by Nigel Smith
“Sky. What a lovely name,” said Dad.
“Mum called me Sky because it was the first thing she saw after I was born. It’s a good luck thing for many tribespeople. I mean, she was from Lower Totley, but still, she’d seen a documentary or something and thought it was cool.”
They all laughed.
“Dad had taken her to an open-air pop festival when she was nearly nine months pregnant, the idiot. Said it would be good for me to hear music in the womb.”
“Sounds like the sort of daft thing my dad would do,” said Nat.
“Anyway, halfway through a particularly vigorous drum solo, I just sort of arrived.” Sky smiled. “Mum woke up flat on her back, staring at the sky. That’s how I got my name.”
“That’s brilliant,” said Nat.
“It was fortunate too, because the very next thing Mum saw was the lead singer of the Electric Prunes and he was called Bogshed.”
Nan announced she had to get back to her B&B for a lie-down because all the cake had given her wind.
Everyone who knew Nan dived for the exit.
They had a little time before heading back to the camp and Sky offered to take them on a guided tour of the town.
“It won’t take long,” she said. “There’s not much left.”
Nat detected a note of sadness in her voice.
“Zombies?” said Darius.
Sky laughed. “Yeah, you could say that,” she joked, “but not in the way you mean.”
She pointed to the building that was now the head office of the Nice ’N’ Neat Countryside Alliance.
“This town used to be great fun,” she said. “When I was growing up, there were fairs and carnivals and parades. There were fireworks and street parties and even a festival of rotten fruit-throwing.”
“Rotten fruit-throwing?” said Nat. “That sounds like what happens when my dad plays the ukulele.”
Dad laughed. “She’s right,” he admitted.
“My dad used to organise everything,” Sky continued. “He was one of those dads.”
“Ooh, I know what you mean,” said Nat, looking at her dad.
“Did you have the Green Bogey Festival?” said Dad. “I bet you did. I’ve been told he’s very important round here.”
“I’ve never heard of the Green Bogey,” said Sky.
“Told you so, Dad, you spanner,” said Nat. “Carry on, Sky.”
“But then my dad died, and not long after that the tidy people turned up and everything that caused a mess was closed down. Now the town just wins the tidiest town award every year, but it could also win the most boring.”
“Is that why you went travelling?” asked Nat.
“Maybe.” Sky shrugged. “You know, this coming Saturday is the day we used to have the carnival, but all that happens now is that everyone goes to the town hall and watches videos of previous carnivals and then they get a talk on how messy it was.”
“Not much of a carnival,” said Darius, who liked mess.
Sky shook her head. “It’s super rubbish. They’re saying the high point of Saturday’s carnival will be looking at a couple of geography projects done by stupid kids. Can you imagine?”
“Yes,” said Nat, “I can imagine. I can imagine it’ll be even more rubbish for the stupid kids.”
Sky slapped her forehead. “Oh, I get it, YOU’RE the stupid – I mean, you’re the kids! Sorry, I’m sure you won’t be rubbish.”
“No, I will be,” said Nat glumly.
“Listen,” said Dad. “Never mind THEM being rubbish – I’m not looking too good at the moment. Sky, I need your help. Will you come and talk to the kids at our camp please? Only, I’m trying to make a good impression on one of the Nice ’N’ Neat Countryside people, so if you do come, please don’t say anything horrible about them, even if they are horrible. It could be dead embarrassing. Not for me, but for Nathalia,” he added hastily. “She’s oversensitive about getting embarrassed. Probably her hormones. She’s quite a little girl for her age really, aren’t you, love?”
He gave Nat a big dad squeeze.
“Gerroff, not in public,” said Nat.
“Oh yes, you won that competition, didn’t you?” said Sky, looking at Darius. “I recognise your photo from the newspaper now. You’re the clever essay writer.”
“It’s a gift,” said Darius.
“Yes, MY gift, you cheaty chimp,” snapped Nat.
“You did it TOGETHER? How adorable,” said Sky.
Nat went red.
Darius put his fingers down his throat and made retching noises.
