Elizabella and the Great Tuckshop Takeover

by Zoe Norton Lodge

  “Ah, yes, hello, I need to put some feedback in the members’ feedback system,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, it’s NO FEEDBACK day,” said the Nutriicorp woman with a big smile.

  “But that’s not a day!” Mr Gobblefrump protested.

  “Of course it is! Monday, Tuesday, Nofeedbackday, Thursday, Friday.”

  Mr Gobblefrump was so so bamboozled by this he couldn’t even get a response out before she had walked, or glided as it seemed, all the way back to the tuckshop.

  “Blanger!” said Elizabella, pointing at Samuel who was walking in slow motion to the tuckshop.

  “Blanger indeed,” agreed Minnie. “I’ve been watching him. That’s his third trip to the cluckclop this morning. We have to do something.”

  Miss Carrol was thrilled to have new maths textbooks. There were also brand-new environmental science books for all the children – her favourite subject! In celebration of these new resources, Miss Carrol was letting all the kids decorate their new books – with glitter and stickers and contact paper provided by Nutriicorp. Even though there was a range of decorative bits and bobs on offer, Miss Carrol noted with curiosity how many children seemed to be electing to smother their books in Nutriicorp stickers.

  Obviously Elizabella wasn’t one of them. In fact, she was trying to peel the last little stubborn bit of the I’M A NUTRIICORP KID sticker she’d just discovered off Minnie’s back.

  “Elizabella, we need to get Miss Duck back,” said Minnie.

  “I know!” said Elizabella. “But it’s hopeless! How are we supposed to take on a massive corporation like Nutriicorp, who have already wormed their way into everyone’s brains?”

  Minnie stared at Elizabella. “The Elizabella I know wouldn’t give up that easily.”

  Elizabella looked at her, defensively. “Well, the Minnie I know would take charge of things and not palm the problem off onto someone else!”

  “Elizabella, I literally just invented a whole language, it’s your turn to do something huge.” Minnie changed her tone. “You love food. You love Miss Duck. You love Bilby Creek Primary. And you’ve proven that you know how to get Mr Gobblefrump to do just about anything.”

  I can’t deny that, Elizabella thought, remembering with a mixture of disgust and fondness how she’d been singlehandedly responsible for a full-blown teacher romance that led to Mr Gobblefrump becoming a nice guy last term.

  “You love and know these things better than anyone,” Minnie continued. “If anyone can think of what to do, you can.”

  She’s right, thought Elizabella. But what. . .?

  A week had passed since the floodgates of Nutriicorp had opened and things had become increasingly strange. Now almost everything in the school that had a surface – doors, walls, tote trays, bubblers, play equipment, trees, students, even the Year Two class parrot Diana – were branded with Nutriicorp stickers. The school notices that were read aloud had started to say things like We’re excited about the upcoming Bilby Creek Primary School Cross-Country Run Presented by Nutriicorp and A new shipment of books has arrived at the Nutriicorp Bilby Creek Primary School Library because reading is NUTRIITACULAR!

  You could hardly walk past a conversation between teachers or students without hearing “Nutriicorp” at least fifteen times. While most people were getting used to this new way of things, Elizabella and Minnie were growing increasingly concerned. Elizabella wasn’t just worried about everyone being brainwashed, she also couldn’t stop thinking about her friend Miss Duck. Having spent her whole working life at the Bilby Creek Primary tuckshop, Elizabella guessed she may not know what to do with herself.

  So when the weekend rolled around, Elizabella decided to pay a visit to Miss Duck. She stopped in at the Bilby Creek Good Time Supermarket on the way to get her a present. Elizabella ran her eyes along the shelves, trying to find a suitable gift, but everything seemed wrong. Firstly, they stocked mostly Nutriicorp products now and secondly, it was a supermarket so everything was basically food and Elizabella worried that food might remind Miss Duck of the tuckshop and make her sad – whether said food was branded Nutriicorp or otherwise.

