Unleashed! (2 page)

‘Breaking the sound barrier always makes me hungry,’ said Mio. The others laughed. ‘Let’s go home, get some food, then meet back at the park at four.’

Clem mumbled under her breath, ‘You’re so bossy!’ but her smile was sweet as she said, ‘Let’s make fluffernutters. Darce and I can bring the marshmallow fluff and peanut butter.’

‘Great idea,’ said Bryce. ‘I’ll bring the bread.’

‘And I’ll bring paper plates.’ Mio nodded, then she picked up her bike, swung a leg over the top tube bar, and settled on the seat. Without waiting for the others she rode away.

‘That’s so Mio!’ said Darcy. Then he jumped onto his own bike and turned to Clem. ‘Come on.’ He grinned as he added, ‘Beat you home!’

Half an hour later the kids met at their secret spot. Linley Park was a poor excuse for a park—no grass, only crushed rock and tar with a climbing frame, slippery slide, swing and a play tunnel or two. The only greenery was a tree struggling in a corner. The park backed onto a huge warehouse, its windows pocked with broken glass. Running alongside was an alley which led to another alley. Pavements were cracked with weeds and gutters clogged with rubbish. The row of old tenements lining the alley were boarded up except for one with a newly painted door and windows.

Darcy knocked the slippery slide as he walked past. His knuckles scraped the rusty frame. ‘Crappy old slide!’ he said, sucking at the graze on
his hand, then turning to Clem he asked, ‘Got a bandaid?’

‘Nope!’

‘Tissue, then?’

Clem pulled a tissue from her shorts and held it out to Darcy, saying, ‘It’s used.’

‘Yuck!’ said Darcy, ignoring her outstretched hand. ‘I’m not sharing snot.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Clem shoved the tissue back in her pocket and kept walking. ‘But don’t say I never give you anything.’

In the alley was an old, abandoned Kombi van—The Van—their special place. It rested on bricks, its wheels long gone. Painted on its side were peace signs and sunsets and a bird that could’ve been a woodpecker but they weren’t too sure. The seats inside had gone, too, but no-one had stolen the curtains, faded yellow with rainbows. Someone—who knew who—had scrawled across the side, ‘Private Property. Keep Out.’

The kids had scavenged things to make it homey. Upturned milk crates to sit on. An old black and white TV, long dead, for a table. To the side was a decrepit cardboard suitcase that they used for storing stuff. Outside, the kids had threaded a long chain with a padlock through the rear bumper bar to secure their bikes.

Bryce settled himself onto a crate like a king
surveying his kingdom. ‘You remember the food?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ said Darcy and Clem at the same time. From a backpack they pulled out a jar of marshmallow spread and another of peanut butter.

It was now Darcy’s turn to ask, ‘What about you?’

A loaf of bread appeared from under Bryce’s bulky jacket. ‘Do I ever forget?’ He pulled the plastic clip from the top of the bag and sniffed. ‘Yesterday’s. But it’ll still taste good.’

‘Sure will,’ said Darcy, taking the bread from Bryce’s hands and putting it on the table.

A song burst from Bryce,
‘Yum, yum, fluffernutter tum’

‘Idiot!’ said Clem, and she picked up the bread and chucked it at him.

Bryce ducked, saying, ‘Music is like food. I can’t live without it.’ Then he lobbed the bread back at Clem, laughing as it landed with a plop in her lap.

‘Why, you!’

‘You’ll squash it,’ scolded Mio, plucking the bag from Clem’s lap and plonking it on the table. Then she took a stack of paper plates from her backpack, removed four, and handed the rest to Bryce, saying, ‘Put these in the suitcase for next time.’

‘Sure.’

‘And grab a couple of knives.’

‘Okay.’

Mio handed out the plates, Darcy untwisted the lids and put the jars on the table, while Clem placed two slices of bread on each plate.

