by Nigel Smith
Dad sighed. “Right,” he said, “we’d better go then. I’ll have to tell the people in uniforms what’s happened.”
Their trip really was over now. Dad drove them off the ferry and up to passport control in silence, but just before he got there Nat started hopping about in the back of the van.
“Look!” mumbled Nat frantically. She was trying to point without anyone else seeing.
“What?” said Dad.
“Over there,” she hissed. “I can see him.”
But all Dad could see was Suspicious Mick driving away in a flashy but ugly black car. He was waved through the border by his colleagues, without even having to pause.
Suddenly Dad saw too.
“Brilliant,” he said, chuckling, and drove on into France.
Suspicious Mick was waiting for them in his horrible car in the lay-by, as he said he would be. Dad pulled up next to him and got out. Mick began showing off his pride and joy. “I’ve spent thousands doing this up,” he boasted. He was so happy showing off that he didn’t notice Darius slide out from the back seat where he’d been hiding.
“Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing?” said Nat, throttling him in the back of the van.
“I can’t – ack – talk with your – gak – hands round my neck,” squawked Darius.
“Too bad,” said Nat. “I’d rather strangle you than get the answer.”
Darius wriggled free. “You’re too honest. You’re really bad at telling fibs,” he said. “If you knew where I was hiding, you’d have given me away.”
Eventually Suspicious Mick sped off into the distance, showing them all just how fast his horrible car could go, and they all breathed a sigh of relief. Nat was already worn out with worry. She reckoned she needed a lie-down in a dark room for about six weeks to recover. And they’d only just arrived in France!
“Righto,” said Dad, folding up the map and sniffing the French air excitedly. “This is where the adventure starts!”
Five hundred metres and five minutes into the start of the adventure, the van broke down.
is van ees a block of – ’ow you say …?” The French mechanic scratched his oily head with oily fingers. “A block of poo!”
“That’s not right,” said Nat. “You could call it a pile, a bag or even a lump of poo, but not a block.”
Dad frowned. “So anyway,” said Dad, to the mechanic, “what do you suggest?”
They were standing in a large, hot, smelly garage. The Atomic Dustbin was up on a ramp. Bits of engine lay scattered on the concrete floor. It looked like the van had eaten a scrapyard and then been sick.
“I suggest zis,” said the mechanic. He made smashing noises and mimed a huge crusher. “I will give you ten euros for scrap.”
“If you put Dad in it at the same time I’ll pay YOU!” said Nat. She was hot and hungry and really annoyed.
“He can’t scrap it – we’ve got to sleep in it!” said Dad.
“I weel try to repair if you insist. I will park it at ze back of ze garage while eet is getting ze fixing. Zere is a space between ze broken-down dustbin lorry and ze portable toilet. You can stay – no charge,” said the mechanic generously.
“There you go, love,” said Dad, “sounds perfect.”
Nat slumped on the oily floor in a miserable heap.
“It sounds horrible,” she said. “And besides, we haven’t got time! We need to get to the house and start fixing it up before Posh Barry and Even Posher Linda and stupid Mimsy arrive, or Mimsy will blog about it and everyone back home will think you’re utterly and totally useless and do you know HOW BAD THAT MAKES ME LOOK?”
“It doesn’t make ME look too great either,” mumbled Dad.
“There you go, thinking about yourself again,” said Nat.
The mechanic, who had three children sulking at home, could see what was brewing – a full-blown family argument. He didn’t want one here in his garage; he knew he would get one at home later.
“Look, stop ze fighting,” he said, raising his voice over the noise of a tractor engine being disembowelled. “I do not like ze fighting. I only come to work in zis garage to get ze peace and quiet.”
Nat ignored him. She was on a roll. “So now we’re homeless, Dad, you big idiot. Mum always said if she left it to you we’d be homeless in six months.”
Dad coughed and said, hopefully, to the mechanic: “I don’t suppose you can understand what she’s saying, can you?”
“Au contraire,” said the mechanic, “I understand perfectly. You are ze big idiot who has made ze little girl homeless.”
