by Nigel Smith
She stood up, knocking her chair to the floor.
“I want to go home. First thing in the morning. And I mean it, Dad.”
She wasn’t kidding.
Dad said nothing. There was nothing to say. He was beaten and everyone knew it.
Nat stormed out of the room and up the stairs. When she slammed her bedroom door, the whole rotten house shook.
It was over.
at threw herself on the bed feeling about as low as she could ever remember feeling. It took her ages to get off to sleep, and when she did, she dreamed of Mimsy’s pinched faced, laughing like a mad evil clown, and all her friends at school laughing along with her.
When she woke it was just before dawn, and she wasn’t feeling any better. She started to pack her things, thrusting clothes furiously into her rucksack.
This holiday had been a total Dad disaster from start to finish, thought Nat, and she just wanted to go HOME, to Mum, and Penny Posnitch, and normal life.
As she pulled out one of her school books from her bag, trying to fit the clothes in below it, a letter fluttered to the floor.
A letter addressed to her.
Confused, she ripped it open. As she read, her knees gave way and she sat heavily on the bed.
It was from Rocky.
It read:
Dear Nathalia,
I am sorry that our friendship has ended this way. With the sinkings and the explosions and the rotten vegetables and the police and everything.
Yes, it was a lively night, recalled Nat with a shudder.
But I am very fond of your father and I’ll tell you why.
It is not because he’s a good sailor. He’s NOT a good sailor. He’s a rotten sailor, anyone can see that. He should never be allowed near water again. I wouldn’t let him within ten metres of a paddling pool, if I were you.
Yeah yeah, thought Nat miserably, we all know Dad’s rubbish. Big laugh, ha ha.
But I like your father, and I’ll tell you why. Because he is braver than me.
What? You must have brain damage from rotten tomatoes, thought Nat. Have you seen my dad facing a spider?
Just because I have sailed single-handed round Antarctica chased by killer whales, and skied down active volcanoes, and fought off crocodiles with my bare hands, doesn’t mean I’m brave.
I have never been brave enough to be a father. I used to have a family back in England but I left to go and explore the world because I wanted adventure and I didn’t want any ties. In looking after you the way he does, your father showed me true courage.
Being a good father is the bravest thing you can ever be.
Be kind to him.
Even though he is a massive idiot.
Love,
Rocky.
Nat read the letter a dozen times. By the last time, she’d come to a decision. She crept silently out of her room towards Darius’s bedroom, tiptoeing so as not to wake Dad.
“Wake up, chimpy.” Nat was standing over Darius, shaking him.
Darius opened one eye.
“Do you remember the way to the village?”
“Yes, now go away.”
“Come on then, we need to go. NOW. Quickly, before Dad wakes up. Come on. I have a plan.”
A few hours later, Dad was in the kitchen, frying bacon. “Hello, love,” he said, looking up sadly as Nat came into the room. He had huge bags under his eyes, like he’d hardly slept. “I came to get you for breakfast but you weren’t in your room,” said Dad. “Where were you?”
“Outside,” said Nat.
“Look, love, I’m sorry about everything. We’re not too far from the airport,” said Dad. “I’ll drive you there after we’ve eaten. You and Nan can fly back, I’ll bring Darius and the Dog home in the van. They can hide in the picnic basket again.”
“I want to show you something,” said Nat. “It’s outside.”
“If it’s a bit of crispy duck I missed when I swept up, I don’t need to see it,” said Dad.
“It’s not, I promise,” said Nat.
They went outside. It was a beautiful morning. High clouds scudded over blue skies. It was like the world had been born again.
“Shame it’s ended like this,” said Dad with a sigh. “There were some less than terrible moments, I thought.”
“Just watch the road,” said Nat.
They stood there together for a few minutes. Suddenly they heard the sound of an approaching car. Or maybe a few cars. The sound grew louder. Dust from the road behind the hedge was billowing upwards. Cars were coming … lots of cars.
