‘TWINS!’ roared Lancelot, laughing like billy-o.
‘Oh,’ said Granny, and her face lit up. She patted Mum’s hand. ‘I am glad they’re not tins, Brenda.’
My mum looked at Granny and they fell about laughing, and that started me off. We were back to the bags of shopping.
‘Can you imagine it?’ Mum giggled. ‘I might have had tins! “Is it a boy or a girl, nurse?” … “Actually, madam, it’s pineapple chunks!”’
It’s been a totally brilliant day Dad is really chuffed, and so am I. Mum’s going to have twins and we still don’t know whether they will be boys or girls. I’ve given Imelda back to Mum and told her I want the real
thing. I wish I could tell you how I feel, but it’s weird. It’s like my emotions are whizzing round and round, too fast to catch, too fast to hold, too fast to even know what they are. I can only think of one word to describe it, but it seems much, much too small to tell you how I really feel.
Happy.
8 February: Dad Has a Baby
You should see my mum now! I think she’s going to explode. She’s the size of an elephant. She goes waddling round very slowly holding her belly. You can see her coming almost a week before she arrives! You get this glimpse of a giant whale entering the room, and the rest of Mum follows, days later.
Dad’s been making fun of her, but Mum got her own back this afternoon, with Granny’s help.
‘It’s no joke carrying two babies around,’ she complained. ‘I wish you were me.’
I think Granny must have heard her because she went wandering off for a while. When she came back she was holding a balloon. It was a green one, left over from Christmas, and it hadn’t been blown up yet.
‘I think this might help,’ Granny said. ‘Ronald, you come with me for a moment.’
‘This all looks very mysterious,’ Dad murmured suspiciously. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘She’s up to something,’ agreed Lancelot, giving me a wink. ‘That’s my babe!’
‘Just follow me,’ said Granny, and the two of them disappeared through to the kitchen.
I could hear them talking to each other out there. Dad’s voice was getting louder. He was obviously upset. Granny’s voice was quieter, but insistent. Finally, Granny came back and settled down in her armchair, but where was Dad? What was he up to? We watched and waited.
Finally the door slowly swung open. And then Dad appeared, stomach first. His belly was as big and swollen as Mum’s. He waddled towards a chair.
‘Ron! What have you done?’ giggled Mum.
Dad looked daggers at Granny. ‘It’s my mother’s idea,’ he hissed, holding his huge belly. ‘I’ve got a balloon stuck up my jumper, filled with water. It’s supposed to be like carrying twins, but it makes me feel stupid and uncomfortable.’
‘In that case you know just how I feel,’ said Mum. ‘What a clever idea, Gran. Well done.’
You can imagine what it was like after that. Mum asked Dad when the baby was due. I wanted to know if it was going to be a boy balloon or a girl. Lancelot asked Dad what he was going to call it when it was born.
‘Pop! That would be a good name for a balloon,’ said Lancelot. ‘Or how about Huffenpuff?’
Dad scowled at everyone and eased himself into a chair. ‘Do I have to keep this thing stuck up here?’
‘Yes, dear. Poor Brenda has had to do it for months now.’ Granny threw me a glance. ‘And if you think it’s funny, Nicholas, there is another balloon here.’ That wiped the grin off my face! No way was I going to be pregnant with a balloon.
We were just settling down to watch some telly when the front doorbell went. Dad struggled up.
It was Mr Tugg. He gawped at Dad, who was standing there holding his belly. Dad really enjoyed his surprise. He rubbed one hand gently across his stomach. ‘I’m having twins,’ he boasted to our neighbour. Top and Huffenpuff.’
‘Don’t be silly. Men don’t have babies.’ Mr Tugg eyed my father. ‘Now then, I’ve just had a telephone call, and you will never guess who it was from.’
‘Father Christmas?’ suggested Dad. ‘Don’t tell me. He ate the mince pie you left out for him and now he’s got food poisoning.’
Mr Tugg ignored him. ‘It was that very nice man with the house that my father and your mother wish to buy, Mr Throgmorton.’
