How to Train Your Parents

by Pete Johnson

  ‘Like in the film Alien,’ I suggested.

  Her grandad asked me where my parents were. ‘Oh, my mum’s on her way,’ I said vaguely. He didn’t look very convinced.

  1.10 p.m. Robson Theatre (outside)

  I’ve just called Maddy. She was stunned when I told her I’m still waiting outside. She also wished me all the luck in the world.

  2.00 p.m. Robson Theatre (outside)

  Shortly after I’d rung Maddy we finally started moving forward. Serena the Sorcerer hissed at me, ‘Your mum isn’t coming, is she?’

  I decided to take a chance and tell her the truth. ‘No, my parents don’t know I’m here. I’ve skived off school today.’

  Serena let out an excited squeal. ‘I knew you had.’

  ‘To get in,’ I went on, ‘I’ll need a parent. Can I borrow one of yours?’

  Serena laughed delightedly. ‘Oh, isn’t this fun. I think you’d better have Grandad. Yes, he’ll be best. Get him to tell you about the time he played the London Palladium. He loves telling new people about that.’

  So Serena walked ahead with her mum while I hung around with Serena’s grandad, who burbled away about that time in 1967 he’d played the Palladium and got a standing ovation. He seemed to remember every detail too. In a minute, I thought, he’s going to tell me what colour underpants he was wearing that night. But it was kind of fascinating, actually.

  Once we got inside the reception area my heart started beating really loudly. But Serena’s grandad and I were so deep in conversation it really did look as if we were together. Not that the boy at the door took much notice. He just counted in the next thirty of us in a bored sort of way. I was number twenty-nine. This girl, who looked younger than Maddy, slapped a sticker with ‘29’ on it onto my still soaking wet shirt.

  We were told there were three stages being used for auditions. I was in the group herded towards the Ashcroft Room. We seemed to go down about seventeen staircases to get there. But what did I care? I was in.

  We had to sit in numerical order in the first three rows. The parents sat behind us. On the stage was a large table with a blue tablecloth on. Sitting behind it were two men from the land of the very grumpy. One looked incredibly fierce, like a bulldog with a perm. The other was bearded and sweaty, and peered at us gloomily with little beady eyes. In the middle of the glums sat this woman, beaming away like a searchlight at us.

  She introduced herself as Josie and then told us the two men were from the satellite company. They even had depressing names. The one with the perm was Malcolm and the bearded one was Derek. Josie said how good it was to see us all. She was sorry we’d had to wait so long but they’d never expected such a fantastic response.

  Then she explained that we would each be called up to the stage in number order. We had forty-five seconds to entertain – in any way we wanted. Then, after every one of us had performed, the judges would confer and let us know which of us would be invited back for the next round.

  Now we’re about to start. Be back soon.

  2.50 p.m. Robson Theatre

  We’ve reached number twenty-five so it’s nearly time. I hate all this waiting. Makes me nervous.

  We haven’t had one comedian yet. It’s been mainly singers. The first girl bounced onto the stage, stared at us in great alarm and then promptly fled. ‘She wasn’t quite ready,’ explained her mum, pushing the girl back onto the stage. The girl was given a second chance and this time gave a remarkable impression of a cat being sick.

  ‘She’s so not coming back,’ whispered Serena to me.

  But a lot of the other singers were really professional. There were a few dancers too, including one tap-dancer. She was dazzlingly good even if she did remind me a bit of a wind-up toy.

  3.00 p.m.

  Serena’s turn. Only she nearly didn’t go on. Would you believe, she got an attack of nerves. ‘I’ve got all these bubbles in my stomach,’ she hissed as me.

  I gave her hand a little pat. ‘Easy, tiger,’ I said. ‘Now go out there and give it some welly.’ That made her smile and then off she had to pop. She’s on stage now, going down well, too – and I’m next.

  I’m next!

  And yes, I’ve got the collywobbles. Definition of a collywobble – a three-legged sheep dog. Get it? No, it’s not very good but it’s the best I can do right now. Must stop. I’m on . . .

