by Debi Gliori
And miraculously, the Nose does as she is told. However, the expression on her face is volcanic. On the floor at her feet, the Toad is frantically undoing the spell that turned her into a handbag. Handbags aren’t much use when your Sister is about to explode. The Toad knows from experience that the Nose may be sitting down and behaving herself right now, but she is secretly stoking her RAGE, fanning the flames of fury until the time is right for her to erupt again.
At the other end of the hall, oblivious to all this drama, Lily has finished playing and the audience roars its approval. Pink with relief and embarrassment, she bows and steps to one side. Now it’s Yoshito’s turn. She looks tiny, standing up there at the front, hands clasped round a microphone, dressed in pyjamas as if she’s going to bed. Her eyes roam across the audience until she finds first her father, then her fairy godmother, Mischin. All at once, Yoshito’s eyes widen and her face lights up with happiness. Mischin has nodded ‘yes’. Eyes shining, Yoshito hold the microphone up to her mouth and sings,
‘Its raining, it’s pouring,
the weather’s really boring.
I’d rather be in bed instead
of getting up in the morning.’
Then, shuffling and smiling shyly, the nursery children line up on either side of her, sit down on the floor and pretend to be going to bed as they join in with the song:
‘It’s raining, it’s pouring,
we’re in our beds and snoring.
We’d rather stay in bed instead
of getting up in the morning.’
Nineteen:
Playing for keeps
This is brilliant. Now that I’ve played my first tune, I can actually start to enjoy myself. Everyone’s laughing at all the right bits and I think it’s going really well. Sitting facing us in the front row, Mrs McDonald and Miss McPhee are smiling happily, nodding their approval at the nursery children and occasionally herding them back into their positions at the front. Then the first song is over and Yoshito steps aside to tumultuous applause and cries of ‘MORE, MORE, BRAVO!’
While the audience are working themselves up into a frenzy, Craig and Shane pull a huge bit of brown scenery up to the front. This was supposed to be the ark, but it got wet when the roof leaked and all the colours ran into each other, and ever since, Craig has called it the Big Jobby. He might have a point. Annabel and Jamie run across in front of the ark with their long strips of blue silk, getting them ready. Mr Dunlop is walking along the hall lighting candles, one by one, until there are hundreds of tiny points of light flickering all around us. From the back, Mr Fox gives Vivaldi the thumbs-up, and she steps forward, pale as a ghost but determined to do her best. Mr Fox turns out the lights, and all of a sudden the scene is set. Jamie and Annabel begin to waft the long strips of silk up and down like waves on the sea … WOW. What a magical effect. It looks just like the sea … It’s brilliant. We’re off in the ark, with Vivaldi playing the first chords of the song we could all sing with our eyes shut.
‘The animals went in two by two –
Hurrah, hurrah!
The animals went in two by two –
Hurrah, hurrah!
The animals went in two by two,
the elephant and the kangaroo,
and they all went into the ark
for to get out of the rain.’
Amazingly, Daisy seems to be singing the proper words, not the awful poo-version which drove poor Miss McPhee to despair. I am delighted to see that she’s behaving really well, and not like a little witch at all. For some reason WayWoof hasn’t left her side since we all came downstairs. It’s almost as if she’s guarding Daisy – but from what? I can’t see anything dangerous or threatening, but WayWoof’s fur is standing up on end as if she’s seen something she doesn’t like.
Maybe it’s Mr Dunlop’s hideous collection of deer antlers that’s upsetting her. Ugh. Poor deer. I don’t know how Jamie and Annabel can sleep at night in a house with all these bits of dead creatures stuck to the walls. Maybe that’s why Daisy is so quiet and well-behaved too … either that, or she’s done a poo and is hoping that if she keeps quiet, nobody’ll find out. I’m watching her really closely, but I can’t tell what’s going on in her little witchy head. She’s in the middle of the nursery children, her little face glowing in the candlelight, singing merrily,
‘The animals went in five by five,
by hugging each other they stayed alive,
and they all went into the ark
for to get out of the rain.’
And now … it’s time for her to step forward and do her little act. I cross my fingers. Let’s hope she doesn’t blow it now. Please, Daisy, I beg silently. Please be a good monkey?
‘The animals went in six by six –
Hurrah, hurrah!
The animals went in six by six –
Hurrah, hurrah!
The animals went in six by six,
they turned out the monkey
because of its tricks,
and they all went into the ark
for to get out of the rain.’
