by Nigel Smith
Nat thought for a while. “He DOES like doing horrible things,” she said, “and he does like revenge.”
Gaston looked like he was going to be sick. “YOU told me about ’is passport,” he said, “so it is your fault too.”
“I know,” said Nat, sighing. “Look, I won’t tell him if you don’t, OK?”
“OK!” said Gaston happily.
They shook hands on the deal.
“You know,” said Nat, “we can ALL be friends. IF you play nicely …”
“I can do zat!” said Gaston, smiling. He opened the window. “Tomorrow I will come and ’elp with ze party. Be careful!”
Nat looked out of the window to the ground below. She could hear something moving in the bushes. Probably just a mad wild boar, she thought. Great.
Gaston could obviously hear it too. “Better go out ze back door,” he said. “I’ll show you ze way.”
They crept through the dark house as quietly as they could. Nat wished Darius had shown her his ninja moves as he’d promised because their footsteps echoed loudly on the wooden staircase.
Finally they reached the bottom, and Gaston pointed to the back door, at the far end of the huge kitchen. Gaston started slinking back up the stairs nervously.
“I hear Papa,” he said. “Ze key is in ze tray on ze shelf above ze door. Go, quick!” He crept back upstairs, and Nat ran for the back door.
She grabbed the door handle and tugged, just in case. It didn’t budge.
She could hear footsteps.
Standing on tiptoes, she felt frantically around for the tray above the door but couldn’t find one. At last, her hand settled on something cold and metal, but in her haste she knocked it off the shelf, and it landed on the tiled kitchen floor with a massive CLANG that echoed through the entire house.
Now she heard angry French words coming closer.
She was trapped!
The Baron’s voice was getting louder. She couldn’t understand what he was saying, but she reckoned the words gun, hunting and burglars were in there.
Suddenly she noticed the cat flap. It was quite big and she reckoned she could squeeze through. She dropped to her knees and put her head and shoulders through.
“Hello, Buttface,” said Darius, who was standing on the other side of the door.
hat are you doing here?” she hissed. “Rescuing you,” said Darius. “Say thank you.”
“Just grab my arms and pull – I’m stuck!” Half of her was outside, but everything from the bum down was still in the kitchen. “How did you know I was here?”
“I followed you,” he said simply.
“What on earth are you two doing?” said Dad, appearing behind Darius.
“Why did you tell Dad?” shouted Nat.
“He didn’t – I followed him,” said Dad. “What is going on?”
“What’s going on is you’re going to be stuffed and mounted over the fireplace, if you don’t get me out in the next ten seconds,” said Nat, trying to be quiet. “He shoots burglars.”
“Get a move on then,” said Dad.
“Thanks for the advice, Dad, but I’M STUCK, YOU MASSIVE IDIOT,” she shouted, forgetting to keep quiet.
“Grab one of her hands and PULL!” Dad said to Darius.
They pulled.
“You’re making it worse!” she said, feeling all the air squeeze out of her. She was jammed tight. She couldn’t see what was going on behind her but she heard footsteps drawing closer. The Baron was right behind her. The back door swung open, Nat still wedged half in and half out of the cat flap.
“It’s open,” said the Baron.
“Evening!” said Dad to the Baron. “I’m definitely not a burglar.”
“Zen what are you doing ’ere?” said the Baron. “And why is zis child in my cat flap?”
“Oh, THAT’S where she is,” said Dad, playing for time. “She’s, AH, she’s, ER, she’s, UM …”
“She’s what?”
“SLEEPWALKING,” said Dad. “That’s it. She’s a terrible sleepwalker. Don’t wake her. In fact, best to go back to bed right now.”
Dad put his hands under Nat and at last managed to wriggle her free. He held her in his arms. She kept her eyes closed.
“Are you telling me she is currently asleep?” asked the Baron incredulously.
“Yes, ssssh,” said Dad.
“I don’t believe it.”
“You can say what you want, she can’t hear you,” said Dad.
Oh no, thought Nat, don’t give him ideas.
Too late. “Well, I’m sure you’re telling the truth. I’ll say goodnight.”
