Starstruck!

by MacDonald, Alan; Roberts, David;

  Seventy-five pounds – just for growing flowers! thought Angela. Think what you could do with all that money! For months Angela had been begging her parents to buy a trampoline for the garden. Her mum said they were too expensive but surely with the prize money they could afford one?

  That settles it, decided Angela. We have to beat mean old Mrs Nettles and win the competition.

  Later Angela and her friends sat on the garden bench drinking lemonade. It was too hot to go inside and anyway they had things to discuss.

  “It is a nice garden,” said Laura.

  “Yes, but is it good enough to win the competition?” asked Angela.

  “I don’t know,” said Maisie, looking around. “It’s nice but it’s not really special, is it?”

  Angela frowned. “It’s got a pond, that’s Mum’s trump card,” she said.

  “Yes, but there isn’t much to do,” argued Maisie. “I mean you can smell the flowers but that’s boring. What it needs is a tree house or something.”

  Laura nodded. “Yes, a tree house or maybe a chocolate fountain.”

  “And a trampoline,” added Angela. “If we win the competition, we’ll get a trampoline.”

  “Really?” said Laura.

  “Definitely,” said Angela. “We’ll have seventy-five pounds to spend, so what else would we do with it?”

  She closed her eyes trying to imagine the garden with a trampoline on the lawn. It would be great for bouncing up and down so she could spy on what Bertie was up to next door.

  Angela sighed. “You’re right, if we’re going to win it needs more than just flowers and a smelly old pond.”

  “You should get some gnomes,” suggested Laura.

  “Gnomes?” said Angela.

  “Yes, garden gnomes. My gran has lots of them,” said Laura. “They’re funny little men who sit on toadstools, push wheelbarrows and go fishing. They’d make the garden more fun.”

  Angela had never seen a garden gnome before but they sounded like a good idea. She jumped to her feet.

  “I know!” she said. “There’s lots of stuff we could use in my bedroom.”

  “What stuff?” asked Maisie.

  “I’ll show you,” said Angela. “Come on!”

  Half an hour later Angela found her mum in the kitchen, baking for the next day.

  “Come and look what we’ve done!” Angela cried, beaming.

  Mrs Nicely frowned. “Done? Where?” she said.

  “In the garden,” replied Angela.

  Mrs Nicely turned pale. In the garden? Her garden – the day before the competition? Oh no! Whenever Angela did something helpful it always ended in disaster.

  Mrs Nicely hurried outside and looked around. Thankfully the greenhouse was still standing and none of the flowers had been dug up.

  “What am I looking at?” she asked.

  “The garden!” replied Angela. “Can’t you see? We didn’t have any gnomes so we used my toys!”

  Mrs Nicely stepped down on to the lawn. Laura and Maisie were waiting excitedly. Mrs Nicely gasped as she caught sight of a monkey hanging upside down from the cherry tree. By the pond a teddy bear and a yellow duck were dabbling their feet in the water. There was a doll’s tea party in full swing under the azaleas. Everywhere she looked soft toy puppies, kittens and blue elephants peeped from bushes or flower beds.

  “Well?” said Angela. “What do you think? It’s much more fun, isn’t it?”

  Mrs Nicely silently counted to five.

  “Take them away, Angela,” she said. “Right now.”

  “What, ALL of them?” cried Angela.

  “All of them,” said Mrs Nicely. “And please, please, don’t do anything else to my garden or I may scream.”

  The three girls watched her march back to the house. Angela sighed. The trouble with parents was they were no fun at all, she thought.

  On Saturday morning Mrs Nicely was up early, watering the plants and inspecting her garden for dandelions and slugs. Angela and her friends had begged to help so she’d put them in charge of refreshments. They couldn’t do any harm serving cakes and drinks – at least that’s what she told herself.

  At eleven o’clock visitors started to arrive. Angela was amazed that so many people wanted to look round their boring garden. She sat at the refreshments table with Maisie and Laura, trying not to eat all the cakes.

