by Harry Hill
‘Sadly we don’t have the resources. Not for something as minor as a door knocker,’ said the sergeant.
‘The only reason we came round,’ continued the policeman, ‘was on the off chance that you were in … ouch!’ The sarge gave her sidekick a sharp kick to the shins.
‘I don’t think we need to go into that. Ahem,’ she interrupted. ‘No the knocker is of no consequence …’
‘No consequence?’ said Matt, sensing some mischief to be had. ‘What if someone sticks it on their own front door?’
‘Your point being …?’ said the sergeant, a puzzled look on her face.
‘Well,’ said Matt, ‘someone knocking on another door with our knocker would mean that technically they were looking for us …’
‘Um … not sure I follow you …’
‘Well if, say, a parcel was delivered to a different house, only the postman knocked on the door using our knocker, then technically that parcel would be for us would it not?’
‘Er … yes … I suppose, in a kind of way …’
‘Therefore anyone taking in that parcel would technically be a thief and liable to prosecution …’
‘I suppose, yes … I …’
‘And the postman would be an accessory to that theft.’
‘Er … yes … I …’
‘Well, we’ve only got one postman in Staplefirst. If you have to lock him up no one’s ever going to get any letters!’
‘Well, technically, I suppose …’
‘No letters getting through means no one would get parking fines or speeding fines or notifications to appear in court … It would be …’
‘Utter chaos!’ said the sergeant looking like she’d been struck by a thunderbolt of lightning. ‘Right, Paulie, we’d better get going!’
‘Where to?’ said her hapless sidekick.
‘House-to-house search! We need to find that door knocker before Staplefirst descends into anarchy!’
She drained the last drops of her tea, stood up, plonked her cap on her head, thanked Matt’s mum and the two of them beat a hasty retreat. A few moments later there was a dull knocking on the front frame. Matt opened the door. It was the sergeant.
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I forgot to mention, I have a twelve year old niece … any chance of a selfie?’
*
After Matt had finished his breakfast his phone buzzed into life – it was a text from eleven-year-old Kitty Hope, his manager. ‘Lot of interest!!!!’ it said. ‘We need to talk ASAP. You around?’ followed by a smiley-face emoji.
‘Sure. Where and when?’ he texted back. He’d meant to sign off with a smiley face too, but his thumb had accidentally pressed the emoji of a chicken drumstick, which made him laugh so he sent it anyway.
Kitty texted back: ‘The DMC 30 mins,’ adding an emoji of a pineapple as a joke. Suddenly Matt had an idea. What if people added emojis to the end of their sentences when they spoke?
‘Hi, how you doing – smiley face!’
‘Not too good – sad face!’
‘Wanna meet for lunch – knife and fork! Pizza! Fries! Smiley face?!’
‘No thanks already eaten – bowl of noodles! Chocolate-chip cookie! Spoon!’
He reached into the top pocket of his pyjamas for his little black book and hastily scribbled the idea down. Yeah, that felt like a sure-fire routine, and maybe once he’d set it up he could pepper emojis throughout his act, make it a running gag. ‘Yes!’ said Matt punching the air. It was the first joke he’d written since being on The T Factor!
He nipped upstairs to his bedroom and got dressed. Out of his bedroom window he could see Gary in his anorak, a few of the girls from the night before and four or five photographers milling around on the pavement outside, smoking, drinking from thermos flasks and chatting.
‘They’re going to slow me down,’ thought Matt. Then he had an idea. He went downstairs to his mum in the kitchen. ‘Got any paper bags?’ he asked.
She had a root around in one of the drawers – there’s always one drawer stuffed full of carrier bags. ‘There might be a gag in that,’ he thought and scribbled it quickly into his notebook.
‘Any good?’ said his mum holding up a large plain brown paper bag, the sort you might get from a fancy bread shop.
‘Great!’ said Matt. He cut two holes in the bag roughly where his eyes were and wrote ‘THIS IS NOT MATT MILLZ’ in large letters with a marker pen. Then he put his second best coat on, placed the bag over his head and walked out of the front door as bold as brass. As he came up level with Gary and the fans they looked at him quizzically. One of them raised her camera to take a photo then lowered it, unsure how to react – it worked! The paps were a bit smarter and snapped a couple of pics as he walked briskly past, but the whole thing had been much quicker than he’d feared.
