“Rev, please,” said Barry.
Elliott took a deep breath and revved the accelerator. To the side of them, the Rolls-Royce limo revved in reply.
Barry nodded towards Mama Cool standing in front, between the bus and the limo. She looked terrified, but raised her flag anyway – the spotty tablecloth fluttered for a second in the wind – and then brought it down.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Hit the accelerator!” said Barry. “Floor it!” Elliott did as he was told. The bus moved forward – very fast (for a bus).
“Moo! Moo!!” went the cows. Whimper slurp, whimper slurp, went Neil, which suggested quite strongly that he was frightened but comforting himself with occasional sips from the udder.
Barry looked over. Despite the bus’s speed, it was still a bus, and the Rolls-Royce was still a car, and so it was getting ahead. He could see Jeremy, Teremy, Meremy, Heremy, Queremy, Smellemy, Sea Anemone, Dave and a number of sheep sticking their heads out of the electric roof, waving scornfully at him. (The sheep weren’t waving scornfully, they were just sticking their heads out, although one of them was going Baa! in what Barry took to be a mocking manner.)
“Faster!” said Barry.
“It won’t, like, go any faster?! It’s, like, a double-decker bus?!”
“Moo!!”
Barry tightened his hands round the wheel and turned it sharply towards the right. The front side of the bus banged against the back side of the limo. It knocked the limo off its path, spinning it round. And round and round and round, like a top.
“AAAAAAHHHH!!” Barry could hear faintly, under the roar of the bus engine.
And also: “BAAAAAAAAA!!”
“OK,” said Barry. “While they’re out of control – head for the finishing line!”
“Like, OK?!!!” said Elliott, who suddenly looked as if he was enjoying himself. He pressed down hard on the accelerator again.
The finishing line was a trail of Mung Bean Muck-Muck that Barry had made Mama Cool drip out with a spoon. They went past it easily. Barry looked behind: the limo had ended up marooned in the middle of the field.
“Hooray! We’ve won!” said Barry.
“Hey…” said Elliott. “Cool!”
“OK!” said Barry. “Now, hit the brakes!”
“I am!” said Elliott.
“Harder!”
“I’m, like, pressing down as hard as I can?!”
They looked through the windscreen. Rushing towards them was the cliff edge and, beyond that, the sea.
“Why won’t the brakes work?!” screamed Barry.
“I think a combination of going too fast, hitting the limousine and getting the wheels covered in Muck-Muck means we can’t, like, stop?!?!” screamed Elliott.
“Moo!!!”
“Whimper whimper whimper slurrrppp!!”
“Oh my God!!” shouted Barry. “Come on, Elliott… don’t lose your cool!!”
“I’ve lost it, man! Completely, like, gone?!! THIS IS, LIKE, NOT COOOOOOOL?!!
“Mooooooooooooo!!!”
“Not coooooooool!!!”
They were skidding closer and closer to the edge. Barry looked round. Mama Cool was chasing after them, waving her arms, perhaps in the hope of creating enough wind to suck them back. Behind her, Peevish, Jeremy, Teremy, Meremy, Heremy, Queremy, Smellemy, Sea Anemone, Dave and the sheep had got out of the limo and were pointing at them. (None of the sheep were pointing, but they were watching.)
Even Lord Rader-Wellorff had arrived to see what was happening. And, beyond him, Barry thought he saw two other faces – that man, and that woman – looking at him. The ones he’d seen at Bottomley Hall and the after-party with Vlassorina and the football match. As their faces receded away from him at some speed, he couldn’t see them properly, but could somehow make out their expressions, of concern and hope and… something else.
But before Barry could screw up his eyes to try and see them more clearly, Elliott screamed again. Barry turned round. All he could see was the oncoming cliff edge.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Barry shut his eyes. Then, as they lurched forward, he heard an enormous scrunching clunk.
What was odd about this enormous scrunching clunk was that it didn’t come, as Barry had expected, with terrible pain and broken bones and drowning and death. It just came with a jolt.
