by Jo Simmons
Mum and Dad stopped and both pointed at chicken Caesar, standing next to her.
‘What’s that?’ they asked at the same time.
‘It’s Caesar, my new pet, which Tom kindly got for me so I won’t be lonely. I’m ready to go home now.’
But as Nana moved towards the front door, the chicken stopped following her and hopped on to my arm instead.
‘Go with Nana,’ I said. But the chicken wouldn’t budge. I suppose, as I was the chicken whisperer, the chicken wanted to stay with me. All I knew for sure was that this wasn’t part of the plan. Neither was Mum grabbing her car keys and leading Nana towards the front door.
‘Don’t worry, Mum, you won’t be lonely,’ she said. ‘I’m coming with you. I’m moving out.’
‘Jill, come on!’ said Dad, but Mum followed Nana outside and slammed the front door behind her.
Dad stomped back into his dining-study and slammed the door.
Meg, who had been watching from the top of the stairs, went back into her room and slammed her door.
Harry slunk off to the kitchen and slammed that door (although I think that was an accident).
I was left in the hallway again. I wasn’t sitting in a saucer of Nosho Liver & Spleen this time, but it felt exactly the same. The same feeling of doom and failure and misery. My plan to fix my family was in pieces. My birthday was still cancelled.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BY ME, FOR ME
I expected to find Meg stuffing Blu-Tack round her teeth again when I went into her room. In fact, she was just sitting on her bed. She threw a book at me.
‘That’s for sending a fake tooth fairy,’ she said.
‘I only wanted you to stop worrying that everything was your fault,’ I said.
‘Yeah, so I could go to Nana’s and you could use my room, I bet.’
How had she guessed that? It’s like she’d read my mind. I often forgot how smart Meg was. She liked things like ponies and dancing and hairgrips, but alongside all that was some weird nine-year-old smartness.
‘It’s OK, Tom,’ she said, patting the bed next to her. I sat down.
‘I will still make your cake, but I want to be in on the party and the sleepover.’
‘Well, at this rate, there isn’t going to be either,’ I said. ‘It’s still cancelled, and now Mum’s moved out and Dad’s stopped writing. I need to face it – my birthday is over. Mum hasn’t even bought any presents.’
‘Did you check the pressie cupboard?’ Meg asked.
I nodded.
‘Did you check right to the back?’ she asked.
‘Right to the back,’ I said. ‘So far back I found Mum’s old gardening trousers, from when she used to have an allotment, before she started working so much. Not a single present though.’
We were both silent.
‘I’m sure Dad hasn’t planned any ace snacks for me, and I don’t think either of them has organised an outing or treat. It’s off, over, not happening. I thought I could fix everyone and my birthday would be back on, but I was wrong. My parents have really, truly cancelled my birthday.’
‘Do you think Mum will come home?’ Meg asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you think Dad will finish his book?’ Meg asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘This is serious,’ said Meg.
‘I know,’ I said.
‘This was your Lucky Birthday, too,’ said Meg.
‘I know.’
We sat quietly for a minute. Meg held my hand, which was weird, but I found that I quite liked it.
Then Harry put his head around the door. I’d completely forgotten he was here.
‘Found Major’s ball,’ he said. ‘I’ll be off then. See you on your birthday.’
‘It’s cancelled,’ I said. ‘Tell everyone – Keith, Jonny, Chas, everyone.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Harry, and then he left.
‘Bye, tooth fairy,’ Meg shouted after him.
We sat quietly for a while. Chicken Caesar had tiptoed in at some point and was now sitting between us. Then my phone rang. It was Keith again.
‘I’ve just seen Harry and he said your birthday is cancelled,’ he said. ‘Is that true?’
‘I told you about this, Keith, remember? Then I tried to do Resistingance and fight back but it hasn’t worked,’ I explained. ‘It’s still cancelled.’
‘Did you try the other one?’ he said. ‘Resilience.’
‘That just means putting up with stuff and being strong, doesn’t it?’ I said.
‘To be honest, I’ve never been quite sure what it means,’ Keith said. ‘If I were you I’d just do it myself.’
