by Candy Guard
Benji Butler stopped and looked with interest at the poster as Myf finished her shouting . . .
‘ then he started going out with Angel Farraday!’
‘Shut up, Myf,’ I muttered from behind the poster.
. . . Benji replied, looking at the picture of me as an elephant.
‘Excuse me . . . whatever your name is,’ Myf demanded of Benji,
‘We’ve got an opening for a tambourine player if ever you were interested,’ Benji told Myf, and walked off whistling the hit . . .
‘Oh no!’ I said, still disguised as a privet hedge. ‘They’re playing at Mum’s wedding!’
Roobs said,
–13–
As soon as So.M.G.! had left I stormed into the house.
Mum dragged her away from the tiara she was trying on Cat.
‘Who’s Sandy Blatch?’ Brittainee asked, entering the room and herself on the sofa. She was over her jet lag apparently but too tired to do anything except be waited on.
‘Is he hot?’
‘Well,’ Myf began, ‘Jelly thinks he looks like Buster Bauble from ’
‘Shut up, Myf,’ I said. I didn’t want Brittainee getting her fangs into Sandy.
Mum had said she was a ‘man-eater’ like her mother, Jane, and at that moment, braces , she did have something of the cannibal about her.
‘He’s got a girlfriend,’ said Roobs.
‘Has he?’ Mum said, seemingly that she wasn’t privy to information reserved for the under-14s market and that really shouldn’t be interesting to anyone over 40.
‘Angel Farraday!’ Myf pronounced .
‘Oh, well’, Mum said. ‘He was asking after you, Jells, so I thought he was still sweet on you.’
Jay went scarlet.
And he scurried out of the room before she could answer.
‘Mum, you’ll have to get another band,’ I insisted.
‘No, Jelly,’ Mum began, ‘they are very . . .’
Julian interjected.
‘Free, in fact,’ Mum said proudly. ‘They just want the practice, apparently . . .’ Mum winked at me . ‘Or maybe Sandy wants an EXCUSE to see you in the summer holidays?’
‘Shut up, Mum.’ I told her.
(When in doubt, say shut up.)
–14–
Hurraaay! It’s the summer holidays! Only problem is, Mum has said it’s OK for Sandy and So.M.G.! to practise in our garage when they need to. I am – they have already been here twice and I’ve literally had to hide until they’ve gone.
So far I had managed to disguise myself as:
I say had to hide, I didn’t have to, no one made me, but I just did hide and I don’t know why.
I was feeling . I really didn’t have time for thoughts of actual boys. I had my work cut out thinking of ways to raise money for our tickets.
It was easy to have a crush on – all I had to do was
occasionally, stare at the side of his face
and kiss my grandmother’s bust of Napoleon
pretending it was him.
It was just a bit of . I didn’t really fancy him. He was a bit thick – and I knew he would never go out with me – so it was just a fantasy.
But the thought of Sandy made me very and now I felt properly anxious about the wedding.
I asked Julian about it and he said that was something called ‘unobtainable’ so it was SAFE to have a crush on him – a bit like having a crush on Buster Bauble.
He was as likely to step out of the poster and ask me to go to the cinema with him . . .
. . . as was to see me as a potential girlfriend.
Whereas Sandy was (or had been) obtainable
and had then become unobtainable
which was the worst kind, apparently. Julian said I was because a bit of me wanted to obtain him, and I knew, because he had had a crush on me before, that this might not
be a complete impossibility.
I didn’t really feel any wiser but I still felt at the thought of seeing him.
When Cousin Amelia came round for a street-dance rehearsal I insisted we go to the park so we wouldn’t bump into Sandy in the . Myf was being bossy.
Right, all get in a line and just follow my moves. A-one, a-two, a-one, two, three, four!
Then she just stood with her back to us and started throwing herself about. She was just like Melanie the teacher; she expected us to follow her and had no idea what we were doing. Amelia did a sort of balletic version, and Brittainee, Roobs and I moved around like a six-legged beast – vaguely in the right direction – jumping, frolicking and tripping over each other.
When Myf leapt to her final position, she turned to face us.
‘Great!’ said Myf. ‘I think we’re ready, guys!’
–15–
Myf, Roobs, Ricky and I were in the shed counting up our money from the zoo and the salon. We only had £33.30 and we needed £200. We were feeling a bit desperate when Jay came barging in.
‘Mum says don’t forget the wedding meeting and bridesmaids’ fitting tonight and where’s Fatty?’
Oh gawd! I’d forgotten all about Fatty! He was still at Mrs Vaughan’s! He’d been there for days and no one had noticed! I had wondered why Cat seemed so relaxed.
Myf, Roobs, Ricky and I stomped round to Mrs Vaughan’s and looked through the window . . . through all the junk, books and plants I could just about make out Fatty scoffing from a bowl. Then he lay down, looking very , and a hand entered the picture and tickled his tummy.
