by Nigel Smith
“I would, but you didn’t hear the story,” said Dad. “It’s really funny. Does that make a difference?”
Uh-oh, thought Nat. Dad’s never going to get that certificate now.
“He’s given me a black mark, but because he’d given me two gold stars this week already, I have one last chance to get my certificate,” said Dad, a little while later. “So no harm done.”
They were sharing one of Dad’s pork pies, sitting by a neighbouring field full of grumpy cows.
“Best thing you can do is stay in your yurt for the rest of the week,” said Nat, “then you can’t possibly get into trouble.”
“Yes, but I still need to look like I know what I’m doing.”
“But you don’t! You don’t know anything.”
“I do and I’m going to prove it. I’ve volunteered to lead an outward-bound expedition to the Bleak Peak in a few days.”
Outward-bound expedition? Bleak Peak? What new madness was this?
“Dad, you’re not safe to lead an expedition to the shops. You get lost going to the bottom of our road.”
“Only once, and that was because I was in a hurry.”
“Lift up your left hand.”
Dad lifted up his right hand.
“You’re a menace, Dad. You can’t do it.”
“OK, look. Don’t say anything to Mr Dewdrop, love,” he said. “I need to impress him because I really need my certificate. And you’ll just have to come with me, that’s all.”
“I’m not going on an expedition with you – are you mad?”
“But you’re good at map-reading,” said Dad patiently. “No one need ever know it’s you helping. It’ll be our little secret.”
“Will you owe me a favour?”
“I suppose so.”
“Then I’ll think about it,” said Nat.
Mrs Ferret came bustling up from the eco camp office.
“Mr Bumolé, there’s someone on the phone for you,” she said. “Something about a funeral, but the line’s terrible. It sounds like they’re talking with a mouth full of cake with no teeth in.”
Nat and Dad looked at each other. They both knew it could only mean one thing.
BAD NEWS NAN.
Dad went off to get the phone call. He came back a few minutes later. They were right.
“Your nan’s in Lower Totley and wants to take us for lunch,” said Dad. “I’ve asked permission and we can go.”
Obviously Dad invited Darius along, as Bad News Nan LOVED Darius. Nat didn’t quite understand why, but then again she never understood why SHE was Darius’s friend either, so eventually she just accepted both facts as STRANGE BUT TRUE.
“Dad, why’s Nan actually here?” said Nat, as Dad drove the camp Land Rover into the village. “Don’t tell me SHE’S volunteered to help out at the stupid camp too?”
BNN liked volunteering, although her jobs never lasted long.
When she was a hospital visitor, the patients raised money to send her on a cruise. They said they didn’t mind where, as long as it was a long one, with chances of icebergs and/or whirlpools/tidal waves/Nan-eating krakens along the way.
When she helped out at a food bank, BNN was banned after making more withdrawals than deposits.
When she volunteered to read newspapers for the blind, she only read the bits she liked – the really gruesome and tragic bits – and then added a lot of gossip she’d heard down at the hairdresser’s. Sometimes she mixed them up so everyone thought the prime minister was having an affair with Elsie Gusset from the wet-fish counter at Asda.
“Nan’s here cos there’s a funeral,” said Dad.
“Makes sense,” said Nat. BNN loved funerals. “Is it someone she actually knew or has she just heard they’re doing nice cakes afterwards?”
“I think she actually knew the person in this one,” said Dad. “She said something about crossing another one out of her address book.”
Nat shuddered. BNN’s big black address book was more commonly known as THE BOOK OF DOOM.
Because sooner or later, everyone in it met with a horrible fate.
“Promise me you’ll never let Nan put me in that address book,” said Nat.
Dad chuckled. “I know what you mean,” he said. “People in there have as much chance of survival as hedgehogs playing ping-pong on the M1.”
“Hey, she put me in there,” said Darius, frowning.
Nat cackled. “Bad luck,” she said.
BNN was going to meet them in a café in the centre of the village. Lower Totley was one of those towns that guidebooks like to write about. The ones that only really old people like. Because they’re ever so quiet.
