by Maggi Gibson
‘You were doing a good deed?’ he repeats slowly, like he’s trying to stop himself self-igniting.
I nod. Tears sting the backs of my eyes and I bite my lip to hold them back.
Dad looks at Pip and me for a moment longer. ‘OK,’ he sighs at last. ‘Maybe you’re right, Sassy. We do need a proper filing system, and my office shouldn’t be in the house, so I have to take some of the blame. But there’s something I want both of you to understand. As long as the dining room is my office, you must never go in there without permission. OK?’
Pip rushes over to Dad and gives him a big hug.
‘So, Sassy,’ he says evenly. ‘How about another good turn, eh? Do you think you could order the pizzas?’
Just then the doorbell rings and Pip goes skipping off to answer it.
‘So what about the town hall, Dad?’ I say in a tiny voice. ‘Will you call them? I don’t mind not having pizza if you’ll do that instead. In fact I don’t mind not eating for a week.’
Dad eyeballs me like he’s looking into my soul. Pip returns from answering the door and Cordelia’s with her. The atmosphere’s so tense they stand in the doorway unsure whether or not to come any further.
Dad looks from me to Cordelia, pushes his glasses up on top of his head and narrows his eyes. ‘Tell you what, I’ll phone the town hall for you – if you do something for me.’
‘OK, OK!’ I say. ‘Whatever – shredding papers, licking envelopes, sticking on stamps, delivering leaflets – I’ll do it!’
‘And I’ll help!’ Cordelia offers enthusiastically. ‘We really do want to do the concert.’
‘So you’ll do anything?’ Dad asks.
‘Absolutely,’ I nod.
‘Good! That’s what I hoped you’d say,’ Dad says, and there’s something about the glint in his eye that makes me wonder what kind of bargain we’ve struck.
‘We’ve had the cycle safety gear redesigned. I think you’re going to like it this time.’ Dad explains as he rummages in a box and tugs out a bright orange waistcoat, polka-dotted with lemon reflectors. ‘See? It’s now super-sexy cycle safety gear!’
‘The orange is fluorescent in the dark,’ Digby says animatedly. ‘And the yellow reflectors are … well … reflective. I passed on what you said, Sassy, about the last version being too shapeless and baggy, so the designers have come up with this rather fetching luminous lime belt. See, you can cinch it in at the waist. Oh, and they’ve taken the flashing light off the top of the helmet and put one on each side instead.’
‘That’s … er … totally awesome,’ Cordelia gasps.
‘Yeah, Dad. Awesome! Wicked! Super!’ I lie. Honestly I can’t believe how wrong grown-ups get it sometimes. It’s honking! ‘You can quote me on that if you want. So now will you phone the town hall?’
‘I’m glad you like it so much,’ Dad beams. ‘Here’s the deal. I’ll phone the town hall, while you model the new cycle gear.’ Dad pulls another super-sexy cycle safety waistcoat from the box. ‘We need some photos for the press. So grab a couple of bikes from the garage. Digby’s got the camera. It will only take a few minutes.’
Dad lied about the ‘few minutes’ bit.
Digby couldn’t get the camera to work properly and in the end me and Cordelia had to hang about in the street for more than half an hour – dressed in Dad’s stupid cycle gear!
Of course, Cordelia looked fantastic. I don’t know how she does it!22 But me? Well, I looked an absolute dork. I will be UTTERLY humiliated if the photos ever appear anywhere.
‘Never mind,’ Cordelia says cheerily. ‘Just think of all that good karma you’re storing up by helping your dad out.’
By the time we finish, Mum has come home, the takeaway pizzas have arrived and Dad has phoned the town hall.
‘Bad news,’ he says as we tug the waistcoats off. ‘Sorry, girls. But the hall’s all booked up. The first available date’s in three months’ time. It’s a shame, but I think that’s the end of your concert idea.’
‘But we really wanted to raise money for the earthquake,’ I groan.
‘And tons of kids wanted to hear Sassy sing. They’re going to be so disappointed,’ Cordelia sighs.
‘Never mind, love,’ Dad says. ‘I’m sure you’ll get other chances to sing. You’ve done your best.’
