by Jo Simmons
‘So, how was everybody’s day?’ Mum asked.
‘Tiny has gone,’ said Meg.
‘And Margherita is here,’ said Nana.
Mum looked confused.
‘Don’t be alarmed. It’s wonderful,’ said Nana. ‘I feel reassured by her spirit presence. She lives on within these walls. But I must care for her and feed her.’
‘So that’s why there’s dog food on the floor,’ said Dad, pointing at his sock.
Mum sighed quietly.
‘Speaking of food, why don’t we eat?’ she said.
Dad took a mouthful, Meg sucked a long strand of spaghetti up and I shovelled in a spoonful of sauce and then, all at once, like we’d planned it to the exact second, we all spat our food out on to our plates.
‘Yannicks!’ yelled Dad.
‘Yuck,’ shouted Meg, making a face like a cat coughing up a furball.
‘What?’ said Mum. Then she raised her fork to her mouth.
‘NOOOOO!!’
we all shouted.
Too late. She popped it in. Her cheeks went pale. Her eyebrows shot up! And yes, she spat it out.
‘Appalling, isn’t it?’ said Dad. ‘What did you put in it?’
‘I used that mince in the fridge,’ said Mum.
‘What mince in the fridge?’ said Dad.
‘The stuff in a tin,’ said Mum.
‘Mince doesn’t come in a tin,’ said Dad.
‘No, but Nosho Liver & Spleen does,’ I said, my hand flying up to my mouth.
CHAPTER FOUR
TROUBLE WITH THE TOOTH FAIRY
The next day it was Tuesday, the day that always follows Monday.
There were now just four days to go until my birthday. After waiting so long for it, it was very nearly here. And because it was my Lucky Birthday, I still didn’t really know what was going to happen. I was sure Mum and Dad had arranged all kinds of cool things in secret, but I had some questions anyway. Like:
1.Could my best friend, Keith, stay over the night before my birthday as well as on my birthday?
2.Could I open my presents at 6 a.m.?
3.Could I have waffles for breakfast with extra syrup and ice cream, but no fruit?
I asked Mum all this as soon as I got up, but she said, ‘I don’t have time to talk about this now, Tom, I’ll be late for work.’
Nana paid no attention to my questions either. She was sitting on the sofa, consulting crystals about Margherita’s exact location. She kept sighing and saying she couldn’t get a clear message.
After breakfast, I went out to deliver the invitations to my birthday party. Meg came along. She asked where her invitation was. This was a bit awkward. I wanted to use her bedroom for a sleepover – my friends wouldn’t all fit in my room. But I wanted Meg to go and stay at Nana’s for the night. Eleven was too old to have your little sister at your party. Chas Cheeseman hadn’t let his sister be at his. So I said nothing.
We delivered the invitations and then got on with putting up the HAVE YOU SEEN THIS PIG? posters.
At the cafe in the park, we asked Bruce, the owner, if we could put up a pig poster inside. Bruce read the poster slowly.
‘So how will I know if it’s your pig?’ he asked.
‘If you see a pig, it’s probably ours,’ I said. ‘I mean, how many pigs do you see wandering around usually?’
‘But does it answer to its name? Does it have any special markings?’
‘It’s just a pig!’ I said.
‘Should I approach the pig if I see it?’ Bruce asked. ‘I could give it some food. A bacon sandwich, maybe?’
A bacon sandwich?
To a pig?
I sighed.
‘If you see a pig, Bruce, any pig at all, please just call us,’ I said.
Bruce agreed, then made us each a bacon sandwich. I demolished mine, then noticed that Meg had hardly touched hers.
‘Don’t you want your sandwich, Meg?’ I asked.
She pushed it across the table to me.
We spent another hour or so putting up the last of the pig posters, and then walked home. I was busy thinking about additional presents to add to my birthday list when suddenly Meg said:
‘I think it’s because of me.’
‘What?’ I said.
‘Margherita getting squashed and Tiny running away. My tooth fell out at exactly the same time. And then there was no money from the tooth fairy under my pillow the next day. She must be mad at me! Every time a tooth falls out, bad things happen to us. It’s the curse of the tooth fairy!’
