by Tara Basi
“Look,” Madge said.
Reluctantly I raised my head and looked. She was pointing past Dicklightly, who sat in his store window, to where Bobby, Tiny Tim, George and Tony were wandering through the crowd with big plastic buckets marked ‘Charity X’. Everyone they passed put something in their buckets. Amazing, people were giving us money, for this. It was just totally loopy.
“Isn’t he lovely,” the brown boy said as he nudged me in the shoulder with his elbow, nodding towards Dicklightly.
“No,” I answered, looking up at the brown boy as though he must be a little insane.
“Humph,” he replied, turned up his nose in a very grand way and returned to staring at Dicklightly’s back with a silly smile across his face.
“He’s going on like this till 2am?” I whispered to Madge. She seemed to have paused for a moment while considering her next shot.
“Sure, it is billed as a ‘12 hour naked reading of the works of Joan Collins, without the disgusting bits,’ and that’s what people will be expecting,” Madge said, as though what was going on was perfectly normal.
“Doesn’t he have to go to the toilet or something?” I asked, hoping for some kind of break from the horror.
“Why do you think he’s got that plastic tube down there? Come round here, you can see it better,” Madge answered and gestured for me to join her standing to one side of the window.
The picture her words conjured up was bad enough; I barely suppressed an immediate desire to be sick, and shook my head vigorously. All the while Dicklightly droned on.
“Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting, the startled horse reared up, disgusting, disgusting, and then Baumont snaked out a muscular arm and grabbed his horse whip. Moments later he had Belinda bent over the horse trough and started, disgusting, disgusting, disgusting…”
On Monday morning I woke with a warm feeling: it was going to be a lovely normal day. No weird happenings, no rats, no wheelchair dancing, no seagull apocalypse and, best of all, no naked old men. Just a nice day, meeting Madge at the café tent and checking the final balance in Bobby’s account. I hoped, though it seemed unlikely, that we’d got enough to at least send Bobby to Zurich with his mum and dad.
“Well,” Madge squeaked excitedly as soon as I came out of Mr Singh’s, having made the phone call.
“£2,700,” I answered with a wooden smile. It really was a lot money, it just wasn’t enough.
“That’s really amazing, you must be really proud. And Wednesday we’ll be premiering Charity X the Movie. That should get us another few hundred, maybe take us up to £3000,” Madge said excitedly.
“£3000, that would be good,” I replied, having completely forgotten about the film show. It wasn’t £4000 but we were getting closer. I felt a bit better.
“Right, I’m off to the big island to see my friend Mary-Mac. She’s got a huge PC, super broadband and proper movie editing software. I’ll be back Wednesday morning,” Madge said, all organised and back in film director mode. I recognised director mode when I saw it: hadn’t I directed the huge hit, Slim Chipolata? Though Dimple got the name wrong on the posters.
“Oh, OK. But remember, there can’t be anything about Bobby in the movie, just Charity X,” I reminded Madge. And then she was gone, racing to catch the morning ferry, clutching her camera and laptop bag. She’d always been the techy one, right from the start when Bobby used to call her the World Wide Webby Wally, behind her back of course.
With Madge gone and no Charity X madness to deal with, I had more time to think about what I was going to tell Bobby and when. His family were due to leave on the Saturday ferry, so I would have to tell him everything by Thursday, at the latest, after we’d deposited the film takings. If by some miracle we’d collected £4000 he would need time to buy tickets before Saturday.
Madge’s 20 minute Charity X documentary was shown on Wednesday evening at the church hall. It was on just before the main feature, which was some foreign drivel about a paralyzed Spanish guy who gets his friends to help him make a special cocktail. Madge’s movie was a huge hit. It was really polished, everyone was in it and Bobby was never mentioned, only Charity X. Madge had filmed Mother Superior talking to the camera right at the beginning about how worthy it was, the only sane rational moment in the whole film. The rest was a rollercoaster ride through the mad minds of the small island’s population as they enjoyed one bizarre event after another. Dimple’s dancing looked really good. I just look terrified “but cute,” Madge said. The only bit I couldn’t bear to watch was the naked Dicklightly, though Madge kept telling me it was all tastefully done as she tried to pull my head up from my lap and my hands away from my eyes. A good night was had by all and we collected £400. Tomorrow I would have to tell Bobby everyone tried but we just didn’t quite make it: we only had £3,100.
I arranged to tell Bobby everything over a couple of cups of steaming CAC in the Café Tent.
“My dad is Charity X?!” a shocked Bobby spluttered.
“It’s OK, no one knows about Zurich. It’s for a holiday to… various other places,” I tried to explain, trying to remember exactly where everyone thought Bobby’s family was going.
“I’m so… It’s so… kind. Amazing of everybody, all for my Dad, that’s,” Bobby didn’t finish. He turned away for a moment, then he blew his nose, wiped his eyes and turned back to look at me, “It’s a special thing you’ve done Terry, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had… ever going to have.” Bobby’s voice broke and he couldn’t look at me or say anything for a little while.