Ten minutes later Cordelia and me are tucking into the takeaway pizzas in the kitchen, comfort eating, and I’m moaning on to Cordelia about the whole karma thing not really working like I’d hoped it would, when Digby comes through, a watermelon smile splitting his face.
‘Guess who that was on the phone?’ he grins. ‘Only the town hall! A wedding party for Saturday the fourteenth has just cancelled. The bride’s changed her mind. The town hall wants to know if that’s any use for your benefit gig?’ He nicks an olive from Pip’s pizza and pops it in his mouth.
‘You mean Saturday as in one week from tomorrow Saturday?’ Cordelia splutters through a mouthful of melted mozzarella.
Digby nods. ‘And they said you can have the hall for free as it’s for charity.’
‘Yay! That’s brilliant!’ I wave my fork and accidentally splatter Brewster’s nose with a blob of gherkin23. ‘It’s Friday now, so that gives us seven whole days to get organized.’
‘We can email out invites,’ Cordelia says, ‘and stick up posters –’
‘Excuse me, ladies,’ Digby interrupts. ‘The town hall’s still on the phone. Is that a yes for Saturday week?’
‘No!’ I squawk.
Digby looks surprised.
‘It’s a YES!! YES!! YES!!’ Cordelia and I squeal together, then we rush up to my room and text Megan, Sindi-Sue, Midge, Beano and Magnus: TOWN HALL IS GO! – MEET MY PLACE – NOW . I’ll let Twig know the good news by carrier pigeon. We’re gonna need all hands on deck to get organized in time.
25
Megan arrives first and Twig’s with her. They’re closely followed by Magnus, who knocks politely on the window like it’s a classroom door!
Next, Beano’s brown face peers through the leaves. He climbs in carefully, wary of tipping things over with his long legs. A text pings in from Midge to say he can’t make it. Then the doorbell rings and I run down to answer it.
‘Sorry, Sass,’ Sindi-Sue says in a flurry of hairspray and perfume. ‘Climbing trees really ain’t my thing. Is it OK if I come in through the door?’
Minutes later we’re all crammed into my room. Cordelia, Sindi-Sue and Megan sit cross-legged on the bed. Beano sinks on to the beanbag. Twig lounges on my rainbow rug with Brewster’s head in his lap. Magnus perches on the chair at my desk.
‘It’s OK, Magnus. Relax!’ Cordelia teases. ‘He doesn’t bite.’
‘Who doesn’t bite?’ Sindi-Sue giggles. ‘Twig or the dog?’
‘Neither,’ says Megan. ‘They’re both pussy cats, really.’
‘Right,’ I say, nabbing a space on the end of the bed. ‘Here’s the deal. The good news is we got the town hall –’
‘So what’s the bad news?’ Magnus asks.
‘The bad news is the date. All they have free is Saturday the fourteenth – a week tomorrow,’ Cordelia explains.
‘But we’ll never get organized by then!’ Magnus gasps. ‘It’s not like doing it at school. We’ll need to advertise and stuff.’
‘Omigod!’ says Sindi-Sue, her mouth hanging open in an exaggerated pink gloss O. ‘That’s gonna be a bit of a rush!’
‘But we have to do it soon anyway,’ Cordelia points out. ‘It is an emergency we’re raising money for.’
‘Yeah, but have you really thought this through?’ Twig tickles Brewster’s ears and he lollops over on to his back to get his tummy
tickled too24. ‘A lunchtime school concert is one thing – but asking people to come out for a gig – and expecting them to cough up money – you’re gonna need more than a half-hour of songs and an acoustic guitar, Sassy.’
‘Oh dear,’ I say slowly. ‘I didn’t think of that …’
‘Me neither,’ Cordelia sighs. ‘I guess we just got caught up in all the excitement …’
‘So what are you peeps saying?’ Sindi-Sue looks confused. ‘Like, are we doing this benefit thingie or not?’
‘I dunno,’ Twig pushes back his flop of hair. ‘Maybe if we had more time we could’ve got a band together –’
‘A band?’ I sit up. I know I’m probably grasping at straws, but as Confucius25 he say, When you’re sinking fast, grasping a straw is the only sensible thing left to do. ‘That’s a great idea. I don’t suppose any of you guys know anyone who could be in it?’
