This was it.
I took a deep breath.
My dad started a loud drum roll. Tom, the lead pirate, started to speak from the steering wheel of the fake wooden boat. Dad corrected me later, telling me that it was not a steering wheel, but the helm. As if he was now a nautical expert, having sat drumming in a fake wooden boat in a TV studio!
‘Let me introduce the band,’ Tom announced. ‘On bass we have Driftwood Dave …’ Cue audience applause. Driftwood Dave? Driftwood Dave is an insurance salesman. Dad said they had a few new ideas and surprises for tonight’s show – giving the band members pirate-themed names was obviously one of them.
‘On the drums, it’s Captain Scurvy.’ Captain Scurvy. This was my dad! The audience whooped and cheered as the infamous drummer was introduced.
‘And I’m Shark Tooth Tom,’ said Tom Dribble, tanning salon king. ‘This song’s called “Walk the Plank of My Love”.’
And with that Dad did his drumstick thing and actually caught them this time. The song was about a one-toothed lady pirate with scurvy. Scurvy is the disease pirates and sailors got from not eating enough fruit. The chorus went:
‘You only got one tooth, but you got my heart,
Rickety lady,
Come walk the plank of my love.’
The Pirates’ performance ended with Dad’s drum kit exploding. Weirdly, nothing went horribly wrong.
The audience cheered wildly and Simon Scowl stood up and clapped them. I have to admit I clapped too. I even whooped at one point.
The lighthouse search beam sought us out in row G and found Grandad Ray with a face like thunder. He was so jealous at Dad getting so much audience love.
‘Grown men behaving like that – Captain Scurvy, how embarrassing,’ he mumbled, almost drowned out by the cheering as The Pirates left the stage.
Dad was scanning the crowd, looking for us.
‘DAD!’ I yelled. He stopped, squinted into the crowd and his eyes lit up when he found us all waving.
He waved back with his drumsticks, grinning.
Mum was also on her feet, waving at him frantically. She was crying.
‘What’s up?’ I asked her.
‘I’m just so proud of him. He looked so happy up there,’ she said as she looked round to smile at me, and I almost screamed at the sight of her face. The tears had made her make-up run, so she looked like a horror-movie zombie.
The other acts came and went, and it became very clear that the audience had one big favourite. It was another lady with a dog that barked like it was singing to various songs. It was pretty cool. I wondered if Sherlock could be trained to do this, as there seemed to be a big market for performing dogs. I quickly started forming a shortlist of things I could try to teach Sherlock:
Roller-skating
Trampolining
Water-skiing
All the acts came back on stage to hear the results and who was going into the big final.
After lots of dramatic pauses and drum rolls, it turned out Pawboy the singing poodle from South Wales had sunk The Pirates.
It was over. Dad’s band were out.
But, strangely, it didn’t feel sad, and Dad didn’t look sad when we met him at the stage door later.
‘It was all about the fun,’ he said. ‘And that was fun, right?’
‘Yeah,’ I admitted.
He was right. It had been fun. Even if I was still in my school uniform.
‘Bit rubbish, though,’ said Grandad. ‘The barking dog was much better.’
Dad caught my eye and winked at me. I winked back.
I woke up the next morning to find my sister looming over me, her face far too close to mine for comfort.
‘Wake up, you idiot, Spike, you’re missing all this! Dad and The Pirates have been offered a record deal!’
We ran downstairs silently (which is quite a skill), positioning ourselves on the spy step on the stairs. A record deal? Wow, Dad was going to be mega-famous. How would this affect me? A bigger house: hopefully a mansion like Artie’s, with its own driveway. Holidays in foreign countries. Luxury loo rolls, not like that cheap stuff Dad brings home from his supermarket. A bigger TV. NEW SHED!
I was about to leap into the kitchen from the stairs when Amber grabbed me and shot me a warning glance. Inside, Grandad Ray and Dad were shouting at each other in whispers.
I didn’t like what I was not supposed to be hearing.
‘You said no to the record deal?’ said Grandad Ray incredulously. I was incredulous too, and I’m not even sure I know what that word means. Good name for a rapper, though.