The first car to pull up was a bashed-up Land Rover, full of men from the village. They hopped out, brandishing tools. Then another car appeared and the same thing happened. Then a small pickup truck, loaded with pipes and bricks and wooden boards and paint cans.
“What’s going on?” said Dad in amazement.
Nat slipped her hand into her dad’s and gave it a quick squeeze. “We’re in this together, Dad,” she said, looking up at him. “You, me, and all the fans of the Great Slaughterer.”
Dad looked like he might cry. The soppy idiot, thought Nat, kicking him.
“Let’s get this house fixed up, shall we?” she said.
he morning went by in a blur. By lunchtime, the house was filled with the sounds of hammering, plastering, screwing, fixing and tea-making (the last one was Dad).
There were workmen EVERYWHERE.
There were THREE workmen ripping out the kitchen.
There were FOUR workmen and a digger churning up the garden.
There were FIVE on the roof.
There was a whole football team’s worth upstairs, redecorating.
The house was literally SWARMING with men. “Can you believe this, Dad?” said Nat when she eventually found him, calmly making yet another round of tea on a little gas stove in a workman’s hut at the back of the house.
“Good, innit?” said Dad, munching on a chocolate biscuit and looking delighted. “I’m throwing them all a party tomorrow to say thank you.”
“What?” said Nat. “A party?”
“It’s called MOTIVATION” said Dad. “The more you give people, the more you get back. Look how many more people are helping out, now they know about the party.”
Nat had to admit it was true. Another vanload of workers pulled up in the drive and men carrying wood and tiles and wires and bags of cement hopped out.
“But tomorrow? That’s when Posh Barry and Even Posher Linda get here, remember?”
“That makes it even more perfect!” said Dad, laughing. “It’ll look like I’ve done it for them! Fixed the house AND organised a party. Not so useless, eh?”
Dad was really enjoying himself now. “Besides,” said Dad, “not EVERY party I organise ends up in fires and explosions.”
“Where shall we put the wood for the bonfire and these enormous fireworks?” asked a man holding a huge red box with pictures of fires and explosions on.
“Oh, drop them anywhere,” said Dad lightly. Nat watched as logs and cases of high explosives were unloaded off a big lorry.
She was just working out what to be most worried about, when she noticed Gaston carrying a big plastic pipe nearby.
“What’s HE doing here?” said Nat.
“He wanted to help,” said Dad simply. “Said it’s more fun than being at home.”
“What’s he doing?” asked Nat.
“Laying a new septic tank.”
Nat gave up. She wandered off to find Darius, thinking he was the most normal person she knew right now.
WHOA, your life has taken a wrong turn if Darius Bagley is the closest thing you have to normal … she thought to herself.
As if to prove the point, she almost tripped over Bad News Nan sunbathing on a lounger. She was sitting next to a huge pile of freshly dug earth, a digger and some scaffolding. It looked like she was relaxing on a bomb site.
“You OK there, Nan?” said Nat, shouting over the drilling and banging. A bit of earth from a
trench flew over the mound and spattered into Nan’s drink.
“Oh yes, love,” said Bad News Nan, who was almost completely covered in towels and slathered in thick white cream to keep the evil sun at bay. She had such pale skin she reckoned she once got sunburned at night. She took her summer holidays in November and still came back peeling like a growing snake.
“This reminds me of the best holiday I ever had,” she said.
Nat knew which that was. Last year Bad News Nan went on a bus trip advertised in the local paper, run by the man who usually delivered coal and shot weasels. It was ever so cheap because a) it was on a bus which smelled of coal and dead weasels and b) it was a trip to a resort the brochure described as:
Pre brand-new!
Which actually meant:
Not built yet!
Bad News Nan said it was brilliant because it was dead quiet, apart from all the concrete mixers and welding and jackhammers going off, but she preferred that to the horrible crowds and disco music you normally get on holiday.
