by Sally Morgan
The bell rang to tell us to go back into class. Tim smirked at me and Johnno, picked up the birdcage and walked back to our classroom.
‘Is there anything that bird can’t do?’ I asked Johnno.
Johnno said the galah was brilliant.
My dream of winning the mystery prize for Mum seemed to get further and further away every day!
At lunchtime, me and Johnno shared my sandwich. Then we moved the bag of dung to my backpack. Flies were already buzzing around it. Even through the plastic, it ponged.
It was just as well Johnno had stashed his bag behind a tree in a far corner of the school grounds. Mrs Wilson doesn’t like stinky things. If she’d found it, she might have even banned us from having a stall.
‘Listen,’ I said to Johnno, ‘I need another idea for Mum’s birthday.’
‘I thought you were going to cook her some dinner!’
‘I was. I even bought the burger patties, but Dad’s stolen the idea.’
‘Why? Has something else happened to Aunty Shirl?’
I told him about the laundry powder bath. ‘I’ve got some other news for you, too,’ I said. ‘Dad wants us to be waiters at Mum’s birthday dinner on Sunday night.’
‘But I don’t know how to be a waiter!’ said Johnno.
‘Neither do I. Dad’s going to train us up on Friday night.’
‘But, Charlie, we’ll be working on stuff for our stall on Friday night!’
‘Yeah,’ I sighed. ‘Reckon we’ll have to work our guts out to get everything done!’
When school finished, I ran home as fast as I could. The smell from the dung kept getting stronger and the flies were mobbing me.
As soon as I got through the front gate, I took my backpack off and unzipped it to get my lunchbox out. Mum would ask me for it later otherwise and I didn’t want her to know it wasn’t in the house.
Whoosh! The dung fumes gushed out and gave me a farty slap in the face. The plastic bag with the dung inside had split! There was poo all over the inside of my backpack.
I quickly shoved my backpack under a nearby bush in the front yard.
It was time to ring Grandpa Ted and get him to come over straight away!
But Dad bailed me up in the hallway as soon as I stepped inside the front door.
‘Whatever you do,’ he warned me, ‘don’t stare at your mum!’
Okay, so what was going on now?
‘I asked Dan Grayson to fix her hair,’ Dad said. ‘Only it didn’t work out.’
Mr Grayson works on people’s hair in his caravan. He’s pretty cheap, as long as you pay him cash.
‘I paid for a cut, colour and a cover-up of the bald spot and ended up with something freaky!’ Dad sighed.
As I headed down the hallway, I heard Mum yell, ‘I can’t be ssheen like thish!’
Oh boy, Mum was still taking the anti-rash tablets!
I went into the kitchen. Mum was sitting at the kitchen table with Fluffy on her lap.
Tia was patting Mum’s arm. ‘You’ll be all right, Mum,’ she said.
‘We’ll think of something,’ said Sharni.
I tried not to stare. I really did.
Mum’s hair was green! Even her bald patch.
‘I’m ssho angry!’ said Mum.
The phone rang. Both Dad and me dived towards the kitchen bench to answer it. When Mum’s mad, it’s best to have something else to do. I got there first.
‘It’s Nurse Bell here,’ a voice said.
Nurse Bell is in charge of the Nursing Post in our town.
Before I could pass the phone to Dad, she said, ‘Bring Shirley down to the Nursing Post tonight. I think I have something for that rash of hers that won’t cause drowsiness.’ Then she hung up.
‘Mum,’ I said, ‘Nurse Bell has something for your rash.’
Mum didn’t answer. She’d fallen asleep and her head was resting on the table.
Fluffy was sitting next to her.
‘Phhssst!’ she hissed, when I tried to wake Mum up by tapping her on the arm. Fluffy only likes the girls in the family.
Dad told Sharni and Tia to wake Mum up. He wasn’t going to do it himself. Fluffy has scratched him heaps of times, so he steers clear of her.
‘Whassh?’ Mum mumbled.
‘Good news, love!’ said Dad. ‘Trina Bell’s got some better medicine for you.’
Mum nodded dopily.
‘Come on, Mum,’ said Tia. ‘Let’s see if we can wash some of the dye out of your hair.’
