by Nigel Smith
A thin woman with a face like a Grand National winner stood at his side, forcing a smile.
“Parks is the name, parks is my game,” boomed the man. “I run the park – and my name is – Mr PARKS.”
He obviously found this hilarious. He laughed until his whole body shook.
“Now you, young lady,” said the woman. “We only know you as Nat the Normal Girl. We can’t introduce you like that. What’s your last name?”
“Bumole,” said Darius with relish.
“Remove this cheeky Herbert from my park immediately,” said Mr Parks.
“My name is Bew-mole-ay,” mumbled Nat.
“Oh dear,” said the lady. “We’ll stick with Nat the Normal Girl. You’re due on stage in five minutes.”
She pointed to a raised platform. Nat gulped nervously.
The woman was still talking. “Mr Parks will introduce you, then your agent tells me you want to say a few words before you turn on the lights.”
“Agent?” said Nat.
“Yes, agent,” said Mr Parks. “We had an email from a Mr Elvis Greed Bugatti.”
Nat glared at Darius.
“I’m assuming he’s American with a name like that,” said Mr Parks, impressed. “Very Hollywood.”
“He’s not American,” said Nat. “I’m not even sure he’s human.”
“He must be foreign,” insisted the woman, “on account of all the spelling mistakes in the email.”
“And he says you want to talk about soup,” said Mr Parks. “Which is fine, I suppose, but there’s no room for a cookery demonstration.”
“It stands for Save Our Ugly Pets’ Home,” said Nat, feeling like an idiot. “Only the H is silent.”
“Next year we’ll get someone off The X Factor,” Mr Parks muttered to his companion.
Nat’s attention was suddenly drawn to a hulking figure nearby. She recognised the black leather clothes and big bushy beard immediately.
It was Oswald Bagley. She shuddered.
“Oi, Elvis,” she said to Darius. “I didn’t know Oswald liked fairy lights.”
“He doesn’t,” said Darius, “he’s working for Fat Pete, the man who runs the bacon sandwich van.”
“I can’t see Oswald frying bacon with an apron and a little white hat on,” giggled Nat.
“Nah, he’s here ’cos ‘Tony Four Cheeses’ has turned up.”
“Tony who?” asked Nat.
“Tony Four Cheeses. He runs the pizza van. Him and Fat Pete hate each other. So Oswald’s gonna bash anyone who buys a pizza.”
“And that’s a job, is it?” said Nat, folding her arms.
“More of a hobby, really,” said Darius.
“Nice pizzas, these,” said Dad, stuffing his face with a cheesy slice.
“Eat it, quick,” said Nat, ramming it in Dad’s mouth as fast as she could before Oswald spotted him.
“Mmmf,” said Dad. “Hot hot hot!”
Mr Parks turned to Nat. “Let’s get you on the cherry picker,” he said brightly.
“What’s a cherry picker?” she asked.
“Just stand on the little platform,” said Mr Parks, guiding her to the stage. Next to the stage was a big ugly crane that Nat guessed was used to put up the lights.
“You’d think they could have moved the stupid crane out of the way,” she said to Darius. “It’s not very attractive. And it’s going to block some people’s view of me.”
“I thought you didn’t care about being famous,” said Darius.
“I’m thinking of the animals!” snapped Nat. “The more people see me, the more ugly little animals we save. Don’t you care about anything except yourself?”
“Know what?” said Darius. “I was gonna tell you what a cherry picker is. But I’m not going to now.”
Nat was tempted to throttle it out of him, but there was a blast of music from the sound system that nearly blew her head off.
The show was about to begin.
And no one who was there would ever forget it.
HE DICTIONARY SAYS THAT A ‘CHERRY PICKER’ is a basket on a crane. It lifts workmen high in the air so they can do things like, for example, picking cherries, or cutting high branches.
(Or, as Nat was about to find out, it’s a basket you cling on to, shrieking in sheer terror as it lifts you high into the air to turn on the town lights.)
Things started to go wrong even before she stepped into the basket. As she stepped on to the stage, she tugged Dad’s sleeve.
“Where’s my speech, Dad?”
Dad patted his trousers in the way he did when he didn’t want to give her money for a magazine in the corner shop. “It must be in the car,” he said. “Do you need it right now?”
