Jamie and the Magic Whistle

by Helen Brain, Nicky Webb, Rico Schacherl

  24

  Aboo is back

  At 16:30, just before evening consults started, Unathi brought the cart through. Arabella called Jamie to come and help them try it out on Aboo. Jamie was still angry with her mother for blaming her unfairly, but she couldn’t miss this chance to see if their plan would work.

  Unathi lifted the dog from the cage and put him on the floor. Aboo gazed at them anxiously as Unathi strapped the cart around his waist.

  “Come on, boy, come on,” Arabella said, patting her thighs. “Walk to me.”

  The young dog whimpered. He looked utterly miserable.

  “Oh dear,” Arabella murmured. “Come on, boy, walk.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t like it,” Unathi said.

  “He must like it,” Arabella said, stroking the dog’s soft brown ears. “There’s nothing more we can do for him.”

  “Wait,” Jamie said, running through to the reception. She grabbed a packet of dog treats off the stand.

  “Where do you think you are going with those?” Ilona snapped.

  Jamie resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at her. I will be the Better Person, she thought, and ran back to the hospital.

  “Here, Aboo,” she said, laying a trail of treats on the floor in front of him. The first one was just out of reach. He stared at it, drooling.

  “Doesn’t that smell nice?” Jamie said, waving it in front of his nose. “Wouldn’t you like to eat that, gorgeous?” She put it back on the floor, just beyond his nose.

  Aboo stared at it. The string of drool hanging from his jowls grew longer and longer. He whimpered again. He tried crawling forward on his front legs – and his back legs followed him! He didn’t stop, gobbling up treat after treat until he had crossed the width of the hospital floor.

  Then there was no stopping him. He bounded around on his front legs, dragging the cart behind him. He rolled over toes, he turned over the dustbin, he even sent the treat stand flying again. Nobody was cross. It was all worth it, just to see the look on Aboo’s face. He was back. A boxer on wheels.

  “I’m going to take him for a walk,” Jamie said. “He must be desperate to get outside.”

  “Just in the carpark,” Arabella said as Jamie clipped a lead to his collar.

  “Doc,” Unathi said while he wiped down the examining table before the first patient arrived. “I am afraid that our boys have been up to no good again.” He pulled the plastic pill container out of his pocket and showed it to Arabella. “They have been making this in the shed. They were using your blender too. I put it back in the kitchen.”

  “Oh dear,” Arabella said, reading the label. “So it was Tick making the itching powder. And I blamed Jamie for putting this into Felicity’s bed. No wonder she’s so cross with me.”

  Mr Kumar arrived then and was overjoyed to see Aboo rolling around the car park on his cart. Aboo bounded up to him and licked him all over. “Now I can park in the wheelchair parking,” the elderly man chuckled happily.

  25

  Fifi’s itchy botty

  Jamie woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of water dripping in the passage. It was pouring with rain, and their roof had a hole in it.

  In the bed next to her Fifi groaned. She was scratching her bum like a mad thing. “Auntie Arabella,” she called. “Auntie Arabella, I need you. My botty ith itthy.”

  Arabella was already awake, putting a bucket under the leak in the passage.

  “Maybe she’s got a blocked anal gland, like Rupert had once,” Jamie said sleepily as her mother came in to see what Fifi wanted. “Remember how he scooted around the room on his bottom, trying to scratch it?”

  “Humans don’t have anal glands,” Arabella said. “Don’t give her any ideas, please Jamie. Come into the bathroom, sweetie,” she said, helping the little girl up. “Let’s see what’s wrong.”

  “It’th driving me crathy,” whimpered Fifi.

  “It looks like an allergy,” Arabella said a few minutes later as she tucked Fifi back into her bed. “You must have eaten something.”

  “It’th becauthe of the thtrawberrieth,” Fifi whimpered. “They weren’t organic. I told you tho. But you wouldn’t lithen. And now I’ve got an itthy botty. I want my mommy.”

  “I can’t phone your mommy now,” Arabella said. “She’s asleep. You’ll be alright in a moment. The pills I gave you will stop the itching and help you sleep tight till morning.”

  Within a few moments Fifi had dropped off to sleep, sucking her thumb noisily.

