‘You can stop right there,’ said Howard.
‘Yes, we don’t want to be too literal,’ said Uncle Gillian. ‘The song isn’t really about buttercups or bunnikins. It’s about love. That’s the aspect we need to draw out.’
‘I thought we’d settled on fury,’ said Howard.
‘Furious love,’ said Uncle Gillian.
‘I’d prefer to stick with pure fury,’ said Howard.
‘Tough,’ said Uncle Gillian.
‘Grr,’ said Howard.
‘I’ll see what I can find under the desk,’ said Purvis, disappearing.
‘No, don’t,’ said Howard.
‘Yes, do,’ countered Uncle Gillian. ‘There’s about a ton of rubbish under it so there’s bound to be something suitable.’
‘Oh, thank you very much,’ said Howard.
‘Pleasure,’ said Uncle Gillian. ‘Now sing it again while we’re waiting. AND. . .’
So Uncle Gillian conducted and the mice rummaged while Howard sang and Ortrud curled up in a ball with her trunk over her ears.
Suddenly there was a great CLACKING and RATTLINGin the corridor. Howard only just had time to chuck his coat over Uncle Gillian and Ortrud before the postman came running in.
‘WHAT IS IT? WHAT’S WRONG, WHAT?’ he shouted.
‘Hff?’ puffed Howard, trying to look relaxed.
‘Why were you screaming?’ said the postman.
‘I was not screaming,’ said Howard. ‘I was singing.’
‘Are you sure?’ said the postman.
‘I should know,’ said Howard. ‘I was rehearsing for that. . . thing.’
‘The Big Show?’ asked the postman.
‘I believe that’s what they’re calling it this year,’ said Howard.
‘I wouldn’t have thought it would be your cup of tea, Howard,’ said the postman. ‘Speaking of which—’
‘No time, unfortunately,’ said Howard. ‘I’ve got an awful lot of rehearsing to do if I’m ever going to be ready.’
‘You can say that again,’ giggled the postman. ‘You don’t want to humiliate yourself in front of a vast audience, do you, Howard?’
‘Harrumph,’ said Howard.
‘Here’s your post then,’ said the postman, waving a funny-shaped package. ‘It’s another of those care-ofs you’ve been getting lately.’
‘What?’ said Howard.
‘This one’s care of you for someone called MISE.’
‘I don’t want it,’ said Howard, backing away.
‘I’ll put it on the desk,’ said the postman. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Ugh,’ said Howard.
‘And good luck with the show. I’ll come along and watch.’
‘Ugh,’ said Howard.
The postman left the room and the mice charged out from under the desk.
‘What have we got?’ they said as they raced up on to the desk and over to the package.
‘If it’s anything like the last one, nothing but trouble,’ said Howard, as they ripped the package open and something rolled out.
‘TREE GIRL!’ shouted Mickey Thompson.
‘What’s that thing doing here?’ said Howard.
‘What are you doing here?’ Purvis asked Tree Girl.
‘I’ve come to visit,’ said Tree Girl.
‘Tree Girl’s come to visit, Howard,’ said Mickey Thompson.
‘Get rid of it,’ said Howard.
‘But Howard—’ said Purvis.
‘If Mr Bullerton finds it here he’ll think I’ve stolen it,’ said Howard.
‘I’m going nowhere,’ said Tree Girl, fluffing her wings. ‘I’m sick of being stuck on that tree. It isn’t even Christmas time any more. It’s against the rules to have a Christmas tree when it isn’t Christmas time.’
‘Is it?’ said Purvis.
‘Clue’s in the name,’ said Tree Girl, winking.
‘Tree Girl says she’s going nowhere, Howard,’ said Mickey Thompson.
Howard started pacing up and down.
‘Why me?’ he said. ‘Why?’
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Purvis.
‘That elephant and the mice were bad enough without the Gillian one and now there’s this thing too,’ said Howard, still pacing. ‘It isn’t right.’
‘Don’t worry, Howard,’ said Purvis.
‘I don’t see what he’s got to worry about,’ said Tree Girl. ‘He doesn’t have to spend all day with a tree up his skirt.’
‘He usually wears trousers,’said Mickey Thompson.
‘I wish you’d stop talking about my trousers,’ said Howard. ‘My trousers have nothing to do with anything.’