“It’s not all good. We tried hard Bobby, but we didn’t collect enough. You were right, it was too much money and not enough time. Here,” I said trying not to cry and handed Bobby the passbook.
“It doesn’t matter how much, people cared, you cared. It’s just… such a good thing. And it’ll make my mum and dad feel a bit better, really. However much you collected will be more than we can ever thank you enough for,” Bobby answered, a little more like his normal self.
“You can ring them and they’ll tell you how much. I haven’t checked since Monday. We did collect quite a lot at Madge’s movie last night,” I said quietly, still blushing from what Bobby had said about me.
“It was a fantastic movie, she’s really talented. Terry… where exactly do people think we’re going on this holiday?” Bobby asked, as his huge brainbox started working at normal speed.
“Well, since I couldn’t tell anyone about Zurich, I let them suggest places. So you’re off to Dundee, Lourdes, Amritsar, Berlin and San Francisco. Argh, I just remembered, they think you’re going as well and we probably don’t have enough money. What are we are going to do?”
“Relax, on Sunday I’ll be leaving on the ferry with my parents to stay with a cousin on the Big Island for Christmas. And you know, I’m not sure I could do it anyway. You know, go there, knowing he’s not coming back. Maybe it’s better to say goodbye here. My mum and dad aren’t going to say anything about where they’re going, so people can imagine the place they’d like them to be going and everything will be fine,” Bobby explained in his usual calm way.
“Your dad’s not coming back? He’s staying in Disneyland?” I asked. I was confused by that particular revelation, but happy that Bobby wouldn’t be disappointed when he saw how much we’d collected.
“Disneyland? Oh sure, yes, he’s staying. I’ll explain it all later, after Christmas,” Bobby said, looking startled at first but smiling in the end.
“OK, but go and check. See how much there is, I’ll wait in here,” I said sipping on my CAC.
Bobby left to make the phone call. I watched him go, and couldn’t help thinking that there would be no “after Christmas.” I’d have left by then, too.
Bobby was gone for an awfully long time when suddenly Mr Singh appeared supporting a very limp looking Bobby.
“He faint, on phone, on floor, he sick?” Mr Singh asked as he gently lowered Bobby on to the chair in the tent. Bobby looked really dazed
. After a few moments he seemed to be a bit better and sat up straight, though he was very quiet.
“I’m off, you watch him,” Mr Singh said and left.
“Have some CAC,” I said holding his cup up to his lips. “Are you OK?” I asked as Bobby took the cup from me and sipped thoughtfully at his CAC. He was still wide-eyed and staring fixedly straight ahead as though I wasn’t even there.
“Bobby?” I prompted, when he still hadn’t spoken and after several minutes.
“£175,456.47p” Bobby muttered breathlessly.
“What? Are you OK, what happened?” I asked, worried that he started talking gibberish. Perhaps Bobby was just overwhelmed by the whole Charity X thing and needed to just sit quietly for a while.
“£175,456.47p” Bobby said again.
“You’re not making any sense Bobby. What’s that number? The national debt or something?” I asked, getting more worried.
“In my account, there is £175,456.47p,” Bobby said very slowly, still staring blankly ahead.
“No, silly, you got it wrong; it’s only £3,100 max. I’m sorry it’s not more Bobby, but at least your mum and dad have to borrow a bit less,” I laughed. Bobby wasn’t laughing.
“You go. Phone, check it yourself. I must be going mad,” Bobby ordered, almost pushing me out of the tent.
I remember calling, listening to the balance and then the next thing I remember is Mr Singh lowering me gently on to my chair in the tent.
“What with you idiots? Phone, faint, phone, faint, some kind of sex number? Bad boys,” and with that Mr Singh stormed out of the tent.
“£175,456.47p,” I muttered in shock.
“£175,456.47p,” Bobby repeated as though we were in church,
“It’s impossible,” I blurted out, shaking myself back to reality.
Bobby leapt to his feet, “Wait here, I’m going to ask for a proper bank statement. It should arrive tomorrow. It’s obviously a mistake, a really big mistake.”
He was back in a couple of moments. “£3,100 you said. That’s a hell of a lot of money Terry. What an achievement, I can never thank you enough. It’ll be a fantastic help to my mum. We’ll sort the other nonsense out when I get the statement.”
We reconvened in the tent the next morning. Bobby arrived as soon as the postman had been. Me and Madge were already there, waiting. Bobby carefully opened the very official looking letter from the bank while we watched.
“£175,456.47p,” Bobby kept repeating. We all stared disbelieving at the authentic looking bank statement.
“It’s got to be wrong, what’s this line ‘£120,000 Brainchewer royalty payments’, and this ‘£5000, Mr Crumb’ and ‘£5000 Maria Dance Inc’ and what’s this, ‘YouTube donations £42,000’,” I spluttered.