  “Why’s her bum so itchy?” Jamie whispered.

  Arabella tucked the duvet over the little girl. Snoopy was curled up next to her, snoring.

  “I don’t know. Do you think it could have been the strawberries? I shouldn’t have told her they were organic.”

  “I just hope she sleeps through,” Jamie said as her mother kissed her goodnight. “I’ve got to be at my best for the competition. And if this rain doesn’t stop, they might cancel the whole school fair.”

  As Arabella closed the girls’ door behind her a horrible thought crossed her mind. Unathi had said that the boys had used her blender to make their itching powder. She hadn’t washed it out. “No wonder Fifi’s bottom is itchy,” she muttered, smacking her forehead. “She drank a smoothie full of itching powder.”

  26

  The big day arrives

  Tick was grumpy the next morning. Arabella had found out about the itching powder and had absolutely freaked out. She had confiscated all of his itching powder. He had nothing left to sell and that Superwhizz Science kit with the “make your own real lava” was further away than ever.

  He and Chanza were going to the school fair, but he had no money to buy all the packets of fudge and the trays of cupcakes he’d been dreaming of.

  In his room Toby woke up, took one look at the weather and went back to sleep.

  “Hel-loooo, sexy,” squawked Hawking. “Go get ’em, Tiger. You’re God’s gift to the universe.”

  “Shut up, Hawking,” Toby muttered. “Or I’ll turn you into a casserole.” Then he remembered his hot date with Rebecca. He sat up in bed. He didn’t feel so good. His muscles hurt. Must be the Bullworker working. “No pain, no gain,” he muttered as he slouched off to the bathroom to pick his pimples.

  Jamie was in a bad mood when she woke up. Fifi had kept her awake all night with the annoying smacking and schlurping sounds she made when she sucked her thumb. The first thing she saw was Fifi, sitting on the edge of her bed, covered in spots.

  “You’re thuth a thleepyhead,” she grumbled. “I’ve been waiting for hourth for you to wake up.”

  Jamie grunted. “I haven’t slept a wink. You make a filthy noise when you suck your thumb, you know.”

  Fifi’s face crumpled. “You’re jutht trying to be nathty. You were fatht athleep and even thnoring, tho there. Anyway, me and Thnoopy are gonna beat you at the dog thow.” She looked smugly at Jamie.

  Jamie knew it was probably true and it made her feel even more irritable. She got out of bed. She had put her outfit out on a chair last night, but she was planning on getting dressed just before she left. In this house anything could go wrong, and the last thing she wanted was some of Bieber’s squashed banana on her clothes.

  She was planning to wear a white blouse she’d borrowed from Pan’s au pair, with her black skirt and a pair of black shoes. She was going to look like a businesswoman about to broker a billion dollar deal. She was hoping to impress Mrs Jones with her professional approach to dog showing.

  She ran outside to find Fungi. The rain had turned the veggie patch into a pond. Fungi was wallowing in the mud like a hippo. The minute he saw Jamie he bounded over, spraying mud and water all over her.

  “Hello, boy,” she said, ruffling his ears. “You ready for the competition?” Fungi wagged his tail. Jamie gave him a serious look. “Please, boy, be good today,” she pleaded. Fungi gave her a big wet lick.

  Jamie took Fungi into the vet rooms to wash him in the big dog
bath. By the time she was finished, he looked quite respectable and smelt really nice. She popped him into a cage to stop him from getting dirty again and decided it was time for her to get dressed.

  Inside, Fifi was bundled up on the couch, watching a Smurfs programme and sucking her thumb. She was covered in hives and her head hurt. “I mith my mummy,” she whimpered.

  Toby came downstairs, reeking of Old Spice.

  “Good Lord, Toby,” said the professor, looking up from his cereal. “What’s wrong with your face? That can’t be acne. You look like a leprosy patient.”

  “What’th leprothy?” said Fifi. “Have I had it? Auntie Arabella, I can’t remember if I’ve had leprothy or not …” She began to cry.

  “Shh,” said Arabella. “Come into the light, Toby. I want to see your face. Lift up your shirt. Are there spots on your tummy too? Does your head hurt? Do your muscles hurt?”

