‘Singing,’ Semi-Skimmed answered. ‘When I was just a calf I appeared in the dairy’s summer stock production of Annie, Chew Your Cud. It was a huge success. Some of the meadow gang came to watch me from as far away as the edge of the forest, even though it was peak season for flies.’
To prove it, Semi-Skimmed let out a long bellow. Milena fell onto her bum in the sticky earth. The cow’s voice sounded as if someone was skinning a rabbit and yodelling with a mouthful of peppermints. Through a megaphone.
Pleased with herself, Semi-Skimmed bobbed her head and shook out her legs as if she’d just been for a long run.
‘Pretty impressive, eh?’
‘Maybe we could think of something else. Just in case,’ said Milena as she wiped the mud from her new tracksuit.
Every afternoon the following week, Milena and Semi-Skimmed met up in the lakeside meadow to do their exercise programme. They jumped over the fence, ran through car tyres and stretched their hindquarters until they creaked.
One evening a faint haze had already crept towards the lakeshore, heralding nightfall, as Semi-Skimmed danced the twist and skipped with a rope at the same time among the birch trees. She claimed the twist was the best way for a cow to keep her hooves in shape. Milena was concentrating on making garlands out of clover and daisies. Semi-Skimmed had told her that every cow in the competition wore a flower garland like that round her neck, but it was slow work making them.
Suddenly Milena noticed a shadow falling over her garland. Quickly, she turned round and saw three cows standing behind her. The one in the middle was absolutely enormous, as big as a bull and velvety chocolate brown. It was grinning, but its expression didn’t look very friendly to Milena. The creature had huge horns and flaring nostrils. The other two were brownish-coloured as well, but they had lighter patches on their backs. They were slightly smaller than the brown cow, but each of them seemed to be about twice as big as Semi-Skimmed.
Milena leapt to her feet. Semi-Skimmed hadn’t noticed a thing. She was singing a little tune to herself and leaping about, making the ground shake.
‘So, little calf-person,’ said the brown cow – and now Semi-Skimmed noticed her as well. Semi-Skimmed stopped so suddenly that she tripped over her skipping rope and flew backwards, landing on her rump. She tried to get back up but her hooves got tangled up in the rope and she fell down even harder.
‘I see Skimmy’s been learning to dance,’ the brown cow said, mooing at her own joke.
‘Hefty,’ Semi-Skimmed muttered. Milena gave a little jump.
‘How delightful that you’ve decided to take part in the competition too,’ Hefty sneered. ‘We girls decided to come and congratulate you. And I see you’ve found someone to play with,’ she added, nodding in Milena’s direction. She snatched the flower garland Milena had been working on from the ground and started chewing it. ‘Really good snacks here. Your human’s a bit odd-looking, but it doesn’t make a half-bad garland.’
‘Nobody wants to be around her, except some human,’ one of the spotted cows mooed, and her friend sniggered.
‘Now, now, girls,’ said Hefty. ‘Let’s be nice. It makes you beautiful.’
‘Thanks,’ Semi-Skimmed muttered. Milena thought she looked as if she didn’t know what to think.
‘And even a tiny bit of beautification can only help a muzzle like that,’ Hefty added. ‘They ought to keep that sort away from the milking parlour, otherwise the milk will go sour.’
The trio came closer, pointing their horns at Semi-Skimmed, who stopped untangling her skipping rope to back away. The cows followed, shoving Semi-Skimmed forward.
‘Stop it,’ Milena shouted.
‘Yeah, sure,’ Hefty said as she tipped Semi-Skimmed over.
Semi-Skimmed fell right into a bed of nettles growing by the side of the pigpen fence.
‘Yeeow, it stings,’ Semi-Skimmed shrieked. The spotted cows burst out laughing.
‘Let’s go, girls,’ said Hefty, wagging her tail in satisfaction. ‘I think Skimmy’s learnt her lesson.’
Once the cows had left, Milena went over to help Semi-Skimmed. Her head was drooping and she avoided making eye contact with Milena.
‘Well, now you know what a pathetic coward I am,’ she said.
Milena patted her. Just then, Milena noticed something and cried out. Semi-Skimmed’s whole flank had broken out in thumbnail-sized red bumps.
‘You look like you’ve got scarlet fever.’
