Marvellous Mix-Ups

by Alexander McCall Smith

  For Tsoona Drew Copping

  Also by Alexander McCall Smith

  Explosive Adventures

  Freddie Mole, Lion Tamer

  Akimbo and the Baboons

  Akimbo and the Snakes

  Contents

  The Spaghetti Tangle

  1 Aunt Rebecca

  2 A Delicious Discovery

  3 A Very Special Competition

  4 Waiting to Win

  5 A Welcome from Mr Pipelli

  6 Things Go Wrong

  7 Tangled Up

  8 Aunt Rebecca Gets to Work

  9 Mr Pipelli Comes for Lunch

  Teacher Trouble

  1 First Day at School

  2 Taking the Register

  3 Sent Back to Class

  4 Trouble in the Gym

  5 Miss Ice is Taught a Lesson

  6 An Unexpected Reaction

  7 A Double Mix-up

  THE SPAGHETTI TANGLE

  ~ 1 ~

  Aunt Rebecca

  There were once two children who had never eaten spaghetti. John and his sister Nicky would have loved to have eaten spaghetti, but they were never allowed to do so much as taste it because of Aunt Rebecca.

  John and Nicky had lived with their aunt for as long as they could remember. Their parents were experts on volcanoes, which is about one of the most dangerous jobs there is. They had to live in far-off places, waiting for volcanoes to erupt so that they could tell people what to do about it. It was far too dangerous a life for children and they had reluctantly had to pass John and Nicky over to Aunt Rebecca.

  Aunt Rebecca was a kind-hearted person, in a funny sort of way, and the children were fond of her – also in a funny sort of way. They knew that, for some reason, she was not very happy with life but they had never been able to work out exactly why this was.

  “I think she’s grumpy because the person she wanted to marry her never did so,” said Nicky one day when Aunt Rebecca had been particularly grouchy. Their aunt had once told the children that she had been engaged to be married to somebody but that the wedding had been called off at the last moment. But she had not said more than that, and the whole thing remained a bit of a mystery.

  Life with Aunt Rebecca was a little bit strange. It was not that she was always grumpy – she wasn’t. But when she wasn’t grumpy, she would almost certainly do rather odd things. For instance, they might find Aunt Rebecca in the sitting room, dancing to music. And it was not the sort of dancing that you might do by yourself, it was as if she was pretending to be dancing with somebody. She would have her arms held out before her, a dreamy look on her face, and she would whirl about the room just as if she were being guided by an invisible partner. This meant that the children were worried about bringing friends back to the house – just in case something embarrassing happened. And for this reason, they had fewer friends than other people. But they were fond enough of one another’s company and they saw their friends at school.

  Aunt Rebecca also had firm ideas about a number of things, and the most important of these matters was food.

  “People eat the most dreadful rubbish,” she would say. “Look at all that terrible butter and sugar and other unhealthy things they put down their throats!”

  Aunt Rebecca’s idea of a healthy meal was carrot soup followed by raw cabbage and nuts and washed down with tomato juice. Now this was all very healthy, of course, and tasty too, but if you ate nothing else, then you began to want something different.

  “Oh, for some chips!” John whispered to his sister as they sat down to their raw onion rings and diced turnip.

  “I’d give anything for a piece of chocolate cake!” replied Nicky under her breath. “With a twirl of cream on the top!”

  “What was that!” barked Aunt Rebecca, looking sternly at the children. “Did you say something about the onions?”

  “No, Aunt,” said John in a sad voice. “We said nothing about onions.”

  “A fine vegetable, the onion,” said Aunt Rebecca, peering at the pile of raw onion on her plate. “It’s very good for the blood, you know.”

  “And they make you smell,” Nicky murmured.

  “What?” snapped Aunt Rebecca. “What was that?”

  “I said, ‘And they keep you well’,” said Nicky timidly.

  “Indeed they do,” said Aunt Rebecca. “Now eat up, children. There’s a nice glass of carrot juice to follow.”

  It was difficult for the children not to think about food. Every day, on their way home from school, they would pass the doors of the best restaurant in town. And every time they went past, their noses would catch the delicious cooking smells.

  The children would have loved to eat in the restaurant, but how could they? Then, one Friday, Nicky had an extraordinary stroke of luck.

  She had received a letter that morning from an uncle, who lived far away, but who always sent birthday presents. This year he had forgotten to do so and had written to tell her how sorry he was. And in the letter, to make up for the birthday present, he sent Nicky a crisp new banknote. Nicky had never had so much money before and she found it difficult to make up her mind as to what to do with it.

  “You could buy a new pen,” John suggested, as they walked home from school together.

  “I’ve got a pen,” Nicky said.

  “Or you could buy a game,” John went on.

  “I don’t want one,” said Nicky.

  They were now just outside the restaurant. From within, there came the delicious smell of cooking, and they both stopped to sniff the air.

  “I could take us to lunch,” Nicky said suddenly, her face breaking into a smile.

  “Do you really want to?” John said, hardly daring believe the offer.

  “Yes,” said Nicky, firmly. “Let’s go straight in.”