‘Do what myself?’
‘Do your birthday yourself,’ Keith said. ‘Remember when I waited ages for my mum to sort out a hair appointment for me and she never did? I just cut my hair myself.’
‘Yeah, but that didn’t work out too well, Keith,’ I said. ‘You looked like you’d been attacked by pelicans.’
‘And remember when my dad was going to get me a dentist appointment and he never did?’ Keith went on. ‘I just made a brace myself, from an old coat hanger and some elastic bands.’
‘That also didn’t work out too well,’ I said. ‘You couldn’t eat or close your mouth.’
‘The point is,’ Keith said, ‘sometimes grown-ups don’t do what they should for their kids because they’re busy, or whatever the excuse is, and so us kids just have to do it ourselves.’
I thought about this for a second. Then I found myself saying words I never thought I’d say.
‘Keith, you are a genius! An absolute genius!’
‘Correct,’ said Keith.
‘I’ll organise my birthday myself. I’ve already done the invites. Meg can make the cake. Of course! Best of all, I don’t have to wait to see what Mum and Dad do. I can design it all myself – every last detail, every last moment, exactly as I want it. My parents might have cancelled my birthday, but I haven’t.
And I say – it’s back on, on, On,
ON!’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A MAN IN PANTS
I grabbed a notebook and wrote MY BIRTHDAY at the top. I thought hard.
I had never planned a birthday for myself. It was exciting, but also a bit scary. Where to begin?
‘Chas Cheeseman’s party had fireworks and a chef and people brought huge presents and …’
‘Who cares what Chas Cheeseman had,’ Meg said. ‘What do you want?’
I thought hard and then made a few notes:
1.Must be awesome, fun, exciting and something everyone remembers for ages – LUCKY BIRTHDAY!
2.Food – ask Bruce in cafe for help?
3.Party here or somewhere else?
4.Open presents first!
Then my stomach rumbled. I was starving. It had been a busy day. I hadn’t had dinner.
Dad had not come out of his dining-study. The house was strangely quiet. Meg and I opened a jar of Dad’s top-secret-recipe pasta sauce and had it with some cold leftover spaghetti we found in the fridge. I had forgotten how delicious his sauce was. Even when served with cold spaghetti.
Mum called to say goodnight and tell us she would be back tomorrow. She said Nana seemed happy to be home, even without chicken Caesar. I told chicken Caesar she was off the hook.
I lay in bed with my notebook, making more birthday plans.
Next thing I knew, it was morning.
I could only explain this time travel in one way – I had fallen asleep.
This also meant that it was no longer Thursday, it was Friday.
My birthday was Saturday. Tomorrow!
Not a second to lose.
I ran to the cafe to ask Bruce if he could supply some food for my birthday party. He suggested bacon sandwiches. I agreed.
‘You can pay me in your dad’s pasta sauce,’ he said. ‘It’s selling really well here. People love it. They love it more than my bacon sandwiches.’
Part
y food – sorted! And all before 9.30 a.m. Yes!
‘Is that yours?’ Bruce said, pointing across the cafe.
Chicken Caesar was standing on one of the tables, pecking up crumbs. She must have followed me here. I whistled and she hopped up on my arm.
‘Wow!’ said Bruce. ‘What are you, some kind of chicken whisperer or something, with weird powers over chickens?’
There was no time to explain. I just winked and left.
When I got back to the house, I could hear the sound of laughter and running around. Mum? Dad? My heart skipped a beat for a second. But it was just Meg and Keith. Meg and Keith had always got along. Keith’s actual sister was older and super brainy. Keith said Meg was way more fun.
Meg was riding around the living room on Keith’s back – she had always wanted a pony – and Keith was screaming ‘Help me, help me!’ for some reason.
They were laughing a lot. This was typical. No sense of urgency. They might have time for messing about, but I didn’t. I had my birthday to save.
‘Stop, both of you!’ I commanded. ‘Keith, why are you here and what do you want?’
