I realised that I still hadn’t really spoken to Cara at this point, and didn’t know much about her other than:
1 She played (and loved) the spoons (and was brilliant at playing them!).
2 She seemed to be in a LOT of clubs.
3 She seemed to really like Cammy.
Cammy, however, seemed to have got to know Cara quite well in less than twenty-four hours, and as we were packing up after practice I was a bit surprised to find out that they even seemed to have a couple of “in jokes”.
That’s when I decided I needed to make more of an effort to get to know Cara. I mean, even though it should’ve been Smile Boy playing the spoons in our band instead of her, Cara was a big part of my life now, since I’d decided that the band was a big part of my life.
“So, Cara, how did you start playing the spoons?” I asked.
“Um, I don’t know,” she said. “I just liked them.”
“You’re really good,” I said. “Have you had lessons?”
“No,” she said, avoiding eye contact with me.
She didn’t really seem to want to talk to me. I decided to change the subject.
“What are you up to this weekend?” I asked.
“Erm. Nothing. Well, I’m busy. Sorry, um, I better go. I’ve got Spanish,” she said, and then she rushed out.
“That was weird,” I said.
“What was?” said Cammy.
“Cara!” I said.
“Was she?” said Cammy. I could tell she wasn’t really listening to me. She was busy trying to fix a hole in her bongos.
“Erm … yes!” I said. “I asked her what she was doing this weekend and she went all weird. She obviously didn’t want to tell me.”
“Of course she did!” said Cammy, suddenly paying full attention (probably because I’d said something negative about her New Best Friend).
“Cara’s not like that. She’s lovely!” she said, completely unaware of how rude Cara had just been to me (her Actual Best Friend).
So I decided just to drop it. Cammy wasn’t getting it. Cara had definitely been weird. But I had no idea why.
So even though everything was going brilliantly with our band (except for the weird Cara thing) even this brilliance could not begin to make up for the awfulness we were told about in registration that week.?
The “Come and Get to Know Fortress” Term 1 Parents’ Evening.
Parents’ Evening is probably one of the worst things that has ever been invented. It’s unnatural. I mean, your mum and dad meeting your teachers! What’s all that about?
I always feel so weird when I see my mum in places where it is clearly against the rules of the universe for her to be seen:
When I found out that Dad was working late that night I thought I’d hit the jackpot!
I was wrong.
To my horror, it turns out that Mum is even less inhibited when Dad’s not around!
The first appointment went badly. I tried to stop her from saying things, but there wasn’t really anything I could do. She was OUT OF CONTROL.
So I just had to sit there as Mum told embarrassing story after story (some about me, some about her) and listen as she clearly demonstrated that she has full-blown verbal diarrhoea.
You’re probably thinking that I should have just stayed at home: a kind of “what-you-don’t-know-can’t-hurt-you” type of defence tactic. Perhaps. But I guess I felt more comfortable knowing just how embarrassed to be the next day (and for the rest of my life).
My second appointment was with Mr Phart. Unfortunately, things continued along the same dark path.
Mr Phart was in the middle of discussing my “inability to remember where any countries are” when I decided to leave for TWO MINUTES to go to the toilet. (Which I happen to know the exact location of because it actually MATTERS to my life.)
When I came back I found that the conversation had taken a wrong turn.
Mum was telling Mr Phart all about how a man who looked exactly like Brad Pitt had once asked her to “run away with him” and how she and my dad weren’t married at that time, and that it had taken all of her will to say no, because a man with shoulders like a rhino doesn’t come along every day. And then she (very noticeably) started staring at Mr Phart’s shoulders (which aren’t at all rhino-like and are much more twig-like).
On the plus side, Mr Phart looked a bit scared of my mum after that, and he forgot to mention the sandal sketches AND my recent test score (which is a very good thing because my score was a very bad thing).
Cammy says that if Mr Phart ever gives me grief for not understanding what on earth “the Netherlands” are, then I should just say that my mum was asking after him, and that should do the trick.
Further low points of the evening:
Mum spent fifteen minutes telling my Computing teacher, Mr Harper, that he was “gorgeous” and should be on TV.
She told my PE teacher about my rash. And my new PE teacher happens to be quite young, and OK-looking I suppose, so that kind of made it all worse.
She told Miss Carrigan how she and my dad loved listening to classical music when they were spending “alone time” together. The conversation was starting to panic me (and make me feel violently sick) so I made the mistake of interrupting her. This interruption caused my mother to turn her attention towards me, and she then FOR SOME UNFATHOMABLE REASON started to tell Miss Carrigan all about the time I accidentally left for school without underwear and had to run home.
So when it was time to meet my Maths teacher, I suppose I just kind of gave up. Rather than staying by her side AT ALL TIMES in order to supervise her and make sure she didn’t say anything COMPLETELY HUMILIATING (like that was working!), I decided just to leave her to it and go and hide in the library for a while.