“Don’t you remember Terry? You wrote to Mr Crumb and Maria for a donation,” Madge reminded me.
“He must have a made a lot of money out of that bog-swap sale. And Maria must have put on a very special pole dance. And, I just remembered I did write to the Brainchewers about a benefit concert,” I said as my letter writing memories returned.
“I checked while I was on the Big Island. There was no concert, but they did do that Beyoncé cover you suggested. It’s number one across Asia,” Madge squealed, suddenly realising where all the royalties had come from.
“Good grief. You’re rich Bobby, you can go to Zu- Sydney, if you want, first class,” I shouted, quickly correcting myself remembering Madge didn’t know about Zurich.
“But what’s YouTube? I didn’t write to anybody called YouTube,” I asked in a voice that kept going higher.
“That might be me,” Madge mumbled, going completely red.
“You? How’d you get £42,000? That’s incredible Madge,” I screamed, giving Madge a big hug.
“I posted my movie on YouTube with Bobby’s bank details, if people wanted to donate to Charity X,” Madge said breathlessly after I stopped squeezing her.
“Bobby you’ve got zillions, you can do anything you want,” I spluttered excitedly.
“No, it wouldn’t be right, it’s for Charity X, not just me. Let me think about this for a bit,” Bobby said. He went all quiet in a nice, positive Bobby-is-thinking and any moment there’ll be a big trouser hitch way. So, Madge and I relaxed, enjoyed our CAC and I thought about how nice squeezing Madge was. I’d miss her and Bobby a lot.
So Bobby did think and he sorted everything out.
He took £20,000 and left for Zurich on Saturday with his mum and dad. It was a lovely Saturday morning, everything was fluffy white with snow. Everyone was there to wave him off: Mr Singh, Dimple, Mummy-ji, Mr McStrumpy, Mr McTater, Mr Dicklightly, Mr McFont and Mother Superior. They all had quiet whispered tips about their destination, Lourdes, Dundee, Amritsar, Berlin and San Francisco. Bobby’s mum smiled and nodded at every whispered suggestion just as Bobby had told her to. Bobby’s dad looked tired but quite well, the best I’d seen him in months. He gave me a big smile and winked and I winked back hoping he’d enjoy Magic Mountain and the Mad Hatters tea-party ride. It was nice to see Mr Dicklightly in clothes again. And, too soon, they sailed off and I’d never got to tell Bobby about my problem, so I told Madge instead.
“She’d said New Year’s, so I thought a few days, but she meant new year, as in she’s sending me to live with my dad in Glasgow next year and maybe longer, maybe forever, maybe I’ll never come back,” I whispered quietly, trying not to cry in front of Madge.
“Why’s she sending you away?” Madge answered, not bothering to hold back the little tears that welled up in her lovely eyes.
“She’s just poor, really, we’re broke. Mum’s already doing three jobs and we’re still broke. And Dad’s doing well so… that’s it really. She thinks I’d be better off with Dad, but I don’t want to go and leave the Small Island. I don’t want to go,” I explained quietly. Tears rolled down my cheeks in big dollops of salty moisture.
Mother Superior must have noticed the both of us sobbing because she came over.
“You did a really Christian thing for Bobby. You should be very proud, even if you’re going to miss your friend,” Mother Superior said. She pat me on the head in a way which would normally be very irritating but today didn’t feel so bad.
“Did you hear about Charity X, the latest I mean?” Mother Superior unexpectedly asked.
“No,” I sniffed, trying to get my tears under control.
“The Charity X account has been signed over to the school, for me to administer. There’s over £200,000 and it keeps rising. Madge’s video has gone viral and the Brainchewers are a huge hit in China,” Mother Superior said, as though it was an everyday Small Island occurrence.
“How much?” I asked, so shocked I sucked up my tears and looked up at Mother Superior.
“Indeed, so we’ll send a lot to Africa. But we also want to help people on our own Small Island. For example, your mum is getting a special artistic grant so she can work full time on her knitted toys, which everyone thinks are just wonderful. She should do really well selling those,” Mother Superior continued in a matter of fact way, as though what she was telling me wasn’t a miracle.
“Maybe you can stay Terry, if you’re mum’s, you know, if she’s a bit better off,” Madge said, smiling through her tears.
“And Madge, we’re setting up a special trust, so you can do a degree in film studies when you’re a bit older, if you want to,” Mother Superior continued.
Madge cried and I tried not to but I didn’t try very hard. For once it felt good to cry.
Bobby and his mum came back after Christmas and just as he said they were alone and I never saw his dad again. Nobody asked and it was just kind of understood that Bobby’s dad had gone to a better place and it had been a really special family holiday. Bobby made me watch the soppy Spanish movie again about the paralysed man and his special cocktail on DVD, and this time I read the subtitles. Afterwards Bobby told me about Zurich and at first I felt really stupid and then I was very upset
and then I was happy for Bobby, his mum and his dad; and I was glad I was staying on our wonderful, crazy Small Island.
THE END
