by Nigel Smith
It could be seen from space, thought Nat. That’s not good.
But first there was something to deal with right here on Earth.
“YOU?” said Nat. “Why?”
“Because you’ve been a total meanie since we got here.”
“Give me one example.”
“You said I thought I was a fairy princess from the cloud city of la-la land.”
“Give me another example.”
“You spend all your time trying to suck up to other girls, and take me for granted.”
“Stop giving me examples.”
But Penny didn’t. She listed Nat’s crimes, ending with:
“And you haven’t done anything to help us with the competition except try to spoil the other school’s project.”
“YOU burst their secret balloon,” said Nat.
“OK, that was a bad example,” said Penny, looking guilty, “but you made me do it.”
“You’re supposed to be my friend.”
“I am. I’m a friend to the real Nathalia, the one who’s helpful and thoughtful and kind and makes everyone laugh.”
“They laugh AT me, Penny.”
“Sometimes AT, sometimes WITH,” admitted Penny. “But, anyway, your real friends are me and Darius, and you never think about us.”
“Not true,” gasped Nat.
“’Tis true. In all your worrying about changing schools, you’ve only thought about yourself. You’ve never once thought that Darius and I might MISS YOU.”
Penny turned on her heel and went back indoors.
Her words clanged in Nat’s brain, like a clapper in a big brass bell.
Oh pooh, thought Nat, and waited for the emergency rescue team.
I certainly need rescuing, she thought, as the first blue lights appeared, but I don’t think this lot can help.
The next few hours whizzed past in an embarrassing sort of blur.
Bits of it stuck out as particularly wretched for Nat though:
There was the look on Dad’s face when he saw she’d let off a distress flare.
There was the look on Mr Dewdrop’s face as he shouted at Dad for letting her come up here CARRYING DANGEROUS EXPLOSIVES.
There was the look on the rescue rangers’ faces when they realised they’d rangered all this way up the flipping peak for a rescue and NO ONE NEEDED RESCUING.
The same went for the air ambulance crew.
“We might send you a bill for this,” said the grumpy pilot.
“Can I have a ride in your chopper?” said Darius.
“Ooh, I never knew air ambulance pilots knew words like that,” said Mr Dewdrop, still shocked at something they’d said to him.
And of course Mr Bungee turned up.
He said he was here to help, but Nat thought he’d come to gloat.
Mr Bungee insisted on taking them all back to camp.
By the time the adventurers returned, the whole camp knew about their woeful adventure, so there was a lot of midnight sniggering to deal with.
Miss Hunny didn’t snigger. She hugged Nat because she’d been so worried. It was soppy Miss H who had called the air ambulance out when she listened in to the rescue rangers’ radio.
“I knew I shouldn’t have let you go,” she said to Dad. “You’re a total liability.”
“I AGREE!” shouted Mr Dewdrop, and handed Dad a certificate with the words TOTALLY FAILED across it in big letters.
Dad wasn’t even cross with Nat, which made her feel even more wretched.
“I deserve a telling-off,” she said to Darius, as he wandered off to his chalet.
“Yeah, you do,” he said.
“I feel totally rotten.”
“You probably do.”
“I think I’ve got everything wrong this week.”
“Yup.”
“And I’ve just had another horrid thought: I’ve only got a day to put our project together for the competition and I haven’t done a thing.”
“Shame.”
“And I’ve spent so long worrying about myself that I haven’t realised I’m going to let my whole class down. And I actually care about my class.”
“Hmm. Night then.”
“NOT TELLING ME OFF IS MAKING ME FEEL WORSE!” she shouted.
“Oh dear,” said Darius with a grin, and slammed the door.
Nat went back to an empty yurt. Penny was so upset she insisted on sleeping in Miss Hunny’s tent.
It was a long, cold, lonely night for Nat.
The next morning, Dad woke her early and drove her into town.
They didn’t say much on the way, except for Dad apologising to her! Which made her feel way worse.