I banged on the door and saw Mrs Vaughan and Fatty hide behind the door frame. So I did some plaintive
– the kind a starving, stray cat might do – and Mrs V came to the door.
‘Oh, hello,’ she said. ‘I thought I heard a starving stray cat.’
‘Is our dog Fatty here?’
‘Um, I don’t think . . .’
Then Ricky rustled a crisp packet and of course Fatty came straight away.
‘This is Neville,’ Mrs Vaughan said.
‘He’s not called Neville, Mrs Vaughan, he’s called Fatty,’ Myf informed her.
‘Oh,’ Mrs Vaughan said quietly. ‘I call him Neville.’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Vaughan, but . . . Neville has to go home now,’ I told her.
‘Mrs Vaughan?’ Myf said. ‘If you like dogs and cats so much, why don’t you get your own instead of stealing other people’s?’
‘Myf,’ Roobs whispered. ‘Don’t be so rude.’
‘I don’t steal them, I just rescue them for a bit.’
‘But why don’t you get your own?’
‘Well,’ Mrs Vaughan said, ‘it’s a long story.’
Mrs Vaughan invited us in for
tea, which was quite difficult as the house was so crammed full of stuff there was only a tiny space in the kitchen and we all had to stand up to drink from our mugs. Mrs V told us she used to run a pet boarding house with her husband, but when her husband died she couldn’t really cope with the house and the animals. She stopped throwing stuff away, like newspapers and bottles, and started collecting stuff like books and junk.
When her house was full she started filling up the garden too, which meant she couldn’t look after the dogs and cats properly and owners stopped bringing their pets.
Ever since then she hasn’t had the energy to sort the house out, but still liked animals so started rescuing strays (we didn’t like to correct her).
Then we all stood around clearing our throats. No one could think of anything to say, so we all looked at Neville/Fatty and made the occasional comment.
‘He’s looking at that fly.’
‘Ooh, look he’s got an itch.’
Etc., etc.
‘Ahem,’ I said. ‘Mrs Vaughan, we have to take Neville back now.’
‘Ok’, Mrs Vaughan said, sniffing. ‘Bye bye, Neville.’ She had tears in her eyes as she waved us off.
‘I feel sorry for Mrs Vaughan,’ Myf said. ‘Maybe we should help her clear her house?’ Ricky suggested. ‘Then she
could open her pet hotel again?’
So Myf, Roobs, Ricky and I spent all day helping clear Mrs V’s house. She found it very to watch her stuff going into bags so after she explained how to put it in three different piles in the front garden:
we suggested she take ‘Neville’ out for a
When Mrs V got back we had cleared the house and garden. Underneath all the stuff was a really nice comfy house and in the garden all the old accommodation for the dogs and cats. It looked so appealing that Fatty got straight into one of the kennels and went to sleep.
We’d even unearthed the sign:
Mrs V burst into tears and said how would she ever thank us. She said why didn’t we all take something from one of the piles. I took a Banana Guard, Myf took a glass vase shaped like a fish, Roobs chose a Filofax and Ricky chose a newspaper dating from the day he was born.
–16–
When we got back, So.M.G.! were practising in the garage. Myf and Roobs virtually galloped past the garage doors they were so excited about the bridesmaids’ fitting,
but I sidled past, tucking my ears in my hair beforehand.
Even though I told myself not to , I couldn’t resist a little glance in,
and there was Sandy right in front of me.
I said in a voice that came out like .
‘Fancy coming in to watch us rehearse? We’re just doing another 20 minutes . . .’
I shook my head and my ears slipped out.
I tried to tuck them in my hair again.
‘Don’t!’ Sandy said. ‘You shouldn’t take any notice of Billy – you’ve got really cute ears.’
I felt my face but I couldn’t risk pulling my curtain hair across without making my ears pop out again and I became aware of him staring at my Banana Guard. So I stupidly turned my back on him.
Then I did funny skating-style walking away so my ears wouldn’t pop out
and ran into the house with my cheeks .
‘You’re as as a tomato, Jelly,’ Grarol remarked.
‘I’ve just run from the garage.’
‘You really should get more exercise.’ she told me.
First on the agenda was Jay’s Speech.
I found that whereas before I imagined everything at the wedding through Roger’s , now I saw everything through Sandy’s eyes
Urgh! I felt !
–17–
Then it was time for the bridesmaids’ fittings so we all trooped upstairs.
Dot got the dresses out of a large bag. They were completely over the top.
Of course, Myf and Roobs were beside themselves. I was beside myself as well . . . with horror. But I did see one positive thing about them.
‘Mum, we can’t possibly do street dance in these.’
‘Ah! We thought of that, didn’t we, Dot?