‘I wanted him to wear furry ones for his song costume,’ explained Mickey Thompson. ‘But we couldn’t find anything furry under the desk except a mouldy sausage.’
‘I can get you some tinsel if you like,’ said Tree Girl.
‘Yes, please,’ said Purvis. ‘Although I don’t know whether Howard and Uncle Gillian—’
‘Where is Uncle Gillian?’ said Mickey Thompson.
‘Is that him?’ said Tree Girl, pointing to a kerfuffle going on under Howard’s coat.
‘Gerroff. . . get. . . out,’ said Uncle Gillian, thrashing around.
‘Toooot!’went Ortud, in alarm.
‘This is outrageous,’ said Uncle Gillian, wriggling free.
‘Oh dear, did you get stuck?’ said Howard. ‘What a pity.’
‘How would you like it if someone covered you in an enormous coat and left you there?’ demanded Uncle Gillian.
‘I’d like it very much indeed,’ said Howard. ‘In fact, it’s an excellent idea.’
He picked up the coat, flung it over his head, and lay down under the desk.
‘Err, Howard,’ said Mickey Thompson.
‘This is no time for a nap,’ said Uncle Gillian. ‘We haven’t finished rehearsing.’
‘I’m not doing it,’ said Howard, muffledly. ‘I’ve gone away.’
‘What are we going to do now?’ wailed Purvis. ‘If he doesn’t sing in the show he’ll get fired.’
‘And if he does sing in the show he’s going to humiliate himself in front of a vast audience,’ said Uncle Gillian. ‘I tried my best with him but there’s only so much one can do when faced with a fundamental lack of talent. I haven’t got a magic wand to wave, you know.’
‘I have,’ said Tree Girl,
‘Careful,’ said Uncle Gillian, ducking.
‘It isn’t a real magic wand,’ said Mickey Thompson.
‘Yes, it is,’ said Tree Girl.
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Mickey Thompson. ‘Ouch! Don’t do that with it.’
‘We’ve got to help him somehow,’ said Purvis. ‘What would you have to do to magic him, Tree Girl?’
‘I’m not really supposed to say,’ said Tree Girl.
‘Can you give us a rough idea?’ asked Purvis. ‘Then we could see if it’s feasible.’
‘OK,’ said Tree Girl. ‘Hypothetically speaking, I’d fly around his head fifteen to twenty times waving the wand and shouting SING WELL, SING WELL, or something along those lines.’
‘I see,’ said Purvis.
‘We’d tweak the words, of course,’ said Tree Girl.
‘In what way?’ asked Purvis.
‘Make them more poetic,’ said Tree Girl. ‘And add in any extras.’
‘Such as?’ said Purvis.
‘It’d be up to you,’ said Tree Girl. ‘You could have “sing well and extremely loudly,” for example, or “sing well with a nimble dance”.’
‘Could he do a little tap routine?’ asked Mickey Thompson.
‘If you want,’ said Tree Girl.
‘That’s settled then,’ said Purvis.
‘There’s one slight problem,’ said Tree Girl.
‘What’s that?’ asked Purvis.
‘My wings aren’t working,’ said Tree Girl.
‘I said so, didn’t I?’ whispered Mickey Thompson, to Purvis.
‘Eh?’ whispered Purvis.
‘Pretend Ones,’ mouthed Mickey Thompson.
‘Not pretend; substitute,’ said Tree Girl. ‘My other ones are being repaired. The mechanism kept sticking.’
‘Hmm,’ said Purvis. ‘How would it be if you waved the wand from wherever you happened to be standing?’
‘It wouldn’t work,’ said Tree Girl. ‘I need to get some speed up.’
‘There’s a simple solution,’ said Uncle Gillian. ‘We attach her to a piece of string and whisk her around the top of his head.’
‘How would you feel about that, Tree Girl?’ asked Purvis.
‘I’ll give it a go,’ she said.
So they tied a piece of string around Tree Girl and trooped over to Howard, who was snoring under the desk.
‘It’s logistically tricky,’ said Uncle Gillian, pulling the coat away from Howard’s head. ‘I think we’ll have to climb on to his face and launch her from there.’
Everyone started to climb.
‘Hang on a minute,’ said Uncle Gillian.
Everyone stopped climbing.
‘I think it would be better if Ortrud waited on the floor,’ said Uncle Gillian.