“Of course I need it right now, Dad, you spanner. I’m going to give my speech right now. When else do you think I would need it? Tomorrow? Next week? Halfway through double geography? When I’m in the bath?”
A few camera flashlights went off in Nat’s general direction. People were starting to gather in front of the stage.
“You shouldn’t screw up your face in fury like that,” said Dad calmly. “It spoils your looks.”
“If you don’t fetch her speech in the next ten seconds I’m going to spoil your looks,” said Mum. Dad hopped off the stage and sprinted to the car.
“Be back in a sec,” he shouted. “Just entertain the crowd.”
“How?”
“Do your catchphrase or your pop song or your funny dance.” Dad was almost out of sight.
“No way,” shouted Nat after him. “I’m giving a serious speech about how we should all save the ugly pets’ home. Then, if I have time, I might do a bit about how girls can light up the world the way these lights light up the park.”
Nat watched nervously as a scuffle broke out in the crowd. Mum was looking at her watch and tapping her foot impatiently. Darius had disappeared. Dad was still nowhere to be seen.
“Is something on fire?” said Mr Parks, standing on tiptoe. Smoke wafted over the stage. “Oh dear, it looks like one of the vans selling food has caught alight.”
“Is it Fat Tony’s pizza van, by any remote chance?” asked Nat.
“I think it is,” said Mr Parks. “How did you know that?”
“Lucky guess,” said Nat.
“Come on, Nat,” said Mum. “Your father must have got lost. Let’s not delay – it’s time to shine.”
Nat gulped.
“You’ll be fine without the speech,” said Mum. “Just remember the important things and speak from your heart and everyone will love you. Just don’t take too long about it.”
She turned to Mr Parks. “We’re ready,” she said.
Mr Parks breathed a sigh of relief and led Nat into a little yellow basket next to the crane. He handed her a microphone and a big red button.
“When you get to the top, say a few words, then press this button to turn the lights on,” he said.
“What do you mean ‘when you get to the top’?” said Nat nervously. “What top? Where am I going?”
“Hold on tight,” said Mr Parks. Nat heard a mechanical noise behind her and the basket started shaking.
“I don’t like it, Mum,” she said.
“Look at me. Remember, Nathalia, you’re my daughter,” said Mum. Nat looked at Mum’s firm, confident face and felt better.
“You’re right,” said Nat, glowing inside a little. “And like my mum, I can do anything.”
“That’s my girl,” said Mum.
“Hey ho and up she rises!” shouted Mr Parks.
But I’m also Dad’s daughter, thought Nat, and like my dad, I get everything WRONG …
The crane groaned, the arm stretched, and to Nat’s horror, she found herself hoisted …
Up in the air.
AAAAAGH!” YELLED NAT, AS THE BASKET rose into the dark sky, swaying violently. She closed her eyes for what seemed like ages and concentrated on trying not to be sick. Then she heard the crowd burst into applause and that gave her
the confidence to open her eyes and peek out.
But they were only clapping because Fat Tony was giving away burned slices of pizza for free.
Eventually, Nat thought of Mum’s confident face and looked around, breathing deeply to stop her heart beating so fast. The cherry picker had now stopped, arm extended to its full height. The little stage below seemed miles away.
She could see the tops of the dark trees. The whole town was spread out, glowing orange under her feet. She could even see Mum’s little red car. And there was Dad, struggling to fit in through the tiny door.
Too many pork pies, she thought. He looks stuck. No wonder he didn’t bring me my speech in time.
Of course, the speech! She took a deep breath and began talking.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, “boys and girls, welcome to the illuminations.” But her words were whipped away by the wind.
“You need to turn the microphone on, Buttface,” said Darius.
“EEEEK!” shouted Nat, not realising Darius was in the basket too. Her squeal almost broke the mic, which Darius had switched on at that moment, deafening the crowd.
The speakers onstage shrieked and howled as Nat’s voice thundered throughout the park.
“WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING IN HERE, YOU UTTER CHIMP? AND DON’T CALL ME BUTTFACE!” shouted Nat.
“You do realise the microphone’s on now, don’t you?” said Darius.
