by Nigel Smith
Darius wasn’t so lucky.
He went straight down.
Straight on to the head of a super-annoyed cow!
Fortunately the sharp horns missed his legs AND his squidgy bits, but it was close enough to make him cross-eyed. He grabbed on to the two horns for dear life as the cow bucked and mooed and tried to throw him off.
“TOTALLY SERVES YOU RIGHT!” yelled Nat from the tree.
With a huge effort, the cow hoisted Darius high into the air and over a hedge.
“NETTLES!” yelled Darius.
“Good,” shouted Nat, still dangling.
Two hands grabbed her feet. It was Dad, finally come to the rescue.
She dropped on to his shoulders and he ran for the safety of the fence, ahead of the charging cows.
Dad practically threw Nat over the fence and then hopped over with her. Pointy Doris’s head went BONK on to the wooden fence, shaking it with a crash.
“Stop frightening my cows,” came an angry voice. “They’re sensitive creatures and you’ll put ’em off they milking.”
A fat farmer came puffing up. He ran so fast his cap fell off.
“Oi’ll be arsking for compensation from that rotten camp,” he said. “All these flipping kids.”
He saw Dad get unsteadily to his feet.
“And you should know better, grown man loike you.”
“Shut your pie hole,” shouted Darius from his nettle bed, in his best Dad impersonation.
The farmer turned to Dad angrily. “What did you say?”
Before Dad could reply, the farmer grabbed a spiky branch.
“Oi’ve just about had enough of youse lot,” he said. “Prepare for a thrashing.”
He ran at Dad, waving the branch.
“I’ll distract him by running away like I’m scared,” said cowardly Dad. “You get back to the camp. RUN.”
Everyone ran. The farmer ran after Dad; Nat after Darius.
She didn’t care that his face looked all blotchy from the nettles; she was gonna GET HIM.
Of course, Darius was an evil hiding ninja and Nat trudged back to camp empty-handed.
Rufus was there to greet her.
“That was awesome,” he said. “You totally rocked that balloon. I don’t care that you’ve totally ruined our project. You’re just WILD.”
“You what?” said Nat.
Now she was getting over the shock and panic, she was feeling horribly self-conscious.
She suddenly realised she was still IN HER ONESIE! And it was an old onesie too. With bunnies on.
She felt like she was six, but here she was in the middle of a field, talking to A BOY.
And half the camp WERE WATCHING.
AAAAGH!
“Get lost, go away,” she said, running into her yurt and chucking herself on the floor in misery.
Inside, Penny was writing in her diary.
“You’re awake early,” she said, without looking up.
There was a lot of fuss that morning.
And lots of people were furious.
In no particular order:
Dr Nobel was SO mad. As mad as a baby who’d dropped a dummy down the dunny. His lovely, secret, project-winning weather balloon was in shreds on a tree.
Nat was as mad as Princess Boo in her new single: ‘I’m Mad as Heck and It’s All Your Fault’. She had SO MANY REASONS TO BE MAD, it would take far too long to list them all.
Dad was as annoyed as someone who’d been chased by an angry farmer. Who, in turn, was as cross as a farmer whose prize-winning cows were being bothered by idiots in balloons.
Mrs Ferret was livid because her camp was turning into a madhouse.
Mr Dewdrop was fuming because the shredded balloon was VERY MESSY.
Mr Bungee was cross because he’d been asleep and missed everything.
Miss Hunny was irritated because her school was looking worse by the day.
Darius wasn’t annoyed.
He wandered into Nat’s yurt after a while, asking if he’d missed breakfast.
“Oh my God, Darius, you’re covered in nettle rash,” said Penny. “Or do you shed your skin like a lizard?”
“He actually IS human,” said Nat, “although he’s going to be an ex-human in a minute.”
Darius chucked her sleeping bag at her. “Got it out of a thorn bush.”
Nat didn’t reply.
“You’re covered in thorns,” said Penny, fussing over him. She rummaged in her washbag for some first-aid stuff.
“There were some wasps in it,” said Darius.
“Oh and you’ve been STUNG too,” said Penny. “Loads of times.”
“And an angry badger.”
