I Live in a Mad House

by Kaye Umansky

  ‘See this? That’s my livelihood, that is. I’ll have you up for damages.’

  ‘Don’t you threaten me, mate,’ said Mr Smallman. ‘I could report you to the RSPCA. I know you’ve been tormenting my dog. I’ve seen you.’

  ‘You ain’t seen nothing yet, my friend. Look at the state of this hat! See this shoe? And where’s my nose?’

  ‘On your face,’ said Flora.

  That made me laugh. It was all the tension. I didn’t mean to, but a little snort got out.

  Mr Happy Chappy turned on me.

  ‘Oh, so you think it’s funny do you, son? I suppose you think it’s funny that my keys are down the drain, too. How’m I supposed to get in the car, eh? My door key was on it as well. How’m I supposed to get in the house? Tell me that. You gonna pay for a locksmith, are you?’

  ‘Hey, hey,’ said my dad. ‘No need to be like that, friend. It’s not his fault.’

  ‘That’s right,’ agreed Mr Smallman. ‘You got a bone to pick, pick it with me, mate.’

  Their voices were raised now. Neighbours were looking out of their windows to see what all the fuss was about.

  ‘You go on in, Tim, and take Flora with you,’ said Dad. ‘We’ll sort this out. Go and give your mother a hand. She’s waiting to do the cake. It’s like a chimp’s tea party in there.’

  I can’t say I was sorry. I hate arguments, especially between grown-up men. The crosser they get, the more they call each other ‘mate’ and ‘pal’ and ‘friend.’ It doesn’t make sense.

  So we went in. Dad was right. It was chaos.

  The table was swimming with spilled drinks and soggy leftovers. The guests had clearly eaten their fill. Damian was pulling Rosie’s hair. Adam Mahoney was climbing into the sink. Screams were coming from the living room. Nasim had just bumped his head falling down the stairs, where he wasn’t even supposed to be. Poor old Mum was running around trying to deal with it all.

  Kenny the birthday boy was the only one still sitting nicely. He was patiently waiting for his duck cake to make an appearance.

  Flora found the matches and we lit the candles. Then we all ran around trying to herd everyone back into the kitchen.

  ‘Where’s your dad?’ asked Mum, when we finally got them rounded up.

  ‘Here,’ said Dad, coming in. He looked a bit grim.

  ‘Good. Let’s do the cake, then, before they all go mad again.’

  So we did the cake. It had come out a bit funny, more like a stork than a duck, but Kenny liked it. He blew out the candles really nicely.

  We sang ‘Happy Birthday’ and he looked a bit shy. Mum took a photograph (which didn’t come out, we discovered later). Then she cut up the cake and offered everyone a slice. Nobody wanted any except Kenny. They all wanted to rampage around the house hurting themselves again.

  ‘Is the clown ready?’ asked Mum. ‘I think we need the entertainment now.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Dad. ‘Um – there is no clown.’

  ‘What d’you mean, there is no clown? I thought he was in the bathroom, getting ready.’

  ‘Nope,’ said Dad. ‘He didn’t get that far. It’s a long story. Just take it from me, Andrea, there is no clown.’

  ‘But how are we going to entertain them?’ wailed Mum. ‘There’s another hour to go!’

  Flora and I looked at each other.

  ‘Leave it to us,’ we chorused.

  Chapter Seven

  A record-breaking ten minutes later, we had the puppet theatre all set up in our living room. Mum and Dad kept the toddling hoard in the kitchen while we got prepared. It wasn’t easy for them. You could hear the howls a mile away. It sounded like feeding time at the zoo.

  ‘Are you going to be long?’ asked Dad, sticking his head around the door. ‘It’s a mad house in there, your mother’s throwing a fit.’

  ‘All ready,’ said Flora, calmly. ‘You can bring them in now.’

  So they brought them in. It took a while and it was a bit of a squeeze, but finally all 16 of them were sitting cross-legged on the floor. Kenny sat right at the front, as he was the birthday boy and entitled to a good view.

  I remained out of sight behind the clotheshorse with the earless rabbit on my hand, ready to make its entrance as the faithful old butler. The bedroom backdrop was in place. We were ready.