  Eventually, Elizabella settled on an orange and pink sponge-scourer. It was pretty and practical – the perfect gift. She asked Angeliki to gift-wrap it for her. Angeliki, who was in Year Nine at Bilby Creek High and worked behind the counter in the family business on the weekends, narrowed her eyes with suspicion as she took out a fat sparkly golden ribbon and tied an oversized bow around the sponge. She was clearly thinking, Who gets a sponge gift-wrapped? She did it nonetheless. To finish it off she ran her long, silver-lacquered fingernails along the tails of the bow, making them form into tight curls.

  Elizabella decided to skip the rest of the journey to Miss Duck’s house. On the way, she noticed a beautiful sprig of decidedly salmon boronias right in front of her on the footpath. She picked them up and slipped them inside the ribbon around the sponge-scourer. If it was the perfect gift before, now it was eleven out of ten! The street that Miss Duck lived on was so bursting with boronias in every shade of pink you could imagine that it was actually called Pink Boronia Street. The explorer Darren Darrenson, who had named most things in Bilby Creek, had a reputation for being quite unimaginative.

  Elizabella walked up the front path to Miss Duck’s house and rapped on the doorknocker. She noticed there was actually a tiny picture of a cat rapping on a doorknocker on the doorknocker. Miss Duck answered it. She was wearing pyjamas covered in pictures of cats wearing pyjamas and an old-fashioned sleeping cap, which looked a bit like Santa’s hat only it was made from purple corduroy with a bright orange bauble on the end.

  Her eyes lit up as soon as she saw her visitor. “Elizabella!” she cried.

  Elizabella examined her, concerned. It was 4 pm and Miss Duck was still in her pyjamas. Or she had changed into them already and was planning a very early night. Either way . . . thought Elizabella.

  Miss Duck ushered her into the house and sat her down at a small, love heart-shaped coffee table. Miss Duck immediately went to the kitchen and came back with a lovely plate of afternoon tea for two. Elizabella wondered what she had planned on doing with it if Elizabella hadn’t spontaneously come over.

  Moments later, they were both sitting on the red velvet sofa set. In front of them was a silver tray sporting wafer-thin slices of apple and pear, fingers of sponge cake and warm, fragrant cups of rose tea, poured from a fine china teapot decorated with pictures of cats drinking tea.

  Elizabella took in a big steamy sip, inhaling to smell the roses, then exhaling over the cup, sending the steam back up into her face. She remembered that was something her mum used to do. She’d called it a “budget facial”. It was great. Everything Miss Duck made for the mouth was great.

  “How are you, Miss Duck?”

  “Oh, I’m okay,” she replied. “I’m still trying to work out exactly how to spend my time. This morning I made three hundred pikelets out of habit. I can only manage to eat about three, four at a maximum, so I have a few leftover. I gave one to a passing lorikeet, so that still leaves about . . .” Miss Duck started counting on her fingers, then became confused. “Well, a lot.”

  Elizabella was worried. This seemed like slightly strange behaviour. “I could take some,” she said, helpfully. “I reckon I could eat about twenty. And I could drop some at Sandy’s house on the way home. He’s obsessed with your pikelets.”

  “That would be lovely,” said Miss Duck. “But that won’t quite solve everything. I also have thirty-five apricot pies spread out on a picnic blanket on my bed and the bathtub is full of curried egg . . .” She started pointing to the many vases all around the room. “And that’s not water in those.”

  “What is it?” asked Elizabella.

  “Caramel malted milkshakes.”

  “Yum!” said Elizabella. “But also . . . wow! Did you cook all of that today?”

  Miss Duck seemed sad. “It’s all I know how to do.” She stood up, walked over to a
shelf and pulled out a big, amber-coloured photo album, then came back and sat next to Elizabella again. She tenderly stroked the first page with her hand as she showed Elizabella a photo. It was a woman who looked a lot like Miss Duck standing outside a building that looked a lot like the Bilby Creek Primary tuckshop, only a little older somehow.

  “That’s my mum, Big Miss Duck. She ran the tuckshop before me and taught me everything I know about making delicious food.”

  She turned the page. There was another, similar photo of a woman who looked a lot like Miss Duck and Big Miss Duck standing outside the building, which looked older still.

  “And that’s her mum, my grandma, Grand Miss Duck. She worked in the tuckshop before Mum and taught her everything she knew about how to make the best food ever.”