Once he got round the corner he took the bag off his head and chuckled to himself. ‘Result! the perfect disguise,’ he thought. Maybe he should try to take it on Dragons’ Den? ‘Yes, Deborah, I want ten pounds to buy the bags and a marker pen in exchange for ten per cent of the business!’ In his mind’s eye he imagined all five ‘dragons’ sitting in their chairs with paper bags on their heads. He reached once again into his pocket and jotted it down – the ideas were certainly coming thick and fast!
He folded the bag up and put it into his pocket – The Matt Millz Patent Anti-fame Mask was going to come in handy.
4
Meet Team Millz
As it was a Sunday, the school was deserted so the DMC (or Disused Mobile Classroom) was the perfect place to meet up, and although the school gate was locked there was a very convenient hole in the fence towards the back of the playing field which afforded access to the school grounds.
As Matt pushed open the door to the dilapidated building a loud cheer went up.
‘All hail the conquering hero!’ cried a voice which he immediately recognised as belonging to his best mate Rob Brown. Matt had thought he’d only be meeting Kitty but as he stepped inside the room he saw the whole gang – next to Rob was Rob’s girlfriend Magda Avery, next to her their friend and self-styled tech wizard Ahmed Chalabi, and sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of them was ten-year-old body-popping champ, Neil Trottman.
‘What are you all doing here?’ said Matt a little perplexed.
‘Meet Team Millz!’ said Kitty stepping forward with a huge grin. ‘We’re going to need posters and publicity material so I’ve put Rob in charge of graphics and illustration.’
‘Don’t think he needs much publicity at the moment, judging by this morning’s papers,’ chuckled Rob holding up a dog-eared copy of the Daily Mirror featuring a massive photo of Matt onstage at the Apollo.
‘Wow!’ said Matt taking the paper from Rob and flicking through it. There was a full double-page spread about ‘Britain’s Youngest Comedian’ by someone called Sally Vincenzo. As well as photos from The T Factor, there were also photos of Matt outside his house last night, photos of his mum and Ian, of the dachshunds, and even one of Matt and Rob onstage at their first gig at the school talent show – ‘Anglebrook’s Got Talent’.
‘I’ve never even met this Sally woman!’ exclaimed Matt. ‘How have they got all this information?’ He turned the page and there was a quarter-page photograph of none other than their headmaster Meredith Pavey under the banner ‘I always knew he was destined for greatness! By the headmaster who trained him to be a superstar’.
‘Holy moly!’ exclaimed Matt, his eyes all but popping out of his head.
‘Yeah, crazy isn’t it? Pavey didn’t waste any time getting in on the act,’ said Rob laughing.
‘Trained me?’ exclaimed Matt.
‘It’s like he’s making out that Anglebrook’s some kind of fame academy, like that one that Adele went to,’ said Ahmed, ‘rather than what it is – a second-rate dump in the middle of nowhere!’
As Matt started skimming through the article, it was snatched from his hands by Kitty.
‘Ahem! You can look at
that later,’ she said sternly. ‘Although my advice is to keep well away from reading any of that tripe. You’ll be getting a lot of stuff printed about you in the next few days, Matt, and most of it will have nothing to do with the truth and will just wind you and your family up. Now, I was in the middle of introducing Team Millz, remember?’
‘Yes, sir!’ said Matt, bringing his hand up in mock salute and shooting Rob a sly wink. ‘Sorry, Kitty. Please carry on!’
‘Yes, so Ahmed – with his knowledge of computers and IT – is heading up Facebook, Twitter and all your social media.’
‘Yay!’ said Ahmed high-fiving Matt. ‘I’m gonna be a tech giant! I’m the next Steve Jobs!’
Matt smiled.
‘Magda here is in charge of hair and make-up of course.’
‘Ooh!’ jeered Rob. Magda gave her boyfriend a playful slap and waved at Matt.
‘My mum says we can use her salon any time, so it’s pretty cool,’ she said.
‘Thanks, Magda,’ said Matt.
‘You know Neil Trottman of course – he’s going to be your support act once I get some gigs booked in, for the time being anyway.’