  4.50 p.m. Train home

  Nearly two hours ago now I clambered up onto that stage. My knees buckled a bit and I was all shaky.

  But then I told myself, If the audience smell fear on me, I’m finished. A comedian has to have a lot of front. So I planted a smile on my face and did this bouncy strut towards the audience. And then I was off.

  Told my first joke in an Australian accent, didn’t I? Got a laugh anyway. But of course I had to stay in that accent. Still, my second joke got a great roar and some people even clapped. I called out, ‘Don’t clap, we haven’t got time.’ A few – including a woman who laughed like a neighing horse – even guffawed at that.

  After that I was on a roll and just bursting with energy. I rattled off joke after joke and I never even heard the whistle blow to say my time was up. They had to blow it a second time before I realized.

  I floated back to my seat and Serena whispered, ‘You went down a storm.’ But had the judges liked me? I’d noticed Josie exercising her facial muscles. Not a flicker from Derek the beard. But I think I spotted a smile from Malcolm the perm. Although it might have just been wind. Hard to tell, really.

  There was one more girl after me (playing a mouth organ) and then the judges went into a huddle. Serena whispered to me, ‘I want this more than anything else in the world, don’t you?’ I just grinned at her. But actually, I did.

  Then Josie got up and waffled on about how we’d worked really hard and she wanted to congratulate us all. But we must also remember it’s a very overcrowded market, blah, blah, blah. Then, just when I’d stopped listening she started calling out some numbers. Those people had to come up onto the stage.

  She called out eight, fifteen, twenty-eight (that was Serena) and twenty-nine!

  So there were just four of us on the stage. Josie said to us, ‘Congratulations, you are all through to the next round.’ We all jumped about a bit – but not too much because there were all those disappointed children and their parents gawping at us. They were asked to hand in their numbers at reception and to leave as quickly as possible. ‘Hope you’ve enjoyed yourselves,’ Josie called after them.

  One man shouted back, ‘My girl’s got sunshine in her voice. This is all a fix.’ His daughter led him quietly away.

  I still couldn’t believe that I was one of the lucky few to get that golden tap on the shoulder. And how I wished my mum and dad could have been there, whooping it up with me. Mum could even have given me one of her slurpy kisses and I wouldn’t have minded. Ah well, she’s missed her chance now.

  ‘This is only the first stage,’ said Serena to me. ‘So we mustn’t get too happy.’

  ‘Oh, go on, be happy,’ I said.

  Serena laughed. ‘All right, just for you I will.’

  Josie told us we would get a phone call soon telling us when the next auditions were. At that audition we would have a whole five minutes to perform, so I shall need lots more jokes. She also told us to be certain to fill in the forms at reception.

  I grabbed one of them and slunk away to fill it in, unobserved. Two sides of questions about my age, height, weight (had to guess that), then stuff like had I ever been on the telly before (I wrote, ‘Not yet’) and finally, a contact number. I gave them my mobile number.

  The end of the form had to be signed by your parent or guardian. So I forged Mum’s autograph again (becoming quite expert at that) and handed it in.

  I bumped into Serena and her relics and they gave me a lift back to King’s Cross, which was pretty decent of them. I sat in the front next to Serena’s grandad. He winked at me and said, ‘The call to perform and entertain cannot be r
esisted, can it?’ He went on, ‘But share your good news with your parents. They may surprise you with their support.’ I wasn’t so sure about that.

  As soon as I could I rang Maddy. She went very quiet for a couple of seconds, then let out this gasp. ‘Oh, Louis, all day I’ve been waiting and wondering . . . I’m just really, really happy for you. You know what this means, don’t you? You’re not an amateur any more.’

  ‘Aren’t I?’

  ‘No, you’re a semi-professional now.’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ I said.

  Any minute now the train is going to pull into my station. I shall be late home and I don’t know what excuse I’ll give Mum. And right now, I really don’t care either.

  All I can do is sit here with a great smile all over my face and think, I did it. I did it. I DID IT!

