‘Wait,’ said Elliot. ‘The radio? Do the radios work again?’
‘Yes,’ said Horatia, before adding, slightly proudly: ‘I’m going on GBC4. National radio.’
Hamish began to feel uneasy. If the radio signal was suddenly back, it had to be for a reason.
An annoyed Clover had had enough and stamped her foot in frustration.
‘You know what, Horatia?’ she said. ‘You’re supposed to be on our side now. You shouldn’t host the competition. You should call it off. You are single-handedly helping to put the whole world in danger!’
‘That’s a very serious allegation!’ said Horatia.
‘I’m a very serious alligator!’ said Clover.
‘Why not do something heroic?’ said Alice. ‘And say, “Forget it! I’m not hosting this blimmin’ baby competition! It’s cancelled!” I mean, it’s simple!’
‘Yeah!’ said Clover. ‘It’s not rocket salad!’
Horatia looked awkward. She could do that but she’d lose her job. She wouldn’t be able to feed her family.
Hamish shook his head.
‘They’d just find someone else,’ he said. ‘And we don’t know how Scarmarsh would react.’
He stood up, tapping his chin.
‘Plus, do you know what? This is good. We have someone on the inside. In fact, this might be just what we need!’
Finally, and just in time, Hamish had started to come up with a plan.
Bawlers
At 9 a.m. exactly, the people of Starkley and the people of Frinkley took their very separate seats.
They were very separate because a) they couldn’t exactly all sit on the same seat, and b) they wanted to be as far away from each other as possible. It was Starkley on one side, Frinkley on the other, and, in the middle, a lost tourist called Martin who had no idea what was going on.
‘Why does it smell of cinnamon?’ he kept asking.
What should have been a lovely competition had started to feel like something less pleasant.
Beneath the balloons and bunting, there wasn’t the normal polite chit-chat and hellos that grown-ups always use when mingling with strangers. There were none of those questions they all ask each other when they don’t know what else to say. Those questions that aren’t really questions, just weird sentences they swap with each other.
Like, normally, one of them would say, ‘This weather!’
And then the other one would look around and then laugh loads, like pointing out that there was some weather was really funny.
‘Hahahaha, I know,’ they’d reply. ‘Oh, dear.’
That’s not a conversation, is it?
And it was even less friendly now. People eyed each other and muttered suspiciously. They were too busy muttering and sputtering to take a good look at what was around them.
But Alice did. She looked out at the dozens of babies and shook her head. It was worse than she could ever have imagined.
Boffo Quip was surrounded by fearsome infant associates of all shapes and sizes.
It looked less like a beautiful baby competition and more like the Starkley International Champion Junior Weightlifters’ Convention. A rather scared-looking lady was selling baked goods next to the face-painting stall, as babies queued up to buy and scoff whole cakes.
‘Okay, let’s have our first, um, baby!’ said Horatia into her microphone, and up stepped Mr and Mrs Popperby. Well, I say ‘stepped’. It was more like ‘staggered’. They really were struggling to hold their baby between them. Both parents were pretending this was absolutely fine and their baby weighed the same as fairy wings, dreams and rainbows. In reality, he was the size and shape of a sack of potatoes.
‘This is Delbert,’ gasped Mr Popperby, his legs wobbling at the knees from the strain of carrying his enormous six-month-old baby. ‘He has a very special skill.’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Popperby, with a sweaty, bright red face from all the effort of their short walk. ‘He can crush a can of pop in one hand!’
Right on cue, Delbert whipped a can of Epic Soda from his nappy, opened it with the mere flick of a finger, drained the whole thing, belched and crushed the can in one fat fist. Then he threw it the length of the square and it rattled into a bin.
It was seriously impressive.
‘Very good!’ said Horatia, as the Popperby parents collapsed under the weight of their can-crushing Buddha. ‘Our next baby is from Starkley.’
A couple of Frinkley people nudged each other and smiled, ready to make fun of it.
The Drongs of Starkley both had very long hair and wore heavy-metal T-shirts. Their little girl was called Marmalade, and apparently she could strum a simple chord on the guitar while her parents sang in close harmony. Mr and Mrs Drong cleared their throats, ready for their performance, but, when Marmalade picked up the guitar, she just started wildly smashing it into the stage!