‘Oh yes, Frogshortener,’ said Dad, nodding.
‘Frogmortoner,’ corrected Mr Tugg. ‘Now you’ve got me doing it. The long and short of it is …’
‘… it must have been elastic,’ Dad butted in.
‘What?’ Mr Tugg looked perplexed.
‘The frog,’ said Dad.
‘What frog?’
‘The elastic one that was being made long and then short.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Mr Tugg shook his head violently as if his ears had just been invaded by swarms of bees.
‘Frogs,’ said Dad. ‘What are you talking about?’
Mr Tugg’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He always found it difficult to tell if my dad was winding him up or if he was simply
being stupid. But Dad looked so natural, apart from the balloon stuck up his jumper of course.
‘I sometimes wonder what kind of mad world you live in,’ Mr Tugg said. ‘Please don’t interrupt me this time. Mr Throgshortener, I mean Throgmorton, has phoned to say that he is refusing to sell them his house.’
Granny and Lancelot came hurrying
to the door. ‘But it was just what we wanted,’ said Lancelot. ‘Why?’
Mr Tugg smiled grimly. ‘He said that they lived in a nice neighbourhood and they didn’t want it spoiled by having Hell’s Angels living there.’ He frowned at Gran. ‘It’s your mother’s fault.’
Dad bristled. ‘My mother? It’s your father causing the trouble. He’s the one with the motorbike, and the ponytail, and the earring, not to mention a carrot on his shoulder.’
‘Maybe, but your mother’s got a ring through her belly button! If you remember, she showed them on their doorstep!’ Mr Tugg angrily prodded Dad to make his point. There was a muffled SPLOP!! and the balloon burst. An entire lake sploshed out of Dad’s jumper and slopped down his trousers and Mr Tugg’s.
Dad shook his jumper and a shrivelled shred of green rubber fell into the puddle gathering round his feet. Dad stared down at it. ‘That was my baby balloon’ he complained to our neighbour.
‘Pop and Huffenpuff’ added Lancelot dolefully.
‘You’re not from this planet,’ muttered Mr Tugg. He turned on his heels and squelched back to his house, desperately trying to appear dignified.
9 March: Dad Plays Up ASgain
Granny and Lancelot have moved out. It’s really strange without them. Things have been so busy around here. It feels like we’ve done nothing but rush about ever since Christmas.
First of all, we had that unexpected news about the twins, so Mum and Dad had to get in extra supplies. They had to take the new pushchair back for a start, and swop it for a twin-buggy. We got another cot and more baby blankets and clothes. You should see inside the wardrobe in The Baby Zone. (That’s what we’ve called the twins’ bedroom.) Open the wardrobe door and ten tons of nappies fall on top of you!
Meanwhile, Granny and Lancelot have been whizzing about on the Matchless,
searching for another house. It was a real shame about that horrible Mr Throgmorton. I know Gran and Lancelot look a bit different, but when you know them they are such nice people. Neither of them would hurt a fly. When I grow up I shall try not to judge people by appearances. After all, look at my dad. You’d think he was quite normal. Some joke! You want to know what he’s been up to now? He’s been thrown out of Mum’s exercise class.
There’s this kind of baby club that Mum and Dad have been going to each week. It’s for women who are expecting a baby, and their partners. They do floor exercises to strengthen tummy muscles – stuff like that. Mum practises them at home every day.
The classes are for the fathers as
well. Dad says that they teach you how to help your partner when she goes into labour.
‘What’s labour?’ I asked.
‘That’s when the baby gets born.’
‘Why is it called labour?’
‘Because it’s hard work,’ Mum butted in.
Anyhow, they were at this exercise class, and Dad was fooling about as usual. (This is what Mum told me afterwards.) Apparently, Dad had stuffed Imelda under his jumper and sneaked her in. (You remember Imelda? How could anyone forget!)
Halfway through the class, Dad started to pretend that he had gone into labour and he was having a baby. He whipped out Imelda and screeched at everyone. ‘Oh no! She’s left a leg behind! It must be up here somewhere! Quick, somebody help me!’ He began rummaging around up his jumper.
