Читать книгу Nathalia Buttface and the Most Embarrassing Five Minutes of Fame Ever - Nigel Smith - Страница 11

OR ONCE NAT WAS GLAD SHE WAS IN THE HORRIBLE, huge Atomic Dustbin because at least it had room for her enormous hair.

“I’ve got to show Darius,” she said, forgetting momentarily that she was angry with him. “If we follow the bus route, we might spot him.”

“Hmm,” said Dad, pulling into traffic. “Unlikely, and I hadn’t planned on spending my Saturday hunting down Darius Bagley.”

“He said something about a job,” said Nat, “but that can’t be right.”

“Oh, in that case I might know what he’s doing,” said Dad, in a strained tone of voice Nat recognised as DAD THINKING.

“No one would give Darius a job,” said Nat. “They might pay him NOT to work for them.”

Dad pulled over in a space that said TAXIS ONLY. He was concentrating. “Lemme think. I was talking to Dolores – that’s Miss Hunny to you – the other day,” he began.

“I wish you’d stop talking to my form teacher. It’s really embarrassing.”

“You know we were at college together,” said Dad. “When we were young and silly. Oh I could tell you stories …”

“Please, please don’t, I’m begging you and I’m not even joking,” said Nat, putting her fingers in her ears.

Behind them, an angry taxi driver hooted for Dad to move his van. Dad ignored it. “Anyway, Miss Hunny was saying that Darius got in big trouble last term. Any idea what for?”

Nat had loads.

“Was it putting a baked potato into Mr MacAnuff’s exhaust pipe and watching the engine fall out in bits?” said Nat. “Because I don’t think anyone knows that was him.”

“No, not that,” said Dad, who didn’t much like Mr MacAnuff the school caretaker so wasn’t going to grass Darius up.

“Was it supergluing all the maths books together?”

“No.”

“Was it talking so much in double science that Miss Van Der Graaf ran out crying?”

“No.”

Nat wracked her brains. There was so much choice. Not ever doing his homework? Singing in French? Writing verses 250 to 253 of his epic poem about poo on the white board? Hiding in the cupboard during history?

“Oh, I know,” said Dad, above the sound of angry hooting. “It was not having the school badge on his blazer.”

“Not having the badge?” said Nat, shocked. “Dad, that’s just stupid. He hasn’t got a proper blazer because Oswald keeps selling them. He got an old one from a charity shop, but it was for a different school. It’s not his fault, Dad.”

“No, but I guess a lot of other stuff IS,” said Dad, although Nat could tell he was on Darius’s side. “Miss Hunny stood up for him, and she told me she was going to suggest he did something useful for a change. It’s supposed to be a sort of punishment, but I thought it sounded like fun.”

“What is it?” asked Nat.

“Are you going to shift your ruddy great van from my parking space or are we going to have to take it outside?” said the taxi driver at Dad’s window.

“We ARE outside,” said Dad.

“Trying to be funny?” said the taxi driver aggressively.

“All the time,” said Dad. “It’s not easy either.”

The angry taxi driver grabbed the door handle and was about to yank it open when he saw Nathalia under her hair.

“Here, it’s you!” he shouted, suddenly smiling and showing big gold teeth. “Tell you what – if you say it, I’ll let your old dad off without a good beating.”

“Can’t you be NORMAL, Dad?” shouted Nat. She meant it too.

Eventually, after saying it a few more times, Dad was able to drive off safely.

“Quite useful, you being so famous,” said Dad cheerfully. “I bet you’re glad Darius gave me that video now.”

“Oh, I’m going to show him just how glad I am,” said Nat, thinking happy evil thoughts.

It wasn’t long before they reached a quieter part of town and soon Dad was slowing down outside a large old house in a street full of large old houses. This one was in the worst state of the lot.

The house was mostly red brick, with large windows and a pointy slate roof. It must have once been a bit grand, but not any longer. The bricks were stained, the roof crooked and the paintwork on the windows was old and peeling. There was a short drive flanked by two overgrown hedges. Dad turned the wheel and drove in and they bumped over potholes in the drive. Nat could hear a horrible wailing and barking and howling coming from inside the house. She noticed there were FOR SALE signs on the houses either side.

Then she saw a large blue and white sign which read:

PORTER OGDEN’S HOME FOR UNFORTUNATE CREATURES. DONATIONS WELCOME

Underneath someone had handwritten:

I mean donations of money, not more animals. Stop leaving them on the doorstep in cardboard boxes, will you?

“Is Darius living here now?” laughed Nat. “He’s an unfortunate animal.”

“Very good,” said Dad. “But no. This is where he’s working at weekends.”

“Why?” asked Nat.

“Because Miss Hunny says it’ll show Darius what it’s like trying to teach him.”

“I wish she wasn’t your friend,” said Nat. “I’d really like to like her.” She checked her hairstyle in the rear-view mirror for the tenth time. It was still ace.

“It’s gone a bit dry,” said Dad, peering at the crazy hairdo. “Shall I sprinkle some water on like we were told?”

“Yeah, whatevs, just hurry up. I want to show Darius before I batter him. He thinks I’m a goody two-shoes. Well a goody two-shoes does not have hair like THIS!”

Dad splashed on a bit of water and Nat hopped down from the van. It was quite a blustery day, but even though litter was being whirled around on the drive, Nat’s huge wild hair stayed in place.

“You’d think someone would sweep these streets more often, wouldn’t you, Dad?” said Nat, trying to dodge the litter.

“The local paper blames the council,” said Dad. “Your mum blames the government and Bad News Nan blames Europe, television, video games, bad parents, rap videos, footballers, mobile phones, wind turbines, vegetarians, gum chewers and the fact that we can’t hang people any more.”

“Who do you blame?” asked Nat, batting away an empty crisp packet.

“I just blame people who drop litter,” said Dad. “It saves a lot of time.”

By now they had reached the stained front door. There were bite and claw marks all over it. The howling and yelping and barking was louder here, and they could also hear frantic scrabbling and crashing as if something horrible was running wild inside.

“I’m sure it’s supposed to sound like that in there,” said Dad, not sounding sure one little bit.

Just as they were about to ring the bell they heard an elderly man’s voice: “That’s it, Bagley, tempt it back in the cage with that mouse. If that fails, use your hand as live bait.”

Nat turned to Dad, hand paused above the doorbell. “Although,” she said carefully, “we’re back to school next week. I could see him then. PLUS, it might not be Darius in there. He might be talking to a different Bagley.”

Something that sounded like a small lion snarled and growled inside.

“Live bait? You can get lost, poo breath,” came Darius’s voice. “If I put my hand in that cage I won’t have a finger left to pick my nose with.”

“Simba, in!” shouted the elderly man.

“That doesn’t work,” said Darius. “You know it doesn’t work because you’ve been shouting that for an hour and Simba is still not in. Do something different to shouting ‘Simba, in’.”

“Simba?” said Nat.

“Yes, I know, it sounds like a lion’s name, but you need to be a zoo to keep a lion,” said Dad. He checked the sign. “No, it’s not a zoo.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” he said, ringing the doorbell.

“Oh,” said Dad, looking at Nat. “That’s odd.”

“What?” snapped Nat, who was already jittery waiting for the door to open.

“That crisp packet has stuck to the back of your hair.”

“Get it out then.”

“I mean, it’s really stuck. Your hair has gone very sticky. It’s just a guess, but I think something might have gone a bit wrong.”