He made a grand gesture. “I will ’elp,” he said, “as long as your pet monkey puts down all ze tools.” Darius, now covered in grease, put them down.
The mechanic went over to the ramp where the Atomic Dustbin squatted. “Eet is VERY dangerooos in ’ere, when you don’t know what you’re doing,” he said.
“The piston rings are worn, the carburettor is split, the gasket’s broke, and the big end’s up the spout,” said Darius. “The rack and pinion’s gone, the front axle needs replacing and the brake linings are wrecked.”
There was a pause. The mechanic glared at him. “Lucky guess,” he said.
“Also, your ramp is broken,” said Darius.
This was too much for the mechanic.
“Eeet is one thing to bring to me ze world’s worst van, it is anozzer to argue and complain and make my ears bleed, but zere is NUZZINK wrong with my ramp,” he said, hitting the button which makes the ramp go up and down.
Suddenly there was a horrible grinding noise. One side of the ramp gave way and the Atomic Dustbin slid right off it, landing with a huge crash, nose-first.
There was a horrible silence. The front end of the old camper van was totally mangled. It was ten times worse than before.
“It’s very French in here,” said Dad cheerfully, as the waitress slammed down his third coffee on the shiny, silver table in front of him with a rude scowl. They were waiting in a small café round the corner while the mechanic – who had had quite enough of them – was seeing if the van could be saved.
“Duh,” said Nat, “we are in France.”
Although, she thought to herself, we won’t be for long. She munched her (delicious) pastry happily. I’ll get a box of these for the journey home, she decided.
She was in a good mood; SURELY they would have to go home now. And the best bit was – it wasn’t Dad who’d smashed the van. So it wasn’t his fault they couldn’t get to the house, so he wouldn’t be publically revealed as a big useless idiot after all.
Nat was going to call Penny Posnitch and go shopping as soon as she got back, she decided.
Darius glugged down a cup of thick black liquid.
“Are you sure it’s OK to give Darius coffee, Dad?” asked Nat.
“Good point,” said Dad. “It’s probably not, on the whole.” They watched as Darius fidgeted even more than usual in his seat. “It’s like he’s got new batteries,” said Dad.
Just then the mechanic joined them. “I have ze bad news and ze good news,” he said.
“What’s the good news?” asked Dad.
“What’s the bad news?” asked Nat.
“Ze bad news is my eldest daughter, she got a tattoo.”
“That’s not bad news,” said Nat.
“Eet is bad news for ’er. She is grounded for two years.”
“What’s the tattoo?” said twitchy Darius, sounding genuinely interested. “Skulls, knives, a fire-breathing dragon?”
“It ees the name of ze stupid English band. Ze dirty grandmother, or something. I would like to meet zem.”
There was a silence. Even Darius kept quiet. But Nat just KNEW that Dad would have to say something. She started kicking him but it was too late …
“I can introduce you,” said Dad helpfully.
Nat grabbed him. “SHUT UP,” she whispered loudly. But he burbled on.
“My Filthy Granny, they’re called. Nice lads, when you get
to know them.”
“You know zem …?” asked the mechanic, astonished.
“I’ve played with them,” said Dad modestly.
Nat was in a complete panic. She was kicking Dad REALLY HARD now. But he just leaned towards her and murmured, “Shush, I’m trying to get a connection between us. He might knock a few euros off the bill.”
The mechanic picked up a heavy steering lock from his toolkit. “I want to meet zem so I can tear zeir ’eads off and shove zem in an exhaust pipe.”
Even Dad now realised his mistake. “Ah, well, hang on a minute, when I say I KNOW them …”
The mechanic stood up and started hopping about. “For ze last year my ’ouse has been ze disco rave party with ze rock music of the feelthy grannies at full noise settings. I do not sleep becawse I can ’ear zem all the time with ze ’orrible guitars and the drums, always the drums. But now zis tattoo on my leetle princess. I cannot bear it.”
He walked towards Dad, who was backing away from him in his chair. “And you KNOW ze Grannies?”