  6.30 p.m. My bedroom

  Just to let you know that I got into the house at twenty-five to six, a full twenty seconds before Mum got back with Elliot. She’d been to a special French Club which was due to finish at five o’clock but she’d been held up because Olympia suddenly had this tantrum. She has them quite regularly, apparently. It took both her mum and mine to calm her down. Never thought I’d be grateful to Olympia!

  Anyway, Mum finally asked me about my day and I nearly burst out laughing. I really think I’ve got away with today. Of course, the next audition will be trickier. With fewer children involved, someone might easily notice I’m missing a parent – and totally scupper my chances. Perhaps Serena’s grandad is right and I should share my good news with Mum and Dad. They’re bound to be proud of me, aren’t they? I might tell them after tea tomorrow.

  12.15 a.m.

  Just can’t sleep. Too happy. This has been an unbelievably brilliant day.

  The Worst Day of My Life

  TUESDAY APRIL 30TH

  From the best day of my life to . . . well, wait until you hear what’s happened today. It all started when Wormold asked me to stay behind after registration. I wasn’t especially alarmed as he asks me to stay behind after registration every morning.

  ‘I understand you were away yesterday,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah.’ I patted my tummy. ‘Really bad stomach-ache.’ I rolled my eyes to emphasize how bad it had been. ‘I’m better now, though. I expect it was just one of those twenty-four-hour things.’

  ‘I was away yesterday too,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, you probably had the same bug as me then,’ I said, eager to introduce a comradely note into the proceedings.

  ‘I was at a conference yesterday, so I’ve just come across your note now.’ And as he said this his thin lips all but disappeared. But he didn’t utter another word, just waved me away.

  All very puzzling but I didn’t think about it again until later that morning when Spitty materialized in the corridor. He never makes any sound when he moves. You just suddenly spot him streaming towards you like poison gas.

  ‘Be in my room at twelve o’clock sharp,’ he rumbled, before oozing away again. Words to strike fear into your bowels.

  ‘Sounds like he’s after my blood,’ I said to Theo. And we both laughed extremely uneasily.

  Waiting for twelve o’clock was sheer agony. Now I know how those Christians felt when they were told they had a booking with a hungry lion in an hour. You just want to get the whole messy thing over and done with.

  At twelve o’clock precisely, I was admitted into Spitty’s chamber of horrors. A third person had been invited to join in the fun: my mum. That gave me a jolt, I can tell you. But I gave her a friendly smile just the same. She shuddered in reply. Spitty did what he always does when he spots me: he went very still for a very long time. He finally came out of his coma and picked up a piece of paper. ‘Mr Wormold has sent me this. He believes it is your handiwork. So do I.’

  I took it from him and recognized it instantly. It was my absence note. But I pretended to be studying it carefully. Finally, I had to admit, ‘Actually, I believe I did write it. Yes.’

  Mum let out a low groan.

  Spitty shook all his chins at me. And after a lot of blather about how I’d disgraced not just myself, but my family too, sentence was passed. I’m to be suspended until Thursday. I only just stopped myself from bursting out laughing. Why do schools think that giving you an extra day’s holiday is punishment? I’ve never ever understood that.

  Still, for my mum’s sake I put on a gloomy face. To be honest, she was looking grave enough for the pair of us. The journey home was somewhat tense and at the old homestead Dad popped up. He doesn’t often get really mad but today was one of those rare occasions.

  ‘I’ve had to leave work early because of you and your behaviour.’ His whole face had turned scarlet with fury. Even his nose shone like Rudolph’s. ‘We’ve given you every support and this is how you repay us,’ he went on.

  At first I thought I’d let them both have a bit of a gripe. I mean, it can’t have been much fun having to go to my school and hear Spitty moaning on and on. After a bit, though, I remembered it was my parents who were in the wrong, not me. After all, if they’d gone with me to the audition as I’d asked, none of this would have happened and they’d be basking in my success now. So this was entirely their fault.

  Then they started firing questions at me: where had I gone yesterday? Had I met anyone? And something in me snapped. So I didn’t answer their questions, just looked coolly through them.

