Bailey Finch Takes a Stand Read online

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  Bailey’s mum had always said that being by the creek with Bailey and her dad was as good as it gets. She had shown Bailey sap glistening on tree trunks. They had crouched together to nudge a beetle onto a leaf. They had sat on the creek’s edge with their bare feet in the water.

  It’s one year since Bailey’s mum died. And her dad doesn’t seem to care much about anything. But Bailey still spends afternoons by the creek with her dog, Sheba.

  Until Sheba gets sick—very sick—from something she must have swallowed while swimming in the creek. And Bailey notices all the rubbish polluting the waterway.

  Between visits to Sheba in the vet hospital, Bailey tries to find a way to make the creek safe for Sheba and other animals. And through her unexpected friendship with Israel, a quiet boy who knows about endangered species, Bailey Finch finds the courage to take a stand.

  Bailey Finch Takes a Stand is a moving story about love and loss, about caring for the environment and standing up to make change happen.

  Contents

  Cover Page

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  EPILOGUE: One week later

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  To Mia and Tuko

  Bailey opened the fridge and found limp carrots and mouldy bread. Beside the kitchen sink, strands of spaghetti were stuck to dinner plates. Bailey’s dad sat on the couch watching TV. His hair was in tufts that stuck up and out. His collar was half-up and half-down.

  Bailey pulled on dish gloves that came up to her elbows. She filled the sink and clanked dishes into the soapy water. She looked at her dad and willed him to turn and see her. She washed plates and cups and knives and forks. She dried and stacked each plate with a small crash, sneaking glances at her dad. She dropped the clean cutlery noisily into the drawer.

  Bailey’s dad kept watching TV. It was a cooking show. He wasn’t even interested in cooking.

  Bailey peeled off the gloves and plonked down on the couch between her dog and her dad. Sheba’s tail thwacked the couch, and Bailey scratched her under her chin. She kissed Sheba’s head and breathed in her dog smell. ‘You need a wash,’ she said.

  Sheba’s tail stopped moving.

  ‘I know you don’t like it,’ said Bailey. ‘But you stink.’ She looked at her dad. ‘Doesn’t she, Dad? Sheba needs a wash.’

  ‘Hm?’ said Bailey’s dad. ‘Oh, sure. Give her a wash.’ His eyes returned to the screen.

  ‘Come on, Sheba,’ said Bailey.

  She took Sheba into the backyard and hosed her all over. Sheba stood with her tail between her legs and her head down. Bailey squeezed shampoo onto her and scrubbed until Sheba was covered in soapy bubbles.

  ‘What a good girl,’ said Bailey. She looked through the kitchen window, but her dad wasn’t looking. She hosed off the soap and towelled Sheba dry.

  Sheba spun in circles with the towel over her head like it was a game.

  Bailey hung up the towel and kissed Sheba’s nose. ‘You smell so good!’ she said. She took Sheba inside. She patted the couch beside her dad and said, ‘Up, Sheba.’

  Sheba jumped up and sat on the couch.

  ‘Look at Sheba, Dad,’ said Bailey. ‘She’s clean.’

  Bailey’s dad patted Sheba, but he didn’t look at her. His eyes were on a photo of Bailey’s mum on the mantelpiece.

  ‘Smell her, Dad. I washed her. She smells good.’ Bailey’s dad rubbed his eyes and stood up. Sometimes it was as though Bailey’s words were blotted out before they reached his ears. When he went into the kitchen, Bailey’s heart sped up a tiny bit. The dishes were washed and put away and the kitchen bench was clean. He would be impressed.

  But he didn’t seem to notice.

  He took fish fingers from the freezer and potatoes from the cupboard. He boiled the potatoes and fried the fish fingers, moving them around in the pan with a fork. His mouth was a sad, straight line.

  Bailey felt Sheba’s warm body beside her. Her dad put the fish fingers and boiled potatoes on two plates. ‘There you go, Bai.’ He took one of the plates and went back to the couch.

  Bailey squirted tomato sauce over her dinner. ‘Come on, Sheba,’ she said, picking up her plate.