‘Yes, it’s not for me,’ Dad said. How was he being so calm when he’d just said no to a bigger house, luxury world cruises and endless supplies of luxurious toilet roll?
‘Simon Scowl offers you a record contract and big UK tour and you say NO? I’d have given anything for a chance like that, anything,’ said Grandad Ray.
‘I’m not you, though. I won’t give up everything. Especially not my family. Then I’d be you,’ said Dad.
Ouch.
‘I had talent and a dream – some people don’t understand that,’ said Grandad.
‘My dream is of having a family I love and who love me, that’s what makes me happy. I’d ruin that by saying yes to Simon Scowl and spending half my life away on the road. It’s been fun being in the band again, but that was enough.’
‘You’re making a huge mistake, one you’ll regret for the rest of your life, standing counting packets of biscuits in that dreary supermarket,’ said Grandad Ray.
Low punch.
‘I’d rather be stacking biscuits than lose what I have with Carol and my kids,’ said Dad.
My heart swelled when he said that. He really loves us. Even though he buys us cheap loo roll. My sister lost interest at this point and went back to her room to apply her kilo of make-up and get on the phone for the next seventeen hours to a boy called Ralph who was definitely not her boyfriend, according to her. Except he was. But when this was suggested by any of us, she would shout ‘He is not!’ so loudly you could hear her several postcodes away.
Dad walked out and spotted me before I could disappear too.
‘What are you doing, Spike?’ he said.
‘Listening to you and Grandad arguing. I can’t believe you turned down a record deal,’ I said.
‘Come with me,’ he said, and we headed out into the garden. He walked to the shed and went inside.
‘Sit down,’ Dad said. ‘I know this will be hard for you to understand at your age, but me trying to chase fame, thinking it would make me happier, would be a mistake. I’d be away from you guys too much. That’s what—’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I heard you telling Grandad. But … your job is sooo boring.’ It came out meaner than I meant.
‘It’s not that bad. I know all the customers’ names. I know old Mrs Williams can never find the puddings. That Mr Hamilton buys chocolate eclairs and eats them in his car so his wife doesn’t tell him off. I like chatting to them. I like my family. I like my life. I’m happy. You know who isn’t happy?’
‘Who?’
‘Grandad,’ said Dad. ‘He’s not a bad man, Spike, but I grew up with a dad who cared more about trying to get famous than his family. It made him unhappy in the end, and now even Nan has had enough. I promised myself that if I became a dad I wouldn’t do that, and I would remember what’s really important in life. That’s why I said no to Simon Scowl.’
In that moment I realised my dad was my hero.
‘Choices,’ I said.
‘Choices, yeah,’ said Dad, drifting off. I caught his eyes as he stared out of the shed window, which wasn’t that easy due to the cobwebs. He looked miles away. Maybe on a wooden pirate boat on a stage he wouldn’t be getting on now. I guess some choices aren’t easy.
So the day of the big final for me was here at last. Today was the County Spring Fair. The winner of Radio Star would be crowned there. I was more nervous than I’d ever been.
The County Spring Fair was held annually just out of town in a huge park. There were hundreds of stalls selling various things you don’t normally see in the high street. Maybe for good reason. Lots of things made out of shells, home-made candles, fudge the size of rocks, and lots of men in leather waistcoats making things from wood. There were also tents filled with livestock, horses with their best hairdos and a huge arena for shows that ran all day. Not forgetting giant marquees filled with cakes, oversized vegetables on steroids, cheeses, and the rest of the men in leather waistcoats drinking home-made beer that looked like mud. Easter-egg hunts for kids and the usual face painters.
As me, Mum and Dad arrived, Dad got spotted and asked for his autograph by an old lady carrying an enormous fruit cake that had a winning red rosette stuck to it. Grandad Ray strode in with his Ballroom Banter ladies in tow. Now the trio was down to just a duo, as the husband of the third ballroom lady was the man who’d had the ‘misunderstanding’ with Grandad Ray.
A loudspeaker crackled into life.
‘Hi, folks, this is Howard “The Howie” Wright from Kool FM, and we are live today from the County Spring Fair; come and say hello. We are just next to the “Guess How Many Sweets are in the Jar” stall. In the next hour the grand final of Radio Star will begin. Four lucky finalists competing to be me for a week. Right now, the falconry display is about to start in the main show arena. Watch the Flying Falcons stunt display team re-enact the Battle of Britain!’