  Her mum stood greeting people as they arrived.

  “Keep an eye out for Mrs Shrub, she’s the judge,” she explained.

  “How will we know her?” asked Angela.

  “She has grey hair and glasses on a cord round her neck,” said Mrs Nicely. “You can’t miss her.”

  “Shall we give her cake?” asked Laura.

  “Of course – tea, cake, biscuits, anything she wants,” replied Mrs Nicely. “Just be sure to make a good impression.”

  Angela nodded. Winning the competition – and getting a trampoline – depended on impressing Mrs Shrub.

  “Oh, and I nearly forgot,” said Mrs Nicely. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Mrs Nettles drops in to spy on my garden.”

  “The slug lady?” said Angela.

  Her mum nodded. “She’s thin as a sparrow. Look out for anyone who’s acting oddly.”

  “Oddly?” said Laura.

  “Yes, picking flowers or treading on plants,” said Mrs Nicely. “I don’t trust that woman, she’ll do anything to win.”

  Angela frowned. There was a lot to remember. It would be so much easier if everyone wore name badges.

  All that morning they were busy serving refreshments. Angela kept a close eye on the visitors, trying to spot the judge. At last she found her.

  “That’s HER! Mrs Shrub!” hissed Angela. “By the fence.”

  The others looked over. An old lady was smelling the roses. She had bushy grey hair and a pair of glasses dangling from a cord round her neck.

  “Are you sure it’s her?” said Laura.

  “Of course it’s her,” replied Angela. “She’s exactly as Mum said. I’ll bring her over.”

  Soon the old lady was sat in a chair while they waited on her like the Queen.

  “Have some more cake,” said Maisie.

  “Well thank you, dear.”

  “Would you like another cup of tea?” asked Laura.

  “If it’s no trouble,” smiled the old lady.

  “So, what do you think of our garden?” asked Angela, getting to the point.

  “Oh, it’s a treat,” said the old lady. “So neat and tidy and I love the little pond.”

  “Is it the best garden you’ve seen today?” asked Angela.

  “Easily!” said the old lady. “Mind you, I’ve only been to two.”

  Angela looked pleased. Mrs Shrub had lots more gardens to inspect but if she kept eating cake she might not get round to all of them.

  The visitors kept coming all morning. Angela had to run to the kitchen to fetch more cakes. When she returned the old lady had dozed off. Her mouth was open and she still had a half-eatenlemon slice on her plate. Angela wondered if they ought to wake her up. It was difficult to judge gardens with your eyes closed. Laura grabbed Angela’s arm.

  “You know the mean slug lady?” she hissed. “I think she’s here!”

  “Where?” gasped Angela.

  “There!” said Laura. She pointed to a woman near the greenhouse, inspecting the fruit bushes. Angela tried to remember what her mum had said – “thin as a sparrow”. This woman was thin with her hair scraped back in a bun.

  “She ate a raspberry!” whispered Laura.

  “Yes, we saw her do it!” said Maisie.

  “And she keeps touching all the flowers,” said Laura.

  Angela nodded, it was definitely Mrs Nettles. What a nerve – sneaking into their garden and stealing their raspberries! Angela saw she had a large black handbag over her arm.

  “I bet she’s got all the slugs in there!” she whispered.

  “YUCK!” said Maisie.

  “That’s how s
he sneaks them in,” said Angela. “Don’t you remember the slugs ate all our flowers last year?”

  “Shouldn’t we tell your mum?” asked Laura anxiously.

  Angela glanced over. Her mum was busy chatting to a thin woman with her back to them. Angela knew better than to interrupt but if they waited it might be too late. Something had to be done before Mrs Nettles spoiled their chances of winning the competition.

  “Leave this to me,” said Angela.

  “What are you going to do?” asked Maisie.

  “You’ll see,” said Angela. “She won’t come round here again with her smelly bag of slugs!”

  “Hello, I’m Angela!” said Angela, smiling sweetly at the woman. “It’s my mum’s garden.”