  Miss Duck let out a big sigh. “I’m not happy unless I’m making food for people. And I just don’t know how to stop!”

  Elizabella stared at the bookcases that lined the sitting room – there was something odd about them.

  “Miss Duck, are some of the books actually sandwiches?”

  “Cheese and lettuce!” she cried out. “What am I supposed to do with all this food?”

  Elizabella thought about it for a moment. She could probably eat about ten pies, six sandwiches and three or four vases of milkshakes, but that wouldn’t get rid of all the food and it wouldn’t solve the problem.

  Then she had an idea.

  “Miss Duck! You need to make food for people, right?”

  “Clearly!”

  “Well, Dad works at the Shelter for Bilby Creek Citizens in Need and he needs food to feed people in need!”

  The biggest smile broke out across Miss Duck’s face. “Elizabella. You are a genius!”

  And with that Miss Duck opened a giant cupboard full of containers and she and Elizabella set about the house packing up all the food, so very excited to give it all a good home.

  A little while later, Miss Duck and Elizabella showed up at the Shelter for Bilby Creek Citizens in Need. Unable to carry all the food, they had packed it up in containers and loaded it into a wheelbarrow.

  “Dad?” Elizabella yelled. Martin was inside and came to the door. As soon as he saw her a worried expression came across his face. It’s not that he wasn’t delighted to see his daughter, it’s that when she sprung up somewhere unexpected he could only assume something was afoot.

  Then he realised Miss Duck was with her and with them was a wheelbarrow full of delicious homemade food.

  “I have food for everyone!” Miss Duck announced.

  Martin clasped his hands together with delight. “Miss Duck! You are a superhuman! How did you make all this?”

  “If there’s one skill I have,” she said, “it’s making more food than I know what to do with. Luckily Elizabella thought of the perfect home for it!”

  Martin grinned from ear to ear. He ushered Elizabella and Miss Duck inside, taking custody of the wheelbarrow. As he came in the door he yelled, “Come, everyone! We have a feast!”

  And the people came out from the various winding corridors of the building. The citizens of Bilby Creek who were in need came in all shapes and colours and sizes and ages – because, as Elizabella had learned from her dad, sometimes everyone needs a little help.

  Martin pulled out trestle tables, which Miss Duck covered with stunning gold tablecloths, and they commenced setting up the feast. Martin put on the radio. Bilby Creek FM was playing love song dedications. He called up and placed a request.

  “I’d like to dedicate the song ‘Food Glorious Food’ to Miss Duck on behalf of the citizens of Bilby Creek!” he said into the phone and everybody cheered as they filled up their bellies.

  Elizabella was so happy. She may not have yet solved the problem of the entire school being brainwashed by Nutriicorp, but this felt even more special. The other problem could wait.

  As the weeks passed, the influence of Nutriicorp grew. So much so that some of the younger children couldn’t remember the pre-Nutriicorp era.

  Mr Gobblefrump noticed the girls and boys who normally chanted “England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales” as they played elastics were now simply chanting “Nutriicorp, Nutriicorp, Nutriicorp, Wales”. A few more weeks and Wales will probably disappear too, thought Mr Gobblefrump.

  The music room, now flush with new recorders, had a big sign above the door that read Nutriicorp Music Studio. Mr Gobblefrump winced every time he saw it. Mr Gobblefrump had a host of problems he wished to take up with the Nutriicorp members’ feedback system, but every time he asked one of the Nutriicorp people how to access it, they had an excuse of some sort. Recently he’d heard: “The wind blew away the feedback website” and, most irritatingly, “You already gave your feedback, and it’s being considered.”

  Mr Gobblefrump decided to call a meeting with Grandpa Nutriicorp, whom he still hadn’t clapped eyes on. If Grandpa Nutriicorp really was cuddly and considered Mr Gobblefrump family, as the Nutriicorp representatives had said, then surely he would understand where Mr Gobblefrump was coming from. He may even have some ideas about how to help.

  As Mr Gobblefrump walked into the tuckshop, a woman in tan slacks, a navy blazer and a crisp white shirt came over to him.

  “Excuse me,” he said to the woman.

