by Pete Johnson
‘Never be satisfied,’ cried Mike. ‘Keep pushing yourself all the time.’ Then he went on, ‘I’ve never passed an exam in my life.’
I tried my best to look surprised.
‘And do you know why?’ He paused, and I longed to call out: ‘Because you’re thick.’
‘Because I had no one to push and encourage me,’ he said, at last.
‘But you’ve done very well,’ put in my mum encouragingly.
He gave her a regal bow. ‘But if I’d had someone behind me I could have done something really important. That’s why, since the day our children were born we’ve pushed and stimulated them and always put their happiness ahead of our own.’ He turned to Libby and Theo. ‘Haven’t we?’
‘Yes,’ they chorused, just as if they’d rehearsed this moment (perhaps they had). ‘And what did you say the other day, Theo,’ asked Mike, ‘about your ambition?’
Theo looked away from me and mumbled something.
‘Come on, say it out loud, boy, because it’s worth sharing with everyone,’ roared Mike.
‘I want to be a company director before I’m twenty,’ said Theo, still avoiding my eye.
‘What about that?’ cried Mike, bursting his buttons with pride now. Then he turned to me, ‘Now Louis, tell us about your ambitions?’
I considered the question. ‘I’ve got this one really big ambition. By the time I’m twenty I’d like to be a lettuce washer in a hotel.’
Mike looked at me in utter consternation for a moment. Then Theo let out another of his yelping laughs and Mike chuckled uneasily.
But afterwards Mum asked me a tad crossly, ‘Why did you say you wanted to be a lettuce washer?’
Talk about daft questions. ‘Because it got a laugh, Mum. Why else?’ I said.
Mum Behaving Oddly
MONDAY JANUARY 21ST
I’ve got a stalker.
Yesterday he hid under my bed and jumped out at me. Today he’s been ferreting about, mixing up all my CDs, and stealing my batteries. Elliot just doesn’t realize that my bedroom is PRIVATE. And he is only permitted to step inside it when he’s invited (which will never happen).
Had a very strong urge to jump on Elliot tonight, but knew if I did that he’d only go squealing to my parents and I’d be in the wrong again.
So instead, I recited all his latest misdeeds to Mum, fully expecting her to defend him (‘Be patient with him, love, he’s only six’ is what she normally says). But amazingly, tonight she didn’t. She just said quietly, ‘I know he needs a little guidance. Leave it to me, will you?’
Have I made Mum see Elliot’s truly horrible nature at last?
TUESDAY JANUARY 22ND
I can’t believe it. I was hoping Mum might give Elliot a bit of a pasting or lock him in the loft for a week, but she’s gone much further than that.
There’s a new after-school club starting up on Thursday called French Club, and she’s making Elliot go with Libby and Olympia. Of all the instruments of torture mankind has devised, French Club is undoubtedly one of the very worst.
It’s bad enough having French lessons during the day. But to have this ghastly subject inflicted on you in your own free time is gross beyond belief.
What’s more, I really seem to have turned Mum against Elliot, because later I heard her saying to Dad, ‘He’s only on Book Five, you know, while Libby, who’s six months younger, is on Book Nine already. And his handwriting is atrocious . . . well, just compare his writing with Olympia’s, who’s a year younger.’
On and on she spouted. And after a bit Dad was starting to agree with her. Do you know, I actually felt a tiny bit sorry for Elliot (a very weird sensation). What exactly have I started?
WEDNESDAY JANUARY 23RD
Theo made a right show of himself today. We were waiting for the results of a maths test and he was just dripping with sweat.
I said, ‘Theo, it’s only a scabby little test. What does it really matter? It’s not as if they’re paying us.’
But then he told me that actually his parents are paying him. Every time he gets an A– he gets what he calls a ‘twenty-pound bonus’ (with a forty-pound bonus if he ever gets an A).
Well, he earned another twenty smackers today.
