Mim and the Baffling Bully

by Katrina Nannestad

  A man with two chins, a round tummy and large teeth taps Dad on the shoulder. ‘I need a book on Russia. A travel guide, please.’

  Dad stares at him for a moment, then shakes his head. ‘No, no, no! That’s not at all what you need.’

  The man’s chins wobble in surprise. ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ insists Dad.

  ‘Well, what do I need?’ he asks. He’s not annoyed. Just baffled.

  Dad shrugs. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Casper van Dijk.’

  ‘I tell you what, Casper,’ says Dad kindly. ‘If you give me your address, I promise I’ll deliver exactly what you need as soon as I find what it is.’

  Casper writes his address on a piece of paper and leaves.

  The pretty blonde woman from yesterday leaps in front of Dad. ‘I’m back!’ she sings. ‘I adored that book about the three-legged sheep! It was just what I needed. I’d like more of the same, please . . . if you have it, that is.’

  Dad beams at her. ‘Of course I do!’ He pulls three books from a nearby shelf and passes them to her, one at a time. ‘Symphony for a Pig with No Ears . . . Love Song of a Flightless Goose . . . and Bald Goat Ballads. The last is a collection of poems. Very inspiring.’

  The woman hugs the books, pays, then hugs Dad. Dad smiles at us over her blonde hair. Or maybe he’s smiling because he likes the hug. The woman is very pretty. And the hug does go for a long time.

  Nat, Willemina and I find a spare nook on one of the sofas. Coco flies over and lands on Willemina’s shoulder. ‘Hello, gorgeous,’ she whispers and nibbles on Willemina’s glasses.

  The hedgehogs waddle their way across the rug and snuffle at Willemina’s feet. I lift them into her lap and they peer up at her through the puffy pink tutu.

  Nat grabs a book and pretends to read it to us. ‘One uponce a time, there was a pretty purple sheep called Willemina.’ He shows us the first picture, which is actually a photo of a roast chicken surrounded by broccoli, and reads on.

  Bit by bit, Willemina’s shaking settles down and her eyes stop looking as though they’re about to pop through her glasses.

  Dad’s hug finally ends and he bustles over. ‘Hello again, Willemina. No school today?’

  ‘She’s got worms,’ says Nat.

  ‘But only on her skirt,’ I add as quickly as I can.

  And then the whole story comes flooding out. Nat, Willemina and I talk over the top of one another, about Gerda and the stroopwafels and the worms and the pink flashing lights on the skipping rope. Nat mentions the pink flashing lights four times because he still can’t believe such wonderful things exist.

  When we’re done, Dad’s eyes are bulging as though they’re about to pop.

  ‘What you need,’ he says, ‘is some emergency chocolate and the right book.’

  Yes! Dad is going to find the book that will make Willemina brave.

  The emergency chocolate hides behind a row of books on accounting. It’s the perfect hiding place. Nobody has ever stumbled upon it. Because who would ever need a book on accounting?

  Dad pulls out a box of chocolates. ‘There are two layers. Lots of chocolatey goodness for you all. Now, for the book . . .’ He grabs an enormous book from a low-lying shelf and hands it to Willemina. ‘This is just what you need!’

  Nat takes the hedgehogs and Willemina sits the book on her knees. She reads the title aloud: ‘The Big Book of Creepy-Crawly Things.’ She flicks through the pages and sees pictures of moths and bees, bugs and beetles, slugs and spiders, frogs and worms. She shudders.

  My heart sinks. This is the wrong book! Willemina needs a book that will inspire her to be brave and strong. A book that will show her how to stand up to Gerda. The only thing this book will do is teach Willemina the names of all the different creepy-crawlies that Gerda might put on her chair . . . or in her lunchbox . . . or down her shirt.

  But Dad doesn’t get it. ‘Look how colourful the pictures are!’ he sings. ‘And it has wonderful words, like proboscis and ganglia and arachnids.’

  He shows Willemina a giant picture of a beehive. It fills a double page with extra fold-out bits. It’s very detailed and, I must admit, very beautiful.

  Willemina smiles.

  Nat shouts, ‘I love bees!’

  Dad cries, ‘Perfect!’

  But it’s not perfect. It’s the wrong book!

  CHAPTER 9

  The right books and a strange way of paying

  The bookshop closes for lunch. Willemina goes home, taking The Big Book of Creepy-Crawly Things with her.

