My Brother's Famous Bottom Gets Pinched

by Jeremy Strong

  ‘What a bully’ Mum said flatly.

  The manager arrived and the first thing he did was ask Kristal Gaze to step into his office. He was sure the problem could be sorted out. Kristal followed him down the corridor, along with her four dogs, and all five of them were still yapping like crazy.

  ‘Show’s over,’ Dad muttered. ‘I hope the manager tells Kristal Gaze and her dogs to go jump in the river.’

  ‘Dad, there isn’t a river, remember?’

  ‘Then go and get one, immediately,’ Dad chuckled.

  Mum had gone across to the reception desk. ‘Don’t pay any attention to that woman,’ Mum told the receptionist. ‘She’s just a bully. Some of these people you see on television think they’re so special, but they’re no better than the rest of us.’

  She reached across the counter and patted the woman’s hand. The receptionist nodded and

  sniffed. She was too choked to reply. Mum gave her an encouraging smile and came back to us. My mum’s like that. She’s great.

  As we headed for our rooms I asked Mum and Dad if they knew what star signs they were. Mum said she was Libra, the Scales, and Dad was Capricorn, the Goat.

  ‘Do you hear that, Nick?’ said Dad. ‘The Goat. My star sign is Rubbish!’

  ‘It certainly is,’ sighed Mum. ‘And you’re Scorpio, Nicholas. That means you are supposed to be creative and clever and a bit of a slyboots.’

  I grinned. That sounded pretty good to me. I liked the idea of being clever and cunning. ‘What about Cheese and Tomato? What sign are they?’

  Dad stopped dead, facing us, his eyes wide. His voice went all mysterious. ‘They were born under the Sign of Pizza,’ he pronounced, very slowly. Mum burst out laughing.

  ‘I’ll ask Kristal what the future is for people born under the Sign of Pizza,’ she said. ‘That should give her something to think about.’

  I lifted Tomato on to my shoulders for a ride.

  ‘So what do you think your future is, Tomato?’ I asked. She gurgled back at me.

  ‘Poo pants!’

  ‘Here we go again,’ moaned Mum.

  ‘Actually, she is a bit whiffy, Mum. I think she really has got poo pants.’

  ‘I predict her nappy needs changing,’ said Dad, waggling one finger. ‘The Sign of Pizza says today will be squidgy.’

  Mum gathered Tomato into her arms. ‘Every day is squidgy when you have small children. Come on, into the bathroom. Let’s get them sorted out.’

  If you ask me it’s pretty easy to predict what babies are going to do. You certainly know when they’ve done it. Yuk!

  6 Pinched!

  I had a bad dream last night, which is not surprising when you think about the day we’d had. I was being chased by giant babies and dwarf dogs. The giant babies were hurling disposable nappies at me. I was running to escape

  through a marsh made of baby food. I think it might have been stewed apples. It was horrible, gloopy stuff that sucked at my feet and wouldn’t let them go.

  The dwarf dogs, who were also wearing nappies, seemed able to bounce across it on their pogo legs. The giant babies were closing in on me. They were slurping on fat dummies and as they got closer the dummies came shooting out of their mouths at me. There was no escape. I was going to die, bombed with nappies and riddled with dummies.

  I woke up, sweating all over. For a moment I wondered where I was. Then I heard loud yapping from somewhere not far off. It was Kristal Gaze’s pesky dogs, and it was 2.00 a.m.! I slumped back on to my pillow and tried to sleep but the dogs went on and on – yap, yap, yap. The noise disturbed Cheese and he began to whimper quietly. Then Tomato started and soon they were both crying.

  I got up, took Cheese from his cot and cuddled him, trying to shush him quiet, but the yapping wouldn’t stop. It was the dogs that needed to shut

  up. Mum wandered in sleepily, with her hair all over the place. She yawned crossly, picked up Tomato and now we were both pacing the room, jiggling a baby on one shoulder and trying to get them back to sleep, but they went on crying.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ muttered Mum. ‘We should ring the manager and complain about the noise.’

  Even as Mum spoke the telephone in our room jangled. Mum looked at it in surprise for a second and then picked it up.