Bryce speared one plastic knife into the peanut butter but kept the other for himself. ‘Marshmallow fluff first,’ he said, scooping up a dollop of marshmallow and spreading it over one slice of bread before handing the knife to Darcy. The kids took it in turns till each had a slice of bread piled high with pink.

‘Mmmm, mmmm,’ said Bryce. ‘My favourite.’

‘Don’t start!’ Mio nudged him before he began on the song again.

Bryce grabbed the other knife and started coating his second slice of bread in a thick layer of peanut butter. A rich nutty aroma filled the air. Again he passed the knife to Darcy. Then, grabbing the two slices he glued them together and took a huge bite. ‘Yummmm.’ Peanut butter squirted between his teeth and marshmallow oozed over his lips. ‘This is
so
my favourite.’

Soon the only sound heard was the wet smacking of lips as the kids scoffed their fluffernutters.

‘More,’ said Darcy, reaching for the bread. He took two slices, then doled out the same to the others.

‘Shhhhh!’ Mio heard a noise and crept to the
window to check it out. ‘There’s someone in our park.’

Darcy, Bryce and Clem snuck over and peeked through The Van’s windows. Bryce knocked a lid and it clattered to the floor, scoring a blistering look from Mio.

‘What?’ said Bryce.

This time, Mio looked daggers.

‘Okay, okay. Not another word.’ Bryce pretended to zip his lips.

A man stood in the middle of the park, fanning his face with his hand. Around his wrist was a lead and at the end of the lead was a bouncy little dog, straining to be free. With its whiter than white tummy and its brown and black back it looked like it had waded through a stream of white paint. Long floppy ears and a pink tongue completed the look.

‘Sit!’ said the man, pushing on the dog’s rump.

The dog sat.

‘Isn’t it adorable?’ Clem stood on tiptoe to get a better look. The dog stared mournfully at its owner. Brown eyes were ringed with black. ‘It looks like it’s wearing eyeliner,’ said Clem. Ever since she could remember Clem had yearned for a dog, preferably a girl. There were far too many boys at her house.

‘Quiet!’ warned Mio and she pulled Clem back. ‘He doesn’t know we’re here.’

‘Look at its cute little tail,’ gushed Clem. ‘The tip looks like it’s been dipped in white paint.’

Mio glared, trying to bully Clem into silence. Clem ignored her and dragged the crate to the window. She knelt on it for a better look, saying, ‘Wouldn’t you just die for a dog?’ She thought of her room, its walls plastered with dog pictures. Then her father’s words from the last time she’d asked rang in her ears.
I’ve got eight mouths to feed. A pet is not an option.
Clem sighed.

The kids watched as the man took three steps backwards and, holding up a cautionary finger, ordered the dog to ‘Stay!’

The dog rose on its haunches, its high-set ears flip-flopping away.

‘Sit,’ ordered the man, then because the dog was too slow he bellowed,
‘Sit!’
He raised his arm threateningly and the dog sat.

‘I’d sit, too, if I were you,’ said Darcy under his breath. ‘He looks like he means business.’

‘Good dog.’ Clem’s voice was mushy, like when she talked to her baby brother, Drew. ‘Who’s a clever little beagle, then?’

The man reached into his coat pocket, took out a biscuit, then showed it to the dog. The dog’s lips were drawn back in a lopsided grin and its nose was twitching. The tail was swishing and swashing like a windscreen wiper.

‘What’s he got?’ whispered Bryce.

‘Dog biscuit,’ said Darcy.

The man took three cups from his pocket and placed them on the ground, one metre apart. Making sure the dog couldn’t see, he slipped a biscuit under the last one. At the same time he told the dog to ‘Stay’.

The dog did stay for one, two seconds max, then it leapt forward and pawed each cup till it found the food. With a snatch and gobble it reared, careful to avoid the kick that was on the way.

‘Meaniac!’ cried Clem when the man’s boot stabbed the air. The hair on the back of her neck rose and her hands gripped the window ledge. ‘People like that don’t deserve to have a dog,’ she said.