  Flora marched out from behind the theatre and stood in front of the audience, hands on hips.

  ‘This is a show called Kidnapped at Sea,’ she announced. ‘You’ve got to sit properly and not wriggle. Everybody’s got to be really quiet unless we say you can speak. You’ve got to join in with the songs. And you can boo the baddies. Are we ready?’

  ‘Yes!’ chorused 16 little voices.

  ‘Good,’ said Flora. ‘Then we shall begin.’

  And she came to join me. The show was on!

  We began with the princess asleep in bed. Flora made her snore really loudly, which brought appreciative giggles from our audience. Then the rabbit butler made his entrance.

  ‘Good morning, Princess Goldipants,’ I drooled, jiggling my hand around. ‘I am Jeeves, your faithful old butler.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Jeeves, I remember you!’ squealed Flora. ‘That’s because you’ve lived with me in my lovely castle for the last 17 years.’

  ‘So I have, your highness, so I have,’ I intoned, solemnly bowing. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Oooh, yes, Jeeves, I did. I had a lovely, lovely dream about a twinkling star.’

  ‘Did you, my lady? Fancy that. I do believe I know a song about a twinkling star.’

  ‘Do you, Jeeves? And how does it go?’

  ‘I think I remember. But I may need some help from the little boys and girls.’ I cleared my throat and burst into song. ‘Ahem. Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder . . .’

  The audience obligingly joined in, which was just as well as I’m not a great singer.

  After the song, there was more dialogue, which went like this:

  Princess What’s for breakfast, Jeeves?

  Butler Smelly-sausage pancakes with stinky-sock sauce.

  (Pause for audience laughter. It took a while coming while they thought about it, but they got there in the end. Kenny thought it was hilarious. I could hear him in fits. He has a very advanced sense of humour.)

  Princess I think I’ll go for a walk in the woods after breakfast. I saw a dear little black sheep there the other day. Do you think he’ll be my friend?

  Butler I know a song about a black sheep.

  Princess Do you, Jeeves? How does it go?

  Butler Oh, you know that one.

  Princess I’m not sure I do.

  Butler Of course you do.

  Princess I really don’t think I do. Remind me how it goes. I so enjoy your lovely singing voice.

  Butler (firmly) No, I really think you do. Start off, and the boys and girls will help you.

  (A hearty rendition of ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep’, this time led by Flora. Well, I wasn’t going to do all the singing.)

  Do you notice how we’d customised the play to fit the age of the audience? We’d simplified it, cutting out all the advanced stuff they wouldn’t get. Adding nursery rhymes to pad it out was a stroke of genius, we felt.

  At the end of ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep’, Princess Goldipants and Jeeves said goodbye to each other, and that was the first sensational scene done and dusted.

  Flora drew the tiny curtains together. They opened and closed when she pulled a string. It was really clever. Then she quickly changed the backdrop, and we were ready for scene two, in the woods.

  Princess Well, here I am in the woods and it’s such a lovely, sunny day. I think I’ll do a little dance and sing a little song. Oh, the Grand Old Duke of York, he had ten thousand men . . .

  And so it went on. Most of them joined in, although some didn’t know all the words. What do they teach them in nursery these days?

  At the end, a little voice piped up, ‘Where the black sheep?’ but we ignored that, because we didn’t
have one. But what we did have was No-Jaw the clown kidnapper. This was my big moment. I stuck him up behind the princess, and the scene continued.

  Kidnapper Ho ho! I see a beautiful princess! I think I’ll kidnap her and take her off to sea! I’ll make her write a ransom note, and if her father doesn’t pay up I’ll throw her to the crocodile, ha ha!

  I don’t think they got the bit about the ransom note, but they knew they were in the presence of a baddy, because my dad helpfully began to boo. Delightedly, they all joined in.

  ‘Booooooooo!’ they screamed.

  I could see Kenny through a chink in the red velvet. His eyes were shiny and he was bouncing up and down, clapping his hands, booing like billyo. That was all right, then. On we went.

  Princess Tra la la, tra la la! Oh! Who are you?