‘Marmalade!’ shouted Mr Drong, appalled. ‘I thought we were going to jam!’
The baby girl rocked her head backwards and forwards as she swung the guitar, like a proper grown-up headbanger with her hair flying everywhere. The noise was tremendous. Horatia kept glancing nervously at Boffo, hoping all this was keeping him in a jolly mood and not angering him.
Boffo simply looked on, barely interested. This was good. Nurse Pickernose had said so in her training.
The guitar had splintered into fifty pieces by now and, even though all that was left was the neck, Marmalade still kept whacking it.
All the babies started beating their chests and shouting, ‘Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!’ in rising excitement.
But enormous Boffo just looked weary. He had turned a huge bib backwards and it made him look like he was wearing a robe or cape. He had obviously just had a Big Boy Breakfast at Frinkley’s Royal Burgers, because he had one of their little paper crowns on too.
He raised his hand and the other babies calmed down.
‘He’s like the King Baby,’ said Alice, peeking out from behind the stage.
‘We need to keep our eye on him,’ said Hamish. ‘Pickernose said we must be ready the second it looks like his mood is changing.’
That was the plan so far. Hamish and the gang would judge when Boffo was about to turn into Bad Boffo and immediately try and calm him down. They had a few ideas up their sleeves. Hamish checked his pocket for Mum’s chocolate Mustn’t grumbles. If they could ward off Boffo’s bad mood, it might leave them enough time to work out how to stop Scarmarsh’s plan.
Hamish studied Boffo very closely, like one of those nature-documentary people on TV studying a pink puma or a cauliflower cuttlefish. Every little Boffo blink. Every twitch of his mouth. Every slaverous globule of baby drool. In one hand, Boffo held a long rattle, like a sceptre. On his chubby knee sat his faithful friend, Toppy Sparkles. But Hamish couldn’t see any sign of anything else. No mind-control collar. No tiny radio in his ear. Nothing that gave any hint or clue that Scarmarsh could get to him.
Another baby was on stage now and had somehow set his father’s shoe on fire, which made all the babies go crazy again. Frau Fussbundler had to run onto the stage with Madame Cous Cous’s beloved red fire extinguisher. Hamish noticed the babies kept glancing at Boffo, as if desperate for his approval.
But still Boffo stared with little emotion, giving nothing away, like a bored Emperor watching terrible gladiators.
And then . . .
‘Did you see that?’ said Hamish.
A slight judder of Boffo’s knee.
Just a little bounce, nothing that anybody would notice.
And then another.
‘Yes!’ said Alice, but Hamish already knew something was about to happen, because the radio crew from GBC4 were signalling to Horatia Snipe.
‘Thirty seconds, Ms Snipe!’
They were preparing to broadcast right across the country.
‘Wait! That’s why the radio signal is back! It’s a way for Scarmarsh to spread the Baby Boom!’ cried Hamish, putting it all together. ‘He’s listening to t
he radio, and he’s going to trigger Boffo the second they start their show!’
Hamish and Alice looked at each other in horror. They’d thought the BABY BOOM could work its way slowly round the world. But, if it was broadcast, any baby near a radio could hear it and be affected!
Babies in cars.
Babies in shops.
Babies in kitchens or garages.
Babies in barbers.
Babies everywhere.
Things were rapidly reaching crisis point.
‘How is Scarmarsh controlling him?’ asked Alice, as Boffo suddenly threw his rattle to one side and started to grimace.
‘I don’t know but he’s getting upset!’ said Hamish. ‘Look at his bottom lip!’
It was quivering . . . and shaking . . . and v-v-vibrating . . .
Boffo’s eyes started to well up with fat, fat tears, ready to spill . . .
He stood and raised his arms, taking one enormous deep breath and lifting his teddy bear – his pride and joy – high into the air.
Its eyes caught the glint of the sun, and in that split second everything became clear to Hamish.
‘It’s TOPPY SPARKLES!’ he yelled. ‘TOPPY SPARKLES IS THE KEY!’