After about half an hour of sitting with my head on the desk in a half-asleep state (I was way too emotionally drained to read) I heard someone come in and walk towards me.
I looked up and saw Smile Boy and JESSICA CLARK making their way over to the computers.
Smile Boy smiled at me for an amazing THIRD time!
“Hi, Peri.”
I felt as though I’d been shot in the throat. In a good way. Oh my God. Smile Boy knew my NAME!
Jessica said nothing. She just pretended I wasn’t there and kept talking at Smile Boy and then she TOUCHED HIS ARM.
I was so shocked by the whole thing (and a bit groggy) that I didn’t say a word. I just sat there like an idiot, gawking at them until they sat down at one of the computers. ONE of the computers, as in two seats pushed WAY too close in front of ONE computer.
I wasn’t quite sure what to do next so I just kind of sat there for a minute before walking out (very quickly) to find Mum.
When I managed to locate my mother I was gutted to find that she was STILL sitting with my Maths teacher!
I sat down next to them. Mr Jackson turned his head slowly away from Mum and looked at me. He looked like he felt a bit sorry for me. And also a bit like he’d been crying. God only knows what she said to him.
So, after the whole “Mum-flirting-with-Mr Harper”, Mum making my Maths teacher cry and Jessica touching Smile Boy’s arm/sharing a computer thing, I didn’t really think Parents’ Evening could get much worse.
Note to the world: Never, EVER think this! I’m pretty sure that just thinking this is what actually causes things to get worse!
When we walked back to the assembly hall to sign out, Max Martin was on stage about to unveil one of his paintings as part of the “Let’s Show Our Parents How Special We Are” show that some kids get forced into by their teachers.
At first I wasn’t really sure what I was looking at. I think I was in shock. But then all the pieces of the painting started to come together. Like a horrible nightmare that you know you’ve had but you can’t really remember until bit by bit it starts to come back to you.
Well, it was kind of like that, except this was real. And it was worse. And I’m pretty sure a little piece of me d
ied.
Cammy was there, and she did one of those dramatic gasps that women do in old movies.
“No! Don’t look!” she said.
But it was too late. I’d already looked. And I’d already seen the unicorns. And I’d already seen them frolicking in the swirly clouds. And I’d already seen that one of them had Max Martin’s face. And that the other one had my face.
I couldn’t believe it.
IT
WAS
HORRENDOUS!
I just kind of stood there for a bit. Frozen to the spot. I think I was hoping that if I didn’t move, or even breathe, no one would realise it was me. But unfortunately for me (and for everyone else who has eyes), Max is really good at drawing faces.
So everyone knew it was unicorn-me.
And then it got worse.
Yes. It got worse.
“Peri, is that … YOU?” It was Mum.
Oh God – I’d forgotten she was here.
“Let’s go,” I said as I tried to drag her towards the door.
But she was having NONE of it.
“It is, isn’t it? That’s YOU!”
And then I felt that all-too-familiar feeling of complete and utter PANIC. Like when you just know that your crazed lunatic of a mother is about to do something that will scar you for life, but it all happens so quickly that you don’t really have time to defend yourself.
I seriously considered just starting to scream things like, “Who even are you?!” or “Help! This mad woman is trying to kidnap me!” But I didn’t, because I knew I’d be grounded for life if I did. I also knew that I’d probably have to walk home if Mum got arrested (and it was raining).
Note to reader: I now wish I had screamed “Stranger Danger!” at the top of my lungs and watched as Mum was dragged away kicking and screaming by the police – being grounded for life would have been a small price to pay to avoid what happened next.
It went a bit like this:
“Fifty pounds!” Mum shouted at Max Martin.
I couldn’t believe it.
“Mum! What are you doing?!”
Everyone went silent.
“SIXTY!” she shouted again.
Oh my God. She thinks this is some sort of AUCTION!
“ONE HUNDRED POUNDS!” she screamed.
Can I just point out here that NO ONE ELSE WAS BIDDING. My mother was just screaming amounts of money at Max Martin, who looked like he was going to cry.
“SOLD!” shouted Mrs Kelp, the Art teacher. “Thank you for your generous donation towards the school’s Art Fund!”
And then she hurried on to the stage and snatched the painting off the stand.
At this point Max Martin actually did start crying, and ran behind the stage curtain.
But nobody seemed to notice.
Everyone was too busy staring at my mum as she ran up on to the stage to collect “IT”.
And then Mrs Kelp started clapping really loudly at Mum. And after a while everyone else just kind of joined in.
And then Mrs Kelp HANDED MY MOTHER A MICROPHONE!
“Would you like to say a few words?”
Kill me. Kill me now.