THURSDAY JANUARY 24TH
Elliot stumbled in from French Club looking dazed and bewildered. He also went to bed very early. I said to Mum that I thought he’d suffered enough now for all his misdeeds but she didn’t seem to be really listening.
SUNDAY JANUARY 27TH
Sunday night. A grey feeling comes over me as another week of school looms.
Tonight I tried to explain to my parents just how much I hate it there. But they just said things like, ‘Come on, love, give it a chance. It’s new, so it feels a bit strange, that’s all.’ And, ‘It’s got a wonderful reputation and you’ll soon settle down. The syllabus is practically the same as your old school, you know.’
Well, the syllabus might be. But nothing else is. Can’t tell you how much I hate walking in there. Especially on a Monday. To cheer myself up I whistle ‘Jingle Bells’ or something equally daft to myself.
Then I stroll into my form-room and old Wormold is usually there already. He just has to see me now for his lip to start curling up like a stale sarnie. Why couldn’t I have someone a bit more cheerful for my teacher? Like, say, Jack the Ripper.
If I let it, that place could really get me down. That’s why, dear diary, I’m going to write about something much more important: I’ve started collecting jokes for my comedy act. My aim is to get at least a hundred. Here’s a quick example:
I lost my dog so I put an advert in the paper. It said, ‘Here, boy.’
I like that one a lot.
MONDAY JANUARY 28TH
Made Theo laugh again today. Gave him an exclusive preview of my Mr Wormold impression and he fell about. That was definitely the highlight of my day. I just love making people laugh. Every time it happens I get this warm glow inside.
Feel bad now about what I told you about Theo, before. You know, when I said he was a wet weed. Please try to wipe that from your memory bank – because he’s not. He might have a brain the size of a planet and wear shirts that gleam like a lighthouse but actually, he’s all right. You can talk to him about normal things like football and he’s mad keen to hear about all the new telly programmes even though he probably won’t be allowed to see any of them. His mum does let him watch wildlife programmes (they’re educational). But practically nothing else.
‘She keeps on about how she wants me to be a doer, not a watcher,’ he said.
‘Oh, being a watcher is much more fun,’ I said.
TUESDAY JANUARY 29TH
Libby and Prue came round to show us Libby’s new tennis racket. Libby’s only been playing tennis for six weeks and already she’s been evaluated as having real natural talent and . . . but I couldn’t bear to hear any more of that. So I escaped into the sitting room to watch some telly.
Suddenly I spied Prue gawping at me. And she had this really shocked look on her face as if she’d caught me doing something extremely naughty.
‘Mellow greetings,’ I called.
She didn’t answer, but I heard her whisper to Mum, ‘Now, I never allow mine to watch television at this time of the day.’ I waited for Mum to say, ‘Well, we do things differently here – so just keep your nose out.’ But instead she sped in and switched the telly off.
‘We don’t have that on now, do we?’ she said, smiling anxiously at me.
Well, we do actually. But I didn’t want to embarrass Mum in front of Prue. So I never said a word, just whizzed upstairs and carried on watching the telly in my bedroom.
After Prue had gone Mum was a bit crisp with Elliot and me. Then she went kind of quiet and gloomy. Not even my impression of Mr Wormold could restore her spirits (and usually my impressions can). Mum obviously finds Prue’s visits very stressful. Next time she calls I think we should all just pretend to be out.
WEDNESDAY JAN
UARY 30TH
Something odd happened today.
I was in my bedroom working on my joke collection when Mum opened the door and knocked (she always does it that way) and asked, ‘Louis, would you like to go to French Club tomorrow with Elliot?’
Well, I started chuckling away, ‘Mum, you naughty, little sausage, that’s a good one . . .’ but then my blood turned to ice. You see, Mum wasn’t smiling back.
Instead, she started babbling inanely, ‘Elliot is going, you see, and it’s for all ages, so I thought it might be fun for you too.’
‘Mum, I’d rather eat worms.’
‘Would you?’ She seemed really taken aback.