  Sheba jumped off the couch and followed Bailey into her room. Bailey shut the door behind Sheba and stood with her back against it. She felt like giving up. She caught her reflection in the wardrobe mirror—knotty brown hair, a mud streak across her T-shirt and worry in her grey-green eyes.

  Sheba stared at the fish fingers. She was black with big brown eyes and pointy ears. Bailey remembered the day her mum brought Sheba home, when she was an eight-week-old puppy.

  ‘Lab crossed with kelpie,’ her mum had said. ‘She’s yours, Bailey.’

  That same afternoon, Bailey found out that her mum had cancer.

  Bailey picked up a fish finger and threw it up into the air. Sheba jumped up and caught it. Bailey put down the plate and knelt to hug Sheba. ‘You’re number one,’ she said.

  Bailey licked sauce off her fingers and stared out her bedroom window. ‘Let’s go out,’ she said. Sheba jumped off the bed. They went outside through the laundry and looked for sticks under the lemon tree in the front yard.

  Bailey’s mum’s best friend, Azra, appeared on the other side of the fence. ‘Hi, Bailey,’ she said.

  ‘Hey, Azra,’ said Bailey.

  ‘What are you up to?’ Azra said. She rested her forearms on the fence.

  ‘Just going out,’ said Bailey.

  ‘Going out where?’ asked Azra.

  Bailey shrugged. ‘Dad doesn’t care what I do, so…’ Bailey watched Sheba nuzzling into dirt along the bottom of the fence.

  ‘He does care,’ said Azra. ‘He loves you as much as ever.’

  Bailey picked up a stick and huffed air through her nose.

  ‘Listen, Bailey,’ said Azra. ‘It’s been a year since your mother…since Nancy died. But grief is just grief. You can’t fix it.’

  Bailey still got a shock every time she heard her mum’s name and the word died spoken aloud in the same sentence. She stabbed the stick in the dirt and looked through the window at her dad still sitting on the couch. ‘He won’t even notice if I go,’ she said. ‘Watch this.’

  Bailey walked off towards the creek that flowed through the bush near the end of her street. She whistled for Sheba to follow her.

  ‘Bailey!’ called Azra. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Harpers Creek,’ called Bailey. ‘Back soon.’ She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. Her dad didn’t care what she did.

  The dry, yellow grass crunched under Bailey’s runners. Sheba ran ahead. Bailey reached a tall gum tree by the creek. She hooked her foot into the base of the lowest branch and pulled herself up. Sheba waited by the water’s edge. Bailey climbed higher. She snapped off a stick and hurled it out into the water. Sheba leapt in and swam for it. Bailey wished her dad could see. What a dog, he would say. What a girl!

  Bailey remembered coming to the creek with her mum and dad and Sheba, before her mum got too sick to walk. When Bailey scrambled up trees, her dad used to give her scores out of ten. ‘Seven point five!’ he’d
call out. Bailey would climb higher. ‘Eight!’ her dad would yell.

  Bailey snapped off another stick and threw it as far as she could. Sheba was in the water before the stick even landed. A bird startled. ‘Rosella,’ said Bailey.

  She could picture her mum bird-spotting through her small binoculars. She remembered her calling out, ‘Cormorant!’ Or ‘Cockatoo!’ And the bird’s nest they had found together with fluffy grey feathers woven through it. The binoculars were Bailey’s now, and they hung around her neck. Bailey looked through them to scan the treetops. ‘Magpie,’ she said.

  Sheba appeared through the tall grass below. She sniffed the ground and followed her nose to where the earth was flat, dry clay under a circle of trees. Bailey climbed down and sat on a log. The low sun made the branches into shadowy fingers on the dirt. Bailey remembered eating homemade sushi and drinking ginger beer on a blanket in this spot with her mum and dad. She remembered showing them dog-training tricks.

  ‘Sit, Sheba,’ Bailey had said, clicking her fingers in the air. ‘Now, wait.’

  Sheba waited while Bailey placed kibble on the ground. Her brown eyes locked with Bailey’s.

  ‘Okay,’ said Bailey.

  Sheba had jumped up and eaten the kibble.

  ‘Wow!’ Bailey’s dad had said.

  Bailey had felt her chest fill up and she ran in a circle chasing Sheba while her mum and dad had watched and laughed.

