Bumface

by Morris Gleitzman

  ‘No time,’ said Number Two. ‘Do it at Imogen’s dad’s.’

  ‘What are you lot doing here?’ said Number Three.

  Angus had feared this. According to Mum, Number Three had agreed to have them for part of the weekend, but she’d obviously forgotten what short memories male models had.

  Angus peered out the stairwell window. Number Two’s car was already out of sight.

  He turned back to Number Three, thinking fast. ‘We’re doing a play at school,’ he said, ‘and Ms Lowry needs help with the makeup and wigs and seeing as you’re one of the country’s top male models I thought I’d ask you.’

  Number Three frowned at Angus. ‘I might be able to spare some time,’ he said. His face softened a bit behind his stubble. ‘Come in and tell me more about it.’

  Inside the flat a bloke was on the phone. Another one was sprawled in a beanbag talking on a mobile.

  ‘This play,’ said Number Three. ‘Will there be a printed programme?’

  Angus felt like he had several kilos of capsicum trying to burst out of his chest. Mum and Number Four would almost certainly be naked and in bed by now.

  ‘There’ll be a programme,’ said Angus frantically, ‘but it might just be photocopied.’ He was about to ask Number Three how urgent the two blokes’ calls were when he realised that Imogen had toddled out onto the balcony.

  It had a metal fence round it with big gaps.

  It was two floors up.

  Angus flung himself towards her, but Number Three got there first and scooped her up.

  ‘Jeez,’ panted Number Three, ‘that was close.’

  Angus couldn’t say anything till the capsicum went back down his throat.

  Imogen chuckled and stroked Number Three’s stubble. Number Three squinted at her. ‘Look at that,’ he said. ‘She’s got my eyes.’

  Behind them in the flat, the bloke on the phone hung up and started dialling again.

  ‘Jeez,’ said Number Three. ‘Is that the time? I’ve got a footy match at two-thirty.’

  Dad opened his front door and stared at them, puzzled.

  Angus didn’t even say g’day, just pushed past and ran into the kitchen and snatched up the phone and dialled.

  Mum answered.

  ‘Angus,’ she said. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Angus nearly fainted with relief. Then he nearly fainted with concern. Mum’s voice sounded low and purry. Like people’s in movies did when they’d just had sex or ice-cream.

  Please, begged Angus silently, let it be ice-cream.

  ‘Mum,’ he said, ‘have you taken your pill?’

  Angus heard Mum give a long, low sigh. He realised her voice wasn’t sexy, it was angry.

  ‘Darling,’ she said. ‘Angus. Please. Can I just have one weekend to myself? That’s not a lot to ask, is it?’

  ‘No,’ said Angus. ‘Have you taken it?’

  ‘Oh, for Pete’s sake,’ yelled Mum.

  Angus heard a rustling and a crackling and liquid pouring into a glass and Mum swallowing.

  ‘There,’ said Mum. ‘I’ve taken it. Are you happy now?’

  Angus murmured that he was.

  ‘Please, darling,’ said Mum, ‘have a nice weekend with the dads and I’ll see you all tomorrow afternoon and only ring me if there’s an emergency, OK?’

  You mean another emergency, thought Angus.

  He said goodbye and hung up and flopped into a kitchen chair. ‘I can’t take much more of this,’ he croaked.

  He thought of having to do it every weekend. And every weekday. He thought of trying to ring Mum from the school staffroom without Mr Nash catching him.

  ‘There’s got to be a better way,’ said Angus to the salt and pepper shakers.

  Dad came in looking perplexed. ‘Bit of a misunderstanding,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a meeting with a book illustrator in town at three. I’ll have to drop you back at Leo’s dad’s.’

  Priscilla sat Angus and Leo and Imogen on a settee with a towel over it.

  ‘Robert’s still at the theatre,’ she said, ‘but he should be home soon.’

  Angus smiled at the two elderly people who were sitting holding cups of tea and looking at him.

  ‘Angus,’ said Priscilla. ‘This is my parents, Mr and Mrs Bridges.’

  ‘Hello,’ said Mr and Mrs Bridges.