“Are those badger bites? Darius, you poor thing,” said Penny. “Well? Nat, say thank you to Darius for rescuing your sleeping bag.”
“No thanks,” said Nat. “It was his fault it ended up in a thorny bush full of wasps and badgers anyway. It was his fault I got carted off into a tree. It was his fault the whole camp saw me in my bunny onesie.”
She was so angry she was almost spitting the words out. “Your stupid plan to win the project competition has gone too far, Bagley. Tying me to a weather balloon was WAY TOO MUCH.”
There was silence as Penny rubbed some cream into various red, bumpy and scratched bits.
“Maybe Darius didn’t tie you to the balloon,” said Penny. “Have you asked him?”
“Of course he did it – he always does it. When have you ever known a time when the answer to ‘OMG, who did that, I can’t believe someone did that, who in their right mind would do that?’ wasn’t ‘DARIUS BAGLEY DID IT’?”
“Maybe someone else thought they could wreck that school’s stupid secret project AND get their own back a teeny bit on someone who’s sometimes NOT EVEN THAT NICE TO THEM,” said Penny.
“Shut up, Penny,” said Nat. “I’m too tired and cross to listen to you babbling on.”
“You are IMPOSSIBLE sometimes,” snapped Penny, and marched out.
She came back two seconds later to snatch the jar of cream from Darius. She had guessed, correctly, that he was going to eat it.
“What’s up with her?” said Nat.
Darius shrugged.
“You can go away too. I’m thinking of evil revenge and I need peace and quiet,” she said, climbing into her sleeping bag. “And you can tell everyone I’m not coming out. Ever.”
She did finally come out. It took a few hours, but eventually Dad persuaded her, with the help of a crispy, fat, bacon sandwich.
“I need your help,” he said.
These were terrifying words, coming from Dad.
“I’ve been talking to Mr Dewdrop about my chances of getting my certificate,” he said.
“Which are?”
“Terrible. He thinks I’m irresponsible.”
“You are. Look at me – I dunno how I’ve survived, Dad, I really don’t.”
“What would make a big difference is a successful expedition to Bleak Peak.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Thanks,” said Dad, who thought she meant it, “but no one wants to go if I’m coming.”
“Are you sure?”
“Some of the children made a poster.”
He held it up. It said:
WE’RE NOT GOING TO THE END OF THE FIELD WITH THE GREEN BOGEY, NEVER MIND UP A MOUNTAIN.
“Has everyone signed it?” said Nat.
Dad started reading the names. It took him AGES.
“Not quite everyone,” he said.
“Got a pen?” said Nat.
“Be serious,” said Dad. “Look, I’d really ever so much appreciate it if you go. How terrible would it look if even my own daughter doesn’t trust me?”
“Sorry, too busy staying here plotting Bagley revenge.”
“He’s coming up the peak,” said Dad. “He’s the only one who signed up.”
Nat thought about this.
On the one hand, Dad was a total menace and didn’t know
one end of a map from another. Mum said he could get lost going from the bathroom into the kitchen, and she was only half-joking. Dad got lost on his way to school so often, Nat was allowed to turn up late twice a week without getting a pink slip. Mum said his sense of direction was so poor it should be classed as a disability.
On the other hand, Nat pondered, she DID want Dad to get his certificate and get a proper job. Then he’d have to go to work like normal people, and not be able to pop into school “to be helpful” or COME ON CAMP WITH HER EVER AGAIN.
AND if she did go up the peak, there would be plenty of chances to get revenge on Bagley up a lonely mountain.
“OK,” she said, “but you know that favour you said you’d do for me?”
“Hmm,” said Dad, in that way that meant, ‘I MIGHT remember, if you ask for something like an ice cream or a comic, but not if you’re going to ask for a pet otter called Susan’.
“Well, I’d very much like it if you helped us win the geography project on Saturday.”
“I’d love to,” he said, “but I’m supposed to be neutral, like Mr Bungee. Even though I’m not a teacher, I’m the Green Bogey, remember?”
“Mr Bungee helps the other school all the time,” said Nat. “You must have seen him, the big cheaty cheat.”
“Why would he do that?” asked Dad.
Nat paused. “You know what, Dad?” she said. “That’s a really good question.”
