My Brother's Hot Cross Bottom Page 2

  ‘Hello!' I said and she swung back, looking surprised.

  ‘Oh. Who are you?’ she asked.

  Honestly! The cheek of it! She spoke as if she'd lived next door all her life and I was the visitor.

  ‘I'm Nicholas. I live here. Something just hit my back.’

  ‘Really? Maybe it was that bird.’

  ‘What bird?’ I asked.

  ‘It's gone now. I saw it fly over and it dropped something. A bomb, maybe.’

  I laughed and said it couldn't possibly be a bomb.

  ‘It looked like a bomb. It might have been a stone. Or maybe an egg. Birds drop eggs sometimes. They steal them and drop them and eat them. I hate birds.’ She gazed over the fence at the chickens. ‘Chickens are birds,’ she announced heavily, obviously including them on her list of Birds-She-Didn't-Like.

  ‘They can't fly though, not properly,’ I pointed out. She looked at me, opened her mouth, shut it and then asked if the stick had hurt me.

  ‘I thought you said it was a stone,’ I reminded her.

  ‘Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't. It could have been a carrot. You're always chucking carrots around over there.’

  I explained about entering Saucepan and Nibblewibble in the Easter Rabbit Race and added that I couldn't possibly throw carrots at myself, could I?

  ‘Well, it wasn't me. Do I look like a carrot-chucker?’ She folded her arms stiffly and stared back at me, daring me to argue. Before I could say anything she launched into telling me who she was.

  ‘My name's Cilla. My mum's in hospital for an operation. Aunty Gwen – she's not a real aunt but she said I could call her that – she says that when Mum comes out I can rub cactus oil on her and she'll feel a lot better.’

  I guessed from the mention of cactus oil (I bet it's smelly) that Aunty Gwen was Mrs Tugg. ‘What about your dad?’ I asked.

  ‘Stupid! Why should I rub cactus oil on him?’

  ‘I meant, where is your dad?’

  ‘He's working in another country, over the sea and far, far away,’ Cilla delivered in a sing-song voice. ‘So there's no one at home to look after me. I'm all on my own and I get very BORED.’

  ‘Is that why you threw a stone at me?’ I hinted.

  ‘It wasn't a stone, it was a stick and I didn't throw anything. Look, you can see,’ Cilla went on, waving her arms over the Tuggs' garden. ‘There aren't any sticks here because it's neat and tidy. Your garden is a mess. No wonder you got hit by a stick. My uncle thinks your garden is a disgrace.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And he thinks your dad is a disgrace and you're a disgrace and your family must all be stupid because you give your children pizza names.’

  I smiled at Cilla and she scowled back at me.

  ‘I'm going indoors now,’ she warned, ‘and if a stick hits me I shall know who threw it because you're the only other person out here, so you'd better be careful, Mr Knicker-less.’ And with that she disappeared back inside, slamming the door behind her. What a performance! Who did she think she was? Her Majesty, the Queen of Tuggland?

  I can smell trouble brewing. At least, it's either trouble or Mrs Tugg is making up one of her stinkypoo creams.

  4. Rabbit Eats Goat?

  It's one thing after another! This morning there was the incident with Cilla from next door and this afternoon Saucepan and Nibblewibble escaped from the old chicken pen! (Dad's building a hutch and everything but it's not ready yet.) I know there are only two of them but they were everywhere. It was more like having ten rabbits whizzing round. They went zig-zagging and bouncing all over the place. I think they'll

  have a good chance of winning the Rabbit Race if they're as speedy as that on the day!

  Saucepan had managed to leap into the chicken run and seemed to think the hens were some kind of space hopper. He kept jumping on top of them for a ride and the poor hens were squawking like fury and scattering in every direction.

  Meanwhile Nibblewibble was trying to bite Rubbish's ankles, which was brave but stupid and dangerous. Goats have a powerful kick and Rubbish could have scored a penalty with a single hoof-boot – using Nibblewibble as the football.

  Fortunately the brain-dead goat hardly noticed. Maybe Nibblewibble's teeth are blunt. Rubbish just stood there in the vegetable patch, calmly chewing Mum's cardigan. (Mum wasn't wearing it. Dad had put it on the scarecrow he'd built to frighten away any birds that fancied Brussels sprouts for dinner.)