“Grannies, you say?” said Dad quickly. “Oh no. I thought you said, er, em, um …”
“Bunnies!” said Nat. “Dad was in a band called My Filthy Bunny. And they were rubbish. Come on, does he look like a rock star?”
Dad looked offended but the mechanic took a deep breath, looked at Dad hard, and then started to laugh. “I see you are right,” he said, chortling. “Your father ’e is ze old man with ze bald patch and ze beer belly and ze bad clothing.”
“So’s Elton John,” muttered Dad sulkily.
“What’s the good news?” said Nat, desperately changing the subject.
“Can I have a glass of cognac?” said Darius, looking at the drinks on offer.
“Yeah, course,” said Dad, not really listening.
“No!” said Nat. “It’s booze!”
“I can fix ze van in one week,” he began. Dad groaned. “Can you stay in ze ’otel to wait, or are you too poor?”
“We’re not poor,” said Nat defensively.
The mechanic patted Nat on the shoulder. “Your father, ’e looks poor.”
“That’s what mum says,” said Nat. “Dad, you’re now embarrassing me in TWO countries; well done. I told you not to dress like a hobo.”
“I’m smart casual,” said Dad, sounding hurt.
“You got those T-shirt and jeans from the charity shop next to school, which I’ve told you not to go in because my friends can see you in there, and that jacket’s from a bin.”
“It is not from a bin,” said Dad. “I found it on a bus.”
“Your ramp broke the van, so you should pay for the hotel,” said Darius simply.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Dad, “but I suppose he’s right.”
The mechanic glared. The Dog tried to lick something sticky off Darius’s hand.
There was a stand-off. But then …
The mechanic suddenly straightened, with a big smile on his face. “I can do better than that!” he said. He took out a photograph from his wallet.
“How’s that man going to help us?” said Dad, looking at the picture.
The mechanic snatched it back, offended. “Wrong photo,” he said. “And zat is no man, it is my wife!”
“Sorry, don’t have my glasses on,” said Dad hurriedly.
Nat tried to hide under the table.
The mechanic took out another photo. This time it was of a big blue and white barge, sailing down a pretty little tree-lined canal.
“You will stay on La Poubelle,” he announced grandly. “For free.”
Oh no, thought Nat, Dad’s heard the magic word – free.
“Tell me more,” said Dad.
t seemed very simple.
The mechanic’s cousin had recently bought this barge off the internet after enjoying too many cognacs and hadn’t had time to move it to a canal near him. As luck would have it, though, he lived quite near to Posh Barry’s haunted wreck.
The mechanic said his cousin had wanted to move the barge himself, but it was very slow and he couldn’t get the time off work.
“See what happens when you have a proper job,” said Dad to Nat, sounding pleased.
Yeah, you can afford to buy a boat, thought Nat.
“It is ze perfect plan, no?” said the mechanic. “You sail ze barge down to ’im while I mend ze block of poo. Zen I drive ze mended poo van to you at ze end.”
Then he looked at Darius, adding: “And you don’t write ze horrible things about my garage on ze online web, deal?”
Just then, Dad did something extraordinary. He looked Nat straight in the face and said:
“Darling girl, I know this isn’t the holiday you wanted. If you want to go home now, we can. I’ll just tell Posh Barry that I can’t mend his house after all. It’s OK, no one thinks I can do it anyway.”
At that moment, Nat felt really sorry for him. And she knew she wanted him to prove everyone wrong. He could do it. He was flipping well going to.
Besides, they were going on a luxury barge, with proper beds and a living room and an inside loo and everything. It sounded WAY better than camping out in the Atomic Dustbin.
“Let’s do it, Dad,” she said, wondering if she was making a MASSIVE MISTAKE. Dad jumped up and offered her a high five.
“Don’t leave me hanging,” he laughed as Nat just eyed him suspiciously.
Eventually she relented and gave him the high five. She was starting to regret this already.
According to the mechanic, the barge was “eezypeezy” to drive.
“She has ze engine and ze wheel of steering. Even ze chimpanzee could drive ’er,” he said.
“See?” said Nat, nudging Darius, who was tipping little packets of sugar into his mouth, “Even you could do it, chimpy.”
