by Jo Simmons
This was actually really nice of my little sister. Suddenly, someone in my family was on my side. It felt good. I didn’t know what to say, so I ruffled her hair.
Then I noticed that the door to the dining-study was closed and the
DO NOT DISTURB, WRITER AT WORK
sign was up.
‘Is Dad working?’ I asked.
‘Yes, he is,’ said Nana. She was wearing a full-length paisley kaftan. A kaftan is like a giant dress. Nana loves a kaftan. ‘He says he’s had a vision. Your mother is hopeful this will be the inspiration he needs to finally finish his book.’
It seems my plan to fix Meg had also fixed Dad. Result! This was good. This was super good. With an angel vision to back Dad up, I reckoned he’d have his book done by tomorrow morning easily, if not before. My plan to fix my family was going beautifully. Meg and Dad were sorted already.
I checked the calendar. As I thought – two more days until my birthday. Then I noticed Mum had written ‘OVERTIME’ across all those days, meaning she would be working extra hours then. I wanted to believe this was just a cover-up for ‘TIME SPENT SHOPPING FOR COOL PRESENTS FOR TOM’, but now I thought it probably was just overtime.
I ran up to Mum and Dad’s room and checked the wardrobe or, as Meg and I like to call it, the ‘pressie cupboard’. Mum always hides our Christmas and birthday presents in here. You can usually see packages and carrier bags stuffed in behind her dresses. Today, though, there were no packages.
It was clear to me now. Fixing Mum was URGENT.
If I was going to get my birthday uncancelled, get some great presents and have an amazing day, Mum needed to work less.
But if Dad was about to finish his book, thanks to an angel-slash-tooth-fairy vision, that would change everything.
So I decided to skip past fixing Mum, the third thing on my list, and move straight to Nana.
I needed her to move back to her flat, so the house was ready for my Lucky Birthday. A Lucky Birthday that involved no dog ghosts, no kaftans, no vegan carob cake, no séances and definitely no saucers of Nosho Liver & Spleen lying around.
Back in the kitchen, Nana said she would like to go to the cafe with me; that it would cheer her up. I agreed. I wasn’t sure if going to the cafe would help fix Nana, but her getting out and about was a start.
We walked down there, Nana moving surprisingly quickly for someone with a bruised hip.
‘Found your pig yet?’ Bruce asked.
I shushed him and pointed at Nana, who had gone to find a table.
‘Murderer,’ I whispered.
‘Where?’ said Bruce, grabbing a wooden spoon.
‘No, the pig is a murderer,’ I whispered. Then I mimed the pig falling off the roof and squashing Nana’s dog. It was a really good mime, but Bruce looked confused.
Nana had sat down and hooked her bag over the chair next to her, but where was her walking stick? Hang on! She jumped up when the fire started the other day; she walked to the cafe without a stick …
‘Your hip seems better,’ I said.
‘No, it’s still quite sore,’ said Nana, reading the menu.
‘But you didn’t use your walking stick when you walked here and it’s quite far, so I guess you’ll be able to go back to your flat soon,’ I said.
Nana dropped the menu and looked shocked. Ha, got you, you sly old granny, you! Then she sighed.
‘All right, Tom,’ she said. ‘My hip does feel better.’
‘I knew it!’ I said. ‘So why are you staying with us? Is it because you want to hear from Margherita?’
‘I’ve given up on that, too, to be honest, since the séance nearly burned the house down,’ said Nana. ‘I accept that Margherita has gone. The truth is, Tom, I don’t want to move back into my flat without her. It’s lonely enough living without your grandad, but without my dog, too …’
For a moment I thought she might cry. I held her hand. Poor Nana. I hadn’t guessed she was lonely, and worried about living alone without even a small yappy dog for company. None of us had.
Persuading Nana to go back to her flat so I could have the house for my birthday party was on my to-do list, but that felt much more complicated now I understood why she was still living with us. How was I going to fix this? And with the countdown to my birthday ticking away like a mad unstoppable bomb?
Bruce came to take our order.
‘Just a chai latte with soya milk please,’ said Nana.
‘Hmm,’ said Bruce, chewing his pen. ‘I can do you a tea.’