Just after lunch, the brave explorers tackling the trip to the Bleak Peak were assembled and ready to leave.
Darius was there as the bravest of the brave.
Nat was there because Dad made her.
Penny was there because Nat made her.
Rufus was there because he wasn’t going to let Darius look braver than him.
Plum was there because she was, like: “really, really confident in my own abilities, right, but not big-headed in any way.” (“You know those girls who go online to tell you about their Christmas presents and spend five minutes saying how they’re honestly not showing off, before spending half an hour MASSIVELY SHOWING OFF?” said Nat to Penny. “That’s her, that is.”)
Mr Dewdrop was there to mark Dad for his certificate. It really was Dad’s last chance; Nat glimpsed Mr D’s notebook and Dad had more black Xs than her last biology homework.
Mr Bungee was expedition leader. The first thing he did was snatch the Green Bogey hat off Dad’s head.
“This is serious stuff, mate,” he said. “No time for being silly.”
“I thought you said the Green Bogey WAS serious?” said Dad. “You said he WASN’T a figure of fun but a powerful spirit of the wild.”
“And you believed him?” said Rufus, untangling some ropes nearby.
Nat reckoned the posh boy sounded like he didn’t care for Mr Bungee much either. Rufus scores another one, she thought.
Nat overheard Miss Hunny tell Dad why she DEFINITELY WASN’T COMING, NO FEAR.
“Ivor,” she said kindly, cradling a nice hot cup of rosehip tea, “I have been your friend for a long time and I am very fond of you. You have many wonderful qualities.”
“I can feel a ‘but’ coming on,” mumbled Dad.
“Yes, you can. Here it is. BUT you have literally no sense of direction, and have NO practical skills. If I had a choice of being stranded in the wilderness with you or a stuffed teddy bear, I’d take the bear. And I’m saying this as a friend.”
“Not very friendly,” muttered Dad.
“Friends are honest with each other.” Miss Hunny smiled. “So, shall I call the emergency services now or wait till it’s dark?”
“You’re not doing my confidence much good,” said Dad, “and I’m a confidence player.”
“You’ll be totally fine and nothing will happen to you,” said Miss Hunny. “Don’t forget to pack a lot of emergency flares so people can find your bodies.”
“We’re only going up a hill. Stop worrying,” said Dad, laughing. “And I do wish everyone would stop talking to me like I’m a total spanner.”
Dad pottered off, shaking his head.
Miss Hunny beckoned Nat over.
“I got these from camp supplies,” said her teacher, handing Nat two cardboard cylinders.
They were heavy in her hands and she read on their sides:
EMERGENCY FLARE. DANGER – CONTAINS EXPLOSIVES.
“Stick these in your backpack,” said Miss Hunny. “Don’t look so alarmed, Nathalia, it’s just in case. Oh and for heaven’s sake, don’t show them to Darius. He’s not the best reader in the world but somehow even he can recognise the word ‘explosive’.”
“I think he can smell it, Miss,” said Nat. “He’s got a very good sense of smell, like a lot of wild creatures.”
“You really are the strangest class I’ve ever taught,” said Miss Hunny. “And please tell me why Penny Posnitch is walking around holding a stick.”
“She bet Darius fifty pence she could find underground water,” said Nat heavily.
“I wonder if St Scrofula’s needs a new English teacher,” said Miss Hunny quietly.
“Maybe. Their last one just wrote a bestseller,” said Nat.
“I hate that school,” muttered Miss Hunny. She drained her cup of rosehip. “And unless you lot come up with a brilliant project in the next couple of days, they’re going to make us look like … like the losers we are.”
Nat was startled. Miss Hunny never got cross but she sounded properly annoyed now.
“Sorry,” said her form teacher. “Forget I said anything. Have fun … and don’t forget the flares.”
None of the St Scrofula’s teachers was going on the trip. Since the destruction of their swanky weather balloon, they’d been working flat out with plans for a brand-new project for the competition.
Nat could see them all, excitedly huddled around in a field, as she grabbed her backpack. They had pens and papers and laptops and maps and compasses and it was clear they had A NEW AND EVEN MORE AWESOME PROJECT.