  “Hith muthleth hurt from hith mathine,” Fifi said helpfully. “He’th being doing extherthitheth in hith room.”

  “Shut up!” snapped Toby. Today was his big date. He couldn’t afford to be sick. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “He’th God’th Gift to the Univerthe,” Fifi said. “He’th thuper thethy.”

  If Toby had been feeling well he would have taken Fifi outside and thrown her into the vegetable patch, but he felt awful. His head burned. He itched all over and every muscle ached, even the ones he hadn’t worked with the Bullworker.

  Arabella looked him over carefully. “I think,” she said slowly, “you’ve got chickenpox.”

  Fifi burst into tears. “I haven’t had it yet. Now I’m going to catth it and be thick too. I want my mommy …”

  Arabella turned Fifi’s face to the light. She checked behind her ears and on her tummy. “So that’s why you keep bursting into tears,” she exclaimed. “You’ve got it too. Right, you two, up to bed straight away. There’s no school fete for you today.”

  “But Auntie Arabella,” Fifi sobbed, “that ith tho unfair. Me and Thnoopy were going to win that competithion.”

  Jamie could barely hide her grin. Yes! Yes! Her mother was awesome. She had just saved Fungi from having to compete against Snoopy in the show. Now she stood a chance of winning R1 000.

  27

  The Great Dr Knight

  At 9:30 Arabella, Jamie, Fungi, Tick, Bieber and Chanza squeezed into the car. Jamie had pulled her hair into a French knot just like Mrs Jones’ and was wearing her smart outfit, but it didn’t make her feel as calm and serene as Mrs Jones. She felt so nervous, she thought she might be sick.

  Tick was sitting in the front with Bieber. He twisted around and stuck out his tongue at Jamie.

  “Ha, ha, guess who’s trying to look like Mrs Jones?” he chanted in a sing-song voice. Bieber chattered as if he was enjoying the joke.

  Jamie cuffed her brother on the back of the head. “I am not, dufus head.”

  By now Arabella had lost her morning sparkle. “Cut it out, you two,” she snapped “If you carry on like that I’m going to turn around and go back home.”

  They arrived at the school and the parking lot was full.

  “Ah no, Mom,” grumbled Jamie. “We’re too late. There’s no parking.”

  “We could just go home,” suggested Arabella hopefully.

  “No way,” shrieked Jamie. “I’m here to win R1 000. Watch me!”

  “And we’re here for fudge,” said Tick, who had managed to get some pocket money out of the professor. “Come on, Mom. There’s a space.”

  He pointed to a tiny gap between the entrance staircase and the vice-principal’s parking place.

  “That’s not a proper spot,” Arabella said, peering short-sightedly through the windscreen. “I don’t even think I can get in there.”

  In the distance Tick could see people crowding around the sweet stall. “Of course you can, Mom,” he said. “Just be quick, or someone else will take it.”

  The vice-principal, Mrs Todd, was a very large lady who drove a very small car. She was wearing a green shirt, and she looked like a toad behind the steering wheel – all big belly and skinny arms and legs. At that moment she was still sitting in the driver’s seat of her car, checking something on her cellphone.

  Arabella eased her old station wagon into the tiny space just as Mrs Todd was about to open her car door. The vice-principal scowled and quickly pulled her door shut.

  “So sorry, Mrs Toad,” Arabella called through the open window.

  Jamie wanted to crawl under the seat in embarrassment. “It’s Todd, mom. T-O-D-D.”

  “There we go,” said Arabella triumphantly as she closed the windows and turned off the engine. “Everybody out on my side.”

  Everybody HAD to get out on her side, as there was only a centimetre between their car and Mrs Todd’s. Mrs Todd was waving frantically and Jamie was sure she could hear some very bad words coming out of the little car.

  But she didn’t have time to see what happened next. She had to get to the dog show. She grabbed Fungi and hurried off as the vice-principal climbed over the gear lever and crawled out through the passenger door.

  The fete was packed. There were people everywhere, carrying balloons, eating ice cream and candy floss, waiting in the queue for pancakes.

  Babies in prams were crying, a toddler was throwing a tantrum at the toy stall, and bargain hunters were crowded around the white elephant stall, pushing and shoving each other out of the way.