I didn’t know what to say. I tried to tell Meg that there was no link between her tooth falling out and all the stuff that had just happened. That in fact her tooth fell out just after Tiny fell off the roof and squashed Margherita. She wasn’t having it.
‘I must make sure no more of my teeth drop out,’ she said.
‘Don’t be daft, Meg!’ I said. ‘Wobbly teeth are normal. It’s nature giving you a second chance at cutting back on sugar. You get a whole set of baby teeth free that you can mess up, before you have to get serious and look after the grown-up ones.’
This dental wisdom was wasted on Meg. She had her hand over her mouth, but I could just hear her saying: ‘I have a wobbly tooth right now, but it must never fall out. Ever! Or who knows what might happen?’
We had reached home. Meg ran straight to her room and I went to mine. I wanted to do some research into the extra presents I’d just thought of, so I could put them on my list.
Later, I went down to the kitchen, expecting to find Dad making dinner. Instead, Nana was sitting at the table, which was covered in a thick black cloth. The curtains were drawn and Nana had draped floaty scarves from the clothes airer that hung above the table. It was slightly spooky.
‘We’re having a séance,’ she said.
‘A say what?’
CHAPTER FIVE
ARE YOU THERE, MARGHERITA?
How to explain what a séance is …
A séance is when people try to make contact with the dead. A bit like what Mystic Morris does, only you can do it at home, round the kitchen table. Not that many people ever do, because, obviously, it’s weird and creepy, and also stupid.
It was Nana’s idea, of course. She believed Margherita was in distress; that her spirit was not quiet. She wanted to speak with Margherita. And for speak, I mean ‘speak’, when you put your fingers up and do little quote marks around the word to show you don’t mean it. How can you speak with a dead dog, after all? You can’t even speak with a live one.
When Mum got in from work she wasn’t too keen on the idea of a séance either.
‘What will Margherita tell you anyway, Mum?’ she asked Nana.
‘If she is OK. If she is at rest. And where her body is. None of you will tell me. Lewis just says she is buried.’ (Lewis is another name for Dad.)
I felt myself going a bit pale. What if Margherita told Nana that she was in the sandpit at Bright Futures nursery? Then I realised this was ridiculous. There was no way Nana was going to find that out. Least of all from a dead dog.
We spread our hands on the table and touched little fingers.
‘Your hands are shaking a bit, Tom,’ said Dad, then he whispered, ‘Don’t worry, this is just a load of old bajinders, son.’
Nana lit a candle and put it in the middle of the black tablecloth. She started to hum softly. Then she said:
‘If you’re there, Margherita, flicker the flame.’
The flame flickered.
Just a draught, surely.
‘Are you all right, Margherita? Flicker the flame once for yes, twice for no.’
We hardly moved, hardly breathed. We watched the candle. Nothing, nothing, nothing … Then it flickered – twice!
‘Oh, my darling,’ said Nana. ‘You’re not at rest.’
The flame flickered again. That must have been Dad breathing out. It certainly wasn’t me. I was holding my breath.
‘Can you tell me where you are?’ Nana aske
d.
No one dared move.
‘Are you buried underground?’
We stared at the flame, hardly breathing. It twitched once – yes.
‘Are you buried near this house?’
Silence for ages. I stared so hard at the flame that the room seemed to disappear. It twitched once again – yes.
‘Are you buried …’
BING BONG!
The doorbell! We all shrieked. Meg grabbed her teeth. Mum grabbed me. Nana clutched her chest and Dad shot up out of his chair and smashed his head on the metal clothes airer, draped in scarves, above the table.
‘Owwwwww,’ he yelled, rubbing his head.
One of the scarves drifted down and caught alight in the candle. It started burning really fast, and then the tablecloth caught on fire, too! Nana leaped up and hid in the corner while Mum tried to beat the flames out with an apron.
That didn’t work, so she ran upstairs to get a bath towel, shoving Dad out of the way, who stubbed his toe on one of the chairs. He began hopping around, holding on to his foot with one hand and his head with the other, swearing, but this time in actual English. I won’t repeat what he said.