‘Actually, I play lead guitar,’ Beano says quietly.
‘And Twig plays electric fiddle,’ Megan adds excitedly.
Twig throws her a Why-did-you-say-that look.
‘Well, you do!’ she protests. ‘And you’re good. I should know. I have to listen to you every single night!’
Twig shifts uneasily. ‘Yeah, but that’s the point, Megan. It’s a private thing. I play in my own room. For myself. Not for other people.’
‘But you’re way good enough to!’ Megan exclaims. ‘It would be awesome if you guys got a band together –’
‘In a week?’ Twig protests. ‘I don’t think so … But as you’re so keen for me to play fiddle, why aren’t you offering to play drums?’
‘Do you play drums?’ Magnus turns to Megan, his eyes wide with admiration. She blushes pink to the roots of her hair.
‘Actually … no!’ She throws Twig a killer look.
‘But you do have a drum kit!’ Twig insists. ‘Up at the back of the garage. I’ve seen it. Under an old blanket.’
‘That’s not mine,’ Megan blurts, a wobble in her voice. ‘It was my dad’s. He left it behind … you know … when he moved out. Mum couldn’t bear to chuck it, so she shoved it up the back of the garage.’
‘So is it still working?’ Magnus asks, totally insensitive as always. I fire him a Back-off-you are-treading-on-sensitive-territory look, but in true Magnus style he completely misses it. ‘Couldn’t you dig it out, Megan? I mean playing drums can’t be that hard, can it? You just have to whack them.’
I roll my eyes. The Magnus approach to music!
‘Actually,’ Megan retorts, ‘I’m pretty good on drums. Dad taught me to play as soon as I could hold a drumstick. I even used to play with his band sometimes.’
‘So what’s your problem?’ Magnus asks.
‘The problem is, I don’t want to!’ Megan explodes. ‘I haven’t played since Dad left. So why don’t you shut your stupid big mouth!’
Magnus looks baffled and hurt, like an overexcited pup that’s just run slap-bang into a wall he thought was a door. I almost feel sorry for him.
‘Hey, people!’ Sindi-Sue flutters her fingers. ‘Let’s cool it, eh? Aren’t we maybe losing sight of what we’re actually in reality supposed to be doing here?’
‘Sindi-Sue has a point,’ Cordelia twirls a pencil in her fingers. ‘We’re either gonna do this gig and raise the money for the Earthquake Disaster Fund, or else we call the town hall, cancel the booking, forget all –’
She stops as Pip bursts into the room.
And I’m about to remind my little sis that she’s supposed to KNOCK before entering The Pig Pen, when she shoves the phone at me.
‘It’s Taslima!’ she gasps.
As I grab the phone, everyone falls silent. ‘Taslima! Are you OK? Where are you?’
‘Islamabad,’ Taslima’s voice crackles down the line. ‘Listen, the phones are bad. We might get cut off. I got your email, Sass, and it cheered me up so much – you know – knowing you’re doing a concert for the earthquake fund. Everything’s such a mess here and there’s so much needs doing. Mum’s village is totally flattened and Aisya’s in hospital with a broken leg and she wants me to say thank you to you all for raising money to help –’
The line clicks, then goes dead. Seconds later, the dialling tone buzzes in my ear like a trapped bluebottle.
I press End Call and try 1471, hoping I’ll get the number so I can call Tas back. But all I get is an automated message: The number you requested is not available.
We sit for several minutes in tense silence staring at the phone, willing it to ring again. Finally, we accept it’s not going to.
Everyone listens solemnly as I repeat what Taslima said.
‘Well, that’s it. We have to do the concert now,’ Cordelia says when I finish. ‘I don’t care how.’
‘I agree,’ says Sindi-Sue. ‘Tas will be so disappointed when she comes back if she thinks we just gave up.’
‘In that case, can someone tell me, do we have a band or not?’ Magnus asks with an exasperated sigh.
‘OK. Count me in. But on one condition.’ Twig fixes Megan with a steely stare. ‘I’ll play fiddle, if my stepsis agrees to play drums.’