  All at once I realized what I’d done. Quite spontaneously, I’d gone into the first rule of Maddy’s parent-training: act as if they’re not there. And do you know what? It worked. Well, sort of.

  Dad’s face and ears got even redder and he started shouting (something he hardly ever does). ‘Come on, answer me! Where did you go?’ That’s when I remembered the second rule of Maddy’s parent-training: say as little as possible.

  So I just said, ‘Into town.’

  ‘You were in town all day?’ asked Mum.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And what did you do all day?’ demanded Dad.

  I shrugged.

  ‘And did you see anyone?’ asked Mum.

  ‘People.’ I was really getting into the rhythm of these one- and two-word answers now.

  But Dad looked as if he was about to burst a blood vessel. ‘You’re grounded until further notice.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ I replied.

  ‘Just get out of our sight,’ cried Dad.

  Later I heard Mum and Dad talking on and on in a mumbling, shocked sort of way. And much later, Mum came tutting into my bedroom with a bowl of gruel. It clattered down on my desk and she gave me one of her reproachful looks. Then she hovered in the doorway. ‘You’ve really let us down, you know. And we don’t deserve to be treated like this, do we?’

  I didn’t answer, didn’t even look at her.

  ‘We’ve given you every encouragement and you do this.’ Then her voice went a bit gentler. ‘Why do you do it, Louis?’ And I really wanted to tell her about me becoming a semi-professional yesterday. But they were both behaving so irrationally that I just couldn’t risk it. I mean, what if they stopped me going any further?

  So I just shrugged and sighed heavily. And Mum sighed heavily too. And that was just about the end of our convo. For the rest of the evening no one – not even Elliot – came near me. I was obviously in solitary confinement.

  Maddy rang me on my mobile though. I told her everything. She was shocked at my parents’ antics. ‘That’s so typical of them. They only ever see it from their point of view. They never ever think about what you want, do they?’

  ‘And whose life is it anyway?’ I said.

  ‘Exactly,’ cried Maddy. ‘Your parents are going through a very selfish phase at the moment. It can’t be easy for you.’

  ‘It isn’t,’ I agreed.

  But Maddy was pleased I’d started the parent-training. I asked her how long the training took. She was a bit vague about this. But I really think I might be able to get my parents all trained up befo
re the next audition. That’s my goal, anyhow.

  The Parent-training Course

  WEDNESDAY MAY 1ST

  First full day of parent-training. Decided to make it intensive as I’m keen to get it over with.

  Both my parents tried to give me a lecture today. But I’ve discovered a real conversation-stopper. You start by saying something out of the side of your mouth which your parents can’t quite hear (although they suspect it’s rude).

  Then, when they ask you what you’ve just said, you shake your shoulders vigorously while at the same time letting your mouth drop open. Yes, you look like a total goon! But instantly your parents’ voices just trail away. All they can do is gape at you in horror and bewilderment, while the tedious lecture is immediately extinguished.

  This method carries my personal guarantee.

  THURSDAY MAY 2ND

  I hadn’t expected much of a welcome back from the teachers and I didn’t get it either. First off, Wormold told me to wipe the smirk off my face. I explained that I couldn’t as it was my normal expression. Then it was off to maths with Mrs Archer, who acted as if I’d just wet myself.

  ‘Oh Louis, Louis, Louis, what are we going to do with you?’

  ‘Suspend me again,’ I suggested, hopefully.

  In English, tragedy struck. Theo got a B. He gazed at the offending grade, shocked and horrified. ‘I don’t understand it,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve never had a B in my life before.’

  ‘Neither have I,’ I said.

  ‘No, but you’re . . .’ he smiled in an embarrassed sort of way, ‘different.’

  Later he agonized over how he was going to tell his parents. ‘They’ll probably put on black arm bands and play solemn music for a few hours, but otherwise, they’ll be fine,’ I said.

  Theo shook his head gravely. ‘And there’s no way I can hide it from them as they go through my books every single night.’