The man called the dog to ‘Come’. His voice was deep and stern. The dog stopped so the man called again. This time, the dog slunk on its tummy towards him.

Thwack!
Palm met tender nose.

Clem flinched. The dog whimpered.

‘Why, you…’ Clem jumped from her crate and headed for the door.

‘No!’ said Mio, grabbing Clem’s T-shirt. ‘We don’t want people to know about us, remember.’

Clem stopped but she didn’t want to. She climbed back on her milk crate and glared through the window.

The man did it all over again. The dog was told to sit, he hid a biscuit, the dog was told to ‘Stay’. Once more, the food was too tempting. Once more, there was the sound of a
whack.

Clem leapt for the door, saying, ‘I’ve got to stop him.’

‘Don’t!’ Mio stepped in her path as she asked, ‘Do you want to lose The Van?’

Clem’s nostrils flared. She tugged her hair back behind her ears, so hard that it hurt. ‘I don’t care,’ she said. ‘Someone’s got to stop him.’

‘But not you.’ Mio wouldn’t budge.

Clem tugged at her T-shirt and took a step back. Though she was taller than Mio by a good twenty centimetres, it was Mio who was usually the boss. ‘That man should be reported,’ said Clem.

Mio nodded but still she didn’t move. All those years of studying karate and kendo, the art of swordsmanship, had paid off. She stared down her opponent.

Defeated, Clem went back to the window. Her voice was deep, like a growl, as she warned, ‘Next time, Mio, you won’t stop me.’

The man stepped backwards. He ordered the dog to ‘Come!’ Instead of following its owner the dog bounded away. At a safe distance it started running in circles.

‘Clever dog,’ said Clem with a laugh, then she added, ’Beagles are very intelligent, you know. Their problem-solving skills are legendary. I read it in my
Dog Breeds Around the World
book.’ She watched as the dog scampered to a plastic play tunnel and disappeared.

The man gave chase. But by the time he reached the tunnel the dog was no longer there. ‘Come back!’ called the man as he ran from frame to tunnel to slide. ‘Come back, you lazy mongrel.’ He hurled the lead at the dog, missing by a centimetre.

Clem couldn’t help herself. She strode out of The Van and moved to the wire fence surrounding the park.

‘Clem!’ called Darcy but she ignored him.

‘Come back!’

Clem ignored Mio, too. Living with five brothers, she’d learnt the art of selective deafness.

‘Oi!’ the man called to Clem. ‘You seen my dog?’

‘What’s it look like?’ asked Clem, stalling for time and hoping the dog was long gone.

‘A no-good, lazy beagle.’ The man scooped up the lead and wrapped it around his hand, saying, ‘I’m tryin’ to train the mutt.’

Before Clem answered, a bark could be heard. The dog had wriggled through a hole in the fence and was behind The Van.

‘Get ’er!’ yelled the man as he charged towards the fence.

Clem lunged, but as she went one way the dog went the other.

The man slammed the lead on the fence, yelling, ‘Dumb dog!’ But the dog wasn’t dumb. It dashed into The Van, stole the bag of leftover bread, then bounded outside carrying it like a trophy.

The man scaled the fence and leapt onto the footpath beside Clem.

Darcy, Mio and Bryce froze, hoping the man didn’t look in. They heard little yip-yapping sounds as the dog tried to rip the plastic to get to the bread. The man grabbed for it, but missed, and the dog took off, dropping the bag and scattering the bread, before heading down the alley.

The man swore then gave chase. His body lurched as he ran. His face was a purply-red. ‘Come back, or you’ll be
minced meat.’

Clem watched the dog, praying for it to escape. The man tried to run down the alley but he lost his breath and had to walk. Mio, Darcy and Bryce joined Clem at the fence. They watched and waited. But neither the dog nor the trainer returned.

Clem crumpled against the fence, saying, ‘It’s such a cutie and he’s so horrible. It deserves better.’