‘It’s sshawful!’ complained Mum.
She picked up Fluffy and headed for the bathroom with the twins.
‘If one more thing goes wrong,’ said Dad, ‘your mother will never want a birthday week again!’
I didn’t think I could survive another birthday week, either!
While Dad popped down the street to buy some potatoes for dinner, I rang Grandpa Ted. He was excited when I told him I had some fertiliser for his vegie garden.
‘Camel dung, ay?’ he said. ‘I can always use a bit of that! I’ll be over after dinner, Charlie.’
When Dad returned he handed me the bag of spuds.
Not again!
‘Get peeling, son!’ he said. ‘It’ll be good practice for you. We’ll be cooking up a birthday feast soon, remember? Got a few other things lined up for you and Johnno, too!’
Come Friday night, Dad was going to work us to death!
When Mum reappeared at dinner time, her hair was still as green as ever, just a lighter shade.
After dinner, she squashed her head back into Dad’s footy sock. The foot-shaped part of the sock was dangling off the back of her head. You could also see the embroidery that said Dingoes Football Club. I didn’t tell her.
After dinner, Dad told me he was taking Mum back down to the Nursing Post.
‘While I’m gone,’ he said, ‘I want you three kids to clean the kitchen.’
Dad and Mum headed for the front door.
I felt glad Dad had included the girls. He spreads the ingredients around when he cooks, so there was a lot to do. Also, there were some leftover peas in the saucepan. I decided to accidentally flick them at the pimple twins.
Pea-Face, I thought. That was a good name!
I strolled over to the stove, but Sharni darted in front of me and whisked the saucepan away.
‘You were going to throw peas at me and Tia, weren’t you?’ she said.
‘’Course not!’ I said.
Tia laughed. ‘We’re not stupid, Charlie!’
Why did something go wrong every time I tried to get back at them?
I went to grab the saucepan off Sharni, but just then the screaming started. Only it wasn’t the pimple Pea-Faces in the kitchen, it was Mum, from outside!
I tore up the hallway to the front door. The girls raced along behind me. Mum was standing on the path and teetering from one foot to the other. She was trying to avoid huge blobs of camel dung that were scattered all over the front path. I could tell Mum was going to lose her balance any second.
Dad rushed forwards and tried to grab her arms, while I dashed over and tried to steady her from behind. But before we could reach her, Mum tipped backwards like a falling building—splat! She sat right on a lump of dung!
‘Ergh!’ cried Sharni and Tia.
Suddenly a blob of something stinky flew past my head.
‘Get the bag off him, Charlie!’ shouted Dad.
Spike had sniffed out my dungfilled backpack and was shaking it and dragging it around the front yard.
‘No, Spike!’ I yelled, making a grab for him. Spike flung the bag sideways. He was hanging onto one of the straps with his teeth.
I lunged for the bag with one hand and pinned Spike to the ground with the other. He let go of the strap and licked my face with his pooey tongue.
Yuck! I had poo on both hands and on my face.
Dad helped Mum back onto her feet.
‘Clean it up, Charlie!’ Dad bellowed, as he steered Mum inside.
‘Birshday week?’ Mum mumbled. ‘Birshday week? Haa!’
I felt sick. And it wasn’t from the stink of the dung. It was because of all the accidents that kept happening to me. Why couldn’t they happen to my sisters for a change?
And why couldn’t I fix everything so Mum had a wonderful birthday? Things were getting worse, not better.
I grabbed the hose and squirted down the path. Spike tried to help by eating little bits of dung, but I made him stop. I didn’t want to add dog vomit to the mess.
Then Grandpa Ted turned up. ‘What are you doing out here in the dark, Charlie?’ he said, climbing out of his ute.
I told him about the accidental dung disaster.
Grandpa said, ‘Sounds like you’re having a bad week, my boy!’ Then he rubbed his hands together and said, ‘Now grab a couple of shovels off the back of my ute. I’m not letting one speck of this fertiliser go to waste!’
Sometimes I think Grandpa cares more about his vegie garden than he does about me!
