Mr Bambuckle's Remarkables

by Tim Harris

  ‘Aye, a real shame, that is, laddie,’ said Father, though there was something in his eyes that suggested he was not disappointed at all.

  ‘Well,’ said Mother in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘at least you won’t have to worry about being embarrassed by your rich heritage.’

  Father gave Mother a knowing look. ‘There’s no need to get angry at Harold. He’s simply the bearer of bad news.’

  Mother eased up. ‘Aye, I suppose you’re right.’ A sly grin spread across her face. ‘Harold, why don’t you go to see a movie on the night of the dinner instead? It’s important to spend time with friends – not just family.’

  ‘I think I will,’ I said brightly. I couldn’t believe my luck. Mother had not only fallen for my excuse, she had given me an alibi to go to the dinner with Mr and Mrs Sunset.

  I went back to my room, almost shaking with excitement. I sent a confirmation message to Mr and Mrs Sunset and transferred them money from my bank account. It was about six weeks’ pocket money, but worth not having to worry about being embarrassed. The Sunsets’ confirmation came through in an instant. Everything was in place.

  Blue Valley School’s fiftieth anniversary dinner was going to be attended by the coolest parents on planet Earth. But the best part was, I would be their son for the night.

  Meeting Mr and Mrs Sunset was like meeting Hollywood superstars. Except better.

  To avoid suspicion from my parents, I had arranged for Mr and Mrs Sunset to pick me up from a bus stop a few streets away from my house. I was thrilled when a red Ferrari – roof down and engine rumbling – pulled up at the kerb.

  Mr Sunset was wearing a black suit and sunglasses. His brown hair was slicked back, held in place with something clearly other than Mother’s globby spit. His wife wore a smooth red dress that hugged her model-like figure. Her immaculate long blonde hair looked like something from a shampoo commercial.

  ‘Don’t just stand there, Harold, my man,’ said Mr Sunset. ‘Hop on in.’ The brightness of his teeth almost blinded me.

  I climbed into the back of the Ferrari and soaked it all up. Two of the most attractive humans I’d ever seen sat before me. The soft leather seat of the Ferrari was more comfortable than our best couch. The purr of the engine drew envious looks from a group of teenagers passing by. The evening was only just warming up.

  Mrs Sunset turned around and blinked her blue eyes at me. ‘Harold, honey, we are going to have the most divine night.’

  I was speechless.

  She handed me a cold bottle of soda. ‘For the ride, my dear.’

  The engine roared into gear and Mr Sunset turned the music up. ‘Feel free to choose the channel, Harold. Make yourself at home!’

  We zoomed off and I opened the bottle of soda. It was perfect.

  ‘I don’t suppose you could put the football on the radio?’ I found myself saying.

  ‘Of course!’ said Mr Sunset, pressing his foot further onto the accelerator. ‘Enjoy the ride, my man – we’re taking the long way there!’

  Mrs Sunset insisted we stop at an expensive clothing store on the way to the school. She had me try on all sorts of stylish clothes, and I found myself being bought a new outfit for the night – a kilt and button-up shirt. ‘You look a treat, Harold,’ she said. ‘As soon as I heard your faint accent, I knew we had to tap into that gorgeous Scottish culture of yours.’

  I wasn’t so sure. ‘But kilts aren’t cool,’ I said.

  Mrs Sunset knew otherwise. ‘I’ve just returned home from a Paris fashion show – kilts are the next big thing!’

  We arrived at Blue Valley School ‘fashionably late’, as Mrs Sunset called it. ‘This way,’ she said, ‘everyone can see you arrive like the star you are.’

  The crowd outside the school hall fell silent at the sight of the red Ferrari. Everyone was craning their necks, trying to see who was inside.

  ‘Smile and wave, Harold,’ said Mrs Sunset.

  ‘Take it in, my man,’ said Mr Sunset.

  Everyone stared wide-eyed at us as we got out of the car and walked to the entrance of the school hall. Even Mr Sternblast looked impressed. He was probably surprised a school event could draw A-list-like celebrities.

  Judging by the gasps and whispers from the crowd at school, Mrs Sunset had been right about her fashion tips.

  ‘Is that Harold?’

  ‘I didn’t realise he was so trendy.’

  ‘Check out his shirt.’