  Bailey smiled a sad smile remembering how happy they were then.

  If Bailey’s dad came to the creek now, he could throw the frisbee for Sheba like he used to. Bailey could tell him about school and how her best friend Rita was someone else’s best friend now. Her dad would listen and say, That’s no good, Bailey. Or, That’s a real problem.

  But her dad had not been to the creek since her mum died. He said he was too tired, or it was too hot or too cold. Bailey guessed the creek reminded him of the past. The past was Bailey’s mum, and it hurt him too much to remember.

  Bailey’s mum had always said that being by the creek with Bailey and her dad was as good as it gets. She had shown Bailey sap glistening on tree trunks. Together they had found an oriole bird’s nest made from bark and grass and spiderweb. They had crouched together to nudge a beetle onto a leaf, and sat on the creek’s edge with their bare feet in the water. Bailey remembered her mum’s laugh and her skirt swishing when she walked.

  Bailey stood up and whistled for Sheba, and they headed home. When she was close, she could see Azra standing on her front veranda.

  ‘I don’t like you going off by yourself like that,’ called Azra.

  ‘I’m not by myself,’ said Bailey. ‘I’ve got Sheebs.’

  Bailey spent Sunday morning building a rock pyramid at the creek crossing. She took off her shoes and socks and tossed them up the hill. She rolled her jeans up to her knees and dipped her hand into the water. ‘It’s freezing!’ she told Sheba.

  Sheba cocked her head and pricked her ears. Bailey stacked her rock collection. When she balanced the final stone on top, she imagined her dad seeing it and bumping knuckles with her.

  When she got home, her dad was in the shed sanding back the chair he had been making for Bailey’s mum before she got sick. He was still in his pyjamas.

  ‘I made a rock pyramid, Dad,’ said Bailey.

  Bailey’s dad looked tired, even though he had gone to bed early the night before and got up late.

  ‘Really?’ he said. ‘How did you do that?’

  ‘Come to the creek for just five minutes and—’

  Bailey stopped talking. She knew her dad wouldn’t come to the creek. She suddenly wished he would just get dressed. She didn’t want a dad who was still in his pyjamas when it was almost lunchtime.

  The TV was on in the living room. It showed a pavlova like the one Bailey’s mum had made for Bailey’s eleventh birthday. Her mum’s recipe was still taped to the inside of the kitchen cupboard. Bailey imagined leading her dad blindfolded into the kitchen to surprise him with a pavlova she had made herself. She wrote down the ingredients and searched the change bowl for gold coins.

  Then she cycled to the shops with Sheba and within fifteen minutes she was back in the kitchen with eggs, sugar, strawberries and cream. She broke the eggs one by one and carefully juggled eggshells to separate the egg whites from the yolks. She whisked the egg whites and gradually added sugar and a drop of vinegar and vanilla. After dolloping the mixture into a cake tin, she cleaned the white flecks off the bench and put the blender away.

  Bailey’s dad came in and sat on the couch. Bailey watched her pavlova rise and rise in the oven. When the timer went off, she grabbed the oven mitts from the drawer and took it out. She whipped the cream and chopped strawberries while the pavlova cooled. She could not wait to show her dad her amazing creation.

  But when Bailey next looked at her pavlova, it had sunk flat on the tray. She smacked her palm to her forehead. She looked at the bowl of cream and back to the sunken cake. ‘Bloody bum,’ she said. ‘Bum. Bum. Bum.’

  ‘You all right, Bailey?’ said her dad.

  Bailey breathed out. She wasn’t all right. She read her mum’s recipe again. Seeing her mum’s handwriting made her chest tighten. It reminded her of the note her mum had stuck into her lunchbox when she stopped eating very much after her mum got sick. The note said:

  Roses are red, violets are blue, eat your lunch. Love, Mum.

  Bailey scrunched the bandana she had folded ready to blindfold her dad and stuck it in a drawer. Then she broke off a piece of the flat pavlova and tossed it to Sheba. She dropped the rest into the compost bin with a thud.

  I’m useless, she thought. ‘I’m going out,’ she said.