  It was Cheese and Tomato who told us about the escaped rabbits. Mum had sent the twins outside on a carrot-gathering exercise. Tomato came wandering back a little later to say that Saucepan was playing Bounce with the chickens and Nibblewibble was eating the Brussels sprouts that Mum and Dad were trying to grow. By the time we got outside the rabbit had given up on the sprouts and was attacking Rubbish instead. I half wish Nibblewibble had succeeded because it would have made an interesting newspaper headline.

  RABBIT EATS GOAT!

  Anyhow, Mum went shooting outside and found Cheese running round and round, chasing after one or other or even both of the rabbits. He was trying to catch them with a little fishing net on a stick and having a great time, chuckling away to himself.

  ‘Oh no!’ cried Mum. ‘How on earth did those rabbits escape?’

  A spluttered snigger came from next door. Cilla (yes – her again!) was peering over the fence and watching our little circus performance. She

  had a grandstand view. Round and round went Saucepan and Nibblewibble. Round and round went Cheese and Tomato. Round and round went Mum, and me too.

  I don't know if you have ever tried to catch a running rabbit but I can tell you it's just about impossible. As soon as you grab them they squash themselves into the ground and wriggle out from beneath you. If you try scooping them up you quickly discover that their legs kick like crazy. Nibblewibble and Saucepan both appeared to have black belts in kung fu for rabbits.

  I took off my jumper and hurled it over Saucepan. He got tangled up and tripped over himself. I grabbed hold of him and shoved him back in the pen. Mum was still racing round after Nibblewibble, with Cheese chasing after her and Tomato close behind, pushing her toy wheelbarrow at breakneck speed. (Tomato usually gives Poop rides in it and obviously thought the rabbits might like to go in it too.)

  Nibblewibble headed straight for me and I stood there ready to do battle, but he saw me and did a U-turn, straight into Mum's waiting arms. A moment later he'd been shoved into rabbit-jail alongside Saucepan.

  By this time Cilla was jumping up and down and clapping her hands. Mum smiled. ‘It's nice to have children next door,’ she said.

  ‘There's only her,’ I pointed out.

  ‘She seems rather sweet, and very pretty,’ smiled Mum.

  I kept quiet. Who would say Cilla was sweet? After that business with the stick I didn't think so. But Mum seemed to be quite taken with her. She bent over the rabbit pen.

  ‘I can't see any way they could have got out,’ she said. She looked at Cheese and Tomato. ‘Did either of you let the rabbits out?’

  The twins smiled and nodded. So that solved that problem – almost.

  ‘I told you not to,’ groaned Mum in despair.

  ‘Cilla said,’ Tomato declared.

  We all turned round and faced Cilla. I raised an eyebrow at her. She was definitely trouble with a capital T.

  ‘Rabbits need to run around,’ Cilla huffed, folding her arms and fixing Mum with a stony glare. ‘if rabbits don't get exercise they get VERY FAT and then they EXPLODE or they get stuck in their holes and starve. Either way they DIE and it will be YOUR fault.’

  Mum was so gobsmacked that for a moment she couldn't think what to say. The twins filled in the silence.

  ‘Don't want Nibblewibble to die,’ whispered Tomato with a loud sniffle.

  Mum shook her head. ‘That was a very silly thing to say to small children,’ she told Cilla before turning to the twins. ‘The rabbits are not going to explode.’ Mum rolled her eyes at me and muttered, ‘If a
nyone is going to die it will be me from all that running about.’ Unfortunately Cheese and Tomato heard her.

  ‘DON'T DIE, MUMMY!’ they yelled, rushing over and flinging their arms round both her legs.

  Mum sighed heavily and gathered the twins in her arms. ‘It's all right, darlings, nobody – no person and no rabbit – is going to die. We are all fine.’ She looked across to Cilla, but unsurprisingly Cilla had vanished.

  Mum took the twins inside while I calmed the hens down and collected Rubbish from the top of the compost bin. She'd wisely leaped up there for safety when we were all rushing about.

  When I went back indoors I found Mum and the twins sitting round the kitchen table having a drink and cake so I joined in. Cheese and Tomato had quietened down a lot, probably because their mouths were stuffed full of chocolate cake.

  ‘One piece only,’ Mum told them.

  ‘Big piece,’ laughed Cheese. ‘Really big, BIG, TYRANNO-NORMOUS piece!’

