The Extremely Inconvenient Adventures of Bronte Mettlestone Page 5

The elf held a finger to his lips, shaking his head. Then he scrambled down my arm and swung to the floor, joining in the clamour of cheering as if nothing had happened.

  A strange thing happened that night.

  It was especially strange because I was happy. We were sitting around the kitchen table at Aunt Sue’s house, talking sleepily about the day. The boys and I had already bathed, and we all wore our pyjamas with robes. It was past little Benji’s bedtime but he’d been allowed to stay, and he was sitting up straight, eyes big and shiny.

  We drank hot chocolate and ate warm banana bread, the butter melting darkly. My cousin Nicholas had baked this earlier, his brothers told me proudly.

  ‘You baked this?’ I cried. ‘It’s delicious! Wonderful!’

  Nicholas shuffled in his seat. ‘Thanks,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘I like to bake. Can I see your medal?’

  Everyone wanted to see it. It was passed around the table, each boy whistling and testing its weight in the palm of his hand.

  ‘Do you know,’ Aunt Sue said, when it was her turn. ‘I think there’s something special about this medal?’

  ‘Of course it’s special! What are you talking about?’ the boys shouted. ‘It’s an Elvish Medal for Bravery!’

  Aunt Sue ignored them. ‘A story I’ve heard,’ she said, ‘but now what was it?’ She placed the medal on the table.

  ‘I’ve heard something, too,’ Uncle Josh said. ‘Isn’t it special in some way known only to the elves? Give it back to Bronte now, Sebastian. And Bronte, I think you ought to wear it all the time.’

  I thought he was making one of his jokes, but he nodded gravely. So I lifted it over my head. The medal fell with a light thud against my pyjama top.

  ‘All the time?’ I said doubtfully.

  ‘I have the sense,’ Aunt Sue put in, ‘that your Uncle Josh is right. All the time.’

  ‘Indeed, and I am right all the time.’ Again Uncle Josh nodded gravely.

  ‘That is not what I meant, and he knows it,’ Aunt Sue sighed at the ceiling, but she laughed. ‘Wear it all the time is what I meant. You can slip it under your jacket so none can see.’

  I played with the medal, flicking it between my fingers. ‘All right,’ I said.

  There was a thoughtful quiet.

  ‘You’re to pick oranges tomorrow?’ Aunt Sue asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘And then to drink the juice.’

  ‘Does she know where the orchard is?’ Connor wondered aloud.

  ‘How could she know?’ Sebastian demanded. ‘And how could she possibly know? Has she been here before?’

  The boys seemed to speak to each other in this suddenly fierce way sometimes. I found it strange and alarming. But Connor shrugged, not minding at all.

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘She won’t know. Shall I tell you, Bronte?’

  ‘Please.’

  They all joined in his explanation. I had thought the orchard would be just behind the house, but no, it seemed to be along this laneway, and around that bend, and cross the cow paddock, and climb over this fence.

  ‘No, she should go left at the lobelia tree,’ Nicholas argued. ‘It’s quicker that way.’

  ‘Then she’d have to cross the creek!’ Sebastian said. ‘And will it not be high after all the rain today?’

  Connor grunted, irritated. ‘No, no. She’ll not need to cross the creek! You’re barmy!’

  On went their arguments, Aunt Sue contributing now and then, until she stood up and began collecting plates and mugs. ‘We’re to bed now, and all of us,’ she declared. ‘It was such a day! Such a day!’

  Uncle Josh gathered Benji into his arms. The little boy had fallen fast asleep in his chair.

  Aunt Sue stepped over and stroked Benji’s hair. ‘Come along, boys,’ she said. ‘Bronte, do you know where to go now? To reach the orchard and pick your oranges?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, although I didn’t know at all. Only I was tired and didn’t want to hear more instructions about turning left at lobelia trees.

  ‘And do you know which oranges are the best to pick?’ Sebastian asked me.

  They were all in the doorway now, Aunt Sue, Uncle Josh and their four boys, warm and tired, gathered close together, looking expectantly across at me.

  ‘Of course I don’t know,’ I said, and suddenly I was shouting: ‘I’VE NEVER EVEN SEEN AN ORANGE TREE, LET ALONG AN ORCHARD!’

  Benji’s eyes flew open. He lifted his head from Uncle Josh’s shoulder and stared.

  ‘Why is she shrieking?’ Connor asked.