  ‘Look at that amazing kilt.’

  ‘I think I’m in love.’

  ‘Harold rocks!’

  At one stage I thought I heard Father’s voice, but I couldn’t be sure.

  Mr and Mrs Sunset walked either side of me, smiling for photos as we pressed our way inside the school hall.

  The place was packed, but we managed to find three seats at a table near the back of the room.

  Mr Sternblast took to the stage and tapped the microphone. ‘Welcome to Blue Valley School’s fiftieth anniversary dinner.’

  ‘Looks like he’s been here that long,’ whispered Mr Sunset.

  I tried not to laugh too loud.

  ‘It’s fantastic to see so many people in attendance,’ said Mr Sternblast. He looked like he was thinking about smiling as he gazed over the crowd. He glanced at our table and Mrs Sunset winked at him, making his cheeks turn almost as red as the Ferrari. I was used to seeing him go red in the face, though usually for different reasons.

  Mrs Sunset grinned at me, well aware she had made the principal blush.

  Mr Sternblast thanked everyone again for coming and announced that the entree would be served. Then he disappeared to the side of the stage, barking at some younger students who were snooping around the drinks table.

  The entree was mini gourmet pizzas, though I didn’t get to eat much. I was too busy posing for photos with kids who wanted to take a selfie with me and my parents.

  ‘Isn’t our Harold just divine?’ said Mrs Sunset, pouting her lips for one of the photos.

  ‘That’s our boy,’ said Mr Sunset, flashing his teeth at the camera.

  At one stage I thought I saw Mother on the other side of the hall, though I couldn’t be sure.

  There were several other people on our table – mostly Blue Valley School students and their parents – and Mr Sunset soon had them in stitches with his funny stories. He laughed as he told them about his exciting international business deals and the time he accidentally offended a Japanese banker in Tokyo by hogging the microphone at karaoke. He charmed them by serving the main course – spaghetti – and teaching them how to wrap it around their forks with a single turn of the wrist. One of the other parents managed to wrap spaghetti around her elbow, much to the amusement of Mr Sunset.

  Although I was laughing, I couldn’t help but miss Father’s stories of the highlands. Still, it was a lot better than being embarrassed.

  Mrs Sunset leaned over and ruffled my hair with her hands. ‘You suit the rugged look well, my dear,’ she said. ‘I know plenty of young models who would kill for hair like yours.’

  I liked my new look too. But Mrs Sunset lacked Mother’s caring touch. I had to remind myself that it was better than the spit split.

  After the main course had been cleared away, the guests moved their tables to the edge of the hall. There was to be a dance featuring hit songs from the past fifty years.

  The music started pumping and Mr and Mrs Sunset took to the dance floor like ducks to water. They danced with silky moves, drawing more photos and admiration from those nearby.

  It’s hard to describe how I was feeling. I wasn’t embarrassed. But I wasn’t happy. It was like my rental parents were part of some weird reality television show. I joined in the dancing, though I didn’t feel much emotion.

  I did, however, feel emotion when I saw my real parents dancing on the other side of the hall. Worst of all, they were dancing with another boy!

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Mother and Father were busting moves with another boy. Wh
o was he? Why was he dancing with my parents? And why were they even at the school dinner?

  I hid behind Mr and Mrs Sunset and watched from a distance. That’s when I noticed something that almost stopped my heart. The other boy was wearing my clothes! It even looked as though his hair had been spit split. Mother leaned over to the boy and tucked a large Scottish thistle into his shirt pocket. I was stunned.

  Mrs Sunset must have read my face. ‘Are you all right, honey?’

  I nodded, though I was far from all right.

  The boy started upping his dance moves. He was good. So good that a small crowd began to gather around him.

  Mr Sunset saw me looking in the boy’s direction. ‘He’s pretty groovy, Harold, my man.’

  He was better than groovy. He was groove itself.

  ‘He looks familiar,’ said Mrs Sunset, who had also noticed the dancing phenomenon.

  The boy got so carried away in his dance moves that he didn’t notice the music stop. Or the fact the entire crowd was now watching him.

  Mother and Father looked pleased with the boy. They smiled at him and gazed around at the crowd with proud expressions. Mother pointed to the boy and then put her hand on her heart. Father gave the boy a high five and grinned.