  Dad claps his hands. ‘Okay! Let’s grab our bikes and go for a ride.’

  ‘We don’t have any bikes,’ I say. ‘Silly!’

  ‘Of course we do,’ says Dad. ‘They’re in the basement.’

  I giggle. ‘We don’t have a basement.’

  ‘All homes have a basement,’ says Dad.

  He pushes one of the sofas aside and rolls back the rug. There’s a trapdoor in the floor! Dad pulls it open and disappears down a staircase. Nat and I follow, slowly, because it’s as dark as a cave down there.

  Then Dad turns on the light.

  ‘Wowee!’ shouts Nat.

  ‘Triple wowee!’ I shout.

  Our basement is full of stuff — suitcases, a toboggan, ice skates, skis, tennis racquets, wooden crates, an ancient typewriter, a croquet set, a lawnmower, a huge wardrobe, a dusty dollhouse and bikes. There’s also a family of bats hanging from the rafters. I wonder if the tiny bat upstairs knows they’re here. Perhaps he visits every now and then.

  Dad rubs his hand across the wardrobe door. ‘Remember the time we went through the wardrobe to another land?’

  I giggle. He’s thinking of Narnia from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. He’s confusing books and real life once more . . . Or maybe not. Just look at the bookshop . . . and now the basement!

  Dad pulls out the bikes. There’s a big one with a basket hanging off the handlebars, and a smaller one with two seats and two sets of pedals — a tandem!

  ‘See?’ says Dad, grinning. ‘Bikes!’

  Nat and I ride the tandem. Me at the front, Nat at the back.

  Dad tosses a parcel of books into his bike basket and we’re off! Although we wibble-wobble quite a bit until Nat gets used to pedalling in his clogs.

  The village is perfect for cycling. There’s a pretty path along the canal and it goes right past a van selling freshly baked appelflaps. We buy six and sit on the grass, nibbling through flaky pastry and warm apple filling. A cluster of ducks waddles over and pecks the crumbs off our shorts and shirts.

  ‘I love ducks!’ shouts Nat. His voice is so loud that the ducks take fright and fly away. Except for one little chap, who huddles against my leg.

  ‘Hello, gorgeous,’ I coo, sounding like Coco. I lift him up and rub my face against his feathers. I want him to feel special and safe and loved. But I breathe in at the wrong time and a downy feather goes up my nose.

  ‘Achoo!’ I sneeze. Hard and loud, with lots of spray.

  ‘QUACK!!’ The duck squirms from my hands, falls on the grass and glares up at me. He shakes the sneezy droplets off his feathers and flies away to join his friends.

  ‘Bye, gorgeous,’ I whisper and giggle.

  We ride on, over a bridge, along an avenue of trees and out into the countryside. We glide through fields full of pink tulips and others full of green grass and happy cows. And at last we come to a farm. All the buildings have black timber walls and thatched roofs. There’s a three-storey house, a small shed, a huge barn and a windmill turning lazily in the breeze.

  ‘Hellooo! Welcome!’ A man waves. It’s Casper, the customer from this morning.

  We lean our bikes against the barn and Dad holds out the parcel. ‘These are the books you need! A big book of jokes, four very funny novels and a yellow book with cartoons of cats chasing dogs.’

  Casper tears away the paper and smiles. His large teeth fill his face. His belly and chins begin to shak
e. And then he laughs. Like a turkey in full gobble.

  ‘What a surprise!’ he sings. ‘Thank you!’

  Nat stares at Casper and shouts, ‘I love wobbly chins!’

  Casper laughs again and points to a sign nailed to the barn wall: CHEESE AND LAMBS FOR SALE.

  ‘Perhaps I could pay for the books in kind,’ he says.

  ‘Wonderful idea!’ cries Dad.

  It really is! I imagine all of our customers paying for books with cheese. Three slices for a short novel. A wedge for a pretty picture book. An entire wheel for a set of encyclopaedias. And what if they started paying with cake . . . or chocolate . . . ?

  We follow Casper into the small shed. It’s full of cheese. Wall to wall. Floor to ceiling. And it stinks. Not in a bad way but in that lovely pongy cheesy way.

  ‘I love cheese!’ shouts Nat. He wraps his arms around a giant wheel of cheese with waxy red skin and kisses it!

  Casper laughs.

  Dad frowns. ‘Oh, you meant you’d pay in cheese!’

