Extract - The Travelling Bookshop by Katrina Nannestad illustrated by Cheryl Orsini

Mim and the

Baffling Bully

Illustrated by Cheryl Orsini

The ABC ‘Wave’ device is a trademark of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation and is used under licence by HarperCollins Publishers Australia.

HarperCollins Publishers Australia • Brazil • Canada • France • Germany • Holland • Hungary India • Italy • Japan • Mexico • New Zealand • Poland • Spain Sweden • Switzerland • United Kingdom • United States of America First published in Australia in 2021 by HarperCollins Children’sBooks a division of HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty Limited

ABN 36 009 913 517 harpercollins.com.au

Text copyright © Katrina Nannestad 2021 Illustrations copyright © Cheryl Orsini 2021

The rights of Katrina Nannestad and Cheryl Orsini to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work have been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000 . This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968 , no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of Australia

ISBN 978 0 7333 4165 6 (paperback) ISBN 978 1 4607 1366 2 (ebook)

Cover design by Shirley Tran, HarperCollins Design Studio Cover illustrations by Cheryl Orsini Author photograph by Rebecca Rocks

Typeset in Sabon LT Std by HarperCollins Design Studio Printed and bound in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group The papers used by HarperCollins in the manufacture of this book are a natural, recyclable product made from wood grown in sustainable plantation forests. The fibre source and manufacturing processes meet recognised international environmental standards, and carry certification.

For Mum and Dad, with love

CHAPTER 1

Books and bumps and bare bottoms

I’m Mim. I’m ten years old and small for my age. My full name is Miriam-Rose Cohen, but I prefer Mim. I have long, wavy hair the colour of chocolate. Not the stuff with nuts or raisins or crispy toffee bits. That would be weird. My hair is just the colour of plain dark chocolate. My eyes are big and brown, and I have a red bump in the middle of my forehead.

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The bump is new. Brand new. A book has just fallen on my head and startled me awake. ‘Ouch!’ I rub my forehead, but I don’t cry. I don’t even say, ‘Ouch!’ again. Because I’m used to books falling on my head. It’s bound to happen when you sleep in a bookshop. Especially a travelling bookshop. And especially, especially when the travelling bookshop is an old wooden caravan pulled by a horse called Flossy who sometimes strays off the edge of the road. The caravan lurches and sways, and three more books fall from their shelves. Dust puffs out from their pages and fills the air. I sneeze — ‘Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!’ — once for each book.

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A hatch in the ceiling flies open and Dad’s head pokes through. Dad is Zedekiah Cohen. He’s handsome with dark, wavy hair the colour of chocolate. Just like mine, but shorter. ‘You’re awake!’ shouts Dad. ‘About time. Breakfast’s ready. We’ve been waiting for you.’ ‘ We? ’ I ask. ‘Dad! You haven’t got Nat up there?’ Nat’s my little brother. He’s six and has hair that sticks up around his head like a chocolate halo. He’s cute and chubby. But not so chubby that he’d bounce if he fell off the roof and onto the road. ‘Yes! Nat’s here!’ says Dad. ‘ And Coco.’ ‘But Coco’s a cockatoo,’ I explain. ‘She can fly. Nat can’t. What if he falls?’ ‘Nat’s fine!’ Dad grins. ‘I nailed his pants to the roof.’ He stretches out his hand. ‘Come on up and join us.’

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I climb the bookshelf and lunge for Dad’s hand. My legs

dangle in the air as Dad pulls me up through the hatch and onto the roof.

Coco lands on my shoulder. She bobs up and down and squawks, ‘Hello, gorgeous! Hello, gorgeous!’

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‘Hi, Mim!’ Nat waves and smiles from where he sits. ‘Daddy nailed my pyjama pants to the shingles!’ Nat has a red crayon in his hand. The roof around him is covered in O’s. Nat loves letters. Not all letters. Just one at a time. At the moment, he’s in love with the letter O. He’s obsessed with the letter O. ‘Wow!’ I shout. But I’m not talking about Nat’s pants or the sea of red O’s he’s drawn. I’m talking about the tulips. The world is full of tulips. Bright, blooming tulips. Red, crimson, yellow, pink and white, as far as I can see. ‘Tulips!’ I squeal. ‘ And a windmill! No, three!’ I turn to Dad. ‘We’re in the Netherlands!’ Dad laughs. ‘Seems so! Flossy plodded across the border overnight.’