‘Good luck, Spike,’ said a voice behind me. I turned to see Sensei Terry.
‘Hi, Sensei, how come you’re in your outfit?’ I asked.
‘Gi, Spike, gi. I’m doing a karate demonstration later,’ he said as his eyes scanned the crowds, as if half expecting to be suddenly attacked by a crazed sword-wielding ninja.
‘What do you do?’ I asked.
‘Break bricks,’ he replied matter-of-factly. As if nothing he had just said was out of the ordinary.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘My hands are like sharpened axes; tools. I focus my chi through them.’
I looked at him as if he was mad. How can a human break a brick with his hands? As I made my way through the slow-moving crowd, I bumped into Holly. She was with Artie and we saw a coconut shy. This is the stand where you try to throw small balls at coconuts on stands to knock them off.
We headed over. ‘I haven’t got too long,’ I said.
As we approached, I saw that Martin Harris and Katherine Hamilton were about to have a go. They clocked us, looked at Holly and sniggered.
‘Oh, you OK now, Holly? Not going to get scared again, are you?’ said Katherine in a very sarcastic way.
Holly walked past them and paid for three balls.
‘I bet I do better than you,’ she challenged Martin.
Oh, Holly, I thought, why did you do that? The ape boy is a sporting genetic freak. Captain of the school football, rugby and cricket teams. He will thrash you.
‘You sure you want to do this?’ I whispered.
She ignored me, her eyes staring right through Martin.
‘Really, you think you can beat me?’ he said. ‘It would be embarrassing for you, and you’ve already embarrassed yourself enough recently,’ he sneered.
Holly didn’t rise to him; she just calmly said, ‘You can go first.’
‘Fine. Let’s do it, three balls each.’ Martin eyed the coconuts, picked one to be his first target and fixed his mutant eye on it, took aim, then launched with tremendous power. His ball smashed into the coconut on the far right, knocking it off its stand and to the ground. Katherine Hamilton cheered and clapped like a demented sea lion. I felt like throwing up at the sight of her sickening display of affection.
Holly took aim and threw her ball. Then her second, then her third, with blinding speed. One, two, three coconuts clattered to the ground, almost simultaneously. The old man running the stall yelled, ‘WOW! I’ve never seen anything like that in my twenty years of running this stall. Have your money back, young lady.’
Martin gulped. Trying his best not to be impressed and hiding the fact all the pressure was on him now. ‘Lucky shots,’ he mumbled.
He took aim again, taking longer this time to make sure he was ready. He launched and … THUD. His ball hit the back of the tent, missing the coconut.
Katherine Hamilton touched his shoulder and said, ‘Maybe you threw it too hard.’
‘Be quiet,’ Martin hissed angrily.
He took aim again, took even longer this time. Artie sneezed and Martin spun round, glaring at him.
‘Sorry – hay fever,’ said Artie.
Martin settled himself again. He had to hit this one.
‘Good luck,’ offered Holly.
Martin snarled. He took aim and threw with all his might. It missed by miles. The old man running the stall gave him a slow handclap and chuckled. ‘I think the young lady just beat you.’
‘Who cares? Stupid game. You just got lucky,’ burst out a very red-faced Martin Harris.
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ agreed Holly. She then picked up three more balls. Closed her eyes and did the same trick again. Fired off three shots one after the other. Knocking down the two Martin hadn’t been able to, and one more for luck. A small crowd had gathered, waiting to play, and burst into applause.
‘Awesome!’ a little boy said, taking a break from licking his ice cream to appreciate Holly’s party trick. Katherine Hamilton stood transfixed on the spot. ‘Cool,’ she said.
Martin stormed off through the crowd.
‘How on earth did you do that?’ I asked.
‘Faith, trusting my instincts. Just like you need to do today,’ Holly said and smiled at me.