  My head was spinning. Mother and Father had adopted some strange son. They loved him. They loved him and not me. I was their son. It should have been me dancing with them.

  Blood pumped around my body harder than it had ever pumped before. I had to do something. I had to get the attention of the ones I loved, and there was only one thing I could think of.

  ‘KILT OF FIRE, KILT OF SNOW, LET THIS KILT BEGIN TO FLOW!’

  Slap! Slap! Slap-slap-slap!

  I ripped my designer shirt off and leapt into the centre of the dance floor, crying out at the top of my lungs. ‘KILT OF FIRE, KILT OF SNOW!’

  I slapped my chest with all my might.

  Slap! Slap! Slap-slap-slap!

  ‘KILT OF FIRE, KILT OF SNOW!’

  Mr and Mrs Sunset shrugged their shoulders and looked on, probably wondering who exactly had rented them for the night.

  I bounded across the room, urging the crowd to join my dance.

  They didn’t.

  Slap! Slap! Slap-slap-slap!

  ‘KILT OF FIRE, KILT OF SNOW!’

  I thundered around the hall, slapping my chest like a boy possessed. My kilt flapped and fluttered as I romped about. I felt as free as a highland deer.

  Slap! Slap! Slap-slap-slap!

  ‘KILT OF FIRE, KILT OF SNOW!’

  Finally, I stood, panting, in front of my real parents. ‘Father,’ I said, ‘this next move is for you.’ I started spinning around madly. I could feel my kilt rise above my knees.

  ‘KILT OF FIRE, KILT OF SNOW!’

  I spun faster and faster, spiralling like a Scottish tornado.

  My kilt edged higher. I could feel the air on my thighs.

  Someone was screaming. ‘Stop him now!’

  I spun faster still.

  My kilt rose ever higher. I couldn’t remember if I was wearing underpants. But I didn’t care. I spun as fast as I could.

  Mr Sternblast had had enough. ‘Stop this nonsense immediately, Harold!’

  I stopped spinning and collapsed on the floor.

  ‘Smart move, my man,’ said Mr Sunset, patting Mr Sternblast on the shoulder. ‘Stopped him just in time.’

  ‘What the devil has gotten hold of you, boy?’ roared Mr Sternblast, his voice echoing in the hall.

  I looked up at the principal. ‘I … I’m not sure.’

  Mrs Sunset rushed over and helped me off the ground. ‘Are you all right, my darling?’

  Father scratched his head. ‘My darling? Who is that woman, Harold?’

  ‘That woman is my wife,’ said Mr Sunset. ‘And this is our son,’ he added, pointing to me.

  ‘Is it true, Harold?’ The pain in Father’s eyes turned my stomach inside out. ‘Tell me who they are, laddie.’

  ‘I can explain,’ I said. ‘Mr and Mrs Sunset are my rental parents for the night.’

  ‘Rental parents?’ said Father. He looked even more hurt.

  ‘You and Mother kept embarrassing me in public,’ I admitted. ‘I wanted to come to the dinner with … cool parents.’ I pointed to Mr and Mrs Sunset.

  The boy who had been dancing with Mother and Father stepped forward. He recognised Mr and Mrs Sunset. ‘Mum … Dad …?’

  ‘Oliver!’ cried Mrs Sunset. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m with them,’ he said, pointing to Mother and Father, who gazed sheepishly at the dance floor.

  ‘Who are they?’ said Mr Sunset.

  ‘They hired me to be their son for the night,’ said Oliver. ‘Ever since you started working for ParentalRental, I wanted to do the same. But I’m not a parent. So, I started working for FunSons. I came with Mr and Mrs McHagil tonight.’

  It was my turn to be hurt. ‘Is it true?’

  ‘Aye, son, it’s true,’ said Mother. ‘We may be old, but we’re not stupid. We know you don’t like being with us in public. We hired Oliver to be our son for the night so we could enjoy ourselves without worrying about embarrassing you. We thought you were going to see a movie with a friend.’

  There was a moment’s pause.

  ‘I love you, Mother and Father,’ I said.

  ‘We love you too, Harold,’ they said, embracing me.

  ‘I love you, Mum and Dad,’ said Oliver, hugging Mr and Mrs Sunset.

  ‘And we love you, Oliver,’ they said.