On that basis, he opened his eyes to discover that the bus had been stopped by some unseen object about ten metres from the cliff edge.
There was a banging sound to his left. He looked over. It was Mama Cool, looking, it has to be said, not at all cool, pounding on the window. Barry opened the door.
“Our tent!” she cried. “Our beautiful tent!”
“What’s happened to it?” said Barry.
“It’s under the [ ] bus!”
Actually, she said a swear here. A BIG swear. Before the word bus. But Barry decided to tune that out and pretend he hadn’t heard it.
“Oh,” he said. “I’m really sorry…”
“That’s not good enough!”
Barry thought. “I’m really… like, sorry?” he said.
Judging from her expression, that didn’t help, either. He opened the door and came down from the driver’s cab. Elliott followed him, looking more than slightly dazed. Mama Cool started pulling a corner of tent tarpaulin that was sticking out from under the front wheel. She pulled it hard. It broke. She fell over.
Barry was starting to feel really sorry for the Cools by now. He was about to do a truly big apology when he heard a loud voice behind him.
“Mr and Mrs Cool!”
He turned round. It was Lord Rader-Wellorff, with Jeremy, Teremy – oh, you know, all of them – by his side.
Lord Rader-Wellorff was standing over Elliott and Mama Cool. He looked very cross. “You are tenants on my land. And you have put my children at terrible risk! To say nothing of what you’ve done to my Rolls-Royce limousine! What have you got to say for yourselves…?!”
Elliott and Mama Cool looked up, shamefaced. They just held each other’s hands, not saying anything.
“In fact, do you have anything to say before I instruct Peevish to have you thrown orff my land immediately?!”
Barry decided it was time for him to speak. It was time for him to explain that none of this was Elliott and Mama Cool’s fault – well, except in so far as they had told him to do exactly what he liked – but never mind about that. Basically, the point is you should be blaming me, Lord Rader-Wellorff, not them. That was what he needed to say.
Barry stepped forward, in between Lord Rader-Wellorff and Elliott and Mama Cool. He opened his mouth. Unfortunately, just at that point, his stomach started to rumble. Really rumble. Inside his intestine, the A-Bombs had been mixing with the Sugar Sugars and the Banana Balls and the Caramel Hi-Kools and the Toffee Snakes and, perhaps worst of all, the spoonful of Mung Bean Muck-Muck he’d eaten earlier. And then it had all been shaken about in a very bumpy trip across the field in a skidding, out-of-control double-decker bus.
He put his hand on his tummy. He opened his mouth. And from his mouth came not an apology, but the most multicoloured, sparkly stream of sick anyone had ever seen. It was like a beautiful rainbow of sick.
Luckily, Mama Cool had realised what was about to happen as soon as Barry put his hand on his tummy and heard the loud rumble. So, in the nick of time, pulling Elliott with her, she jumped in front of Barry so that she and her husband could act as a human shield for Lord Rader-Wellorff.
Unluckily, this did mean that she and Elliott ended up covered head to foot in Barry’s beautiful rainbow of sick.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” said Lord Rader-Wellorff, backing away.
Jeremy, Teremy, Meremy, Queremy and all the rest of them backed off as well, going, “Urrggh!! Urggh!!!”
The rainbow went on for a long time. Barry made a strange noise throughout, which made the cows, who were still on the bus, look over with interest, thinking that perhaps he too was a cow.
Finally, i
t stopped. In the Bible, there’s a story about a man called Lot who God turns into a pillar of salt. The final scene here was a bit like that except, instead of Lot, it was Elliott and Mama Cool and, instead of God, it was Barry Bennett and, instead of salt, it was sick.
“Ahem,” said Lord Rader-Wellorff, stepping forward, but not too far forward. “Well. That was unfortunate. But, I have to say, very good of you, Mr and Mrs Cool, to… step into the firing line, as it were. Very good indeed. To get in the way of all that…”
He waved his hand towards what they were covered in.
“Sick!”