  “Yes? Is there something Nutriicorpial I can help you with?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is,” said Mr Gobblefrump, using all his mental energy not to get angry about the made-up word the woman had used. Mr Gobblefrump had a particular hatred of made-up words, like when Elizabella coined the word “Recunch” for a made-up playtime between recess and lunch that many kids, and a few teachers, briefly thought was real.

  “I need to speak to Grandpa Nutriicorp,” he said.

  The woman laughed.

  “Did I say something funny?” enquired Mr Gobblefrump, innocently.

  “Nobody meets with Mr Grandpa Nutriicorp,” she said. “Nobody.”

  “Nobody?” asked Mr Gobblefrump.

  “Nobody. Not even his mother, Great Grandma Nutriicorpihighness, has met him.”

  Mr Gobblefrump was growing more exasperated and confused. “But I am the reason Nutriicorp is here! This is my school!”

  “Sir,” said the woman, sweetly, “this is Nutriicreek Primary School, a subsidiary of Nutriicorporation Operations Global Proprietary Limited.”

  “It’s what?” Mr Gobblefrump spun around and saw two men and two women all wearing the same tan slacks, navy blazer, white shirt, apron and hat. They were carrying a giant neon sign that said, Nutriicreek Primary School, a subsidiary of Nutriicorporation Operations Global Proprietary Limited.

  “And just where do you think you’re putting that?” he asked, chasing after them.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” the sign bearers said in unison as they walked the sign towards the front of the school.

  “That is not going out the front of the school, or my name isn’t Chester Gobblefrump, Acting Principal!” he declared.

  “Oh I think it is,” said the woman he’d been speaking to in the tuckshop.

  “I think NOT!” he yelled as loud as a hundred party poppers going off at once.

  “You agreed to it.”

  “I did not!”

  “It’s in the fine fine print of the Nutriicorp contract,” she said. “You signed it yourself.”

  “The fine fine print? There’s no such thing!” Mr Gobblefrump protested.

  Three girls in Year One scurried past and he heard one of them say, “I love Nutricreek Primary School!”

  Mr Gobblefrump stopped dead in his tracks. His blood ran cold.

  That’s it! he thought to himself.

  “Stuff the contract!”

  And, summoning all his strength and then some, he wrestled the sign off the Nutriicorp people.

  They looked at him, twitching. Mr Gobblefrump could have sworn he saw sparks fly out of one of the lady’s shoulders. Then, just like nothing had happened, big smiles came over all of their f
aces and they glided back to the tuckshop.

  I have to do something to make sure these kids don’t forget their heritage! he thought.

  Nearby, Minnie and Elizabella had watched this entire sign incident unfold.

  “Any brilliant ideas yet?” asked Minnie. She felt her padlocked hat, making sure it was still safely in place. She was still wearing it as a precaution.

  “No!” Elizabella exclaimed. “I can’t think of anything!”

  “Well you have to try harder, we’re one neon sign away from officially becoming Nutricreek Primary School!”

  “Minnie, what if this problem is just too big? Maybe even too big for us to solve?” Elizabella said. She was really very worried.

  “Don’t talk like that, Elizabella!”

  “I think it might be hopeless.”

  “Back at my old school,” Minnie said, “when they hired new sports coaches who tried to make us all do a ropes course every single lunchtime, what do you think I did?”

  “Something, I would guess.”

  “Do you think I sat around doing nothing, accepting this fate?” Minnie was on a roll with her impassioned speech, and not really hearing Elizabella.

  “No,” said Elizabella. “I bet you did something wild like used all the ropes to tie all the sports coaches’ feet together so they couldn’t walk until they changed their minds.”

  “You know what I did?” Minnie continued, “I used all the ropes to tie the sports coaches’ feet together until they changed their minds!”

  “Really!?” Elizabella was equally shocked that Minnie had done that and that she’d guessed correctly.

  “Yes! And you need to go home and you need to think BIG!”

  “Well, if you have any ideas, let me know,” said Elizabella.

  Minnie shrugged. “I don’t think I’ll come up with anything tonight. I promised my dad I’d help him make mooncakes. We’re going to eat them and look at the moon.”