Weird Page 4

  Fizz’s jaw dropped. ‘You stole it!’

  ‘Of course I didn’t. Mrs Kowalski took it. Then Matron and the Major found us talking in the corridor and Mrs Kowalski stuffed it inside my trousers while they couldn’t see. They accused her of taking it and took her off to be searched.’

  Fizz was grinning from ear to ear. ‘An old lady stuffed a spoon into your trousers? The dirty old baggage!’

  ‘She’s old enough to be Great-great-grandmother’s great-great-grandmother. But I admit I was surprised.’

  ‘Why did she take the spoon in the first place?’

  ‘I don’t know! Why do prunes steal spoons? Ask a psychologist, not me. Anyhow, I’ll try and give it back to her this afternoon and find out a bit more. The thing is, I’m not very happy about the goons. That’s what Mrs Kowalski says they called the guards in prison camps during the war. And that’s just what the Major and Matron are like. They’re control freaks. They run the place like a prison camp.’

  ‘I know. And the worst thing is you’re only allowed one biscuit.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They told me I could only give the oldies one biscuit with their tea, but that is really mean, so I gave them two. That’ll show ’em. Join the rebellion, brother.’

  Fizz clasped a clenched fist to her chest. I think it was meant to be some kind of anarchist salute but she did it with such force she only made herself cough. I nodded. ‘I guess that fits their general pattern of behaviour. I think Mrs Kowalski is up to something. She seems a bit dotty, but I don’t think she is really.’

  ‘Lots of people are like that,’ smiled Fizz, showing her brace. At least all that cress had gone. I wondered what she meant when she said lots of people seem dotty, but aren’t. Was she talking about herself?

  ‘Why do you wear that?’ I asked.

  Fizz glanced curiously at her clothes and shrugged. ‘What?’

  ‘That brace.’

  ‘To straighten my teeth – at least, that’s what the dentist says, but everyone’s got them, so what I think is either everyone’s got crooked teeth or we’ve got crooked dentists.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘It’s a scam by dentists to make pots more money for themselves and also they do it because they’re jealous of our youth so they do everything they can to make us look ugly and horrible. Dentists are nasty people and not human. What do you get if you cross a sadist with a JCB? A dentist, that’s what. Anyhow, we’d better be getting back before the Camp Commandant and Air-bags throw a wobbly.’

  ‘Excuse me? Air-bags?’ What was she on about now?

  ‘Matron, you idiot. Have you seen the size of her chest? I reckon a couple of air bags have gone off under her jacket. She probably crashed into something when she was growing up and whumpff! Up they came and they’ve never gone down since.’

  ‘Right.’

  I avoided Fizz’s eyes. This did not seem like a suitable conversation at all. Quite funny, though. Fortunately Fizz blithely ploughed on. She could talk for England. And Scotland. And Wales.

  ‘What are we going to do about writing up the daily report for school? We’re supposed to do it together. I think we should take it in turns – your house, then my house and so on.’

  My heart fell into my shoes. ‘Not a good idea,’ I croaked.

  ‘Why not? I know, your room’s a mess. You’re ashamed of it. Doesn’t matter. Wait until you see my room: it is the pigsty of all pigsties.’

  ‘Sounds unmissable. Anyhow, my room is not a mess.’

  ‘Really? I know, you’ve got posters of women all over your walls, haven’t you?’

  ‘No, I haven’t!’ I almost shouted and Fizz’s eyes popped.

  ‘Posters of men!’ Fizz put a horrified hand to her mouth.

  ‘NO!’ I yelled.

  ‘So what’s the problem? Tell me.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ I said lamely, my mind in tatters. ‘We’ll take it in turns, but only if we start at your place.’

  ‘OK,’ Fizz agreed, just as we got back to Marigolds. ‘See you later, Mystery Man.’

  We went our separate ways. There was no sign of the Major but Matron was prowling the corridors like a Rottweiler.

  ‘Bathrooms all done?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes, Matron,’ she corrected.

  ‘Yes, Matron.’

  ‘Are you smirking?’

  ‘No, I’ve never smirked,’ I said. ‘It’s a disgusting habit.’

