by Nigel Smith
Nat was eating her breakfast the next day, listening to Kerri, Bonehead and Cabbage rabbit on, as usual. Dad had disappeared off somewhere while Nat was shovelling down her second bowl of cereal. The DJs were having a phone-in on the topic, ‘the most embarrassing thing I ever did.’
“We’ve got our old mate Ivor on the line,” Nat heard Cabbage say. “That’s just brilliant.”
Nat could tell he didn’t mean it. This sounds fun, she thought. And what a coincidence too – my dad’s called Ivor. Oh no, hang on …
“YEAH, and apparently he’s got embarrassing stories about US,” said Kerri nervously. “Wonder what they can be?” said Bonehead, who sounded like he didn’t want to know.
Nat stopped eating, her spoon halfway to her mouth. She looked around and couldn’t see Dad. Oh no, surely he wasn’t … but he was. She heard Dad’s voice – but not from the kitchen … from the RADIO.
Dad was live on air! Nat dropped her spoon in horror. This was going to be TERRIBLE. Dad was going to show her up AGAIN.
But then, as she listened, her fears subsided and she actually began to smile. Dad was properly very funny. Like Mum said he was, but he never seemed to be.
He told the listeners that Cabbage was scared of the dark, that Kerri was really called Lady Catherine Kensington-Rise, heir to the family’s baked-bean fortune, and finally read out one of Bonehead’s love poems to a girl called Jessica who would never go out with him at college because he was ginger.
Nat laughed so hard at the lines …
When I see you, my lips do tingle/it’s valentine’s day and I’m still single. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men/couldn’t put my heart together again/not without proper medical training and an ambulance.
… that milk shot out of her nose.
There was a lot of fake laughing as the DJ’s pretended to find this funny. Then things turned a bit nasty. “I seem to remember something embarrassing about you, though,” said Bonehead.
Nat’s blood froze. “Hang up, Dad,” she shouted.
Dad didn’t hang up. “What’s that, then?” he asked good-naturedly.
“Hang up, Dad,” shouted Nat more loudly, leaving the kitchen and looking for him.
“Your name’s pretty embarrassing, isn’t it?” said Kerri.
“HANG UP, DAD!” shouted Nat, up the stairs.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Dad. “Everyone knows it’s pronounced Bew-mole-ay. No one laughs at that.”
“AAAARRRGH, HANG UP, DAD!” shouted Nat, crashing into his bedroom, where he was chatting on the phone. “In fact, my daughter Nathalia tells me no one at her new school has even noticed yet. I mean, it does look a bit funny written down; it’s spelled—”
“Nooooo,” shouted Nat, leaping for the phone.
“B – U – M – O – L – E.”
“BUM HOLE, BUM HOLE,” shouted the DJs gleefully.
Nat grabbed the receiver off him and slammed it down. “Dad,” she yelled, “everyone at school listens to that. What have you done???”
She found out soon enough. As she walked into class that day, there was a teeny microsecond pause which gave her the even teensier hope that no one had heard the— Oh wait, no …
“BUM HOLE, BUM HOLE, BUM HOLE, BUM HOLE,” rang out round the room, as the whole class laughed and pointed and chanted her awful name.
Some of the more musical children sang harmonies and four had started a barber-shop quartet especially.
She knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but that didn’t make it better. Anyone who can’t imagine what that day was like simply hasn’t been to school. It seemed like EVERYONE had heard the radio show. Which was soon available as a podcast. The only reason the school-wide teasing wasn’t worse was because Nat was friends with Darius Bagley. Kids thought he was just weird enough to be dangerous. And yet with Darius in the naughty class, there was no one actually around to make it better. She was finished.
“Everyone’s teasing me except Penny Posnitch, and I’m not sure she counts because half the time she thinks she lives in Narnia with the tree fairies and now I’ve got no friends and it’s all your fault,” she wailed at Dad when she got home later that day. Fortunately, Mum was home early that night and immediately made things much better. Mainly by shouting at Dad a lot.
“What did you think you were playing at?” Nat heard her say. “I told you years ago we should have given Nathalia my name but you refused to see the problem. You just think everything is funny and you know what, life’s not like that, Ivor. I wish it was.”
