Mikki and Me and the Out-of-Tune Tree, page 1
First published by Allen & Unwin in 2022
Copyright © Marion Roberts 2022
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.
Allen & Unwin
83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone:(61 2) 8425 0100
Email:info@allenandunwin.com
Web:www.allenandunwin.com
ISBN 978 1 76052 679 5
eISBN 978 1 76106 409 8
For teaching resources, explore www.allenandunwin.com/resources/for-teachers
Cover and text design by Debra Billson
Cover illustrations by Shutterstock: sky by one AND only; trees by Cat_arch_angel; galah by Daiquiri; boy by NotionPic; bicycle by alphabe; girl by coffee hop; and notes by 123Done.
Internal illustrations by Shutterstock: emojis by Carboxylase; kanji by Alexandra Leikina; and trees by jenny on the moon.
The quote on page 287 is taken from page 28 of Diana Beresford-Kroeger’s
The Global Forest: 40 Ways Trees Can Save Us, published by Particular Books an imprint of Penguin Books in 2011.
Set by Midland Typesetters, Australia
For Otis and Maggie
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER 1
So, not only is my mother the current world expert on table manners and social etiquette (her book has sold literally millions of copies), but today Mum found out she’s been invited to do a TED Talk in Sydney. That’s why we were meant to be celebrating, even if I still couldn’t believe anyone would want to read a book or listen to a talk about table manners. As if the whole tidying-up frenzy a few years back wasn’t enough! Can you imagine what mealtimes are like at our place since Tammy Bracken’s Guide to Modern Manners hit the Amazon Best Sellers list? Sascha has even stopped begging for treats under the table, and that’s saying a lot considering Labradors are famous for overeating.
Clementine and I had made fish tacos. Clementine’s my younger sister and if I was being a complete liar I’d pretend she wasn’t annoying. If only! In our house, Clementine is a constant cause of chaos. Especially when she’s around Mum, which isn’t even that much these days considering Mum’s always locked in her den. Mum has a strict closed-door policy when it comes to her den. She says, How else am I supposed to get any work done? Clementine and I are hardly allowed to make a peep. Summer break has only just started. We should be the ones saying, How are we expected to have any fun?
According to Tammy Bracken’s Guide to Modern Manners, tacos are one of the few meals that are acceptable to eat with your hands, which is why Clementine had wanted to make them.
Tammy’s Tips
#1 eating with one’s hands
Meals should be eaten with a knife and a fork – not with fingers and hands. The only exceptions to this rule are when eating pizza, corn on the cob, French fries, sandwiches, and tacos or other wraps where fillings may fall out.
If Clementine had it her way she’d eat every meal with her hands, even soup. Clementine had already set the table. No cutlery at all, a sure-fire trigger for one of Mum’s manners rants. Would it have killed Clementine to put down the odd fork? I just wasn’t in the mood for any of Clementine’s antics. I was feeling gloomy about Sylvie, who up until then I’d thought was my best friend.
There was absolutely no denying that ever since school had broken up, when Sylvie had ‘accidentally’ left me off the socials group for the beach gathering, she’d been acting super weird. I was slowly starting to put all the puzzle pieces together. Sylvie didn’t invite me back to her place after the silent disco in the school hall either, then pretended it was just another mistake. Did she think I wouldn’t notice? In a small town like Kingfisher Bay everyone notices everything, believe me! Especially now that there are hardly any tourists. Not since the sewerage spill in the front beach car park, which is way too disgusting to think about when you’re about to eat a fish taco.
Anyway, that afternoon at the back beach, it was official – Sylvie was acting weird. We had been bobbing out on the waves on our boogie boards when Sylvie started talking all cryptic about my parents.
‘So how does your mum even still talk to him?’ Sylvie asked, literally out of the blue.
‘To who?’ I asked.
‘Your dad!’ she scoffed.
Why would Sylvie know the first little thing about my dad? Who even cared about other people’s parents anyway?
Sylvie and I never finished the conversation. Before I could ask what she meant she was paddling like a machine, kicking her feet and lining herself up to take the next wave. But it was obvious that Sylvie knew something. And whatever it was, it wasn’t good and it was about my dad, which made me want to stick up for him. Everyone knows you’re the only one who’s allowed to actually bag out your own parent.
Dad took a big bite of his fish taco. ‘Mmm!’ he said. ‘Delicious salsa, girls, love the fresh coriander!’
‘Thanks, Dad!’ said Clementine, licking her fingers.
‘Clementine!’ Mum scolded. ‘I accept that this is an eat-with-your-hands situation but that doesn’t mean you can eat like a barbarian. Use your napkin, please!’
Clementine put the half-eaten taco back on her plate, licked her fingers again then wiped her face with her napkin.
‘And, Alberta,’ Mum snapped, ‘how many times do I have to tell you to disconnect your elbows from the table?’
It was going to be one of those dinners for sure. I gave Dad my best basset hound eyes. Do something! I silently pleaded.
