bugger had his hat shot off.’
‘You can’t afford to hesitate in our house.’ Clem thought of that morning’s breakfast at her grandparents’ when her brothers ate every cherry blintze pancake and left her none. ‘Darcy, Jonas, Bruno, and Tim are such greedy guts.’
‘What about little Drew?’ asked Mio.
‘He’s a pig, too, but he’s still too small to be one of The Competition.’
‘Oh, wah!’ said Darcy, leaning over and pinching Clem’s waist. ‘You’re not exactly a skeleton.’
‘Don’t!’ Clem pinched Darcy back, only harder, then back-stepped to get out of his way. She laughed when he lunged and missed.
‘Now, now, you two. There’s plenty of mixture to go round.’ Mr Lark held up the rest of the pastry log and asked, ‘So, who wants cooked and who wants raw?’
In less than twenty minutes he was pulling the shortbread, now golden brown, out of the oven andsliding the biscuits onto a plate. Steam swirled in mouth-watering spirals. ‘Help yourselves.’
No-one spoke as they reached for the biscuits. The shortbread exploded with the warm taste of sugar and butter, then melted to nothingness.
Mr Lark sampled one, too. ‘Not bad. Not as good as Mrs Lark’s, mind, but not bad.’
‘Mum doesn’t have time for baking,’ said Clem. She reached for a second biscuit and shoved it in her mouth, sending crumbs flying. ‘She’s hard pressed to make dinner, let alone afternoon tea.’
‘My mum only bakes once a year,’ said Mio with a sigh. ‘For our Girls’ Festival. She makes these diamond-shaped rice cakes called hishimochi.’ Mio picked up another piece of shortbread and shrugged. ‘The rest of the time she works.’
‘She makes great sushi,’ said Bryce. ‘Remember the time you brought it to school for International Day?’ He licked his lips as he, too, grabbed more shortbread.
Mio’s lips tugged upwards as she conceded, ‘Yes, Mum does make great sushi.’
‘At least you lot live with your mothers.’ Bryce bit into his third biscuit. ‘I’m stuck with Cara who can’t even boil water. Not that Mum’s much better.’
Mr Lark sat at the table, enjoying the sight of the disappearing biscuits. ‘Everyone’s so busy these days. Far too busy. No time for life’s smallpleasures.’ He looked around the table. ‘Now you’ve eaten your fill, tell me about this dog.’
The kids told him about seeing the dog in the park, about her cruel owner, and her love of mischief. ‘Sounds like a retriever I once knew.’ Mr Lark went quiet as he added, ‘Poor thing.’
‘Why?’ asked Clem, brushing the crumbs off the table into her cupped hand. ‘What happened to it?’
Mr Lark looked out the window. He took his time in answering. ‘It’s not for your ears, young lady. Besides, it happened a long time ago.’
‘What was its name?’ persisted Clem.
Mr Lark laughed as he told her, ‘Pineapple.’
‘Pineapple?’ asked Bryce. ‘How could you call a dog Pineapple?’
‘’Cause he was short and round and just a little bit prickly…Now, what were you saying?’
‘So we tracked her down to the Braxxby Animal Shelter.’
‘They said they’d keep her till we got there.’
‘But when we were there this man told us she’d…’ Bryce’s voice broke. ‘She’d…’ He threw up his hands and slumped in his chair.
Darcy tried to explain. ‘You see, some animal shelters have a “No Kill” policy but this one doesn’t, so…’
‘She’s dead!’ cried Clem, snatching a tissue. Her shoulders heaved. She tried to cry quietly, butbetween the whimpers, the sobs and the nose blowing she sounded like an orchestra warming up.
Mr Lark came over and patted her on the back, saying, ‘There, there. Things have a way of turning out right in the end.’
‘But this is the end and things haven’t turned out right.’ Clem blew her nose, reminding Mr Lark of a bugler playing ‘The Last Post’. ‘It doesn’t make sense. It just doesn’t.’