  ‘Well,’ said Mr Sternblast. ‘I think that’s quite enough love for one evening. Time for everybody to go home.’

  ‘Harold,’ said Father, as we walked slowly through the hall door, ‘that was a very fine kilt dance. A very fine kilt dance indeed.’

  I smiled at Father and said something I had been waiting to say for a long time.

  ‘Aye, it was pure dead brilliant.’

  Victoria Goldenhorn couldn’t contain her giggle. ‘I remember that night, Harold. I did wonder what all the fuss was about.’ She handed her empty teacup back to Mr Bambuckle.

  ‘I remember that night too,’ said Damon Dunst, his love-struck eyes fixed firmly on Victoria.

  Harold remembered the night more clearly than anyone. Though he also remembered Vex’s claims at inventing the app. ‘It’s true about the ParentalRental app,’ said Harold. ‘That’s how I came to know about it.’

  Vex’s expression hovered between embarrassment and anger. ‘Whatever.’

  Mr Bambuckle, on the other hand, slapped his thigh and smiled from ear to ear. ‘Harold, you have absolutely astonished me with your brilliant story. Remarkable.’

  Harold looked at his teacher and then around at the attentive faces of his classmates. ‘You don’t think I’m a bad son?’

  ‘I would have done exactly the same thing,’ said Mr Bambuckle.

  ‘You would have rented other parents?’

  ‘No, I would have performed the kilt dance.’

  Harold was chuffed. ‘Ha! I bet you wouldn’t know what to do.’

  Mr Bambuckle’s bright green eyes wandered off as though they were searching through his memories. ‘Actually, Harold, I would have known precisely what to do. I spent many months perfecting the kilt dance when I travelled through Scotland. You most certainly do have a very rich heritage.’

  Harold’s chest filled with an air of contentment and pride. It was a feeling he was not used to. It was a feeling his teacher had planned for him all along.

  ‘Mr Bambuckle,’ said Myra Kumar, with a cheeky tone, ‘can you give us a demonstration of the kilt dance now?’

  ‘Go on,’ dared Vex. ‘Do the kilt dance.’

  ‘There will be no more kilt dances in my school!’ It was Mr Sternblast. He had been eavesdropping at the doorway.

  ‘Ah, dear Mr Principal, won’t you kindly join us for the last minutes of the day?’ said Mr Bambuckle. ‘You have been in and out all afternoon – you’re m
ost welcome to stay and have some refreshing Himalayan tea.’

  Mr Sternblast’s moustache wobbled as though it was about to erupt. ‘I’ll do no such thing, Bambuckle. I’m not sure what your game is, but I’ve been far from impressed with what I’ve seen you dish out today. Report to my office immediately after the bell.’

  ‘I’d be most delighted,’ said Mr Bambuckle.

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ replied Mr Sternblast.

  Vex sniggered under his breath. ‘About time someone put him in his place.’

  Despite his comment, Vex had had a rather fine day. Intrigue had consumed him and he had quite enjoyed the feeling. As such, he wasn’t sure if he should embrace his new teacher fully, or take his rebellious attitude to the next level.

  ‘Mr Sternblast,’ said Harold, ‘can I please say something?’

  ‘If you must.’

  ‘I wanted to thank you for hiring such excellent teachers. I’ve had a really great day today.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Evie Nightingale. ‘Mr Bambuckle understands me.’

  ‘And me,’ said Victoria Goldenhorn. ‘I haven’t had such fun in class in a long time.’

  Mr Sternblast’s moustache trembled even more violently. ‘Fun is not important! This school is about learning.’

  ‘We’ve learned a great deal,’ said Victoria. ‘We’ve learned how to design stickers and how to brainstorm app ideas.’

  ‘I never understood the point of brainstorming until today,’ said Scarlett Geeves.

  ‘Brainstorming is not learning, girl. And you’ll do well to keep your mouth zipped!’ snapped the principal.

  Scarlett looked down at her desk.

  ‘My office, Bambuckle – don’t forget!’ barked Mr Sternblast, leaving the room.

  ‘I shall see you shortly, dear Mr Principal.’

  After a moment, Victoria, who enjoyed school more than most, asked a question that earned her a dark stare from Vex. ‘Mr Bambuckle, do we have any homework tonight?’