‘Nettle rash,’ said Semi-Skimmed, trying to turn her head to look at her own back. ‘I’ve been allergic to nettles ever since I was a calf. Hefty knew that. How on earth can I take part in the pageant in two days’ time?’
‘Quick, go for a swim,’ said Milena. ‘The water will help.’
Semi-Skimmed’s eyelids were beginning to swell up. She staggered forward, half-blind, with Milena supporting her. The lakeshore sloped steeply, and soon the water was halfway up the cow’s flanks. Milena’s feet didn’t reach the bottom, so she had to swim round Semi-Skimmed and splash water onto her back. The water was muddy, and in the end Semi-Skimmed was completely covered in a thick layer of brown sludge. Her eyes were streaming. All in all, she was a sorry sight.
Milena would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so serious. She had to lead the cow to the shore. Blobs of brown clay dripped off with each step.
‘Did that help?’ Milena asked.
‘What does it look like?’ Semi-Skimmed spluttered. If it had been anyone else, Milena would have said her voice sounded like she was crying.
As she stood still, the mud started to harden and flake off Semi-Skimmed’s hide.
‘You can imagine it’s a mud pack,’ said Milena.
‘I’ll pack some mud in your face pretty soon, you cheeky girl,’ said Semi-Skimmed.
‘We need to get you clean,’ Milena said, remembering there was a garden hose in the shed. Fortunately her mum was indoors watching some programme about teenage vampires, so Milena managed to get Semi-Skimmed rinsed off fairly well. The bumps on her side had gone purple now.
‘Maybe we can use some of Mum’s foundation,’ Milena suggested.
‘That’s a pig of an idea,’ the cow grumbled. ‘I’m not some laboratory test animal.’
‘Once, Mum had a skin rash and she put some kind of cream on it. We could try that,’ Milena suggested. ‘But we need to wait until it gets dark. Mum doesn’t spend much time in the garden, but even she might notice a 500-kilo cow galumphing around on her doorstep.’
Semi-Skimmed was feeling low. She didn’t feel like resisting, so she just trudged along with her knees bent, dragging up the soil.
The expression on the woman’s face at the chemist’s was a sight to be seen when Milena asked her for 25 litres of cream for nettle rash. She was a refined lady with freckles who stood proudly in her white coat with a name badge on the front.
‘D … do you mean you want a 25-gram tube of itch cream? Have you got a nasty rash, little girl?’ the lady asked with a sympathetic expression that was downright sweet.
Milena frowned. ‘No,’ she replied, ‘but thank you for asking. I’ve got some freckles on my tummy, but they’re for decoration. Do you mean you only sell it in really large tubs? In that case, I’ll take fifty litres. That’ll be enough for the next-door neighbours too.’
‘And just why do you need so much cream?’ the lady asked.
‘I’m planning to polish the car with it,’ Milena said. She guessed it would not be wise to bring the cow into the conversation. ‘It would be good to have enough to polish my shoes as well.’
The lady shook her head. ‘We don’t sell containers that big here.’
‘Well, maybe I’ll forget about the neighbours then. Let them get their own stupid goo. I’ll take all the brands you’ve got.’
Milena tied the parcel with all the creams and tubes she’d bought onto the rack on the back of her bike, then pedalled home past the church and waited for evening to come.
Mum was do
wnstairs watching a German detective programme where all the actors wore black leather jackets. From time to time Milena would go downstairs to get something: a glass of milk, an extra pillow or a cheese sandwich. She tried to peep in to see whether her mum was asleep yet. Usually she would doze off during the opening titles and not wake up until the programme was over, and then ask what had happened. But just now her mum was sitting on the sofa, worryingly alert, eating pistachios straight out of the packet.
‘Aren’t you getting sleepy?’ Milena asked as her mother cheered on the German cop to nab the burglar.
‘Have you got a dodgy tummy? What are you doing trotting down here all the time?’ her mum asked. ‘Have you brushed your teeth yet?’ she added, seeming to remember her role as a mother for a moment.
‘I’m just getting a glass of warm milk,’ Milena said cleverly. ‘Would you like one too?’
Mum nodded, her eyes glued to the screen. Fifteen or twenty minutes after that glass of milk, loud snoring could be heard coming from the sofa.
Milena crept over to the front door and peeped out.
‘Semi-Skimmed,’ she whispered into the darkness.