So Ortrud sat on the floor and watched while everyone else climbed up the side of Howard and on to his face. He was still snoring heavily as Tree Girl got into position.
‘Get ready,’ said Uncle Gillian, grasping Tree Girl’s string.
‘Good luck!’ said Purvis, passing Tree Girl’s wand.
‘Oink oink,’ said Mickey Thompson, tickling Howard’s nose.
‘FWAGHAH!’ sneezed Howard, jerking suddenly upright and cracking his head on the desk as all the mice and Tree Girl tumbled down around him.
The Big Show Part 2
‘FWAGHAH!’
Howard sneezed again. He rolled out from under the desk and lay on the floor, groaning.
‘LOUDSINGFASTDANCE,’ shouted Tree Girl, launching herself at Howard’s head and bashing him with the wand.
‘Oof,’ said Howard, passing out.
‘That wasn’t particularly poetic,’ said Uncle Gillian, to Tree Girl.
‘It was the best I could manage under the circumstances,’ said Tree Girl.
‘Do you think it’ll be enough?’ asked Purvis.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Tree Girl. ‘I don’t normally work this way. It’s most irregular.’
‘Sorry, Tree Girl,’ said Purvis.
‘And you shouldn’t have oinked him,’ said Uncle Gillian, to Mickey Thompson.
‘Sorry, Uncle Gillian,’ said Mickey Thompson.
‘What shall we do?’ asked Purvis. ‘Should we call a doctor, do you think?’
‘Let’s try this first,’ said Uncle Gillian. He picked up a cup of cold tea and emptied it over Howard.
‘Phwphwphwer,’ said Howard.
‘That’s better,’ said Uncle Gillian.
‘What happened?’ spluttered Howard.
‘It’s entirely your own fault,’ said Uncle Gillian. ‘You shouldn’t have been under there. Silly place to sleep, in my opinion.’
‘Who are you?’ said Howard.
‘Uncle Gillian,’ said Uncle Gillian.
‘Who?’ said Howard.
‘Uncle Gillian,’ said Uncle Gillian.
‘Aunty, surely,’ said Howard.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ said Purvis, quickly.
‘He’s only just had one,’ giggled Mickey Thompson.
‘Yuck,’ said Howard. ‘I don’t want tea. I hate tea.’
Ortrud trumpeted and the mice gasped.
‘What are you looking at me like that for?’ said Howard.
‘Nothing, nothing,’ said Uncle Gillian. ‘But now you’re awake we ought to be cracking on. There isn’t much time left.’
‘Until what?’ said Howard.
‘The Big Show!’ said Mickey Thompson.
‘Oooooh,’ breathed Howard. ‘Are we going to go and watch?’
‘You’ll be doing more than that,’ said Uncle Gillian.
‘Eh?’ said Howard.
Purvis found the flyer and handed it to Howard.
‘YOU have been selected to take part. . . ’ read out Howard.
‘Come’n’Sing. Come’n’Dance. Come’n’...’
‘Me?’ said Howard.
‘Yes,’ said everyone.
‘Really?’ said Howard.
‘Yes,’ said everyone.
‘WAY-HAY!’ cheered Howard. ‘I love performing.’
‘But Howard. . . ’ said Purvis.
‘Why are you looking so serious?’ said Howard, leaping up and doing a little tap dance. ‘It’s never too late to celebrate, you know!’
Purvis and Mickey Thompson exchanged glances.
‘GONE BONKERS,’ mouthed Mickey Thompson.
‘But what am I going to wear?’ said Howard, swivelling his hips. ‘I’ll need to get a costume sorted out.’
‘Well. . . ’ began Purvis.
‘What’s my look, man?’ said Howard, swivelling harder.
‘Yes, err, we were thinking about that earlier,’ said Purvis. ‘Tree Girl said she could get us some tinsel but I wasn’t sure whether you’d—’
‘BRILLIANT!’ shouted Howard. ‘I likes her style. Get lots. And some silver foil. I wanna razzle-dazzle ’em.’
‘Just hold on a minute,’ said Uncle Gilllian. ‘I’m not sure tinsel and silver foil are very appropriate.’
‘Don’t be a square, daddio,’ said Howard, pirouetting. ‘Wheee!’
‘Well, really,’ tutted Uncle Gillian, dodging out of the way just in time. ‘I believe we’d agreed the costume should reflect and enhance the message of the song.’