‘I hate to think what he’ll do to it when he finds it.’ Lost in thought Darcy sucked at the scrape in
his hand. It had stopped bleeding but still smarted.

‘D’you think he’d really turn it into minced meat?’ asked Clem, her voice crackly as she fought off tears.

‘Course not.’ But the smile had left Darcy’s face.

The kids retrieved the half-empty bag then went back to The Van. Their mood was glum. In the distance they heard a mother scolding a child and the sound of traffic snuffling past.

Clem flopped against the door, saying, ‘I can’t stomach food.’ But as she was about to offer her slice to Darcy it was snatched out of her hand. ‘Hey!’ She whirled around. The beagle stood at a safe distance, gulping Clem’s bread.

‘It’s picked up the scent,’ said Clem. ‘See? How smart is that.’ She crouched down and held out her hand, but as she reached for a pat the dog leapt, snatched Mio’s bread too, and gobbled it down.

‘Oy,’ gasped Mio. Her mouth hung open, doing a pretty good stunned fish impersonation.

‘Bread napper,’ called Bryce. ‘A fellow crim. I’m impressed.’

‘You’re not a crim, Bryce,’ said Clem. ‘Just an over-enthusiastic artist.’

Bryce snorted, ‘Tell that to the cops.’

Mio was staring at her hand as though she couldn’t believe it was empty.

‘Poor Mio,’ said Darcy with a laugh. ‘Caught you cat-napping, huh?’

On Saturday, after Mio’s karate lesson, the twins’ hockey game and Bryce’s guitar lesson, the kids met at The Van.

‘Someone’s been here! Something’s been moved,’ said Mio, making clucking noises with her tongue as she looked around. ‘Every kid in this neighbourhood knows that The Van is out of bounds.’

Darcy inspected their hideout. ‘Looks the same to me,’ he said.

Bryce nodded. ‘Looks exactly like it did yesterday.’ With eyes closed and one hand on his heavy metal T-shirt he crooned into an imaginary microphone,
‘Yesterday. My yesterday.’

Darcy went to deck him but Clem grabbed his arm, saying, ‘Let me.’ She clamped her hand across
Bryce’s mouth and planted her face only centimetres from his. ‘Enough, already!’

Bryce resisted the urge to bite her. ‘Okay,’ he managed to mumble.

‘Good!’ Clem took her hand away and turned to Mio. ‘You were saying?’

Mio pointed to the milk crates. ‘When we left yesterday you had dragged your crate to the window to get a better look at the dog. Today, it’s back round the TV with the others.’

Darcy shrugged, saying, ‘No big deal.’

‘Could’ve been the wind,’ said Bryce.

Mio shook her head. ‘I went for a walk with my parents after dinner. There wasn’t any wind.’

‘Maybe it’s a ghost.’ Darcy wobbled the word so it came out like gho-O-o-O-st.

‘Dumbhead!’ said Clem, but she got goosebumps all the same.

‘I think someone’s been here,’ said Mio, crossing her arms over her chest. Her lips formed a straight line as she looked from one to the other. ‘I’m sure of it.’ Her words hung in the air.

‘Forget it,’ said Darcy. ‘Let’s get going. We promised we’d help Mr Lark pick his mulberries.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We were meant to be there ages ago.’

Mr Lark was Clem and Darcy’s old neighbour. The twins had spent hours and hours at Mr Lark’s,
climbing his fence, watering his vegies, helping themselves to ripe mulberries and joining him for a ‘nice hot cuppa tea’ in the afternoons after school. With the arrival of Drew, the Jacobs family finally outgrew their house and moved a suburb away, but to Darcy and Clem he would always be
their
Mr Lark.

‘He’ll be worried,’ said Clem, ducking out the door. ‘You know what he’s like.’

Bryce licked his lips, saying, ‘Mulberry pie. My favourite.’