Dot has made special matching pants to wear underneath to preserve your modesty.’
‘So when you do backflips etc. your nether regions will be covered.’
Poor deluded mother. The only nether regions that needed covering were Myf’s and those pants were way too BIG.
Then Mum put Cat in her outfit and Dot tried to get Fatty’s ring-bearing sash round his increased middle without Grarol seeing.
Then it was the big moment: Mum trying on her meringue. She it on.
‘I think you look gorgeous, Sue,’ said Dot.
‘Thank you, Dot. Anyway, everyone, Brittainee’s kindly agreed to do and on the wedding morning,’ Mum explained.
‘You limeys really need some grooming!’
‘I’ve just been groomed!’ Grarol said with her permanently perplexed expression.
Mum couldn’t help . . .
. . . until Brittainee and Amelia put their dresses on and looked quite put out.
I could see Mum was going to blow . . . Through teeth, she said,
‘Jelly! Why don’t you take Amelia and Brittainee to your shed for a bridesmaids’ get-together? You can show them your guinea pigs.’
‘For a fee,’ muttered.
‘Yes, I think 40p each and an extra 10p per stroke is fair,’ Roobs said, taking me seriously.
–18–
I showed Guinness and Blossom to Brittainee and she said they sucked – pigs in the US were ENORMOUS and bald.
I liked her for a nanosecond for saying we were skinny but then she started talking about the hen night.
* American for ‘tramp’
ANYWAY . . . then a Happy Meal and then back here for film, popcorn and sleepover.
Except Brittainee, these people have no idea why they’re laughing.
–19–
Fatty and I are getting NO sleep because of Brittainee snoring like a big bald pig all night.
. . . and when we FINALLY get back to sleep she starts showering, drying and tonging her .
Brittainee had bought lots of delicious food and written her name on it all.
Julian told us that he hadn’t liked to say, but Brittainee had been wearing his slippers for several days.
But Mum said we still had to be nice to her and show her a good time because her mom mum would think things about us otherwise.
Fatty and I have moved into the shed temporarily until Brittainee leaves and I’m quite enjoying it – it’s making me think about when I have my own flat. I have arranged everything exactly as I want it.
I’ve got a kettle , a toaster (toast whenever I want it without Grarol informing me of the calorie content), a blow-up bed , bedside light , radio etc.
I enjoyed getting it all nice for the last meeting before the wedding. Myf and Roobs arrived and threw their coats on the floor and made themselves some toast, dropping crumbs everywhere.
Then Ricky knocked all my ornaments off the shelf just by opening the door.
They are making my flat look messy just by being in it! I swept up around them and made them hang their coats up and then started on the agenda for the meeting.
Roobs said (with her mouth full),
‘Right, f-i-n-a-l-l-y,’ I said.
‘1. Fund for the O.M.G.! concert. Roobs, please give us the lowdown.’
‘Right,’ said Roobs. ‘We made:
£27 from the beauty parlour, though we’ve had to refund Grarol £7.00 for her eyebrows after she went to the opticians to get new face furniture – I mean, glasses.
£6.30 from the Zoo.
£1.77 saving on toast by buying cheaper bread and . . .
£2.01 saving on crisps by buying the cheaper ones.
£3.34 from Myf, who has kindly donated the money she was saving for a pet newt . . .’
Myf sniffed bravely.
‘Jelly and I made £5 helping weed Alan and Dot next door’s garden.’
Flash forward to next spring....... Alan’s bulbs (AKA ‘old onions’) have bloomed in Dick’s and won first prize in the Boxford Gardens in Bloom competition.
and Myf has been selling her self-published self-help book, Tricks in Inoyation . . .
. . . even though it’s all spelt wrong and is rubbish, it has been surprisingly popular and earned us £12
Myf cried, ‘Yay! That must be easily enough!’
‘So all in all, that’s £55.42 . . . only enough for one ticket.’
We all went very quiet. We had no time to make any more money. was the hen ‘night’ which was in fact in the day, and the day after that was the wedding. Then at 9 a.m. on the day after that, the tickets went on sale.
‘Well, we tried,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ Roobs said, trying to be positive. ‘We can always try and go next year.’
But Myf refused to believe it and decided to recount the money several times.
But however hard she tried, it never came to £200.
And she was making an appalling mess. Roobs was comfort-eating toast
and Ricky and Fatty were playing ball and knocking everything off the
shelves again. I had to order them all outside while I swept up and plumped up the cushions.
I’m starting
to see why Mum is such a dictator after she’s cleaned the kitchen floor and Hoovered everywhere (she passes our dinner through the cat flap and we have to eat outside).
It’s a – I don’t want my own flat any more. I might just live in a commune and hide when it’s time for me to do my chores. (Like I did when I was living in the house. Actually I might as well just move back there.)