I said goodbye to Artie and Holly and made my way to where I’d been instructed to go by Kool FM in the letter they’d sent me. The letter congratulated me on making it to the final of Radio Star and I’d been about to get it framed until I saw it was addressed to a ‘Mr Pike Huge’. My handwriting wasn’t the neatest, I’ll admit, but how could anyone send that letter, thinking there was someone called ‘Pike Huge’?
I saw their radio station broadcast truck with a big antenna on top. I said hello to a lady with a clipboard.
‘Yes! Radio Boy, is it? Pike Huge,’ she said and looked at her list.
‘Yes but no,’ I said.
‘Sorry?’ she said.
‘I am Radio Boy, but it’s Spike HUGHES,’ I said clearly.
‘Right, sorry. There is another contestant already here – Mr Harris. He insisted we just call him that, Mr Harris. Quite an odd one, but anyway he’s in our backstage area tucking into a sausage roll if you want to chill out with him. We need you in about ten minutes’ time.’
‘NO,’ I said, a little too quickly. ‘I’ll take a wander and be back here in ten minutes.’
The Spring Fair was well under way. There were crying kids clutching chocolate Easter eggs the size of their heads, knackered-looking cows attached to ropes being led by farmers to show tents, and vegetable growers with prize-winning cucumbers that looked like lethal weapons in their arms. In no time at all it was time for me to head back to the Kool FM tent.
I arrived at the same moment as Grandad Ray, who was wearing a leather waistcoat. He was arm in arm with one of the Ballroom Banter ladies. Susan, Jackie or Daphne.
‘This is Spike. Spike, this is Candice.’ So: a new one.
‘What happened to Susan and Daphne?’ I asked, just to annoy him.
‘Er, creative differences,’ he said as he walked ahead quickly. We were ushered into a backstage area, which was actually a few hay bales made into scratchy seats. Fish Face was sitting bolt upright and looking very tense on one of them. His terrifying mum was stood behind him, massaging his shoulders. She smiled at me in a sinister way. Like a crocodile might do when inviting you to lunch. I looked away, before she could steal my soul, and found Sensei Terry was sitting cross-legged on the floor with his eyes closed, meditating.
Grandad R
ay muttered something I couldn’t hear under his breath when he spotted Sensei Terry. Sensei Terry, without even opening an eye, said quietly, ‘The coward whispers, the wise man says nothing.’
‘Whatever,’ said Grandad Ray.
Howard ‘The Howie’ Wright came powering into the backstage/hay-bale area wearing a very bright Hawaiian shirt and Crocs. It was devastating to see my hero in plastic shoes with air vents. I could only hope and pray his actual shoes had been pooped on by some of the animals, and the Crocs were an emergency replacement.
‘HEY HEY! Is that fear I smell or is it llama poop?’ The Howie laughed very loudly at this joke. ‘Welcome, everyone,’ he said. He looked at all of us.
‘Obviously you’re the headmaster, Mr Harris,’ he said, offering his hand to Fish Face to shake.
‘Yes! What gave it away?’ boomed Fish Face.
‘You’re the only person here in a suit and tie, classic headmaster outfit,’ joked Howard ‘The Howie’ Wright, looking at everyone, expecting laughter. We gave it nervously. Apart from Fish Face himself, of course.
‘If you’re referring to my being smartly attired, as befits my standing in the community, then good. I am a headmaster and cannot be seen looking scruffy by my pupils or their parents.’ Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought Howard ‘The Howie’ Wright looked a little bit scared.
‘Y-y-yes, of course,’ spluttered Howard ‘The Howie’ Wright, and moved away. ‘You are Sensei Terry.’ Easy guess, given the karate gi.
‘Nice to meet you, Howard,’ said Sensei Terry as he shook The Howie’s hand and gave him a half-bow.
The presenter’s eyes now took in Grandad Ray.
‘Wow,’ was all he could say. His eyes had only made it as far as Grandad Ray’s hair.
The best was yet to come.
Grandad Ray spread his legs and started to murder another song at the top of his voice. It came to a dramatic end when he went down on one knee, offering his hand to Howie and bellowing, ‘I’m your man!’
‘Amazing!’ said Howard, clapping enthusiastically. Neil, his producer, did the same. I got the feeling his producer was like his butler.
Radio Boy and the Revenge of Grandad Page 15