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Amy shrugged like it was no big deal and switched back to a subject clearly way,waymore important. ‘Camouflage crowns are done, and we can muddy up our faces on the way. Rain’s not belting down so bad anymore. You ready for Operation Chook?’
‘I’m heading to town, remember?’
‘That is sooooo …’
She grinned down at Amy. ‘Lame?’ Maybe the kid was right. Maybe slapping a circle of leaves on her head and racing through the rain on an imaginary giant earthworm called Wimble was a perfectly reasonable way to spend half an hour.
And if she ran into her landlord out there … well. She had to run into him sometime.
‘I’m ready,’ she said, and Amy grabbed her with one hand, grabbed Wimble with the other, then took off from the stable workshop at a run.
They followed a zigzag pattern to the ancient avocado tree, then used the sopping tea towels on the washing line as cover until they reached the widespread canopy of the mango tree. Gus was capering about barking wildly, but Amy didn’t seem to feel this was an issue. ‘Face,’ she ordered, dropping to her knees and swiping two fingers through a mud patch then decorating her face with stripes.
Kirsty grimaced. ‘Do I really need mud?’
Amy put her hand on her hips. ‘You’re not woosing out now, are you, Kirsty? Come on. It’s easy; here, I’ll do it for you.’
The kid held up a clump of oozing mud and Kirsty couldn’t decide whether it was the hopeful look in Amy’s eyes or just the madness of the moment, but she sank to her knees in the mud under the mango tree and closed her eyes.
‘Do your worst,’ she said.
Amy giggled. ‘Relax. My worst is epic.’