Nat could feel Dad relax. No, Dad, careful, she thought, he’s up to something.
He was. He said craftily, “Gaston tells me you are a very funny man.”
Dad tried to look modest. “It’s been said,” he fibbed.
“I’m writing a speech for ze duck breeders’ society tomorrow,” lied the Baron, “but it’s not funny enough. I wonder if you could tell me ze funniest joke you know?”
He eyed Nat’s face carefully.
Don’t do it, Dad, thought Nat. Because she knew that the more you are supposed NOT to laugh, the more likely you are to start giggling. And she was definitely not supposed to laugh.
But Dad couldn’t resist.
Nat knew Dad thought that EVERY situation could be improved by making people laugh. Even when it was obvious that it sometimes made things far far worse.
“I heard a good one the other day,” he began. Now, Nat NEVER thought Dad was funny, but right now …
SHE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO LAUGH.
Which suddenly made him – HILARIOUS.
She could already feel a little tickle start in her tummy. “There are two snowmen in a field,” said Dad, “and one turns to the other and says: ‘Can you smell carrots?’”
The Baron started to smile. Then he started to laugh. Then he started to roar, tears running down his face. “He he heeee,” he gasped, “it is funny because their noses are MADE of carrots – very very funny.”
Then he stopped and stared at Nat. Fortunately she was still just about keeping a straight face. The Baron turned to Darius, who was skulking about next to Dad.
“Are you funny?” he asked.
Don’t tell him, Dad, thought Nat. But of course, Dad did. “He does something very hilarious with his armpits,” he said.
Oh no, thought Nat, not fair. Darius’s armpit farts were officially the funniest thing in the universe ever.
“Let me see,” said the Baron.
Darius, who had guessed the Baron’s evil plan, just did a half-hearted one. It made a little farty noise.
Pfft, it went.
Nnnnng, went Nat inside. The little one was even funnier than the big one.
“One more time,” said the Baron wickedly. “For me.”
Darius tried to do an even quieter one but only succeeded in creating a perfect one-cheek squeaker.
Ffffssssqrrrt, it went. Nat felt her whole body shake with suppressed laughter. Make it stop, she thought, it sounds like someone trying to be sneaky and failing; oh that is hilarious.
It was too much. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“Ah ha ha haaaa,” she laughed, jumping out of Dad’s arms. “Hee hee hohooo ha ha. Oh, come on, I’m only HUMAN.”
“I KNEW it!” shouted the Baron. “Burglars!”
Dad grabbed Nat’s arm and they all ran like crazy and didn’t stop until they were safely in their house, with the door bolted, and furniture piled up against it, just to be safe.
“Next year,” said Nat, “we’re going to Center Parcs like everybody else.”
at slept very badly. Maybe it was having no window, maybe it was Bad News Nan snoring. Maybe it was the smell of fresh paint or the not-so-fresh septic tank. Maybe it was the thought of being chased by a gun-wielding baron.
Or maybe, she thought, tossing and turning, it’s knowing that tomorrow we’ll be watched by police while trying to repair
a WHOLE house, impress the Poshes AND put on a massive party.
But however worried Nat had been, by late afternoon the next day, several small miracles had happened.
Bad News Nan had stopped snoring.
The paint smell had completely covered the septic tank smell.
No one had been arrested or even lightly shot.
And most miraculous of all, by late afternoon Nat found herself standing outside a BEAUTIFUL OLD HOUSE.
It looked nothing like the old scary wreck it once was. The villagers sat on the warm grass, exhausted but happy.
Posh Barry and his rotten family would be arriving in just a few hours. In the nick of time, they had done it!
“It’s amazing,” said Nat.
“It’s very nice,” said Bad News Nan.
“Winner,” said Dad.
“I preferred it haunted,” said Darius from his hiding place in a bush.
“No more ‘monkey with a hammer’ jokes for me!” said Dad. “Told you I would get it fixed.”
Everyone looked at him hard. All Dad had done was basically just make seven hundred cups of tea. “Yeah, well, someone had to organise everything,” said Dad defensively.
