Page 22 of Just Watch Me
Another few seconds. The noise in the stands had died away, and the players stood on the field, chests heaving, hands on their hips or their heads, drawing in breath. They must be freezing.
The ref’s arm in the air. A blow on the whistle.
It was a try.
Will Tawera missed the kick. Too far to the side, probably, and too wet, too windy, and too cold. It didn’t matter, she guessed. 19 to 17, and that was how it would stay.
It was a win.
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, andthenhad 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’tquitesmile 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 alwaysworrying.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 reallywaslate—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 cantella 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.
