Chapter 9
WHICH RAT
No board games were played that night. That was because, by the time they walked the ten minutes to their motel in the rain—in this case, it was good that Hamilton was so much smaller than Auckland—and Skylar had helped George and Olive get their wet clothes off as Finlay pointedly changed in the toilet, and then had put everyone’s wet things in the washing machine and got George into the bath in her bedroom and quickly into PJs, by which point it was after ten …
well, after that, she knocked at the door to the next room along to ask Scarlett if she’d like help with the other kids.
Her grandfather had disappeared with Maureen as soon as they’d got back to the motel, the two of them irresponsible as teenagers.
Scarlett stood in the doorway and said, “I can do it.” Her face closed down, her posture upright. Defensive all the way. Skylar could hear splashing from the bath, but Scarlett was still in her wet clothes.
“I’m sure you can,” Skylar said, keeping her tone light. “But it’s heaps to do, and getting late.”
“Not really,” Scarlett said, standing like there was no getting past her. “I like being in charge.”
Skylar laughed. Scarlett looked offended, and Skylar said, “Sorry. It’s just that I was thinking that tonight. That you’re sure to be Head Girl.”
“I’m bossy, you mean,” Scarlett said, a flush creeping up into her cheeks.
“No,” Skylar said. “I think we should banish that word. Have you ever heard a boy called ‘bossy’? Ever in your life?”
Some curiosity in the brown eyes now, some softening of the posture. “No. Nobody ever says that.”
“Because in boys,” Skylar said, “it’s called ‘leadership.’ That’s what you have, and when somebody calls you ‘bossy,’ you can say, ‘You mean I have leadership skills? I do my best.” And watch them try to think how to recover.”
“As if anybody would be convinced by that,” Scarlett said, but her heart wasn’t in it.
“Maybe not,” Skylar said, “but it’ll make you feel good.
” And smiled. Scarlett didn’t quite smile back, but she came close.
“Seriously, though—can I run a load of washing for you? Wash hair? Or get the kids ready for bed while you have a bath in my room? It’s free now, and you may like to get out of your wet clothes. Only if you want to, of course.”
Some hesitation, and then Scarlett said, “Nan usually helps. But I guess she’s with her boyfriend.”
“So I understand,” Skylar said. “Granddad left us on our own, too. But then, as Maya Angelou says, ‘Love is like a virus. It can happen to anyone at any time.’”
“That makes it sound like you have flu,” Scarlett said.
“Why would anybody want to have flu? It seems like too much trouble anyway. I like to know how things are, and everybody who says they’re in love is always worrying.
And sighing, and hoping, and wondering. That’s how it is in films, too.
Who would ever want that?” Ah, loosening up.
“Well,” Skylar said, “my Granddad and your Nan, for two, which leaves you and me here to handle things.” She handed Scarlett her keycard.
“Competence is a beautiful thing, but being able to accept help is important too. And if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s taking care of the littlies.
Go have a bath before you freeze. It’ll let me pay you back for explaining all those rugby rules to George. And to me.”
Scarlett said, “I’ll just take a fast shower, then. Let me grab my PJs.”
Skylar went into the room and closed the door, feeling unreasonably proud of herself.
After that, she combed Georgia’s wet hair, which had a distinct tendency to tangle, and plaited it for the night.
When Duncan came out of the bath, she told him, “Scarlett’s having a bath in my room.
Do you both want a story, or just Georgia? ”
Georgia was half asleep already—it really was late—but said drowsily, “Can it be a story with rats?”
Duncan said, “Who would write a story about rats?”
“I don’t know,” Skylar said, sitting on the edge of Georgia’s bed while Duncan climbed into the other one, “but I can tell a lovely story about rats. Cinderella had rats living in her pumpkin patch. They were very clever rats, too.”
“Like Mirabelle and Clarice,” Georgia said more sleepily than ever. “And Gladys, even though she’s in Heaven now. Were they pretty rats?”
Duncan snorted, and Skylar said, “They were beautiful rats. Or maybe I should say ‘handsome,’ because they were brothers. One was hooded brown and white, like Mirabelle, one was silver-blue, like Clarice, and the third was champagne-colored, like Gladys. They used to climb onto Cinderella’s bed and curl up with her at night to help keep her warm. ”
“Ugh,” Duncan said.
“And when the Fairy Godmother came and waved her wand,” Skylar went on, although she was fairly sure Georgia was asleep, “the rats turned into men. Big, strong men like your dad, because that’s how rats are. Big, strong, and clever.”