  ‘Hello,’ said Angus. ‘This is Leo, your grand-son-in-law, and Imogen, your step-grand-daughter-in-law once removed.’

  He hoped that was right.

  Mr and Mrs Bridges smiled awkwardly.

  Mrs Bridges took off her watch and swung it in front of Imogen’s face.

  ‘This is my very old watch,’ said Mrs Bridges.

  Imogen ignored her.

  ‘If you listen carefully,’ said Mrs Bridges to Leo, ‘it goes tick tick tick.’

  ‘That’s because it’s a watch,’ said Leo.

  ‘Clever boy,’ said Mrs Bridges, smiling. She turned to Angus. ‘You’re a thoughtful-looking young man,’ she said. ‘Is there anything you’d like to know about my watch?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Angus. ‘But I would like to know if there’s anything a woman with a hopeless memory can use so she doesn’t get pregnant during sex.’

  Mr Bridges seemed to be having trouble breathing. Mrs Bridges put her watch back on and looked at the floor. There was a long silence.

  ‘Do you like the fruitcake, Mum?’ asked Priscilla.

  Angus sighed.

  10

  The chemist shop was packed.

  Angus didn’t think he could go through with it.

  Run, he told himself. Just turn and run.

  But he didn’t. He took a deep breath instead.

  Rather than take the stroller into the shop and bump into people, Angus made Leo and Imogen wait near the entrance.

  A mum had the same idea. ‘Stay here and don’t touch anything on these shelves,’ she said to her three little kids. ‘Or I’ll smack you.’

  ‘Same goes for you,’ said Angus to Leo and Imogen.

  Leo looked at Angus, his bottom lip quivering. ‘You wouldn’t smack us,’ he said, ‘would you?’

  Angus gave him a hug. Kids without proper dads could be real sooks.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t smack you.’

  ‘Cause if you did,’ said Leo, ‘we’d smack you back.’

  Angus moved into the shop, examining the shelves, hoping to find what he was after. If only he knew what the thing was called or what it looked like.

  Ms Lowry had been no help at all. Angus had asked her at lunchtime. ‘Excuse me Miss, what would stop a forgetful mother getting pregnant during sex?’

  But Ms Lowry had been distracted by Russell Hinch trying to flush another kid’s bag down the dunny. ‘Don’t bother me now,’ she’d said. ‘We’ll be doing more human reproduction once the school play’s over.’

  The Internet in the library had been no help at all when he’d typed in ‘human reproduction/ forgetful mothers’.

  Angus went along another shelf, picked up a jar and studied the label.

  It was bath salts.

  I’m groping in the dark here, thought Angus. Perhaps I’d better ask.

  All day he’d been trying to decide whether to risk asking the chemist, who was almost as old as Mr Bridges and might have a breathing problem too. Plus it was a pretty embarrassing thing to ask for in public, specially if it turned out the thing didn’t exist, or you were in the wrong shop and you should be in the hardware store.

  ‘You there,’ said a stern voice. ‘Stay right where you are.’

  Angus spun round.

  The chemist, red-faced, was hurrying towards him. ‘I’m sick of you kids coming in here shoplifting,’ said the chemist. ‘Empty out that school bag.’

  Angus stared at him, insides sinking. Not again. People were staring and whispering.

  ‘Do I have to?’ said Angus miserably.

  ‘Yes,’ said the chemist. ‘If you haven’t been stealing you’ve got nothing
to worry about, have you?’

  That’s what you think, thought Angus.

  He unzipped his bag and tipped everything onto the shop floor. Books. Lunchbox. Gym shoes.

  Dirty nappy.

  The chemist stared. The customers stared. Angus felt his face burning.

  ‘I’m looking after it for someone else,’ he said.

  The chemist snorted. ‘Yes, well next time don’t bring it in here.’

  While Angus packed his things away, the chemist put the nappy into a plastic bag and gave it to one of his shop assistants. Then he turned back to Angus.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘What can I help you with?’

  ‘Um,’ whispered Angus. ‘Something for my mother.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the chemist. ‘A Mother’s Day present. These bath salts are always popular. Or this moisturiser. Stop her getting rough skin on her hands when she does the washing up.’

