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Elizabeth Wasserman
Illustrations by Chris Venter
Tafelberg
This book is dedicated to
William
A Stroke of luck
“Yippee!”
My mom’s victorious cry cut through the still morning air.
She danced all the way up the garden path, holding a freshly opened envelope in her hand and waving it ecstatically in the air. The remainder of the morning’s mail lay forgotten on the sidewalk, spilled around our mailbox where she had carelessly dropped it.
My dad carried his mug of coffee to the porch to see what the commotion was all about. I glanced up from my game of balancing a pen on a table tennis bat and listened to their voices, raised several pitches with excitement.
“Let’s go and see what’s up, William.”
I peeked over his shoulder: he was doing a Google search.
As you may know, I have an extraordinary dog. He talks, he is an expert at karate, and before he came to live with us he was a famous dogtective who used to work for the International Detective Agency (better known as the IDA). Only a few months before this, he dragged me all the way to Europe on the trail of Brumbum and his international band of scoundrels. That was some trip.
But what was he up to now?
He was ordering a book from Amazon, something about pirates in the Indian Ocean. And he was using my father’s credit card to pay for it.
“Stop that, William!” I commanded. “One of these days Dad will notice all these funny transactions on his bank statement, and then you’ll be in big trouble!”
“Not so,” he argued. “You’ll be the one in trouble. No sane man will even consider blaming the dog for his credit card expenses.”
I didn’t like his attitude. One would expect more loyalty from man’s so-called best friend.
All of a sudden my mother burst into my room. With surprising speed and agility for a somewhat obese spaniel, William leaped from the chair in front of my computer to the corner of my room, where he innocently started to chew on one of my sneakers – a cunning display of normal canine behaviour.
“Alex!” My mom was still hyperventilating. “You will never believe this. I won!”
She was glowing. She pressed a letter under my nose, but yanked it away before I had time to read it.
“I won a marvellous holiday! Tickets for two on the Sonata, that luxurious cruise liner that was all over the papers about a month or two ago. A cruise to Mauritius!”
My mother had a weakness for competitions in the papers and magazines. She was always entering, but she’d never won anything before.
“Mauritius?” I asked. “That sounds fantastic, Mom! Can I come too?”
Her face fell, but only slightly.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Alex. That won’t be possible. See, the prize is for two people, and of course your dad . . .”
“No worries, Mom,” I tried to sound casual, but I was not feeling happy to be excluded. “You two go and enjoy yourself. One day, when I grow up, I’ll go all by myself.”
“Of course, darling.” My mom was smiling again, very broadly. “Perhaps one day we can all go together. But for now, we have to make some other arrangements. It is only a week, and I can ask your Aunt Cathy to come and stay with you.”
My heart sank. From the corner of my eye I noticed William giving my sneaker an extra-hard yank. Aunt Cathy was my father’s elder sister; she was strict and very bossy.
Alex, have you taken out the garbage? Alex, eat your peas. Dogs should be outside, Alex. Out, William!
Oh no. Not Aunt Cathy!
But I did not wish to ruin my mother’s moment of happiness. William and I would make a plan with Aunt Cathy.
Just then my mother’s eye fell on William, still absent-mindedly gnawing at my sneaker, his ears slightly pricked as he followed our conversation.
“Bad dog!” she scolded. “Give me that shoe! Alex, this is what happens if you leave your stuff all over the floor. These are brand new, and I’m not going to buy you another pair if the dog chews them to bits!”
Well, you know, maybe Aunt Cathy wasn’t such a bad option after all.
Trouble
Mom immediately started shopping.
“I need something for the evenings. Apparently the dinners are quite formal,” she said. “A new swimsuit, and a sun hat to match.”
My dad could only shake his head.
But only a week before they were set to depart, he came home from work with a very long face.
“Darling,” he addressed my mother cautiously. “May I pour you a small glass of wine?”
My mother immediately smelled a rat.
“What’s the matter, Gilbert? Don’t beat about the bush.”
“Well, you see . . . ” He was clearly in deep water and was choosing his words with care. “We have trouble at work. Wilson, who’s handling the takeover of the Gibbs Company, fell ill all of a sudden. Now they’ve asked me to do it.”
“Oh, but that’s wonderful, darling!” My mother was beaming. “This must mean a promotion for you. And I know how long you have been waiting for a chance like this.”
My dad tried a weak smile.
“Yes, that’s so. If I handle this matter well, it’ll give my career a great push. But there’s one problem . . . ”
My mom’s face fell, as she finally understood what was coming.
“I’m so sorry, darling. I’ll have to start immediately, and it will be impossible to finish the negotiations before next week when the ship departs.” He was now staring at the tips of his shoes, trying to avoid his wife’s scornful gaze.
“I thought . . . perhaps Alex could go in my place?” he suggested.
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