‘I'm nearly ready,' she grumbled. ‘You don't have to
nag
me. You're not the boss, you know!' She wiped her hands on her nightdress and carried her bowl to the sink.

‘Well, if you were ready quicker I wouldn't have to keep nagging you,' Pierino insisted.

‘I've been catching the bus to school all year and haven't been late once. Or missed a single day,' said Lina.

‘It's true,' Nonna piped up, taking Lina's side. ‘Not like this one.' She gestured towards Bruno who had just sauntered through the doorway. ‘Look at you!' she moaned. ‘I iron your shirt yesterday and already it's full of creases. Why can't you stay clean like your brother, huh?' She shook her head despairingly.

Bruno grinned and pinched Lina's arm as she pushed past.

‘Ow!' she yelled, but more to get him into trouble than out of pain.

‘Bruno!' Nonna scolded, right on cue.

Lina giggled as she dashed down the hallway and pulled her school uniform out of Nonna's wardrobe. Unlike Bruno, who hated the stiff shirt and heavy shoes of his uniform, Lina loved her navy pleated skirt and crisp white shirt, and wore them with pride. She dressed quickly and pulled her dark hair back into a high ponytail, tied with a navy ribbon. I hope I won't be too nervous in assembly this morning, she thought as she took a quick peek in the brown-speckled mirror on Nonna's dresser. She grabbed her hat and gloves from the hook on the back of the door, slung her leather satchel over her shoulder and ran to kiss Enzo and Nonna goodbye.

How are you and Nellie similar, and how are you different?

My first reaction on reading this question was that Nellie O'Neill and I aren't a bit alike. Nellie has experienced unbelievable hardship, and yet she is brave and optimistic and resilient – far more so than I could ever be. And she's passionate and hot-tempered, while I am usually fairly calm. But when I thought about it some more . . . We both believe that who you are is much more important than what you are. We both hate injustice and prejudice. We both value the love of family above everything else. We are both superstitious. And we both love animals, especially cats! So perhaps we are quite similar after all.

If Nellie were around today, what would she do on Saturday mornings?

In 1849 Nellie's Saturday mornings would be like every other morning. She would get out of bed and start work at about five-thirty. She would make sure the kitchen stove was well alight, and she'd start to prepare breakfast, first making bread from the bread dough she'd set to rise the night before. So if Nellie was around today, I think she'd sleep in for as long as she could. She'd read in bed until it was time for breakfast, and she'd read some more while she was eating her muesli. (She'd be reading at least three books at once.) After that her best friend Mary Connell would come around, and they'd go off together to their Irish dancing class.

Penny, when you sat down to start the OAG books, what was the first sentence you wrote?

So this was South Australia! It's hotter than a good turf fire, Nellie thought.

What's one thing you wish you could do really well but have always been too timid to try?

I've always wished I could speak a foreign language fluently. But I wouldn't say I was too timid to try – just too lazy! I'd be much too timid to do bungee jumping or white-water rafting, but I don't think I'd want to do these things even if I could . . .

Do you have one piece of advice for OAGs everywhere?

Be true to yourself, and never give up. You just don't know what wonderful thing might be waiting for you around the corner.

How are you and Letty similar, and how are you different?

Letty loves lace and those gorgeous Victorian dresses because I do and I wanted to have them in the Our Australian Girl books! Letty is a younger sister, whereas I was a bossy older sister, but we are both trustworthy and responsible. Letty loves babies, more than I did when I was a kid. And she had a tougher childhood than I did.

If Letty were around today, what would she do on Saturday mornings?

I think she would lie in bed and her younger brothers and sisters would climb in and snuggle with her. She might sing songs with them. Later she might talk Lavinia into making cupcakes together.

Alison, when you sat down to start the OAG books, what was the first sentence you wrote?

‘The coachman dumped the hope chest in the street.' I started at the beginning.

What's one thing you wish you could do really well but have always been too timid to try?

When I was a girl I always thought soccer looked like fun. But I wasn't good at sports, I had no brothers, and there were no football teams for girls then. So I never tried. I also wish I could ride a horse properly. One day . . .

Do you have one piece of advice for OAGs everywhere?

Every Australian girl's story is unique and precious. You are significant whether you're in a book or not! As Abner says to Letty in the first book, ‘”He tells the number of the stars; He calls them all by name.” If the Lord God can tell the stars apart, he knows me too. And you.'