  Just eat what's on your plate, you little savage,’ Mum chuckled before turning to me. ‘I've been thinking, Nicholas. That girl next door, Cilla – I think we should invite her round for tea.’

  I nearly choked on my cake. Invite Cilla round for tea? The stick-hurler who'd told the twins to let the rabbits out? The idiot-girl who'd said the rabbits would explode and sent the twins into hysterics? Even Mum had been upset by that, and now she was inviting Cilla into our HOUSE? Was my mum completely banana bonkerama?!

  5. Meet Earthquake Woman!

  I can't believe Mum invited that girl round! Mum seemed to think it would be nice for her to get to know us and maybe meet all our animals. I thought it was the worst idea ever.

  Anyhow, you remember the incubator and Dad's plan to raise chickens? It's going pretty well. He's got about twenty eggs in there so far. Every morning before I go to school he checks the temperature and turns the eggs over so they get evenly warmed. He can't walk past the incubator without taking a little look.

  ‘You're turning into a broody hen yourself,’ Mum told him. ‘I've often thought you walk in a funny way and now I know why. You're actually half chicken. It's the way you strut.’

  Dad stared at her in silence, blinking rapidly. Mum's right! The hens blink the same way.

  ‘It's the way you move your head too,’ Mum went on. ‘When you walk across the room your head lurches forward like a chicken's.’ Mum waited for Dad's reaction. She didn't have to wait long.

  He scraped at the floor slowly with one foot. He lifted one leg and took a step forward. His head stuck out. He tucked in his elbows and began to jerk them outwards as he walked. And then he began to talk – in chicken language.

  ‘Praaarrrrk! Praaarrrkkk! PPPPPRRRAAARRKKK!’ Suddenly Dad began to jerk wildly all over and he shuffled across to a chair. He squatted down, clucking frantically and going cross-eyed. At last he stopped and looked at us with a satisfied smile. ‘Prrrrrk,’ he murmured softly, getting up and looking back proudly at the chair seat. A single egg lay there.

  I fell about while Mum wiped tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes.

  ‘You are such a crazy clown!’ she said.

  ‘Prrraarrrkk!’ Dad answered, strutting out of the room.

  Anyhow, Dad reckons the eggs will take another couple of weeks before they start hatching. He says that when they are ready you can hear them cheeping inside the shell. I can't wait. And Dad says there'll be loads of chicks for the Easter Fair. It's all going to be brilliant!

  Then, after school, Mrs Tugg brought Cilla round for tea. Lucky us!

  ‘Poor little scrap,’ I heard Mrs Tugg murmur to Mum. ‘Her father's away on business and her mother's in hospital. She must miss them dreadfully. At least she can still go to her own school. It's not that far away.’

  ‘How does she get on with your husband?’

  Mum asked, and my ears pricked up because, like I said, Mr Tugg HATES children. (And animals and weeds and noise and laughter and untidiness and sunshine and happiness and I could go on but you'd get fed up.)

  ‘Oh,’ chuckled Mrs Tugg, ‘he keeps right out of her way. You'd think she had measles. He spends most of his time hiding in the greenhouse, gently simmering. He'll probably boil over soon. You know what he's like. Sometimes I think there ought to be a way of using all that energy he puts into exploding. If only we could connect him to the National Grid he could provide half the town with electricity!’ And she burst into more great, wobbly chuckles.

  I like Mrs Tugg. She's kind, loves laughing and she's big. That means she wobbles quite a lot, like a tower block in an earthquake. That's actually quite funny because it means not only have we got Volcano Man living next door, but we also have Earthquake Woman! Mrs Tugg even likes our animals, which makes a nice change from her horrible husband.

  Mrs Tugg went off home, leaving Cilla behind. At first Cilla simply stood in the kitchen doorway looking as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth and playing with her long hair, the way girls do. They're always playing with their hair, or sucking it. Urgh!

  She watched the twins and soon began nattering away with them as if they were her own brother and sister. Mum watched and smiled.

  ‘She'll make a good mother,’ Mum whispered to me.

  ‘Mum, she's nine years old,’ I reminded her.

  ‘And you're thirteen. You can't expect her to be as grown up as you.’

  ‘She's a maniac.’

  ‘Don't be unkind, Nicholas. Give her a chance.’