She was lucky with the weather too; thanks to the howling winter gales the beaches were never crowded. Even the tourists who were not put off by the fish-processing plant down the coastline stayed away. They were all huddled indoors, or around the burning bins that kept the workmen warm.
As soon as Nan got back home she booked the same trip for next year.
Bad News Nan told Nat she still kept in touch with a welder called Plovdiv. Yup, Nat thought, Darius is LITERALLY the most sane person I know. I’m so doomed.
“BOO!” said a voice in her ear.
“Aaaarrgh!” she shouted, jumping. She turned round. It was Darius.
Then something screamed over her head with a great whoosh. Alarmed, she threw herself full-length on the muddy ground. A great bang went up nearby.
“Sorry, just testing a rocket,” shouted Dad, who loved rockets. “No harm done, but watch out for sparks. That one’s a lively one.”
“Can you smell burning?” said Nat. She definitely could smell burning. There was smoke coming from somewhere …
It was coming from her! From the back of her jeans … A spark from the rocket must have fallen on them and now her backside was properly ON FIRE.
“AAAAARRGH!” she screamed.
“Jump in the septic tank,” shouted Darius. “That’ll put the fire out.”
“Get lost,” she shouted, running round in circles to try and get away from her smouldering bum.
At that moment, Dad saw Nat in trouble and quickly jumped up, dashed over and grabbed her, swinging her feet clean off the ground. He ran to a big plastic tub of water nearby and sat her in it, just as things were getting REALLY uncomfortable. PSSSSHT! went the steam. The workmen applauded.
“You have to be careful playing around here,” said Dad, looking concerned, “it’s quite dangerous if you haven’t got your wits about you.”
“Well, this is humiliating,” Nat said as the workmen laughed and cheered at her soggy bottom.
“You do worry about what people think of you,” said Dad.
Just then, someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him round. The Baron, with a look of evil triumph on his face, was standing in front on them. With a local policeman. Who looked a bit cross.
“Arrest them all,” said the Baron.
“Hello,” said Dad cheerfully. “Would you like a cup of tea? Kettle’s just boiled.”
“No zank you,” said the policeman. “Ze Baron ’ere says you ’ave ze little boy who ’as no passport.”
Nat went cold.
“There’s no little boy here,” shouted Dad really loudly, walking around. “I BET YOU COULD SEARCH THE WHOLE GARDEN AND YOU’D NEVER FIND DARIUS BAGLEY. WHO’S VERY GOOD AT HIDING. NOT THAT THERE’S ANYONE CALLED DARIUS HERE.”
“Why are you shouting?” asked the policeman. “I am one metre away. Zere is no need for ze shouting.”
“Search everywhere, search NOW,” ordered the Baron.
“Sterp ordering me about,” said the peckish policeman, who was called Claude. “You are not ze Chief of Police. You are nurt even my wife.”
Claude leaned in close to Dad’s ear. “Since you massacre ’is ducks, ’e ’ates you very much. He may ’ave gone round ze corner.”
“Bend,” corrected Dad.
“Ah, zank you.” Claude cast an eye over the garden. “Well, I can see no leettle boy ’ere, but I say to you now …” he spoke very loudly and clearly, “ze police are watching you. If we see zis boy and ’e ’as no passport, you will be in trouble, big time.”
The Baron fumed, but copper Claude told him crossly that there was nothing they could do without evidence, and they left.
“We’ll be back,” said the Baron ominously. As he stormed off out of the garden, Nat noticed Gaston sloping out behind him. He caught her eye for a second, then looked away guiltily.
Why are you looking so guilty? Nat wondered.
t was well into the night when the last of the villagers downed tools and went home, promising to be back at first light.
There was only one day to go and the house was still half covered in scaffolding, but there had been an astonishing amount of work done.
The big hole in the roof had been patched up.
The leaks had been fixed.
Most of the lights worked.
The floorboards had been replaced.
The shutters had been mended.
The old paint and wallpaper had been sanded or ripped off, ready to be redecorated.