Daisy is running around madly, pulling terrible faces, waggling her tongue, wiggling her bottom and making loud OO, ooh, OOO, ooh noises. Fortunately, this is exactly what she’s supposed to be doing – until the elephant and the kangaroo step forward, take her by the arms and push her away from the ark. Ahhhhh. Poor monkey. There’s a huge round of applause for Daisy, then she runs through the audience and off towards the back of the hall, where it’s too dark for me to see her any more. Well done, Daisy. That was perfect. She’ll sit with Mr Fox for a bit; then she’ll come back up to the front and join in with the very last verse.
Now it’s the turn of the tot dressed as a little pink pig, and she stumbles up to the front to stand blinking out at the audience. Behind her, the nursery children shuffle and clear their throats in readiness for another verse. All of a sudden there’s a small flurry of activity in the audience as somebody stands up and walks out. I can’t quite make out who it was – it’s too dark to see. Maybe they don’t like pigs.
‘The animals went in seven by seven –
Hurrah, hurrah!
The animals went in seven by seven –
Hurrah, hurrah!
The animals went in seven by seven,
the little pig thought it had gone
to heaven …’
The sound of singing fades into the distance as Witch Baby runs along the corridors of Mishnish Castle with WayWoof at her heels and the Toad following closely behind. Witch Baby is looking for a bathroom, WayWoof is looking out for Witch Baby, and the Toad is just hoping she’ll be in time to stop anything dreadful happening. The Toad has a hunch that something awful is coming their way. For once, the Toad is absolutely right.
Some way behind, a dark shadow flits from wall to wall; the shadow of a woman with a very big nose and an even bigger temper. Moonlight streams through a window, and the Nose is briefly illuminated as if, like the children downstairs, she is onstage. But this is no children’s play about arks and floods and animals; the Nose’s face is too scary for that. The way the Nose looks now, she’d give the nursery children NIGHTMARES for a month.
Sadly, the love potion has completely worn off and the Nose has turned back into herself: a grumpy, mean and vicious old WITCH. Forced to watch the children’s concert and listen to the Toad wiffling on about the Chin’s wedding, the Nose realized that her sisters had completely lost the plot. What were they thinking of? Children? Concerts? Happy songs? Weddings? The Chin and the Toad were no longer fit to be called HiSSes. She herself – the Nose – was the only true Sisters of HiSS.
It was at this exact moment that the Nose decided that it was time to go back to Ben Screeeiiighe. Time to go back to being a proper WITCH, without her silly soft sisters; back to lonely, windswept Ben Screeeiiighe all on her own …
And it was at that precise moment that Daisy, in her monkey costume, ran past. Suddenly the Nose saw that she didn’t have to go back
to Ben Screeeiiighe on her own.
Moments later, crouched in the shadows, she sees Witch Baby and her ridiculous dog shriek to a stop outside a bathroom door, and she realizes it’s time. The tot is near-as-makes-no-difference toilet-trained. So … Tonight’s the night, thinks the Nose. Tonight I collect our Witch Baby. No matter what nonsense her Sisters had spouted about waiting for the sun to be in the correct sign, or the moon to be in the proper phase or whatever – none of these things matter because the Nose has decided that NOW is the time. She’s fed up with waiting. She’s sick of living surrounded by rude and stupid humans. She is going to go home to her lonely house on top of Ben Screeeiiighe, and she’s going to take Witch Baby with her, no matter what anyone says.
Twenty:
Monkey business
Witch Baby is unaware that she’s being watched. All she can think about is how much she needs to go to the bathroom. For once, she doesn’t want to fill her nappy. Perhaps it’s something to do with being a monkey. Witch Baby has the sneaking suspicion that proper monkeys don’t wear nappies, and she does so want to be a proper cheekmunk, even if only for this one night …
Ahead of her is a door. She pushes it open – and yes, it’s a bathroom. Moonlight spills through the window, so Witch Baby can clearly see the toilet, looming up ahead. She can’t see the Toad, high up above, clinging to the cistern and peering down at her with big golden eyes. Now for the tricky bit. She begins to wrestle with her monkey costume, but the tail keeps getting in the way, and her furry leggings are held up with safety pins … Aaaargh! What’s a Witch Baby to do?