“Can I stop hiding yet?” said the bush.
“No,” said Nat, “just in case the police come looking for you. Now shut up and be more ninja.”
“I’ll miss the party. And I like parties.”
Nat hadn’t thought of that. She didn’t know Darius liked parties. She didn’t know he liked anything much except mayhem and destruction.
Oh, of course, she suddenly realised, NOW I understand. Dad’s parties ARE full of mayhem and destruction.
“Why don’t you hide with us?” said another voice, from another bush. It was Gaston. She had made Darius promise to be nice to him (in return for her promising to stop Bad News Nan from wiping his face with a spitty hanky every five minutes).
“Because I’m not being hunted by the cops, or weird,” she said.
Gaston came out of the bush. He had twigs in his hair. “Darius is showing me his proper ninja hiding. Find me if you can!” he said excitedly, then ran off.
“You were gonna show ME your ninja hiding,” said Nat, sounding a bit jealous.
“He’s hiding from his dad so he can come to the party,” said Darius. “And anyway, you told me to be nice to him.”
Nat couldn’t really complain. And besides, she wasn’t in the mood to moan. She smiled, looking round at everything happily. The garden was now full of tables and chairs from local cafés. Someone had strung up bunting and fairy lights. There was a makeshift stage near the fountain of doom, now squirting water instead of lethal voltages.
Barrels of wine had been rolled in from somewhere. And there was a delicious smell of food cooking on a huge barbecue fire pit that the diggers had helpfully gouged out of the lawn.
Nat couldn’t believe it. Despite all the disasters on this trip, Dad had actually, somehow, DONE IT.
“I can’t wait for the Poshes to get here,” chuckled Dad, walking up and putting his arm round her. “They will not be expecting THIS.”
Nat laughed. Dad was absolutely right. It was a pretty little palace; a holiday wonderland with lights and streamers and food and music and …
“… And when they come into the garden,” said Dad, “it’ll suddenly go boom whizz bang, as I let the fireworks off above their heads – as if it’s all for them – and it’ll be completely amazing and FOR ONCE Dad comes back a total hero.”
Yeah, put THAT on your blog, MIMSY, thought Nat excitedly.
By eight o’clock, the Poshes still hadn’t arrived but the party was well underway. Everyone was there except the Dog, who’d been exiled to a village house to keep him away from the fireworks, which he hated, and the roast chicken, which he loved.
All the village had turned up in their best clothes, ready to make merry.
Nat saw nice policeman Claude in charge of the barbecue. He was chucking great slabs of sizzling steaks and whole chickens over the bright glowing coals. Bad News Nan had volunteered to look after the cakes, which Dad said was a bit like letting Colonel Sanders look after a Kentucky henhouse.
The wine was pouring in the way it does when French people come anywhere near the stuff, and a little jazz band was on the stage, noodling away merrily.
So that’s jazz music, is it? thought Nat. Not nice enough to actually listen to, but not so terrible as to get in the way.
Everything was perfect, really. Somehow, from the disasters of THE WORST HOLIDAY ANYONE’S EVER HAD EVER, Dad had finally, amazingly, got it right.
What a shame Darius has to hide in a cupboard somewhere, she thought, as she watched the barbecue smoke drift across the happy scene.
But then she realised it was very much for the best, and she hoped he was hiding safely, because someone had just arrived.
The Baron flipping Duckbrain.
And he’d brought with him a VERY UNINVITED GUEST.
SUSPICIOUS MICK!!!!!
Nat could not believe it. She almost fainted, like the heroines in OLD CLASSICS. Suddenly she understood why they swooned all the time. Suspicious Mick … here???
It was simply impossible.
But he was here, impossible or not.
He and the Baron were talking to Claude the policeman, who looked cross to be dragged away from his barbecue.
Nat ran over to Dad. He was opening bottles of wine and humming a happy tuneless Dad tune.
“Dad, Dad,” she shouted. “Look who’s here!”
“Suspicious Mick, I know,” said Dad, who didn’t seem bothered. “He’s a strange little man, isn’t he?”