BING BONG!
The doorbell went again. Mum rushed into the room with a towel and started beating the fire with it. Sparks flew up and Nana started whimpering about ‘the end of the world’. Then the smoke alarm started, a high-pitched wee-wee-wee that made Dad grab his head even tighter.
BING BONG!
The doorbell. Again!
As no adults were available to answer the door, I went.
It was a police officer. Which was bad. He was holding a pizza takeaway box that definitely had sand on it. Which was super extra bad.
‘Some children at the summer school down at Bright Futures dug this up,’ he said. ‘They were highly upset when they saw what was inside. I won’t open it, but suffice to say it contains the remains of a flat chihuahua. A flat chihuahua which has a pet microchip. We scanned it and the animal is registered to a Mrs Maureen Fennel. Her neighbours informed us that she is currently residing in this very property. May I speak with her?’
Thinking fast, I said, ‘No.’
The policeman frowned. Then I confessed everything.
‘It was me, Officer, that put the dog there. I just needed to bury her quickly so my nana didn’t get upset. I didn’t realise there would be children there at summer school. I’m really sorry. I won’t do it again. I promise.’
‘How did the dog get so flat?’ the police officer asked. ‘Looks like it was run over by a steamroller.’
‘A pig, actually. It didn’t run the dog over, it fell on it and squashed it.’
The police officer was silent for a moment. He looked confused.
‘Hmm, right, well, make sure you bury the dog in a sensible place this time,’ he said. ‘And not on public property. I could have you in court for less.’
Then he glanced past me and saw the smoke and Dad hopping around holding his head and his foot. I glanced too. It looked like Mum had put the fire out.
‘Everything all right in there?’ he asked.
‘Yes, fine, thank you, we were just having a séance.’
He frowned, and then nodded and left. I went back inside, carrying the box. Dad was now lying on the sofa, Mum was opening windows to let the smoke out and Nana was still in the corner of the kitchen, just sort of standing there in a daze.
I would have to try and bury the pizza box in the garden after all, but not right now. Too many witnesses. So I did the only thing I could think to do. I put it in the freezer.
Once safely inside, I leaned against the freezer door and shut my eyes for a second. Phew! Then I felt someone tugging my sleeve. I opened my eyes. It was Meg. She was holding up something small and white. Her face was also small and white. Very white.
‘My tooth fell out!’ she whispered. ‘Then Dad hurt his head and the house nearly burned down. It’s all my fault. The tooth fairy. She has cursed me!’
CHAPTER SIX
THE BIRTHDAY BOMB IS DROPPED
Dad spent the night on the sofa. He said his head hurt if he moved. He still had a headache the next morning. Bright light made it worse, so we closed all the curtains. But that made the house very dark and explains why Mum stepped in a saucer of Nosho Liver & Spleen.
Mum was upstairs changing her socks while I made breakfast. I put some bread in the toaster for myself, but Meg didn’t want any. She refused to eat any food with texture.
‘I can’t let any more teeth fall out,’ she said, squishing cornflakes in milk with a fork. ‘The curse! Remember?’
She looked pale and anxious, but I couldn’t help thinking more about my birthday. Only three days to go! THREE DAYS!!
Nana said the fire had frightened off the spirit of Margherita. She said the communication with her had gone cold. That’s not the only thing that’s gone cold when it comes to Margherita, I thought, remembering the pizza box in the freezer.
Frankly, cold communication was fine by me. The sooner Nana stopped leaving dog food around and moved back to her own flat, the better. I needed the house to be normal, not haunted, for my birthday. My birthday was my day; the one day of the year that was about me; the one day I’d been looking forward to for ages and ages and ages.
The toast popped up and I started spreading butter on it. I thought about what exciting activities my parents might have planned for it, what amazing food Dad would cook, what special presents they might have bought. Meg carried on mashing her cornflakes. Then Mum came in, looking for her car keys, which wasn’t easy, because it was so dark.