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I lean forward and look down at our horse. She’s a Clydesdale, a chestnut giant with white socks and hooves the size of dinner plates. ‘Morning, Flossy!’ I sing. Flossy swishes her tail, tosses her head and plods on. Once she’s decided where to take us, nothing will stop her. Not borders or rivers or mountain ranges. Not even an ocean will stand in her way. ‘Daddy,’ says Nat, ‘are you going to nail Mim’s pants to the roof?’ ‘No way!’ I shout. ‘I mean, no thanks. I’ll be safe enough if I sit here in the middle of the picnic blanket.’ Dad pours three cups of

tea and holds out a plate piled high with cupcakes.

‘Cupcakes for breakfast?’

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I ask. ‘Shouldn’t we have some cereal or yoghurt first?’ ‘I hate yoghurt,’ says Nat.

‘It tastes like slime.’ He chomps into a cupcake, and hundreds and thousands stick to his nose. ‘Cupcakes make us happy,’ says Dad. ‘And being happy is healthy.’ I giggle. Dad’s good at making sense of all sorts of silliness. I take a cupcake, but Coco leans in and nibbles at the icing before I can get it to my mouth. ‘I love picnics,’ says Dad, smiling into the distance. ‘Do you remember that time we went boating on the river with Ratty and Mole?’ ‘I’ve never been in a boat with a rat!’ shouts Nat. ‘That was a book we read,’ I say. ‘ The Wind in the Willows .’

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‘But we went boating in our imaginations,’ says Dad. ‘Yes, but it’s not the same thing,’ I point out. ‘Isn’t it?’ Dad stares at me. ‘Are you sure about that, Mim?’ I think about it. I’m not sure. The line between books and real life is not as clear as most people suppose. At that moment, the road curves and I spot a happy huddle of red roofs. A village! Flossy sees it too. She blows air through her velvety lips and breaks into a trot. The caravan sways from side to side, and our rooftop picnic begins to jiggle and bounce. Cups rattle in their saucers. Tea sloshes from the teapot. A cupcake tumbles across the blanket and falls to the road below. Coco digs in her claws. ‘Awk!’

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Flossy picks up speed. The caravan hits a bump and three more cupcakes roll off the roof. A tearing sound comes from Nat’s pants. I grab his foot. Nat sticks his hand down his pants and out the back through the newly torn hole. His big brown eyes grow even bigger. Flossy is galloping now, and the caravan rumbles and lurches. Dad plops Nat into my lap. I stare at the tattered pants that stay nailed to the roof. Nat blushes and we both giggle. Dad gathers the picnic blanket and everything upon it into a bundle. He opens the hatch and drops it down into the caravan. He jumps at the sound of smashing china, then laughs. ‘Awk!’ screeches Coco. ‘Duck!’ cries Dad.

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We sweep beneath the branches of a giant oak tree. Leaves tear free and flutter behind us, swirling and dancing on the road. We gallop on. I feel the wind in my hair, sunshine on my face, excitement in my tummy. I throw back my head and laugh, and Nat and Dad join in. Flossy whinnies and gallops, faster than ever. ‘Hang on tight!’ shouts Dad, wrapping his arms around us. Flossy bolts alongside a canal, past a windmill and into the village. Houses fly past — brick walls and red roofs and white doors — and a shop full of cheese and another windmill and tiny canals and a garden bright with tulips, and it’s probably all as pretty as a picture, but it’s hard to tell when we’re going so fast.

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Then — WHOOMP! — the caravan leaps and shudders to a halt. Flossy has stopped on a stretch of grass. There’s a row of houses on one side, a canal on the other. A boat chugs by and two women wave. ‘Hellooo! Welcome! Welcome!’ Dad swings down off the roof and stands with his hands on his hips, a smile on his face. The Travelling Bookshop has arrived. Nathaniel, Zedekiah, Miriam-Rose and the books are here! We don’t know why. We just know it’s the place where we are meant to be. Because this is where Flossy has chosen.

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CHAPTER 2

Termites, tea cosies and three - legged sheep

I love this bit. Nat does too. We stand in the caravan, side by side, and wait. Our cheeks and fingers tingle. Or maybe it’s the air that tingles. Nat looks up at me, his eyes sparkling, and slips his hand into mine. We giggle, then stop because the magic has begun. Real magic.