Her classmates and teachers were taking this exciting opportunity to … catch some rays and chat. Miss Austen and Miss Eyre were playing cards on a log. Miss Hunny was reading a story to tough guy Marcus Milligan, who was missing his mum. Flora Marling sat on a swing hanging from an oak, fans at her feet, hair golden in the afternoon sunlight. She looked up and smiled at Nat. It was a vision of heaven.
Darius let one off.
“Better out than in,” he said, jumping on the minibus.
“You not joining in the boffin-fest?” Nat asked Rufus, as they boarded the minibus. She pointed to his classmates, working away.
The boy shook his head. “You don’t know how lucky you are, not having to win all the time.”
I wouldn’t mind winning ONCE though, thought Nat. Once would be nice.
Mr Bungee insisted on driving. He was one of those blokes who drove with his arm out of the window, radio on full blast, foot hard down on the accelerator pedal. He cut up all the other, smaller cars on the road, refused to pull over in narrow places, and was generally a total road hog.
Nat, being bounced about in the back, thought his driving was even worse than Dad’s – although this minibus didn’t break down and there wasn’t a line of angry motorists stuck behind him, honking horns and shouting rude words.
An hour later, Mr Bungee screeched to a halt in a gravel car park, just off a small road. There was a dirt path into a small wood and a big green sign nearby which read:
BLEAK PEAK COUNTRY PARK
Underneath was another sign. That one said:
KEEP IT NICE! NO DOGS, NO PICNICS, NO TODDLERS, NO RADIOS, NO BIKES, NO SKATEBOARDS, NO ICE CREAM/BURGER/KEBAB VANS, NO RUNNING, NO SWIMMING, NO SINGING, NO BALL GAMES, NO GUNS, NO KNIVES, NO AEROSOLS, NO HORSE RIDING, NO BOTTLES, NO CANS, NO ROLLERBLADES, NO FEEDING THE BIRDS, NO HUNTING, NO FISHING. NO CLAPPING, NO CHEERING, NO ARGUING.
Underneath some wit had scrawled:
No fun, no point, go home.
“WE put that sign up,” said
Mr Dewdrop proudly. “I think we covered everything.”
“Does it say anything about farting?” said Darius. “Cos I am brewing.”
“I’ll make a note,” said Mr Dewdrop darkly.
“Let’s start,” said Mr Bungee, when everyone was far enough away from Darius to concentrate. He took a great big map out.
“Don’t you know the way?” asked Dad.
He hadn’t meant to be sarcastic, but Mr Bungee seemed offended.
“Why don’t you show us?” said the New Zealander.
“Great,” said Dad, sidling up, “I need to prove I know what I’m doing.” He indicated Mr Dewdrop.
Mr B gave Dad a smile. Nat thought it looked as friendly as a fox in a henhouse.
“Fill your boots,” said Mr B, handing Dad the map and a huge, complicated compass. “You know how to work this, I suppose?”
“Are left and right marked on it?” said Dad.
Nat groaned.
Mr Bungee grinned. “Still joking, I see. Nice. But no more jokes till we make camp, OK? It looks pretty tame now but there’s a fog from the sea that can cover the mountain in minutes, trust me.”
“Fog. Right,” said Dad, staring at the compass.
Mr B pointed a few things out. “The scale is there, the index line’s there, and the orientation lines are there. It’s pretty standard.”
“Got you,” said Dad, sounding alarmed.
“Now, look on this Ordnance Survey map,” said Mr Bungee, grabbing the massive map that crinkled and flapped in the wind. “We need to reach the disused mine first, then take our bearings from there.”
“Erm …” said Dad. “I think it’s that way.” He confidently pointed … back at the minibus. “Only kidding,” he said, turning and pointing into the woods.
Mr Bungee looked at Dad carefully. “I think we should be a bit more accurate, eh?”
Darius came over and looked at the map, frowning.
Mr Bungee impatiently pushed him out of the way with the side of his boot.
“We’re here,” said Mr Bungee. “Let’s see. Hmm. First, find our easting … So that’s 26–5, yes?”
“That’s right,” said Dad. “Well done.”
“Ah, then northings. Would you say that’s 45–8?”