  ‘What!’ she shouted down the phone. ‘You must be joking! How dare she complain! You tell Kristal Gaze it was her dogs that woke the twins in the first place. They wouldn’t be crying if it hadn’t been for her stupid, wretched dogs.’ Mum slammed the phone back down on the table. Oh well, no prizes for guessing what that was about. It was another ten minutes before the dogs were quiet and the babies stopped crying immediately. They were so tired. We all were – apart from Dad, who just snored through the whole thing.

  ‘You can tell he was born under the sign of the Goat, can’t you?’ said Mum, as she headed back to bed. I wasn’t sure. I’ve no idea if goats snore or not.

  We were still really tired when the alarm went off in the morning but we couldn’t hang about because we had to get on the bus and drive for an hour to a different town, although we’d be coming back to the same hotel for another night.

  ‘And if that Kristal Gaze lets her dogs yap tonight I can promise you at least one murder will take place,’ hissed Mum. ‘And I shall start with the biggest.’

  ‘I never heard anything,’ said Dad, wondering what all the fuss was about. ‘What?’ he asked, noticing the black looks Mum and I were giving him. ‘What have I done now?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter, Dad. Forget it’

  Mr Dumper came and joined us. He hadn’t heard any yapping either and told us he’d slept like a baby.

  ‘I wish our babies had,’ Mum shot back at him.

  ‘They’re so cute,’ smiled Mr Dumper, and he patted Tomato’s head. ‘And how is Miss Curly-Top this morning?’ he asked.

  ‘Poo pants,’ spluttered Tomato, spraying out a mouthful of cereal at the same time.

  ‘No, Tomato. You say I’m very well, thank you for asking.’

  ‘My fault,’ said Mr Dumper. ‘Never ask a baby a question when they’re busy eating. Now then, are we all ready for the show?’

  ‘Same as yesterday?’ asked Dad.

  ‘Exactly, and let’s hope we have another Bumper Dumper sale on our hands. I can’t tell you how pleased I am with the way things are going.’

  I chewed my lip. Every time he mentioned nappies all I could think of was eight million of them being thrown away every day, and that was just in Britain. Imagine what it would be worldwide. Awesome. I was beginning to see a different Mr Dumper, although he looked jolly and happy and he certainly made things fun for us.

  Before we met him we were scraping pennies together. That’s why we’d started producing our own food in the back garden. But since Mr Dumper had made Cheese into the baby that sold his nappies, things were a lot better. What’s more, here he was taking us all on the amazing Dumper Tour AND putting us all up in posh hotels – even if they did have yappy dogs.

  But his Dumpers are part of a nappy mountain that will go on growing and will take at least five hundred years before it even starts to decompose. Does Mr Dumper know that? And if he does, is he going to do anything about it?

  Big questions, and I’m only eleven, so don’t expect me to answer them. All I know is, it worries me, and I think maybe it should be worrying him. But if he stops making Dumpers, then he won’t need Cheese, and if he doesn’t need Cheese he won’t need us and Cheese won’t get paid and we’ll be back to scraping pennies.

  My brain was beginning to get red hot with all that thinking. It was a good thing we had to busy

  ourselves packing the bus. It took my mind off the big stuff. It’s astonishing how much you have to remember to take with you when you’ve got a baby – and we’ve got two.

  We ended up parked outside a shiny new shopping mall for the second show of the tour. Mr Dumper and Cheese were planning to do three short sessions at half-hour intervals.

&nb
sp; ‘I’ve quadrupled the supply of Dumpers,’ he told us, rubbing his hands together. ‘I’m sure they’re going to sell like hot cakes.’

  He was right. I guess the crowd just love a cute little baby and Cheese was being extra cute, even if he had had a rough night. He giggled and gurgled and the crowd oohed and aahed. Meanwhile I kept an eye out for giant babies but there was nothing odd going on anywhere. The second show went just as well. Mr Dumper was shifting loads of nappies.

  ‘Isn’t this great!’ he beamed.

  ‘Eight million, two hundred and seventeen,’ I murmured back.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ I said weakly I asked Mum if I could go off and explore for a bit. I’d had

  enough of nappies for one day.

  ‘Half an hour,’ said Mum. ‘I want you back here before the last show finishes. Here, take my mobile in case there are any problems.’