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It starts with the books. The words on the spines, all gold and silver, shimmer. A tiny star flies out from a book above our heads, then more from behind us. Coco lands on my shoulder and flicks up her yellow crest. Now every letter on every book starts shooting out tiny gold and silver stars. Thousands of them. The stars ping off the walls and ceiling and fall on the floor. They pile up until our feet are covered and all the words are gone from the book covers. The stars glimmer and jiggle for a moment, tickling our ankles and toes, then melt silently away.

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Nat giggles at one final star that clings to his toenail. He wriggles his toes until it vanishes. We hold our breath and squeeze each other’s hands. Coco presses her head against my cheek. A delicate gold vine creeps out of a crack in the wall. It weaves its way across the spines of the books, tracing new gold and silver letters. It twists and loops and grows until, at last, the title of each and every book has reappeared in Dutch. At the same time, a spider drifts down from the ceiling on a fine black thread, swings to the nearest book and disappears between its pages. His web will work the same magic inside the books as the vine did on the covers, rewriting every word in Dutch. I know the words are Dutch because I can read them. Just as Dad, Nat and I will now be able to speak Dutch. It’s all in the magic of the

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Travelling Bookshop. It happens wherever in the world we go. The final gold letter has barely taken shape when the bookshelves along the back wall groan and split down the middle. The two halves slide apart, leaving a gap just wide enough for an adult to pass through. From beyond come the sounds of hammering, sawing, cogs turning, horses trotting, a piano playing, children laughing, a bear growling, a kettle boiling, waves crashing against rocks, a foghorn. And then it’s quiet. Nat and I wait because there is always one line that squeezes out from between the pages of a book before everything settles. We wait … and wait. Nat pulls his hand from mine and scratches his bottom. Coco nibbles at my hair.

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Then at last a woman’s prim voice speaks in Dutch. ‘And a grand time was had by all. The end!’ The caravan settles a little lower on its wheels and the transformation is complete. ‘Awk!’ Coco flies away through the gap between the bookshelves. Nat and I are about to follow when someone calls from outside. ‘Hellooo. Are you open?’ I look down at Nat. He has leaves in his hair, hundreds and thousands stuck to his cheeks, a plug of icing up his left nostril and no pants. I’m still in my pyjamas. ‘Quick!’ I cry. ‘Get dressed.’ We scramble about, dressing while tucking pyjamas and cupcakes and broken teacups behind books. ‘Nat!’ I say. ‘Your pants are inside out and your shirt’s on back to front.’

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‘I’m only six,’ says Nat, ‘and you told me to be quick.’ He’s right. I nod, then lick my fingers and rub them all over his face. ‘That’s disgusting!’ Nat moans. ‘I know.’ I sigh. ‘And it didn’t even work.’ I open the door and find three customers waiting. ‘Good morning!’ says a pretty blonde woman. ‘Hellooo!’ says a stocky man wearing overalls. ‘Greetings!’ snaps an old woman with a walking stick. They bustle up the steps and through the door. ‘Oooh, cosy,’ says the pretty blonde woman. ‘And how charming the way the bookshelves fit so snugly around the beds and the teensy-weensy kitchen.’

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‘Smells nice,’ says the stocky man. ‘Like cupcakes and tea.’ ‘I do love books,’ says the old woman, her face suddenly softer and younger. They fuss about in the caravan, poking at the books, muttering, until the pretty blonde woman notices the gap between the shelves. ‘Oooh,’ she cries. ‘There’s another room.’ And she slips through. The old woman follows, then the stocky man, turning sideways to fit. Nat and I run after them. ‘Mind your step as you go down!’ I call. ‘The staircase is dark and a little bit rickety … and much longer than you’d expect.’ Our three customers arrive at the bottom of the stairs and gape at the vast room that opens

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up before them. Dark timber bookshelves line the walls, soaring three storeys high. Long, spindly ladders roll along the shelves so that any book may be reached. An open fireplace glows bright in the middle of one wall. Coco swaggers along the mantelpiece, squawking, ‘Welcome! Welcome!’ The centre of the room is filled with large, squishy sofas, side tables, plush rugs, giant floor cushions and reading lamps. Two hedgehogs have dragged a dictionary into a corner and turned it into a nest. They poke their noses out of the scrunched pages and smile.

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