My Family and Other Freaks

by Carol Midgley

  Me and Amber look at each other, horrified. Should we wade in? Thicky’s about twice the size of us and he would definitely hit girls.

  Then we feel someone pushing through the crowd. It’s Sean. God, I’ve never seen him look so angry! “Lay one more finger on my cousin and you’ll regret it, you psycho meat-head,” says Sean. Thick Mick just laughs. (Sean is also about half his size, to be fair.)

  “Come on then, little squirt,” says Thick Mick. “This’ll be funny.”

  I look around expecting to see Damian backing his friend up, but he’s right at the back of the crowd with Treasure, HOLDING HER COAT!

  I don’t really see what happens next it’s all so fast, but suddenly Mick is flying backward through the air and Sean is rubbing his fist. Mick gets up again, furious, and punches Sean in the face. He staggers backward, but then recovers and just runs at Mick bent over in a right angle and head-butts him in the stomach. Thicky falls over, winded and moaning, “I’m gonna be sick.”

  Everyone starts cheering for Sean, who just picks up his coat and says, “C’mon, Neil.” The crowd disperses and Sean and Neil come face to face with Damian.

  “I was just coming to help you, dude,” stutters Damian to Sean.

  “No, you weren’t!” says Amber, outraged.

  “I didn’t need any help,” says Sean. “I just needed to wind him in the right place.”

  Neil looks a bit embarrassed, as you would do if your slightly younger cousin had just saved you in front of the entire year.

  “Damian doesn’t believe in violence. He’s a pacifist,” twitters Treasure to no one in particular.

  Personally I am prepared to give Damian the benefit of the doubt. It did happen very quickly. Plus he does look totally gorgeous in his black leather jacket.

  And anyway, Amber should approve of people being pacifists. Shouldn’t she?

  8 p.m.

  The Spar man has lodged an official complaint with the school. Thicky, Sean and Neil are all in a week’s detention and are getting official letters written to their parents. Amber thinks this is a monstrous injustice and that we should boycott lessons until Sean and Neil are let off.

  Yeah, right.

  Mom comes in and says she’s sorry about the clothes thing. Her stomach is getting huge now. She looks like she’s been eating too many baked beans and has severe bloating.

  Phoebe has shoved a doll cushion up her jumper and shrieks, “I’m having a baby. Rick is going to be the daddy!” How to tell her that sentence is wrong on SO many levels?

  Tuesday

  9 a.m.

  Amber won’t let this Justice for Sean and Neil thing go, or “JSN” as she calls it. She’s as daft as a brush, as Gran would say. At least she’s realized that boycotting lessons will get us all excluded. So her parents have suggested—yes, her hippy parents!—that we go on homework strike instead.

  Neil thinks it’s a brilliant idea, but Sean is mortified. He hates being the center of attention.

  Amber texted about 15 people last night and urged them to text everyone else and get the message out. I kid you not—this is what she wrote:

  Comrades, what happened to Neil Wilson and Sean O’Connor on Monday was an outrage. The teachers were wrong to punish them and we should campaign to get their detention and parental letters canceled. History teaches us that we must fight injustice. I hope you’ll join us.

  I know. She’s mental.

  Lunchtime

  Amber is having a meeting in the field behind school re. the JSN thing. I could die for her. She’ll be lucky if two people show up.

  12:30 p.m.

  Amber and Megan trudge around the back field with me about three paces behind. This is going to be so embarrassing. Plus it’s starting to drizzle and my hair will go frizzy. “Amber, I’m giving this mad idea two minutes and then …”

  Omigod.

  There are about THIRTY people here from our year. Including Mickey Taylforth. How thick is this boy?

  Amber smiles.

  Neil is at the front with Sean, who looks like he wishes he could teleport himself to another planet. Standing next to them are Treasure and Damian. “You’re a star for doing this, Amber,” says Neil, grinning, and giving her a fist bump (ugh—fist bumps are so stupid. And he’s still got a scab on his lip).

  “Yeah, erm, thanks,” says Sean looking like he’d much rather have the detention than all this fuss.