“It all depends on how you look at things,” said Dad quietly.
Mum suddenly stopped shouting at Dad. Her temper was like Nat’s – up and down in a flash. She kissed Dad. Urgh, thought Nat, old people kissing. “I love the way you look at things,” Mum said gently, “and I just wish the rest of the world was as lovely and daft as you are but it’s not.”
Dad sighed. Nat very nearly felt sorry for him.
“I’m taking Nat out for late-night shopping and pizza,” said Mum, “and you can stay here and think about how to make things better.”
Mum bought Nat some new shoes and a new pencil case, even though she didn’t need them. Then she sat her down over a big cheesy pizza and told her that life was pretty tough on everyone, although the normal rules didn’t seem to apply to Dad. Mum always made Nat feel grown up. If only Mum could do the same with Dad, Nat thought as they made their way home.
But, amazingly, when they got back, Dad had actually had a REALLY GOOD IDEA.
“We’ll have a party,” said Dad, as they walked through the door.
“What sort of a party?” asked Mum.
“A birthday party. For Nat.”
“Excellent idea. But her birthday’s not till next year,” said Mum. “And you were supposed to be thinking of ways to make things better NOW.”
“I KNOW her birthday’s next year,” said Dad. “But they don’t, do they? We’ll invite all the class, throw a brilliant party and you’ll make lots of friends, won’t you, Nat! They’ll soon forget about the silly name thing after that.”
There was a pause. “It’s not a bad idea,” admitted Nat. “But can Mum organise it?”
She noticed Dad looked hurt. Then she saw that Mum had seen it too.
“Oh, come on, Nat, let Dad do it. He wants to make it up to you. Besides, he doesn’t get everything wrong.”
There was another pause.
“Well exactly,” said Dad, when he realised Nat wasn’t going to agree. “AND it gives me a chance to show the parents that I can organise something that’s not a total disaster.”
“Only if the party’s not a total disaster,” said Mum sternly. “So don’t go overboard. Make sure you keep it simple.”
“Oh, come on,” said Dad. “It’s a kids’ party. Jellies, ice cream, pin the tail on the donkey – how hard can it be? I mean, what sort of parties do kids expect these days?”
T TURNED OUT THEY EXPECTED QUITE A LOT.
“What sort of party, Bumhole?” asked classmate after classmate.
“A birthday party,” replied Nat again and again.
“Yes, but what sort of Bumhole birthday party?” they all answered back. “What’s the theme? What’s the entertainment? What’s the unique selling point?”
“It’s a surprise,” replied Nat truthfully, thirty times.
But the mysterious approach wasn’t working. Her classmates needed details. Then Nat had another genius idea. Mum always said that in business you had to find out what people wanted, then give it to them. So that’s what she would do.
She started with Penny. “You’ll like my party,” she said. “It’s the sort … you’ll really like.”
“What, has it got fairy face painting? Oh, I love fairy face painting.”
“Oh yeah,” said Nat. “There’s lots of fairy face painting.” Ha ha ha, this is easy, thought Nat, moving on to another classmate. See you on Saturday, sucker.
Now, it’s
fair to say what happened next was not what Dad had in mind for the party. He thought Nat was going to find out what sort of party most kids would like. Nat’s idea was to make sure she threw a party that everyone would like.
“So what sort of party is it to be, love?” said Dad when she got home that night.
“Hang on,” said Nat, “I’ll consult my notebook.” She reached into her schoolbag, which she’d dumped on the sofa. Dad looked puzzled and a bit worried as she rummaged around for her book.
“OK, here we go. Eight kids want a football party. Skating, five votes, seven if we include ice-skating. Bowling, ten. Seven want zombie shooting with real zombies. Go-karts, fourteen – which was a surprise; I thought that would be more popular. Bouncy castle, always a safe bet, twenty votes, street-dance demonstration ten votes, magicians six, although we have to keep them away from Lauren O’Reilly who’s got a phobia. Cookery demonstrations are very popular this year, specially if someone from the telly’s coming to make cupcakes.”