  Kidnapper Just a kind man, out for a walk. Would you like to come and see my lovely little puppies? I’ve got three in a basket, over there, behind that tree. Their names are Plip, Plop and Poopy.

  (Short pause while some of them died of laughter at the thought of a puppy named Poopy. Enough comedy. On with the drama.)

  Princess My daddy says I mustn’t go with strangers.

  Kidnapper I’ve got some sweeties, too. Yum, yum, lovely red ones.

  Princess (to audience) What do you think, boys and girls? Shall I?

  (Pause for audience participation. We were glad to hear that no one thought this a good idea. Their parents had taught them well.)

  ‘Noooooooooooo!’ they all shouted.

  Kidnapper So you’re not going to come quietly?

  Princess No, I am not.

  Kidnapper In that case, I’ll just have to kidnap you.

  (Clown puppet leaps on princess puppet. There is a scuffle. They sink below the stage. End of scene two.)

  Brilliant though it was, I won’t repeat all of it. It would take too long. I’ll sum it up for you. There were five more scenes, each liberally sprinkled with songs. The kidnapper takes Goldipants to the docks, where she meets a captain of a pirate ship, played by No-Leg the sailor, who sings ‘I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In’. Goldipants gets taken on board ship, and weeps a lot. Everyone sings ‘Poor Jenny Sits A-Weeping’. They land on an island, and get chased by a crocodile. That bit was popular and involved much screaming and booing.

  Then a policeman turns up. For no particular reason, he sings ‘Humpty Dumpty’. He has been living on the island since losing his way during a routine trip with the river police. That was a bit complicated and I don’t think the audience followed our drift here. But they loved the part when he set upon the baddies with his truncheon.

  Finally, all the baddies get arrested and carted off to jail, including the crocodile. Goldipants is reunited with her rabbit butler, and the play ends with a rousing chorus of ‘Polly Put The Kettle On’, because they’re going to sit down and have a lovely cup of tea.

  And that was it. The end. It took us over half an hour.

  Our arms were breaking from holding up the puppets for so long. All the blood had drained out of our fingers. Our throats were sore with singing. It takes it out of you, does puppetry.

  But I have to say the show went down well. No, it really did. The kids loved it. They gave us a big clap, and Dad made a little speech about how kind it was of Tim and Flora to put on such a lovely show. Most of them got bored during this and started staggering to their feet and wandering off. Several of them came poking around the back of the puppet theatre. Within two minutes, the curtains had been yanked off the rod and one of the backdrops trampled underfoot. Then Damian gave the clotheshorse a push, and the whole thing went toppling over.

  Flora said she didn’t care, it had served its purpose. I noticed she didn’t let them mess around with the puppets, though. She put them on a high shelf, ready to take home. I think she had become really fond of them. Funnily enough, so had I.

  Mum then herded the guests back into the kitchen and gave out the party bags. Everyone got a plastic farm animal, a balloon, a squeaker, wax crayons and a slice of birthday duck. Thankfully, the parents were beginning to arrive to take their little darlings home.

  Rather to my surprise, Josh Mahoney came to pick up Adam. He hovered in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. We looked at each other uncertainly.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  ‘Hi,’ I said.

  Adam came running up, covered in jam, and trotted on the spot.

  ‘Tim done puppets,’ he said. ‘I got a squeaker. That girl kicked me. I’m a camel.’ (He speaks like this.)

  Josh said, ‘Go and play, Adam, we’re talking, OK?’

  Adam galloped off, being a camel.

  ‘So how did it go?’ asked Josh. ‘In the end? The car-washing business?’

  ‘OK.’ There was a pause.

  ‘Did you get a skateboard?’

  ‘Not yet.’ There was another pause.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry I forgot about my nan coming.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I mumbled, pushing a Twiglet around the kitchen floor with my foot. ‘But you didn’t exactly try did you? I mean, you didn’t help drum up any custom. You hardly said a word.’

  ‘I don’t like knocking on doors. They’re my neighbours, man. It was embarrassing.’

  He was right. It was. But he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

  ‘You didn’t do much of the actual work, though, did you?’ I persisted. ‘You didn’t exactly put much effort in.’

  ‘I had a bad back.’

  ‘Oh yeah.’

