by Nigel Smith
It’s comical to get pushed so hard on the swing that you fly off and land face first in the paddling pool.
It’s completely hysterical to get locked out of your holiday chalet wearing only a beach towel, which then gets whipped away by the rotten Dog.
So presumably it’s side-splittingly, pant-wettingly HILARIOUS to be chased up a tree by a savage goose, while your father is dressed as a clown, while the world watches you.
But that was later.
For now, Nat was still looking out of the window at the fields where Dad had just pulled over, presumably to get a map out. They were lost, and she was mega late. And even if she jumped out she wouldn’t know which way to go. She looked around for landmarks, like they were told to in geography lessons. Bridge, church, woods, pylon, clown in the front seat.
CLOWN IN THE FRONT SEAT????
Nat screamed.
“It’s only me, daft girl,” Dad chuckled, seeing the funny side of her near heart attack. “I’m writing an article about what it’s like to be a children’s entertainer. I’m doing research. Meet Mister Chuckles. I’m due at the petting zoo in half an hour, and thought it best to change now, while we’ve stopped. Why are you trying to get out of the van?”
If he thinks Mister Chuckles is dropping me off within a mile of the school gates, he’s barmy, Nathalia thought, rattling the door handle. Time to bale out. Of course, the handle was stuck. Nothing of Dad’s ever worked properly.
“I don’t want to alarm you …” said Dad in a voice that meant BE HUGELY ALARMED. WHAT I’M ABOUT TO SAY IS PHENOMENALLY ALARMING. GET READY TO PANIC.
“ … but Ned is ever so slightly on fire.”
Nathalia screamed and finally forced open the slidy door. She shot out like a cork from a bottle of fizz, followed by a cruet set, a tent and the Dog. She looked around. Through the smoke – smoke? Smoke!! – she saw there were no other vehicles coming down the road to rescue them. By now Dad was outside. He lifted up the red-hot bonnet, and obviously burnt his fingers. So he obviously dropped the bonnet. On his head, obviously.
“Aaagh!” said Dad, head in the hot engine. It looked like he was being eaten by the van. Then he said some of those words Nathalia would file away for later use. Eventually he extricated himself, his orange curly wig smoking slightly.
“No signal,” said Dad, waving his mobile. Let’s try up that hill, we’ll get better reception. I’ll get the breakdown van out. Come on, we’re going to be late.”
He hopped over a hedge and began trudging up the hill. He had an oversized comedy bike horn strapped to his shoe.
Honk honk, it went.
Nathalia followed him miserably.
Honk honk.
We look like escapees from a circus, Nat thought. Mister Chuckles and his midget.
Honk honk.
But that honk was a different honk.
“Only a goose,” said Dad, marching on. “Did you know that the Romans used to use them as guard dogs? Very interesting actually, they’re just as savage as … oh dear, it seems to be— RUN!”
The next moments went by in a blur. She ran straight into Dad, who had spun round and was retreating as fast as his size 15 clown shoes would allow, knocking them both flying. The Dog, who was not a brave dog, did not cover himself in glory. He took one look at the indignant goose with its huge flapping wings and wide-open, snapping beak, and hopped back over the hedge, scrambled into the Atomic Dustbin, and hid under the table until it was all over.
“We’ll never make it back to the van,” panted Dad. “Get up that tree.”
Within five minutes of hiding up the tree, Dad’s shoulders shook and his eyes filled with tears. Don’t you dare, thought Nat. Don’t you DARE see the funny side.
Too late. Dad’s giggles turned to chuckles, turned to guffaws. He pointed at the helicopter and at the goose and the smoking van and at his clown gear, and threw his head back and roared with laughter.
Nat aimed a conker at his nose.
VENTUALLY, ONCE THE GOOSE HAD GOT BORED AND the van had stopped smoking, Nathalia and Dad and the shamed Dog and Ned the Atomic Dustbin and a young German hitch-hiker called Jurgen who had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, approached the school gates.