The place was just a few higgledy-piggledy streets huddled around a large, covered market square. The square had held animal markets every week for hundreds of years and all Nat could think about was how much poop there must still be under it.
As far as Nat could tell, every other shop was either a Ye Olde Tea Shoppe, or a shop selling tea towels. Which had pictures of tea shops on.
There was a large, red-brick library, which had a big sign on it:
CLOSED. SITE OF NEW SUPERSTORE COMING SOON!
Walking to the tea shop, Nat saw a sign which had been crossed out:
PUBLIC BATHS
The only thing that looked like it might be fun was a large boating lake, but it was sad and disused. A bit of pond scum clung to the dirty grey edges.
Chained up at the side of the lake were half-a-dozen fibreglass boats shaped like swans. They must have been pretty and white once, but now they were dirty and unloved. They hung their heads as if to say, Yeah, don’t look. I know we’re a bit rubbish these days.
“They’re closed – don’t bother queuing,” said a wrinkly old lady in a pretty floral headscarf, jabbing Nat with a bony finger. “Something to do with being untidy I should imagine. Huh, you young people. We had a war, you know, and we won. We didn’t win by being tidy, did we, eh?”
“Erm …” said Nat, who suddenly found herself at the other end of this conversation.
The old lady fixed her with a steely glare. She had surprisingly bright blue eyes. She was wearing a big woolly coat even though it was a hot day.
“Happiest years of my life, the war – apart from the bombs and the disease and the rats and the rationing,” said the old lady cheerfully. “And the horrible music. Ooh, I was glad when they invented that hip-hop.”
“Right,” said Nat, thinking, Funny, I think everyone in MY town is bonkers, but there’s fruit cakes everywhere.
“What do kids do for fun round here?” Nat asked.
“Leave,” said the old lady.
She pointed to a shiny plaque on the wall of a large brick building, formerly the children’s library.
It read:
NICE ’N’ NEAT COUNTRYSIDE ALLIANCE – HEAD OFFICES
Nat recognised the name with a shudder. This was where they were going to be horribly shown up on Saturday.
Next to it were five green plaques. Each one said:
WINNER – NICEST ‘N’ NEATEST TOWN IN THE UK
“Oh, we’re tidy all right,” said the old lady. “These days they make sure we don’t have anything round here that’ll make a mess. Including having a good time!”
She wandered off, singing a hip-hop song that was eye-wateringly rude.
“Relative of yours?” Nat asked Darius.
“You do know that was Black Meg, the Lower Snotley Zombie Witch?” said Darius. “They say one drop of her tears cures you of warts.”
“You could be a great writer one day,” said Dad with a smile, “unless you’re locked up for destroying mankind first. It’s fifty-fifty with you.”
“Take your silly hat off,” said Nat, snatching the embarrassing thing from Dad’s head. “People are staring.”
“What people?” said Dad.
He was right. Lower Totley was almost completely deserted.
“Told you, it’s a zombie town,” said Darius. “Don’t e
at any meat pies in this place, that’s all I’m saying – they’re made of people. THE TASTY BITS.”
Bad News Nan was already in the café, EATING A MEAT PIE.
She was on top Bad News Nan form. That is to say, she hugged Nat, squeezed Darius into her ample bosom until his eyes bulged, wiped his face with a spitty hanky, force-fed him fruit cake and told them all Incredibly Bad News Stories.
Mrs Password from the allotments had rotten ganglions.
Deirdre Instagram’s dog had found a shell in the back garden. It was an explosive shell from the war and it blew all her windows out. Worse, she’d just had double glazing put in. At least they got the dog’s collar back – it was found three streets away and it still had the name tag on. Deidre was now looking for a new dog with the same name. Lucky.
Mr Toggle at Number 6 had given his life savings to a man on the Internet who said he knew how to make millions of pounds in a day. After Mr Toggle sent the money he’d got an email saying:
JUST TELL IDIOTS ONLINE TO SEND YOU ALL THEIR SAVINGS. HA HA HA.
And Tracey Dangle had won a trip to Disney World.
