Molly and Pim and the Millions of Stars (8 page)

The branches of the Mama tree had sprouted a mass of soft leaves that wove themselves
together like a nest and not only cushioned Molly but also wrapped around her as
she slept. Yet, try as she might, Molly couldn't get Maude up into the tree, and
this left Maude pacing at its base. Molly
was also getting sick of chocolate-and-cashew
balls, and she had finished all the mulberries. She and Maude ate the last of the
honey on biscuits and some tomatoes from the garden, and Claudine ate the blackberry
jam, as it was all she would tolerate. Molly watched her lick the jar.

‘You're very spoiled, Claudine. Watch out, because all that jam will make you a fat
cat.'

Claudine was already nicely plump and showed no signs of worrying about being fat.
Probably, thought Molly, it suited her a little anyway.

Molly sat cross-legged in her nest in the tree. A raucous gang of cockatoos swooped
into the leaves and landed high in the boughs. Sun splattered and glistened through
the leaves. And the
straw hat twirled on its branch.

Suddenly, Prudence Grimshaw shot out from her house. She cast an angry glance at
the tree, as if something had alerted her to Molly's presence there. But, although
she stared hungrily and then searched the tree with her darting eyes, she couldn't
see Molly.

Molly sat perfectly still and hardly dared breathe. Eventually, Prudence Grimshaw
frowned, gave a snort and disappeared into the shed.

Molly closed her eyes and rested her hands on the branch. She listened. Cars purred
in the distance, birds sang and screeched, air hummed in the leaves, branches creaked,
and from the base of the tree came a reluctant
humph
as Maude plonked herself down.
Molly listened and listened, but she couldn't hear her mama. Instead, the sounds
faded and thoughts drifted through her head.

The thoughts were disconnected. They came in waves, and Molly felt tired as she tried
to work them out. The Grimshaws, Claudine licking the
jam, lying to Ellen, Pim Wilder
and the paper angel, the ball of mud—were they all connected? Why had her world fallen
into small pieces like a jigsaw puzzle scattered over the floor?

She pressed her mind back to the tree. Branches wobbled, and bright patches of sky
swayed above. The wet, dirt smell of bark and leaves mingled with the air. All tree
business as usual.

Why couldn't she hear her mama? Perhaps she was trying too hard. Things never came
when she tried too hard to get them. What she needed was a walk. That was what her
mama always did when she had some thoughts that she needed to set free. Not only
that—Maude needed a walk too. Molly jumped down from the tree.

‘Come on, Maudie. Let's go to the creek.'

They crossed the rickety bridge and Maude ran at a heron that was perched on the
railing. The bird swerved off down the throat of the creek, which was full of reeds.
The water slipped over the rocks and pooled at the tufts of bullrush. There was a
steep bank on each side, which rose up to become a stout brick wall.

Molly took off her sandals and walked along the wall. It was such a fat, smooth,
sun-warmed wall that she lay down on it on her tummy, dangling one arm over the side,
letting the warmth of the bricks soak into her cheek.

Out of the daze of blue sky and croaking frogs came a voice.

‘Are you waiting for the sky to fall?'

Molly propped herself up on her elbows.

Pim Wilder was framed by the blue sky, his face dark with shadows. He sat on his
bike with one foot on the wall. He wasn't wearing the school top, but a T-shirt with
stripes, which gave him the air of a drunken sailor.

He looked at Molly as if he expected her to be either frightened or annoyed by his
question and would almost enjoy it if she was.

Molly, who had now successfully faced the night alone, reminded herself that Pim
Wilder was only a boy and not nearly as frightening as the dark. She scrambled to
her knees.

‘I saw you at the park. You had a ball of dirt in your hand,' she said. It was best
when feeling nervous or timid to behave in the exact opposite way.

Pim was not deterred at all. He laughed. ‘Not dirt. It was a pellet. There's a powerful
owl nesting in that tree. That's how you tell.'

Only Pim Wilder could turn a ball of dirt into a whole journey of discovery. Molly
resented and admired him for it, both at the same time.

‘They swallow their prey whole or in large chunks and then they spew up these little
pellets of fur and bones, and if you look closely you can work out what they ate.
I reckon that one had eaten a sugar glider or a ringtail. The bones were
bigger than
a bird's. They eat kookaburras too, and parrots.'

Molly didn't like to think of sugar gliders or parrots being swallowed in chunks.
She made a face to show this was disgusting, but Pim hardly noticed.