‘What song?’ said Howard. ‘What message?’
‘Do you really not remember?’ asked Purvis.
‘How do you think I should have my hair?’ said Howard.
‘Listen,’ said Uncle Gillian.‘Mr Bullerton has written a song especially for you to sing at the show.’
‘NO!’ shrieked Howard.
‘Yes,’ said Uncle Gillian.
‘Here,’ said Purvis, handing it to Howard.
‘I love pretty buttercups,’ read out Howard.
‘And I love fluffy bunnikins,’ read out Howard.
‘But best of all I love Mr Buller. . . I’M NOT SINGING THIS!’ shouted Howard. ‘IT DOESN’T EVEN RHYME.’
‘But Howard—’ said Purvis.
‘I am an ARTIST,’ shouted Howard.
‘Yes but Howard—’ said Mickey Thompson.
‘If Bullerton wants me to sing I’ll SING,’ shouted Howard, ‘but it won’t be this twaddle.’
‘What’ll it be then?’ said Uncle Gillian.
‘‘‘GREAT BALLS OF FIRE”,’ ROARED Howard, leaping, and doing the splits. ‘Oh, yessssss.’
‘WHOO-HOO!’ cheered Mickey Thompson.
‘Oh dear,’ said Purvis.
‘Help me up,’ said Howard.
‘We’d better have a quick run-through,’ said Uncle Gillian, as they helped Howard up. ‘And a one and two and. . . ’
So Howard sang ‘Great Balls of Fire’ while Uncle Gillian conducted and the others listened.
‘TA-DA,’ puffed Howard, once he’d finished. ‘What did you think?’
‘Um. . . ’ said Purvis.
‘I’ve never heard anything like it,’ muttered Uncle Gillian.
‘Neither have I,’ said Howard. ‘They’re going to love me. How long have we got until the show starts?’
‘About an hour,’ said Purvis.
‘That’s loads of time,’ said Howard.
‘Only if we concentrate,’ said Uncle Gillian. ‘And a one and two and. . . ’
‘What are you doing?’ said Howard.
‘Rehearsing,’ said Uncle Gillian.
‘We’ve just done that,’ said Howard.
‘And we’ll keep doing it until you improve,’ said Uncle Gillian.
‘You can’t improve on perfection, sweetie
,’ said Howard, cart-wheeling out of the door. ‘I’m popping out.’
‘Howard!’ called Purvis. ‘You can’t! You’re not ready.’
‘Laters, gators,’ called Howard, back.
Everyone looked at each other.
‘What are we going to do now?’ groaned Purvis. ‘He’s even worse than he was before.’
‘I agree,’ said Uncle Gillian. ‘He should have stuck with the buttercups.’
‘I prefer “Great Balls of Fire”, as a song,’ said Mickey Thompson.
‘As a song, yes,’ said Uncle Gillian, ‘but not when it’s sung by him. It’s way beyond his vocal capabilities. Even the elephant makes a nicer noise.’
Ortrud tooted in agreement.
‘May I make a suggestion?’ said Tree Girl.
‘As long as you watch what you’re doing with that wand,’ said Uncle Gillian, moving further away.
‘Well,’ said Tree Girl, ‘if we put a lot of effort into the costume and make it really spectacular, it might take the audience ’s mind off the singing.’
‘It would have to be very spectacular indeed,’ said Uncle Gillian.
‘Maybe we should add spectacular special effects,’ suggested Mickey Thompson.
‘I could do you some flames,’ offered Tree Girl. ‘They’d go nicely with the words.’
‘No,’ said Uncle Gillian.‘I’ve got a better idea.’
He grabbed the pot of glitter they’d used for the replica and took the lid off one of Howard’s boxes of work.
‘Err, Uncle Gillian,’ said Purvis. ‘I don’t think you ought to—’
‘Do you want to help him or not?’ said Uncle Gillian.
‘Yes,’ said Purvis. ‘Of course, but—’
‘Well then,’ said Uncle Gillian. ‘Scissors.’ He held out his hand and Mickey Thompson handed him the scissors.
‘Glue,’ said Uncle Gillian. Purvis handed him the glue. There was a lot of cutting and squirting and sprinkling and then Uncle Gillian flung a large handful of something up in the air.
The Clumsies Make a Mess of the Big Show Page 4
