Brown Bird by Jane Arthur

Author:Jane Arthur [Arthur, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781776956715
Publisher: Penguin Random House New Zealand
Published: 2013-04-08T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 21

At 11.00am on Wednesday, we headed to Isabel’s. I was actually looking forward to picking plums. Last summer, Mum and I had gone apple-picking at an orchard just out of town, and I’d never eaten such fresh-tasting fruit before. They had still been warm from the sun, and it was like this is what other apples were trying to be. They were more appley than I’d ever tasted before.

“Do you know why I said we should go over at this time?” Chester looked at me with a sly grin.

“So you could have a sleep-in?”

“Nah, in case Isabel gives us lunch!”

“Seriously?” He was so cheeky. “There’s heaps of food at Tilly’s.”

“Yeah, but that’s all healthy stuff, toast and carrot sticks.” He pulled a face.

I liked eating that sort of food. It made my brain feel clear. I knew that was weird.

“Isabel’s got the kind of food I like,” he said, doing a little tap dance.

“Chester.”

Isabel opened her door before we had a chance to knock.

“Great dancing, Chester,” she said, clapping. “Come in, come in!” She handed us each a glass of homemade lemonade, ice cubes clinking.

Chester waggled his eyebrows at me and whispered, “It begins …”

I widened my eyes at him to say, Stop it. “Thank you,” I said to Isabel.

Outside, she showed us the ladder and how to hook the basket onto it for filling up with plums. When she headed back inside, Chester sat on the grass at the bottom of the ladder.

“I’ll keep it steady for you,” he said.

“Don’t you want to take turns?”

“Nah, it’s cool. I’ll stay here and make sure you don’t fall.” I thought he’d be racing up the ladder, climbing the plum tree, swinging from branches. He puffed out his cheeks. “Not a big fan of heights, eh.”

I’d figured he wasn’t afraid of anything. “That’s okay,” I said, feeling the bravest I’d ever felt.

I climbed the ladder. The tree was laden with fruit — even more than it seemed from the ground, and the more I looked, the more plums there were. It was almost as if they were multiplying in front of my eyes.

It was lovely with my head up in the branches, like another world. The sun and leaves made shadows dance on my hands. Dappled light, it was called, according to Ms Beech.

Dapple, dapple, dapple, dapple, I mouthed as I figured out the best position for picking.

Chester helped me move the ladder around the tree to reach all the ripe plums. Each time I filled the basket, Chester would tip the plums into the cloth bags Isabel had given him.

By the time I’d finished, I had filled the basket five times. Chester probably ate about half a basket’s-worth in that time. His fingers, mouth and teeth were stained dark red.

“You look like your mouth is bleeding,” I told him. “I thought you didn’t even like fruit. ‘Too healthy.’”

He gnashed his teeth at me, eyes wide. “Blood, blooooood … My puku’s sore now.”

“Okay, here, now take two of these bags to Mrs Hayes,” said Isabel, coming out of the house.

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