She paused, but only for breath. “Then there’s the usual – face painting, jugglers and a best-kept pet competition. And everyone still expects party bags and balloon animals, except Flora Marling who’s allergic to rubber.”
She paused happily. “I think that covers it.”
“So? Which one do you want to do?” said Dad nervously.
“ALL of them Dad, obviously. Don’t you get it? I said yes to everything. And now everyone’s coming. This Saturday’s gonna be the best day of my life.”
Dad put down his fork. For once he seemed to be lost for words.
Nat had a wonderful week. She felt like Queen Bee instead of Princess Bumhole. It seemed everyone was excited about the amazing party on Saturday. Her whole class was talking about it.
The only cloud on her horizon was Darius, still stuck with the horrible kids. She felt really guilty; it was her fault he was in there, and yet she was making more friends without him. Maybe it was because Mum was right and Dad was wrong – life was really tough and not that funny at all.
Then on Friday lunchtime, the most incredible thing happened. She had avoided the lunch crowd she’d been surrounded by for the last few days and gone looking for Darius. They had hardly spoken since he was moved to the horrible class and she wasn’t sure what to say to him. “Thanks,” didn’t seem like enough. But, she told herself, it was better than nothing. She found him in the dining room sitting on his own, talking to himself. He looked a bit lost. She was just walking over to him, when suddenly Flora Marling appeared in front of her and simply said, “Hi.”
“Hi,” squeaked Nat. Flora was the one person who hadn’t yet said she was coming to the ‘birthday’ party. And now she was standing right in front of her, flanked by the three girls who followed her everywhere. No one cared what they were called; in everyone’s eyes they were just Flora’s minions.
Nat couldn’t take her eyes off Flora’s hair. It was as perfect and golden and shiny and bouncy as her older sister’s – and she was in a shampoo advert. Nat realised her hand had begun to stretch out to touch it …
“See you tomorrow, I guess,” said Flora with a hint of a smile. Nat snatched her hand away in shock. This was a-mazing! Flora Marling nodded her perfect head sharply towards Darius, who was eating peas off his knife. “Is IT coming?”
And then Nat did something terrible. “What? No!” Nat heard herself say. It was as if something had taken over her body. She couldn’t help it, and even worse she added the words, “We’re not like friends or anything.”
Flora laughed and the three minions laughed too. Nat laughed as well, far too loudly, and then, as quickly as she’d appeared, Flora Marling was gone. Nat stood still for a few moments in triumph. Then just as quickly, she felt sick. She desperately hoped Darius hadn’t heard her.
But when she looked over to where he had been sitting, he was gone. Nat realised she’d got a nasty taste in her mouth, and just for once it wasn’t from the school dinners.
She avoided Darius at break, because she felt so rotten. Rotten mixed with happy, because no one made a bum joke, and FLORA MARLING WAS COMING TO HER PARTY!!!
Every time she thought about going to talk to Darius, someone else would come and say hello and that they were looking forward to Saturday. Inside Nat, her little Nat-shaped Evil Villain tried to tell her she’d done the right thing and that the path to popularity was a harsh one, but even she could tell this little Evil Villain’s heart wasn’t in it.
The next time she saw Darius, he was standing with Miss Hunny by the school gates at home time. She was going to have to walk past him. She just KNEW he’d heard her, and even if by some miracle he hadn’t, he would have realised by now that he wasn’t invited to her party. She couldn’t move; she couldn’t face him. Then she heard,
“Cooee! Only me. Over here. Your dad couldn’t pick you up because he’s hurt his back helping lay the Astroturf. It’ll probably be a discombobulated disc, I shouldn’t wonder. He’ll never tango again, poor man.”
It was Bad News Nan at the gates. Saved again! thought Nat. Although Bad News Nan’s driving was as frightening as her stories (both were full of pain and suffering and pretty sure to end terribly). The moment Bad News Nan saw Darius she grabbed him and gave him a big hug. His head got stuck in her bosom and Nat watched as his little legs wriggled while he suffocated. Nat seized her chance to dash past while Darius couldn’t see her for bosom. “Meet you at the car, Nan,” shouted Nat, running past.
“That’s your friend from the other night, isn’t it?” said Nan as she pulled away without looking. Nathalia stared out of the window. “I hadn’t realised he was a Bagley. Poor little thing.”