Overhead, the Toad winces in sympathy. She’d happily cast a spell to free Witch Baby from the bonds of her monkey costume, but Witch Baby has to learn for herself. That way, she’ll grow up to be a great witch, PLUS she’ll be fully toilet-trained. Down below, WayWoof edges into the bathroom and turns to face the door, growling meaningfully with her hackles raised.
Hurry up, Witch Baby, the Toad thinks. Hurry up before—
Even before the door flies open, knocking Daisy backwards against the toilet, WayWoof starts barking madly – for there, in the doorway, with her hands outstretched to grab Daisy, stands the Nose.
‘Precioussssss,’ she hisses, ‘I’ve come to take you back home to Ben SSSSScreeeiiighe.’
Daisy blinks. Whatever is this old lady talking about? Daisy doesn’t want to go home right now. ‘Go way, WITS,’ she mutters, adding by way of explanation, ‘NEEDA BAFFROOM.’
‘It can wait,’ the Nose snaps, ‘but I can’t. Come on. Let’s go, kid.’
‘NEED A POO,’ Daisy says crossly. ‘GO ‘WAY, WITS.’
But the Nose isn’t listening. She’s flexing her fingers and pumping her single eyebrow up and down. Up in the cistern, the Toad stifles a squeak of terror. She knows the signs: all that finger-flexing and eyebrow-waggling means that the Nose is about to throw a spell. Uh-Oh, thinks the Toad. Please don’t let it be a Compleat Wobblie. Anything but that …
The Toad will never find out exactly which spell the Nose had in mind because suddenly WayWoof lunges forward and sinks her teeth into the Nose’s leg. Had the Nose been human, she wouldn’t have felt a thing, but because she’s a witch, she screams, ‘YOWWWWWWWWCH – GERRROFFF, YOU BRUTE,’ and all of a sudden WayWoof flies across the bathroom and smacks into the wall with a thud. Ouch. Poor WayWoof. The Nose kicked her. Had the Nose been human, her leg would have passed straight through WayWoof, with neither of them feeling anything, but because she’s a witch, WayWoof yowls in pain. Uh-oh. That does it. Daisy steps forwards and hits the Nose in the tummy.
‘NOT hurtit, WayWoof. BAAAAD WITS,’ she yells. ‘GO ’WAAAAY.’
‘DON’T YOU DARE HIT ME, YOU FOUL BRAT,’ the Nose yells back.
‘NOTTA FOUL BAT, YOU A FOUL BAT,’ Daisy insists, holding her hands up and twiddling her fingers.
There’s a squawk, a hiss, and then the Nose shudders, shivers – and turns into a huge bat. It flaps about madly, trying to wrap its massive black wings around Daisy. She struggles and wriggles, but she’s no match for this monster. Over by the wall, WayWoof staggers to her feet and tries to bite the bat, but it flies out of reach, dragging Daisy behind it.
‘NOTTA BAT – YOU A CAT!’ Daisy yells, and the bat shudders and falls to the floor, sprouts four legs and a tail, then promptly tries to sink its claws into her leg. WayWoof goes crazy, biting and snapping at the cat, but it fights back, hissing and snarling until Daisy is afraid that Way Woof will be hurt.
‘STOPPIT!’ she shrieks. ‘BAAAD PUSSYCAT. STOPPIT. BAAAD PUSS – notty, notty, notty’
The cat doesn’t appear to care how naughty Daisy thinks it is. It ignores Daisy completely, and creeps closer to WayWoof, arching its back and shadow-boxing with all its claws extended. Watching from above, the Toad decides something has to be done before blood is spilled.
Hopping down from the cistern, she lands in between WayWoof and the cat, but Witch Baby gets there before her.
‘YOU A BAD WITS,’ she says, and the cat turns back into the real Nose. Uh-Oh. The real Nose looks very, very cross indeed. Her hair is whipping around her head like a nest of snakes, and sparks are once more shooting out of her bottom. The Toad quivers with fear, WayWoof whimpers with terror, but Witch Baby is unstoppable. This time it’s for keeps. This time the spell is non-reversible.
‘YOU A BAAAAD WITS,’ she begins. ‘You hurted my WayWoof.’