“Oh. That doesn’t actually sound like bad news,” said Dad, “so that’s nice.”
“It wasn’t nice for her one bit,” said BNN through another mouthful of fruit cake. “She’s terrified of mice. She’s got a three-month jail sentence for bashing up Mickey with a broom.”
Bad News Nan droned to a halt and looked at the counter.
“All the cake’s gone,” said the café owner with a thin smile. “You’ve eaten it.”
“Lovely funeral this morning,” said Bad News Nan, popping her false teeth back in from where she’d put them – in the sugar bowl.
Nat wished she hadn’t put sugar in her tea.
“It was my old school friend Judy McSpreader,” said BNN. “Funny, hadn’t heard from her for years then she found me on the interweb net and got back in touch. Ooh, sad really, I’d only just put her name in my address book.”
She took out the leather book of doom from her massive handbag, spilling used tissues on the floor.
“I just need to cross her out,” said BNN, with what Nat thought was relish. “Anyone got a black pen?”
BNN spent the next ten minutes telling them what a tragic life her old friend had had, right up until last week when one day she woke up stone dead.
“Probably a relief to her,” said BNN. “She was ever so miserable; do you know she only ever saw the gloomy side of things? Death was a relief, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“You should meet Nat’s geography teacher,” said Dad. “He’d love you.”
“Judy’s youngest great-niece is a geography teacher too,” said BNN. “I was going to tell you if you’d let me get a word in sideways.”
“Sorry, Mum,” said Dad with a sigh.
Nat giggled. BNN always made her laugh.
“Yes, she’s been away, travelling and teaching geography abroad. Came back for the funeral. I said to her that I don’t know why foreigners need to be taught about foreign countries – they’re already there.”
Dad looked confused, but Nat just chuckled; she thought Nan’s head must be a really interesting place to live in.
“Anyways,” continued BNN, “I told her all about you lot. Specially you, Darius.”
“Mumph,” said Darius, who had been forgotten about.
He was still stuck mid-bosom and had gone a violent shade of purple.
BNN plopped him out and he gasped for air.
“I told her all about your clever little essay. Ooh, she was impressed.”
Darius grinned.
Nat frowned.
“She’s called Sky. Ooh, she’s done ever such a lot,” BNN gushed. “Actually, I don’t know how she’s survived everything. One toe dropped off with frostbite; another one got bitten off by a shark.” BNN paused. “Although it might have been a leg. And it might have been a shark, or it might have been a tiger … Anyways, she’s very interesting, whatever it is she’s done. I missed some of what she was saying – they’d just come out with the ham sandwiches.”
Dad sat up. “I could invite her to the camp,” he said. “She could give a talk and I could show Mr Dewdrop I’ve got interesting friends.”
“She’s not your friend,” said Nat.
“Only cos she hasn’t met me yet,” said Dad confidently. “I’m good at friends.”
Nat sighed. It was true – Dad had LOADS of friends. She had no idea why. He was an idiot.
“You didn’t get a phone number off her, did you, Mum?” asked Dad.
“Yes, it’s somewhere here … Oh, where is it?”
She flicked through the terrible black address book.
Dad, Nat and Darius looked at each other in alarm.
Finally, Nan pulled out a tissue from her sleeve. “Silly me, I wrote her number on a tissue,” she said. “Here it is. I’ll just add it to my book.”
Dad grabbed the number. “No need to put the poor woman in there,” he said. “She’s suffered enough, what with the frost and the toe-chomping. I’ll call her.”
But there was no mobile-phone signal in the café so Dad wandered off outside to call her.
Nan watched him, trying to find a signal, through the window. He eventually seemed to find one standing on a park bench in the middle of the town square, holding his phone high above his head.
“What’s your father doing now?” said Bad News Nan. “Do you know, Nathalia, my son has spent the last forty years trying to embarrass me? I think it might be because I dropped him on his head as a child.”
“It’s the phone company he’s with,” said Nat, as passers-by stood to gawp at Dad. “They’re really rubbish but Dad says they’re the cheapest.”
