Radio Boy and the Revenge of Grandad

by Christian O'Connell

I blinked. That name: Geoff. The park bench. ‘Wait. Is your mum … Violet?’

  ‘Yes!’ said Tony. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I met her!’ I said. ‘We carved her and Geoff’s names into the bench and the park warden tried to stop us but … um …’

  ‘That was you?’ said Tony. He grabbed my hand and pumped it up and down. ‘Thank you! That made her day, you know. Her week! Her year! You, sir, are a remarkable young man.’

  The crowd all went ‘ahhh’. I was getting the cute kid treatment. Thanks, Violet.

  I looked down at Geoff, the ugly pug. ‘I suggested to your mum that she should get a dog,’ I said. ‘She said she was lonely, and dog owners always talk to each other at the park, don’t they? Maybe you could help. I mean, you obviously know your dogs. You’ve won Best in Show!’

  Tony’s eyes lit up.

  ‘That’s a great idea,’ he said. ‘I could help her pick out a puppy. Something not too big … maybe a spaniel …’ And he was off, working out which dog would be best.

  I was back in the game now and on a roll. I saw Holly in the crowd, nodding her approval. Nice one, Holly – your interview training was inspired and is paying off. Near her was Grandad Ray, sticking his fingers down his throat and pretending to be sick. What a sad old man. Both of them, in different ways, spurred me on. Time for a big finish.

  ‘Well, there you go, ladies and gentlemen. A loving son who is going to find the perfect puppy for his mum for Easter. And to top it all, I have been peed on by an award-winning dog. But that’s OK. It’s award-winning wee, I guess,’ I said.

  Tony Storey laughed. Holly and Artie both gave me a thumbs up each. I even heard Howard ‘The Howie’ Wright giggling in my headphones.

  ‘Wow, what a pro! Spike Hughes there, Radio Boy, making us laugh and cry, and showing tremendous calm under pressure. That’s some interview. He sets the gold standard for Radio Star. If he can handle Geoff the pug, he can easily do this show! BUT – there are three others who also want the big prize,’ said Howie as he played the next song. Producer Neil came over.

  ‘That was brilliant, Howie couldn’t have done it any better himself!’ he said excitedly.

  Over in the distant corner of the arena I spotted Grandad Snake still staring at me. He knew I’d just done the best interview of the day. If he wanted to win, he would need to beat me. TOP THAT, TOPPER!

  Next up was Grandad Ray. With Fish Face and Sensei Terry out of the running, it was all about Grandad. It always had been. He’d promised revenge. This was it. Him against me.

  Grandad vs Grandson. The Battle of the Hugheses.

  It isn’t exactly normal to go into battle against your grandad, but then again Grandad Ray is not your normal grandad.

  Grandad’s challenge was to interview the owner of the Cow of the Year. A prize-winning cow. Was that really a thing? How does one cow look any better than another one? Not just the best cow, but COW OF THE YEAR.

  We all made our way to the livestock pens where all the sheep and cows were kept. Grandad Ray took his comb out of his back pocket and fixed his hair.

  Just as he walked away to start the interview, Nan suddenly appeared at my side. I hadn’t seen her since she had thrown Grandad Ray out. She hugged and kissed me on the cheek. Grandad Ray looked over from the pens and his eyes grew as big as prize-winning apples. I thought they were about to pop out of his head.

  ‘I see he hasn’t changed a bit, Spike,’ whispered Nan. ‘I’m sorry he’s behaving like this.’ She looked over at Grandad Ray, who was getting ready to talk about a cow, but was struggling to concentrate, with Nan’s appearance.

  Finally he gave up trying and came over to see her. They walked off to the corner of an empty pen to talk, but with Producer Neil trailing after, as they were about to go live. I couldn’t hear what they said, but from Nan’s body language, the wagging finger and shaking of her head, she was telling her husband and my grandad off big time. She even pointed over at me a few times while giving him a well-deserved ear-bashing. Eventually, Producer Neil managed to drag Grandad back to the Cow of the Year. Grandad Ray kept looking over at Nan and I thought I saw a tear in his eye. Ruthlessly, all I could think was: how would this affect his interview and attempt to win Radio Star?