Duncan said, “I think there’s only one rat in that movie.”
“Exactly,” Skylar said. “The rats—George and Francis and … and Harold—all wanted to help Cinderella get to the ball, but there was room on the coach for only one of them. The coachman, he’d be, driving the team of four white horses and wearing a fine cloak with seven capes, tall black boots, and white britches, with his dark hair flowing down over his collar.
” Hmm. This coachman was sounding attractive.
“So which of them got to do it?” Duncan asked. “In your story.”
“Well, I don’t know,” she admitted. “The story’s only just been revealed to me.
I suppose you’d better choose. The hooded rat, George, was the oldest and the biggest; the middle rat, Francis, the silver-blue one, was the most …
the most agile and the best runner, and a sort of bouncy rat; and the youngest rat, Harold, the champagne-colored one, was more of a tough sort of rat, because he was the youngest.”
“I don’t think the youngest would be the toughest,” Duncan said. “Georgia’s the youngest, and she’s not the toughest.”
“Can’t help it,” Skylar said. “That’s the way the story came out in my head.”
“I don’t know, then,” he said. “The biggest rat would always expect to be chosen, so maybe he wouldn’t try as hard to do a good job. The middle rat might be too silly, though, and the youngest rat was maybe too angry. If you drive when you’re angry, you can have a smash.”
A click at the door, and Scarlett stepped inside in PJs and dressing gown, her wet clothes bundled under her arm. She said, “I used the hair dryer, is why I took longer.”
“That’s fine,” Skylar said. “We were just having a chat. Georgia’s asleep. Would you like me to start the washing machine?”
“I’ll do it,” Scarlett said, not surprisingly. Instead of moving to the bath to get started, though, she looked between Skylar and Duncan, her suspicions so clearly aroused, Skylar wanted to laugh. Exactly what was she afraid of?
Of things changing, that was what. The same thing most people were afraid of.
“What were you talking about?” Scarlett asked.
“A story,” Duncan said. “It was pretty silly.” He yawned.
“What kind of story?” Scarlett asked.
Skylar waited a beat, and to her surprise, Duncan explained. “I’m supposed to choose which rat would be the coachman,” he ended. “How do I know which one it should be?”
“Obviously,” Scarlett said, “the oldest. He’s the biggest and strongest, and probably the leader.”
Duncan said, “OK.”
“Not going to fight for your own ratty candidate?” Skylar asked.
“No,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. It’s imaginary.”
Scarlett said, “Why do you always have to be weird?”
Duncan blinked at her, about to fall asleep himself. It had been a very exciting match, though, and it was late. “I’m not weird. I’m just logical.”
Scarlett sighed. “I’m putting the washing in and going to bed. You can go to bed too,” she told Skylar, fairly pointedly.
Skylar stood up. “I’ll do that. If you need any help in the night for any reason, you know where my room is.”
“My dad will be here soon,” Scarlett said, back to the squared-off posture. “Before midnight, he said. He has the next room, so I’ll just ask him.”
“Right,” Skylar said, refusing to be cowed by a twelve-year-old. “Good night, then.”
Duncan didn’t say good night. That was because he was asleep. Scarlett did, though. Grudgingly.
Whoever dated Zane Mahuta would have her work well and truly cut out for her. Another good reason, if Skylar had needed one, for it not to be her.
Zane stood in the rain, after shaking hands with the Chiefs and his own teammates, making the usual inane comments into a microphone for the TV audience and fully feeling the cold now.
Full credit to the Chiefs on a match well played, and yes, it had been a tough one.
The Blues’ defense had stood up well, and he was indeed pleased with that.
Yes, he enjoyed playing with his brothers—they always asked that one, but what did they expect him to say in response?
—and as for the qualifying round next week, they’d have to see what happened in the other matches this weekend.
Wherever they ended up going, the boys were looking forward to the contest. After that, it was a “Cheers,” and some autographs and selfies for the patient kids still waiting by the railings, rain or no, then a welcome journey up the tunnel to the sheds, where the heat was turned to full.
A beer and a yarn with the Chiefs boys, who were already there.
He’d be training with a fair few of them in a few weeks with the All Blacks, and anyway, the match was the match, and you left it out there.
After the match, they were just a bunch of blokes who’d spent an enjoyable couple of hours bashing the hell out of each other and were now ready to relax.