Dad sat back in his chair contentedly. Even Nat started to relax. She was going on a CRUISE. Like posh people do. Flora Marling, the goddess of class 7H, and the most popular, beautiful and awesome girl EVER, went on a cruise once. She was so awesome she said it was: “like, really lame”.
In her head, Nat was starting to practise that phrase for when she got back.
Then Dad said the terrifying words: “It sounds almost too good to be true.”
Nat suddenly felt sick.
Other things that Dad had said sounded ‘almost too good to be true’ over the years included:
1. The time he had DEFINITELY WON his OWN WEIGHT IN DIAMONDS! If he just agreed to buy a lifetime’s worth of Knitting World magazines. He was still waiting for the diamonds, but on the plus side he now owned his own weight in sensible knitwear patterns.
2. The time Dad sent off for an expensive mystery cure for his Bald Spot Which Must Never Be Named, which was GUARANTEED TO WORK!!!!! It did work – he got sent a hat.
3. The time he tried to make some extra money by buying real antiques from car boot sales. Dad reckoned there were lots of people who were too daft to know what things were really worth. He was right – he was too daft to know what things were really worth. He bought a ‘Picasso’ painting that was actually done by a cat (“To be fair, the cat was called Picasso,” said Dad just before Mum hit him with it), a bed slept in by Henry the Eighth with ‘made in Taiwan’ stamped on the bottom, and a hoard of golden pirate coins that were not so much pieces of eight as bits of plastic. When he came home with Excalibur, though, Mum finally put her foot down and chased him round the kitchen with the rusty old sword till he promised to never buy an ‘antique’ again.
Nat tried to tell herself to stop worrying. Maybe THIS TIME things will be different, she thought. Just maybe …
Soon the mechanic was back in the café, with maps, keys, three life jackets and a compass. Dad LOVED maps, which was odd because he could get lost crossing the road.
“So what’s this thin blue line?” asked Dad, making Nat cringe.
“It is ze canal. Ze canal zat ze boat goes on,” said the mechanic, looking worried. “Blue means water. You have seen a map befo
re, no?”
The blue line snaked through the map. “You start here,” said the mechanic, spreading the map on the crumby café table and pointing to a spot on the blue snake.
“That would be north by north-east of here,” said Dad wisely, staring at the compass like he knew what he was doing. “No, due south,” said the mechanic, turning the compass round.
“You are going to pay attention, aren’t you, Dad?” said Nat. “We don’t want to end up on the Isle of Wight. Like that time you were supposed to be taking me to Alton Towers.”
“We had a nice time on the Isle of Wight,” said Dad defensively. “Plus, it gave you more of a surprise.”
“Don’t pretend you did it on purpose,” she said. “You thought we were there. You thought the Isle of Wight ferry was one of the rides.”
“Small misunderstanding,” said Dad.
“Small? You had a stand-up row with the ticket man, got us banned from the ferry for life and had to pay a fisherman to take us back.”
“Kids, eh?” said Dad, smiling at the mechanic.
Soon they had loaded all their things and the Dog on to the mechanic’s speedy little truck and were off to see La Poubelle. It was quite a drive to the boat so they took the motorway, which was almost empty of traffic.
Nat was enjoying the fact that it would have been much busier if they’d taken their slow old van, due to the queues of traffic it always caused. It was a treat not to have other drivers shout rude things at them.
Eventually they pulled off on to a series of ever smaller roads, bordered by tall slim trees, each road prettier than the last. They were getting deeper into the heart of the countryside and Nat was finding it hard to stay grumpy.
It was another beautiful summer afternoon. The sunlight shone through the trees and sparkled all around them. Birds sang and crickets chirped. Nat daydreamed about long hot days sunbathing on deck, getting an amazing tan and stuffing her face with cake. She knew she should be full of dread and fear, bearing in mind she was with both Dad AND Darius, but she couldn’t help being cheerful. This boat trip actually sounded brilliant. Maybe, just maybe Dad had done something right this time.
And then she saw the boat.