‘Until I get too big and everyone starts coming to see me, not you,’ joked Neil.
‘I’m sure that won’t be long!’ said Matt.
‘And … there’s one more who’s not here yet,’ continued Kitty looking at her watch.
At that, the door opened and in walked a middle-aged Afro-Carribean lady carrying a couple of huge bags. ‘And this is of course—’ said Kitty.
‘—Neil’s mum!’ interjected Matt, recognising the lady straight away. ‘Hi, Mrs T, how you doing?’
‘Mustn’t grumble!’ she said. ‘But not as good as you’re doing! Me and Mr T saw you on the telly last night. Lawd you were so funny! You should have won by rights …’
‘That’s what they’re saying,’ joked Matt. ‘It was sooo much fun and I can’t wait to do it again.’
‘Mrs T is going to help you with styling.’
‘That’s right, and I’ve got some great new shirts and jackets from the market for you to have a look at,’ said Mrs T.
‘Listen, everyone, thanks for helping me out, I really appreciate it,’ said Matt. He was genuinely overcome at how this ragbag bunch of people were all pulling together on his behalf. ‘I honestly couldn’t have done whatever it was I did without you lot, so …’
The group broke into a spontaneous round of applause.
‘I’d like to thank the academy, my manager, and everyone who knows me …’ continued Matt, grabbing an empty water bottle off the floor and holding it up like it was an Oscar – he just couldn’t help playing to an audience. ‘I’d like to use this time to highlight the plight of orphaned sausage rolls. Yes, every year hundreds of sausage rolls are plucked from their mummies and sold in Greggs …’
Rob and Ahmed laughed, Mrs T threw her head back in a cackle, Magda however looked concerned.
‘Oh, that’s terrible,’ she whimpered.
‘I agree it’s not a great joke,’ said Matt with a smile.
‘Eh?’ said Magda.
‘It was a joke – you didn’t really think those sausage rolls are orphaned did you?’
‘No! No!’ said Magda, looking round awkwardly.
‘No,’ continued Matt, his face suddenly serious, ‘most of them get adopted by Scotch eggs!’
‘You!’ said Magda with a frown and gave Matt a shove that sent him backwards on to Mrs T’s lap.
The room erupted in laughter and Matt nodded.
‘OK, you won that one, Mrs T!’
Kitty clapped her hands to grab their attention.
‘What’s the plan, Kit?’ asked Matt.
‘Well, like I said in my text, there’s a heck of a lot of interest in you!’
Matt raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘What sort of interest? Come on, Kit, spill the beans!’
‘I’ve had enquiries from various shows wanting you to go on and talk about your T Factor experience, which I think is fine – it’s good to get your face out there, capitalise on all the attention, strike while the iron’s hot and all that …’
‘Bring it on,’ said Matt. This was sounding really exciting.
‘Yes, but they’re not gigs as such, so we need to limit the amount you do …’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well …’ said Kitty pushing one side of her bob behind her ear and looking at him over the top of her glasses. ‘We want people to see you doing what you do so well – your act, being funny. We don’t want them to just think of you as some sort of freak, as the kid that got rejected by The T Factor.’
‘But can’t I be funny on these shows …?’ said Matt.
‘Yes, of course, you can try to be funny but they won’t want you to do your act. We’ll have no control over it – they’ll have their agenda and it won’t necessarily match ours. Look, it’s fine,’ she said brightly. ‘I think you should spend a day or so doing them. We’ve just got to be careful not to over expose you at this stage, that’s all. We need to hit them when the time is right!’
‘Yeah! Hit them when the time is right!’ echoed Ahmed, nodding.
Matt took a moment to let Kitty’s plan sink in. On balance it seemed to make a lot of sense. ‘Can’t argue with that,’ he said. ‘So when do I start?’
‘Tonight, on Sunday at Six,’ said Kitty handing Matt an itinerary.
Ahmed whistled. ‘Wow!’ he said. ‘Sunday at Six. That’s with Amelia Wong – she’s pretty hot!’
Rob and Ahmed nodded to each other.
‘Don’t be so sexist,’ snapped Magda giving Rob another one of her shoves. ‘She’s in that job because she’s a good interviewer.’