Nat went white. She looked at the crowd, terrified they might have heard her horrible nickname, which was only slightly less embarrassing than her REAL name. But she saw, with a massive sigh of relief, that everyone still had their hands over their ears from her deafening scream. No one had heard. She was safe. For now.
But Darius isn’t safe, she thought. She snatched the microphone from him, turned it off, and began hitting him with it.
“Gerroff,” said Darius. “I only came up here to help you.”
“I’ll deal with you later,” said Nat, then turned on the microphone and addressed the crowd.
She tried to remember her beautifully written speech. She had been very pleased with it. It was all about kindness and helping poor unfortunate creatures, but now, the only poor unfortunate creature she could think of was herself. And the crowd below didn’t seem in the mood to be kind to anyone.
She looked down and saw Dad running, exhausted, on to the stage, waving her speech. He tripped over some wires and fell flat on his face.
Fat lot of good you are now, she thought. Stupid Dad.
Her mind had gone totally blank. She couldn’t think of a single word to say. Then, out of the dark, Mum’s clear voice rang out.
“This is your moment, Nathalia. Take it and remember what fame is for.”
She didn’t need her speech. She knew what to say.
“People of the town, the quality of mercy is not sprained,” she began. She’d read that phrase somewhere and wasn’t sure what it meant, but she reckoned it sounded brilliant.
“Girls are the light of the world, just like these lights tonight are the lights of the, um, park. And I want these lights to light the way to your heart. And when you find your heart, have a good look round in there and see if you can find a place for the little animals.”
She was on a roll. She was on top of the world. She was actually enjoying this. She didn’t need her stupid speech.
“They might be ugly and violent, but that’s not their fault. They might smell a bit and leave nasty stains all over the house, but so does my nan and we still love her. So please help us save Porter Ogden’s Ugly Pets’ Home. If you do, I promise to do my funny dance and everything.”
Her voice was choked with emotion. “Bless you all, goodly townsfolk, and thank you for listening.”
She gave a very theatrical bow.
“What?” said a voice in the crowd.
“Speak up, we can’t hear you,” said another.
“Your microphone’s not on,” shouted a third.
“Whoops, sorry,” shouted Dad. “I think I must have pulled a wire out when I tripped over. Sorry, love. Can you say all that again?”
He plugged a wire back in, there was a howl of feedback and Nat’s furious answer came booming back at a volume you normally only get by sticking your head in a jet engine.
“DAD, YOU HAVE TOTALLY RUINED MY LIFE, YET AGAIN.”
“That’s not how your speech starts,” said Dad, peering at it. “You’ve written something about mercy.”
“This is rubbish!” shouted yet another voice from the darkness.
Dad grabbed another mic from the stage and addressed the crowd.
“THAT’S MY DAUGHTER UP THERE AND SHE’S ONLY DOING THIS TO SAVE THE PORTER OGDEN UGLY PETS’ HOME. SHE DOESN’T EVEN LIKE BEING FAMOUS, NOT REALLY. SHE’S A LOVELY LITTLE GIRL AND YOU SHOULD BE NICE TO HER. SHE’S NAT THE NORMAL GIRL, FROM THOSE FUNNY VIDEOS.”
“Oh, I like HER,” said a woman in the crowd. “Can she do the little dance?”
“COURSE SHE’LL DO THE DANCE,” said Dad. Nat scowled.
“BUT I DON’T THINK OF HER AS A NORMAL GIRL,” continued Dad, who was enjoying being onstage now. “I DON’T THINK SHE’S NORMAL AT ALL. WOULD A NORMAL GIRL DO ALL THIS JUST TO SAVE HORRIBLE PETS?”
He had the crowd’s attention now.
“NASTY, ROTTEN PETS. PETS THAT MOST SANE PEOPLE WOULD WANT TO PUT IN A SACK WITH BRICKS AND LOB IN A LAKE?”
“You should stop now,” said Mum.
“HONESTLY, THEY ARE VILE,” continued Dad. “ONE OF THEM NEARLY TOOK MY FACE OFF.”
“Ivor!” snapped Mum. Dad jumped.