  And they did.

  ~ 2 ~

  A Delicious Discovery

  “A table for two, please,” said Nicky to the waiter as he glided forward to meet them.

  “Of course,” said the waiter politely. “Would you please come with me.”

  They followed him to a table near the window. There he drew out the chairs and invited them to sit down. Laid out on the table there was a crisp white tablecloth, shining silver knives and forks, and sparkling crystal glasses.

  With a flourish the waiter produced the menu.

  “I shall be back soon,” he said. “I shall take your order then.”

  Nicky opened the menu and looked at the list of dishes it contained. Many of them were written in French, and she had no idea what they were. Others were easier to understand. She knew what roast beef was and she had a good idea what chocolate meringue would look like. Then her face fell. John noticed. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I’ve just seen what it all costs,” Nicky whispered. “I haven’t got nearly enough money.”

  She passed the menu over to her brother. He turned pale as he read.

  “There’s nothing here that we can afford,” he said. “We’ll have to sneak out.”

  They looked about them. Their table was far from the door and they would have to walk past everybody else if they were to leave.

  “Come on,” said John, beginning to push his chair back. “There’s no point in staying.”

  At that moment, the swing doors into the kitchen opened and out came the waiter. Smiling, he crossed the restaurant to stand at the side of their table.

  “Well,” he said cheerfully. “Have you had the time to make your choice?”

  Nicky gazed down at the tablecloth.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, in a small voice. “We haven’t got enough money. It all costs far too much.”

  John braced himself for the waiter’s anger.


  The waiter said nothing for a few moments. Then, he leant forward, and whispered, “How much have you got? You show me.”

  Nicky took the note out of her pocket and showed it to him.

  “Oh dear,” said the waiter. “I can see that you have no idea how much restaurants cost.” He shook his head. “Oh dear! Oh dear!”

  “Don’t worry,” said John. “We’ll go right now. And we’re sorry for wasting your time.”

  “Oh no you don’t,” the waiter said. “It’s a rule at any really good restaurant that nobody goes out hungry. You were my guests the moment you stepped in the door, and I won’t have my guests disappointed.”

  “Do you really mean that?” asked Nicky.

  “Of course I do,” said the waiter. “Now, what I suggest is that we think of something that doesn’t cost quite as much as the dishes on the menu. I’ll get the chef to make it specially for you.”

  The waiter thought for a moment, then he made his suggestion.

  “I know!” he said. “What about a good bowl of spaghetti? You could afford that.”

  Nicky looked at John, who said nothing.

  “Well,” said the waiter. “You like spaghetti, don’t you?”

  “No,” said Nicky. “I mean yes. I mean, well, we’ve never actually eaten spaghetti.”

  The waiter straightened up in astonishment.

  “You’ve never eaten spaghetti!” he exclaimed. “Do you mean to say you’ve never even tasted it?”

  “No,” said Nicky. “We’ve never even tasted it. You see, we live with our aunt, and she’s the President of the Carrot and Nut League, and …”

  The waiter cut her short.

  “Let’s waste no more time,” he said. “Two spaghettis coming up!”

  John and Nicky did not have to wait long. Within minutes, the waiter had placed before them two large plates of spaghetti, topped with generous helpings of thick sauce. The mere smell of the mouth-watering dish was almost enough for the children; but the taste, and the feel, and the longness of it … well, there are no words lengthy enough to describe all that.

  At the end of the meal, with their plates scraped quite clean, Nicky paid and the two of them said goodbye to the waiter.

  “Come back one day,” the waiter said, with a smile.

  Nicky nodded, but she knew that there was very little chance that they would be able to afford another meal. And as for John, he knew that it would be a long, long time, if ever, before they tasted spaghetti again.

  ~ 3 ~

  A Very Special Competition

  It was back to carrot juice and raw onion again, with only the memory of that delicious spaghetti to keep them going. They tried to raise the subject of spaghetti with Aunt Rebecca, but it merely sent her into a rage.

  “Certainly not!” she exploded. “I’m not having that stuff in my kitchen. The mere thought of it!”

  “But there’s nothing wrong with spaghetti,” John pleaded. “It’s quite healthy.”

  “But look what people put on it,” Aunt Rebecca replied heatedly. “Thick red sauce, full of Heaven knows what! Oils, spices, grease, meat, and so on. No. Absolutely not.”

  John gave up, and Nicky didn’t even bother to argue with her aunt.

  “One day,” she said to herself. “One day I shall have spaghetti again. I know I shall!”

  Several weeks later, John was reading a magazine when something caught his eye. There on the page was a brightly-coloured advertisement with a picture of a large bowl of spaghetti. The sight of the spaghetti made his mouth water as it brought back the memory of that marvellous meal in the restaurant. Then he read on, and he realised that here was their chance.

  “Look,” he said to Nicky. “We shall have to enter.”