  The visitor looked at her. “Hello,” she said.

  “Would you like to see our fish?” asked Angela.

  “You have fish?” asked the woman.

  “Yes, two – Tiffany and Bertie,” said Angela, making it up on the spot.

  She led the way down the garden to the ornamental pond.

  “I don’t see any fish,” said the woman.

  “I expect they’re hiding in the lilies. They’re a bit shy,” said Angela. “You have to look really hard.”

  The woman leaned forwards over the pond. Angela glanced round. It was now or never. She stared at Mrs Nettles’ black handbag, imagining the slimy slugs squirming inside. That did it. She reached out and gave the woman a shove in the back.

  The woman wobbled on one leg, then toppled forwards…

  “Oh… OHHHHH…!”

  “AAAAAARGH!”

  Everyone heard the scream and came running. They found a woman sitting in the pond, fully clothed and dripping wet.

  “She… She pushed me!” squawked the woman, pointing at Angela.

  “ANGELA! YOU DIDN’T?” cried Mrs Nicely.

  “Not on purpose,” said Angela. “Anyway, she’s got slugs in her bag.”

  “Slugs? Are you mad?” said the woman.

  “And she’s been eating our raspberries!” said Angela.

  “I ate one!” cried the woman. “It’s the judge’s job to sample the fruit.”

  “The judge’s?” said Angela.

  “This is Mrs Shrub – who is judging the competition,” said Mrs Nicely, holding her head in her hands.

  Angela blinked. “Mrs Shrub? But we thought she was the judge.”

  She pointed at the little old lady who seemed to have woken up.

  “Me? Oh, no, I’m not anyone, dear,” said the old lady.

  “But you’re wearing your glasses on a string,” said Angela.

  “Like these you mean?” said the real Mrs Shrub, fishing a pair of glasses on a cord from her handbag.

  Angela groaned. She’d pushed the wrong woman in the pond.

  Mrs Shrub squelched out. Her dress clung wetly to her and there was green weed in her hair.

  “Sorry,” mumbled Angela. “Anyone can make a mistake. I thought you were mean Mrs Nettles.”

  “I AM NASTY MRS NETTLES,” boomed a voice.

  Angela turned. It was the thin woman her mum had been talking to, and she looked very cross. In fact everyone looked a bit cross, especially her mum.

  “Why didn’t you tell me which one was the judge?” moaned Angela.

  “I was busy!” snapped Mrs Nicely. “How could you, Angela? Go and fetch Mrs Shrub a towel.”

  Angela hurried off to the house. She wondered if now was a good time to ask her mum for a trampoline… Maybe not. Although that pond was going to have to go – it was nothing but trouble!

  Angela found her mum reading a magazine at the kitchen table.

  “Who’s ‘Dear Dora’?” asked Angela, looking over her shoulder.

  “She’s someone who helps people with their problems,” said her mum.

  “You mean like maths problems?” asked Angela.

  “No, everyday problems. People write in and Dora gives them advice,” said Mrs Nicely. “She’s called an Agony Aunt.”

  Angela had never heard of an Agony Aunt but it sounded interesting.

  “Can you read it out?” she asked.

  Her mum groaned. “No! They’re just problems about money or boyfriends or mothers who never get a moment’s peace. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for school?”

  “I am,” said Angela. “Could I do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Be the Aunt in your magazine,” said Angela. “I’m good at advice.”

  “I’m sure you are but you’re far too young,” said her mum.

  “What if I was nine?” asked Angela.

  Mrs Nicely shook her head. “You don’t have enough experience. Maybe when you’re a lot older,” she said. “Now where are your shoes?”

  Angela went off to look for them. The more she thought about it, being an Agony Aunt seemed like the perfect job for her. For one thing she liked knowing other people’s problems and also she knew lots of good advice. Rather than writing to “Dear Dora” people could send their problems to Auntie Angela…

  Angela found her shoes and quickly slipped them on. She decided she would definitely be an Agony Aunt when she was older. And in the meantime she could get some practice by sorting out her friends’ problems.