The midwife in charge of the class was furious. She went steaming towards Dad, shouting at him to stop. Most of the class were in hysterics, and one lady found it so funny she went into labour on the spot! The midwife had to call an ambulance.
Dad’s been banned from ever attending again. Mum wasn’t very pleased with him, but I think she found it funny too. That’s the thing with my mum. She can’t help laughing at Dad’s antics, even when he’s being embarrassing. He certainly makes life interesting.
But I was going to tell you about Granny and Lancelot’s new house. Well, it’s not really a house at all. It’s a house with a shop. They’ve bought a motorbike business.
Lancelot saw an advertisement, quite by chance. They had just bought some fish and chips, and they were eating them out of this old newspaper, and there was this advert; greasy, but still readable.
BUSINESS FOR SALE
Matchless Spares
Due to illness the owner is forced to sell this successful business.
Vintage Matchless-motorbike spares sold and delivered to the United Kingdom, North America, Canada, Japan, Australia and South Africa. Small house included.
It’s been like a dream come true for Lancelot, and Granny too. They love motorbikes and Lance knows almost everything there is to know about Matchless bikes. They’re not made any more, and that means that spare parts are big business, right across the world.
I think it’s great, and so does everyone else. Even Mr Tugg thinks it’s a good idea, but that’s only because he doesn’t like having Hell’s Angels living next to him.
The sale went through quickly and they’ve moved out. Ever since then we’ve been busy turning their old room into The Baby Zone. The only problem we had was what colour to paint it.
‘Pink for a girl,’ said Mum.
‘Blue for a boy’ said Dad.
I reckon that’s daft. I’m a boy, and I prefer yellow, but in the end the room was painted with blue and pink stripes. It looked
awful! Mum and Dad immediately started again and painted it yellow all over, which is what I suggested in the first place. It looks much better.
All we need now is something to put in it.
10 April: B-Day
Phew! What a day, or should I say night? Things started happening towards the end of the afternoon. Mum kept clutching her stomach. She’d been doing this on and off since morning, but now it was happening every hour or so. She’d take quick deep breaths and hold on to something, anything – the doorpost, a cupboard, even me.
‘What’s up, Mum?’
‘I’m going into labour, Nick. The twins are coming.’
I thought she meant straight away and got a bit worried, but Mum said it would be a while yet. ‘Ask your father to cook tea, will you? I can’t manage it tonight.’
My heart sank. Dad’s not much of a cook, it has to be said. He stood in the kitchen and peered gloomily into the cupboards. Finally he shut the cupboard doors and picked up the telephone.
‘Why don’t we order some pizzas and have them delivered?’
As far as I was concerned anything was better than letting Dad cook. Mum seemed to think it was a good idea, so Dad ordered three pizzas. He had hardly put down the phone when Mum started moaning.
‘Ohhhhhh! Ahhhhhh! Urrrrrrrrr!’ She was clutching her stomach and holding on to Dad. I could see the panic setting in on his face.
‘What shall I do? What shall I do?’
Mum got her breath back. ‘I think we’d better get to the hospital, Ron. I’m sure the twins are on the way. I’ve packed an overnight bag. It’s on our bed upstairs.’
‘I’ll get it!’ I shouted, and raced up.
Dad rang Granny and Lancelot to tell them what was happening. They were supposed to come over and look after me when Mum went into hospital, but there was no reply.
‘They must be out,’ Dad shouted, which was pretty obvious. ‘You’ll have to come with us, Nick. You can’t stay here on your own.’
Dad helped Mum out to the car. She managed to ease herself into the front seat, but only after Dad had pushed it back as far as it would go. I leaped into the back. Dad started the car. It moved about one metre and then stopped. Dad tried to get it going, but all it would do was cough and splutter.
‘Ooooh! Aaaah!’ went Mum. ‘Get me to the hospital, Ron!’
‘The car won’t go, the car won’t go,’ he yelled.
‘Ron, I’m not in the mood for jokes. Please can you just take me to the hospital?’
‘It’s not a joke,’ screamed Dad. ‘It’s an emergency!’