  ‘No, really. I fell off my skateboard the night before. I was in agony.’

  ‘Know the definition of agony?’ said Flora, coming up with her armful of puppets. But she saw we were talking, and tactfully withdrew.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Josh. ‘Do you want to buy it? My skateboard?’

  ‘You selling it, then?’ I asked. He would be wise to. He’s hopeless on a skateboard. Too afraid his trainers’ll get mucked up.

  ‘Yep. I’ll let you have it cheap.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘I dunno. Twenty quid OK?’

  Twenty quid?!!! That was an incredible bargain!

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘You’re on.’ And we shook hands on it.

  ‘Sorry and all that,’ he mumbled. ‘About the car-washing business.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ I said. I picked a plate out of the wreck that was our kitchen table. ‘Fancy a sausage roll?’

  We were mates again. That was better than OK. It was brilliant.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘So did you like your birthday party, Kenny?’ I asked.

  It was nearly his bedtime, and he was yawning loudly. Mum and Dad were in the kitchen drinking beer, surrounded by a million bin liners. Kenny and I were sitting on the sofa, reading Are You My Duck? for a change.

  ‘Mmm,’ said Kenny, which could have meant anything.

  ‘What did you like best? The presents? Got some lovely ones, didn’t you?’

  Kenny looked at his pile of presents, which were displayed on the coffee table. He had cars, a book about tractors, a book about animals, a spinning top, a set of plastic skittles, more cars, a big red ball, a dumper truck, a trumpet and a thing that blew giant bubbles. He was wearing his present from Mum and Dad. A pair of duck-feet slippers and a Spiderman suit.

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Or did you like blowing out the candles best?’

  He thought about this.

  ‘Puppets,’ he said.

  Result! I couldn’t wait to tell Flora.

  I reached behind the sofa, where I had hidden my present to him. I was saving it for a quiet time. I had put both the water gun and the fireman’s helmet in a box and wrapped it up with old Christmas paper.

  ‘Got you something,’ I said. ‘Look. From Tim.’

  His eyes widened. He sat up and tore off the paper. He looked in the box. He took out the helmet and stared at it. I put it on his head and did up the buckle, then lifted him up and showed him his reflec
tion in the mirror.

  He loved it, I could tell.

  We went back to the box.

  He took out the water gun and held it, very gently. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes were shining.

  He loved that, too.

  I showed him how to fill the gun, using water from a vase of dead flowers in the living room that had miraculously survived the party. I didn’t want to disturb Mum and Dad, who were still talking in the kitchen.

  I opened the window and let him press the trigger and squirt it into the garden. The squirt went for miles. You could vary the pressure, making it spray gently or come out in a strong, fierce jet. It was a terrific gun. I should know. If anyone knows about water pressure, I do. I’ve used enough hoses in my time.

  ‘Who do you want to take you to bed?’ I asked, after he’d had three big goes and knocked over a plant pot on the windowsill. ‘Mum, Dad or Tim?’

  ‘Tim,’ he said, sleepily.

  So I put him to bed without washing his face or cleaning his teeth. I let him wear his duck feet and his Spiderman outfit. He wanted to wear the helmet, too, so I let him. He snuggled down, Jug-Jug in one hand and water gun in the other. It still had a bit of vase water in it and was making his bed wet but, as Mum said, you’re only three once.

  Then I went down to the kitchen. My parents were on their second beer. Was there no stopping them?

  ‘All done?’ asked Dad.

  ‘Yep. He’s nearly asleep.’

  ‘I’ll pop up and kiss him goodnight,’ said Mum, and went out.

  Dad reached into his pocket, took out his wallet, extracted four crisp ten pound notes and handed them to me.

  ‘What’s this?’ I said.

  ‘Money for providing the entertainment,’ said Dad. ‘Split it between you and Flora.’

  ‘Wow!’ I said. ‘Really? Wow! Thanks!’

  I was in the money! I still had some of the car-washing cash, and I was getting a cheap skateboard. Hey! Things were really looking up.

  ‘You did a good job,’ said Dad. ‘Nice little show you put on. Made a grown man cry.’

  ‘The kids seemed to enjoy it, anyway,’ I said, modestly.