“ANYWAY,” said Dad, changing the subject, “TO YOU SHE’S NAT THE NORMAL GIRL; TO ME SHE’S JUST NATHALIA, NATHALIA BEW—”
Nat KNEW what he was going to say. Quick as a flash she pressed the red button and the park blazed into all its second-hand illumination glory. “I DECLARE THE LIGHTS – ARE ON!”
There was a gasp and then a cheer. It was … like a fairy wonderland. It was actually, properly beautiful.
“I hadn’t finished,” said Dad, but Mum had already taken the microphone off him.
Mr Parks threw another switch and rockets shot up in the air, showering the crowd with rainbow-coloured sparks.
Nat turned to Darius, amazed.
“I GOT AWAY WITH IT,” she said.
“Shut up,” said Darius.
“DON’T INTERRUPT,” said Nat. “THIS WAS BRILLIANT. THE LIGHTS ARE GREAT, I WAS SUPER FAB EVEN IF NO ONE HEARD ME, AND BEST OF ALL, MY STUPID DAD DIDN’T TELL EVERYONE MY REAL NAME IS NATHALIA BUMOLÉ!”
There was a roar of laughter from the crowd.
“I was just gonna say your microphone was on again,” said Darius.
“BUM’OLE! BUM’OLE!” came the chant from the crowd.
Nat slumped to the bottom of the cherry-picker basket.
N THE BRIGHT SIDE, YOU’RE PROBABLY EVEN more famous now, which is good for trying to save the pets,” said Dad the next morning at the kitchen table.
“Shut up, Ivor,” said Mum, who was eating a healthy bowl of muesli and looking enviously at Dad’s massive bacon sandwich. “She doesn’t want to be famous at all, can’t you see that?”
Nat was looking online at the ‘breaking news’ section of the local newspaper with a stony face.
“The photographer must have had a very long lens to get that angry expression on your face from all the way up there,” said Dad, still trying to cheer her up. “Apart from your face, it’s a lovely picture, with you all lit up by the lights and fireworks. Can you print that out?”
“Sure, Dad, shall I print out the headline too?” said Nat.
VIDEO STAR HITS BUM NOTE! laughed the headline.
“There’s loads of stuff online about what went on last night,” said Nat. “But it’s all about either my rubbish speech or my stupid name, or some leather-clad bearded mystery man’s ‘reign of cheesy-slice terror’.”
“It was quite eventful,” agreed Dad, looking at Mum’s raised eyebr
ows. It was the sort of eventful she did not approve of.
“There’s NOTHING about the pets’ home and that’s mostly the only reason I did it,” moaned Nat. “Why does everything you’re involved in end up being so completely utterly EMBARRASSING?”
“Oh look,” said Dad, reading over her shoulder, “there’s a nice quote here from your agent, Elvis Greed Bugatti. I didn’t know you had another agent.”
“It’s Darius, you moron,” said Nat, slamming her laptop lid down. And slamming her head on it for good measure. She wasn’t feeling well and last night’s humiliation was the final straw.
“Being famous is HORRIBLE,” said Nat, sneezing violently. “I’ve had enough of it. It’s given me a cold. I’m going to bed and don’t wake me up until everyone’s forgotten all about me.”
Nat’s cold got worse as the day went on. She was snuffly and bunged up and her head ached and her throat felt red raw. Her temperature went up as her spirits went down. She was even too sick to enjoy Dad getting a proper telling-off from Mum.
She didn’t dare turn on her phone. She knew it would be full of texts making fun of her stupid name. She had a thoroughly miserable day and when finally, drowsy with cold remedy, she drifted off into a sniffly sleep, she prayed she would wake up totally unknown again.
The next day was Monday and Nat was way too sick to go to school. She tried to cheer herself up by calling Dad up and down the stairs about a hundred times. Mum had to go to work, but Nat didn’t think she’d mind Dad suffering for his crimes.
By the afternoon, she was feeling a bit better. Dad had brought her a cup of tea (nice) and a bottle of cough medicine (nasty). That sums up my life, she thought. Nasty always follows nice.
“Go away, you’ve ruined my life, and I’m not even joking,” she said snottily.
“I see you’re on the mend,” Dad said cheerfully, “and you’ll feel even better when you see what the postman’s brought you.”
Nat dragged herself out of bed with shaky legs and trudged downstairs in her onesie. What the postman had brought was a sack full of letters and parcels.