by Nigel Smith
Finally they got out of the van (the cowardly Dog did not) and walked slowly up the path to the house. There were half a dozen locks on the door. “Not sure who’d want to break in,” said Dad.
“No, the locks are there to stop anyone getting out …” said Nat.
Dad took a deep breath and prepared to knock. “At least the howling’s stopped,” he said. Suddenly something threw itself against the front door with a massive wallop, and the howling started again.
“Aaargh!” shouted Nat, running back down the path.
And straight into Oswald Bagley.
Ten minutes later, Nat, Oswald, Darius and Dad were sitting awkwardly in the Bagleys’ front room, in silence. The room was small and cluttered and smelt of cabbage and chip fat. There were no family photos or any other pictures on the walls, just a huge TV in the corner. The sound was turned down but Oswald’s eyes were still glued to it. Something hairy that was either a huge dog or a small bear was lying at Dad’s feet, snarling. Every so often it looked at Oswald as if to say, “Can I eat him now?”
Oswald drank something out of a can. He hadn’t offered one to Dad, or a cup of tea or anything. Nat noticed that Dad didn’t seem to quite know what to do with his hands, apart from keep them out of the way of doggie teeth.
“He won’t hurt you while Oswald’s here,” said Darius unconvincingly.
Dad leaned towards Darius. “Nathalia’s got something to say.”
The two children looked at each other. Dad had a look on his face that said, I’m very proud of my little girl. This is a moment I will treasure forever.
“Soz, farty,” said Nat.
“S’all right, Buttface,” said Darius.
And that was the treasured moment.
“While I’m here …” began Dad. Nat looked at him. Surely it was just time to escape now? Two words kept circling round her head – shallow … grave … shallow … grave …
But Dad burbled on. “You must be worried about Darius getting moved to that special class,” he said.
Oswald just shrugged and carried on watching. People on the TV were arguing angrily with each other, silently shouting. A fight had started and Darius’s brother laughed. Dad fidgeted uncomfortably.
“Anything you can think of to help …” said Dad, voice trailing off. Oswald just carried on staring at the TV.
Dad elbowed Nat. He clearly wanted her to say something. Nat looked around. She tried to think of something nice to say about Darius’s house. She knew that’s what normal people did when they went to normal people’s houses. After a few minutes all she could think of was,
“That’s a nice fish tank. Do you think the smelly upside-down floaty fish are OK?”
Or,
“I like the way my chair is made from beer crates and copper wire and it only needs a cushion to stop me being in incredible bum pain.”
Or,
“Most people repair broken windows with expensive glass. How economical to use a bin liner.”
So she didn’t say anything. Neither did Darius. Nat wasn’t sure Oswald could speak, and even Dad gave up talking in the end. He nodded to Nat and they stood up to leave.
“See you tomorrow to spoil my party, then?” said Nat.
“Yeah,” said Darius. “It’ll be rubbish though.”
As Oswald closed the door, Nat saw Darius’s pale face through the window giving her a weak smile. Nat reached for Dad’s hand as they walked back to the van.
AT’S PARTY BEGAN AT 5AM. OR RATHER, IT BEGAN for Dad at 5am. She was fast asleep and was not even a little bit disturbed by Dad stumbling sleepily about the kitchen, walking into things and looking for teabags.
Mum had got back late the night before and had left a note by the kettle. It said,
‘I’ve worked eighty hours this week. Wake me early and DIE.’
The last word was written in red ink and underlined six times.
Nat, however, had specifically asked to be woken. Last night she’d said,
“Dad, there’s so much to do tomorrow you HAVE to wake me up REALLY early, OK?”
But now when Dad tried to rouse her she said, “What are you doing? Get lost. It’s so early it’s still yesterday. If I get up now I’ll have panda eyes for my party – is that what you want? Go AWAY.” And burrowed back under the covers.
Half dozing, Nat imagined what Dad was doing. She reckoned he’d start by drinking two cups of tea and making a ‘To do’ list.
When Nat came downstairs a few hours later and found Dad’s list, she smugly congratulated herself on guessing right.
The list went like this:
Make tea.