“Yaahs, thank you, Jeremy. So, in view of that, let’s just forget all about that business with the bus and the children and the Rolls-Royce limousine and throwing you orff my land. As you were,” he said. “Jolly good! Peevish! Children! Time to go!”
With that, he turned away. Barry looked up at Mama and Elliott Cool. He could just make out their eyes, in between drippy globs of red and green and orange. They were staring at him blankly.
“No, Dave, I know it smells of sweeties, but you can’t go and lick it orff them…” he heard Lord Rader-Wellorff say in the distance. But that didn’t distract Barry. He’d made up his mind.
“Please, Barry…” said Mama Cool.
“Yes, please, Barry…” said Elliott.
Barry knew what they were going to say: Be our son. And he was going to say yes. He was going to say yes.
“…can you go back to the Parent Agency. AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!!”
“Oh,” said Barry.
FRIDAY
CHAPTER ONE
“Oh dear…” said the Head. “Is everything all right now?”
“Yes,” said Barry. “Lord Rader-Wellorff gave them some money for a new tent. And said they could stay on his land for as long as they liked…”
“Oh well, that’s good.”
“And he even got Peevish to bring down a big hose to their field to wash off all the sick.”
The Head looked a little queasy at this.
“Couldn’t they have just jumped in the sea?” said Secretary One.
“I’m not sure all those chemicals would be good for the environment,” said Secretary Two.
“Yes, well, let’s not talk about it any more,” said the Head, who had turned a strange shade of green. “So, Barry… you’ve got one more go at it…” He turned over the last 24-Hourglass, the red one. “Better make it count,” he said.
Barry wanted to ask why. What happens if it doesn’t work out with the next set of parents either? But he knew that no one would answer this question. They would just mutter darkly and change the subject. Which meant all Barry knew was that what would happen was probably really, really bad.
He took out, for the last time, his list. It was EXTREMELY crumpled by now. He scanned it quickly. He knew it very well, having read it, it seemed, a million times since he’d been in this world. Being boring – tick; not being famous – tick; being poor – tick; not letting him play video games – well, he hadn’t done that one… but he didn’t think it was enough to say “parents who will let me play video games”. That should have been the Cools with their whole let-him-do-anything attitude, but they didn’t have any video games – or any electricity – and then he saw it, marked as if to remind him by a little splash of rainbow sick.
Number 7: ‘Being always much nicer to my twin sisters TSE than to me…’
“I’d like to try out parents… where I’m the favourite child, please.”
“Write that down, Secretary Two!” said Secretary One.
“I’m writing it down, Secretary One!” said Secretary Two, her pad already flipped over and halfway through writing down the word FAVOURITE (FAVOU she’d written so far).
“OK…” said the Head, opening his laptop. “So we’re back to parents with other children then. Because there’s not much point in being the favourite if you’re the only child, eh?”
“Write that down as well!” said Secretary One.
“I’m writing it down!” said Secretary Two, furiously scribbling the words OTHER CHILDREN.
While they were doing that, Barry had a thought. Number 7 was on his list because of the way he felt things were in his family. Because of the way his parents were when it came to him and his sisters. Now The Secretary Entity weren’t exactly The Sisterly Entity, but they were pretty close. And so Barry said:
“Actually… what about…?” He gestured with his head to his left.
“What…?” said the Head. He looked over. “Well. That’s not a bad idea. Secretaries!”
They both stopped writing and looked up.
“You’ll be all right if Barry spends his last day with your parents, won’t you?”
Both of them looked at him open-mouthed. Neither of them wrote down the words OUR PARENTS.
CHAPTER TWO
On the way to The Secretary Entity’s house – they walked there, as it was only round the corner from the Parent Agency – the two girls were clearly cross with Barry.
“Well, Barry, I mean I understand why you might want this, but I really think…” one of them was saying.
“And I think too…” said the other one.
“…that you’ve chosen the wrong parents.”
“Yes, our parents…”
“Marjorie and Malcolm Bustle…”
“Yes, Marjorie and Malcolm Bustle…”
“They are very solicitous with us.”
“Solicitous means caring. Looking after. Not neglecting.”