  Matron’s eyes narrowed dangerously. She pursed her lips, parted them as if to say something, thought better of it and pursed them again. ‘The mail has arrived. You can take it to the room numbers marked on the envelopes. At three o’clock everyone meets in the garden room for afternoon tea. Miss Dash will need some help and so will Mrs Ogweyo. Help them into wheelchairs and bring them down in the lift. Well, don’t just stand there. Get on with it.’

  She handed over a small bunch of letters and I headed upstairs. I leafed through the envelopes and was surprised to see that every one had been opened. Matron was reading their private mail! By good luck there was one for Mrs Kowalski so I went straight to her room.

  The old lady was sitting beside her window, gazing out at the view beyond. When she saw me she put a finger to her lips and beckoned. Then she whispered: ‘I never know if the room’s bugged or not.’ In a louder voice she went on: ‘Oh, thank you, is that the post? Thank you so much. Goodbye, dear.’ Then she looked at me expectantly and I produced the tablespoon.

  ‘Well done!’ she whispered. ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down. You see that corner of the carpet over there? If you pull it up carefully there’s a loose floorboard. Hide it in there. Make sure you put the carpet back properly. You know, they came and searched my room this morning from top to toe but they never thought of looking there. It was my husband who taught me tricks like that. Such a clever man.’

  ‘Is he still… ?’

  ‘Oh no, dear. He died thirty years ago. He flew twenty-six bombing missions, spent two years in a prison camp, and do you know how he died? He was hit by a bus.’

  ‘Bummer. Sorry.’

  ‘Yes. Is that what you say? “Bummer”? It does sound rather appropriate. I must try and remember it. I was upset at the time, of course. It seemed such a waste, but looking back on it now I’m pleased it was an unusual way to make his departure.’

  ‘Is that how you got your name – Kowalski?’

  ‘Yes. Jack’s Polish parents emigrated to America after the First World War and Jack was born over there. Then came the Second World War and that was how we met. He flew bombers with the USAF and I flew Spitfires for the RAF.’

  ‘Spitfires!’ Oh yeah, right. Now we were entering Fantasy World, for sure.

  ‘And Hurricanes, Mosquitoes and so on.’ She saw the surprise on my face. ‘It was a war. We had to get on with things.’ Her eyes took on a far-away look. It was impossible to tell. Had she really flown Spitfires? Maybe I would be able to find out in due course, but I had a more pressing question to ask.

  ‘What’s so important about the tablespoon?’

  Mrs Kowalski’s head jerked up and she fixed her suddenly alert eyes on me. ‘You won’t tell, will you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘We’re going to escape from here. We all are, every one of us. We’re digging a tunnel, you see.’

  Fizz

  Funk-hunk has been in my bedroom! He sat on my bed! Next to me! After he’d gone I lay across my bed and imagined he was still there, like my life-saving dream, only not so wet. He is, like, the Prince of Handsomeness. When we were working on our assignment he was leaning over me and I could feel the heat from his body and I was willing him to suddenly take me in his arms and sweep me off my feet and kiss me. Didn’t work, unfortunately. I must learn mind control, then I could hypnotize him. I have you in my power, Josh Cameron. I could make him do anything. The mind boggles. Well, my mind does. I do quite a lot of boggling.

  Josh stood by the window fo
r a long time, staring out as if he could see some kind of supernatural vision or something, and I almost died. I mean, he looked so poetic and noble. It was impossible to concentrate on work. I just wanted to write I LOVE YOU across the screen a thousand times. Instead of which I had to write about Matron, the Major and old people trying to remember something that happened one minute ago and couldn’t, but could remember where they were 12 February 1732. Completely bonkers.

  After he’d gone I went down for supper and there they were – the Inquisition. (Not THE Inquisition, of course, because that’s history. What I actually mean is my parents.) Mum and Dad were already at the table, and Lauren too, all dolled up as usual, with her impeccable make-up, flawless skin, full lips and proper set of boobs. Even her nose is straight, unlike Mum’s, or Dad’s or mine. (Sudden amazing revelation – maybe LAUREN ISN’T MY SISTER AT ALL! Maybe she was swapped at birth and Mum brought home someone else’s baby and the real Lauren, my real sister, is out there somewhere and is actually a hideous, gap-toothed, zit-faced brat with a bumpy nose.)