  The PA system around the Spring Fair came alive again and Howard ‘The Howie’ Wright started to introduce the final contender. My stomach danced about with nerves and I just wished it would all be over quickly now, so I could know the outcome.

  ‘Well, everyone, it all comes down to this final moment. A family at war. Old versus young. Let me introduce a grandad who used to be a singer under the name Toni Fandango. It’s Toni Fandango versus Radio Boy. Two generations, but only one can win … my amazing competition: RADIO STAR.’

  A big round of applause and a cheer rang out from around the fair.

  ‘We go live now to a man who does his own show called Ballroom Banter, Let’s see just how well he can banter about cows!’

  Producer Neil signalled to Grandad Ray that he was live. There was only the sound of silence. Seconds passed. People began to ask in whispers what was going on.

  Only I knew what was happening. Grandad Ray had closed his eyes, which I knew meant only one thing. He was about to sing. He was bringing out the big guns.

  Grandad Ray had summoned the spirit of Toni Fandango.

  I’m building up my problems …’

  Artie was standing next to me with Holly. ‘Nicely done, Grandad Ray, that’s a song by The Wonder Stuff from years ago called “The Size of a Cow”,’ he said. Thanks for the support, Artie.

  The entire county show cheered as the song finally came to an end, and broke into applause. Grandad had got down on one knee to sing to the cow. The farmer loved it, the Cow of the Year loved it and so did the whole of the Spring Fair. Damn it. He was nailing this.

  I could see my chances of winning Radio Star disappearing as fast as the racing ferrets I’d watched over in Ring Four earlier. That was when I spotted the thing that gave me a very bad idea.

  The animals of all shapes and sizes were kept safely behind gated pens. Big cages of all sorts, each filled with the separate types of animals. From your fast little ferrets, to the woolly sheep and terrifying bulls with rings through their noses. And, of course, the cows in the pen next to Grandad Ray and the Cow of the Year.

  The gates were controlled electronically. I saw some big plugs, switches and thick cables that ran to the pens. If I turned off the power to the cow pens, then they would all be on the loose. Grandad Ray’s moment would surely end in disaster.

  There was another switch labelled MASTER in black marker pen. Which one should I flick off? I needed to make sure all the cows got on the loose, not just a few of them. I guessed the MASTER switch was the one that would do that. As I heard more laughter for Grandad Ray, my mind was made up. I had to take action to stop him snatching Radio Star from me. I pushed the big red switch on the MASTER plug to OFF.

  At first nothing happened and Grandad Ray happily waffled on to the delight of everyone. Where were the escaping cows? Finally, with relief, I saw that the cows had discovered their gates were open and they had begun to plod towards Grandad Ray, who remained oblivious to his imminent fate. My plan was working!

  In the next moment, however, with horror, I began to see that it wasn’t just the cows who had escaped their pens. Oh no, what had I done? ALL the pens for ALL the animals had opened, and now sheep, llamas, pigs, goats and cows were free. It took a while for them to realise this, but slowly the animals started to wander out of all their various enclosures and into the tents and all over the showground.

  Cows kicked out at rude pigs who barged into them, goats started chewing the tent ropes, and sheep scattered in all directions as dogs began chasing them. People started running everywhere, screaming. What had I done?

  Grandad Ray, never a brave man, threw his microphone to the ground and starting running about, screeching, ‘LLAMAS! HELP ME! LLAMAS!’ In his bid to escape th
e arrogant-looking llamas closing in on him, Grandad Ray pushed a woman and child out of his way.

  Who would have known my grandad was llamaphobic?

  ‘DON’T PANIC!’ yelled Howard ‘The Howie’ Wright live on Kool FM.

  This was before he saw a panicked horse kick a very large dent into his new car.

  It took all of the County Fair security team (what a busy day for them), and even the Army motorcycle display team, to recapture the animal escapees enjoying a free ticket, courtesy of me, to the Spring Fair ground. There was a rumour that a couple of llamas had a spin on the big wheel and a sheep boarded the helter-skelter.

  Finally, calm and safety was restored to the Fair. But it looked like a hurricane had swept through the place.

  My sister had found her pony, Mr Toffee, helping himself to some candyfloss. She jumped on him and helped round up some of the animals like a cowgirl. Later that week a photo of her doing this made it into our local newspaper with the headline, ‘Amber to the rescue!’

