Sticky Beak

by Morris Gleitzman

  Morris Gleitzman grew up in England and came to Australia when he was sixteen. He was a frozen chicken thawer, sugar mill rolling stock unhooker, fashion industry trainee, student, department-store Santa, TV producer, newspaper columnist and freelance screenwriter, then in 1985 he wrote a novel for young people. Now he’s a children’s author.

  Other Books by Morris Gleitzman

  The Other Facts of Life

  Second Childhood

  Two Weeks with the Queen

  Misery Guts

  Worry Warts

  Puppy Fat

  Blabber Mouth

  Sticky Beak

  Belly Flop

  Water Wings

  Bumface

  Gift of the Gab

  Wicked! (with Paul Jennings)

  Toad Rage

  Deadly (with Paul Jennings)

  Adults Only

  Toad Heaven

  Boy Overboard

  Teacher’s Pet

  Toad Away

  Girl Underground

  Worm Story

  Once

  Aristotle’s Nostril

  Doubting Thomas

  Give Peas a Chance

  Then

  Toad Surprise

  Grace

  MORRIS

  GLEITZMAN

  First Piper edition published 1993 by Pan Macmillan Publishers Australia

  This Pan edition published 2000 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited

  1 Market Street, Sydney

  Reprinted 2000, 2001, 2002, 2004, 2009, 2010

  Copyright © Gleitzman McCaul Pty Ltd 1993

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

  Gleitzman, Morris, 1953-.

  Sticky beak.

  ISBN 978 0 330 27406 7.

  1. Title

  A823.3

  Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group.

  Papers used by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

  These electronic editions published in 2010 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd

  1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

  Sticky Beak

  Morris Gleitzman

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  978-1-74262-024-4

  EPub format

  978-1-74262-025-1

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  978-1-74262-026-8

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  978-1-74262-027-5

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  www.macmillandigital.com.au

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  For Chris, Sophie and Ben

  I reckon there’s something wrong with me.

  There must be.

  Normal people don’t do what I’ve just done— spoil a wonderful evening and upset half the town and ruin a perfectly good Jelly Custard Surprise.

  Perhaps the heat’s affected my brain.

  Perhaps I’ve caught some mysterious disease that makes things slip out of my hands.

  Perhaps I’m in the power of creatures from another planet who own a lot of dry-cleaning shops.

  All I know is ten minutes ago my life was totally and completely happy.

  Now here I am, standing in the principal’s office, covered in raspberry jelly and lemon custard, waiting to be yelled at and probably expelled and maybe even arrested.

  I reckon it was the heat.

  It was incredibly hot in that school hall with so many people dancing and talking in loud voices and reaching across each other for the party pies.

  And I was running around nonstop, keeping an eye on the ice supply and mopping up spilt drinks and helping Amanda put out the desserts and reminding Dad to play a few waltz records in between the country stuff.

  I had to sprint up onto the stage several times to stop the ‘Farewell Ms Dunning’ banner from drooping.

  Plus, whenever I saw kids gazing at Ms Dunning and starting to look sad, I’d dash over and stick an apple fritter in their hands to cheer them up.

  Every few minutes I went and stood in front of the big fan that Vic from the hardware store had lent for the night, but I still felt like the Murray-Darling river system had decided to give South Australia a miss and run down my back instead.

  Amanda was great.

  How a person with hair that thick and curly can stay cool on a night like this beats me.

  Every time she saw me in front of the fan she gave me a grin.

  Don’t worry, the grin said, everything’s under control and Ms Dunning’s having a top time.

  That’s the great thing about a best friend, half the time you don’t even need words.

  I’d just given fresh party pies to the principal and the mayor and was heading over to the food table with the bowl of Jelly Custard Surprise when the formalities started. The music stopped and we were all deafened by the screech of a microphone being switched on and the rumble of Amanda’s dad clearing his throat.

  Amanda’s grin vanished.

  I gave her a look. Don’t panic, it said, once you get up to the microphone you’ll be fine.

  I didn’t know if it was true, but I could see it made her feel better.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said Mr Cosgrove, ‘on behalf of the Parents and Teachers Association Social Committee, it’s time for the presentation to our guest of honour.’

  There was a silence while everyone looked around for Ms Dunning.

  She was at the food table, looking startled, gripping Darryn Peck’s wrist.

  I felt really proud of her at that moment.

  There she was, eight and a half months pregnant, hot and weary after spending the whole afternoon making the Jelly Custard Surprise, and she was still taking the trouble to stop Darryn Peck using my apple fritters as frisbees.

  No wonder we all think she’s the best teacher we’ve ever had.

  Ms Dunning let go of Darryn Peck and went over and stood next to Mr Cosgrove while he made a long speech about how dedicated she is and how sad we all are that she’s leaving the school but how we all understand that babies are the future of Australia.