Asking my mum if she’d like to say a few words into a microphone with a crowd of people watching her is like asking a naked tortoise if he’d care for a shell.
“Well, HELLOOOOOOO, FORTRESSSSSSSS!”
Nooooooo!
“My name is Maria Perry.”
Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
“And I just HAD to buy this absolutely beautiful painting of my daughter, Peri, and her boyfriend … erm, Max, is it?”
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OO!!!
I think I must’ve half blacked out after that. I remember seeing Cammy run for the sign-out sheet, and I guess she must’ve signed us out because the next thing I remember I was being dragged out of the hall by my hood.
The next day I woke up to the sound of hammering. At first I thought I was still dreaming, because in my dream I had been sitting happily in class, sharing a seat and a computer with Smile Boy until an army of unicorns rushed in and began attacking me with those little wooden hammers they use at auctions.
I went downstairs (at 6am!) to find my mum hanging the “painting” up in the dining room. At this point I could have asked my mum a million questions. Such as:
1 Why do you hate me?
2 What exactly is wrong with you?
3 Just who is going to be able keep their food down with THAT thing staring back at them?
But I didn’t say anything. I just did not have the strength to “engage” with my mother at 6am. So I just stood at the fridge and had five spoons of peanut butter (for energy) and then decided to get ready and go and see Cammy before school.
Cammy opened the door in her pyjamas.
“Hi?” she kind of asked. “You OK?”
What kind of question was that to ask me? Had she somehow erased the horror that was last night from her brain?!
“No. Let me in. I need to see Margaret.”
I needed advice.
“You can’t.”
“What? I can’t come in?”
“No, of course you can come in. It’s just … there’s something wrong with Margaret.”
“Is she OK?”
Cammy looked like she was going to start crying.
“I don’t know. Mum’s about to take her to the emergency vet now.”
Just then Cammy’s mum appeared at the door with Margaret in her cat carrier. Margaret looked terrible. So did Cammy’s mum.
“Hello, Peri, in you come.”
Then she added, “Make sure Cammy remembers to eat her seeds before you leave,” as she hurried Margaret into the car.
So we went up to Cammy’s room, and that’s when she told me what had happened to Margaret.
Note to reader: In order for you to understand the significance of what Cammy told me next, I’ll need to tell you more about Margaret.
Margaret is no ordinary cat. Now, I know people maybe say that a lot. But listen to me when I say:
MARGARET
Margaret is Cammy’s cat. She is a very wise cat.
Cammy and I first noticed that Margaret was “special” when we were rummaging around in her big sister Meg’s room (real name Nutmeg) looking for something to dye our legs with.
Background information relating to why we would want to dye our legs
Cammy had convinced me that the way to avoid that horrible yucky feeling you get when you have to put your tights back on in the sticky warm changing room after you’ve been swimming was to dye our legs black, grey or red (since these were the only colours accepted at our school). We were only eight at the time.
So, as I was saying, we were rummaging around in the bottom of Meg’s wardrobe (which Meg would actually KILL US for doing if she ever caught us) whe
n Margaret started making a weird screechy sound, and her ears began twitching like mad.
So Cammy asked Margaret if she was OK, and Margaret’s eyes went really big and her right ear went completely flat. And then for some strange reason we just KNEW that Margaret was trying to tell us something.
Something important.
“I think we should get out of here,” said Cammy. “I feel weird.”
And I felt a bit weird too because Margaret was freaking me out. So we put everything back as quick as we could and ran out. And JUST as we got out of there and into the hall, Meg came out of the bathroom! She had her head all wrapped up in a towel and a bit of mousy-brown hair was hanging out the side.
“Hello, Nutmeg,” I said.
I don’t know why. I panicked.
Meg stared at me.
“When did you get back?” said Cammy. “You’re meant to be staying with Dad all weekend!”
“Was,” said Meg. “New girlfriend kept laughing at my hair.”
“So you’ve dyed it brown,” I said.
SHUT UP, PERI! I swear I’m getting my mum’s “talking” disease.
Meg just stared at me without blinking.
“Mum will probably cry,” said Cammy. “It took her ages to get your hair that blue.”
And then I pulled Cammy into her bedroom and shut the door because I didn’t like the look in Meg’s eyes. It’s like my dad says when my mum’s in a RAGE about something. Do NOT poke the wild beast!
So anyway, that’s when we realised that Margaret had saved us. Margaret had somehow psychically KNOWN Meg was about to catch us in her room and warned us to prevent our deaths.
I love Margaret.
So, once Cammy’s mum and Margaret had left for the emergency vet, Cammy told me what had happened to Margaret. She said that when she’d got home from Parents’ Evening the night before, she’d found Margaret sitting on the dining table with her ears completely flat and that she was just STARING at the wall, and not really moving.
Petunia Perry and the Curse of the Ugly Pigeon Page 5