‘I don’t know,’ Megan says, fidgeting with her bracelets. ‘Dad’s drum kit hasn’t been used in ages. It might be all rusty by now –’
‘But it’s not!’ Twig interrupts. ‘I had the covers off when you were at school. It’s in great nick.’
‘Listen, Megan.’ Magnus says quietly. ‘Sorry if I upset you a minute ago. Thing is, I think you’d look really … cute … playing drums.’ He gazes at her all puppy-eyed. Cordelia and Sindi-Sue exchange an Are-you-thinking-what-I’m-thinking smile.
‘OK,’ Megan blushes. ‘I’ll give it a go – for Tas. But don’t expect me to be brilliant!’
‘Don’t expect any of us to be brilliant!’ Twig laughs.
‘Excuse me!’ I object, picking up my guitar and strumming it softly. ‘The rest of you might be rubbish (strum) but I for one (strum) am gonna be fantastic!’
‘OK! OK!’ Cordelia rummages among the clutter on my desk and finds a notebook. ‘Let’s make a plan of action. We can try out the band idea over the next couple of days, and if it doesn’t work, we’ll cancel the town hall and come up with another way to raise the money. But right now I need to know who’s doing what.’
Ten minutes later we’re all organized. Tomorrow’s Saturday. So first rehearsal’s in Megan’s garage at ten. Magnus has got a swim-meet, but he’ll be finished by twelve, then he’ll make up a poster on his computer.
‘I’ll email something to you all later tomorrow,’ Magnus says. ‘Then everyone can forward it to all the people on their address list and ask them to do the same. That way we’ll reach hundreds of people instantly.’
‘Great idea!’ Megan says. ‘Not just a pretty face, then!’ And Magnus’s ears burn crimson!
‘Don’t we need a name for the band?’ Beano asks, just when we think we’ve got everything under control.
‘How about we call ourselves Crazy Crew?’ I joke. ‘I mean that’s what we are, isn’t it?’
‘No,’ says Magnus, frowning like he’s working something out. ‘You’ve already got a bit of profile, Sassy. People know your name. So we need to keep it in. I’ll put a link on the e-poster to your online video clip too.’
‘Clips, actually,’ Twig says quietly. ‘I uploaded that Wiccaman TV bit the other day. It’s had quite a lot of hits.’ He smiles shyly at me and I smile back. For the first time in a while I think maybe there’s not really a problem between us. Maybe the whole boyfriend thing with Twig is gonna work out OK.
‘Anyway, Magnus is right about the name,’ Megan says, and Magnus loo
ks chuffed. ‘How about Sassy and the … Oh, I don’t know – Sassy and the … errr … somethings?’
‘Sassy and the Seagulls!’ Sindi-Sue exclaims – and we all groan.
‘We might end up sounding like seagulls,’ Beano says drily. ‘Let’s not plant the idea in the audience’s heads!’
‘Sassy and the Sausages!’ says Pip, who’s just danced in to get the phone back.
‘I don’t think so,’ I say as she pirouettes out. ‘Not unless they’re veggie!’
‘Well, how about Sassy and the Wilde Bunch?’ Beano suggests.
‘That’s it!’ Magnus grins.
‘Sounds cool to me,’ Twig says and everyone else agrees.
‘OK!’ Cordelia runs her eye down the checklist. ‘That’s everything. All we need now is a bit of luck. So I’ll put myself down to take care of that. Let me see, one medium-sized spell should do it.’
And she narrows her green eyes mischievously.
26
It’s almost nine now and everyone’s gone home. I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor, strumming my guitar, thinking how cool – and weird – it is that I’ve suddenly got such a big circle of friends and so many of them are boys. I mean, if anyone had said to me a few months ago that I’d be happy to have chicos like Beano and Magnus in my house, never mind my room, I would’ve thought they were crazy. But I suppose my life has changed in a whole lot of ways recently.
Then as I strum, STRUM STRUM STRUM, I think how exciting it is to be doing the concert, but how I mustn’t forget why we’re doing it, and my mind drifts to Taslima and Aisya and all the people caught up in the earthquake, STRUM STRUM STRUM, until a melody, then a few lines for a new song swim into my brain.