‘I’ve come to help plan your birthday,’ Keith said. ‘You said I was a genius. Which is true. So, I’m here to offer my genius skills.’
I now regretted calling Keith a genius. Would he ever stop reminding me of that? But maybe some help would be good. With only one day to go, time was running out and there was still a lot to arrange.
‘In that case, stop pretending to be a pony and get upstairs now,’ I said.
‘He’s not a pony,’ said Meg. ‘We’re re-enacting that time you got pounced on by a lamb when we all went to the farm. Keith is you and I’m the lamb, squashing you.’
Keith shouted ‘Help me, help me, get it off me!’ a few more times, and the pair of them collapsed on to the floor laughing. I had thought Meg was smart and Keith a genius, but I was now changing my mind.
‘I didn’t say help me,’ I said quickly. ‘I fought the lamb off, you’re remembering it all wrong. Anyway, shut up about the lamb attack. There is no time for this. Please! We have a birthday to save.’
We ran upstairs to my room. Dad appeared on the landing. He had only just got up, even though it was 10 a.m.! He looked extremely scruffy. Worst of all, he was in his pants. Only his pants.
This was very disturbing and could possibly ruin all my birthday plans. How could I have a birthday at home if Dad was going to wander in wearing only his pants? What if Chas Cheeseman saw that? I didn’t remember every last detail of Chas’s amazing party, but I’m pretty certain that at no point did his dad walk in wearing only his pants.
I couldn’t worry about it now, there was just way too much else to sort out. I handed Keith and Meg a pen and paper.
‘I need suggestions for my birthday,’ I said. ‘Things to do, activities …’
‘Things to do and activities are the same thing,’ said Meg.
I gave her a strong look.
Meg began making notes. Keith was looking at my bookshelf for ideas.
‘You’ve got a lot of books about volcanoes,’ he said. Then he found one about gladiators.
‘Tom J. Bostock?’ he said, noticing my name inside the front jacket. ‘What’s the J stand for?’
‘It’s my middle name,’ I said.
‘Mum and Dad didn’t give us middle names,’ said Meg.
‘I gave myself one,’ I said.
‘What is it then?’ Keith asked.
‘Jemath,’ I said.
‘Jemath?!’ Keith said.
‘I made it up. It’s a cool name,’ I said.
Meg started laughing. I gave her another strong look. Keith was smirking. I gave him a strong look, too.
‘Get on with it!’ I said. ‘Ideas, now! No time to lose!’
‘OK, whatever you say, Tom Jemath Bostock,’ Keith muttered. Meg giggled some more. I gave them both strong looks.
A few moments later we were interrupted by Dad shouting and banging about in the bathroom. Chicken Caesar had snuck into the shower with him. Dad shooed her out and I made her sit at the end of the bed, still wet. I had to give her a strong look, too. Honestly!
‘What ideas have you got?’ I asked. ‘I don’t have much time, so let’s have a look.’
They passed me their lists.
Keith’s list looked like this:
fireworks and/or fire
helicopter flight
reptiles
jet packs for all guests
fudge
Meg’s list looked like this:
horse riding
kittens
magic
bunting
‘Where am I going to get jet packs from, Keith?’ I asked.
‘Internet?’ he said.
‘And how am I going to pay for them?’ I said. ‘If a chihuahua puppy costs £800, I dread to think what a jet pack costs. At least that, probably. I don’t have £800.’
‘How much money do you have?’ Meg asked.
I checked my wallet. £8.62.
‘That rules out a helicopter flight and fireworks, too,’ I said, crossing them off Keith’s list.
‘And horse riding,’ I added, crossing that off Meg’s list.
‘I still think there are some good ideas here,’ said Meg. ‘Do you have any better ones?’
I checked my own list. ‘I’ve got here: must be awesome, fun, exciting and something everyone remembers for ages.’
‘Which is what?’ said Meg.
The sound of Dad shouting downstairs boomed up to us before I could answer.
We found him in the kitchen, still in his pants. This was disturbing (again).