  There was a television news helicopter buzzing around above us, showing the chaos to its viewers. This wasn’t the first time something I had done had made the teatime news. At least when it was the school strike about homework, I was the unknown Radio Boy.

  Would I be able to keep what I’d done this time a secret?

  The answer was: no.

  Artie and Holly found me hiding behind the Kool FM broadcast van.

  ‘Did you do something to cause this, Spike?’ said Holly quietly. She could see from my state of wide-eyed fear that I had, plus she was another one with ninja mind-reading powers. In fact she made my dad look like a complete amateur.

  I silently nodded my head. I was so frightened by what I’d done, words failed me.

  ‘They think it was an electrical fault that caused all the gates to open – and unless you want to be disqualified from Radio Star, you should make sure they don’t know any different,’ said Holly.

  ‘Five policemen are still chasing one pig that’s going berserk in the cake tent. It’s been drinking the chocolate fountain and is having a sugar rush,’ laughed Artie. At least he was having fun.

  Howard ‘The Howie’ Wright turned up at the van, looking red-faced and stressed. Producer Neil was behind him as always. Both smelled of several kinds of animal poo. I think I caught the perfume of llama droppings in there, with just a hint of cowpat and subtle undertones of pig splats.

  ‘My new sports car has been vandalised by a rampaging horse!’ blurted out The Howie. I thought he was going to cry. The worst damage had been done to his driver’s door, where the slogan ‘This car is driven by Howard “The Howie” Wright, star of Kool FM’ was plastered all down the side. Why would anyone want people to know who was driving the car? Did it mean other drivers gave way to him in traffic?

  If that works, why don’t more people paint slogans on their cars, saying what job they do? ‘This car is driven by Doctor Norris!’ Doctor Norris is our family doctor and a nice man. People would always let him out of a junction if they knew it was him in the car. Not sure about Mr Kundy at Number 57, though. He’s an estate agent.

  ‘It’s OK, everyone, I’ll call the dealership showroom tomorrow to get it all repaired,’ Producer Neil reassured The Howie. No one was particularly interested, however.

  ‘We need to announce the winner of Radio Star so we can all get out of this hellhole,’ declared Howard ‘The Howie’ Wright. He then turned to Producer Neil and said, ‘We are NEVER coming back here again.’

  Producer Neil patted his back, like a parent might do to an upset kid who’d just accidentally let go of his balloon.

  We were all instructed to follow Howie to the backstage area. We were in varying states of emotion. Grandad Ray had eventually been calmed by one of the Spring Fair first-aiders. He was rocking back and forth on a hay bale, wrapped in a blanket, talking to himself.

  Sensei Terry was in usual Zen-like calm mood, despite the misfortune of Margaret Babble and Producer Neil. Mr Harris was holding an ice pack to the side of his face where the prize-winning salted-caramel cake had struck.

  ‘Come this way to the main stage,’ urged Producer Neil.

  ‘Please, let’s go crown the winner of Radio Star,’ said Howie.

  It was time.

  All the Radio Star contestants, and the Kool FM team, weaved our way through the utter carnage the ‘electrical wipe-out’ had caused, towards the stage where the competition winner would finally be announced. It really did look like a tornado had swept through the place. Stalls of wood carvings and candles had been knocked over and there was straw everywhere. I genuinely felt bad, but if I won this competition, it would be worth it. Luckily no one had been injured or hurt, had they? And were a dented car and some broken wood carvings really much to worry about?

  Mum and Dad joined the procession of people heading towards the main stage. Mum put her arm round me and kissed me gently on the head. ‘You’re my winner, always,’ she said. Normally I’d shrug this off and say, ‘Mum, I’m not a baby any more,’ but it was welcome this time. I needed it.

  Dad, the original mind-reading ninja, whispered as we walked along.

  ‘I have a feeling that electrical meltdown may not have been an accident, Spike. Just a hunch. I saw you lurking around the main power area, you see, and then, as if by magic … All I’ll say once again, is: choices, son, choices. Be true to who you really are and be careful you don’t lose sight of that.’ He patted me on the shoulder and jerked a thumb at Grandad Ray. ‘Don’t go to the dark side.’