A moment later, a rumble came from a nearby bush and the cow lumbered over. Her rash was now a shade bluer.
Upstairs, Milena squeezed out all the tubes from the chemist’s into the bathtub. It looked like it was overflowing with thick white whipped cream. Semi-Skimmed jumped in, splattering gunk all round the walls.
‘We’ve got to come up with a new plan,’ Milena said. ‘Hefty’s a tougher opponent than I thought.’
Semi-Skimmed found the toilet brush, which Milena had hidden away, and was now scrubbing her back with it.
Her horns seemed lower than usual, even though she was defiantly crooning something to herself. Milena could make out a few words – ‘Run along little moo-cow, the sky’s getting dark now …’ – but she didn’t recognise the song.
Milena continued: ‘Maybe you could learn to parachute for your new talent act, or something flash like that? We’ve got to find a new training ground at least. Hefty’s gang knows where our current one is.’
‘Hey,’ Semi-Skimmed said. ‘Is this cream supposed to make your skin turn green?’
Milena looked at the cow. She saw that her muzzle was covered in a pale bluish lather, but underneath Semi-Skimmed was bright, traffic-light GREEN. Greener than a Granny Smith apple, old cheese or the house at the end of their street. In other words, REALLY GREEN, like spinach from outer space, or algae.
‘How come you’ve gone green?’ Milena shrieked, then remembered her mum asleep downstairs and whispered in a hoarse voice, ‘You’re GREEN!’ As soon as she said that, she realised it was a pretty silly thing to say, considering Semi-Skimmed had noticed it herself.
The cow was staring at her hide with the toilet brush in mid-air, totally silent for once.
‘It must be due to some kind of chemical reaction,’ Milena said. ‘Have you got insect repellent on or anything?’
Semi-Skimmed shook her head, then yanked the plug out of the bath and stood there watching the gloop drain away.
‘No,’ she muttered. ‘Just a splash of violet perfume. I don’t like the smell of the cowshed.’
Whether it was because of a reaction between the violet perfume and the cream or the wrong phase of the moon, the fact was that Semi-Skimmed was as green as a recycling bin.
‘I’ll never be able to take part in the Cow Belle Beauty Queen pageant,’ she declared, dropping the toilet brush in the bathtub.
‘There’s nothing wrong with looking like that,’ Milena said.
Her dad sometimes used to say that in the old days. It seemed like a very long time ago.
Milena ran some fresh water into the bath, and some pine-scented cleaner, and started scrubbing Semi-Skimmed until the cow mooed in agony. Despite Milena’s vigorous scrubbing, the green colour remained. It went a shade more bluish, but it was still distinctly green.
‘Maybe we should dye your coat,’ Milena ventured, remembering that there was a tube of her mum’s old black hair dye in the bathroom cabinet, from the days when she didn’t spend all her time lying on the sofa with a pair of woollen socks on.
Semi-Skimmed shook her head. ‘I don’t want any more problems. I think it would be best to drop the whole thing.’
Milena opened her mouth, but when she saw Semi-Skimmed’s expression she closed it again.
‘I wouldn’t have been a match for Hefty. It’s foolish to think I’d have any chance of winning,’ the cow sniffled.
‘You’re being defeatist,’ Milena snorted. ‘Do you intend to let that stupid moo get you down?’
‘Yes,’ said Semi-Skimmed. ‘What do you know about beauty pageants, anyway? You can’t even speak properly – you’re just a mush-mouth.’
That was a nasty thing to say, but Semi-Skimmed was in a terribly foul mood.
Milena closed her mouth and felt her throat fill with something bitter.
‘Put on your own dumb pageant, snot-hoof,’ she snapped and stormed out of the bathroom. She threw herself onto her bed and pulled the duvet up over her head. From underneath it, she could hear Semi-Skimmed stumbling out of the bathroom. For a moment, she seemed to pause outside the door to Milena’s room, as if she wanted to say something, but then Milena heard her rumble down the stairs.
Who cares if Mum wakes up, Milena thought. Let her think what she likes about a green Ayrshire barging through the hall covered in soap suds. Milena wouldn’t even care if anyone made fun of Semi-Skimmed. She was a stupid, stuck-up, silage-green, self-important beast, and it was no wonder she didn’t have any friends. Who’d want to be around her?