  Then Mr Cosgrove called Amanda to the microphone.

  She was so nervous she almost slipped over in a drink puddle, but once she was there she did a great job. She read the speech we’d written in her loudest voice without a single mistake, not even during the difficult bit about Ms Dunning being an angel who shone with such radiance in the classroom we hardly ever needed the fluoros on.

  After Amanda finished reading she presented Ms Dunning with a carved wooden salad bowl and matching carved wooden fork and spoon which the Social Committee had bought after ignoring my suggestion of a tractor.

  Everyone
clapped except me because I had my hands full, but I wobbled the Jelly Custard Surprise to show that I would have if I could.

  Ms Dunning grinned and blushed and made a speech about how much fun she’d had teaching us and how nobody should feel sad because she’d see everyone most days when she dropped me off at school.

  Even though it was a short speech, she was looking pretty exhausted by the time she’d finished.

  ‘I’m pooped,’ she grinned. ‘Where’s that husband of mine?’

  Dad stepped forward and kissed her and she leant on his shoulder and there was more applause.

  Dad gave such a big grin I thought his ears were going to flip his cowboy hat off.

  I was grinning myself.

  Dad’s had a hard life, what with Mum dying and stuff, and a top person like him deserves a top person like Ms Dunning.

  I reckon marrying Ms Dunning is the best thing he ever did, and that includes buying the apple-polishing machine.

  Seeing them standing there, smiling at each other, Ms Dunning smoothing down the fringe on Dad’s shirt, I felt happier than I have all year, and I’ve felt pretty happy for most of it.

  Which is why what happened next was so weird.

  Dad cleared his throat and went down on one knee so his eyes were level with Ms Dunning’s bulging tummy.

  I wasn’t surprised at that because he does it all the time at home. The mayor, though, was staring at Dad with his mouth open. Mayors get around a fair bit, but they probably don’t often come across apple farmers who wear goanna-skin cowboy boots and sing to their wives’ tummies.

  As usual Dad sang a song by Carla Tamworth, his favourite country and western singer.

  It was the one about the long-distance truck driver who listens to tapes of his two-month-old baby crying to keep himself awake while he’s driving.

  As usual Dad had a bit of trouble with a few of the notes, but nobody seemed to mind. Ms Dunning was gazing at him lovingly and everyone else was smiling and some people were tapping their feet, including the mayor.

  I was enjoying it too, until Dad got to the chorus.

  ‘Your tears are music to my ears,’ sang Dad to Ms Dunning’s midriff, and that’s when my brain must have become heat-affected.

  Suddenly my heart was pounding and I had a strange sick feeling in my guts.

  I turned away.

  And suddenly my feet were sliding and suddenly the Jelly Custard Surprise wasn’t in my hands anymore.

  The bowl still was, but the Jelly Custard Surprise was flying through the air.

  It hit the grille of the big hardware store fan, and then everyone in the hall disappeared into a sort of sticky mist. It was just like when Dad sprays the orchard, except his mist isn’t pink and it hasn’t got bits of custard in it.

  I stood there, stunned, while people shrieked and tried to crawl under the food table.

  The mayor still had his mouth open, but now it was full of jelly.

  Mr Cosgrove was staring down at his suit in horror, looking like a statue that had just been dive-bombed by a large flock of pink and yellow pigeons.

  Darryn Peck was sitting in a Greek salad. I only knew it was him because of the tufts of ginger hair poking up through the sticky pink stuff that covered his face.

  I blew the jelly out of my nose and ran out of the hall and thought about hiding in the stationery cupboard but came in here instead.

  I’d have ended up here anyway because the principal’s office is always where people are taken to be yelled at and expelled and arrested.

  There’s someone at the door now.

  They seem to be having trouble opening it.

  It’s pretty hard getting a grip on a door handle when you’ve got Jelly Custard Surprise running out of your sleeves.

  I’d help them if I wasn’t shaking so much.

  The door opened and Mr Fowler came in and it was worse than I’d imagined.

  It wasn’t just his sleeves that were dripping with jelly and custard, it was most of his shirt and all of his shorts and both knees.

  On top of his head, in the middle of his bald patch, were several pieces of pineapple. Ms Dunning always puts crushed pineapple at the bottom of her Jelly Custard Surprise. It’s delicious, but it’s not really a surprise, not to us. I think it was to Mr Fowler though.

  He saw me and just sort of glared at me for a bit.

  I tried to stop shaking so I wouldn’t drip on his carpet so much.

  It was no good. I looked down and saw I was standing in a puddle of passion-fruit topping.

  I made a mental note to write to the Department of Education and explain that it had dripped out of my hair and not out of Mr Fowler’s lunch box.

  Mr Fowler didn’t seem to have noticed.

  He strode over to his desk and wiped his hands on his blotter.