  Angus took a deep breath and explained that it wasn’t actually her getting rough skin on her hands he was worried about.

  On the train, Angus hoped he hadn’t made a mistake buying Leo and Imogen ice-creams. There was a green trickle running down Leo’s wrist and green droplets hanging off his chin. Imogen was worse. She had so much ice-cream on her face she looked like a Martian.

  Oh well, thought Angus, they’re happy.

  He looked at the address on the back of the leaflet the chemist had given him, then checked the map on the wall above their seat.

  Two more stops.

  Angus studied the front of the leaflet. Family Planning Clinic, it said, and the word contraception was used quite a lot. Angus hoped contraception was another word for not getting pregnant. Possibly even another word for people with hopeless memories not getting pregnant.

  I hope that chemist understood what I’m after, thought Angus. I’ve wasted a heap of time and money if a Family Planning Clinic turns out to be a place for families who want to plan where to put their furniture.

  Then he saw the words Birth Control on the leaflet.

  That sounds like what I’m looking for, he thought.

  He realised Leo was nudging him.

  ‘Look at them,’ said Leo, pointing across the carriage.

  ‘Don’t point,’ whispered Angus.

  He looked at the family Leo was pointing at. A mum and dad were gazing fondly at their two kids. All four of them were eating icy poles and not one of them had a single drip on any part of their body.

  A pang of jealousy stabbed through Angus.

  ‘Are they a TV family?’ asked Leo.

  ‘No,’ said Angus. ‘Shhhh.’ But he was tempted to lean across and ask the family where you could get non-drip ice-creams and marriages that lasted.

  Leo gave a yelp and burst into tears. Angus saw that Leo’s ice-cream had broken into two and fallen on the floor.

  It was quickly becoming a puddle. Leo bawled even harder.

  ‘If you’d eaten it more quickly,’ said Angus, ‘that wouldn’t have happened.’

  The parents across the carriage glanced over and Angus could see they agreed with him.

  Leo gave him a hurt and angry look.

  Angus sighed. Poor kid. He wished he didn’t have to be so strict. He wished he could do what any decent big brother would do. Give Leo a hug and buy him another ice-cream when they got off the train.

  Sometimes it was a real pain being a parent.

  The Family Planning Clinic was a big brick building with all its blinds down so Angus couldn’t see if it was full of furniture diagrams or not.

  He steered the stroller into a bus shelter a little way down the street and put the brake on.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ he said to Leo and Imogen. ‘Stay here and count buses.’

  ‘I want to count ants,’ said Leo.

  ‘Buses and ants,’ said Angus.

  He saw that Imogen was looking dangerously damp.

  ‘When I’m back in a couple of minutes I’ll buy you another nappy,’ he said to her.

  ‘Gussy nappy,’ said Imogen.

  ‘And another ice-cream for me,’ said Leo, looking at him fiercely. ‘Or I won’t stay.’

  Angus sighed and nodded. That’s OK, he thought. That’s blackmail and parents are allowed to give in to that.

  He crept into the building.

  The waiting room was empty except for a receptionist behind a desk. After a bit, as Angus watched from behind a big pot-plant in the foyer, she got up and went out through a door marked Staff Only.

  Angus ducked into the waiting room, his heart pounding.

  It looked like the right place. There were human reproduction diagrams on the wall, just like Ms Lowry’s only neater.

  Angus peered around for leaflets, brochures, pamphlets, catalogues, anything with the words Birth Control or Forgetful Mothers on it.

  He saw a rack of leaflets and was heading towards it when he heard the door click behind him.

  He whirled round.

  A girl about his age had just come in. She had dark hair and dark eyes and was wearing a school uniform he didn’t recognise.

  She winked at him.

  Angus felt his face go hot. He looked at his watch. ‘Parents,’ he muttered and went and sat down in the far corner of the room and pretended to read a magazine.

  The magazine was about rock-climbing. It had nothing in it about how to stop forgetful rock-climbers getting pregnant.

  Pathetic, thought Angus. What about all the rock-climbers who’ve got hopeless memories because they’ve banged their heads on rocks?

  He got out his pen and pretended to do the rock-climbing crossword while he watched the girl rummaging through the leaflets.