‘You should broaden out your menu,’ said Nana. ‘Modernise it. Offer some vegetarian dishes.’
‘Would they include bacon?’ Bruce asked. ‘Only I’ve got a job lot in the freezer.’
‘How about some pasta dishes?’ she said. ‘Tom’s dad makes incredible pasta sauces. Tom can bring you a jar if you like, to try it. Can’t you, Tom?’
Oh, thanks, Nana – yet more for me to do! Didn’t I have enough to be getting on with?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A MAJOR TINY DISASTER
Back at the house, I thought about Nana not wanting to go home without her dog. I had to sort this out, for the sake of Nana and for the sake of my birthday, too. But what could I do? I couldn’t bring Margherita back from the dead.
‘Of course you can,’ said Keith, over the phone later. ‘Just attach some jump leads and a battery. I’ve seen it done a thousand times.’
‘Keith, are you nuts? My nana’s chihuahua is as flat as an envelope and even less alive. She’s in the freezer in a pizza box right now!’
‘Perfect,’ said Keith. ‘You’ve kept the body fresh. Now just wire it back up and bingo! Dead dog problem solved.’
There is really no knowing what Keith will say sometimes, but I let it go and hung up.
Then I had a brilliant idea. I would find Nana a new dog. Yes – a cute puppy, to replace Margherita. I went online and found some chihuahua puppies for sale. Then I saw the price. Unbelievably, these tiny dogs with sticky-out eyes were £800 each! Someone pays £800 for a dog that looks like a strangled hamster. The world had gone mad.
Even so, I rang my mum to see if I could borrow £800. She did a snorting noise down the phone, like an angry horse, and said she didn’t have time to talk about this, as she was at work.
Then I rang Harry the Hulk to thank him for his work as the tooth fairy and asked him if he knew anyone who was giving away a dog. By a fantastic stroke of luck, he did.
‘My Uncle Steve has a dog he doesn’t want any more,’ Harry said. ‘I’ll ask him if you can have it. Major’s a nice dog. Very friendly.’
Harry was right – Major was very friendly. What Harry had not told me was that Major was also very big. He bounded into the living room and sat on Nana. It’s possible Nana was trying to say something, but it was hard to tell – Major completely covered her. He was even bigger than Tiny!
Then Major licked Nana’s face – his tongue was the size of a towel – bounded off and galumphed around the living room, knocking things over. He found all the saucers of Nosho Liver & Spleen and wolfed the food down, too.
It was lucky that Meg was upstairs. She was even smaller than Nana, who had been nearly squashed by Major. I think Meg would have definitely been squashed by Major and I didn’t want that. There had already been far too much squashing in this house as it was. Dad, though, was in his dining-study writing. He yelled at us to shut up.
I wanted to ask Nana if she liked Major and wanted to take him home, but she had shut herself in the kitchen, which was fortunate really because next thing we knew, Tiny came trotting down the stairs. Tiny! I had completely forgotten she was still in Meg’s room.
Major was so excited to see a pig, he began jumping around Tiny like an overgrown puppy. Our hallway is only the size of a sandwich and all of a sudden there was a pig, a gigantic jumping dog, a massively tall boy and me. Major and Tiny kept crashing into the kitchen door, causing Nana to shout ‘Get away, get away!’ until finally Dad scr
eamed from inside his dining-study:
‘Shut up, everyone. I’m having my first creative breakthrough in months and I can’t be interrupted by all this noise. I’m at the crucial final scene. It’s essential I get this bit right!’
I managed to pin Tiny to the wall and stand between her and Major. Harry got Major on the lead and I shoved them both out of the front door and slammed it shut.
‘That went well,’ said Harry through the letter box. ‘Such a friendly dog. I can’t understand why my uncle wants to get rid of him.’
I found Nana hiding in the corner of the kitchen, just as she had after the séance fire. There was no point asking her if she wanted the dog. It was obviously not a match. I couldn’t dwell on this though, I had to get Tiny back to Mr Hector’s before Nana saw the pig that had murdered her chihuahua. I also had to drop a jar of Dad’s pasta sauce down to Bruce at the cafe.