He opened the bonnet. He stared at the engine. He cursed the car. He kicked it, and still it wouldn’t start.
‘Ohhhhhh! Eeeeeeee!’ went Mum, holding her huge belly in both hands.
‘Dad, I’ll ask the Tuggs! They’ve got a car!’ I whizzed round next door and banged on the door. ‘Open up! Please!’
But there was no answer. I banged and banged. I peered through the windows, but the house was in darkness and I couldn’t see or hear anything. I raced back to the others.
‘They must be out!’ I cried.
‘I’ll call an ambulance,’ said Dad, and he dashed back indoors.
‘Eeeeeeee-ooooooooh!’ went Mum, sounding rather like an ambulance herself. ‘Hurry, hurry please hurry!’
‘It’s all right, Mum, it will be all right.’
I know Mum was desperate to believe me, but she couldn’t. She shook her head. ‘Nothing is ever all right when your dad is around, Nicholas. Surely you know that by now?’
At that moment there was a ‘beep’ from the road and the pizza delivery arrived. The pizza man had just got out when Dad came rushing back from the house. He seized the
pizza man by the shoulders and shoved him back into the van.
‘You’ve got to help us,’ said Dad, and he explained everything.
‘I’m not allowed to carry passengers,’ said the pizza man. Then he saw the look on Dad’s face. It was a look that said: If-you-donH-take-us-to-the-hospital-in-your-van-I-will-personally-kill-you-with-my-bare-hands-and-make-you-into-pizza-topping.
Dad opened up the rear of the van and we helped Mum to climb in. She lay back on a pile of pizza cartons. I slipped into the
front and we set off. The drive to the hospital seemed to take forever. I asked the van man if he couldn’t go any faster. He shook his head.
‘Pizza sauce curdles if it travels at more than forty miles an hour,’ he said. ‘Not many people know that.’
I spotted some flashing lights ahead and they seemed to be coming towards us. ‘It’s the ambulance,’ I cried. ‘Quick, flash them with your headlamps. Get them to stop.’
We managed to stop the ambulance and the pizza man was busily telling the
ambulance driver what was happening while the paramedics took a look in the back of the van.
‘Urrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Arrrrrrrrrrrrr!’ went Mum.
‘We can’t move her,’ they said. ‘The baby’s due any second.’ One of them turned to Dad. ‘We shall need your help. Grab this, will you, and give me a hand up.’
The paramedic handed Dad some bags of equipment and struggled into the back with my parents. ‘OK, son, you foll
ow us to the hospital in the ambulance.’
He pulled the door shut.
So they went off in the pizza van and I had to follow behind, all by myself. (Apart from the driver of course.) I sat there thinking. It wouldn’t be long now, and then I wouldn’t be the only child in my family any more. I’d be a brother – a big brother. The twins would be so much younger than me. I’d have to look after them. Would I really change their nappies? Without wanting to throw up? The mushy peas were pretty bad, but what about when it was for real?
I suddenly realized I was sitting there and smiling, all to myself. I bet I could do a better job than Dad! I reckoned he’d run a mile rather than go near a nappy. He’d be brilliant at making the twins laugh, and telling them jokes and playing with them. But nappies were definitely not Dad’s idea of a good time. So I’d have to do it. I’d look after them, whatever they were, my brothers or sisters. They would be my family.
My eyes were focused on the back of the pizza van, which was just ahead of us. I was wondering what was happening inside. Was Mum all right?
It seemed like hours before we reached the hospital. At last the van swept up to the main door, and screeched to a halt. Hospital staff came rushing out. The doors of the pizza van were flung open and Dad appeared. He had such a soppy grin on his face.
‘I’ve got a delivery for you!’ he shouted at the medics. ‘Three cheese and tomato pizzas and two babies! I’m a father!’
I rushed to the van and peered in. Mum was sitting up in the back, resting against a pile of pizza boxes. She had a baby in each arm, and she looked tired and happy, like some kind of angel that had just produced a miracle in the back of a pizza van.
My Mum's Going to Explode! Page 3