  I waited for him to ring the District Schools Inspector and say, ‘I’ve got a girl here who’s been mute since birth and she came to us from a special school fourteen months ago and I thought she was fitting in OK but she’s just sprayed two hundred people with Jelly Custard Surprise and so obviously she’s not and she’ll have to go back to a special school first thing in the morning’.

  He didn’t.

  He just glared at me some more.

  ‘I’ve seen some clumsy acts in this school,’ he said, ‘but I think you, Rowena Batts, have just topped the lot.’

  I didn’t reply because my hands were shaking too much to write and Mr Fowler doesn’t understand sign language.

  ‘I knew it was a mistake having food,’ he continued, starting to rummage through the top drawer of his filing cabinet. ‘That floor was awash with coleslaw from the word go. I nearly slipped over just before you did.’

  My legs felt like they had jelly on the inside as well as the outside.

  ‘You OK, Tonto?’ said a voice from the door.

  It was Dad.

  His face was creased with concern and splattered with custard, and for a sec I thought he’d changed his shirt. Then I saw it was the blue satin one he’d been wearing all along, but the red jelly had turned it purple.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said, trying to keep my hand movements small so I wouldn’t flick drips onto Mr Fowler’s files.

  Ms Dunning came in behind Dad, just as splattered and just as concerned.

  She gave me a hug.

  ‘When you have bad luck, Ro, you really have bad luck,’ she said. ‘And after all the hard work you put into tonight.’

  She wiped something off my left elbow, then turned to Mr Fowler.

  ‘We want to get home and cleaned up, Frank,’ she said. ‘Can we talk about paying for the damage tomorrow?’

  Mr Fowler looked up from the filing cabinet.

  ‘No need,’ he said, holding up a piece of paper. ‘The insurance covers accidental food spillage.’

  Ms Dunning gave such a big sigh of relief that a lump of pineapple slid off the top of her tummy. I caught it before it hit the carpet.

  I could tell from Dad’s face he wanted to get me out of there before Mr Fowler discovered a clause in the insurance policy excluding jelly.

  To get to the truck we had to go through the school hall. It was full of people wiping each other with serviettes and hankies and bits torn off the ‘Farewell Ms Dunning’ banner.

  I held my breath and hoped they wouldn’t notice me.

  They did.

  People started glowering at me from under sticky eyebrows and muttering things that fortunately I couldn’t hear because I still had a fair bit of jelly in my ears.

  Amanda came over, her hair rubbed into sticky spikes. ‘If Mr Fowler tries to murder you,’ she said with her hands, ‘tell him to speak to me. I saw you slip.’

  I felt really proud of her. Not only is she kind and loyal, but I only taught her the sign for ‘murder’ last week.

  ‘Don’t feel bad, Ro,’ called out Megan O’Donnell’s mum, scraping custard off her T-shirt with a knife. ‘I’m on a diet so I’d rather have it on the outs
ide than on the inside.’

  There are some really nice people in this town.

  But I do feel bad.

  I felt bad all the way home in the truck, even though Dad made me and Ms Dunning laugh by threatening to drive us round the orchard on the tractor so all the codling moths would stick to us.

  I feel bad now, even though I’m standing under a cool shower.

  Because I didn’t slip on some coleslaw and accidentally lose control of the Jelly Custard Surprise.

  I threw it on purpose.

  The great thing about talking in your head is you can say anything you want.

  Even things you’re scared to say in real life.

  Even to your own Dad.

  He’s just been in to say goodnight.

  The moment he stepped into the room I could tell he wanted to have a serious talk because he’d changed into his black shirt, the one with the yellow horseshoes on the front. Dad always wears that when he’s planning a serious conversation.

  ‘Feeling better?’ he asked with his mouth.

  Dad doesn’t seem to talk so much with his hands these days.

  ‘A bit better,’ I said. ‘How are the boots?’

  ‘Gave them a rinse and they’re good as new,’ he said.

  ‘Belt buckle?’ I asked.

  ‘Pretty yukky,’ he said, grinning. ‘Jelly in the eyeholes. Had to scrub it with my toothbrush.’

  For about the millionth time in my life I thought how lucky I am to have a dad like him. I bet there aren’t many dads who stay calm when they’ve got jelly in the eyeholes of their cow-skull belt buckle.

  Dad cleared his throat, which meant he was either about to get musical or serious.

  ‘Tonto,’ he said, ‘Amanda told me how that pud got airborne tonight. She said it was cause you turned away real quick while I was singing. I didn’t think you got embarrassed any more at me having a warble in public.’

  ‘I don’t,’ I said.

  It’s true. I did when we first came here, before people got to know Dad, because I was worried they’d think he was mental. But then one day I realised I didn’t mind any more. It was at the wedding. The wedding was the happiest day of my life, and even Dad singing ‘Chalk Up My Love In The Classroom Of Your Heart’ to Ms Dunning at the altar didn’t change that.