  ‘But of course!’ says Casper. ‘Do you prefer money?’

  ‘No,’ Dad replies. ‘I prefer lambs.’

  We leave Casper sitting on his doorstep, clutching his new books and chuckling. It really does look like these are the right books. Which makes me think of Willemina and the wrong book.

  We ride a different way home, through more fields of tulips — cherry red, orange, yellow. Dad pedals along beside us, a fat lamb staring out from the bike basket.

  ‘I love lambs!’ shouts Nat.

  ‘Me too!’ I sing.

  Dad smiles. He zooms ahead and zigzags from one side of the path to the other, like a bee buzzing from flower to flower. The lamb bleats, and I wonder if it’s dizzy or happy or both.

  Nat and I laugh and pedal really fast until we catch up.

  We stop in a meadow full of wildflowers and grass. We make daisy chains while the lamb nibbles at its favourite bits.

  ‘She loves flowers!’ shouts Nat.

  ‘I think she might be a he,’ says Dad. ‘Which means he’ll grow into a big ram, with enormous horns and possibly a bad temper. He’ll probably be a head-butter. Maybe even a bottom-biter.’

  ‘I love head-butters and bottom-biters!’ shouts Nat.

  ‘Maybe we can teach him to bite Gerda’s bottom,’ I mutter.

  I drape a daisy chain around the lamb’s neck and Nat shouts, ‘Daisy! His name is Daisy!’

  ‘Perfect,’ says Dad, lifting Daisy back into the bike basket. ‘I don’t know any other rams called Daisy.’

  We ride on with daisies around our necks and in our hair, and the sun shining on our faces.

  Soon we’re back in the village and Nat is begging to swap seats.

  ‘I love being the boss!’ he shouts. ‘I’m really good at steering!’

  I doubt it. Especially with that eyepatch.

  But Nat insists. So we swap seats and Nat isn’t really good at steering and we ride straight into the canal!

  Luckily, it’s shallow here and the water only comes up to Nat’s chin. Still, a kind man comes to the rescue. He throws a lifesaving ring into the water, and Nat grabs on and won’t let go. Even when we’re back on dry ground. Because it’s the biggest, most beautiful O he has ever seen and he loves it. Even more than he loves ducks and purple sheep and stroopwafels and pink flashing lights and lambs called Daisy that will grow into big, grumpy, head-butting, bottom-biting rams.

  CHAPTER 10

  A list of loveliness and a little bit of icky

  Back in the bookshop, Daisy goes wild. He runs up and down the stairs, chases the hedgehogs, bleats rudely at Coco and bounces around the tables as though his legs are springs. Then he boings onto the sofa and falls asleep between Nat and me. He even snores.

  Nat and I giggle.

  I tingle with happiness and decide to trap the happiness in words. I grab my notebook and pen, lie on a rug and write.

  I read my list and it makes me happy all over again. Because the words are so fat with extra bits tucked inside. Like number seven. It’s not just about the lamb. It’s about the ride home. It’s about daisy chains and the naming of Daisy. It’s about giggles and snores. And most of all, it’s about love.

  I tear the page from my notebook, fold it up and add it to my word collection. But as I close my jewellery box, I recall the icky bit of this day. The bit with Gerda. Which makes me think of Willemina and the wrong book. Again.

  Dad always finds the right book. Exactly what’s needed. But not today. Perhaps he was just too busy and made a mistake. I have to say something.

  ‘Dad, I think you gave Willemina the wrong book.’

  He doesn’t reply. Maybe I’ve hurt his feelings.

  ‘The book on creepy-crawlies is beautiful,’ I admit. ‘Although I don’t think it will teach Willemina a thing about bravery. It won’t help her to change.’

  ‘Willemina’s lovely just as she is!’ cries Dad. ‘Why should she change?’

  ‘Because she’s sad!’

  ‘Why’s she sad?’ he asks.

  I roll my eyes. ‘Because Gerda bullies her!’

  We’ve had this conversation before and it’s still not working. So I change the topic. Just a little bit. ‘Why do people bully other people? Why can’t they just be happy?’

  ‘Are you happy?’ asks Dad.

  ‘Of course I am!’ I smile.

  ‘Why?’ he asks.

  I think of the list I’ve just written. It’s about Today Happiness, but I think Dad is asking about Always Happiness.

