Ged Maybury - Crab Apples

CRAB APPLES WAS A FINALIST in the 2001 New Zealand Children's Book of the Year Awards, placing it as one of the top 5 children's books of that year in the Junior Fiction category.

I'd like to publicly thank the publishing team of Penny Scown, Frances Chan & Christine Dale for their contributions to its design, editing, etc; which I'm quite sure lifted it over the line and got me into the Awards.

Thank you all so, so much.

(THIS VERSION is not exactly the same, since the original files sank long ago into the electronic swamps of time.)

Cover photography by Geoff Dale, Cover concept by Christine Dale.

CHAPTER ONE

R ANDY CATHRO WAS STUCK on the beach with his big sister Beau. Well, to be more precise, he was being stuck in the beach by his big sister Beau.

Dig your feet in a bit more! she told him. With a tired sigh he twisted his feet deeper into the wet sand. Now hold the driftwood up a bit..., no! Like I showed you: heroically! He did his best to look heroic. She raised her camera, fiddled, focused, crouched, focused again, then, Aww! she huffed, lowering her camera, Its no good!

Im doing my best! he snapped, lowering his aching arms.

No not you, I mean the found object ! (Found object, Randy had soon figured out, meant the ugly great lump of driftwood she had found and conned him into posing with.)

She gazed out at the wide sweep of Haulaway Bay, from the north-west headland across to the distant islands in the east, and sighed, I want a good storm!

Randy chucked down the driftwood in disgust, Im not doing this in a storm!

Dont be such a pillock! she snapped, What I mean is: I need a storm to wash up something interesting ! Something inspiring!

Randy sneered and turned to mooch back to their rented beach-house, Yeah well good luck with all that. The local council wants a real artist to do their dumb mural, not some teenage kid!

I am a real artist! she yelled after him, Age has nothing to do with it! I was born an artist.

Yeah, mumbled Randy under his breath, a bull-crap artist.

What?! she demanded.

I said a crack artist, like, ah, like actually really good. For your age.

He quickly changed the subject, Say, what about that old bit of seaweed there? He pointed into the stagnant pond where the local creek made its last gasp attempt to reach the sea. Just to show he wasnt such a nasty little doubting brother he found a stick and hooked the piece of seaweed out. It stank.

But Beau liked it, Wow, she said, breathlessly, its like the Jewellery of a Sea-Goddess! The Enchantment of the Waves! The Spirit of the Deep! Its perfect !

Randy, who was feeling breathless for quite a different reason, also looked more closely. It was only a tattered fragment of something that once must have looked quite impressive; alive and waving about under the waves, but even so it was very pretty, with long curly pinkish leaves and little grape-like bubbles. He tried to squeeze one of the bubbles, hoping it would accidentally burst all over Beau, but it was too tough and rubbery. It was sticky too, probably because it had begun to go rotten.

They look like little apples. crooned Beau.

Yeah, crab-apples, said Randy knowingly, because crabs eat them.

I told you that... she murmured, turning the seaweed over, then holding it up to the light. She was so busy, so intent, that she didnt bother to add, ...and it was a complete load of bollocks, actually.

Randy, meantime, had began to back away, thinking, No way am I going to hold THAT over my head and look heroic! Its heroic enough just breathing next to it!

Well, he said casually, backing further away, I, ah, I think Ill go down the shops and see if Pihos on the bus today.

Yeah, answered Beau absent-minded, still in her artistic reverie.

He didnt hesitate any longer and set off at speed, skirting the dead-end of the creek on the seaward side and heading back inland towards the main road on the far side.

Hey, called Beau suddenly from across the way, if you see any more...?

Yeah, okay! He called back cheerfully. Like sure: Ill just drag around bits of rotting crap for you, Beau, and smell like a dead whale! Sure!

But as it happened he did find some, snagged low in the vegetation near where the road bridge crossed the creek, and quite dry and clean-smelling. He took it, figuring it would save him being stunk out while Beau did arty things to her grotty old found object for the rest of this dead-end, dead-boring holiday in dead-end, dead-boring Haulaway Bay.

#

I T WASNT SUCH A BAD place, really, and it would have been great if hed had more money, or if his parents had a speed-boat or something. But hed already done his dough down at the video-game place. At least it was not like the Zap-Zone back in his home town. He had been banned for life from the Zap-Zone by the guy who owned it: a nasty piece of work called Barry Boyd.

Thats one plus about this holiday, he had to admit to himself, at least I dont have to be in Boyd-Avoid Mode every day!

He passed the camp-ground on the right (the hill side) and then the little public park on the left with the big ugly concrete-block changing sheds where the council wanted the new mural, then he was in among the shops. There were the usual crowds of wandering holiday-makers about, all drifting along in that maddening slow way they had, and he wove his way through to the place where the bus from Hamilton came in. Piho had to be on it this time, had to be ! Or he was going to go mad with boredom!

#

R ANDY WATCHED AS THE people got off; a Swedish backpacker, a few hippies, a clump of sticky-looking children with their flustered parents quacking after them, and then he got a real shock. The last one off wasnt Piho at all, but Tammy Turinger!

Tammy! Tall, thin, goofy-looking Tammy; with those wonderful lips... and those neat little knees... and ... and ...

Randys heart began to flutter. Suddenly he felt sticky and flustered too. (Of course it wasnt LOVE or anything! Sure: everyone else said it was but hey: - what did they know? He and Tammy were just friends, thats all. Just friends; okay?! )

Randy! she said in surprise.

Uh, hi, he stammered, I, uh, I was waiting for you, sort of... and to save himself any further embarrassment he held out the piece of dried seaweed he still had clamped in his sandy hands, Here.

Ooooo -oo!... said Tammy in exactly that kind of tone that always sent shivers up Randys spine, ...Ooooo? Whats this?! (Well, it wasnt exactly a rose!)