Then again, Milena didn’t have any friends in the village herself. But that was completely different. She was afraid what people might say about her lisp. Who would want to play with a girl whose tongue was split in two like a snake’s?
The next morning when Mum came in to wake Milena, she was singing the WestEnders theme tune as she pulled the curtains open. Milena was gripped by a terrible thought. Her mother had a tendency to be over come with sudden attacks of parental feelings, when she would make Milena eat porridge and ask whether she’d done her homework. No matter how much Milena assured her mum that it was the summer holidays, it didn’t help.
If anyone asked Milena, she’d say the best mother was one who knew when to leave her child in peace. No chance. Today her mum had woken up in her spot in front of the TV and rung up Lisa Meijer’s mum, explaining to her that Milena needed some new friends. Mum had already been to the flea market and bought a frilly dress, which was too big, for Milena to wear to Lisa’s birthday party.
‘You’ll grow into it!’ Mum exclaimed. Milena stiffened. The dress was purple with big red tulips on it and several curtains’ worth of pink tulle. Mum always took everything to extremes.
‘How about if I wear my black jeans?’ Milena suggested.
‘And to think I wished for a girl! Well, that’s what I got. A pretty girl who wants to dress like some sort of hoodlum.’ Mum’s lower lip began to tremble, and Milena knew she didn’t have any option.
‘Sure, it’s really pretty.’ She sighed.
‘It’s got puffy sleeves too,’ Mum smiled. ‘When I was a little girl I would’ve sold my own mother to have puffy sleeves. We’ll have to take this in a bit, but that won’t take long to do.’
‘I could sell my mum too,’ Milena muttered.
‘Whatsh that?’ Mum asked, her mouth full of pins.
A couple of hours later Milena found herself in a strange living room. There were kids everywhere she looked. Screeching, noisy, laughing kids. Kids who were all wearing trendy jeans and trainers. In the midst of all the fuss sat a girl wearing a cardboard crown and a cool band T-shirt. Milena had pestered her mum for a T-shirt just like that, but Mum said (AGAIN) that they weren’t suitable for little girls. She felt like getting her mum back here and showing her this girl. It seemed there were little girls in the world after all
who wore band T-shirts.
Milena stood in the doorway, tugging at the silly lace frills, until some boy ran into her and spilt his Coke over her.
‘Oops, sorry,’ the boy said without stopping or even glancing at Milena. She shook most of the sugary slop out of her dress and marched over to the girl in the cardboard crown.
‘Happy birthday, Litha,’ Milena snapped.
Lisa glared at Milena for a good three minutes.
‘What’s wrong with your mouth?’ some boy asked.
‘My tongue’th thplit,’ Milena said.
Lisa’s eyes grew wide. For a moment it looked like they were going to pop right out. Then the corners of her mouth twitched, and Lisa burst out laughing.
‘Hey everybody, come and look at this. This cream cake hasn’t learnt to speak yet.’
A crowd of children – ravenous, horrible children in rock band T-shirts – circled round Milena and tried to force her mouth open. ‘Snake tongue,’ they screamed. ‘Are you wearing your mum’s curtains?’
Milena poked the first boy in the stomach and thrust her knee in the direction of the other until she managed to break free. She rushed off to the loo and locked the door, leaning against it. The raging mob pounded briefly on the door. Then Milena heard an adult’s voice, all fake cheerfulness, announcing, ‘The fireworks are starting!’
After a brief commotion on the other side of the door there was silence. Milena waited a bit longer. Then she calmed down, took a deep breath and turned to look at herself in the mirror. Mirror-Milena’s eyes were dark with fear. She checked in the mirrored cabinet, took out a pair of nail scissors and cut the puffy sleeves off her dress. The boulder that was weighing on her chest eased up a few centimetres. She slashed her skirt with the scissors, tore the rosette off the back of her dress and looked at herself in the mirror. The results weren’t too bad. Slightly punk and stylish.
Milena came out of the bathroom. The house was empty – everyone was outside watching the fireworks. She crept into the kitchen, where the table was groaning with birthday food: fancy cakes, cream puffs, little tarts, heaped-up plates of meatballs and little gherkins wrapped in ham, small smoked salmon and cucumber sandwiches.
Cow Belle Beauty Queen Page 2