I said, ‘You know French is my worst subject. There are amoeba with better French accents than me and . . .’
Mum put her hand up. ‘I just thought . . .’ she began, with a wistful look on her face. But then she recovered herself. ‘No, you really wouldn’t like that, would you?’ she said and then slid away again.
I’m still recovering from the shock of that encounter. How could Mum have thought I’d enjoy going to French Club?
THURSDAY JANUARY 31ST
Mum hasn’t mentioned French Club to me again. I expect she just went temporarily off her trolley yesterday.
But she still made Elliot go. And she’s much more short-tempered with him these days. I really think she’s gone off him a bit. I almost wish I hadn’t complained about him now. I’ve opened up a real can of worms there.
FRIDAY FEBRUARY 1ST
Two more test results (you have tests here just about every second) and such excitement: Theo came top in both, even gaining an A in one of them. His first ever. So by my reckoning, that’s sixty quid he’s made today.
I notice Theo’s stopped asking me what marks I get.
At home tonight, Dad was on the phone to a mate from his old job. And Dad was telling him about all the extra responsibilities he’s got. He sounded dead gloomy about it too. I don’t think Dad likes it here any more than I do.
SUNDAY FEBRUARY 3RD
Heard Mum and Dad whispering away tonight. Unfortunately I couldn’t catch who they were talking about. And they stopped talking as soon as I appeared. But I definitely saw shifty glances passing between them.
Actually, I’m pretty sure I know what’s going on. Dad’s had enough of his job and is about to pack it in. But he and Mum are worried about telling me, thinking I’ll be upset about moving back to a smaller house and all that stuff. When in fact I’d be really, really, happy to leave here and I wouldn’t care if we ended up living in a mud hut.
But I won’t let on to my relics that I know anything, as this is all a bit embarrassing for Dad. No, I’ll wait and let him tell me when he’s good and ready (but let it be soon as I can’t wait to go home).
MONDAY FEBRUARY 4TH
Mum and Dad looked ghastly tonight. So I’ve been really nice to them. I patted Dad on the shoulder and asked about his day. Then I smiled at Mum several times, asked about her day too and made them both a cup of tea.
Went to bed totally shattered. Being nice to your parents for a long period of time (like a whole evening) really takes it out of you.
TUESDAY 5TH FEBRUARY
Mum had to suddenly pop out tonight and as Dad wasn’t back Prue dropped in to keep an eye on Elliot and me (even though I told Mum there was no need). I’m dead certain Prue knows Dad’s about to resign, as every time she looked at me she dripped sympathy all over the carpet. She doesn’t realize that when we shake the dust of this place off our shoes I’ll cheer for an hour.
Later, I went up to my bedroom and watched a repeat of Alan Partridge on the telly. It was just brilliant. Perhaps I could make up an annoying character for my comedy act. And who better to inspire me than Mike and Prue.
I have now collected forty-seven jokes.
WEDNESDAY 6TH FEBRUARY
Tonight I caught my mum doing something she’s never done before.
I found her in the kitchen, crouched down on her knees, looking through my school bag. At first I tried to excuse her behaviour. I told myself, She’s just on a quest for mouldy sandwiches (which lurk at the bottom of my bag for centuries). But then I saw that in her hand was one of my exercise books, which she was studying intently. Gave me a very nasty turn. But, dear diary, it gets even worse.
For then, in this strange, muffled voice, which I hardly recognized as belonging to my mum, she started making comments about my spelling and punctuation and handwriting.
I walked over to her. ‘All right, Mum, just put the exercise book down now,’ I said, trying to keep my voice as low and reassuring as possible. ‘That’s for my teachers to sort out, not you.’ But it was like talking to someone in a trance. Do you know, I don’t think she even heard me. Instead, she sat down at the table in the kitchen and started writing all the correct spellings in pencil in the margins. Very distressing to watch, I can tell you.
And then she began asking inane questions like, if I got 9/20 for a test what was the top mark? And whereabouts do I come in the class? And all the time she was looking at me really keenly.