‘Oh, for fang’s sake,’ the Nose snaps. ‘Would you get a grip, you stupid child. It’s only a dog. Dogs aren’t important, not like witches. Nobody cares about dogs. Now come on, we’ve wasted quite enough time already – it’s time we were off to—’
‘You a BAAAD wits,’ Daisy says. ‘No likeit BAAAAD witses. Poor WayWoof—’
‘Oh, SHUT UP about that blooming dog, you vile little child,’ the Nose shrieks, grabbing Daisy’s arm and beginning to haul her towards the door. ‘There are far more important things to think about than dogs. And don’t even begin to think about taking – YIP – home to Ben Screeeiiighe with us. Dogs – YAP – a complete waste of space, and they don’t even taste – WOOF. I can’t abide – ARF. – Nasty, hairy, dribbly things. YAP, YIP – foul – HOWWWWL – beasts with – WUFF WUFF. Hang on – what the YOWWWWWWL?’
Where the Nose had been there now stands a small and very ugly dog with a big nose. The Nose opens her mouth to growl, but all that comes out is a tiny YIP.
‘GO ‘WAAY HOME, baaad dog,’ says Daisy.
At this, the Nose makes a half-hearted attempt to bite Daisy’s leg, but when WayWoof growls at her, she turns tail and flees, yipping faintly, back down the corridor, out of the front door … and away.
Just like Daisy told her to, the Nose has gone home.
Twenty-one:
Daisy victorious
We are all lined up at the front, smiling and bowing as the audience clap and cheer and yell ‘BRAVO!’ The nursery children are pink with pleasure, Miss McPhee and Mrs McDonald are almost glowing with happiness, and as I look out into the audience, I can see that even Jack has taken his earbuds out. WOW! We must have been good.
Finally the applause dies away, Mr Fox turns all the lights back on, and sadly, it’s time to go home. We troop back upstairs to pack up our stuff and help the nursery children change out of their costumes. Daisy is so ridiculously over-excited I think she’s going to burst. She’s running around the room making monkey noises, tripping over everyone’s bags, getting in the way and generally being a complete pest. Plus she’s determined to tell the entire school all about her recent victory over the FORCES OF DARKNESS.
‘Did a POO INNALOO,’ she bawls at her best friend, Dugger. Poor Dugger turns white and looks as if he’s about to pass out. Even Way Woof gives a yelp of protest and lies down with her paws over her ears.
‘Er, Daze … perhaps you might like to keep this amazing news to yourself?’ I suggest, but Daisy is past caring what I think.
‘NOT INNA NAPPY,’ she explains in a voice like a fo
ghorn. ‘INNA LOO.’ Then, just in case anyone is in any doubt about what she’s on about, she adds, ‘BIIIIIG SPASHHHHH.’
Oh, dear. Time to go. Time to get my little sister home before she can say anything else. Way Woof stands up, stretches and then releases a small and powerful cloud of dog-gas. Eughhhhh. Great. Thanks, WayWoof. Quick, let’s get out of here. I pat Daisy’s arm and say, ‘Come on, Squirt, let’s go,’ but Daisy has other ideas. Daisy is in one of those moods.
‘Wozzat YOU, Lil-Lil?’ she demands, flapping a hand in front of her face. ‘PEE-YOO, Lil-Lil. You SMELL. DUNNA POO?’
‘Shut up, Daisy,’ I mutter, but she’s on a roll. There’s no stopping her.
‘Wozzat YOU, Valdy?’ she bawls, and even though it wasn’t, Vivaldi turns pink. Time to go. I practically drag Daisy downstairs.
‘Wozzat YOU, Dugger?’
‘Wozzat YOU, Gamma?’
‘Wozzat YOU, Gampa?”
Oh, the shame.
All the way home, Daisy plays this wonderful new game:
‘Wozzat YOU, Dada?
‘Wozzat YOU, Mumma?
‘Wozzat YOU, Dack?
until we long to stop the car and hurl her into the bushes – ‘Wozzat YOU, bushes? – but finally, two minutes from home, she falls fast asleep. It isn’t until Mum and Dad peel her out of her monkey costume that we all discover that Daisy was telling the truth about the poo inna loo and the big spash. HOORAH! Her nappy is dry. There’s no poo, no nothing in there. Daisy is now, officially, a proper human being.* Mum and Dad are so excited about this that you’d think Daisy had just flown to the moon and back.
Jack and I leave the three of them in my room celebrating the Night of the Dry Nappy and head downstairs to make toast. Outside, for the first time in ages, the rain has stopped. It’s so quiet we can hear a dog barking way off in the distance. Without all the rainclouds in the way, the sky is full of stars. Jack and I take our toast outside and look up at the night sky.