it at LA airport. She brought me a Soon and Starfish T-shirt too.’
‘Do you like Soon or Starfish?’
‘Both. And the Green Lady and the Bachelor. Who do you like?’
‘Maybe the Bachelor, and the Cassowaries. I like the way they’re drawn. They look cool. Like Tintin.’
‘Mum says, um, they’re iwonic.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
Silvio got hot and waded into the mangroves looking for water but the tide was out and he came scrambling up the bank, his belly smeared with black mud. He was now pie-coloured, tongue hanging out, panting and reeking, the Sparkler scolding him in her high, shrill voice. They clipped on his chain and pulled him back along the creek edge, over the bridge.
They put the garden hose on the dog. With his hair slicked down he looked much smaller, his legs and tail rakishly thin. Eloise laughed at his long nose, drooping silken ears and martyred expression.
‘He looks like Jesus. Like Silvio of Nazareth.’
The dog sank down, put his chin on his paws, heaved a theatrical sigh and appeared to go straight to sleep.
‘That’s him taken care of,’ said the Sparkler responsibly.
Eloise considered her niece. ‘Actually, let’s put him in the garage, out of the way. There’s something you can help me with.’
It took them a long time to build a pile on the grass in front of the deck. When they’d balanced the last items, an old golf bag and a wicker picnic basket on the top, Eloise turned on the hose, and wet the ground around the pile.
She hunted in the house, came out on the deck. ‘I can’t find any matches.’
The Sparkler rummaged in her bag and brought out a Bic lighter.
‘What’s that for? You taken up smoking?’
The girl shrugged.
‘Okay. Sean burnt some garden rubbish here once. You’re not supposed to but it should be fine. Stand back. And hang on to the hose.’
Eloise crouched down and set fire to a cardboard roll of posters. The flame bloomed up and burned halfway along the roll before fizzling out. She tried again. The cardboard resisted the flame. The whole pile shifted to one side.
The Sparkler danced around, hugging herself. ‘Let’s use the stuff you bought. The meffs.’
Eloise looked doubtfully at the pile. The Sparkler scurried inside and came out with the plastic bottle.
‘Gorn, do it.’
‘Give me that.’
Eloise took the bottle, made the girl stand back, hesitated, then poured liquid down the sides of the pile.
‘That’s not enough.’
‘All right.’
She splashed out more, lit a piece of paper and tossed it on. There was a whoomph, and the whole pile went up.
The Sparkler screamed.
‘Fire, fire.’
Sparks flew up, there were pops and cracks and flames shot high, blown by the afternoon breeze. A suitcase lid peeled back like a mouth, curling, melting. The Sparkler capered and shouted, picking up handfuls of dry grass and throwing them on the pyre.
‘Keep back,’ Eloise said.
They watched. The fire roared, grew intense at its centre.
Eloise had hold of the hose with one hand and was reaching for the Sparkler to pull her back when the whole pile started to topple sideways.
‘Look out,’ they both shouted, and the burning tower fell, flaming in all directions, sending embers whirling into the air and depositing a thick wad of burning material into the stand of toe toe along the boundary. The toe toe, parched after months of drought, went up like a bomb. They felt the rush, the fire sucking in air as the white plumes crackled and curled up, exploding into sparks that blew into the long grass beyond the fence. Embers began drifting onto brown lawns, clinging to dry bushes, settling in the long grass in front of the stucco house.
The Sparkler stood on the edge of the deck, her face fixed in an expression of savage delight. Embers floated in the air above her head.
They jumped at Nick’s voice. ‘What are you doing? You’ll set the whole peninsula on fire. Give me the hose.’ And then, ‘It’s gone too far. Ring 111.’
Eloise
‘Do you like Soon or Starfish?’
‘Both. And the Green Lady and the Bachelor. Who do you like?’
‘Maybe the Bachelor, and the Cassowaries. I like the way they’re drawn. They look cool. Like Tintin.’
‘Mum says, um, they’re iwonic.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
Silvio got hot and waded into the mangroves looking for water but the tide was out and he came scrambling up the bank, his belly smeared with black mud. He was now pie-coloured, tongue hanging out, panting and reeking, the Sparkler scolding him in her high, shrill voice. They clipped on his chain and pulled him back along the creek edge, over the bridge.
They put the garden hose on the dog. With his hair slicked down he looked much smaller, his legs and tail rakishly thin. Eloise laughed at his long nose, drooping silken ears and martyred expression.
‘He looks like Jesus. Like Silvio of Nazareth.’
The dog sank down, put his chin on his paws, heaved a theatrical sigh and appeared to go straight to sleep.
‘That’s him taken care of,’ said the Sparkler responsibly.
Eloise considered her niece. ‘Actually, let’s put him in the garage, out of the way. There’s something you can help me with.’
It took them a long time to build a pile on the grass in front of the deck. When they’d balanced the last items, an old golf bag and a wicker picnic basket on the top, Eloise turned on the hose, and wet the ground around the pile.
She hunted in the house, came out on the deck. ‘I can’t find any matches.’
The Sparkler rummaged in her bag and brought out a Bic lighter.
‘What’s that for? You taken up smoking?’
The girl shrugged.
‘Okay. Sean burnt some garden rubbish here once. You’re not supposed to but it should be fine. Stand back. And hang on to the hose.’
Eloise crouched down and set fire to a cardboard roll of posters. The flame bloomed up and burned halfway along the roll before fizzling out. She tried again. The cardboard resisted the flame. The whole pile shifted to one side.
The Sparkler danced around, hugging herself. ‘Let’s use the stuff you bought. The meffs.’
Eloise looked doubtfully at the pile. The Sparkler scurried inside and came out with the plastic bottle.
‘Gorn, do it.’
‘Give me that.’
Eloise took the bottle, made the girl stand back, hesitated, then poured liquid down the sides of the pile.
‘That’s not enough.’
‘All right.’
She splashed out more, lit a piece of paper and tossed it on. There was a whoomph, and the whole pile went up.
The Sparkler screamed.
‘Fire, fire.’
Sparks flew up, there were pops and cracks and flames shot high, blown by the afternoon breeze. A suitcase lid peeled back like a mouth, curling, melting. The Sparkler capered and shouted, picking up handfuls of dry grass and throwing them on the pyre.
‘Keep back,’ Eloise said.
They watched. The fire roared, grew intense at its centre.
Eloise had hold of the hose with one hand and was reaching for the Sparkler to pull her back when the whole pile started to topple sideways.
‘Look out,’ they both shouted, and the burning tower fell, flaming in all directions, sending embers whirling into the air and depositing a thick wad of burning material into the stand of toe toe along the boundary. The toe toe, parched after months of drought, went up like a bomb. They felt the rush, the fire sucking in air as the white plumes crackled and curled up, exploding into sparks that blew into the long grass beyond the fence. Embers began drifting onto brown lawns, clinging to dry bushes, settling in the long grass in front of the stucco house.
The Sparkler stood on the edge of the deck, her face fixed in an expression of savage delight. Embers floated in the air above her head.
They jumped at Nick’s voice. ‘What are you doing? You’ll set the whole peninsula on fire. Give me the hose.’ And then, ‘It’s gone too far. Ring 111.’
Eloise
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