But I was patient and understanding, as she’s obviously not at all well. And I fear she’s not just temporarily deranged this time. No, the stress of Dad resigning from his job has completely turned her head. Actually, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if it’s also brought on a midlife crisis. I’ve heard they’re very popular with women of my mum’s age.
So when Dad gets back from his sales conference on Friday I’ll tell him that I know all about him quitting his job. Then I’ll tactfully inform him that Mum’s begun acting like a loon. But he’s not to worry, for as soon as we go back home (our real home), everything will be all right again and Mum’s midlife crisis will be over.
THURSDAY 7TH FEBRUARY
She’s been in my bag again.
I’d only just got through the door tonight when she started burrowing around inside it. She had more daft questions for me about my position in the class. But I kept my voice low and soothing. I also bought her a bar of fruit and nut. Usually she puts it in the fridge and rations herself to four squares a night. Today she just gobbled it down in one go. A very bad sign, I think.
Also wondered if instead of having a midlife crisis she might be going through the change. I don’t know much about this except women usually catch it when they turn forty (which Mum just has) and their hormones go a bit mad for a while. So I might come downstairs one morning and discover Mum has sprouted a big black moustache, like that woman in the cake shop where we used to live.
I can’t say I’d be too happy about that. And I really think it would be better if Mum stayed indoors while the moustache is in full bloom, as people are always making snide comments about that woman in the cake shop (to be honest, I made one or two myself).
FRIDAY FEBRUARY 8TH
Terrible, terrible news.
My dad isn’t resigning from his job and Mum isn’t having a midlife crisis or any of that carry-on. Something much, much worse than that has happened.
You remember on Tuesday night my mum slipped out (and the ghastly Prue substituted for her). Well, I now discover that Mum had been summoned to my school for an urgent meeting with the King of Spit, my headmaster. My dad went there straight from work and then they both had to listen to Spitty moan on and on about my ‘poor level of commitment’ amongst a thousand other things.
Dad then had to rush off to his sales conference. But he and Mum decided that when he got back they’d talk things over with me together. Meanwhile, of course, Mum has been nosing in my bag and generally making a total nuisance of herself.
Anyway, tonight, after Elliot had gone to bed I was summoned to the sitting room. Straight away I knew a big lecture was brewing up. You can just tell, can’t you? I often get one after a parents’ evening. I always listen politely, because I think it’s important to allow parents to have their say and let off a bit of steam. By the next day it’s all forgotten.
But tonight was tota
lly different. For a start, they said I wasn’t to worry about what Spitty had said, as it wasn’t my fault. No, they were to blame. They even went on to say how they were very, very sorry.
‘That’s all right,’ I joked. ‘Just make sure you try harder in future.’
But why were my parents apologizing to me? That’s something parents hardly ever do. It was then I had my first glimmer of danger, like a little rattle in my skull. Dad said, in this very grim, serious tone, ‘Don’t worry, Louis, we’re determined to raise our game from now on.’
What on earth was he talking about? I told myself this was another of his jokes. When I looked into his eyes I’d see a little twinkle in them. But tonight, those eyes were horrifyingly blank!
‘And we promise we won’t let you down in the future,’ said Mum solemnly. ‘From now on you’ll have exactly the same chances as the other children here.’
After which, they both started grinning at me in a distinctly spooky way.
Dear diary, something very freaky is going on in this house.
The Nightmare Begins
MONDAY FEBRUARY 11TH
My telly’s gone.
Went up to my bedroom after school and there, on the desk, was a TV-shaped space, like a freshly dug grave. That TV’s been with me since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.
I knew at once who the culprit was. Mum tried to laugh it off at first, acting as if she’d done something totally unimportant. But my persistent questioning quickly broke her down. She claimed she did it because she didn’t want me falling asleep every night in front of dross. After which, she spouted this wild theory that without my telly I’d have more time to read, think and be creative.