Tammy’s Tips
#2 elbows
There should be no elbows on the table! In my opinion a ‘no elbows on the table’ rule demonstrates good manners and proper table etiquette.
‘How’s the TED Talk coming along, love?’ Dad asked cheerfully, passing Mum the platter of fish.
‘Fine,’ said Mum in a capital letter FINE kind of way, which everyone knows means, I’m not at all fine. As I watched Mum struggling to fit two chunks of fish plus some avocado and tomato salsa into her tortilla, I couldn’t help thinking of what Sylvie had said that afternoon in the water again. That’s when most of Mum’s taco filling spilled out onto her plate.
‘Damn it! How on earth are you meant to eat these things?’
‘I’ll show you,’ Clementine said eagerly. She positioned her half-eaten taco, tomato juice dripping down her wrists, and shoved the whole thing into her mouth. ‘Nike dis!’ she muffled.
Mum pulled her lips into a tight thin line and clenched her teeth. The muscles in her jaw bulged. She was on the verge of a total table manners meltdown. Dad lowered his head, bracing himself for the oncoming explosion. Somebody had to come up with a distraction!
‘Dad?’ I asked. ‘What’s happening with that cottage? The one in the middle of the Bunnings car park. Anyone bought it yet?’
My dad worked at Kingfisher Bay Real Estate and asking him about the properties he had listed was the best defence against Mum’s manners rants. Dad looked relieved.
‘Funny you should ask, Alberta.’
‘Hilarious!’ Clementine said sarcastically, still chewing.
‘I had to go there today as a matter of fact,’ Dad said. ‘Unfortunately there hasn’t been much interest on account of the—’
‘Poo?’ Clementine asked. A cube of diced tomato shot from her mouth onto the table. Mum’s face turned a similar shade of tomato red.
‘That’s it!’ she yelled. ‘Clementine, if you are going to make a complete mockery of proper table etiquette then you can jolly well skip dinner and go to your room!
Clementine’s chair scraped the floor.
‘Fine!’ she said, swallowing hard. She picked up her plate and stomped into the kitchen, clanged it into the sink and stomped down the hall to her room. Dad was just about to resume his story when she slammed her bedroom door. The three of us sat in silence, as if to recover. Then Clementine opened her bedroom door again and at the top of her voice screamed down the hall, ‘Daaaaaaaad! Can I use your iPad?’ Mum shot Dad a stern look.
‘Surely you’re not going to reward this terrible behaviour?’ Mum whisper-hissed.
But we all knew that while giving into Clementine might not be the best strategy for her personal growth, it did mean we’d get to finish dinner in peace.
‘Only if you calm down!’ Dad yelled. Clementine stomped into the kitchen and took Dad’s iPad from its charger. We all held our breath until we heard her bedroom door slam again.
I sighed ‘So … why is there a cottage in the middle of the Bunnings car park anyway?’
‘Well, apparently,’ Dad said, ‘when Bunnings was built they knocked down two whole streets of old miner’s cottages to make the car park.’
‘Typical,’ said Mum. ‘People these days have absolutely no respect for history or tradition.’
‘But there was one old lady who just refused to sell,’ Dad continued.
‘That’d be me,’ I said, reaching for another tortilla. Mum smacked my hand and swept the plate out of reach.
‘Don’t stretch across the table like that, Alberta! Ask for the plate to be passed to you!’
‘But Bunnings didn’t think for a minute that an old lady just might have all the money in the world to fight it out in court,’ Dad went on.
‘Love her!’ I said.
‘And would you believe, she won?’
‘Well, isn’t that glaringly obvious, Roger?’ Mum said. ‘The cottage is still there.’
‘That’ll show ’em!’ I said.
‘Still, that the poor old lady had to live out the rest of her days surrounded by a miserable car park!’ Mum pointed out.
Tammy’s Tips
#3 reaching
Don’t lean past the person sitting next to you. If a share plate is present it should be passed around the table. Each diner should hold it for the person next to him or her to serve themselves, using only the serving utensils provided.
Just then Clementine was stomping back down the hall with Dad’s iPad, her face lit up by the screen in the dark hallway. What was it this time?
‘Dad, who is Ursula Hoffman and why is she messaging you about some dream she had?’
CHAPTER 2
I woke up to the smell of burnt toast and the sound of Mum tapping on her computer in the den. You could always tell what sort of a mood Mum was in by how fast and loud she tapped. Today was one of her faster, louder, more furious sounding tapping days. Dad would already be at work, Clementine would be outside doing her circus training drills and Sascha would no doubt be lying in the morning sun, stretched out on the lounge room floor. Summer holidays at Kingfisher Bay used to feel as predictable as the ocean. Each day swelled up beneath us and just like a wave eventually delivered us to night.