The unfortunate Jurgen, trapped between a kitchen unit and a tin bath, was regretting the lift. “Danke,” he said. “I get out now, please.” He pushed the Dog off his numb legs and tried to stand. He hit his head on something sharp and sat down again, dizzy. Nathalia thought she saw his lip tremble.
“I vill pay you to let me go.”
“He’s just got a mild concussion from when I stopped to pick him up and slightly ran him over,” said Dad cheerfully. “I’ll pop him up to Accident and Emergency after I drop you off.”
Nathalia stared at the pale, miserable tourist, who was looking for something to be sick in. Welcome to my world, Jurgen, she thought. Welcome to my world.
“People say I’m lucky to be an only child,” she said, “because I get ALL Dad’s attention. Then they meet him.”
Jurgen nodded, in between dry heaves. “Zere is such a zing as – hueer – too much attention.”
Then Nat heard the telltale squeal of the brakes. Dad had started to turn into the school drive …
“Dad, NO! What are you doing? Don’t go in, just drop me off. Preferably two streets away. DAD …”
“Don’t be silly, love, you’ve made us late enough as it is.”
“I’ve made us late? I’VE MADE US LATE??”
“Well it was you who insisted we waited for the breakdown van,” replied Dad. “I told you once the engine had cooled Ned would be fine.”
“Ned is NOT fine. The breakdown man said it was the worst vehicle he’d seen in his ENTIRE LIFE. And he came from Something-Stan, where they make cars from empty bean tins and roof tiles.”
Dad laughed. “You do make me laugh,” he said unnecessarily. “Here we are. I’ll just find a space to park. It’s no bother.”
There was a crunching noise.
“Don’t worry, the wing mirrors on those new cars are designed to snap off like that.”
Dad finally found a space. It had a sign by it that read:
“You can’t park here, Dad.”
“It’s only for a few minutes, while I take you inside.”
“WHAT? You’re not coming in with me.”
“I’ll need to explain why you’re so late. It’s very nearly lunch time.”
But Nathalia was already standing outside on the tarmac. She shut the door on Jurgen, who pressed his white face against the glass in despair.
“Just write me a note. Tomorrow. Loveyoumissyoubye …” and off she ran into the school.
In the staff room, two pinch-faced teachers watched Nathalia from an open window as they sipped whatever liquid it was that the coffee machine had given them.
Late, thought Miss Austen. I don’t like late pupils. I’ll keep an eye on her.
She’s running, thought Miss Eyre. Seems a bit keen to me. I don’t like pupils thinking they’re teacher’s pet. I’ll keep an eye on her.
But then the caretaker Mr MacAnuff walked past the window with just a vest on and they both decided to keep an eye on him instead.
Miss Austen sniffed her drink. “This coffee substitute smells even worse than usual,” she said, wrinkling her nose and causing her face powder to shower down on to her frilly white blouse. “It smells like smoke and engine oil.”
“I thought it was an improvement,” said Miss Eyre, not taking her eyes off Mr MacAnuff. He seemed to be bent double and coughing, as if, for example, he’d suddenly breathed in a load of smoke and engine oil.
Nathalia reached the main school doors. They towered above her. She realised they were much bigger than the ones at her last school. She felt very small. In her old school she had known where everything was and how everything worked. Now she was starting again.
Maybe it would be different this time! She had always quite liked the IDEA of school. She th
ought it probably could be OK, if it wasn’t for Dad embarrassing her all the time.
Like the Dads’ 100-metres race at her last school’s Sports Day that had ended up with him in casualty, or the school barbecue that had ended up with him in the burns unit, or the school fete that had ended up with him in court. Disaster just seemed to follow Dad around.
Nat was a bright girl – like her mum – so school shouldn’t have been a problem for her. Nat wasn’t like Dad. She didn’t like jokes. She liked facts. Though admittedly this was mostly so she could know more than him, to prove he was wrong about everything. Once at primary school this had nearly backfired on her because she learned so many facts that her school wanted to move her up a year. That would have been a definite social disaster, with or without the most embarrassing dad in the world. So when the exams came round, she wrote answers like:
Name the six wives of Henry the Eighth – Beyonce, Cleopatra, Parmesan, Fabreeze, Bilbo and my Nan.