  ‘I AM NOT!’ I shrieked. ‘I NEVER SHRIEK!!’ Then I burst into tears. ‘I don’t know where the orchard is! I don’t know how to pick oranges! AND WHAT EVEN IS A STUPID LOBELIA TREE?’

  ‘What’s she saying?’ Sebastian asked.

  ‘Shhh,’ Nicholas urged. ‘I’m trying to understand.’

  ‘But you can’t understand her,’ Connor said reasonably. ‘Because she’s crying.’

  Somewhere behind me, Aunt Sue was dragging a chair around, and now she had wrapped her arms around me and lifted me right up. She sat on the chair and I was in her lap, as if I was a tiny child, rather than ten years old with my legs draping down towards the floor. ‘Hush, darling,’ she said, and ‘I know, I know,’ and ‘It’s going to be all right, shhh, I know.’

  Stop crying! I urged myself. But I couldn’t seem to do it. I kept right on crying, and Aunt Sue continued patting my head and saying, ‘I know.’

  Eventually, I stopped. I looked up.

  The boys were all staring, fascinated.

  ‘Give her a tissue,’ Nicholas suggested.

  I wiped my nose. My face felt a mess of tears and snot.

  ‘She certainly doesn’t like lobelia trees!’ Connor said forcefully. He sounded impressed.

  Uncle Josh smiled. ‘I think this is not about trees, Connor,’ he said. ‘Or not exactly. Bronte has just started an adventure. She has to follow her instructions very carefully or else her hometown will be torn to pieces.’

  Aunt Sue muttered at this, shaking her head.

  ‘It must feel overwhelming,’ Uncle Josh continued. ‘Like she’s about to enter a great, dark forest all alone. And here we are, confusing her at the very first trees!’

  Aunt Sue hugged me tighter. ‘It’s my fault. I’m so sad about your parents, Bronte, I can’t concentrate properly. I should have paid more attention to you.’

  ‘Yes,’ her boys agreed, nodding at their mother. ‘You should have.’

  Uncle Josh knocked on his nearest son’s head. ‘Very helpful, boys,’ he said. ‘Luckily, we know Bronte is super brave and will fly though her adventure.’

  ‘But I’m not brave,’ I whispered.

  ‘Not brave!’ cried the boys. ‘You rescued a baby!’

  ‘No,’ I frowned, trying to explain. ‘That wasn’t brave. That was just like brushing my teeth.’

  The boys’ eyes became round. ‘Show us your teeth!’ Connor demanded.

  Aunt Sue laughed. ‘She means she didn’t think twice about it. But Bronte, the river in a storm is a dangerous place. Many adults, even strong swimmers, would not have ventured in there. They’d have called for help instead of jumping in.’

  ‘The fact that you didn’t think twice,’ said Uncle Josh, ‘means you have bravery deep within your heart.’

  I looked down to my chest, as if to check my heart. There was the Elvish Medal for Bravery.

  ‘Give her another piece of banana bread,’ Nicholas ordered. ‘Or have you had enough already, Bronte?’

  ‘I could have another,’ I said. My voice came out very quiet. ‘I’m sorry about losing my temper. I was so loud.’

  ‘What?!’ the boys cried. ‘You think that was loud? You should hear us when we get mad. What you just did was nothing! A little chick cheeping!’

  ‘Well, a bit more than cheeping,’ Connor admitted. ‘But in a minute, I’ll show you how loudly I can shout when I’m angry.’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ Uncle Josh and A
unt Sue said at the same time.

  My cousins and I said goodnight in the hallway outside our bedrooms.

  ‘Listen,’ Sebastian said quietly. ‘When you pick your oranges from the orchard tomorrow, does the will say you have to go alone?’

  I took out the instructions and found the place. ‘It says I have to drink juice squeezed from oranges I’ve picked myself,’ I read. ‘But no, it doesn’t say anything about picking them alone.’

  ‘Well, then,’ Nicholas declared. ‘We’ll all come with you in the morning and show you the way to the orchard.’

  The other boys nodded vigorously.

  So that is what happened.

  The boys helped me pick a basketful of oranges while the dogs ran around our feet, and then we came into the kitchen and squeezed a glass of juice.

  It was fresh and delicious, its sweetness like very high notes. I put the glass back down and widened my eyes.

  Everyone nodded and grinned at my wide eyes.