06:00 – Make 100 sandwiches: Cheese, ham, chocolate spread, fish paste, crisps.
07:00 – Open 15 packets of mini sausages, 15 packets of mini Scotch eggs, 15 packets of mini pizzas.
07:10 – Open one packet of salad leaves, just in case.
07:15 – Organise roller rink, go-karts, bouncy castle, trampoline, magician, clown, dancers, cookery demonstration, face painters, invent some party games and tidy house.
08:00 – Shower, change.
08:30 – Finish off those cracker jokes that were due last week.
11:30 – Chillax, ready to meet very impressed parents.
Then she saw Dad asleep at the kitchen table and felt a bit less smug. He had only made six sandwiches.
When she woke him up he admitted that he had run out of bread, butter, cheese, ham, chocolate spread, fish paste and crisps. And he’d forgotten to buy the mini sausages, mini Scotch eggs and mini pizzas. So he couldn’t get much further until the shops opened. He asked if he could give the kids what he had left in the freezer.
“No, Dad,” wailed Nat. “Pork chops, battered cod and garden peas ARE NOT party food. DON’T SHOW ME UP. I told you, the average age of people at my party is 11.265547 years – Darius worked it out. So you have to do food that someone who is 11.265547 years old will like.”
I can’t be more accurate than that, can I? she thought, annoyed. I’ve done it to six decimals.
By 9:00, the chaos had really begun. The workmen delivering the mini roller-skating rink were already arguing with the workmen who were trying to construct the kiddy go-kart track. They were shouting and marching in and out of the garden, wiping their muddy boots on the lino.
“There wasn’t enough room for all of us,” said Steve, the workman in charge of the rink to a pale-looking Dad. “So we’ve moved your garden shed and Dave and Barry are busy taking down your greenhouse.”
Something that sounded horribly like panes of glass smashing could be clearly heard over noisy machinery and even noisier radios.
“We were here first,” said Kevin, the man in charge of the go-kart team. He was yelling over the sound of a generator and the current number one hit single. “Tell this lot to take their silly roller-rink back. It’s no good for a kids’ party anyway.”
“You’re just jealous cos we’re getting more business than you these days,” said Roller-rink Steve, and turned up his radio.
“Only because they’ve got skating all over the telly at the moment. Flash in the pan, mate,” said Go-kart Kevin, turning up HIS radio.
“And another thing,” Roller-rink Steve continued. “Turn your horrible radio off. No one wants to listen to the news at this time in the morning. We all like to hear music when we’re working.”
“Yeah, well your average workman does,” replied Go-kart Kevin. “But we’re a bit smarter than the average. More educated. I’ve got twelve GCSEs out working in this garden.”
“You saying we’re thick?” said Roller-rink Steve, taking a step towards him. “What’s the capital of Venezuela? Answer me that, clever clogs.”
Before the situation got any uglier, the men coming to inflate the bouncy castle turned up, and they told Dad that there was no way he could have the mini roller rink, kiddy go-kart track and Baron Boingy’s Super Castle of Springy Fun in the same garden.
“Not my fault, mate, it’s ’
ealth and safety. Blame Europe,” said the bouncy castle operator, a mister Bernie Spratt. Dad gave Mr Spratt some money to make the European problem go away. “Now there’s a lesson in politics for you,” he said to Nat with a smile.
“WHAT THE HELL IS ALL THIS NOISE?” shouted Mum, appearing in her dressing gown.
As if by magic, all the noise stopped.
“Now, boys,” she said, in a sweet voice that was somehow way more frightening than her shouty voice, “there’s a café round the corner – go and get your breakfasts. Be back in half an hour. Not you, Ivor,” she added to Dad, who was trying to slope off with the workmen. “I want a word with you.”
The men trooped out quietly. One or two of them muttered “Sorry, mate,” and “Wouldn’t fancy being in your shoes,” to Dad as they went past.
“Cup of tea, love?” said Dad nervously, to break the uncomfortable silence that was filling the kitchen. Mum sat down, and then in her most quiet and considered voice that she only brought out on very special occasions and was even more scary than all her other scary voices, said, “Yes, please, darling. And then you can tell me exactly what you’ve been up to this week.”
