Never Say Moo to a Bull

by David Henry Wilson

  Plunk, pop, mm mm, went the thunder, which suddenly seemed quite a long way away. And the wind seemed to be whimpering, and the rain to be lightly pattering. The night wasn’t at all frightening really. You just need a little bit of courage, and even ghosts will leave you alone. Jeremy James smiled to himself, pinned an imaginary medal to his chest, and suddenly felt rather sleepy. He put out the light, curled up into a little ball, and – just to make quite sure he was safe – pulled the covers up over his head.

  ‘I saw a ghost last night,’ said Jeremy James at breakfast.

  ‘Did you, dear?’ said Mummy, presenting him with down-to-earth bacon and eggs. ‘That must have been nice.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t,’ said Jeremy James. ‘It was a bit frightening. Well, it would have been frightening if I’d been frightened.’

  ‘But you weren’t frightened, eh?’ said Daddy over the top of the newspaper.

  ‘No,’ said Jeremy James.

  ‘Good for you,’ said Daddy.

  ‘It had a long white robe on, and a crown, and its face was a skull,’ said Jeremy James, ‘and it knew my name, ’cos it spoke to me in a horrible whispery voice.’

  ‘When was this, dear?’ asked Mummy.

  ‘Last night,’ said Jeremy James. ‘During the storm. It came into my room and tried to take me away.’

  ‘What did you say it looked like?’ asked Daddy.

  ‘It had a crown on,’ said Jeremy James, ‘and its face was a skull, and it was wearing a shiny robe.’

  Daddy’s face suddenly broke into a big grin. And when Jeremy James looked at Mummy, she was grinning, too.

  ‘It wasn’t funny,’ said Jeremy James. ‘I could have been killed!’

  But then they started laughing, and they went on laughing until they just couldn’t laugh any more.

  ‘That ghost,’ said Daddy, puffing and wiping his eyes, ‘do you know who it was, Jeremy James?’

  ‘It was a dead king,’ said Jeremy James. ‘That’s who it was.’

  ‘It was me,’ said Mummy, ‘in my nightdress. I had white cream over my face, and I was wearing curlers. I always put them in before I go to bed!’

  ‘Mummy came in to close your window,’ said Daddy. ‘Because of the storm.’

  And Jeremy James sat there while Mummy and Daddy laughed out their last howls of laughter. And then they stopped laughing, and Mummy gave Jeremy James a big hug.

  ‘But weren’t you brave!’ she said. ‘You were so brave that it never occurred to me you might be frightened.’

  ‘I wasn’t frightened,’ said Jeremy James.

  ‘That’s what I mean,’ said Mummy. ‘You are a brave boy.’

  ‘Well, I can tell you,’ said Daddy, ‘when I see Mummy in face cream and curlers, it frightens me.’

  And as a special reward for his extraordinary bravery, Jeremy James was given a shiny 50p piece, and permission to spend it on a bar of chocolate. Which only goes to show that even if parents do the strangest things most of the time, they do just occasionally have some connection with the real world.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Father Christmas and Father Christmas

  Jeremy James first met Father Christmas one Saturday morning in a big shop. He was a little surprised to see him there, because it was soon going to be Christmas, and Jeremy James thought Santa Claus really ought to be somewhere in the North Pole filling sacks with presents and feeding his reindeer. However, there he was, on a platform in the toy department, handing out little parcels to the boys and girls who came to see him.

  ‘Here you are, Jeremy James,’ said Daddy, and handed him a £1 coin.

  ‘What’s that for?’ asked Jeremy James.

  ‘To give to Santa Claus,’ said Daddy. ‘You have to pay to go and see him. I’ll wait for you here.’

  Daddy stood rocking the twins in the pram, while Jeremy James joined the end of a long queue of children. (Mummy was busy studying turkeys in the food department.) Jeremy James thought it rather odd that he had to pay for Santa Claus. It was as if Santa Claus was a bar of chocolate or a packet of liquorice allsorts.

  ‘Do we really have to pay £1 to see him?’ he asked a tall boy in front of him.

  ‘Yeah,’ said the tall boy. ‘An’ he’ll prob’ly give you a plastic car worth 10p.’

  Jeremy James stood on tiptoe to try and catch a glimpse of Father Christmas. He could just see him, all wrapped up in his red cloak and hood, talking to a little girl with pigtails. It certainly was him – there was no mistaking the long white beard and the rosy cheeks. It was really quite an honour that Santa Claus should have come to this particular shop out of all the shops in the world, and perhaps he needed the £1 to help pay for his long journey. Jeremy James looked across towards Daddy, and they gave each other a cheery wave.

  As Jeremy James drew closer to Santa Claus, he felt more and more excited. Santa Claus seemed such a nice man. He was talking to each of the children before he gave them their present, and he would pat them on the head and sometimes let out a jolly laugh, and only once did he seem at all un-Father-Christmas-like; that was when a tall scruffy boy stepped up before him and said he hadn’t got £1 but he wanted a present all the same. Then Father Christmas pulled a very serious face and Jeremy James distinctly heard him ask the boy if he would like a thick ear, which seemed a strange sort of present to offer. The boy wandered off grumbling, and when he was some distance away stuck his tongue out at Santa Claus, but by then the next child was on the platform and the jolly smile had returned as the hand reached out for the £1 coin.

  Jeremy James noticed, with a slight twinge of disappointment, that the presents really were rather small, but as Santa Claus had had to bring so many, perhaps he simply hadn’t had room for bigger ones. It was still quite exciting to look at the different shapes and the different wrappings and try to guess what was inside them, and by the time Jeremy James came face to face with the great man, his eyes were shining and his heart was thumping with anticipation.

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked Santa Claus in a surprisingly young voice.

  ‘Jeremy James,’ said Jeremy James.

  ‘And have you got £1 for Santa Claus?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jeremy James, handing it over.

  Then Santa Claus gave a big smile, and his blue eyes twinkled out from below his bushy white eyebrows, and Jeremy James could see his shining white teeth between the bushy white moustache and the bushy white beard. All the bushy whiteness looked remarkably like cotton wool, and the redness on the cheeks looked remarkably like red paint, which made Jeremy James feel that Santa Claus really was very different from everybody else he knew.

  ‘Is it for your reindeer?’ asked Jeremy James.

  ‘What?’ asked Santa Claus.

  ‘The £1,’ said Jeremy James.

  ‘Ah,’ said Santa Claus, ‘ah well . . . in a kind of a sort of a manner of speaking as you might say. Now then Jeremy James, what do you want for Christmas?’

  ‘Oh, I’d like a tricycle, with a bell and a saddlebag. Is that what you’re going to give me?’

  ‘Ah no, not exactly,’ said Santa Claus, ‘not now anyway. Not for £1, matey. But here’s a little something to keep you going.’ And Santa Claus handed him a little oblong packet wrapped in Father-Christmassy paper.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jeremy James. ‘And do you really live in the North Pole?’

  ‘Feels like it sometimes,’ said Santa Claus. ‘My landlord never heats the bedrooms. Off you go. Next!’

  Jeremy James carried his little packet across to where Mummy had joined Daddy to wait with the twins.

  ‘Open it up then,’ said Daddy.

  Jeremy James opened it up. It was a little box. And inside the little box was a plastic car.

  ‘Worth at least 5p,’ said Daddy.

  ‘Ten,’ said Jeremy James.

  Jeremy James’s second meeting with Santa Claus came a week and a day later. It was at a children’s party in the church hall. The party began with the Reverend Cole hobbli
ng on to the platform and saying several times in his creaky voice that he hoped everyone would enjoy themselves, and the party was to end with Santa Claus coming and giving out the presents. In between, there were games, eating and drinking, and more games. As soon as the first lot of games got underway, the Reverend Cole hobbled out of the hall, and nobody even noticed that he’d gone. The games were very noisy and full of running around, and as Jeremy James was extremely good at making a noise and running around, he enjoyed himself.

  The eating and drinking bit came next, and Jeremy James showed that he was just as good at eating and drinking as he was at making a noise and running around. In fact, Mummy, who was one of the helpers (having left Daddy at home to mind the twins and the television set), actually stopped him when he was on the verge of breaking the world record for the number of mince pies eaten at a single go. When at last there was not a crumb left on any of the tables, the helpers cleared the empty paper plates and the empty paper cups and the not so empty wooden floor. After a few more games full of shrieks and squeaks and bumps and thumps, all the children had completely forgotten about Santa Claus, but Santa Claus had not forgotten them. At the stroke of six o’clock, one of the grown-ups called for everyone to keep quiet and stand still, and at ten past six, when everyone was quiet and standing still, the hall door opened, and in came Father Christmas.

  The first thing Jeremy James noticed about Father Christmas was how slowly he walked – as if his body was very heavy and his legs were weak. He was wearing the same red coat and hood as before, and he had a white beard and moustache, but . . . somehow they were not nearly so bushy. His cheeks were nice and red, but . . . he was wearing a pair of spectacles. And when he called out to the children: ‘Merry Christmas, everyone, and I hope you’re enjoying yourselves!’ his voice was surprisingly creaky and hollow-sounding.

  Jeremy James frowned as Santa Claus heaved himself and his sack up on to the platform. There was definitely something strange about him. The other children didn’t seem to notice, and they were all excited as the helpers made them line up, but perhaps the others had never met Santa Claus before, so how could they know?

  Jeremy James patiently waited for his turn, and when it came, he stepped confidently up on to the platform.

  ‘Now . . . er . . . what’s your name?’ asked Santa Claus, peering down at Jeremy James.

  ‘You should remember,’ said Jeremy James. ‘It was only a week ago that I told you.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Santa Claus. ‘I do have a terrible memory.’

  ‘And a week ago,’ said Jeremy James, ‘you weren’t wearing glasses, and your voice wasn’t all creaky like it is now.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Santa Claus, ‘wasn’t I . . . er . . . wasn’t it?’

  Jeremy James looked very carefully at Santa Claus’s face, and Santa Claus looked back at Jeremy James with a rather puzzled expression in his . . . brown eyes.

  ‘Santa Claus has blue eyes!’ said Jeremy James.

  ‘Oh!’ said Santa Claus, his mouth dropping open in surprise.

  ‘And he’s got white teeth, too!’ said Jeremy James.

  ‘Hm!’ said Santa Claus, closing his mouth in dismay.

  ‘You’re not Santa Claus at all,’ said Jeremy James. ‘You’re not!’

  And so saying, Jeremy James turned to the whole crowd of children and grown-ups, and announced at the top of his voice.

  ‘He’s a cheat! He’s not Father Christmas!’

  Father Christmas rose unsteadily to his feet, and as he did so, his hood fell off, revealing a shiny bald head. Father Christmas hastily raised a hand to pull the hood back on, but his hand brushed against his beard and knocked it sideways, and as he tried to save his beard, he brushed against his moustache, and that fell off altogether, revealing beneath it the face of . . . the Reverend Cole.

  ‘There!’ said Jeremy James. ‘That proves it!’

  One or two of the children started crying, but then the man who had been organizing the games jumped up on to the platform and explained that the real Santa Claus was very busy preparing for Christmas, and that was why the Reverend Cole had had to take his place. They hadn’t wanted to disappoint the children. And it was just bad luck that there’d been such a clever boy at the party, but the clever boy should be congratulated all the same on being so clever, and if they could just go on pretending that the Reverend Cole was the real Santa Claus, the clever boy should have two presents as a special reward for being so clever.

  Then the Reverend Cole put on his beard and moustache and hood again, and everybody clapped very loudly as Jeremy James collected his two presents. And they were big presents, too – a book of bible stories, and a set of paints and brushes. As Jeremy James said to Mummy on the way home:

  ‘It’s funny that the real Santa Claus only gave me a rotten old car for £1, but Reverend Cole gave me these big presents for nothing.’

  But as Father Christmas was a grown-up, and the Reverend Cole was also a grown-up, Jeremy James knew there was no point in trying to understand it all. Grown-ups never behave in the way you’d expect them to.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Waiting for Christmas

  ‘The trouble with Christmas,’ said Jeremy James, ‘is the time in between.’

  ‘In between what?’ said Mummy, tinselling the Christmas tree.

  ‘Well, in between whenever it is and Christmas,’ said Jeremy James. ‘Like in between today and Christmas. If there wasn’t time in between, it would be Christmas now, and I wouldn’t have to wait for my presents.’

  ‘Ouch!’ said Daddy, sticking a pin into a paper chain and a thumb. ‘Blooming pins . . . never go where you want them to go.’

  It was ever such a long time before Christmas – in fact a whole week. The world outside was like a giant birthday cake, covered with icing-snow, candle-trees, and houses made of candy. People walking down the street were all muffled up, showing nothing but their red cheeks and their shining eyes and their steam-engine puffs of breath. Inside, it was cosy and warm, and Mummy had been busy bathing and feeding the twins, cleaning the house, cooking the lunch and decorating the Christmas tree, while Daddy had been putting up a paper chain. Paper chains were difficult things to put up. Especially when Daddy was putting them up. They seemed to have minds of their own when Daddy put them up: while he stuck one end to the wall, the other end would curl round his arm and his neck, so that he could only straighten it out by unsticking the end he had stuck, but then when he’d unstuck that end, it would also twine round his other arm, and he would finish up by having to break the paper chain in the middle in order to find his arms again. Daddy didn’t like paper chains, and paper chains didn’t seem too fond of Daddy.

  ‘Mummy,’ said Jeremy James. ‘Daddy’s sucking his thumb again.’

  ‘I can see we shall have to put another plaster on it,’ said Mummy.

  ‘Pin went practically right through it,’ said Daddy. ‘Another millimetre and you could have put me in somebody’s butterfly collection.’

  ‘Well,’ said Mummy, ‘let’s hope you’ll recover in time to get that paper chain up before Christmas.’

  ‘How far away is Christmas?’ asked Jeremy James.

  ‘Just ten minutes less than when you last asked,’ said Mummy. ‘A week, dear. Seven days and seven nights.’

  ‘Well I don’t think I can wait that long,’ said Jeremy James. ‘They should make it come earlier.’

  ‘You can have your presents tomorrow if you like,’ said Daddy. ‘Only won’t you be disappointed next week, when everybody else is getting presents and you’re getting nothing!’

  ‘You could have yours, too!’ said Jeremy James.

  ‘No thank you,’ said Daddy. ‘Otherwise we’ll finish up celebrating the New Year with Easter eggs.’

  Jeremy James was bursting to give Mummy and Daddy their presents. He wanted to give them their presents almost as much as he wanted them to give him his. He had saved up for ages and ages, and had given a great deal of thought to
these presents, and he had bought them today all by himself at the sweet shop round the corner. Now they were nestling in a very secret place where no one would ever dream of looking: under his bed. There were two presents – one, a bright box of liquorice allsorts with a robin on it, and the other, a thick bar of chocolate with Santa Claus on it. And the only problem Jeremy James had with these two perfect presents was to decide which one he should give to whom. He could easily imagine Mummy opening the bright box and saying, ‘Here, Jeremy James, have a liquorice allsort.’ But he could just as easily imagine her breaking the thick bar of chocolate and saying, ‘Here, Jeremy James, have a piece of chocolate.’ On the other hand, he could hear Daddy saying, ‘Here, Jeremy James, have some liquorice allsorts.’ But Daddy would also say, ‘Here, Jeremy James, have some chocolate.’ It was a very difficult decision indeed.

  Mummy’s Christmas tree was looking more and more like an enchanted forest, and Daddy’s paper chain was looking more and more like confetti. It might be best to concentrate on Mummy. There were two things Jeremy James wanted to know: would Mummy prefer chocolate or liquorice allsorts, and what was Jeremy James getting for Christmas? They were very easy questions for Mummy to answer, but Jeremy James knew from experience that grown-ups didn’t like answering questions. For instance, he’d asked Mummy how the twins had got into her stomach, but she hadn’t told him, though she must have known because, after all, it was her stomach. And he’d asked Daddy how much money he’d got, but Daddy hadn’t told him, though he must have known because, after all, it was his money. Grown-ups are very quick at asking you and ordering you and stopping you and starting you, but when it comes to answering you, they can be very slow indeed.

  ‘Mummy,’ said Jeremy James, casually poking a holly berry with his toe, ‘which do you think is nicer, chocolate or liquorice allsorts?’