  After that, I had to give Aunt Sue her gift. I went into my room, unzipped my suitcase, and there was the little treasure chest.

  The lid creaked open on its hinges. Inside were small boxes, each gift-wrapped with a card and curling ribbon.

  I found Aunt Sue’s gift—For Sue, with much love from Patrick and Lida, said the notecard—and brought this back to the kitchen. Uncle Josh was frying eggs at the stove and Aunt Sue was setting out plates for breakfast. The boys were making coffee and toast. It was unusually quiet. Everyone turned when I entered the room, and then quickly went back to their task.

  ‘Here it is,’ I told Aunt Sue.

  Aunt Sue wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Thank you, Bronte,’ she said. She took the gift in a formal way, and hugged me. She set it on the table and regarded it. It looked very small.

  ‘It’s tiny,’ Connor announced.

  ‘Hush,’ said Aunt Sue.

  There was a hiss and sizzle from the frying pan. Uncle Josh wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, switched off the stove, and turned around to watch.

  Aunt Sue pulled out a chair and sat down. She touched the notecard with her fingertips and ran her palm over the wrapping paper.

  ‘Come on, then,’ Nicholas urged, and his brothers concurred.

  So Aunt Sue opened the gift.

  It was a small jar of honey.

  ‘Honey,’ said Sebastian, and the other boys echoed him. ‘We’ve waited all this time and it’s honey!’

  ‘We’ve already got honey!’ little Benji protested, dragging a jar out of the cupboard and holding it up.

  ‘You can get honey at the grocery store!’

  ‘Okay now, boys,’ Uncle Josh said. ‘That’s enough.’ He stepped closer to Aunt Sue and squeezed her shoulder.

  ‘It’s honey from the hives of the Peppercorn Mountains,’ Aunt Sue whispered. ‘My favourite.’ Tears formed in her eyes and she smiled at me. ‘Your father used to love honey, Bronte. It’s a Faery food, and he was always fascinated by Faeries. His best friend was a boy named Walter whom he met in nursery school, and Walter’s family was Faery.’

  ‘I don’t know any Faeries,’ I told her.

  ‘Yes, they’re rare. Anyway, that was where Patrick’s interest first started. I used to find him picture books about Faery lore, and read them to him as he fell asleep each night.’

  Her words dwindled as she spoke. I wanted to hear more, but there was a knock on the kitchen door.

  Aunt Sue wiped away the tears and opened the door. It turned out to be a telegram.

  ‘It’s from your Aunt Alys!’ she said, a little proudly. ‘Wasn’t I saying that I hear from her sometimes? She’ll be wanting advice about Prince William again. He’s ten now, but she still asks our views. Naughty corners, points systems, bedtime hours!’

  ‘You’ll get to meet William when you visit Aunt Alys,’ Nicholas told me. ‘You’ll have to tame him.’

  ‘You’ll be good at that, Bronte,’ Sebastian said confidently, and I wondered whether I should be pleased or insulted.

  Aunt Sue read the telegram and eyebrows leapt high on her forehead.

  ‘Well, it is about William,’ she said. ‘But this time Alys says she’s learned that pirates are coming to kidnap him! She asks what we think she should do.’ Aunt Sue stared around at us. ‘I don’t know what she should do!’

  ‘That is rather outside our area of expertise,’ Uncle Josh agreed.

  We had a good chat about the problem, asking ourselves why pirates would want to kidnap Prince William. Did they not know he was a handful? Ha ha. Then we thought we shouldn’t make jokes about it, as it was rather serious. At that point, everybody glanced towards me, and I remembered that my own parents had been killed by pirates.

  You’d think that kind of thing would stay in my mind, and of course it was in my mind—only I was still seeing pirates in my old way, as almost-imaginary, adventure-story people with parrots on their shoulders, rather than the kind who shoot cannons at parents.

  ‘I’m sure this will be sorted out long before you get there,’ Aunt Sue told me kindly.

  ‘Probably just a false alarm,’ Connor put in.

  In the end, we agreed that Aunt Sue should send back a telegram saying:

  Later that day, the milk cart collected me at the end of the driveway, ready to return me to the railway station. From there, I would take a train to Beenray and a ferry to Lantern Island.

  ‘Young Bronte!’ said the driver, tipping his hat as if I was an old friend.

  Uncle Josh hoisted my suitcase onto the back of the cart and Aunt Sue hugged me fiercely.