Uh-oh, It’s
Babygeddon!
Buster was on it like a bonnet!
Like a baby bonnet!
He’d been sitting in the ice-cream van, engine running, staring at Hamish and Boffo from the other side of the square. The second he saw Hamish begin to panic and wave his arms about, he’d shouted, ‘We’re ON!’ and jammed his foot down on the accelerator.
The van’s huge wheels had begun to spin and squeal as the PDF lurched into action, with Clover, Elliot and Venk flying to the back as it shot forward.
Boffo Quip was microseconds away from the mother of all tantrums. His huge eyes were wet with tears that were ready to spill. His chest heaved up and down, gulping in air that in moments he would force out again in some mighty, crazed baby yell. He squeezed both eyes shut, ready to unleash his monstrous powers, thanks to the evil teddy bear that was somehow controlling his mood.
‘It’s babygeddon!’ said Venk, pressed up against the window of the van.
‘Not if I can help it,’ said Buster, skidding into the square and honking his horn to distract Boffo.
Distraction is key, that’s what Pickernose had told them.
Boffo, red-faced and with a look of thunder, blinked one eye open. Who dared disturb the mighty baby?
‘Now, Elliot!’ yelled Buster, and Elliot slid back the roof of the van.
Buster hit PLAY on his stereo, as Elliot hoisted up the van’s huge disco ball. He’d rigged up all manner of torches to shine on it and suddenly ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ blasted from the speakers!
The babies looked up as the pretty shapes danced around on the buildings, reflected from the disco ball like a night light or a mobile.
Some babies, who had been ready for a fight moments earlier, began to sink back into their chairs, or sat heavily back down on their parents’ laps (which their parents did not enjoy at all).
‘Oooh,’ said one baby, as Buster started Stage Two: Feeding.
‘Ice pops,’ said Buster, flinging them from the van, ‘99s, Lemonade Lick-me-ups, Slush Guppies.’
Babies began to crawl gently towards the van, picking up whatever they could and licking at the ice creams.
Boffo, still surrounded by four or five fierce-looking babies, looked suspicious.
‘Stage Three!’ shouted Buster.
Clover kicked open the back doors of the van. She’d been hard at work all night. She was dressed in a costume she’d made which she called the ‘Baby Calmer’. She had two handfuls of pink glitter, a unicorn’s horn and a dress that looked like a puffy cloud. She began to leap and jump around the square, trying to be graceful and throwing glitter wherever she could.
‘I’m a cloud!’ she yelled. ‘I’m a unicorn!’
‘Oooh!’ oohed the babies.
‘Babies!’ yelled Horatia through the microphone. ‘You are feeling sleepy! It’s beddy-byes time!’
Babies that had been moving swiftly began to slow down, fascinated by Clover, calmed by the lullaby, almost hypnotised by Horatia.
‘It’s working,’ said Alice, punching Hamish quite hard on the arm to celebrate.
But Clover kept looking behind her. Where was Venk? She needed backup. He’d seemed fine with the plan. Delighted to be part of it, even. But now he’d lost his bottle.
Clover did some more jumping and sprinkled more glitter. The babies, already relaxed by the very loud lullaby, loved watching it catch the sunlight as it spread in the air and fell to earth.
‘Venk,’ she half whispered. ‘Now!’
But Venk remained in the van, head down.
‘Venk!’ she hissed again, much more sternly this time. ‘If I run out of glitter, they’ll get bored!’
She threw a little more and stared at the van in disbelief. Where was he?
‘I have to say, this is the strangest half-time show I’ve ever seen,’ said the reporter from GBC4 Radio, whose listeners must have been wondering what on earth they had tuned into.
One of the babies started to sigh. Clover was almost out of glitter and was becoming much less interesting.
‘VENK!’ yelled Buster. ‘We NEED you!’
Venk heard these words and raised his head.
‘What if this is it?’ Buster said. ‘What if this is YOUR MOMENT?’
And at that Venk found his strength.
He slid the side door of the van open and revealed himself for the first time.
He was wearing the biggest, most detailed, multicoloured Toppy Sparkles costume you’ve ever seen.