While Darcy, Clem and Bryce unchained their bikes a man and woman called to them from over the road. ‘Excuse me. Have you seen our dog? A standard poodle. About so high.’ The woman held her hand at hip level. ‘Apricot and white. We’ve lost him.’

‘Sorry, no,’ Clem called back.

The couple headed down the alley, calling, ‘Muffy! Muffy!’

‘How d’you lose a giant poodle?’ asked Darcy. ‘Pom poms at fifty paces.’

Clem pulled a face, saying, ‘That’s not funny.’

A few minutes later Mio emerged from The Van.

‘Took your time, Your Royal Highness.’ Darcy bowed, but his eyes were smiling.

‘Hilarious.’ Mio climbed on her bike. ‘Hah, hah! If you must know I’ve been setting up a trap.
When the intruder walks in they’ll trip on a cord which will drag a milk crate out of position and tip over a bottle of water.’ She looked at the others, her eyes glowing.

‘Detective Mio.’ Bryce’s eyes were glowing, too, as he waved in the direction of The Van. ‘You’ve turned it into “Gangsta’s Paradise”.’ He laughed as he made the connection to yet another song and pretended to fire a gun.

‘Don’t be so stupid!’ said Darcy. He rode off, calling over his shoulder, ‘Coming?’

The kids rode in single file, dodging round parked cars and pedestrians. It was a beautiful day with the sun streaming through the palette of clouds to warm their backs. It was not long before Mio took the lead, giving orders.

‘One-footer!’ They rode with one foot off the pedals.

‘One-hander.’ Now they were down to only one hand and one foot.

‘The can-can.’ Both feet were stretched across the top tubes. They looked like they were doing some strange new exercise.

‘Nic-nacs!’ The feet on the bars were stretched behind the bikes.

Darcy laughed and said, ‘We should be in
Swan Lake.’
He flapped his arm and they all cracked up. ‘Watch this.’ Darcy attempted to pirouette by doing
a bunnyhop 360 but he only got halfway. A boy came round the corner, forcing him to pull up. Darcy scowled, angry at having his big moment ruined. ‘Watch it!’ he growled.

The boy halted in his tracks and stared. He looked thirteen—maybe fourteen. His hands were thrust into his pockets, his shoulders hunched into his jacket.

Mio, Clem and Bryce pulled up, too. Each rested one foot on the ground to steady themselves.

Clem stopped laughing. Her eyes narrowed. There was something about that boy…She took in the baseball cap jammed on his head and the runners, new and startling white. His clothes were loose and worn. Hand-me-downs, thought Clem, an authority on the subject thanks to her cousin, Kate.

By now, Mio and Bryce had also stopped laughing.

‘He’s Asian,’ whispered Bryce. ‘D’you know him, Mio?’

Mio snapped back, ‘Just because I’m Japanese doesn’t mean I know every Asian in the neighbourhood!’

‘Well, sor-ry!’

The boy checked out their bikes then slunk off, like a fugitive. They watched as he crossed the road. ‘Who is he?’ asked Clem.

Darcy flicked at his handlebars, cranky at his failed bike stunt, saying, ‘Never seen him before.’

‘Stranger.’ Bryce lowered his voice and waved his arms about, pretending to be a character in a scary movie. ‘Stranger. Danger.’

‘Quit it,’ said Clem, shoving him to be quiet. She hoped the boy would say something. But he didn’t. He continued to cross the road. As he stepped back on the footpath he faltered, then stopped.

Darcy stood tall, both feet now planted on the ground. In a voice loud enough for the boy to hear he asked, ‘Got a problem?’

The boy’s eyes swept over the kids. They stared back. A car horn beeped, blasting the silence. The boy lowered his head and went on his way.

Animal-loving Clem said, ‘He looks like a cat slinking away.’

‘No.’ Mio shook her head. ‘He looks like a rat.’

It was a subdued group that arrived at Mr Lark’s house.

Mr Lark was sitting on his veranda. ‘Welcome,’ he said, his face crinkling into a smile. ‘For a moment I thought you’d forgotten.’ He wriggled forward on his chair, then pushed down with his hands and creaked to his feet.