  I smile sympathetically. I’m about to say it’s nice but probably won’t do any good when Damian steps forward and speaks to Amber. “Nice one. This is so cool, Amber. I’ll back you all the way.”

  Quick. I must act quickly.

  “Well, it was both our idea really,” I say, stepping forward and putting my arm around Amber. “We thought it up in my bedroom, last night, didn’t we, Amb? Didn’t WE?”

  Amber rolls her eyes at me but nods at Damian. “Yes, Danni’s VERY enthusiastic about the whole thing.”

  Treasure’s face is a picture. Wish I had a camera.

  Damian must feel guilty for not helping Sean.

  Amber gives a speech about injustice and how “evil flourishes when good men and women do nothing.” It’s detention, Amb, not World War Two.

  3 p.m.

  This thing is gathering momentum. Amber’s now got 50 signatures.

  The teachers say if we don’t do our homework we’ll all be in detention. Ha. As if!

  4:30 p.m.

  Mom’s midwife, Wendy, is there when I get home. Rick whispers, “You wouldn’t pick a fight with her on a dark night. Wonder where she left her broomstick?” Quite funny for him. She’s got a face like a boxer dog with toothache and talks to Mom like she’s five years old.

  “And how is Mom feeling? Is Mom tired?” she says in a sing-song voice, as though my mother is drooling in a high chair. “Will this strapping son and daughter be taking baby out for a walk when he’s here so Mom can get some sleep?”

  Strapping? Cheeky moo. She can talk.

  Weirdly, Simon absolutely HATES her. It’s bizarre because normally he loves everyone. He came running in like a missile, sniffed her crotch, then crouched on the floor like a lion, growling at her every time she tried to touch my mom. He had to be locked outside. I can hear him howling. I’ve just looked out of the window and he is trying to bury his beloved Ugg boots in the garden. Probably to keep them safe from her.

  I go into the living room. “Ah, and this is your second eldest?” asks Witch Wendy.

  “Yes, I’m Danni, the ignored beta child,” I say snippily.

  She pats Mom’s hand. “Don’t worry—the older children always feel threatened when a new baby comes into the nest. It’ll pass.”

  Nest? What are we—budgies?

  The midwife dislikes Simon too. A lot. She says that a woman of my mom’s age (she’ll be 45 when the baby comes!) carries enough risks giving birth to a child without having a “dog’s germs” in the house. How ridiculous. Simon has a bath every month with Pears shampoo. When I remember.

  She looks at me like I am a pathetic little girl when I say this. “Any other pets?” she asks, licking her lips like Cruella de Vil.

  “No!” I say at the very same second that Mom says, “Yes.”

  “Deirdre doesn’t count—she’s in a cage,” I say.

  “Who’s Deirdre?” says Witch Wendy, looking puzzled. Mom tells her. “A rodent? A CAGED rodent?” she’s saying. Honestly this woman is hysterical. She’s in the wrong job. “Rodents are filthy,” she says. Well, yes, Deirdre does eat her own poo, sometimes straight from her own bottom. And she smells, and she wees on her own apple chunks, but she’s tiny. “Rodents carry Weil’s disease, which could kill a baby,” says Wendy so seriously that her jowls shake.

  “Oh dear,” says Mom. “Perhaps Deirdre better go in the shed?”

  Over my dead body.

  Thursday

  Amber’s mom has now helped her set up a Facebook page for the JSN. It’s got 500 followers! This morning NO ONE in English handed in
their homework, including Thick Mick, but he never does anyway so it doesn’t count. Mrs. Shutterton looked rattled. She didn’t know what to do. It was brilliant!

  The principal calls Amber to his office and tells her that she’s being highly irresponsible. Amber tells him it’s “a moral crusade” and that, with respect, it was irresponsible of teachers to punish the victims as well as the bully. Damian’s right—Amber is quite cool.

  Friday

  No one in our year has handed in homework for biology, history, geography, math or French. The looks on the teachers’ faces are hilarious! I hope we don’t resolve this crisis too soon. The teachers hold an emergency meeting.

  We are all given letters to take home to our parents warning that we must do our homework. I throw mine in the bin.