“The loo works!” shouted Darius, flushing like mad.
Even the mermaid in the fountain had her head back on.
The café owner was the last of the villagers to leave. Just before he got in his car he called Nat over, making sure no one else could see.
He handed her a note. “Ze little brat from ze chateau, ’e ask me to give you zis.”
Nat eyed the note suspiciously, then went up to her room alone and opened it.
The note read:
Dear Mademoiselle Bumolé,
I have something VERY IMPORTANT to tell you.
I am not allowed to see you any more so please come to the chateau tonight when it is dark.
I will wait by an upstairs window round the back of the house.
Make the sound of a wild boar when you are there to get my attention. There’s lots of wild boars round here.
But be careful not to attract them with your wild boar impression. They bite.
Gaston.
P.S. I should probably tell you that my Papa said if he ever saw any of you on his property he would shoot you with his big hunting gun and say he thought you were a burglar.
Thanks for telling me, thought Nat. So that’s boars and mad Barons I have to look out for. No thanks.
I’m DEFINITELY not going now.
But after they all went to bed, her curiosity grew. What did he want to tell her?
I must be mad, she thought, getting dressed and putting her shoes on. She walked out of her bedroom, as quietly as a mouse. A little bit of her was excited. This felt like an adventure.
Then she trod on a ghost-trap and yelled in pain.
“Gotcha!” shouted Darius, leaping out of a cupboard. “Oh,” he said, “it’s just you.”
“Get this off my foot and get lost,” said Nat.
“Where are you going?” asked Darius.
“Nowhere. Don’t follow me,” said Nat.
She refused to tell him where she was going and made him promise not to follow. She didn’t see he had his fingers crossed.
It was a cloudy night and very dark indeed. The chateau loomed large and rather monstrous as she approached. She crept round to the back of the big house and tried to see Gaston at a window. She had literally no idea what wild boars sounded like but guessed they were like a pig.
Feeling like an idiot, she started oinking.
“Zat is a pig, not a wild boar,” said a voice high up at a dark window. “Eet is a rubbish impression.”
; “Gaston, you little monster,” hissed Nat, “what do you want?”
But before he could answer, Nat heard footsteps from the side of the house, and saw the faint glow of a torch-beam.
It was the Baron!
“What do I do now?” said Nat, panicking.
“Climb up the drainpipe quickly,” he said.
Nat was good at climbing but the drainpipe was old and rusty and it creaked alarmingly as she got higher. Nat thought for one horrible moment it was going to give way, but she managed to scramble to the top, just.
Gaston grabbed her and helped her in through the window just as the Baron passed by below. He shut the window behind her, drew a blind and put the light on.
Gaston’s bedroom was like a very expensive toyshop: cars, remote-control choppers, robots, steam engines, boxes and boxes of action figures and piles of books and comics surrounded a huge bed.
Something pinned up on the wall caught her eye. It was a very pretty portrait of a young girl, in pastel and chalk.
It reminded her of someone.
Then she realised – it was a picture of her!
It was signed ‘Gaston’, along with the words:
Mon amie.
Even Nat knew that meant: my friend.
That’s me, she thought, friend to local weirdos.
This local weirdo was standing by the window, wringing his hands.
“What do you want to tell me?” she asked when she got her breath back.
It took him a while. He seemed nervous. “I wanted to say sorry.” He took a deep breath. “It is my fault zat my father knows about Bagley. I told him.”
Nat sat on the bed. Of course! That day at the chateau … she had told him. That was why he’d looked so guilty earlier.
“But why did you do that?” she said. And then Nat thought of the portrait of her. And she knew why.
Gaston was jealous.
Nat was furious, and felt sorry for him, and was a teeny bit flattered all at the same time. She wasn’t used to being liked. Can I help it that I’m so amazing? she thought.
“Have you dragged me over here just to tell me that?” she said sternly.
“I just wanted to say sorry. And to ask you please not to tell the Bagley. He will do ’orrible things to me in revenge.”