Sticky Beak by Morris Gleitzman

Author:Morris Gleitzman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan Australia

Dad always reckons if something’s making me unhappy I should tell him about it.

He reckons it’s better for a person to lay it out on the table than bottle it up and end up hiring a skywriter or something.

So first thing this morning I went out to the orchard and told him.

I was really glad I did.

At first.

‘G’day Tonto,’ Dad said, ‘you come for a yak?’

I nodded.

I like yakking to Dad when he’s on the tractor because he has to speak with his hands. Dad’s got a pretty loud voice but it isn’t a match for a 120-horsepower diesel.

I jumped up onto the front of the tractor so Dad could keep on slashing weeds while we talked.

‘About last night,’ Dad said. ‘Don’t worry, love, you’ll get to spend heaps of time with the bub.’

‘I know I will,’ I said.

I took a deep breath.

My hands were shaking.

I hoped Dad would think it was the vibrations from the motor.

‘I’m just worried,’ I said, ‘that when you’ve got a kid that can speak with its mouth, you won’t want to spend heaps of time flapping your hands about with me.’

I tried to keep my hands relaxed while I said it. If you’re not careful, when you’re very tense you can get cramp in the middle of a sentence.

Dad stared at me for a long time.

The tractor started to shudder.

‘Dad,’ I said, ‘you’re slashing a tree trunk.’

He turned the tractor off, leant forward, grabbed me under the arms and swung me onto his lap.

It felt good, even though his belt buckle was stabbing me in the kidney.

‘Ro,’ he said quietly, ‘that’s dopey.’

Then he slid me onto the seat next to him and jumped up onto the engine cover and took his hat off and put one hand over his heart and tilted his head back and yelled up at the trees.

‘I swear on my Grannies and Jonathans,’ he shouted, ‘that no kid will ever come between me and my precious Tonto, cross my heart and hope to get root weevil.’

I glowed inside.

I would have glowed even more if he’d looked at me and said it quietly, but with Dad you have to take him the way he is.

He jumped down from the engine and I slid down from the seat and he picked me up and hugged me so tight that his belt buckle left an imprint on my tummy

I glowed even more and Uluru Rock suddenly melted away and all that was left was a wonderful feeling that everything was going to be OK for ever and ever.

It lasted for about ten seconds.

Less time than the red back-to-front rodeo rider above my bellybutton.

Because I ruined it.

I’ve never known when to keep my hands quiet. ‘For a moment there’ I said to Dad, ‘I thought you were going to sing.’

Dad grinned.

‘Almost did,’ he said, ‘but I couldn’t think of a song that said exactly what I wanted to say’

‘Never mind,’ I said, ‘perhaps Carla Tamworth’ll sing one at the concert on Saturday.’

Dad’s face clouded.

‘I’ve been meaning to tell you,’ he said, ‘I can’t go to the concert on Saturday.

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