  Sunday

  Thank God for pregnancy hormones. Mom seems to have forgotten all about putting Deirdre in the shed, especially now that I’ve hidden her cage behind my bin.

  Mom’s bump seems even bigger. I suppose I should start getting used to the idea. Hope it’s a boy. And Phoebe’s getting a bit big to ride on Simon’s back. Yes, I should be grown-up and welcome this new addition to the family even if it makes my parents FONs—Freaks of Nature

  Monday

  Fame—for some …

  The homework boycott is in the local paper!

  “Pupils in homework strike,” says the headline. “Kids rap Sir for punishing ‘innocent’ classmates.” Mr. Cook asked the photographer not to take pictures of the school, but he did it anyway, and they took quotes from the Facebook site and the letters to our parents. Amber and Neil are described as “Eco-conscious campaigners.” Sean is “loyal.” Zilch mention of me. Thanks a lot. I AM one of the organizers, you know. Why can’t the Press get anything right?

  October

  Wednesday

  The teachers are so worried they hold an emergency assembly. They don’t want any more bad publicity. Mr. Cook says he is “very impressed by our sense of fairness and social responsibility” (he’s changed his tune) and that if we all hand in our math and English he’ll overlook the rest of it.

  “What about Sean and Neil’s detention?” asks Amber, putting her hand up.

  Mr. Cook looks rattled. “After reconsidering the matter and speaking to all three parties again, I have decided that the punishment may have been unduly harsh and will repeal it. But only if all outstanding homework is in by the end of the week.”

  Everybody is cheering. Even Thick Mick, who still has to do his detentions. Can someone explain to him that he is the villain of this story?

  Well, if Damian doesn’t fancy me now, he never will.

  Friday

  Wendy the Witch comes around again to check on Mom and ask her lots more patronizing questions such as, “You haven’t been eating any unpasteurized cheese or uncooked meat, have you?” Oh yeah, Wend, we feast on raw liver here most days.

  Rick offers to take Simon for a walk “to get him out the way of the wicked hag.” I’m liking Rick more these days.

  Wendy tells Mom a story about a pet Jack Russell which tried to pull a newborn baby out of its cot and eat it. I think this woman needs help.

  November

  Saturday

  Amber’s mom and dad are letting her have a little party at her house to celebrate the JSN victory. And Damian’s coming! Unfortunately, so is Treasure.

  Wear my denim miniskirt and red Converse even though they’re a bit tight on me. Also my Scarlet Lady nail polish. Amber is a bit giggly as me and Megan help her put the Quavers and Discos into bowls. She’s wearing a T-shirt with a picture of a polar bear on it and some strange orange pants. I say nothing. It’s best that way.

  The doorbell rings. Amber’s mom answers and I hear her saying, “Ah, so this is the famous Neil and Sean. Hello—and hello, Damian, and, oh, Treasure? What an unusual name.”

  There are about ten other people from our year but I don’t notice them because my legs are Bendaroos again. Damian looks GORGEOUS, the best I’ve ever seen him. He’s got a denim jacket on that makes his eyes look really blue. Amber nudges me. “Shut your mouth,” she hisses. “You’re catching wasps.”

  9:30 p.m.

  So, we’re all drinking Cokes and chilling and having a laugh while Neil tells us about how Thicky actually came and apologized to him, when Treasure, who hates not being the center of attention, butts in with a glint in her eye.

  “So, Danni, my mom saw your mom in Tesco,” she says in her bitchy, sing-song voice. “You never said she was PREGNANT. That’s so FUNNY. She’s ancient!”

  “She is not ancient for your information, Treasure,” I say, my voice wobbling a bit like it always does when she attacks my family. “Plenty of women have babies in their forties. Look at, erm, Madonna.”

  “Ah, yes—Madonna and Mrs. Dench—they’ve got sooooo much in common. Is there actually any more room in your house for anyone else? Or will Baby Clampett be sleeping in the dog basket?”

  I feel my fists twitching but I can’t say anything in case it comes out wobbly. Treasure is still talking. “My dad says you lot breed like rabbits.”

  Amber pipes up. “Shut it, Treasure, you’re being a bitch.”

  Everyone stops talking and stares.