  ‘You take very good care of yourself on this journey, will you not?’ she said, sounding almost angry. ‘You are just a little girl, are you not?’

  ‘I’m ten years old,’ I replied. ‘That’s not so little.’

  She hugged me again, even more ferociously.

  The boys all shook my hand, and gave me friendly shoves or gentle kicks.

  ‘I will write to you all!’ I promised.

  They seemed startled by this.

  ‘We probably won’t write back,’ Connor admitted after a moment. ‘Letter-writing’s not really our thing.’

  ‘I can’t even write,’ Benji said. ‘Definitely not my thing.’

  ‘Mine, neither,’ Nicholas and Sebastian said in unison.

  ‘Pay no attention,’ Uncle Josh instructed me. ‘Of course they’ll write back! I’ll make them!’

  ‘Try not to write too often,’ Nicholas urged.

  Uncle Josh helped me into the cart and I sat up high looking down on them all.

  ‘Will we ever see her again?’ little Benjamin wondered.

  ‘We’ll see her at Aunt Franny’s party at the end of her journey,’ Uncle Josh promised. ‘And later, I hope she will visit us again.’

  ‘She ought to,’ Sebastian said gruffly.

  ‘I will,’ I promised. ‘Goodbye, Aunt Sue, goodbye, Uncle Josh. Sebastian. Nicholas. Connor. Benjamin. Thank you for your kind hospitality.’

  ‘She’s so polite!’

  ‘And she did the name thing again!’

  ‘Boys!’ scolded Aunt Sue, then she shielded her eyes from the sun to look up at me. ‘And Bronte, listen,’ she called, suddenly urgent. ‘If you ever get a chance to try the oranges of the tiny Empire of Ricochet?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Why, you must take it!’

  ‘Aye, never miss an opportunity to try a Ricochet orange,’ the driver agreed. ‘And why would you not?’

  I told him about Aunt Sue saying I should never taste a Ricochet orange, as they spoil you for all other oranges.

  At that, the driver laughed loudly, and then, still laughing, he twitched the reigns and clicked at the horse, and away we went. The dogs barked and the boys ran alongside, kicking their soccer ball to each other as they did, waving and shouting at me, until eventually they grew tired.

  A man was fishing from the wharf at Lantern Island when I arrived. There was a bucket at his feet, and bes
ide that, a big knife, and he was smoking a cigarette. He watched me step off the ferry and set down my suitcase, and then he turned back to fishing.

  ‘Thank you!’ I called to the ferryman, but he was dragging the gangplank back onto the boat. There was a great clatter, and the ferry roared into reverse and chugged away.

  The water rolled and churned. Bright white lines of foam faded. Quiet settled. The wharf was just a wooden plank, swaying on the tide, slick with damp and algae.

  There was no sign of my Aunt Emma.

  I sat on my suitcase. The man fished. Birds remarked on this and that to one another.

  After a while, I took out the packet of food that Aunt Sue had prepared for me that morning: Cheese and pickle sandwiches, and an apple. I ate these happily. The apple crunched.

  The man lit another cigarette. He slapped a mosquito. He was a shortish man with crinkled grey hair and squinting eyes, and his arms were thick and muscular. He made a slight noise, and I saw his shoulders tense as he leaned over his rod, then he made another noise, this time disappointed, and relaxed again.

  Across the water was another dark green island.

  ‘What’s that island called?’ I asked the man.

  ‘Tuttlecock,’ he replied, and then, as if our words had made this happen, a little boat emerged from around the side of Tuttlecock Island. A woman was rowing the boat in a strong, sturdy way, like somebody in a hurry. She wore a scarf and enormous sunglasses.

  I breathed out. Here at last was Aunt Emma.

  Perhaps she had been gathering colours at that island and forgotten the time? My Aunt Emma is an artist—she sends me paintings for my birthday every year— and I know that she likes to extract colour from plants, leaves, flowers and stones.

  Back when she first learned that I was coming to visit her on my journey, she telegrammed to say she was very excited to meet me at last, and she planned to paint my portrait while I was here, and would I please bring her a very small handful of those pebbles you find around the roots of the flowering movay trees in Gainsleigh Harbour? Since these make the most marvellous pinks, but only if there was room in my luggage, and she could not wait to meet me and we would have a lovely time together, dear child, so much love, your affectionate Aunt Emma.