  On the way to school Angela made a start.

  “So anyway, what are your problems?” she asked her friends.

  Maisie looked puzzled. “What are you on about?” she said.

  “Problems – everybody has problems,” said Angela. “When I’m older I’m going to be an Agony Aunt in a magazine and help people with their problems, so I need to start practising now.”

  “Well, I can’t think of any problems,” said Maisie.

  “Nor can I,” said Laura.

  “There must be something! Think!” cried Angela.

  Laura frowned. “Well, there’s my hair I suppose,” she said.

  “What about it?” asked Angela.

  “I wish it was curlier like Maisie’s,” replied Laura.

  Angela rolled her eyes. She doubted if “Dear Dora” wrote about people who wanted curlier hair. She would have to ask her classmates. There was bound to be someone with a really interesting problem that needed her advice.

  At school Angela went round the playground asking her classmates to explain their problems. The list she collected wasn’t very exciting. Amanda Thribb had a tickly cough, Kelly had a hole in her sock and Sean had forgotten to bring his PE kit to school. None of these were the kind of problems needing Angela’s advice.

  “Maybe teachers have better problems,” she said to Laura.

  But as they reached the classroom, Laura found a note on their desk.

  “It’s for you, Angela,” she said, handing it over.

  The note had neat, tiny writing. Angela read it eagerly.

  At last! thought Angela, someone who really needed her advice! But there was no name on the note. Who was it from?

  “Did you see who left this?” she asked Laura.

  Laura shook her head.

  “But how am I supposed to help if I don’t know who they are?” moaned Angela, throwing up her hands.

  It was a mystery. Who did they know who felt forgotten and didn’t have any friends? Angela looked around the class.

  “Tiffany!” she cried. “Maybe she sent the note?”

  “Tiffany Charmers?” laughed Maisie. “Everyone pays her attention. She’s such a big show off!”

  “And anyway she’s got lots of friends,” Laura pointed out.

  “Not real friends,” argued Angela. “They’re just people she bosses about. I’m going to ask her.”

  She marched over to Tiffany’s desk.

  “Tiffany, I got your note!” whispered Angela. “You know, about your BIG PROBLEM.”

  Tiffany stared at her. “WHAT?” she said.

  “You know… How no one pays you any attention and you don’t have any friends,” said Angela.

  Tiffany looked annoyed. “Cheek! I’ve got millio
ns of friends!” she said.

  “Then why did you send me the note?” asked Angela.

  “What note? You’re raving potty, Angela!” said Tiffany. “Go and bother someone else!”

  Just then Miss Darling came in.

  “Angela Nicely!” she cried “Why are you out of your seat?”

  Angela hurried back to her place. Perhaps Tiffany hadn’t sent the note after all, she thought. As she sat down Angela noticed a dark haired girl staring at her. She pointed to herself then to Angela.

  “Who’s that?” Angela asked her friends.

  Laura looked round. “That’s Molly, she’s the new girl,” she replied.

  Of course! thought Angela. It must have been Molly who’d written the note! Molly had started at their school a few weeks ago but she’d barely spoken three words since her first day. In fact, Angela had completely forgotten she existed! No wonder Molly needed help – and luckily for her she’d come to the right person. Auntie Angela was going to solve all her problems.

  At morning break Angela brought Molly over to meet her friends.

  “This is Molly,” said Angela. “Nobody talks to her – which I think is terrible.”

  “You never talk to her,” Maisie replied.

  “Only because I’ve been busy,” said Angela. “So anyway, she needs advice.”

  Molly shrugged helplessly. “I just don’t really know anyone,” she sighed.

  They all tried to think of some good advice.

  “I know, you could throw a party,” said Maisie. “If you invite the whole class it’ll make you really popular!”

  “I don’t think my mum would let me,” said Molly.

  “No,” said Angela. “Anyway first you need to get yourself noticed. You should talk more in class. It’s no good sitting there quiet as a caterpillar.”