  Treasure is outraged. Then she slowly looks Amber up and down. “I’d rather be a bitch than look like I’ve been dragged through an Oxfam charity shop,” she says.

  Before I realize it I’m lunging forward and am actually pulling Treasure’s hair like a five-year-old, screeching, “Don’t you DARE speak to my best friend like that!” Treasure has hold of my arms and pushes me toward the sofa and somehow we tumble on to it in a big heap, shrieking and pulling hair like in a Tom and Jerry cartoon.

  Amber’s mom comes rushing in, demanding to know what’s going on. She cannot believe her eyes—says she’s very disappointed in us and that the party’s now over.

  Damian drags Treasure away, and Sean and Neil trail behind them. Neil turns and whispers, “I don’t blame you for hitting her—she’s horrible.” Sean just smiles and winks. Ah, that’s nice of them.

  Amber is mortified. “You shouldn’t have done that, Dan,” she says. “But—thanks.” And she gives me a hug.

  Sunday

  Lying in bed wondering if I can face Treasure at school tomorrow. Feel something sharp and purple in my hair. It’s one of Treasure’s false nails! Ha—that’s her mom’s 30 quid down the drain.

  Hold on—what’s all that shouting and screaming outside? Is that Simon barking?

  Dad comes running up the stairs wearing his serious face.

  “What’s the matter, Father dear? Has someone nicked our car? Hope so,” I say.

  He ignores this. “Danni, get down there now,” he says.

  Get dressed quickly and run downstairs two at a time. Mom is in the front garden talking to Mr. Sharples from down the road. Mr. Sharples says the police are on their way.

  “Ooh, what’s been stolen?” I say.

  Mom turns dourly to me. “Danielle, Mr. Sharples says Simon has bitten his little girl, Suzie. She’s at the walk-in center with her mother.”

  This is ridiculous. Simon likes that little kid. She’s younger than Phoebe, and even when she pulls his ears he licks her.

  “Rubbish,” I say.

  Mr. Sharples gets quite angry. He says he didn’t see it but old Mr. Robinson with the fat cat did. Apparently Simon trotted up to Suzie, who was playing in her front garden while her mom just nipped inside to get her a drink. Suzie put her hand through the gate to stroke him and he snapped. Her finger might need stitches.

  I feel sick. Simon is barking in the backyard where Mom has tied him up. A police car pulls up. My head is spinning …

  12 noon

  This is the worst day of my life. The police say they’ll have to make more inquiries, but if it turns out to be true we might have to have Simon “destroyed.” That’s police-speak for put down.

  No. This can’t be happening to me.
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br />   Go into the yard. Simon does his doggy smile and wags his tail happily. He’s got no idea of the trouble he’s in. I sit on the ground and stroke his soft ears. I honestly don’t think I can cope if he gets put down. I’ll have to run away with him before that happens. I bury my face in his furry brown neck and cry like I did when I was four and Rick cut the tail off my favorite toy elephant. He gets that sadistic streak from Dad.

  Black Monday

  6 a.m.

  Simon is back in his kennel, howling. Mom says he’s too dangerous to be in the house. I haven’t slept a wink.

  8 a.m.

  I go downstairs and tell Mom and Dad (the FONs) that I’m too distraught to go to school. For once they don’t argue. Text Amber with the terrible news. She promises to come around after school.

  10 a.m.

  The police come around again. Suzie’s finger needed two stitches. They say that since Simon didn’t actually attack Suzie and may have thought she was feeding him something through the gate, they can’t insist we have him put down. I sit down quickly. I think it might be with relief.

  Mom sees the police out and I give Simon a big kiss. The Freaks of Nature look at each other. “We’ve been thinking,” says Mom. “We just can’t have Simon in the house when the new baby comes, not after this and what happened in Wales.”

  “But Simon would NEVER hurt anyone in this family,” I splutter angrily.

  Mom looks upset. “Look, Danni, it’s not fair on the baby—or on us—to risk it. He might be jealous of the baby. You read terrible things in the papers. Wendy said we’d never forgive ourselves if something happened. Anyway, the house is too small as it is. Wendy thinks, and we agree, that he should go back to the animal shelter.”