About fifteen minutes later, Dad came out with Mum and the girls in tow. I could tell I was in my family’s bad books by the way they all glared at me.
Mum had changed her clothes and her green hair was now covered by Dad’s oversized bush hat. It came down almost to her chin. I was amazed she could see where she was going.
‘Ted,’ Dad said when he saw Grandpa, ‘would you mind keeping an eye on Charlie while I run Shirl down to the Nursing Post to see about her rash?’
Grandpa looked alarmed. ‘What rash?’ he said. He pulled his glasses out of his pocket, put them on, and took a closer look at Mum.
‘Whoaa! What caused it, Shirl?’ he said. ‘A fungus?’
‘It’s jussh a rash, Dad!’ Mum spluttered.
‘On your tongue too, ay?’ said Grandpa. ‘Is that why you’re talking funny? Don’t worry, love, you could be as ugly as a saltwater croc, but I’d still bring you a present from Darwin!’
‘You mean I’m ugshly now?’ demanded Mum.
‘We’d better get going,’ said Dad. He hurried Mum to the car before Grandpa made things worse.
‘Charlie,’ Dad said, as he closed the passenger door, ‘I don’t want to smell one whiff of dung when I return. And while we’re away, clean up that kitchen, too!’
Sharni and Tia were sitting in the back seat. They each poked their tongue out at me as the car drove off.
Grandpa and me scraped up the dung, put it in a plastic bag and chucked it on the back of his ute.
Then I hosed Spike down and took him inside to dry off with an old towel. Meanwhile, Grandpa made himself a cup of tea in the kitchen.
‘How did your mum get that horrible rash?’ Grandpa said, when I joined him.
I told him the whole stupid story. ‘The anti-rash tablets Dad got her have made things worse. They put Mum to sleep and make her talk funny. I want Mum to have a great birthday, Grandpa. But no one believes me!’
Grandpa nodded. ‘Sometimes things get messed up even when you don’t mean them to.’
‘That happens to me all the time, Grandpa!’
‘When your heart’s in the right place, Charlie,’ he said, ‘surprising things can happen.’
I was pretty sure my heart was in the right place—when it came to Mum, anyway. But the only surprises I’d had so far were bad ones!
‘Your luck will change,’ Grandpa said. ‘Watch out for a sign. Now come on, I’ll give you a hand cleaning the kitchen.’
I felt pretty miserable when I went to bed. I still didn’t have a clue what to sell at the fete on Saturday. And a dollar-fifty wasn’t enough to get Mum a wicked gift.
Maybe I would have to promise to do the housework for a year. What an awful present that would be. I’m terrible at housework. Mum deserves something better. (And so do I!)
I decided to stay awake until I’d thought of a brilliant plan. It was going to be a looong night!
Last night I felt so panicked about what might happen at the fete on Saturday, I sat up till almost sunrise.
By the time I got to school, I was stuffed. But I was mad, too. If Johnno hadn’t shoved so much dung into the plastic bag, it wouldn’t have split in my backpack. And if it hadn’t split, I wouldn’t have left the open backpack in the front yard. And then Spike wouldn’t have found it and shaken dung all over the place. And then Mum wouldn’t have fallen in it. So it was all Johnno’s fault things at home were worse!
Tim was just inside the school gates with a big mob of kids around him.
I tried to dodge him, but he yelled, ‘Ay, Charlie! Come here, I want to show you something.’
The other kids turned around and laughed at me.
‘What’s going on?’ said Johnno, coming up behind me.
I shrugged. Right then, Johnno was in my bad books! We went over to where everyone was crowded around Butch’s cage.
‘Taught the bird a new trick last night,’ said Tim proudly. ‘Watch this!’ He leaned close to the cage and said, ‘Charlie!’
‘Pooey Charlie!’ said Butch.
‘Charlie! Charlie!’ said Tim.
‘Pooey Charlie! Pooey Charlie!’ said Butch.
Everyone laughed themselves silly. Even Johnno. Some best mate he was!
‘The bird says other stuff, too,’ Tim told the crowd. ‘But it’ll cost you fifty cents on Saturday to find out what.’
I couldn’t believe Tim was trying to make money out of making fun of me!