  Nicky took the advertisement and read it through. It had been inserted in the magazine by the manufacturers of Pipelli’s Spaghetti, and this is what it said:

  Spaghetti is best served with sauce, as we all know. But what sauce is best? Everybody has his or her favourite, so why not send us your recipe? We shall choose the one we think is best, and as a prize the winner will be invited to lunch with our chairman, Mr Pipelli, right here in our spaghetti works. You will see how spaghetti is made and you will even be able to try your hand at making some yourself! So enter straight away!

  Nicky glanced at John.

  “Do you really think we could enter?” she said. “Do you think we’d stand a chance?”

  “Of course we would,” replied John. “Somebody’s got to win.”

  “But what about a recipe?” asked Nicky. “I don’t have a recipe for sauce.”

  “I’ve already thought about that,” John said. “Do you remember that sauce we had at the restaurant? Well, we could ask the chef if he would give us the recipe and if we could use it for the competition. It doesn’t have to be your own invention – it only has to be your favourite recipe.”

  Nicky was doubtful, but when John promised that he would do the asking at the restaurant, she agreed. Cutting the entry form out of the magazine, she tucked it into her pocket.

  “What are you doing?” Aunt Rebecca asked sharply, but before Nicky could reply a pan of parsnips started to boil over in the kitchen and Aunt Rebecca had to dash off to deal with it.

  “I can’t wait,” John whispered. “I’ve got a feeling that we’re going to win.”

  They went to the restaurant the next day. The waiter recognised them and gave them a warm smile of welcome.

  “We’re not here to have lunch,” said John. “We’re here for a recipe.”

  The waiter was surprised, but when they explained what they had in mind he gave them a wink and told them to wait. A few minutes later, he came out of the kitchen with a piece of paper in his hand.

  “The chef didn’t mind at all,” he said. “In fact, he was flattered by your request. Here’s the recipe.”

  Nicky took the recipe and studied it. Then they both thanked the waiter and left the restaurant.

  “I hope you win,” he called out. “And the chef hopes so too. He was very interested in the competition and he says that he will enter one of his other recipes as well. But don’t worry – he’s sure you’ve got the best one of all!”

  ~ 4 ~

  Waiting to Win

  Nicky filled in the form and sent it off to the Pipelli Spaghetti Company. Then the waiting began. The advertisement had said that the results would be announced “within three weeks”, and to make sure that they didn’t miss the announcement, the children pored over the newspaper every day. And every day they were disappointed.

  “I don’t know why you’re suddenly so interested in the news,” Aunt Rebecca said. “I’m sure you must be up to no good.”

  Then, one Friday afternoon, John saw the item he had been waiting for. It was a small notice, tucked away in the corner of a page. “The results of the Pipelli Spaghetti Competition will be published tomorrow,” it said. “Make sure you don’t miss them!”

  John and Nicky could barely wait. When at last they saw the next day’s newspaper, they opened it with shaking hands. Sure enough, there on the front page was a large advertisement headed: Lucky Winner.

  “I can’t bear to read it,” Nicky said. “I’ll close my eyes. You read it and tell me if we’ve won.”

  Nicky closed her eyes. There was a silence.

  “Have we won?” she asked. “Do tell me.”

  She opened her eyes. John was staring glumly at the page.

  “No,” he said. “Somebody else won.”

  He paused. Then, turning sadly to Nicky, he read out what was written in the paper:

  There were hundreds and hundreds of entries in the spaghetti competition. Most of the recipes were very good indeed, although some were not. (Some were very bad.) At last the winner has been chosen and a letter has been sent to the fortunate person.

  Nicky looked thoughtful. “But it could have been us,” she said. “It doesn’t say we didn’t win. The letter could be on its way to us.”

&nb
sp; John pondered what his sister said. She could be right. Perhaps there was a letter in the post for them. Perhaps it would arrive tomorrow, or the day after that.

  So the next day they waited for the post to drop through the door. Rushing to pick it up, they quickly shuffled through the letters to see if there was anything for them. No. There were one or two bills, a magazine, and several letters from members of the Carrot and Nut League – nothing for them.

  It was the same the following day, and the day after that.

  “How long do letters take to arrive?” Nicky asked.

  “I’m not sure,” replied John. “Two or three days. Maybe more.”

  He knew, though, that there was now no chance of their having won, and when nothing arrived through the post the next day he told Nicky that there was no point in believing any longer that they might have won.

  It was bitterly disappointing. They had known that there would have been hundreds of people entering in the competition, and they had known in their heart of hearts that it was very difficult to win a competition like that, and yet it seemed to them as if they might have come so very close.

  “Never mind,” said John, trying to sound more cheerful. “Whoever did win will be very pleased with the news.”

  And after that, they did not talk about the competition any more. They also tried to forget about spaghetti, and to give up all thought of eating it again and they tried to avoid the restaurant. They now crossed the street before they reached it, so that they would not be forced to breathe in the delicious smells or see the diners at their tables. Then, a few days later, as they were walking past on the other side of the street, they heard a shout.

  “Hello there!” cried a voice. “Hello, you two!”

  John spun round. There, standing in the door of the restaurant and beckoning them across the street, was their friend the waiter.

  “I want to speak to you,” he shouted out.