  ‘So that was Josh?’ Mum said.

  ‘No, it was Father Christmas,’ I replied.

  ‘No need to be rude,’ murmured Dad.

  ‘So “Father Christmas” is a rude word?’

  ‘I think you know what I mean,’ Dad went on.

  ‘He’s a perv,’ said Lauren.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s a perv,’ she repeated.

  I looked at her, then realized my mouth was hanging open, so I shut it quickly because I think that looks so stupid when someone stands there with their mouth hanging open. ‘I don’t think so,’ I said curtly.

  ‘He was standing at your window ogling me.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I repeated, even more sharply.

  ‘Fizz, he was there for ages. I was sunbathing and he stood there watching. I saw him through my sunglasses. Couldn’t take his eyes off me.’

  ‘Well, darling,’ said Mum, ‘if you were wearing that new blue bikini, I’m not surprised.’

  ‘I felt like a cow at market,’ Lauren declared, ‘the way he was leering at me.’

  ‘You’re a cow, all right,’ I muttered. I was furious, simmering, seething. How could she talk about Josh like that? That was so horrible. And how could Josh behave like that?! The swine! I’ll kill him! I’ll kill both of them!

  ‘I don’t think farmers leer at their cows,’ Dad offered by way of a contribution to this edifying discussion.

  ‘He was leering,’ Lauren repeated.

  ‘What I’m suggesting, Lauren, is that he was either looking at you as if you were a cow, or he was leering. I don’t think he would be doing both.’

  ‘All right!’ yelled Lauren.

  Mum patted Lauren’s arm. ‘I understand. I’m afraid that’s men for you.’

  ‘ I don’t leer,’ Dad complained.

  ‘You did when you were younger, darling,’ said Mum sweetly. ‘I distinctly recall you ogling me on many occasions. Don’t huff and puff like that. I didn’t mind, and Lauren shouldn’t either. The poor boy’s fourteen, what do you expect? He’s probably never seen so much flesh on display and, let’s face it, Lauren, you were displaying it.’

  ‘I was trying to get a sun tan…’

  ‘… in the smallest possible bikini on this earth,’ Mum finished for her. ‘And why not? There’s nothing wrong with that, particularly in your own garden. Just don’t expect other people – especially men – not to notice.’

  I was speechless. Dad tried to change the subject. ‘How was Marigolds?’

  ‘Zombie-land,’ I sniped. ‘And there’s this huge woman, Matron, who runs the place like a prison camp. I’m sure she pumps herself up every day.’

  ‘I think you’ll find it’s been scientifically established that it’s not possible to pump someone up, at least not by much,’ announced Dad, to all-round astonishment.

  ‘Not by much!’ squawked Lauren. ‘How do you know? Have you been experimenting, Dad? That’s disgusting.’

  ‘Of course I haven’t. I’m simply pointing out the fallacy behind Fizz’s suggestion.’

  I gave up. I didn’t want anyone pointing out my fallacies, whatever they are. I crawled back to my room. All that time he’d been at the window Josh had been looking at my big sis. I’ll kill him.

  I rang Evie.

  ‘What do you expect, Fizz?’ she said. So sympathetic. ‘It’s tragic. Charlie’s the same. The merest whiff of a low-cut top and his eyes are on stalks.’

  ‘Are you talking about your low-cut tops or any old trout’s?’

  ‘Anybody’s,’ she growled. ‘I mean, I want Charlie to see the inner me, my beautiful soul.’

  ‘You’ll have to take your shoes off then.’

  ‘What do you mean? I am grievously trepidated that you are about to launch into one of your stupidly stupid jokes.’

  ‘Shan’t tell you then.’

  ‘Go on,’ Evie sighed wearily. ‘I know I shall regret this beyond my afterlife.’

  ‘If you take off your shoes you can show Charlie your sole.’

  ‘Fizz,’ Evie said slowly, ‘I am coming round to your house to put you out of my misery.’

  ‘OK, but what am I going to do? Goat lusts after big sis. How can I make him look at me instead of her?’

  ‘Put a paper bag over Lauren’s head?’

  ‘Do you not think she might notice?’

  ‘Not if you cut out two little holes for her eyes.’

  ‘Now who’s being stupidly stupid?’