  I nodded. Typical Mum – she was always worrying that I’d be kidnapped by aliens or something daft. I wandered off into the mall. It was pretty boring, all clothing and fancy electrical stuff I couldn’t possibly afford. I think I had about fifty pence in my pocket. I couldn’t even find a sweet shop so in the end I shuffled back to the tour bus.

  As I came out of the mall I heard a load of yelling and the roar of an engine. People were scattering in all directions. At first I couldn’t make out what was going on, and then I saw the tour bus.

  It was coming straight towards me at high speed. What on earth was happening? I jumped up and down, frantically waving my arms.

  ‘Stop! It’s me! Don’t go without me!’

  The tour bus didn’t stop. It carried on hurtling towards me. PHARRRRPPP! went the horn. I raced to one side, tripping over my own feet and rolling in the dust. I looked up just in time to see the tour bus whoosh past and a surge of hot air almost blew my T-shirt off.

  I’d seen them. I’d seen Mr Dumper and Mum and Tomato at one of the windows. And I’d seen the driver too – a giant baby. My family had just been stolen by the Natural Nappy Freedom Front!

  7 What Now?

  It wasn’t me who’d been kidnapped after all – it was Mum and the rest of the family. I stood there in a daze, watching the tour bus vanish in a cloud of dust. All I could think was – what’s happening? Why have the Double N Double F kidnapped my family? No, it couldn’t be kid-napping. The babies were kids, but Mum and Dad were grown-ups, so I guess they’d just been mum-and-dad-napped.

  I tried hard to think sensibly. Better ring the police. I got out the mobile and began dialling. A horrible thought made me stop at once. If the police found me without my parents they’d probably stick me in a Children’s Home, or maybe they’d say my parents didn’t look after me properly and take me away from them and give me to some other parents THAT I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW!

  I wanted to shout out and tell everyone, but that would cause the same trouble. Some adult would call the police and before I knew it I’d be taken into care. But I had to do something. What?

  Of course! I could ring them! I dialled Dad’s mobile. There was a pause, then a voice said: ‘This phone is not switched on. Please leave a message.’

  I switched off. What message could I leave Dad? ‘Guess what? You’ve been dad-napped!’ Even he must know that by now. Who else could I ring? The answer came to me like an elephant falling out of the sky. Granny and Lancelot. They would know what to do. I listened to the ringing at the other end. Gome on, answer, please, please, please answer!

  ‘Hello?’ It was Granny.

  ‘Granny, everyone’s been kidnapped!’

  ‘Is that Nicholas? Every bun is what, dear?’

  ‘Not buns – everyone. Mum and Dad have been stolen by giant babies and they’ve taken Cheese and Tomato too, and Mr Dumper. They’ve been driven away on the tour bus and I’m on my own and I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Why are your parents stealing babies? They’ve got two of their own already. Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘Granny, PLEASE don’t be all deaf and muddled now.’

  ‘You sound upset, Nicholas. Is it because of the giant buns? Did the babies eat them?’

  ‘THERE AREN’T ANY BUNS! Granny, go and get Lancelot.’

  ‘I think you’d better speak to Lancelot,’ said Granny. I heard her passing the phone across to Lancelot and telling him I was upset as there weren’t any buns because some babies had taken them but she didn’t know why I was ringing because there was nothing they could do about it. ‘You speak to him,’ she finished. ‘Tell him he can have some buns when he comes home.’

  ‘Nicholas?’ Lancelot’s deep voice was so reassuring I almost broke into tears. I spilled the whole story as quickly as I could.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he checked.

  ‘I’m not hurt or anything.’

  ‘Good. We’ll be with you as fast as we can. Your gran will ring when we get near.’

  ‘Does she have to?’ I asked weakly. ‘Can’t you ring instead?’ I didn’t think I could go through another conversation with Granny like the last one I’d had. Lancelot chuckled.

  ‘Good lad. Keep your spirits up and don’t worry. See you in an hour or so.’

  I found a bench and sat down. I felt exhausted and I hadn’t really done anything except make a phone call. I gazed around. It seemed so normal it was eerie. The shoppers were back looking in shop windows, pushing prams, eating burgers – all the everyday things you see on every high street in every town. It was almost as if the tour bus had not only vanished from sight, it had vanished from their memories, as if nothing had ever happened at all. I was the only person left on the planet who knew THE TRUTH!