Kitty quickly took back control. ‘So someone will be calling you shortly for a research chat.’
‘Research chat? What’s that?’ said Matt.
‘They’ll ask you about your experience on The T Factor, plus some background stuff which they’ll then feed back to Amelia and Mark to work into the interview.’
Matt raised his eyebrows and nodded.
‘It’s OK. I’ll be listening in just in case they start probing too deeply,’ she said.
‘Not sure Matt will mind being probed very deeply by Amelia Wong!’ sniggered Rob, nudging Ahmed in the ribs.
Kitty ignored them and carried on with her brief. ‘Then tomorrow you’re on Breakfast With Tubbs.’
‘He’s great! Love him!’ said Mrs Trottman.
‘He’s creepy,’ mumbled Neil.
‘He gets over six million viewers,’ said Kitty, ‘so it’s massive exposure.’
‘But haven’t I got school tomorrow?’ asked Matt.
‘I’ve talked to the head and he’s given you the day off.’
‘Nice one!’ whooped Ahmed.
‘Not you,’ said Kitty. ‘Just Matt and me. He’s being really supportive actually – he sees it as a really good thing for the school.’
‘Yeah, and his career,’ said Ahmed sarcastically.
‘Again, you’ll have a research chat for that after the Sunday at Six one. Then …’ She took a deep breath. Just explaining the schedule to Matt was tiring let alone doing it. ‘Then,’ she continued, ‘if you want to do it, Late Lunch With Phillip Scruffold and Haley Wallaby have been in touch.’
‘Oh my days! I love that show!’ cried Mrs Trottman. ‘Phillip Scruffold is so hunky!’
‘Mum!’ said Neil, miming putting two fingers down his throat as if the idea made him sick.
‘What?!’ protested Mrs T. ‘Ahmed said the same about Amelia Wong. So what’s the difference?’
‘S’pose …’ said Neil meekly.
Kitty tried her best to ignore the interruptions and pressed on with her schedule.
‘They get nearly eight million viewers so it’s worth doing for sure … but that’s a lot to get through in one day, and you’ll have school on Tuesday … so it’s up to you,’ she said.
‘I’m up for it if you are!’
said Matt jumping to his feet. ‘I mean all I’ve got to do is talk about myself, right? How hard can it be?’
‘Yeah you’re already an expert in that,’ said Ahmed rolling his eyes.
The distant strains of ‘There’s No Business Like Show Business’ rose up from Kitty’s satchel. They all recognised it as the ringtone from her phone. She took the call then put it on speakerphone as she passed the handset to Matt.
‘It’s Mo from Sunday at Six.’
‘Hello?’ said Matt tentatively.
‘Hi, Matt! We’re really looking forward to you coming on the show – we’re all big fans!’ and with those words Matt relaxed and spent the next twenty minutes telling the researcher all about himself, his family, his love of comedy, how he’d started and of course took Mo step by step through his experience on The T Factor with Simon Bewell and the team.
In the meantime, with half an ear on the conversation, Kitty quietly went through her plans with the rest of Team Millz. She explained to Rob what was needed for a couple of local gigs she had planned for Matt. She went through hair, make-up and costume with Magda and Mrs T. Then she turned to Ahmed who showed her his plans for Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.
‘That’s really great, Ahmed,’ she said approvingly, having watched several short clips of Matt on The T Factor that he’d uploaded to Matt’s new Facebook page. ‘We do need to keep an eye on tone though.’
‘Tone?’ said Ahmed. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, remember Matt’s only twelve, so we don’t want anything rude or offensive, because it’ll be picked up by the press and the whole thing will get blown out of all proportion.’
‘What are you saying?’ said Ahmed in mock shock.
Kitty smiled. She may have been younger than the boys, but she wasn’t stupid. ‘You know exactly what I mean, Ahmed Chalabi!’
‘I hear you,’ said Ahmed closing his laptop and stowing it in his backpack.
Matt was just finishing up on the phone with Mo.
‘Yes, great talking to you too …’ he said. ‘I’ll see you tonight!’ He handed the phone back to Kitty. ‘Phew! I never knew talking about yourself could be so tiring.’