“What do you mean?” said Nat nervously. She had a horrible feeling about this, just as she had a horrible feeling about Nan’s terrible driving.
Nan was always like that. She could never remember anyone’s name until she discovered something tragic about them. Nan never forgot a name after that.
Bad News Nan told Nat that Darius had no parents. Nat missed why – she had put her head in the crash position during a near-miss with a lorry. But they might have been in prison or on the run or been pecked to death by emus at a safari park, it didn’t really matter. Darius had already moved house about ten times, being shoved between various Bagley clan members until they got fed up with him. He was now living with his older brother …
Oswald Bagley.
Ban News Nan said that name as if expecting horror music to suddenly blare out. “What’s wrong with Oswald Bagley?” asked Nat. There was a silence. Bad News Nan was gripping the steering wheel and looking straight ahead. “I don’t know anything about him,” she said finally.
Oh no, thought Nat.
Grown-ups fool themselves that kids don’t know when they’re fibbing. News flash for parents, THEY DO KNOW, IDIOTS. Nat knew Bad News Nan was fibbing. And if Bad News Nan didn’t want to talk about him, he must be very bad indeed.
She knew this, just as she knew that Darius, her little farty gibbering twitching burping BETRAYED friend Darius, needed her. The friend who made her laugh, let her cheat at maths, always stuck up for her, and saved her from the art-room disaster. THAT friend. And she’d let him down.
Bad News Nan hadn’t finished talking. “Still, at least he has you as a friend, eh?” she said.
AD, GET UP OFF THE SOFA! WE’VE GOT TO GO round to Darius’s house NOW. I’ve made a terrible mistake,” shouted Nat breathlessly as she bounded into her house. Exactly two seconds later she was sprawled face first on the hall lino.
“Careful of the generator cables,” shouted Dad, exactly two seconds too late. Nat got up, then dragged Dad off the sofa, Bad News Nan’s words ringing in her ears.
Five minutes later they were in the Atomic Dustbin, heading to the Paradise Estate. Nat thought whoever named it had a weirder sense of humour than Dad. The road they were now on was lined on either side with run-down houses and mean-looking, low-rise flats. There were bunches of huddled shops with
their front metal grilles pulled down so you couldn’t tell what they sold. As they drove past, Nat saw a hand-written sign. ‘Eight cans for a pound,’ it read.
Right at the very edge of the estate sat a small, scruffy house with an even scruffier garden, full of rubbish. It had dirty white pebbledash walls with grimy plastic-framed windows. Brown tiles hung crookedly on the roof, like teeth in a tramp’s mouth. There was a goat in the garden, munching weeds. Outside was a large black motorbike. Oswald Bagley’s motorbike.
Dad parked the van and turned the engine off. It became clear that something inside the house was howling. “That’s never a good sign,” said Dad. The Dog shot under the table, paws over his ears, trembling.
“I don’t think Darius’s brother likes visitors,” said Nat. “Darius told me that someone came to read the electricity meter once and was never seen again.”
Dad tutted. “That’s silly,” he said.
“No, it’s true,” insisted Nat, in the voice she used for telling ghost stories. “Postmen refuse to even walk up the path. Look …” She pointed to a pile of letters in brown envelopes stuffed under a brick in the garden.
“Darius is your friend,” said Dad. Nat had told him what she had done to Darius on the way here. “Saying sorry and inviting him to the party is the right thing to do.” Dad sounded quite fierce. He opened the van door and hopped out. Ten seconds later he hopped back in again. “That is VERY loud howling,” he said. The Dog was shivering with fear.
“Can’t we just phone him?” said Nat, now a bit nervous. Dad thought for a moment. “No, Miss Hunny said their phone’s been cut off.”
Nat grabbed Dad. “Look …” she said pointing to a patch of freshly dug earth in the front garden. “The phone man is probably buried next to the electricity man.”
“Maybe Oswald likes gardening,” said Dad unconvincingly. “On the radio they said it’s a good time to plant rhubarb.”
“That’s not rhubarb,” whispered Nat, “it’s a shallow grave.”