  Bailey climbed up a crooked eucalyptus tree, finding one foothold and then another. Bark scratched her shin. Leaves caught in her hair. She looked out over the winding creek and the bike path that curved along its side.

  ‘Sheba!’ she called.

  Sheba was on the other side of the creek. She looked up. Then she swam to a boulder and clambered onto it. She leapt across the rocks and ran up the grassy bank. She shook and water sprayed everywhere. Bailey snapped off a stick and hurled it as far as she could into the water. Sheba splashed in after it.

  Bailey could hear shouts and whistles from the oval. She watched a ball fly through the goalposts.

  When Bailey looked back to the creek, she couldn’t see Sheba.

  She whistled and called out, ‘Sheba!’

  The wind blew. Treetops swayed. A plastic bag dangled from a branch at the water’s edge.

  ‘Sheba!’ she called again.

  The murky water surface rippled and a plastic container floated past.

  Bailey scrambled down from the tree. She cupped her hands around her mouth, filled her lungs and turned in a circle as she called again. ‘She-ba!’

  Sheba had swum away down the creek before. She had chased other dogs as far as the bridge. But she always came back when Bailey called.

  Bailey ran along the creek. She jumped over jutting rocks. She whistled. She scanned the line of trees. She saw a black dog and called Sheba’s name. The dog turned to look at her. It wasn’t Sheba.

  Suddenly Bailey saw movement on the other side of the creek. Sheba was hauling herself out of the water.

  She lay on her side at the water’s edge. Her body heaved.

  Bailey ran. She skidded down the slippery bank. Sheba was whimpering and shaking. Bailey waded into the water up to her waist and made her way as fast as she could to the other side.

  She dragged Sheba higher onto the muddy bank out of the water.

  She heard someone scrambling down from the bike path. It was Azra.

  She crouched beside Sheba. ‘Is she okay? I was on my walk and—’

  ‘Oh, Azra!’ said Bailey. ‘What’s wrong with her? I couldn’t find her, and then—’

  Bailey’s blood rushed. She was glad Azra was with her, but she wished her dad was there too.

  ‘Sheba might have sw
allowed something,’ said Azra. ‘There’s so much rubbish in that creek.’

  ‘We have to get her to the vet,’ said Bailey.

  Azra nodded. ‘Stay here with her and I’ll get my van.’

  Bailey didn’t want Azra to leave, but Sheba needed help.

  ‘I’ll park as close as I can,’ Azra called back as she jogged towards the road.

  Bailey sat with Sheba. Her legs and her hands were shaking. She had never seen Sheba lying helpless unable to stand before. She had never heard the whimpering sounds Sheba was making or seen her struggling to breathe. She kept looking towards the road for Azra’s van. ‘Come on, come on,’ she whispered.

  When Azra finally returned, she lifted Sheba up and carried her to the van. Bailey got in the back and sat with Sheba’s head in her lap. Her clothes were soaked. Sheba’s eyes were half closed. Bailey saw a smudge of blood around her nostrils. What did that mean? She fought to hold back her tears.

  When Azra and Bailey carried Sheba into the vet hospital, Bailey was relieved to see Freya, the vet who did Sheba’s check-ups.

  Freya rushed over. ‘What happened? We weren’t expecting you,’ she said.

  ‘She was swimming,’ said Bailey, ‘in the creek.’

  Freya lifted Sheba’s lip on one side of her mouth, and then the other. ‘Her gums are pale,’ she said.

  Bailey pointed to the blood around Sheba’s nostrils. ‘Look.’

  Freya turned to the vet nurse who had appeared beside her. ‘Could mean internal bleeding,’ she said. ‘Let’s get her into the treatment room.’

  Bailey saw the outline of a dog tattooed on the vet nurse’s forearm. She hoped that meant the nurse loved dogs.

  Freya and the nurse took Sheba through to the treatment room and the door swung back and forth a few times before it stopped shut behind them.

  Bailey paced the waiting room leaving mud prints as she went. There was a German shepherd sitting with its owner. It didn’t even look sick.

  Azra called Bailey’s dad and told him what had happened. ‘Your dad’s on his way in,’ she told Bailey. ‘You need your own phone, the way you get around by yourself. It’s a good thing I showed up when I did.’