“There’s a reason they’re cheap,” said Darius, watching Dad’s antics.
“Oh, look what’s happening now,” said Nat. “Some people are throwing change at him – they think he’s a street performer.”
“Is that why that shopkeeper is trying to move him away with a broom?” said Darius.
“Yeah,” said Nat. “The police will probably turn up in a minute, knowing my luck.”
Eventually Dad came back to the café, rubbing his tummy.
“Sky sounds nice,” he said. “She’ll come over and meet us here. Ouch, I’m getting a bruise – that shopkeeper was mean. She said I was a busker and not from round here, and I was making the town untidy.”
“You do show me up,” said Bad News Nan. She grabbed the waitress’s arm. “Have you got kids?” she asked.
“Of course not,” said the waitress, “I’m sixteen. Please let go of me.”
“Don’t have ’em,” warned Bad News Nan. “They’re just a trial and misery to you, let me tell you.”
Dad looked uncomfortable.
Nat giggled. Finally it was Dad’s turn to be embarrassed.
“Have I told you about the time he wet the bed when we had that caravan holiday in Wales?” said BNN.
“No, because I’ve never met you before,” said the young waitress, alarmed.
“Mum …” said Dad, “stoppit.”
“He was on the top bunk too,” said BNN. “I was underneath. Well, I don’t need to tell you what that was like.”
Nat, Darius, and EVERYONE IN THE CAFÉ burst out laughing.
Everyone … except Dad.
“I don’t wet the bed any more,” said Dad loudly, “just to set the record straight on that one.”
“He’s such a worry to me,” said BNN. “I keep thinking that one day he’ll do something useful with his life, but he never does.”
“Mum, I’m doing really well,” said Dad. “I’ve won a writing prize, you know.”
Nat knew. The Stinker.
“And, er …” said Dad, trying to think of something else useful he’d done. “Oh yes, I’ve only been at this camp a few days and I’m practically in charge of it now.”
“Really?” sniffed BNN.
“Yeah,” said Dad. “They
love my ideas. They do anything I tell them, really. I basically run it all.”
“OOH, aren’t you clever? I always knew you’d do well, eventually.” She put her arms round him and gave him a big, slobbery, mummy kiss.
Dad went pale.
“He’s a good boy really,” said BNN, as Dad cringed and Nat guffawed.
And everyone in the café went:
“Aaaah.”
Tee-hee, thought Nat. Revenge at last.
They’d just finished lunch and Darius was noisily shovelling his second chocolate pudding down his gullet when Nan’s new friend Sky arrived, greeting the waitress and several customers like old friends.
She was a pretty young woman, slender and not very tall, who walked with the kind of grace that suggested hidden strength, like a dancer. She had long brown hair tied in a long ponytail, and the brightest blue eyes. She wore jeans and a T-shirt whose slogan was:
NANGA PARBAT, Man-eater
“Nice to meet you, Miss Parbat,” said Dad.
Sky laughed a high, sweet laugh, “Nanga Parbat’s the name of the mountain, silly,” she giggled. “The mountain’s the man-eater, not me,” she explained.
“Oops,” said Dad.
Nat winced.
Sky had an ENORMOUS scar all down her left arm. It was all jagged and looked like …
“Shark,” said Sky. “Ex-shark, as it happens.” She flashed a set of perfect white teeth.
Nat almost felt sorry for the shark. She reckoned it had never stood a chance. High on Sky’s other arm was a delicate tattoo. It was a heart with DADDY on.
Sky sat down at the table and took a big swig from a silver hip flask. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and belched louder than Darius. Then she giggled unexpectedly.
“Pardon me, terrible habit – from hanging out with the Bedouin in the Sahara too long.” She had another swig then put it away.
“God, I hate funerals, don’t you?” she said. “In Tibet they just chop you up and leave you to the birds. Don’t think we’ll get that past the Lower Totley Parish Council though.”
Nat decided there and then that this was the most AWESOME woman she’d ever met.
They introduced themselves.
Darius must like her, thought Nat – he wiped his hand before shaking hers.