‘Never!’ Darcy jumped off his bike and wheeled it down the path.

‘Never,’ agreed Bryce. Climbing off his bike he followed Darcy and sang,
‘Nev-ah, say nev-ah, to me-e-e-e.’

Mio scooted over and planted her bike between them. ‘You’re driving me crazy, Bryce, with your stupid, stupid songs. Give it a break.’

Bryce hung his head, pretending to be hurt. But he had to have the last word.
‘Music, is mah li-i-i-fe.’

Clem intervened, holding up her hand like a policewoman stopping an angry crowd. ‘Enough! Bryce, hold the songs. And, Mio, stop being so tushy.’

Mr Lark laughed, but his voice was firm when he said, ‘Yes, you two. We’re not in a war zone here.’ He shook his head and his voice grew softer. ‘Seen enough war to last a lifetime.’ The kids knew that Mr Lark was once a soldier. But they also knew he didn’t like to talk about it. It made him far too sad.

Clem dropped her bike on the lawn then ran up the stairs and flung her arms round Mr Lark. ‘You’re the best,’ she said as she gave him a hug.

Mr Lark chuckled and his eyes sparkled. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere, young lady.’

Clem pulled away to stand beaming at Mr Lark. ‘That’s what Dad says!’

‘What about you, Mio?’ asked Mr Lark. ‘D’you have mulberry pie in Japan?’

‘No.’ Mio smiled at the thought. ‘We don’t. But they use mulberry wood for making the green tea scoop for tea ceremonies called
chashaku.
I learnt about it for a school project. And I think the bark is used for making paper.’

‘They use mulberry bark to make paper in Vietnam, too. But mulberry pie is delicious,’ said Mr Lark. ‘Take some home for your mum and dad. They’ll love it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Mio but inside she was thinking, No, they won’t. Ever since her father was transferred for work her parents had clung to the old ways. They didn’t feel like they belonged in this new country. To them, it would always be their Number Two home.

‘Tree’s fit to burst,’ said Mr Lark, holding out several plastic ice-cream containers. ‘When these fill up I’ve got stacks more.’

‘Let’s get going, then.’ Darcy rested his bike on its stand, grabbed a container and headed for the back yard. ‘Ladders still in the garage?’ he asked over his shoulder.

‘Yep. Where you left ’em last time.’

Darcy set up two ladders under the tree, making sure to lock the safety chains into position. ‘Clem, you and Mio take these.’ He waved his hand at the ladders. ‘Bryce and I are taller so we can reach.’

For once, Mio didn’t object. She scrambled up one ladder and Clem climbed the other. They began to fill their containers, reaching the reddish black fruit with ease. On the ground the boys got going on the lower branches. As they got into a rhythm mulberries squished beneath their bare feet.

Mr Lark exchanged full containers for empty ones, keeping up a steady patter. ‘Mrs Lark, bless her, and I planted this tree when our Jonnie was born. He and his mates were always up that tree. Ate more mulberries than they picked, the scallywags.’

Clem joined in. ‘Where’s Jonnie live now? I’ve never met him.’

Mr Lark answered, ‘Don’t see him much.’ His voice was clipped, signalling the end to the conversation. The kids worked hard till container after container was overflowing with delicious mulberries. Mr Lark continued to oversee their work. ‘Nearly finished,’ he announced, rubbing his hands together. ‘Then we can start the baking!’

‘My favourite part,’ said Bryce.

Clem laughed, saying, ‘Typical male! All you think about is food.’

‘And music,’ said Bryce.

‘Food and music. Music and food.’ Mio ticked them off on her fingers. ‘Is that it?’

Bryce chose to ignore her, which worked for him. Fighting with Mio was like tackling a hungry crocodile. Sooner or later she ate him. ‘One for me, one for you,’ chanted Bryce, alternating between placing the mulberries in his container and in his mouth. He opened his mouth wide and stuck out his tongue, jiggling it about.