What are the two books of the bible? – The old testicle and the new testicle.
What comes out of a volcano? – Hot saliva.
And so on. She would never admit it to herself, but she rather enjoyed doing it. When the results came out she didn’t move up a year, though she still came third in her class, just below the boy who could shove eight crayons up his nose.
I should go to a better school, she had thought.
Well, now she WAS at a better school. Better and much, much bigger, she thought, looking up at the huge doors in front of her. OK, Nat, she told herself sternly, yes, you’re the new girl and yes, you’ve got no friends and yes, you’re three hours late and yes, you’ve kidnapped a German in the car park and yes, everyone’s going to stare at you, but it’s a new start and if you can just keep Dad out of the way for the next five years you might be in with a chance of making a go of it …
She took a deep breath and pushed at the doors. Nothing. They were shut tight. There was a keypad and little button to press and so she buzzed for attention. The intercom crackled.
“Sorry I’m late but can I come in, please?”
“This is an automatic entry system,” said the robotic voice from the speaker by the door. “Welcome to school. Please select from the following options. If you are a pupil, say ‘I’m a pupil.’”
Bit weird, but that was the way the day was going, so whatever.
“I’m a pupil.”
“If you’re a new pupil say ‘I’m a new pupil.’”
“I’m a new pupil.”
“If you’re a girl say ‘I’m a smelly girl.’”
“I’m a girl.”
“You missed something out.”
“Really?”
“Come on, I haven’t got all day.”
“Are you sniggering?” Could robots snigger?
“Just say it, say it …”
“All right, I’m a smelly girl.”
“If you have long blonde hair, stand on one leg and say— ”
Just then another voice, female and stern, cut in. “Come away from that intercom, you silly child.”
“Come away from that intercom, you silly child,” repeated Nathalia, balancing on one leg, now thoroughly confused.
There was a very nasty pause. The door buzzed open and the stern female voice said:
“Darius Bagley, you little monster, see me in my office after school. You, new girl, come in, and come into my office, now. First on the left.”
And so a few minutes later, Nathalia was standing in front of Miss Hunny’s desk getting her first proper telling-off of her school career. Nat didn’t pay much attention, although she looked like she was taking it in and was truly sorry for her many terrible crimes. She’d learned that trick from Dad. She was actually thinking it must be nearly time for lunch but the smell from the kitchens wasn’t all that great. A sign on the way into the school said, “Today’s special is lasagne.” It smelled like it was being cooked in motor oil.
Burble, burble, went the Deputy Head. Nat, drifting off, wondered if she was frowning. She was always frowning these days and Dad said she would end up with a big frowny crease in her head, like an alien or a folded blanket. That worried her and made her frown more. Bother. She lifted her eyebrows. Then she realised she probably now looked very surprised and wasn’t sure if that was appropriate because she hadn’t been listening. She moved her face about a bit and hoped for the best.
“Do you need to go to the toilet?” asked Miss Hunny.
“Several times a day, miss,” Nathalia said, still distracted.
“Are you trying to be funny?”
Nat looked so shocked that Miss Hunny wondered what she’d said. She couldn’t have known that Nat NEVER tried to be funny. ‘Trying to be funny’ was what Dad did ALL THE TIME, and it was embarrassing. Even Dad’s favourite TV programmes were all trying to be funny.
Nat liked the news. All the news tried to be was the news. And it was the news, every time. Every so often Dad would think he could do better and he’d write a funny TV script and send it off. Then he’d wait until he got the usual letter telling him to get lost and he’d stomp grumpily around the house for a week and only watch animal documentaries. And when he started watching his funny programmes again he’d do a lot of tutting.
“ … for the rest of your life,” finished Miss Hunny. There was a pause.
“Well, what do you think?” she asked. Nathalia, caught on the hop, said the first thing that popped into her head.
“I think you’re younger and prettier than your voice, miss.”
“What a strange girl you are,” said Miss Hunny, reddening. She might have said more but a young man in a vest burst into the room.