Even more disturbing – he was jabbing at chicken Caesar with a wooden spoon and defending himself with a pan lid, as she tried to grab cold spaghetti from a plate on the table and peck him at the same time.
‘Get off!’ he yelled. ‘I’ll make kebabs out of you!’
This was no way to talk to a chicken.
‘She probably thinks the spaghetti is worms,’ I explained.
‘It’s not worms, it’s my breakfast!’ said Dad.
I didn’t comment on the utter rubbishness of this breakfast. Dad was supposed to be an amazing cook. How could he settle for cold spaghetti at 10.30 in the morning? And what was he doing getting up so late? It was all very sloppy.
But never mind. No time to worry about this. I suddenly remembered Mr Hector saying, ‘Sometimes the answer is right in front of your nose.’
I thought of the volcano and gladiator books in my room. And then I looked at the scene in front of me.
The answer really was in front of my nose, in the form of a hungry chicken and a middle-aged man in pants.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
PLANS, PLACES AND DIY PROPS
The sight of Dad with a wooden-spoon sword and pan-lid shield made an impression on me (and it wasn’t just the fact that he was only wearing pants at the time). He looked like a warrior; like a fighter; like a gladiator!
I thought of my gladiator book that Keith had flicked through and all the pictures of warriors fighting wild animals in the Colosseum of ancient Rome, while the crowds roared. That was it! Gladiatorial combat. The perfect birthday entertainment! Some kids get taken to the cinema for their birthday, but I would create my own epic show, with gladiators, wild beasts and plenty of drama. That would be awesome, fun, exciting and something everyone would remember for ages.
Plus, it wouldn’t cost much, which was good, as I only had £8.62.
I dropped chicken Caesar at Mr Hector’s and quickly explained that the poultry-as-pet plan hadn’t worked.
‘Your nana can always come and visit the chickens here if she’s lonely,’ Mr Hector suggested.
‘But what about Tiny?’ I said. ‘Tiny killed her chihuahua. I’m not sure Nana could cope with seeing Tiny again.’
Mr Hector chewed his pipe a bit. ‘Not a problem,’ he said. ‘I can disguise her.’
‘What as?’
<
br /> ‘A pony …’ he said. ‘Done it loads of times back in my village, when I was a young ’un. Dress a pig up as a pony, you can steal it right out from under the farmer’s nose.’
This got me thinking.
‘Do you do zebras?’ I asked Mr Hector. ‘I mean, could you disguise Tiny as a zebra?’
Mr Hector chewed his pipe a bit more and then agreed to give it a go. The chickens looked excited.
‘What you got planned, then, that you need a pig-zebra for?’ he asked.
I explained about my DIY birthday extravaganza show. He liked the sound of it.
Then I asked if I could have my birthday in his garden, on the grass right here, under the apple tree.
‘It’s the perfect space; so much better than my house,’ I said. ‘Plus, I can’t risk my friends seeing my dad in his pants.’
Mr Hector agreed – about the show and the pants. He said he’d make some birthday preparations. The chickens looked really excited now.
I probably looked really excited, too. I definitely felt really excited. My birthday plans were taking shape:
Food – yes.
Venue – yes.
Things to do and activities – yes.
I would have an awesome Lucky Birthday after all!
Meg and Keith were in the kitchen when I got home.
Keith was reading one of my volcano books. This gave me another idea. Not only would there be gladiatorial combat, it would be set in the shadow of the mighty volcano Vesuvius! This would make my birthday show extra exciting.
I wasn’t sure if there were gladiators at the same time as Vesuvius but I didn’t care. It was my party and I could have gladiators and Vesuvius erupting if I wanted to.
‘Meg,’ I said, ‘can you make a volcano cake?’
She looked at the pictures of Vesuvius and nodded slowly, thinking.
‘Yeah, I can make you a volcano cake,’ she said. ‘Chocolate sponge, greyish icing, strawberry laces for lava. I can make this work.’
‘Brilliant!’ I said.
My heart was thumping now. I held my hands up in the air, clasped together. I was panting a little. I could picture my birthday show clearly. I could see it! I could almost touch it … And it was beautiful!