‘Have you ordered my cake yet, Mum?’ I asked her. ‘Can it have sweets inside it like Chas Cheeseman’s?’
Mum was still rushing about, trying to find her keys.
‘Can you give me a clue, just a little clue, about what we’ll be doing on my birthday?’ I asked her.
Mum stopped suddenly in front of me.
‘Tom, hang on a minute,’ she said. ‘Are you aware of what’s been going on here over the last few days? I mean, are you?’
I squinted at her in the dim light, my knife in mid-air.
‘There’s just too much happening right now,’ she said. ‘What with Dad’s bad head and me having to work extra hours at the office and Nana thinking that Margherita is haunting the house and Tiny missing and, you know, everything. I just can’t think about your birthday now.’
‘Keep the noise down,’ moaned Dad from the sofa.
‘That’s fine, we can talk about it tonight when you get in from work,’ I said. This sounded pretty sensible and grown-up to me. I was a tiny bit proud of myself.
‘No, Tom, you’re not listening,’ Mum spluttered. ‘I don’t think we can do your birthday.’
The knife dropped from my hand. It made a loud clattering noise against the plate.
‘Ninocks! My head!’ moaned Dad.
‘What do you mean, we can’t “do” my birthday?’ I said. ‘It’s a thing, it’s about to happen, I was born nearly eleven years ago. It can’t just not exist. You can’t just not do it. It’s my day, it’s my Lucky—’
‘I’m sorry, Tom,’ Mum interrupted.
I was beginning to shake. Meg stopped mashing her cornflakes. Silence.
‘Wait!’ I said. ‘Are you cancelling my birthday?’
Mum shrugged and sighed.
‘No, just postponing it,’ she said. ‘Putting it off, for a bit. That’s all. We’ll do it later – in September or October. When Dad doesn’t have a bad head and the ghost of Margherita has gone and … Lewis, back me up here.’
Dad limped into the kitchen, one hand on his forehead.
‘Sorry, Tom, it’s for the best,’ he muttered. ‘Your mum’s right. We’ll do your birthday later.’
Then he limped back to the sofa. Like he hadn’t just ruined my life.
‘But Mum, Dad – you can’t do a birthday later,’ I shouted, jumping to me feet. ‘It’s a day. A single day. The d
ay of your birth. The day after my birthday is not my birthday. The day a week after my birthday is also not my birthday. All the days in September and October are not my birthdays. Not one of them. There is only one birthday. The eleventh of August. And if we don’t do my birthday on my birthday, then you are, basically, cancelling my birthday.’
Then Mum said what she always says. ‘I don’t have time to talk about this now, I’ll be late for work.’
Then she grabbed the keys, which were in the fruit bowl on the table all along, and walked out.
I ran after her into the hallway. Too late. The front door slammed. She was gone.
My knees gave way. I slumped to the floor, and sat straight in a bowl of Nosho Liver & Spleen. It squelched through my shorts. This is what having your birthday cancelled feels like. Like you’ve sat in dog food. Which I actually had. But even if I hadn’t, it would have felt like this.
I was too stunned to get up. The dog food was cold and wet, but still I couldn’t move.
How had it come to this?
WHO CANCELS THEIR SON’S BIRTHDAY!?!
Their son’s Lucky Birthday!
Eventually, I found the strength to go upstairs and shut myself in my bedroom.
Meg tapped lightly on the door a little later and came in.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked. ‘It’s so awful about your birthday. I think it’s my fault. The tooth-fairy curse!’
‘I’ve been looking forward to this birthday for so long,’ I moaned. ‘Everyone else has had theirs, and finally it’s my turn, and it’s my Lucky Birthday as well, and I just wanted one day, just one day to be fun and amazing and mine. And now, this …’
Meg sat there in silence. I lost track of time. A bit later, Meg bought me some Jaffa Cakes and then left me to my thoughts.
After the Jaffa Cakes and more lying on my bed feeling miserable, I rang my best friend, Keith. I needed to speak to someone. Keith is an unusual name and Keith is an unusual guy. Apparently, it was popular a few decades ago but has since mostly died out. Like DVDs.