“If you hear the fire alarms go off, it’s nothing to be worried about,” said Mr MacAnuff the caretaker, reddening himself, and looking down at the floor. Nat thought he looked a bit shy. “It’s just some idiot parent in the car park. His van’s on fire.”
Nathalia stayed at the back of the crowd of kids and teachers that had gathered around Dad’s smouldering van. Someone elbowed her in the ribs. It was a scruffy little boy with a haircut that managed to be both short AND untidy. He had a jumper with an egg stain down the front and what looked like a baked bean up his nose. The creature twitched and shuffled like someone had come along with a pair of wires and hooked him up to the mains.
Darius Bagley held out a grubby hand with a stick of chewing gum in it. “Have – some – gum,” he said in a suspiciously familiar robot voice.
Nat narrowed her eyes. She was going to say her dad didn’t allow her to chew gum but instead she took it, feeling the thrill of rebellion at the same time as vowing revenge on the strange creature in front of her.
Some of the teachers, whose cars were being blackened by the smoke, were becoming less of a crowd and more of an angry mob, as Dad tried to calm the situation by telling everyone to “see the funny side”. Soon Miss Hunny’s voice could be heard rising above the general racket, as she pushed her way to the front.
“I leave my car at home for ONE DAY …” she heard the deputy head mutter. “What monstrous buffoon has parked that heap of junk there?”
That would be my dad, thought Nathalia. My dad the monstrous buffoon. At least he’s in for it now, and not me, she added to herself. Things were looking up.
And then things started to look much, much down.
“Ivor?” said Miss Hunny, seeing Dad through the smoke. She broke into a smile.
“Dolores?” said Dad, grinning. “I’ve not seen you in YEARS!”
“I can’t believe you’ve still got that horrible old van!”
And they BOTH STARTED LAUGHING.
Ha ha flipping ha, thought Nat.
Laughter was now ringing out across the playground. Kids, teachers, even the German backpacker was seeing the funny side. Nat realised that she had only been at her new school for five minutes and already the whole place was laughing and she was the only one who didn’t get the joke. Which must mean that, once ag
ain, the joke was massively on her.
Then she realised her dad had been right about not chewing gum because she started to choke on it.
HE SAINT JOHN AMBULANCE-APPROVED METHOD of rescuing someone who is choking on a bit of chewing gum does NOT include tipping them upside down and vigorously shaking it out.
Which is what Darius Bagley did to Nathalia as she gasped and turned a nasty shade of purple. Or rather, it’s what he tried to do. But Darius was five centimetres shorter than Nat, so he only succeeded in knocking her flat and banging her head on the tarmac. This made her so furious she let loose a great yell and expelled the bit of gum, smack in his left eye. Darius went down like a stone and Nat was on him in a flash, all flailing hair and tiny fists of fury. She managed to get a few swift kicks in before she was dragged away by Miss Eyre, who had come to see what all the fuss was about.
Miss Eyre waited until Nat had delivered a particularly solid whack before dragging her away. She’d quite liked to have got a few toe-pokes in on Darius herself but that’d been banned by schools for ages so watching Nat do it was the next best thing.
“I can see you’re going to be trouble,” she said to Nat. Oh, today just gets better and better, thought Nat.
Darius scrambled to his feet as Miss Eyre lifted Nathalia off the ground, wriggling and hissing. “Not bad for a girl,” said Darius, dusting himself off and feeling his ribs carefully. “But not much thanks for saving your life.”
Nathalia eyed her new nemesis suspiciously. She wondered if just maybe he was right and he’d got the kicking she secretly wanted to give someone else …
That person, of course, was still chatting happily to Miss Hunny, over by the smouldering vehicle.
“Detention, both of you,” barked Miss Eyre.
“That’s right,” simpered Miss Austen, sidling up.
“Not fair,” shouted Darius correctly.
“Yeah, it is,” said Nathalia, confusing everyone.
“I think we all know Darius well enough to know it will be mostly his fault,” said Miss Eyre.