Nat knew what was coming and slid out of the kitchen. She listened from the safe side of the door, though.
“Where the heck did you find the money for all this?” Mum exploded, as Dad listed the events. “Have you sold the world’s most expensive joke? Or is THIS the world’s most expensive joke?”
“That’s very good,” said Dad, who could appreciate a good joke. Nooooo, thought Nat, Mum isn’t REALLY joking.
“You know I’ve been at a conference all week,” shouted Mum, “away from home trying to earn enough money to keep you in pork pies and a roof over my little girl’s head. Do you mean to say that as soon as my back was turned you decided to waste it all?”
“You wanted me to organise it,” said Dad, which was true.
“I SAID keep it simple,” said Mum, which was also true. “How much have you actually spent?”
Nat put her fingers in her ears. She wasn’t THAT nosy. But it must have been loads because Mum was now making a noise like a steam kettle chucked into a volcano.
“WHAT?” she yelled. “HOW MUCH? Don’t you dare tell me you’ve spent all our holiday money on a bouncy castle.”
“Not just a bouncy castle. There’s a mini roller rink and a kiddy go-kart and a—”
Nat heard a noise like something smashing. A teapot, perhaps, she thought.
“That money was so we could go somewhere hot.”
“I thought we might stay at home this year.”
“You ARE staying at home. Me and Nathalia are going somewhere hot.” Then after a moment, she continued, “Do you think this is not now going to end up as a COMPLETE disaster like everything else you get your hands on? And who is it that has to be Mrs Sensible and clear up your mess? Oh, I despair.”
Ten minutes later Mum was getting into her little red car. She was booked in to get her hair done for the party. “I’m sorry, Nat,” she said. “I’ll be longer than I thought. I might have to go for a massage too. I do love your father but if I don’t get relaxed RIGHT NOW I’m going to strangle him with a balloon animal.” And with that she drove off at speed.
Just you and me then, Dad, thought Nat, feeling ever-so-slightly sick.
“Right,” said Dad, doing a rubbish impression of a really confident person as he hopped into the Atomic Dustbin, “I have to go to the cash and carry to buy the rest of the party food. Plus some balloons, plates, streamers, squash and a new teapot. If the neighbours come round to complain about the noise and the mess and the damage, don’t forget to cough.”
“Cough?” said Nat suspiciously.
“Yeah, I told them the party was only this massive because it was a charity fundraiser. Your medical treatment’s really expensive. Bye.”
What followed was one of the most uncomfortable hours of Nat’s life, sitting silently with their two furious neighbours.
“Dad won’t be long,” she kept saying. She coughed again. “It’s not catching,” she added feebly.
Mr Pringle from Number 17 made a snorting noise and folded his arms tightly across his belly. He tutted through his bushy top lip and his lumpy nose sniffed in disapproval at the very idea. Mr Pringle disapproved of everything Nathalia had to offer – from toast to biscuits to coffee to a mini super fun park currently being put up in the garden. Mr Dinkins from number 13 shook his head apologetically. His thin lips were wet, their smile was forced. “Very kind, but my stomach is too delicate this morning. Something has upset my system. I cannot for the life of me imagine what it was. Unless it was being woken by a gang of hooligans driving a large van into my front garden and squashing my begonias.”
Nat laughed nervously. “Fancy a free go on the bouncy castle?” she tried lamely. Then to her relief she heard the roar of a large motorbike pulling up outside.
“Front door’s open,” said Darius, walking in a minute later. “I’ve come to help out. Got any Hobnobs?” The Dog leapt up and licked his face. Darius wiped the slobber off and with THE SAME HAND rummaged about in the biscuit barrel.
After five minutes of Darius’s company, during which time he entertained the neighbours with eyeball farts, headstands, the joke about the constipated owl and three new verses of the diarrhoea poem, both neighbours left, muttering darkly that they hoped she got well soon but they wanted to see Dad the second he returned.
Nat looked at Darius. He’d saved her AGAIN! But before she could say anything …
“Cooee. Only me. I’d have got here sooner but my car died. And then on the bus the woman next to me had a fainting fit and we had to wrap her in a silver blanket. I offered to go with her to the hospital but she said I was making her feel worse. Must have been delirious.”