Barry nodded as if he’d known that. He hadn’t.
“I mean, for example, every time our daddy…”
“Malcolm Bustle.”
“Yes, Malcolm Bustle – every time he sees us, he picks us up, whirls us round and gives us a kiss.”
“Yes he does.”
Barry nodded again.
“So I just can’t see any way that they’re going to fulfil your requirements in this particular case.”
“No, I don’t see it either.”
“Perhaps the Head should have suggested some other ones.”
“Yes, perhaps he should.”
By now, they were at The Secretary Entity’s house. It was a nice-looking house: considerably nicer than the one The Sisterly Entity lived in, thought Barry. He looked around. The road it faced was leafy and quiet, with no sign of any big trucks making the houses shake.
Secretary One pressed on the button to the side of the front door.
“Hello?” said a voice.
“Dad?” said Secretary One.
“It’s us!!” said Secretary Two.
A man, who looked a bit like one of The Secretary Entity – only much taller, and older, and male – opened the door. The Secretary Entity drew themselves up to their full height, ready to be picked up, whirled about and kissed.
“Barry!!! Hello, Barry!!! We’re so pleased to see you, Barry!!” said Malcolm Bustle, picking him up, whirling him round and giving him a kiss on the cheek.
“Barry! Barry! Barry! Barry! Barry! Barry! Barry!” said Marjorie Bustle (who looked like The Secretary Entity too, only taller, and older, and female), appearing behind her husband and opening her arms wide. And adding one more “Barry!” just in case.
“Nice to meet you, Malcolm and Marjorie,” said Barry, as Malcolm set him down.
“Hello, Mum!” said Secretary One.
“Hello, Dad!” said Secretary Two.
“Do come in, Barry,” said Malcolm. Barry went through the door.
Which Marjorie then shut, leaving The Secretary Entity on the doorstep.
“So, Barry,” said Marjorie. “Lovely to meet you. I—”
There was a tap-tap-tap noise from behind them. They looked round. The letterbox was flapping up and down. Then it flapped up and stayed there.
Barry could just about see two pairs of little-girl eyes peeping through the slot.
“Mum?”
“Dad?”
“Um… you seem… ha ha… to hav
e locked us out…”
“Accidentally, of course!”
“Oh yes, of course.”
“Barry?” said Marjorie. “Sorry to bother you, but… can you hear a noise?”
“Hmm…” said Barry. “You mean a kind of… annoying buzzing sound? Like some trapped flies?”
“Um… yes,” said Malcolm.
“Oh!” said Barry. “I think it might be these two.” He opened the door again. The Secretary Entity were standing on the doorstep, smiling and waving.
“Hi, Mum!”
“Hi, Dad!”
Malcolm and Marjorie didn’t say anything in reply.
CHAPTER THREE
Barry looked round the Bustles’ living room. He had been expecting it – what with The Secretary Entity being a version of The Sisterly Entity – to be more like his own living room at home.
At home, his family did their weekly shop at Morrisons. But on their way to it they passed Waitrose. Barry would see parents in there, shopping with their children. He didn’t know any of those children, and hadn’t been in any of their living rooms, but he imagined that, if he had, they would look like this one. And smell like it – of fresh bread and coffee. And sound like it – in the background, he could hear a serious voice on the radio discussing “the glass ceiling in the banking sector”, whatever that was.
The floor was wooden and polished. There was a fireplace with a rug in front of it. At the other end of the living room, it became a kitchen. On the walls, there were some modern art paintings and also lots of certificates won by The Secretary Entity: Best Dressed, Best Spoken and (there were loads of these) Best Handwriting.
Also on the walls were four big canvas pictures of The Secretary Entity, from when they were babies to now. But Malcolm was presently taking those down and putting up four big canvas pictures of Barry.
“I hope you like these,” he was saying. The girls came in, frowning hard at their father. “I had them made up from a photo they sent from the Agency.” He stepped back to look at the pictures. “All the same photograph, of course, but I tinted them with different colours. What do you think?”
The Parent Agency Page 11