His face poked out of a big Toppy Sparkles head, complete with mad googly eyes.
He had giant paws and a big rainbow tummy.
‘I said make me cool,’ he said to Clover. ‘This is the most humiliating day of my life!’
The babies began to shake excitedly. It was Toppy Sparkles! Toppy Sparkles was really here!
And Venk decided to just go for it.
‘I AM TOPPY SPARKLES!’ he yelled, waving at his baby fans. ‘I’M TOPPY BLINKIN’ SPARKLES!’
Hamish and Alice had to stifle their laughter. Clover’s plan was genius. Hamish knew if there was one thing Boffo loved, it was that deranged bear, and Venk was doing a great job.
But their laughter wouldn’t last long. Because, while almost every other baby in Starkley began shouting with glee and happiness and joy, and all thoughts of a BABY BOOM were starting to fade, one baby did not look happy.
AT. ALL.
‘Alice,’ said Hamish, batting her arm. ‘Look.’
Boffo had turned bright red. His hands were shaking. His lip was quivering. He bent down and clutched his own Toppy Sparkles.
When he’d dropped it, he’d broken the bear slightly. And, on its arm, Hamish could just about make out a couple of wires . . .
‘There’s something in Boffo’s Toppy Sparkles!’ said Hamish. ‘That’s how Scarmarsh must be controlling Boffo – through some kind of mind-control device. Like those teddies that play mood music or whale song. Toppy could control Boffo’s mood. And the Formula One made that mood bigger and badder!’
Boffo stared at his damaged Toppy and then at Venk. He seemed to seethe.
‘I think he’s jealous,’ said Hamish. ‘He’s jealous of the massive Toppy Sparkles!’
Why would Boffo want his small, broken Toppy Sparkles when a huge, massive, boy-sized Toppy Sparkles was right there waiting for him?
Remember what Madame Cous Cous said? A baby’s emotions are pure. Imagine feeling nothing but jealousy. Pure jealousy. Coursing through your veins. Combining with rage. And being big enough to do something about it.
‘It’s happening,’ said Hamish, as it seemed the buildings themselves started to rumble and quake. ‘Somehow Scarmarsh has triggered Boffo!’
Hamish spotted the GBC4 reporter on the
stage, with his microphone held up in the air, capturing everything that was going on. ‘Alice – you have to stop that broadcast!’ Hamish said. ‘We can’t let other babies hear Boffo go crazy!’
‘I’m on it!’ said Alice, bursting into action with the speed of a tiger, making a dash for the stage and leaping through the air.
Hamish turned back to Boffo as a single tear dropped from his big blue eyes . . .
Hamish watched it almost as if it was falling in slow motion . . .
The purest of baby tears falling.
And – poff! – it landed in the scattered glitter by Mrs Quip’s handbag.
For a second, it seemed like there was nothing but silence.
Cry Babies
‘AAAAAARGH!’ yelled Grenville Bile, panicking in a way that really should be illegal. ‘Gerrem off me!’
As he spun round and around, three little babies hung from Grenville’s back, clutching him with one little fist and bopping him with the other.
When Boffo’s tear had hit the pavement, the King Baby had immediately WAAAAAILED to the heavens, causing a chaotic shift in the other babies’ moods.
Hamish had been proud to see Alice diving to knock the microphone out of the radio reporter’s hands and then pulling whatever wires out of whatever equipment she could find.
Phew! The Baby Boom was contained! But this was still an earth-shattering, mind-scattering, ear-clattering . . .
BABY BOOM!
And it was ANARCHY!
Parents tipped over tables and screamed as babies pelted them with whatever they could find from bins and bags. Big brothers and sisters screeched and legged it, pursued by small teams of baby assailants. Two babies picked up a skipping rope and turned it into a tripwire, sending Mr Ramsface and the strange little man from the newsagent’s tumbling head first onto the grass.
Two babies clambered through the roof of the ice-cream van and while one of them pulled Buster out of the front door, the other slapped his stereo until the gentle lullaby stopped and insanely loud HEAVY METAL came on instead!
Hamish and the Baby BOOM! Page 12