What was Bad News Nan doing at her party?? thought Nat.
“Ooh, is there any birthday cake?” said Bad News Nan, bustling into the kitchen. “If I just dig out a slice from the bottom no one will notice.”
A second later, Dad rushed into the house with ten bags of terrible toxic frozen food and a gallon of orange-type, glow-in-the-dark squash.
Seeing Bad News Nan, and Nat’s face, Dad said sheepishly, “Sorry, I thought she could help.”
They watched as Bad News Nan attacked the cake. “Not too much cos it gets under me plate,” she said, shovelling down a brick-sized cakey wedge.
“That little boy on the roof reminds me of Edna’s grandson.”
“Edna …?” said Dad weakly.
“Edna Pottingshed. Lived next door to us when you were three. Moved away when her grandson fell off the roof on to Mr Anderson’s chickens. Didn’t survive.”
Nat didn’t wait to find out who didn’t survive – the chickens or Edna Pottingshed’s grandson. She went to call Darius down from the roof.
She was now getting that horrible sinking feeling she got whenever Dad planned anything.
Not today, she pleaded to the god of little girls with embarrassing dads. Please let it be OK today …
Fortunately, once Nat had got Darius down from the roof, the workmen distracted her from her misery by getting her to help out. She and Darius spent an hour holding and pulling and fetching and carrying, and then another hour welcoming the entertainers. These included Ali Kadabra the magician, Tippi Sparkle the face painter, and Martha Fudge the famous cake maker from off the telly. Nat was very excited to meet Mrs Fudge until Dad told her she was only a lookalike from an agency.
“The real Mrs Fudge wanted fifteen grand and a stretch limo just to turn up and put the frosting on a cupcake,” explained Dad, as people started arriving. “This is just as good. Admittedly we’ve got a slight problem – she can’t cook. At least, I think that’s what she says – she’s got a very strong Polish accent. That might count as two problems. Anyway, I’ve already hired an outdoor kitchen for her demo. I think I’ll slip her a few quid to have a go at making cakes, but don’t be surprised if they don’t
taste very nice.”
Nat looked around. It was happening. Her party. Against all odds – i.e. Dad organising it – her party was actually looking pretty amazing. She ran excitedly upstairs to put her party clothes on. Maybe, JUST MAYBE, Dad might have pulled it off.
Y THE TIME NAT CAME BACK DOWN, HER GUESTS WERE beginning to arrive. Nat was surprised but pleased to see everyone had brought presents. She hadn’t even thought of that. Result! Darius caught her looking greedily at the parcels piling up in the front room.
“I never said it was my actual, proper BIRTHDAY,” she said carefully, “just that it was my birthday PARTY.”
Darius, who knew perfectly well it wasn’t her birthday, shrugged and tore open a parcel.
“Hey!” said Nat as he wandered off with a nice Lego kit. “Happy birthday, Buttface,” he said, grinning.
Nat was really beginning to enjoy herself now, swanning around, showing off to all her classmates.
“Your dad is amazing,” said Penny Posnitch, who had bought Nat a poster of a unicorn. “I don’t know why you moan about him all the time.”
By now Nat was getting used to the idea that OK, fair enough, just MAYBE this wasn’t going to be a Dad disaster after all. She was thrilled to see most of the children from her class looking impressed at everything on offer. Baron Boingy’s bouncy castle was inflated, the go-karts were revved, the roller rink gleamed in the spring sunshine and most of the entertainers were set up and ready to entertain. Yeah, Dad’s actually pulled it off for once, she thought.
Even Dad was walking around beaming.
“This is a great party. I can’t think why none of the parents want to stay,” Dad said to Nat as yet another mum and dad disappeared faster than a magician’s assistant. “Every time I ask they look at me as if I’ve offered them dog food.”
Doh, thought Nat. They’ve all got an afternoon off, haven’t they?
Parent after parent arrived and left. And they didn’t just bring the invited child, they brought all their other kids too. “Hope there’s room for a little one,” they said, shooing their entire overexcited brood through the door before Dad could object.