  She finished rummaging and went out.

  Angus waited two seconds and then leapt across the room towards the rack and was just about to start grabbing leaflets when the receptionist came back in.

  ‘Yes?’ she said. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Um …’ said Angus. ‘No, I’m … er … fine thanks.’

  The receptionist stared at him. Angus wondered if she was going to make him empty out his bag.

  ‘I’ve come for some information,’ he said.

  ‘No you haven’t,’ said the receptionist, looking hard at the pen in his hand. ‘You’ve come because all your mates told you how much fun they had sneaking in here and writing smutty comments on our walls and publications.’

  ‘No,’ protested Angus. ‘Honest …’

  ‘Get out,’ said the receptionist, ‘and if you come back I’ll ring the police.’

  Angus opened his mouth to plead. She picked up the phone. He closed his mouth and went out.

  He hurried along the street, chest hurting with stress and disappointment. He tried not to think of all the babies Mum would soon be having.

  Oh well, he thought miserably. Life can’t get any worse than this.

  He got to the bus shelter and it did.

  The bus shelter was empty.

  Leo and Imogen were gone.

  11

  Angus felt sick with panic.

  He peered frantically up and down the street, across the road, under the bench.

  No Leo and Imogen.

  Please, thought Angus desperately, a sob forcing its way out of his throat, please don’t let them have got on a bus. He had an awful vision of Leo and Imogen being arrested for not having a ticket, or worse, huddled together at a deserted bus depot, abandoned, lost, terrified.

  Angus sprinted back towards the clinic to ask the receptionist to call the police.

  Then he heard a scream.

  ‘Imogen?’ he yelled. He looked around wildly. The scream had come from behind some bushes. He flung himself at them.

  The bushes were a sort of hedge. Angus tore his way through, not caring that twigs scraped him and branches slapped him around the head.

  He staggered out the other side and found himself in a children’s playground and there, at his feet, gazing up at him with big adoring eyes, was a dog.

&nbs
p; ‘Imogen,’ yelled Angus frantically. ‘Leo.’

  The dog ran off.

  ‘Bumface,’ shrieked a happy voice.

  Angus turned. In the middle of the playground, sitting next to her stroller at the base of an adventure gym, was Imogen.

  Angus ran to her. ‘Where’s Leo?’ he yelled.

  ‘Here,’ shouted Leo, swinging towards them on the end of a rope and sprawling into the dust next to Imogen.

  Imogen screamed with laughter.

  Angus wanted to roar at them that they were naughty, disobedient children, but suddenly he felt so wobbly with relief he could only sit down next to them. ‘I told you to stay in the bus shelter,’ he said.

  ‘There was a worm,’ said Leo sadly, ‘and it was lonely in the bus shelter. It cuddled up to me. I had to find it some other worms.’

  Angus sighed. With most kids you’d think they were making that up, but with Leo you knew it was true.

  Leo’s face brightened. ‘Then we got lost and a pirate rescued us.’

  ‘Pirate?’ said Angus, frowning. ‘What pirate?’

  ‘Look out!’ roared a voice.

  Angus turned to see a yelling figure swinging towards him on the end of the rope, hair flying. The sun was in Angus’s eyes, and for a second he had a crazy thought.

  Bumface?

  The figure crashed into Angus, knocking the frown off his face and sending him head over heels in the dust.

  After a bit, when he’d checked none of his bones were broken, Angus opened his eyes.

  A face was very close to his. A grinning, dark-eyed, dust-streaked face. It was the girl from the clinic.

  ‘G’day,’ she said. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘This is Rindi the pirate,’ said Leo. ‘She’s not just a story pirate, she’s real. She’s teaching me pirate rope swings.’

  ‘Rindi,’ gurgled Imogen, hugging Rindi’s leg.

  Angus sat up and brushed himself off and gave Rindi a sour glance. Who did she think she was, knocking him over and getting friendly with his family?

  Then he remembered how panicked he’d been when he thought Leo and Imogen had gone.

  ‘Thanks for looking after them,’ he muttered.

  ‘Leo told me you’re into pirates,’ said Rindi. ‘He explained you don’t get much time to play them with him cause you’re so busy.’