  ‘Because . . . because . . .’ It’s not as easy to say as it is to feel. ‘Because we live in a magical bookshop . . . and travel to wonderful places . . . and I have you and Nat and Mum . . . and I love you all and I know you all love me.’

  ‘How do you know I love you?’ asks Dad.

  That’s easy!

  ‘Because you’re kind,’ I say. ‘You do stuff with me — fun stuff and silly stuff, and serious stuff too. And you hug me and kiss me and tell me you love me.’

  Dad smiles. His brown eyes look soft and shiny.

  ‘But what about my question?’ I nag.

  Dad sighs. ‘Often when people bully others, it’s because they feel bad about themselves.’

  ‘How could Gerda feel bad?’ I cry. ‘She has everything. She’s pretty and strong and smart and popular and rich. She lives in a big house, and she has pink flashing lights on her sneakers and her skipping rope!’

  ‘I love pink flashing lights!’ shouts Nat.

  ‘So she has everything,’ murmurs Dad. But he sounds uncertain. As though I’ve got it wrong.

  Perhaps he just can’t believe that one person could have so many pink flashing lights in their life. Nat sure can’t.

  CHAPTER 11

  Café of cakes and bitterness

  ‘We need cake!’ announces Dad the next morning. ‘Dutch cake. Right now!’

  ‘But we haven’t even had breakfast,’ I say, rubbing my sleepy eyes.

  ‘It’s Saturday!’ shouts Dad. ‘Cake is breakfast on Saturdays. Goodness, Mim!’ He slaps his forehead. ‘Everyone knows that!’

  I giggle. This is a brand-new rule Dad has just made up. But it’s a good one, so I don’t argue.

  Nat slips on his clogs and eyepatch, then puts his fairy wings on Daisy. ‘Do you think he’ll be able to fly now?’

  ‘Hmmm,’ says Dad. ‘Possibly. Did the fairy wings help you to fly?’

  ‘Yes!’ shouts Nat. ‘I flew into the canal. Yesterday. Remember?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Dad nods. ‘That was impressive.’

  We leave Daisy in the bookshop. Nat wants to bring him along, but Dad says he probably needs some flying lessons from Coco before he goes flapping around in the wide blue sky.

  ‘Dad,’ I whisper. ‘Nat will be so disappointed when Daisy doesn’t fly.’

  ‘How do you know Daisy won’t fly?’ he asks.

  I screw up my nose.

  ‘Have you forgotten that cow we saw jumping ove
r the moon?’ asks Dad.

  ‘That was in a book,’ I hiss. ‘The big red book full of nursery rhymes. You used to read it to me at bedtime when I was little.’

  Dad stares at me and shakes his head.

  I roll my eyes at him and shake my head.

  Ruben’s Café is bustling. We squeeze through the crowd and find a table outside by the canal. The waiter hands us each a cake menu — a small pink card with gold print. It’s wonderful — more an invitation than a menu.

  ‘It’s poetry!’ I gasp. I press the card to my chest. ‘I’m keeping this for my word collection!’

  We go inside to meet and greet the cakes.

  ‘Look,’ I whisper. ‘That must be Ruben, the poetic baker.’

  ‘Or is he a baking poet?’ asks Dad.

  Ruben is a large man who rushes about in a chef’s hat and white tunic, cutting cakes, serving cakes, piping cream into big, soft swirls on cakes. He has icy blue eyes and doesn’t smile. Not even a twitch. I look from my pink card to Ruben, then back at the card. It’s hard to match the stern man with the beautiful words.

  Nat and I drool over the goodies in the glass display cabinet — fat apple pies, cheesecakes with berries and cherries and cream on top, vanilla slice, stroopwafels, giant waffles, doughnut balls, peppernuts, speculaas biscuits in the shape of windmills, a vanilla cake with almonds and a chocolate cake with seven layers!

  Nat and I are still trying to choose when I see Gerda slip in behind the counter.

  ‘Dad,’ she says. ‘Dad. Dad. Dad.’ She’s talking to Ruben, tugging at his sleeve.

  He ignores her.

  ‘Dad!’ says Gerda, speaking louder, tugging harder. ‘Dad! Dad! Dad!’

  Ruben pushes her aside. ‘I’m busy!’

  ‘But it’s important,’ Gerda whines. She looks like she’s about to cry. I didn’t think Gerda ever cried! She seems so tough.