  Apart from Mum and Dad, of course. And Cheese and Tomato. And Mr Dumper. And the Natural Nappy Freedom Front. And Granny and Lancelot. But apart from them, it was just me.

  And here’s another odd thing. Have you noticed how an hour sometimes feels like an hour, and sometimes it feels like about five minutes, and sometimes it feels like a week? Waiting for Lancelot and Granny felt like a year, but at last I heard the unmistakable roar of their motorbike. I stood on the bench to get a better view and soon saw them moving slowly down the road. Lancelot was driving. Granny was standing on the back seat behind him, searching for me with a telescope. She looked like a granny version of Lord Nelson.

  I waved my arms and shouted. ‘Over here, over here!’ She waved back and almost tumbled off the bike. She grabbed wildly at Lancelot, first of all clonking him on the helmet with the telescope and then almost pulling his head off in her struggle to keep her balance. He just managed to avoid driving straight into Woolworths.

  It was only when they had almost reached me that I realized they had a passenger in the sidecar. It was Rubbish, my goat.

  ‘Couldn’t leave her behind,’ explained Lancelot as he hugged me. ‘Nobody there to milk her so I thought I might as well bring her along. She could be useful.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘She can help us track them down,’ he explained.

  ‘Really?’ Irepeated.

  ‘Goats have an excellent sense of smell. I brought some of the babies’ clothes with me. She sniffs them and then we set her off on the scent trail, like a bloodhound.’ I opened my mouth to speak. ‘And don’t say “Really?” again, as if you don’t believe it. You’ve got to believe it, Nick. It’s our best chance of finding them. Just let her stretch her legs for a bit.’

  I nodded. If Lancelot said it was a good thing to do then it was. It was just that it sounded more like one of my dad’s crazy ideas.

  Granny pressed a paper bag into my hand. ‘These are for you,’ she beamed. I looked inside and smiled back at her.

  ‘Thanks, Gran.’ She’d brought me two buns.

  8 All the Thrill of the Chase

  Rubbish was so pleased to see me. I was quite pleased to see her too, but she was drawing a lot of attention to us. It wasn’t just Rubbish who was getting odd looks, either. People were staring suspiciously at Granny and Lancelot. I wasn’t


  surprised because they were in their full bike gear – leather trousers and leather jackets with fringes on the sleeves. Lancelot used to be in the Hell’s Angels when he was young and now he had studs all over the back of his jacket that spelled out the words:

  MAD, BAD AND ARTHRITIC

  Granny’s only said: FOSSIL. But I think that might have been the make of the jacket.

  A mother brought her little boy over to have a look at Rubbish.

  ‘Wabbit,’ he said, and his mother laughed.

  ‘Don’t be silly, darling. It’s a sheep.’

  Lancelot looked at me, winked and put a finger to his lips. ‘I think we’d better get going,’ he said. ‘Hοp in with the sheep, Nick. Your crash hat’s in there somewhere. Which way did the tour bus take off?’

  I pointed in the right direction and off we went. Granny was at the controls this time so that Lancelot could use his mobile. Granny had won motorbike races when she was young. It’s true! My granny – a motorbike champion!

  Lancelot shouted at me as we headed out of town. ‘I’m not just counting on Rubbish. I’ve got a few motorcycling mates from the old days. I’ve put out a call. They’re looking for the tour bus. Somebody’s bound to spot a big thing like that.’

  He was right. His phone began to ring and soon we were on the trail. My heart was lifting. It felt as if things had started to go our way and we were closing in. Mind you, I had no idea what we’d do once we’d tracked the giant babies down. Supposing they’d laid a trap? Supposing they were armed? Memories of my dream came flooding back – nappy-bombs and dummies whizzing past my head like bullets. Maybe the traps would turn out to be pits filled with stewed apples.

  Lancelot seemed to be on the mobile all the time now. Every so often he would lean forward and shout something to Granny. It was astonishing how she seemed able to hear what he said perfectly well even with a constant gale rushing past her ears as she flew down the road.