When we went into class, Mrs Wilson reminded everyone about the fete on Saturday.
‘No raffle tickets have sold,’ she said. ‘So the teachers have decided to reduce the price from a dollar a ticket to fifty cents a ticket. Now, before we begin our lessons, would anyone like to buy a ticket quickly?’
No one put up their hand.
Mrs Wilson gave up trying to flog the tickets and started on a science lesson about plants. I felt zonked, so I stared out the window. Soon it would be Mum’s birthday. I really hoped everything worked out!
But the next thing I knew, Johnno was nudging me.
I looked away from the window and up at Mrs Wilson, who was standing just in front of my desk.
‘I’m waiting for your answer, Charlie!’ she said.
I didn’t even know she’d asked me a question.
‘I’ll give you a hint,’ she said. ‘It helps vegetables grow.’
Without thinking, I said, ‘Poo!’ Rosy’s dung must be sitting all around Grandpa Ted’s cabbages by now.
My classmates cracked up laughing.
‘The answer,’ said Mrs Wilson, ‘is sunlight. Now, try and pay attention please, Charlie.’
In the afternoon, Mrs Wilson gave us some silent reading time. A comic would’ve kept my brain alive, but the book I had was boring. Also, it didn’t help that the air conditioner in our classroom had broken down.
Anyway, one minute I was reading about fish, the next I was dreaming I was performing in a show at the school fete. I was a star and everyone loved me!
Then Spike appeared in my dream. ‘Wake up, Charlie!’ he said, licking my nose.
I opened my eyes.
Mrs Wilson was dabbing my face with a damp cloth. ‘Wake up, Charlie,’ she said.
Johnno was standing next to her, staring at me with a worried look on his face.
‘I know it’s been a hot day, Charlie,’ Mrs Wilson said. ‘Especially with the air conditioner failing, but there’s a virus going around, too. You might have a touch of it. If you don’t feel well, I can cancel the stall you and Johnson have signed up for.’
‘No, no,’ I said. I rubbed my eyes and forced them to stay open. ‘I’m fine.’ That stall was my last chance to fix things with Mum!
Mrs Wilson didn’t look convinced, but she said, ‘It’s lucky school finished early today so the teachers can prepare for the fete. If you rest up tonight, you might be okay by tomorrow.’
&nb
sp; I looked around.
Half the class had already left!
‘If you’re not at the fete bright and early though,’ said Mrs Wilson, ‘I’ll assume you are unwell and give the table to someone else. A lot of people want stalls.’
Johnno and me promised we’d be there first thing.
On the way home to my place, Johnno said, ‘Sorry about laughing at you when Butch said, “Pooey Charlie”. I didn’t mean to. It just came out.’
‘Yeah?’ I said. ‘Well you’re responsible for something else just coming out, too, Johnno!’
‘What?’ he said.
‘The plastic bag of dung in my backpack broke open because you shoved too much in!’ I said.
I told him all about Spike finding the bag and spreading the dung all over the front yard. Then I told him about how Mum got pooed.
‘Is Aunty Shirl okay?’ Johnno squeaked.
‘No,’ I said. ‘She’s really mad—at me!’
‘I’m super sorry, Charlie!’ Johnno said. ‘Super, super sorry!’
I ignored him. Johnno hates it when people ignore him. It works better than yelling. We walked along in silence.
I started thinking about the dream I had in class. The more I thought about it, the better I felt. Grandpa said to watch out for a sign that my luck was changing. What if the dream was a sign?
A little bubble of excitement rose up in my chest. If it worked, then I had a shot at beating Tim and winning the mystery prize for Mum!
I glanced over at Johnno. He was shuffling along with his head down. I was a bit glad he felt bad. But I also felt sorry. Johnno isn’t mean like some kids are. The dung disaster was just an accident.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘I’ve got another idea for the stall that might work.’
Johnno cheered up right away. ‘What is it, Charlie?’ he said.
I told him about my dream and what I thought it meant.
But Johnno was horrified. ‘A magic show? You and me? Put on a magic show in front of people? And charge them to watch us, like we’re famous movie stars, or something? I’d be too shame!’