But that summer was different. Ever since the poo incident the whole town had been cloaked in an eerie summer silence. In fact, most tourists had cancelled their holidays at Kingfisher Bay. And all because of some excavators who had dug too deep while working in the front beach car park in November. Their digger had struck an underground sewage pipe and the council had to close all the beaches due to high levels of poo seeping into the water. So bad! You could still smell poo in some parts of town. You could hardly blame the tourists for cancelling their holidays at Kingfisher Bay. As if anyone wants to be swimming with actual poo! Luckily, the back beach was fine. The only pollution out there was a bunch of local surf grommets who called themselves ‘Kingfisher Krew’.
Each morning there’d be a group chat on socials. Usually between Sylvie, Bella, Georgette, Harrison, Pip and me. We’d chat about how big the waves were going to be that day, and what the tide would be doing and what time we’d all meet up at the beach. But that morning there was nothing from them at all. Could Sylvie’s weirdness have infected our whole friendship group too? It was enough to make me decide to ask Clementine to come to the beach with me. That’s how desperate I felt.
Sascha was waiting outside my bedroom door and thumping his tail on the floor. He was getting so old. He rolled onto his back, curled his front paws in the air like a dead bird and closed his eyes in anticipation of a tummy rub.
‘Aw, Sash,’ I said, ‘you’re a good ol’ boy but who burnt the toast, huh?’
In the empty kitchen, breakfast-radio banter filled the room. I turned the radio off and opened the window above the sink to clear the burnt-toast smell. Clementine was outside, jumping up and down on the pogo stick Uncle Gus had given her for Christmas. He’d given me a boring notebook. Clementine had one hand held fast to the handle. In her other hand, a piece of blackened toast smothered with strawberry jam. I seriously don’t know how Clementine managed to jump and eat at the same time but she would do absolutely anything to defy Mum’s rules about table etiquette and proper eating. Last week she’d insisted on having breakfast on the garage roof.
I stood on my tippy-toes and leaned out the window. ‘Hey, Clemmy!’ I yelled. ‘Want to come to the beach? It’s going to be a stinker.’ But I already knew what her answer would be. Clementine never wanted to go to the beach and not because of the poo incident either. Clementine did the same thing every day of the holidays – a strict training routine for a non-existent circus.
‘Nah,’ she said, taking a bite of toast. ‘I need to finish training before it’s too hot, then I’m going to the library.’
Oh, I forgot to mention the other thing Clementine does apart from creating eternal conflict with Mum and training for her non-existent circus: Clementine volunteers at the library, covering books. I’m not complaining or anything, just saying that when it comes to having a sibling and the potential for any kind of fun … or the potential to have them come to the beach with me and make up for the weirdness of a whole gang of friends … I may as well have been an only child. Instead, while I was at the beach trying to avoid the Kingfisher Krew, Clementine would be stilt walking, hooping, juggling, standing on her hands, doing the splits or playing sevensies with a tennis ball against the garage wall until someone (usually Mum) told her to stop.
I checked my phone again for messages. Nothing! Clementine stepped down from the pogo stick, wiped her jammy, sweaty palms on her shorts and set about jotting down her pogo repetitions in her training diary.
‘Can’t you skip training just this once?’ I pleaded. ‘We all know there’s never going to be a circus at Kingfisher Bay.’
Clementine threw herself into a forward bend, her plaited hair brushing against the bricks. When she stood up again her face was puce red.
‘You’ll see,’ she said. ‘At least when they come I’ll be ready, unlike you, Birdy! Besides, you know I hate the beach!’ (If you’re wondering why Clementine calls me ‘Birdy’ it’s because she couldn’t pronounce ‘Alberta’ or ‘Bertie’ when she was two, so she called me ‘Birdy’ instead … and it stuck!)
‘Fine!’ I said, and closed the window with a thud.
‘Fine!’ Clementine parroted back.
I gathered everything I’d need for the beach into my backpack and got my bike and boogie board out of the garage. Checked my messages. Still nothing. Not about the three-metre swell coming with high tide by noon, nothing about the expected top temperature of forty-one degrees. Nothing about the southerly coming through later in the day, nothing about where we’d all meet to avoid Seth Cromby and the other loser surf grommets of the Kingfisher Krew, nothing about whose house we might all go back to after. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I started pedalling down Waratah Street towards the highway. Mr Henderson was out watering his front garden. Soon he’d be shuttered inside like most of the other oldies in Kingfisher Bay with the aircon up full blast. He waved as I rode past, but I couldn’t wave back on account of holding my boogie board under one arm. I just gave a nod and even that made me go into a complete wobble.
‘You be careful, Alberta!’ he hollered. He was probably wondering why Mum wasn’t giving me a lift to the beach, and to be honest so was I. But that morning I hadn’t even said goodbye. I could hear she was on an important call, probably to some big-wig publisher in England or America because it seemed the whole world was going nuts about Tammy Bracken’s Guide to Modern Manners, and I could tell by the tone of her voice that interrupting her would be a huge mistake.