The five sat in
‘You can’t afford to hesitate in our house.’ Clem thought of that morning’s breakfast at her grandparents’ when her brothers ate every cherry blintze pancake and left her none. ‘Darcy, Jonas, Bruno, and Tim are such greedy guts.’
‘What about little Drew?’ asked Mio.
‘He’s a pig, too, but he’s still too small to be one of The Competition.’
‘Oh, wah!’ said Darcy, leaning over and pinching Clem’s waist. ‘You’re not exactly a skeleton.’
‘Don’t!’ Clem pinched Darcy back, only harder, then back-stepped to get out of his way. She laughed when he lunged and missed.
‘Now, now, you two. There’s plenty of mixture to go round.’ Mr Lark held up the rest of the pastry log and asked, ‘So, who wants cooked and who wants raw?’
In less than twenty minutes he was pulling the shortbread, now golden brown, out of the oven andsliding the biscuits onto a plate. Steam swirled in mouth-watering spirals. ‘Help yourselves.’
No-one spoke as they reached for the biscuits. The shortbread exploded with the warm taste of sugar and butter, then melted to nothingness.
Mr Lark sampled one, too. ‘Not bad. Not as good as Mrs Lark’s, mind, but not bad.’
‘Mum doesn’t have time for baking,’ said Clem. She reached for a second biscuit and shoved it in her mouth, sending crumbs flying. ‘She’s hard pressed to make dinner, let alone afternoon tea.’
‘My mum only bakes once a year,’ said Mio with a sigh. ‘For our Girls’ Festival. She makes these diamond-shaped rice cakes called hishimochi.’ Mio picked up another piece of shortbread and shrugged. ‘The rest of the time she works.’
‘She makes great sushi,’ said Bryce. ‘Remember the time you brought it to school for International Day?’ He licked his lips as he, too, grabbed more shortbread.
Mio’s lips tugged upwards as she conceded, ‘Yes, Mum does make great sushi.’
‘At least you lot live with your mothers.’ Bryce bit into his third biscuit. ‘I’m stuck with Cara who can’t even boil water. Not that Mum’s much better.’
Mr Lark sat at the table, enjoying the sight of the disappearing biscuits. ‘Everyone’s so busy these days. Far too busy. No time for life’s smallpleasures.’ He looked around the table. ‘Now you’ve eaten your fill, tell me about this dog.’
The kids told him about seeing the dog in the park, about her cruel owner, and her love of mischief. ‘Sounds like a retriever I once knew.’ Mr Lark went quiet as he added, ‘Poor thing.’
‘Why?’ asked Clem, brushing the crumbs off the table into her cupped hand. ‘What happened to it?’
Mr Lark looked out the window. He took his time in answering. ‘It’s not for your ears, young lady. Besides, it happened a long time ago.’
‘What was its name?’ persisted Clem.
Mr Lark laughed as he told her, ‘Pineapple.’
‘Pineapple?’ asked Bryce. ‘How could you call a dog Pineapple?’
‘’Cause he was short and round and just a little bit prickly…Now, what were you saying?’
‘So we tracked her down to the Braxxby Animal Shelter.’
‘They said they’d keep her till we got there.’
‘But when we were there this man told us she’d…’ Bryce’s voice broke. ‘She’d…’ He threw up his hands and slumped in his chair.
Darcy tried to explain. ‘You see, some animal shelters have a “No Kill” policy but this one doesn’t, so…’
‘She’s dead!’ cried Clem, snatching a tissue. Her shoulders heaved. She tried to cry quietly, butbetween the whimpers, the sobs and the nose blowing she sounded like an orchestra warming up.
Mr Lark came over and patted her on the back, saying, ‘There, there. Things have a way of turning out right in the end.’
‘But this is the end and things haven’t turned out right.’ Clem blew her nose, reminding Mr Lark of a bugler playing ‘The Last Post’. ‘It doesn’t make sense. It just doesn’t.’
The five sat in
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