‘Gross!’ Mio went back to her picking.

‘You look like you’ve sucked a dark red gobstopper,’ said Clem.

Bryce poked his tongue in and out like a Maori warrior.

From the back veranda Mr Lark laughed. ‘In Vietnam people chew betel nuts and look like that permanently,’ he told them.

‘A tongue tattoo.’ Clem wrinkled her nose at the thought. ‘Yuck!’

Bryce pretended to look offended but then he shoved a handful of mulberries in his mouth, chewed for a second, and opened up to reveal a mish-mash of berries. Juice shot out and dribbled down his chin.

Clem scrunched up her face as she inspected his mulberry-stained feet. ‘You look like you’ve got some sort of weird foot-and-mouth disease.’

Bryce leapt over to the ladder and grabbed Clem’s ankle, saying, ‘Take that back!’ Clem squealed and kicked out but the force of the
movement overbalanced her. Down came the ladder and down came Clem.
Splat!
went the overripe fruit.

Mr Lark chuckled.

‘Why, you…’ Clem grabbed a handful of berries and lobbed them at Bryce.

‘Great shot!’ Mr Lark was enjoying himself immensely. ‘You look like you’ve got a bloody nose, Bryce.’

It was Bryce’s turn then. He grabbed a stalk of berries and chucked them back at Clem. Clem ducked so that they hurled past and hit Mr Lark full on the forehead.

Mr Lark froze for all of one millisecond, then with an almighty roar he scooped up some fruit and pitched it back, hollering, ‘Food fight!’

Perched on top of her ladder Mio shook her head. Some customs she didn’t understand. All of a sudden the firm frame beneath her was plucked away and…down she came. Clean clothes turned ruby red. ‘Bryce!’ she yelled. ‘Mum will freak.’

And then it was on. A free-for-all.

‘Cop that!’

‘No, you.’

Berries were flying, missing more than hitting their targets. Except for Mr Lark, who was throwing with deadly accuracy.

‘Oh!’

‘Oomph!’

Pulp and juice splatted everywhere. It looked like someone had tried to make a berry smoothie but had forgotten to put the lid on the blender. Mr Lark peeled away and stood near the veranda picking mulberry out of his ear. Every so often he giggled and, unable to resist, another mulberry hit the mark.

‘Aaaaghh!’

Darcy decided to sit on Bryce so Clem sat on Darcy.

‘Here I come!’ Mio crash-tackled them all. They skidded across the sodden grass, laughing and screaming. Mio couldn’t remember ever having this much fun.

When the shots got more desperate and started to go over the fence it was time to stop. ‘Oy!’ Mr Lark shouted. ‘Enough!’

The kids froze, looking like contestants in a paint-ball fight.

‘Time for the hose.’ Mr Lark stumbled to the rear of the yard, picked up the hose, then turned the nozzle on himself. Most of the pulp and juice washed away but some purplish stains remained. ‘Bit of soap and hot water should fix them,’ he said, handing the hose to Darcy. ‘Your turn.’

‘Me next,’ said Clem.

Bryce stood beside her flicking off bits of mulberry. ‘Third!’

Mio shrugged good-naturedly and said, ‘Guess I’m last.’

When everyone was hosed down there was still the problem of the dirty, wet clothes.

‘We look like we’ve been targeted by mulberry-eating pigeons,’ said Clem.

‘Nuh, uh,’ said Bryce, shaking so hard that water flew in all directions. ‘We look like we’ve been to a Holi festival. They’re mad. My friend Saanjh took me to one and we got covered with red dye. Worse than this.’

‘Can’t have you going home like that,’ said Mr Lark, heading for the laundry. A few minutes later he came back. ‘There’s a bucket of warm soapy water, a brush and an armful of old clothes in the laundry. Scrub up, put them on, then dump your gear in the washing machine. Some boiling water and OxyGleam will soon have them looking like new.’