I grabbed the sauce, grabbed the pig and left.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I FEEL LIKE CHICKEN TONIGHT
It took me ages to make it to the cafe. Tiny still hadn’t learned how to walk in a straight line. It was OK, though, as this gave me more time to think about how to find a replacement for Nana’s dead dog.
With Meg free from her curse and Dad really nearly finishing his book again, I was inching closer to getting my birthday uncancelled. If I could find a replacement for Margherita so that Nana was happy to go home, I was almost there.
My thinking was interrupted by that smell again; a smell that was painful to my nose. The smell of Chas Cheeseman and his expensive aftershave. He was just leaving the park, riding an incredibly smart, shiny bike. He stopped.
‘Look who it is,’ he said. ‘It’s Tom out for a walk with his pig-dog. What’s its name again? Mini? Titchy?’
‘Tiny,’ I said.
‘Tiny, of course,’ he said. ‘Do you like my new bike? Early birthday present. Twelve gears because I’m twelve. Cool, isn’t it? What are you getting for your birthday? When is it again?’
Luckily, Tiny had caught the whiff of a half-eaten Kit Kat in the bushes and was off, so I said goodbye and ran after her.
Eventually, I managed to steer Tiny out of the bushes, and at the cafe I handed Bruce the jar of Dad’s pasta sauce.
‘Could I add a bit of bacon to this, do you think?’ Bruce asked.
‘Please don’t say “bacon” in front of my pig,’ I said, indicating Tiny.
‘Sorry! Didn’t see it there,’ said Bruce. ‘You found it then?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘What’s in it?’ said Bruce.
‘The pig?’
‘No, the sauce.’
‘Oh sorry, I don’t know,’ I said. ‘It’s Dad’s top-secret recipe.’
‘I’ll just put Pasta with Mystery Sauce on the menu,’ said Bruce.
Tiny started grunting happily when we went through the gate to Mr Hector’s place. The chickens all clustered round me again, but I didn’t have time for any whispering. I was still too busy puzzling over what to do about Nana.
I asked Mr Hector how I could find a replacement for Nana’s dead dog. I explained how Major was too big and how chihuahuas cost billions of pounds that I didn’t have. The chickens were staring at me the whole time, like I was the most amazing person they’d ever seen.
‘Sometimes the answer’s right in front of your nose,’ said Mr Hector, smiling.
Then my phone rang.
It was Keith.
‘I was just wondering how the bank job went last night,’ he said. ‘Are you rich now?’
‘There was no bank job, Keith!’ I yelled.
‘That’s a shame,’ he said. ‘I was hoping to borrow a fiver.’
Keith’s completely pointless phone call made me feel flustered. Was everything pointless? My birthday was only two days away. The hours seemed to be disappearing fast, like tiny mice running into the fog, and I still hadn’t fixed Nana or Mum. Could I do it? Should I just give up?
Feeling panicked, I ran home.
Dad was still writing – good.
Meg wasn’t trying to stick her teeth in place with Blu-Tack – also good.
Nana was having a cup of tea and not consulting crystals or doing a Mystic Morris – definitely good, too.
I still had not found her a replacement dog, though – not good.
I sat at the table, thinking hard. Then I felt a tickling sensation on my cheek. It was a chicken feather stuck in my collar. I plucked it out and stared at it hard, which is not as hard as thinking hard, but still requires concentration. And then I could hear Mr Hector saying, ‘Sometimes the answer’s right in front of your nose.’
Yes!
I legged it back to Mr Hector’s and found him still sitting under the apple tree, his pipe in his mouth. The chickens immediately lined up behind me as I asked him:
‘Can I have a chicken?’
‘For your nana?’ he said.
‘For my nana, that’s right. Hang on! How did you know?’
Mr Hector just laughed.
‘Of course. Poultry make great pets.’
‘Great. How should I choose one?’ I asked.
‘You’re the chicken whisperer. You work it out.’
Oh yes, I was the chicken whisperer. That.
I looked at the chickens. I counted ten in total. They were all lined up in front of me, silent, looking up at me.
‘Chickens!’ I said. I was trying to sound cool and in charge. I spread my arms wide. ‘Which one of you will come with me on a mission both serious and important? A big mission, to save my birthday and also cheer up an old lady in a kaftan.’