‘Have you heard a powerful owl call? It's like this.' He cupped his hands to his
mouth and uttered two mournful hoots. ‘It's the only one that really sounds sad,
like a real owl call.'

‘And is it sad?'

‘Who knows? I doubt it, though. There's nothing to be sad about if you are an owl.'

‘How can you know?' Molly almost wouldn't have been surprised if Pim claimed he once
was an owl. But he didn't. Instead, he seemed amused by her question. He leaned his
bike against the wall, and sat down.

Molly plucked a stalk of grass from the crack in the bricks and twisted it. She had
said something that had interested him.

‘What about a baby owl who lost its mother? It would be sad,' she continued.

Pim stared at her. ‘Probably frightened more than anything, but I guess it would
have to learn a thing or two pretty quickly. Did you wag school today?'

‘My mum's gone away,' Molly said.

‘What about your dad?'

‘He went away a long time ago.' Molly tried to sound breezy. How strange that she
was even telling him.

Pim leaned forward. His expression glittered with curiosity. ‘So who is looking after
you?'

Molly tossed her piece of grass into the creek.
‘I'm looking after myself,' she sang.

Pim straightened up. He looked at her closely, as if to check she was the person
he thought she was. His eyes were clear and piercing, but they were grinning at her
too.

Molly stood up and jumped off the wall, as if to shake off his gaze. Maude stood
next to her. ‘And I've been eating as many chocolate balls as I like, for breakfast,
lunch and dinner,' she added.

Pim let out a laugh.

‘Your mum goes away and leaves you all by yourself, and you stop going to school
and eat chocolate balls for breakfast. That's kind of weird.'

Pim Wilder could see right inside her. Molly's face was hot.

‘I'm not weird,' she said, mustering more certainty than she really felt. And then,
despite her doubts, or because of them, she spun around elegantly on her heel and
began to walk away.

‘Well, that's a pity,' he called out. ‘I was just beginning to think at least one
person around
here might be interesting.'

Molly stopped. She turned back and shouted, ‘I am interesting. And I'm in a really
interesting situation. So interesting you probably wouldn't be able to believe it
if I told you.'

He walked his bike up to her. ‘Try me,' he said.

And because he said it softly, and because he looked at her without any thought written
on his face, but with the sort of blankness of an open window, Molly stopped.

Could she tell him? Could she tell Pim Wilder? Was this the right thing to do? She
hadn't even told Ellen, and Ellen was her best friend. But perhaps Pim Wilder was
the only person who might be able to know such a thing and not be afraid of it.

‘First, promise you won't tell anyone else. And promise to believe me, too.'

He opened his palms and lifted them towards her as if he was ready to take the weight
of anything she might say.

‘I promise.'

Molly took a deep breath. She put her hand on Maude's head. She frowned.

‘My mama accidentally turned herself into a tree.'

She'd said it. The truth had been plonked right there on the shining gravel pathway
between them. Molly shut her eyes against it and stood unsteadily, the sun flaring
across her eyelids and making everything feel hot and scorched and indistinct. She
felt she might cry, and because she didn't want to, she rubbed at her eyes and blinked
them open again.

There was Pim Wilder, dark and still, surrounded by the bright, hazy light. He moved
one step towards her, as if he thought she might fall. Molly hugged her arms around
herself and her lip trembled.

Pim stared back at her. His mouth had dropped open, and his eyes were round and green
and full of wonder.

She knew he believed her.

CHAPTER 12

Green-Bean Fruit

Molly and Pim stood at the base of the tree. Pim craned his neck and looked up through
the leaves.

‘Wow,' he breathed. ‘The leaves are all different types. It's…well, it's an amazing
tree. I mean she, your mother, the tree, I don't know, it's something. You can tell
that.' He shook his head, perplexed. He touched the trunk, then walked around it,
as if somewhere there might be a clue that Molly hadn't uncovered.

Molly watched him. If it was this amazing to Pim Wilder, how would it be to everyone
else?
The Mama tree was startling and different from other trees and sooner or later
it would be noticed.

Of course, she thought with a sigh. Of course her mama couldn't have become an unremarkable
tree, an ordinary tree. Because her mama wasn't an ordinary person. Molly leapt towards
the trunk and, pressing her back to it, she held her palms against it protectively.

‘You can't tell anyone,' Molly said. ‘Imagine what they might do if—'

‘Of course I won't.' Pim stepped back. He shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘But,
Molly,' he whispered, ‘what are you going to do? I mean, what about your dad, for
one thing? Can't he help? Is he into this stuff, too?'