They had ended up standing next to the closed boating lake. There was a little neat sign that explained it was due to be concreted over and turned into an ornamental fountain. It also said:
NO SPLASHING ALLOWED
“I miss having a special friend,” said Sky.
With horror, Nat realised she was talking about HER AND DARIUS BAGLEY.
“The thing about travelling is, you meet hundreds of people but you can feel ever so alone,” Sky said.
“Tell me about it,” said a sad voice Nat recognised.
Mr Keane was sitting in one of the fibreglass swan boats, reading a book.
No one had noticed him because he was one of those people no one notices.
“Hello,” he said. “I had to get away from camp for a bit. Don’t tell anyone. I just said all that healthy eating had given me the runs. It’s not much of a fib.”
Mr Keane sighed and chucked his book in the lake. As it sank, Nat read the title: How to Be Happy.
That’s going well then, she thought.
“Who am I kidding?” he said. “It’s a big fat lie. I never get the galloping trots. I once ate a whole camel’s head with no ill effects.”
“When did you eat a whole camel’s head?” said Sky, who sounded like she didn’t believe him.
“When I was the guest at a wedding feast in the High Atlas mountains,” said Mr Keane, noticing Sky for the first time and going the sort of red that Nat usually went.
“If you say so,” said Sky.
Something about her tone of voice made Mr Keane hop out of the boat. He looked cross.
“Look here,” he said, “just because all my pupils think I’m rubbish—”
“We don’t,” said Nat.
“We do,” said Darius.
“… and all the teachers think I’m rubbish—”
“They don’t,” said Nat.
“They do,” said Dad, feeling a bit left out.
“… it doesn’t mean EVERYONE can think I’m rubbish, even women …” he paused for a second, “… even women as beautiful as you.”
Sky took a step back in surprise.
“I had dreams once,” said Mr Keane. “When I couldn’t get into vet school, I decided to write. I was going to write a novel about a man who wanted to write a novel, so I went to live with the Berber people in the mountains in Morocco.”
“Why?” asked Dad.
“Because that’s what the man in my novel did,” said Mr Keane.
“Was your novel any good?” said Nat.
“I never finished it,” said Mr Keane. “I just wrote a diary of my adventures. I published it myself and I think I sold two copies. One was to my mum.”
“And the other one was to me!” said Sky, eyes widening.
She rummaged around in her backpack and pulled out a tatty, well-thumbed copy of:
My Life Trying to Write a Novel in the Atlas
Mountains with the Berber by IAN MICHAELMAS KEANE.
“This book literally saved my life,” she said in amazement. “I picked it up for five pence at a car boot sale. It’s so hilariously funny, it kept me going when I was at my most miserable.”
“It’s not supposed to be funny,” muttered Mr Keane, but Sky didn’t hear.
“Oh, remember the time when you rescued that dog but it turned out to be a giant rat?”
“Not funny. It almost had my finger off.”
“Or the
time you forgot that a Bedouin prince has to give you anything you say you like, and you told him how much you liked his wife?”
“Extremely embarrassing.”
“And you must tell everyone about the sandstorm, the camel, and the inflatable penguin.”
“No I must not!” said Mr Keane. He got so agitated he lost his footing and fell backwards …
… straight into the boating lake.
“You’re still funny!” shouted Sky, grabbing him and easily dragging him out.
“No one’s ever said that before,” said Mr Keane, spitting out a water beetle.
“No one tells you,” said Dad. “No one recognises comic genius until you’re old and not funny any more. That’s how it happens. Look at me – no one thinks I’m funny.”
“Wrong, Dad,” said Nat. “EVERYONE thinks you’re funny.”
“That’s so sweet,” said Sky, but winking at Nat to show she knew EXACTLY what Nat meant.
“Oh heck, look at the time,” said Dad. “We’re running late and I can’t get another black mark.”
“I can’t go back like this,” said the sopping Mr Keane.
“You can clean up at my flat,” said Sky, “and borrow some clean clothes.”
“Nothing’s a problem for you, is it?” said Mr Keane.