  Dad moved away, taking Mum with him. His words bounced around in my head, much as I wanted them to go away.

  We got to the foot of the County Fair main stage. It was a large covered outdoor stage, and to me it seemed huge. Big enough for a band to play on. There was quite a crowd waiting there, despite the events of the last hour and the animal break-out.

  Producer Neil gathered us all round him. ‘We are going to go to the side of the main stage. Howie will chat to the crowd and update everyone listening on Kool FM, then bring you all out. He will then announce the winner.’ He looked at everyone to check we’d understood.

  ‘Good afternoon, everyone here at the Spring Fair!’ shouted Howie. He got a decent cheer, but after all the crowd had had a pretty difficult time. What with all that running for your life from stampeding cattle.

  ‘Well, um … after the electrical problems and every animal here accidentally being let out, everything is now OK. No one got hurt, which is good news. Let’s hear it for the fantastic security here today and the Army motorcycle display team …’ This got a bigger cheer. ‘On stage now and live on Kool FM we are going to announce the winner of Radio Star! Please welcome our finalists …’ said Howie.

  As we walked out on to the main stage, the crowd gave us all a warm round of applause.

  ‘Drum roll, please, Neil,’ instructed Howie. Now back in his element, controlling the show. Producer Neil played the sound effect of a drum roll; my stomach churned. Grandad Ray got out his comb and readjusted his quiff. Sensei Terry, still in his immaculately white karate gi, closed his eyes and breathed slowly.

  Mr Harris adjusted his tie.

  ‘It has been an incredible grand final here on Kool FM at the County Fair. Our finalists have given us some truly memorable radio. Let’s look back at what’s happened here today …’

  Howie then played a recap of all of our final challenges. Starting with me and the dog peeing on me. Hearing my interview back, it wasn’t as bad as I thought. Then it was into Mr Harris meeting a former pupil whose school life he wrecked and who sought revenge through his award-winning-cake attack.

  Sensei Terry next, and just hearing the pandemonium of Producer Neil being mistaken for an attacker and hurled through the air on to Margaret Babble was hilarious. Awesome.

  Then came my nemesis, Grandad Ray, singing again as Howie played back his moment. You could clearly hear the crowd loving it and him, until again we heard him screaming ‘Lla
ma! Llama!’ and running away. I couldn’t help but laugh. He glared at me. He looked right into me; he knew I was responsible. I looked away.

  ‘… and the winner of Kool FM’s Radio Star is …

  ‘It’s Radio Boy himself … step forward, SPIKE HUGHES.’

  I’D WON! GOODBYE, SHED, HELLO, SHOWBIZ!

  ‘YESSSS!’ I yelled like I’d never yelled before. I could hardly breathe with the exhilaration of it all. I was a winner and Grandad Ray was the loser.

  Howard ‘The Howie’ Wright handed me a microphone.

  ‘This is incredible! Er … thanks. I’ve won! I’m Radio Boy and I AM A RADIO STAR!’

  The crowd cheered. This felt great. So this was what it felt like to be a winner. I took it all in. Finally now I was officially a celebrity DJ. No more smelly, cold, cobwebbed garden shed for me! Photos were immediately taken of me with a huge grin holding the Radio Star trophy. Once the official photographer was done, I was ushered away by the great Howard ‘The Howie’ Wright.

  ‘This is all yours, Spike,’ he said, waving at the crowd. ‘You are the future.’

  ‘Can’t wait to get in your proper studio with Artie and Holly,’ I said. ‘They will love all the equipment and the chance to broadcast to the whole county!’

  ‘Oh, don’t you go worrying about them, Spike, you won’t need them any more. Neil will be producing you instead of a child amateur, and we’ll get you a proper professional sidekick, not some cake-eating machine.’

  I looked over at Artie and Holly, who were cheering for me. Artie was finishing off an ice cream the size of his head. They looked so happy for me.

  Dad’s words echoed in my mind.

  Be true to who you really are.

  I thought about Holly, scared in the supply cupboard. How supportive she’d been to me.

  ‘Trust your instincts,’ she’d said earlier.

  I thought about Artie. My sidekick, my wingman. How lucky I was to have them. How much they had helped me win.