“You must have been feeling pretty rotten to send the emergency signal,” he said. “Sorry I wasn’t looking after you better.”
“Dad …” began Nat, but she couldn’t finish.
“I’m just glad you’re OK,” he said. “When I heard the rescue rangers, I thought my heart would stop.”
Could I feel worse? thought Nat.
Then Dad pulled up at a little B&B and Mum was there waiting – and, yes, Nat FELT WORSE.
Mum gave her a big hug and things seemed better.
“Where’s my poor, little, rescued grandchild?” said Bad News Nan, sitting wedged in at the breakfast table.
“Nan!” shouted Nat, surprised.
“I thought I’d stay a few days,” said Bad News Nan. “They do lovely breakfasts here, as much as you can eat, and it’s included in the price.”
“We’re going bankrupt,” muttered the owner of the B&B, bringing Nan more sausages.
“I took a few days off when your dad called last night,” said Mum, after Nat had forced down porridge, bacon, eggs, beans, hash browns and toast, and was eyeing up a bit of fruit cake on the sideboard. “Thought I’d see what was going on.”
Nat explained that she basically felt like an utter spanner. “And it’s not even totally all entirely Dad’s fault,” she said.
“I bet he helped,” said Mum gently, and they all laughed.
Nat groaned. “AND by tomorrow I’m supposed to put together a big project on what we’ve learned on this week’s field trip. But all I’ve learned is that sometimes I can be a teeny-tiny bit self-centred. Sometimes. Does anyone want that last bit of toast?”
“Come on, love,” said Dad. “You’ve also learned how to ride a horse backwards, how to dangle upside down from trees, not to look into a volcano, how to flash your pants, and the best way to fly a weather balloon.”
Mum looked at Dad sternly. “Tell me you’ve made that up,” she said.
“Erm …” said Dad.
Just then, Mr Keane arrived with Sky.
“We wanted to see if you’re OK,” he said, pulling up a couple of chairs.
“I’m not going back,” Nat said. “Everybody hates me. My classmates have had a rotten time and blame me for it. The posh kids hate me cos I’ve been super sneaky. And my friends hate me because I’ve been ever such a little bit horrible.”
“We thought you might say that,” said Mr Keane. “So look outside.”
Nat looked out of the window. “AAAGH! It’s a lynch mob!” she said dramatically. “Hide me.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Mum, looking out of the window and understanding. “Off you go, dear, head held high.”
Nat walked out into the garden of the B&B. There, standing in front of the minibus, were Rufus, Plum, Penny, Darius, Milly Barnacle, Julia Pryde AND … AND FLORA MARLING!
Flora ran over and GAVE HER A HUG.
“Wurble?” said Nat, confused.
“When we heard the rescue people were called, we were worried sick,” said Flora.
“It’s true,” said Julia Pryde. “We do sort of like you, you know. We didn’t want anything to actually happen to you.”
“Also, without you around, one of us would end up with Darius,” said Milly Barnacle, with a shudder.
Darius glared at her.
Penny grabbed Nat�
�s hand. “Friends stick together,” she said. “Even slightly rubbish friends.”
Nat squeezed her hand.
“And we know why you’ve been trying so hard to beat us,” said Rufus. “It’s this stupid competition.”
“We’re sick of competitions,” said Plum. “Everything we do at school is a competition too.”
“It’s that rotten Mr Dewdrop’s fault,” said Flora.
“Him and that Mr Bungee,” said Rufus, “stirring things up.”
“I wish there was a way to get them,” said Penny.
“Like a really evil, sneaky way?” said Nat.
Everyone looked at Darius.
Eventually, they all headed back to the camp.
Mum had said she was going to come to the school’s big project displays tomorrow. That made Nat feel really happy AND really nervous at the same time. Which was kind of the effect Mum had on a lot of people, Nat reckoned.
But things weren’t looking good for Dad, the big idiot.
As soon as they got back, Dad was summoned to the camp office. Nat heard Mr Dewdrop threatening some kind of investigation.
Darius was sent to listen at the door of the meeting. When he came back, he looked grave.