  ‘Have you forgotten what she did yesterday?’ I asked in my most scathing voice.

  Mum shook her head. ‘Not at all, Nicholas. That's why I've asked her round. Better the devil you know.’ She raised her eyebrows cryptically and put a finger to her lips as Cilla drifted into the front room with the twins. They wanted to show her the ‘inky-tater’, as they continued to call it. Mum went off to sort some tea for everyone.

  ‘The eggs go in there,’ Tomato explained. She heaved her little shoulders and sighed deeply. ‘And we have to wait months and weeks and years and a long, long, LONG-EVER-SO TIME and then a chicken pops out.’

  ‘It must be a roast chicken by then,’ Cilla said.

  Tomato looked at Cilla in surprise and glanced across at me to see if I thought it would be a roast chicken too.

  ‘Cilla is teasing you,’ I told the twins. ‘It won't be a roast chicken.’

  Cilla studied the temperature dial on the front of the incubator. ‘We could turn up the heat,’ she suggested brightly. ‘Then they'd all be roast chickens.’

  ‘DON'T WANT ROAST CHICKENS!’ wailed Cheese in a panic.

  I glared at Cilla. ‘She's teasing you again,’ I explained. ‘Just ignore her.’

  Cilla grinned, squatted down and stared into

  Cheese's face. ‘It was a joke. You like jokes, don't you?’

  Cheese's lower lip was sticking out like a plate, and trembling. He didn't like Cilla's kind of joke. But Cilla wasn't bothered and asked me how the incubator worked.

  ‘Normally the hen sits on the eggs to keep them warm until they hatch. This way is simpler. The incubator keeps the eggs warm instead.’

  ‘I bet the eggs would prefer to have hens sitting on them to keep them warm,’ Cilla argued.

  ‘Eggs can't think,’ I pointed out.

  Cilla pulled a sad face. ‘If I were an egg I'd want to be under my mummy hen.’

  ‘Your mum would have to be a humungously huge hen to get you underneath,’ I growled. Cilla pulled a face at me and stuck out her tongue.

  At that moment Mum called everyone for tea. She'd made little sandwiches and poured some fruit juice. Everything was all right until Cilla decided to help feed the twins. I used to do this, but that was when they were small. Now Cilla wanted to play at being mother, and she was useless. Food quickly spread further and further afield.

  ‘They can feed themselves,’ I snapped. ‘They're not babies.’

  ‘Goo goo, baby!’ laughed Cheese, slopping food on to the table. Cilla smirked. A beaker
got knocked over. The twins grew messier and messier. Food spilled on to the floor but somehow

  Cilla herself managed to remain perfectly clean and tidy.

  ‘You are messy pups,’ she declared, shaking her head.

  ‘They don't normally make such a mess,’ I scowled.

  ‘Well, they have today,’ replied Cilla with a wicked look in her eye. ‘I'm afraid you've got such a lot of clearing up to do and it's time for me to go home now. Thank you for a lovely tea.

  Goodbye. I'll see myself out.’ And off she went, squashing spilled crumbs into the floor.

  I followed her to make sure she'd gone. When I got back Mum was cleaning the table. ‘Cilla has lovely manners. She's so polite and helpful too,’ said Mum, tipping wodge-loads of crumbs into the dustpan. ‘Look at the mess the twins have made – and Cilla's place is so tidy and clean as a whistle.’

  I couldn't take any more. ‘Mum, the table is a disaster zone because of the way Cilla fed Cheese and Tomato as if they were babies. There would have been a lot less mess if she'd left them alone. I'm sure she made them spill stuff deliberately,’ I added darkly.

  ‘Nicholas! Don't be so rude. And why on earth would she do that?’

  ‘She probably thinks it's funny. In fact I think I shall call her Cilla the Spiller.’ That cheered me up a bit but Mum didn't think it was funny.

  ‘That's unkind. In fact I think Cillia should come round more often. She's good company for the twins. It gives her something to do and keeps the twins out of my hair.’

  Huh! So now my Mum's blind as well as bananas. Things are going from bad to worse.

  6. One of Our Hens Is Missing

  Cilla's been coming round for the last five days now. We've had a catalogue of disasters which I'm sure have mostly been her fault, but Mum either doesn't notice or she makes excuses for her: