Suzy P and the Trouble with Three

by Karen Saunders

  I don’t reply.

  “What’s up?” Millie asks. “You’re acting kind of weird.”

  “I’m fine,” I mumble.

  “So you’ll come?”

  “We’re going to get into a whole heap of trouble if we get caught,” I say.

  “So we don’t get caught,” Millie says, like it’s obvious.

  “I’m just not sure…”

  “Weren’t you having fun last night?” Millie asks.

  I wrinkle my nose. “Not really,” I admit.

  I want to tell her how I felt awkward and uncomfortable and babyish compared to everyone else. How I felt ignored and left out. How I felt majorly boring for not wanting to play spin the bottle because I have a boyfriend.

  “Um, are you going to break up with Jamie?” I say instead. I hate not knowing what’s going on.

  Millie looks at me like I’m insane. “What? No! Why’d you say that?”

  “Because of last night. You kissed Ben.”

  “It wasn’t a proper kiss,” Millie says.

  “Looked that way to me,” I say.

  “It was only on the cheek,” Millie says, frowning. “Did you really think I’d do that to Jamie?”

  “I dunno,” I say. “It looked pretty bad.”

  “After everything that happened with you and Zach, I can’t believe you thought I’d do the same thing to Jamie,” Millie says. She seems really miffed.

  Oof. That was kind of out of order, bringing Zach into things.

  “You know what, let’s just forget it,” I say.

  “Let’s,” Millie says, forcing a smile. “I’ve got to get back. Isabella wants us to nail this routine for tonight. The boys are coming so she wants it to be perfect. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  The rest of the day is spent sulking by myself as everyone busies themselves with last minute practising for the talent show.

  Considering nobody apart from Mum was all that bothered about it, all of a sudden, people seem very keen to win.

  Finally it’s the evening, and we’re getting ready to head over to the entertainment tent.

  “Everyone ready?” Mum asks, walking out of the caravan, Clare following close behind. “Dad’ll be with us in a minute.”

  She and Clare are dressed in matching jeans and white T-shirts. They did their best to make Murphy look presentable, but he ran away before supper and rolled in a cow pat, requiring a hasty wash-down in the showers. He’s still whiffing of eau du bovine, and his curly fur is sticking out at all angles. Maybe Murphy and I have more in common than I knew.

  Harry stands up. She’s dressed as a wizard, with a bin liner cape that’s been covered in tin foil stars. She’s fashioned herself a wizard’s hat that doesn’t stay on properly, so she’s holding it with one hand, and clasping Hagrid with the other. The most surprising thing of all is that she’s wearing the skirt she chose the other day. To the best of my knowledge, Harry’s never worn a skirt in her life. Who’s she trying to impress?

  “I can’t wait to go and perform my magic in front of a proper audience,” she says, tugging at the hem of her skirt.

  “What, to all three people coming?” I ask.

  “Oh, you’re just grumpy because you’re not taking part any more,” Harry retorts.

  “Relieved, more like,” I say.

  “Go on, Amber, out you get,” Dad says from inside. “I need to get dressed.”

  “Oof,” Amber says, her hand clutching her ever-expanding bump as she joins us in the awning.

  “Seat?” I offer my sister.

  “No thanks,” she says, wincing. “Oooh, these weird pains. I think if I sit down I’ll never get up again. Mum, can you get me some salt water to gargle with? I need to warm up my vocal cords.”

  “Of course,” Mum says. “You’re going to catch your death in that,” I hear her say to Dad as she returns with the water and passes the glass to Amber.

  “Thanks,” Amber says. She tips her head back and gargles enthusiastically, before spitting the water into the glass. “La la la la la la la…” she trills. “I can sing, I can sing, I can sing,” she says, getting higher and more out of tune. “This is what Conni G does before a performance, I saw it on YouTube,” she explains, seeing the funny looks we’re giving her.

  “Yeah, and look how well Conni’s singing career went,” I say. Conni released a terrible single earlier in the year, that, despite a string of media appearances featuring her pregnant body in a skintight lemon-yellow lycra catsuit, only managed to scrape into the charts at number sixty. Amber bought about eight copies, ‘to be supportive’.

  “Her song was great,” Amber says loyally. “It didn’t get enough radio airplay, that’s all.”

  I’m pondering getting into a debate with Amber over the merits of Conni G’s musical talents when a shout comes from inside the caravan.

  “Are you lot ready?” yells Dad. “Brace yourselves. I’m coming out.”

  Oh dear Lord. Oh no, no no no no.

  Dad’s squeezed himself into tiny gold hot pants, gold boots and absolutely nothing else.

  There isn’t enough brain bleach on the planet to recover from this.

  His beer gut, hairy chest and pasty chicken legs are on display for the whole world to see. Plus, it’s so cold, he’s covered in goosebumps and is turning a rather nasty shade of purple.

  “These trunks fitted better when I was a student,” Dad says, tugging the side of his shorts and wincing as he pulls some leg hair.

  “That’s because you were about two stone lighter back then,” Mum says.

  “Oh, ha ha,” Dad replies. “I admit, I’ve put on a few pounds, but they still fit, don’t they?”

  He bends down to grab two large, battered, rectangular cases.

  “What’s in there?” Harry asks.

  “Just wait,” Dad says with a grin. “I don’t want anything to take away from the surprise. You’re going to be blown away. Now, let’s go. I hope there’s heating in that marquee, I’m freezing.” For the first time he properly clocks Harry’s outfit.

  “Harry, what are you wearing? Oh God… it’s happening. You’re becoming just like the rest of them!”

  Dad stops his moaning as Millie and Isabella duck into the awning. They take one look at Dad and stop dead. Millie’s mouth flaps open and shut, her eyes blinking at twice the normal speed. Isabella on the other hand, is clearly horrified.

  “I’m so sorry, we’ll let you finish getting dressed.”

  Dad laughs. “No, you’re fine, I’m ready. This is my costume. Right, now we’re all here, let’s go.”

  I don’t want to think what we look like as we traipse across the field. I’m trying to catch up with Millie, who’s ahead, speaking to Clare. Millie’s voice is raised.

  “Why won’t you do it?” Millie says.

  “It’s not that easy,” Clare says. “I’m doing my best but there are problems on both sides, okay?”

  “But if you ring…”

  Clare sighs heavily and rubs her hand across her head. “Please drop it, okay? Let’s not do this here. There’s a lot you don’t understand and you’re really not helping.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. I said, not now.”

  What are they talking about? Their voices sound so tense.

  There are stifled titters when we enter the marquee and people catch sight of Dad. He takes it all in good humour, laughing and slapping his beer belly enthusiastically, getting the crowd on side as they whoop and applaud him.

  Millie and Isabella clock the boys sitting on the far side of the tent and immediately distance themselves from the rest of us, waving at them.

  There are plastic chairs set up around the horribly precarious looking ‘stage’ in the middle of the tent, and quite a lot of people here. I guess they were bored and had nothing better to do tonight. All the boys have come, plus Dave. And just behind us, Cat and Jem have walked in with some people I presume must be their parents.

  As we settle into o
ur seats, I notice Millie’s got a weird expression on her face and keeps staring off into the distance. The marquee is filled with the sound of chattering, which dies down when Devon walks in and heaves himself up onto the stage, smiling.

  “Welcome, everyone,” Devon says, with a quick glance at his clipboard. “Thank you so much for coming to our exciting event! Tonight we’ve got nineteen acts to watch – it’s a brilliant turnout. I’m sure you’re all going to have a wonderful time, and don’t forget, there are some fantastic prizes to be won, worth hundreds of pounds!”

  There’s an intake of breath and Devon laughs. “Oh yes. I can tell you’re excited. Right, let’s get cracking. I did a random draw earlier and the first act is… Clare and Jen with Murphy and Crystal Fairybelle!”

  A few boos ring out as Mum, Clare and the two dogs take to the stage.

  Murphy’s not made many friends here.

  “I’m not sure about this,” Millie mutters in my ear. “Murphy’s got that look in his eye – that one he gets when he’s about to do something wild.”

  “Let me know when you want me to start your music,” Devon calls, hovering with his hand over the play button on the stereo.

  Mum and Clare take their places on stage, Mum holding Crystal and Murphy trotting between them.

  Clare unclips the lead and Millie grabs my hand in alarm. “This isn’t going to end well,” she hisses. “Mum,” she calls. “Be careful with Murphy!”

  But Clare doesn’t hear.

  “We’re ready,” Mum calls to Devon, who hits the play button.

  Mum and Clare fix smiles onto their faces, and start walking jauntily across the stage. You can see Mum’s lips moving as she counts the number of steps she needs to take.

  But Murphy doesn’t go anywhere. In fact, he sits down, watches for a moment, and starts to howl. He howls so loudly you can hardly hear the music, then he lies down, flips onto his back, and yowls some more, waving his legs in the air.

  “Stop it, Murphy!” Clare says, tugging at his collar. Behind her, Mum looks unsure, but carries on strutting.

  Crystal Fairybelle’s actually doing pretty well, trotting prettily and looking adorable. But Murphy howls again, then jumps to his feet, barks like he’s gone mad, takes a flying leap off the stage, barges through the chairs and starts running laps of the marquee. He runs faster and faster, head down, ears flapping, moving so fast he’s just a blur.

  I have to admit, it’s pretty funny. And lots of other people agree too, especially when Clare starts to chase him. Up on the stage, Mum stops dancing. “I’ve forgotten what to do,” she mouths.

  “Well, that was entertaining,” Devon announces, after Murphy has been reclaimed and Mum and Clare have sat down, the panting Murphy between them, lead clipped firmly back on.

  We sit through a couple more acts – a small boy with a screechy recorder, followed by a young gymnast who’s actually really good, but the stage is a little too small. Then Devon announces it’s Amber’s turn.

  “I’m going to sing a love song,” Amber announces. Her eyes are already glistening with tears. “This is for my husband, who’s not with us. He’s the father of my babies, and I miss him so much…”

  “He’s not dead,” Devon interjects quickly, seeing several members of the audience showing signs of alarm. “He’s fine. Rings me all the time.”

  Amber sniffs loudly and takes a deep breath. “Okay. You can play the music now. I’m ready.”

  As the high notes of the ballad ring out, Amber starts to sing. “I miss you daily, nightly…” She’s getting more upset and more out of tune as the song goes on. She makes it as far as the chorus before she cracks. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry, everyone. I miss him too much.” She sits down, burying her head in her hands as she weeps loud, snorty sobs.

  Harry’s up next. She climbs up onto the stage where she places her bag down onto a chair. Ant applauds her enthusiastically. As Harry opens the bag to retrieve her playing cards, Hagrid pokes out his nose and sniffs the air.

  “It’s a rat!” someone screams. A lady jumps to her feet and pushes her chair back.

  “Rat! Rat!”

  Squeals ring out around the tent.

  “He’s friendly,” Harry calls, but she can hardly be heard over the noise.

  “Would it help if I put him down?” Harry asks, placing Hagrid on the floor by her feet.

  Another lady stands up, knocking her chair over backwards, and sprints out of the tent.

  “I think you need to go back to your seat,” Devon says kindly, patting Harry’s shoulder as the screams intensify. “And I’d put the rat away if I were you. Quickly.”

  “But I’ve not done any of my tricks,” Harry says, looking gutted. “There’s a really good one where I make Hagrid disappear under a cup and reappear on my shoulder.”

  “I’m sorry,” Devon says. “Another time.”

  After Harry there’s a woman called Mimi who performs a deeply inappropriate dance dressed as a French maid, complete with garter and low-cut top revealing way more cleavage than is fitting for a family show. She doesn’t do much apart from trot around the stage, bending provocatively as she pouts and dusts the front row, but most of the men in the audience seem to enjoy it. Dad gets a firm jab in the ribs from Mum as he gives Mimi some very hearty applause.

  “And now we’ve got Millie and Isabella, who are performing a dance routine,” Devon says.

  The boys roar their approval as Millie and Isabella take to the stage. Cat and Jem don’t clap, and do their best to look bored.