Solemnly, each chicken raised its right wing.
‘No, I only need one,’ I said. ‘Didn’t you hear me? Sorry. Only one chicken.’
The chickens gathered in a little circle like they were having a chat, then one chicken stepped forward. She was the smallest of all the chickens, but she had nice brown feathers and a twinkle in her eye.
‘Good,’ I said. ‘You are the chosen one. Come forth, Chosen One.’
The chicken hopped on to my arm and perched there, like a hawk or an eagle. I stroked its soft feathers.
‘Shall we go?’
The chicken nodded.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LET DOWN AND HANGING AROUND
Nana was pretty surprised when I walked in.
‘You can’t bring a chicken into the house,’ she spluttered.
‘This is no ordinary chicken!’ I said. I demonstrated to Nana that I had complete control over the chicken – I am the chicken whisperer, after all – by getting it to do a couple of backflips, and then Nana relaxed.
The chicken sat on her lap. Nana stroked its feathers. The chicken clucked quietly. It was actually a very touching scene.
‘Oh, Tom,’ said Nana, looking at me with tears in her eyes. ‘She’s lovely.’
‘I thought you’d like another pet, Nana,’ I explained.
‘You did all this for me?’ Nana said. ‘That’s so kind. I shall name her Caesar.’
‘As in chicken Caesar salad?’ I said. Another pet named after a food item. Margherita pizza and now chicken Caesar. This might not end well …
‘No, because once you sees her, you loves her,’ said Nana, laughing.
It was a terrible joke and a rubbish name, but this was the first time Nana had laughed since Margherita died, so I let it go.
Meg came in holding a recipe book.
‘I can’t decide which kind of cake to make you, Tom,’ she said.
Then she whispered: ‘I meant what I said earlier. Even if Mum and Dad still cancel your birthday, we can still eat it.’
I had to admit that was nice, although I really didn’t want to think about the possibility of my birthday staying cancelled. Things were going well. Really well. Resistingance had worked. It felt good.
I shut my eyes and imagined Dad coming out of his dining-study any minute, triumphant, waving a thick wad of papers and shouting th
at he’d finally finished his book, saying that seeing an angel had inspired him and the book was done and brilliant and would sell millions of copies!
Then I pictured Mum walking in from work, hearing the news that Dad had finished his book, and them hugging and dancing round the kitchen. Best of all, I could see them all turning to me, beaming, and saying, ‘Tom, your birthday is back on, and we’re going to make it better than ever. The best, most amazing Lucky Birthday in the world!’ Then Nana would set off for her own flat, her chicken on her arm, Meg by her side. And Meg would turn to me and say, ‘You have my room, Tom, you deserve it.’ Yes!
BING BONG!
The doorbell woke me from my very nice daydream. It was Harry the Hulk. He thought perhaps he’d left Major’s ball round here earlier and could he look for it? I let him in.
I wish I hadn’t.
Meg stared at Harry as he searched around for the ball. She peered at his head while he crawled along the floor, looking under the sofa. And then she shrieked.
‘Glitter! In your hair!’ She pressed her hand to her mouth. ‘You’re the tooth fairy!’
Harry stood up straight. He looked nervously at me.
‘You’re the angel!’ said Dad, pointing his pen at Harry. I hadn’t even heard Dad come out of his dining-study.
‘I can explain,’ I blurted. But no one was listening. Meg, still clutching her mouth, raced upstairs to her room. Dad dropped his pen.
‘I wasn’t visited by an angel sent on a divine mission to inspire me,’ said Dad. ‘It was just a kid with glitter and tinsel on!’
‘But why does it matter if it’s helping you write?’ I asked.
‘It matters because it was a lie,’ said Dad. ‘I thought I had divine powers on my side, that someone was helping me.’
‘What’s this?’ asked Mum, back from work.
‘The angel vision was just Tom’s friend wearing glitter,’ said Dad. ‘My creative streak was based on a lie. It’s over.’
Then Mum started shouting, saying Dad was never going to finish his book, was he? And he said it wasn’t his fault, and there was lots of other shouting. Then Nana appeared with her bags packed and asked for a lift home.