“Never met one yet that can’t be beat!” Sky laughed.
Mr Keane suddenly straightened up. He turned to Dad and said, “Tell them at the camp that I’m worse, and I’ve gone into town to buy some stomach medicine and a cork. I may be gone some time.”
“I see you’re a rebel,” said Sky, impressed.
“I am,” said Mr Keane, puffing himself up, “although I have to be back at camp tonight as it’s my turn to help with the washing-up.”
“I’ll get him back in time,” laughed Sky, turning to Dad. “Now, what fun have you got lined up this afternoon?”
“Eeek, we’re late for it,” said Dad, dragging the kids back to the car.
“Where ARE we off to now, Dad?” said Nat, as Dad whizzed her and Darius along winding country roads in the Land Rover.
“I’m trying to concentrate,” said Dad. “I’m looking for a riding school. It’s the next camp activity.”
“Like the one we just passed?” said Nat.
Dad slammed on the brakes. “You might have said,” he complained, crunching gears and turning round.
He found the entrance, revved up the earth drive and skidded to a halt by a large iron barn.
The other children were already there, all kitted out in riding gear. One group of riders, led by Mr Bungee and, next to him, little suck-up Plum, were already trotting off into the woods.
“We so love pony-trekking,” said Plum excitedly, clip-clopping past Nat and Penny on a sleek white pony. “Our school has its own ponies, you know.”
“Course you do,” said Nat pleasantly, “but that’s only because your unicorns flew away.”
“Unicorns can’t fly, silly,” said Penny. “That’s just a myth.”
Mr B laughed sarcastically.
Plum rode past, giggling. “You girls are SO adorable,” she said.
“Yeah, aren’t we just,” said Nat through gritted teeth. She elbowed Penny sharply in the ribs.
But Nat couldn’t stay annoyed for very long. She had just got a waft of that lovely smell of hay and warm horse.
“Stop being grumpy with me. You told me you like ponies,” said Penny.
Nat just grunted. She DID like ponies, but she didn’t want to admit it in front of THAT school.
“You’re late. You got a horse yet?” said Darius, in a riding hat a size too big for him.
“Not yet,” said Nat, jogging to the tack room to get riding gear on.
She ran past Dad, who was being given a stern talking-to by Mr Dewdrop for driving into the yard so fast.
“Won’t be long,” said Dad. “Only, I’ve got to drive the Land Rover again and prove to Mr Dewdrop that I don’t always drive like a … What was it you said?”
Mr Dewdrop said something.
“Well, never mind what he said. Back soon. Have fun riding.”
Dad drove off VERY CAREFULLY with Mr Dewdrop in the car, taking notes.
Darius shouted something to Nat, but – in her haste and what with Dad’s telling-off – she missed it. She thought she heard “evil” and “plan”, but most things Darius said involved those words, so she wasn’t too bothered.
She should have been bothered.
Nat started to get bothered when she saw Darius deep in an argument with Mr Rainbow, who was taking the riding session. Nat couldn’t quite hear what was going on because Miss Slippy was putting her riding hat on and Nat was wriggling like an eel.
“Oh, ow, that’s my hair!” said Nat.
“Oh, do keep still,” snapped Miss Slippy, “we haven’t got all day. I knew you were a problem child – I can tell by looking at your father.”
Thanks again, Dad, thought Nat, keeping a bit more still but with an ear strained for Darius.
“All these ponies are for babies,” said Darius. “We need something bigger and better for Buttface.”
“Who?” said Mr Rainbow.
“What’s he saying?” said Nat, who’d heard her horrible nickname.
“Keep still while I put your hat on straight,” tutted Miss Slippy, fussing with her strap.
“Ow, that’s my hair caught in the strap AGAIN,” complained Nat. “Lemme go, I need to hear this.”
But Miss Slippy wouldn’t let her go so she only half-heard the conversation taking place about her.
“The only big pony here is Satan,” said a stable girl, coming over to help Mr Rainbow. “I mean, actually he’s called Stan. Satan’s just a silly nickname.”