“Something about pressing charges,” said Darius. “They’ve got the park rangers, the Ferret woman, Mr Bungee and even the local police involved. I don’t think it’s going brilliantly.”
Nat had been feeling really cheerful. Now she crashed down to Earth.
ALL MY FAULT, she kept thinking.
She wandered off on her own and watched the grumpy cows for a bit.
Suddenly, she was aware of Sky standing next to her.
“You’ve been ever so lovely,” said Nat, “and I don’t actually even know your full name.”
Sky coughed. “I didn’t tell you,” she said. “It’s Brown.”
“Brown?” said Nat. “Sky Brown?”
“I don’t think my parents thought it through properly,” said Sky. “They just liked the name Sky.”
“Well, my name’s even more awful,” said Nat. “Bumolé. Dad says it’s posh French and is pronounced Bew-mow-lay, but we’re not in posh France, are we? We’re here and here everyone here says Bumhole. Or worse.”
“Whoa. Parents are lame,” said Sky.
“Totally,” said Nat, trying to sound like the older woman.
“Could be worse,” said Sky coolly. “There’s a tribe I know that feed their kids to crocodiles.”
“That’s terrible parenting,” said Nat, trying to sound as cool as Sky.
“Yeah,” said Sky.
“My dad once projected my naked baby photos on to the wall at a school disco,” said Nat.
“Impressive,” said Sky.
“And he comes into the girls’ changing rooms in Topshop to help with my buttons.”
“Cringe,” said Sky sympathetically.
“And he hasn’t got a real job – he writes the jokes in Christmas crackers.”
“Ouch.”
“And he’s always at my school, and he plays the ukulele in public, and he tries to do DIY and gets it wrong and blows a lot of things up.”
Sky was laughing now.
Nat couldn’t help it; she joined in.
“Once,” she said, “he sank a fleet of super-expensive boats and he electrocuted some priceless ducks AND he got us thrown into proper jail and I’m not even joking.”
“That’s pretty bad,” giggled Sky.
“Not as bad as the crocodiles though,” said Nat, “if I’m being honest.”
There was a pause.
“I miss my dad,” said Sky. “He was a total spanner too. He used to organise loads of stuff for this town. He ran the boating lake. He planned all the carnivals, and organised a big bonfire and the summer fête. He was at the front of every parade, wearing a silly hat, blowing a trumpet out of tune.”
Nat gently placed her hand on Sky’s shoulder.
“He raised loads for charity – he was one of those dads who’s always in a funny costume. He was the one wearing a nappy in the local marathon, and he was always the back end of the donkey in the local panto. Practically every time I saw him he was in fancy dress. Honestly, he totally used to make me squirm!”
Sky took a deep breath.
“When he died, the life seemed to go out of the town, you know? It isn’t the same without him. I never thought I’d miss being embarrassed, but I do, almost every day.”
Nat felt a lump in her throat, but Sky just squeezed her hand and smiled.
“That’s when I started travelling. Maybe I’ve been looking for something to replace him with, but I haven’t found it yet.”
To her horror, Nat found herself on the verge of blubbing.
“I love my dad and I’ve ruined his life,” she wailed. “If anything ever happens to him, I’ll have to travel up the Limpopo river and climb mountains to try and find something too, but I’m not a very good swimmer and I don’t like heights and I don’t want my bits getting munched off by sharks either. I just want to stay at school and do my GCSEs.”
Sky wrapped her arms round Nat. “Don’t be silly,” she said, “I’m sure you haven’t ruined his life. Have you?”
Nat’s lower lip trembled. “Possibly,” she said.
“Well, we’ll just have to un-ruin it then,” Sky said firmly.
THAT Friday was one of the busiest days the Lower Snotley Eco Camp could remember. Because it was a day of PLANS. EVERYONE was making them.
Except Dad. Dad was marched off the site and forbidden from coming back. He told Nat he’d see her tomorrow and gave Darius his Green Bogey hat.