  ‘Hey, we could start a stupid club…’

  ‘… and go round clubbing people!’ we chorused and fell about laughing. That’s Evie all over. What would I do without her? Become sane, probably. How awful.

  After that I did some knitting. It takes my mind off things. Very calming. I’m knitting a thing, which is what I usually knit. Evie and I do extreme knitting, which is, like, you get wool, whatever colour you feel like, and you knit and see how it comes out. You don’t use a pattern because that makes it all predictable and we are freestyle, like, radicals at the forefront of knitting technology, developing our own style. I’ve done a shawly kind of thing and a belt thing and a scarf thing. They’re brilliant. They look like something spun by a giant spider with two legs missing. I’ve got a pretty good eye for clothes. In fact that’s what I’m going to be, I think – one of those people who goes through your wardrobe and says: ‘Throw that out! Burn that! Cut that up! You should be wearing this fabulous brown corduroy bin liner.’

  Of course, I shall have to wait until after I’ve completed all my university stuff and in-depth study of earwig pheromones. Not to mention my rebellion.

  Report for Monday by

  Josh Cameron and Felicity

  Foster-Thompson

  Monday

  Marigolds is a care home for the elderly in Alopecia Avenue. It has ten residents. These are some of them:

  Mrs Kowalski Weird, and quite possibly mad.

  Miss Dash Quite sweet. She has one leg, one eye

  and is mad-ish.

  Mrs Ogweyo Can’t stop worrying. She talks all

  the time to Freddie, though we’re not

  sure who Freddie is. She’s obviously

  madder than mad.

  Madame Dupont French. Is she lost? Not mad.

  Elegant in a tottery kind of way.

  Fizz turned to Josh. ‘Did Matron say anything to you about Mr Winkleberry?’

  ‘Never heard of him.’

  ‘She told me to avoid him. I wonder why? She said it was confidential.’

  ‘I’d like to avoid all of them,’ muttered Josh. ‘Anyhow, what do you mean - “Elegant in a tottery kind of way”?’

  ‘She walks like a model, but an old one.’

  ‘Right, as if you’d know how models walk.’

  Fizz got up and went to the end of the room. She stood quite straight, tipped up her chin and did a passable imitation of a model strutting her stuff, bearing in mind it was di
fficult to get into her stride because she could only do five or six paces before hitting the opposite wall, not to mention the fact that she had to wade through an ankle-high sea of discarded clothing, magazines, knitting, CDs and soft toys. ‘See? That’s what models do, but when Madame Dupont walks it’s more like this.’

  Fizz did the whole thing again, only this time she made her knees wobble so much she lost her balance and fell on to Josh. From there she slid to the floor. ‘Whoops,’ she grinned.

  ‘How can you live in a mess like this?’ he asked.

  ‘Excuse me, I tidied up before I came out this morning.’

  ‘Were you blindfold?’ Josh wished he hadn’t said that even as he listened to the words spilling out of his mouth. What would Fizz say when she saw his house?

  Annoyed with himself, he went across to the window, while Fizz settled to work. In the garden Lauren was sunning herself in a bikini and sunglasses. Josh went hot and cold and hot again. She was perfect. She could be a film star, or a model – a far better model than Fizz would ever make. His heart thudded so hard he thought Fizz would hear. Was this what love felt like? He swallowed. Fizz looked up from the computer.

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yip,’ he squeaked. ‘I mean, yep.’

  ‘Sounds like your voice is breaking,’ teased Fizz. ‘What’s going on out there?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Josh squeaked again, wishing that something was, and tore himself away. He looked over Fizz’s shoulder at what she was adding to the report.

  The home is run by Major Trubshaw and Matron. Major Trubshaw has a loud voice and thinks everyone is deaf. This could be because he works with the elderly, although none of them appear to be deaf. He likes rules, but lets Matron carry them out while he stays in his room counting spoons. He seems to have a thing about spoons.

  The residents are kept in their rooms for as long as possible and are only allowed out on special occasions, like Christmas, when they’re given a biscuit. (Source of information – Miss Dash.) This is because of Matron, who is the biggest woman in history, quite probably. She is also completely bonkers. She behaves as if she’s really in charge but spends most of her time telling everyone off, especially us. She is not at all youth-tolerant.