From inside the stalls came a deep whinny, and the sound of crashing hoofs.
Another stable girl came flying out of the door.
“That’s it,” shouted the stable girl, throwing down a brush, dusting herself off and stomping away. “I don’t care what you do with that flipping monster horse. Put him in a tin of cat food for all I care! I’m not brushing him any more – he’s a menace.”
“He sounds perfect,” said Darius, eyes gleaming. “She likes a challenge.”
“Who?” said Mr Rainbow.
“He means Nathalia,” said Miss Hunny doubtfully.
Darius stuck his head around the stable door.
A whinny shook the air.
“Oh yeah, he’s perfect,” said Darius, pulling his head back.
“What’s going on?” said Nat, finally scuttling over, still adjusting her hat. “I heard my name. What are you up to?”
Darius whispered, “It’s the evil plan. It’s going brilliantly. Don’t spoil it.”
“Oh, OK,” said Nat, “if you’re sure.” SHE wasn’t even sure, but she knew her future school life was hanging in the balance …
“Nathalia, come back. Your hat still isn’t on properly,” Miss Slippy called from the stable. “If you fall on your head you’ll lose what little brain you have.”
Nat looked at Darius then ran back to the tack room.
“Nat should get that pony,” said Darius firmly. “She’s really good at riding. Oh come on, trust me – I’m leader and everything.”
Mr Rainbow sniggered. “I’m not sure you can trust a boy like him,” he said.
“There’s nothing wrong with our little Darius Bagley,” said Miss Hunny defensively.
She grabbed him and started to give him a hug. Then she stopped.
“Heavens, you’re sticky,” she said, quickly letting him go.
“Besides, Nathalia is Darius’s very best friend,” Miss H added, wiping her hands down her jeans.
“If you say so,” said Mr Rainbow.
“Yes, I do say so,” said Miss H, “so there.”
She turned to Darius and looked him in the eye. This was rare: most people thought looking him in the eye was bad luck. Some people even claimed he could suck out their souls throug
h his eyeballs, but Miss Hunny didn’t QUITE believe that.
“Are you absolutely sure Nathalia can handle this horrible horse?” she said.
“Course,” said Darius innocently, “she’s got ribbons and medals and everything. I thought everybody knew.”
“Oh my. It seems you don’t know the children in your own class,” said Mr Rainbow. “That’s not very good teaching, is it?”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Miss Hunny, stung. “Now, come to mention it, I think I’ve seen Nathalia’s riding ribbons. In her own house. That’s right: I’m not just a teacher, I’m a friend. That’s what our school is like.”
“What is that dreadful woman talking about?” said Miss Eyre. “The children are our friends?”
“I don’t like the teachers, never mind the children,” said Miss Austen.
“I wouldn’t have thought anyone from your school could manage a horse like this,” said Mr Rainbow, just as Nat came back.
“Oh yeah? Just watch her,” said Miss Hunny, who was fed up with the snooty teachers. “Nathalia, show them what you can do.”
By now all the children had gathered round to watch. A braver stable girl went into the stalls and led the fierce pony out.
The children went:
“OOH.”
Nathalia gulped. It was MASSIVE.
Stan was less like a pony, more like a warhorse. And not a nice warhorse who would actually rather be munching daisies in a quiet field and trotting tamely with schoolkids. Oh no. One of those bonkers and really grumpy warhorses who wanted to be headbutting tanks and dodging bullets and trampling enemy soldiers.
“Satan, Satan,” came the cry from the kids.
“You’re not helping,” muttered Nat.
She looked at Darius. “What have you done?” she said.
“Shush,” said Darius, “this is part of my evil plan. Soon, everyone will think you totally hate me.”
“Why?” asked Nat.
“Because you’re about to have a terrible time, thanks to me.” Darius grinned.
Before Nat could say anything, Miss Hunny grabbed her and started pushing her on to the big horse.
“Ow, Miss,” complained Nat, clambering on.
“Show them what you can do,” Miss Hunny whispered, still pushing her. “Don’t let me down now.”