“But why – how – what?” said Nat.
Dad mixed some fruit into another jug of the local plonk. “Claude told me about him. Mick’s one of those people who thinks that he’s a real policeman just because he’s got a uniform. No one likes them much, especially not real policemen.”
Nat could see Claude arguing with Suspicious Mick.
“He’s got one of those radios that listens in to the police,” said Dad calmly. “He heard the rumour about a boy without a passport and volunteered to help find him. I reckon he’s been following us for ages. Sad man. I’ll just get him a drink.”
Dad wandered off happily with two glasses in his hands. Nat felt sick. Darius was in real trouble and Dad was having far too much fun at his party to realise.
Nat felt so bad about dropping Darius in it that she had to confess what she’d done. She cornered Bad News Nan over by les gateaux.
“And I didn’t even know stupid Gaston liked me because he was always horrible to me,” she said.
“That’s how you can tell if a boy thinks you’re really nice,” said Bad News Nan, face full of cake. “Hasn’t your dad taught you anything?”
Nat was about to reply when two soft hands went round her eyes. A lovely voice murmured behind her: “Guess who?”
It was MUM!
Nat sprang into her arms and wrapped herself tight. “Dad, Dad, now look who’s here!”
“Hello, Ivor,” said Mum as Dad wandered up, open-mouthed.
“How the—”
“Where’s Darius?” said Mum loudly.
Nat froze. She pointed frantically to Claude, the policeman, who now seemed to be walking in their direction.
“WHO?” Nat said loudly. “WHO IS THIS DARIUS OF WHOM YOU SPEAK? I KNOW NO ONE OF THAT NAME.”
“Darius Bagley,” said Mum. “I know he’s here.”
The Baron grabbed Claude, making him drop his sausage. He motioned to Suspicious Mick and the three of them approached Mum.
Nat’s knees shook, but Mum did not seem concerned.
“Only I’ve got something for him,” said Mum. And she held up a little battered book.
It was his PASSPORT.
“Now,” said Mum, looking at Claude, Suspicious Mick and the Baron in turn, “is there anything else we can help you with, gentlemen?”
ow the …?”
said Nat.
“But Oswald said …” said Dad.
As soon as the furious Baron had stormed off, both Nat and Dad turned to Mum in wonder.
“Yeah, Oswald might have been fibbing,” said Mum. “After I got those jumbled messages on my answerphone, I decided I’d better try and track Oswald and the passport down. I’m good at finding morons in foreign countries.”
Dad looked a bit uncomfortable. Nat giggled. Mum was totally awesome. She wondered if Darius had been right after all. He was convinced Mum was a proper spy. She’d always laughed at this, but now she wasn’t so sure.
“Oswald had taken the passport with him to Norway,” said Mum. “I have a horrible feeling he was trying to sell it. I don’t know if you know this but Oswald Bagley is not the nicest human being on the planet.”
“No, he’s not,” said Dad. “I’m glad he’s thousands of miles away. It makes me sleep more easily.”
“Actually, he’s here,” said Mum. “I made a bit of a bargain with him.”
“What? What kind of bargain?” said an alarmed Nat. “I read a play at school once about a man who made a bargain with the devil and that didn’t go very well for him ONE LITTLE BIT, and that was only the devil, not Oswald flipping Bagley.”
Just then a horrible throaty roar ripped the air and in a cloud of dust, a huge van appeared. On the side was painted:
My Filthy Granny
Four horrible-looking young men jumped off the bus, still wreathed in dust. They looked like ghouls.
Brave men from the village tried to hide their wives; less brave men hid behind theirs.
“They’ve had a terrible time, poor things,” said Mum. “They’ve been banned from every country within five hundred miles of the Arctic Circle since Stinky Gibbon tried to bite the head off a penguin.”
“They don’t have penguins in the Arctic Circle, Mum,” said Nat.
“They were at the zoo,” said Mum.
“Ah, good old rock and roll,” said Dad dreamily. “I should get my bongos from the van.”
Nat cringed.
“I said that in return for Darius’s passport,” began Mum, “they would get—”