  The Drifting music rings out in the tent… and they’re brilliant. They look great, in their matching costumes and sky-high heels and they’ve not got a foot out of place. As much as part of me is willing Isabella to fall over, or slip on her bum, or something equally mean and uncharitable, another part is really impressed. After they’ve finished, they give each other triumphant smiles, and Isabella looks extremely smug. I can tell she thinks they’ve got it in the bag.

  More acts pass, and then Devon’s back on the stage again.

  “Now we have our final act of the evening,” Devon says. “It’s a very mysterious one… we have Chris, doing ‘entertainment’, so let’s see what he’s got in store for us.”

  I sink into my chair, trying to hide my face as Dad squeezes past. He kneels down on the stage and pulls some juggling batons out of one of the cases. All that hype, for some juggling?

  Then Dad also pulls out a trombone.

  Say what now? Dad plays the trombone?

  And then he unclips the other case.

  From which he pulls out a unicycle.

  Dad clambers onto the unicycle, trombone balanced on one arm, and starts to cycle around the stage, before playing the song that accompanies every circus performance I’ve ever seen. I hate to admit it, but he’s actually pretty good. Yeah, sure, there are a few duff notes, but the man’s wearing next to nothing and balancing on one wheel, for goodness sake.

  “More!” the crowd screams, thoroughly overexcited. “More!”

  Dad jumps off the unicycle to grab the batons and a match, and sets fire to them. The ends ignite with a WHOOOPHF! and then he’s holding three canes of ferocious flames.

  Devon goes pale. “Health and safety!” he shouts, grabbing a bucket of water from beside the marquee.

  He throws the water all over Dad, who looks utterly put out.

  In more ways than one.

  The crowd seems to think it’s part of the act, and goes bananas.

  “That’s all we’ve got time for,” Devon says crossly, ignoring the boos from the crowd, who clearly want to see Dad set fire to himself. “Now it’s time to vote. We’ll divide the contenders into pairs, and cheer for each person. The one in each pair that gets the loudest cheer will go through, and we’ll whittle down to the final two that way. Okay?”

  Devon’s convoluted voting system takes a while. Mum, Clare and the dogs don’t get anywhere, and nor does Amber, who’s still crying to herself and hasn
’t really noticed anything else going on. Harry also gets knocked out in the first round. Ant rushes up to the side of the stage to greet her.

  “You were robbed,” Ant says loyally. “I’d love to see the trick with Hagrid and the cup if you still want to show me.”

  “Sure,” Harry says, beaming.

  Up on stage, the French maid has been eliminated and only leaves after giving Devon a thorough dusting.

  Now the two acts left are Millie and Isabella, and Dad. Yes. My father in his scary tight pants could be about to win this thing.

  Mum’s jumping around like crazy, clapping her hands above her head.

  “Right then, ladies and gents,” Devon says, clearly relishing his role as MC. “Our last two acts. We’ve got our lovely dancers and our unicycling, trombone playing, fire-starter here. Let’s start with applause for the dancers.”

  There are pretty loud cheers, especially from Ben and Tom. But they get louder still when Devon announces Dad.

  “I think it’s obvious we have our winner. Well done, Chris!”

  Millie congratulates Dad, and I can tell that she means it, but Isabella hasn’t moved. I stifle a snigger at her expression. She was so sure she had the prize in the bag.

  Ah well. I guess nobody expected a half-naked, middle-aged man tromboning on a unicycle. It’s hard to compete against that.

  “And now the prizes,” Devon announces.

  “For you two in second place, you win a bundle of firewood each! A great prize, I’m sure you’ll agree. Should keep you going for a good few nights.”

  Snort. This is getting funnier by the minute. Isabella now looks like someone’s kicked her in the face, she’s so horrified. All that effort, and she’s won some sticks?

  “Thanks,” Millie says, taking her voucher. She’s trying not to smirk, I can tell. At least she can see the funny side.

  “And now our star prize,” Devon says, grimacing slightly. “It’s a fantastic treat. We’d like to award our winner tonight one week’s free camping next year, here at this site!”

  Devon doesn’t look exactly overjoyed at the thought of us returning, but that’s nothing compared to Dad’s expression. His face falls as Devon thrusts a bottle of elderflower champagne into his hands.