“Wear it with pride,” said Dad, with dignity.
Some of the plans being hatched were heart-warming and uplifting and lovely; others were dark and devious.
And it was very hard to untangle which plans were which.
Children and teachers alike spent the morning dashing from classroom to classroom and from yurt to yurt, with bits of paper, photos, laptops, rocks, soil samples, measurements, and equipment.
Arguments, discussions and the occasional scuffle broke out.
Mysteriously, several teachers and at least half of the children then disappeared for the rest of the day.
A day in which muffled explosions could be heard all along the coast.
The group only came back late that night, filthy and exhausted. But triumphant.
Ready for tomorrow.
Carnival day.
Project day.
Competition day.
D-DAY.
Nat was wide awake just after dawn. She slipped past the snoring Penny and rapped on the door of Darius’s hut.
He was wide awake too.
“Ready?” she said.
“Ready,” he said.
“Ready,” said Rufus behind her.
“Ready,” said Mr Keane, behind him.
“I wasn’t ready,” said Penny sleepily. “What day is it?”
At 10am sharp, the children from both schools, plus their teachers, were taken into Lower Snotley to present their competition projects in the Nice ’N’ Neat Alliance offices.
It might have been Nat’s imagination, but she reckoned the people of the little town looked a little livelier today. There were smiles on their faces. They waved at the children happily.
And was that someone taking the chains off the boating-lake swans?
“They’re beginning to look a bit less like zombies around here,” she said to Darius.
Mr Dewdrop and his equally neat colleagues were fussing around in the hall, not doing very much except getting in the way.
Both schools had mysterious crates with them, and they were given an hour to set out their projects before Mr Bungee and Mrs Ferret, the mayor, the local paper, and various town bigwigs arrived.
“No entry till we’re ready,” said Miss Hunny, waving Mr Dewdrop away and out of the hall.
“That’s right,” said Dr Nobel. “There’s very special equ
ipment here – very delicate – and you might disturb it.”
“Oh no, you’re quite right. There’s been enough disturbance around here already,” said Mr Dewdrop, scurrying off.
There was just enough time to get everything ready.
The doors opened.
It wasn’t only the Lower Totley great and good who came.
At 11am, the hall started filling up with locals. The Heads of both schools arrived shortly afterwards. Nat’s Head turned up in a tatty old banger; the Head of St Scrofula’s, Dame Nellie Fishstick, in the school’s helicopter.
“I know it looks flash,” she said to Nat’s Head, as they walked in together, “but I need to be at a function two hundred miles away this afternoon.”
“You on the run?” said Darius, hurrying past with a jug of orange juice.
“Hilarious,” said Dame Nellie, taking a seat. “Who does the goblin belong to?”
Nat’s Head grabbed her as she hurried past. “I’ve heard some very odd reports this week,” she said. “How many are true?”
“All of them, I should think, Miss,” said Nat.
“Hmm, I see. Now, how many can we deny and how many can we get away with?”
Fortunately, Nat didn’t have to answer because the hall doors were flung open and in strode … Professor Paradise. He sat on a chair marked: GUEST OF HONOUR.
Nat looked at him in alarm, but he just smiled at her.
Mum and Dad both arrived, ignoring Mr Bungee and Mrs Ferret, who took places on the judging platform, along with Mr Dewdrop.
Mum called over to Nat, “Nan sends her love, but they’ve got black pudding on the menu this morning so she might be some time. She does like her black pudding.”
Finally, the hip-hop-loving old lady Nat had met earlier in the week showed up. Without her scarf, but wearing a MAYORAL CHAIN!
NOTHING IS EVER WHAT IT SEEMS, thought Nat loudly in her head.
“Hello, dear,” said the mayor. “I have a feeling this day is going to be remembered for a very long time.”
When everyone was in, Mr Dewdrop looked at his watch, tutted because they were one minute late, and said a few dreary words about the competition – and a lot of even drearier words about how great the Nice ’N’ Neat Countryside Alliance was and how much they’d improved the town since moving their HQ here.