  The boys went off in search of fudge. Jamie hurried off to find the dog show. Fungi walked along perfectly on the lead. No pulling, no stopping to sniff at nice smells, no kidnapping dirty underpants. Jamie felt so proud. Good old Fungi. She knew he’d come up trumps when the time came. All those hours and hours of training had paid off.

  If only he could stay this well behaved for another half an hour, the prize would be hers.

  “Hey, Jamie!” Pan called, running up to find her. “The competition is on the lawn, near the fish pond. The TV crew are there already, and Dr Knight. Come and see.”

  The fish pond was filled with water lilies and goldfish, and usually it was strictly out of bounds to the girls and boys. The TV crew bustled around it, doing the final checks for the lighting and microphones. The director, a skinny man called Doug, with a shaved head, was issuing orders and waving a clipboard.

  “There’s Dr Knight,” Pan said.

  Dr Knight was sitting in a chair having make-up trowelled onto his sagging face. Ilona buzzed around him like a busy blowfly. Justus was sitting quietly next to the judge’s table, watching her every move.

  “Do you think I should also have some make-up done, Dr Knight?” Ilona asked, batting her eyelashes.

  Dr Knight looked at her reflection in his mirror. He hated it when people tried to steal his limelight. “Ilona, the cameras are not going to be turned on you. Be grateful for that. They say the cameras add twenty kilograms. That’s why I do my hundred sit-ups every day.” He patted his flat stomach. “Beverley,” he snarled to the make-up lady, “you’ve made me look like a ghost. A touch of Tropical Tan, if you please, Girl.”

  Beverley looked as though she wanted to poke her make-up brush in his eye.

  Ilona was stung by Dr Knight’s nasty remark. But she had something far worse to go through. She had to tell him the bad news about the Magic Whistle. She lurked behind his chair, wringing her hands.

  Dr Knight sighed. “What IS it, Ilona?”

  “Er, we have a small problem. The Magic Whistle … It’s been stolen. And it worked so splendidly that Justus will only do his routine if my instructions are given through the whistle. I know how much it means to you, and …” she gestured at the cameraman “… your TV fans to see the whistle in action. Do you perhaps have your spare whistle here?”

  Beverley was combing Dr Knight’s moustache. He pushed her away.

  “Stolen? You mean it’s got into someone else’s hands? This is a disaster.” He ripped off the plastic make-up bib and leapt to his feet.
“That was a prototype. I trusted you to take care of it. Right now somebody could be copying my design and making millions of rands.”

  Ilona cringed like a guilty dog. She almost peed.

  Jamie didn’t know whether to laugh or feel sorry for her.

  “Fortunately for you I had the foresight to have two whistles made,” said Dr Knight coldly, pulling a second whistle out of his pocket. “Here is the only other existing prototype of Knight’s Magic Whistle. You may use it for the competition, but I will require you to return it just before judging – the director has requested a special insert on the Knight’s Magic Whistle.”

  “Thank you, Doctor, absolutely,” babbled Ilona. “And … and …” she nearly burst with excitement, “I have something for you.” She dug in her voluminous handbag and pulled out a bulky wrapped parcel. “It’s a little something that I created for you to show my appreciation for all you are, and do.”

  Dr Knight beamed. His teeth stood out bright white against the yellowish glow of his face. “Why, thank you, Ilona,” he gushed. He liked being adored, especially in front of the camera.

  “Go on, open it,” urged Ilona.

  “Hold on a moment, Doc,” said Doug. “Come over here, where there’s plenty of room. We want to capture this moment on video.” He led Dr Knight to the edge of the fish pond.

  “Lovely against the backdrop of the fountain and the water lilies,” Doug gushed. “Could you hand the parcel over again, please, Miss?” he said to Ilona.

  Ilona was thrilled. She held her back straight and pulled down her checked flannel shirt. She ran her fingers through her bristly hair and then, smiling at the camera, she walked across the lawn to Dr Knight. He stood like a warrior receiving a tribute.

  This was Ilona’s big moment. Everyone was watching her. “I made you a gift, Doctor Knight,” she said, clutching the parcel to her sweaty bosom. “I made it myself with the hair from my St Bernard, Justus. Have it. It is yours!” And she held out the parcel with a flourish.