Labradoodle on the Loose (9 page)

The day had got a whole lot better. We couldn't talk all day at school but we'd be together all evening. Birthdays are good, even other people's.

In history, not being allowed to speak was a bonus. Miss Walsh fired questions at everyone while I daydreamed that I got a massive cheque through the post from a stranger that I once helped (not that I've ever helped a stranger).

I didn't take any notice of what was going on until Copper Pie stood up, picked a few things up off the floor by his chair, walked over to Callum and sprinkled them over his head.

‘What on earth!' spluttered Miss Walsh. Copper Pie pointed at Callum, did a throwing action and slapped himself on the back of the head. He did it three times with his face going more like the colour of his hair every time. He was really angry (but quite funny to watch). Luckily Fifty had got the hang of translating. He stood up and defended Copper Pie like a barrister stating the case in front of a judge.

‘I believe Copper Pie to have been hit on the back of the head by various missiles.' Fifty bent down to study the evidence. ‘Including rubbers, screwed-up paper and what looks like extra-large bogeys, thrown by Callum.'

‘Sit down, Fifty,' said Miss Walsh. ‘Is this true, Callum?'

‘No. I didn't throw anything.'

Copper Pie leant over Callum's desk and did a cutthroat
sign. Callum pushed him away. It was all getting a bit stressy. I was pleased I couldn't talk – it took away any responsibility to help. I looked at Miss Walsh to see what she was going to do. Nothing much, it seemed. Jonno leant over and tapped Copper Pie on the back. It meant, ‘He's not worth the bother.' Copper Pie sat back down.

Miss Walsh is useless at sorting out trouble. She writes the names of whoever's involved in the sad-face column on the board and threatens that if they end up there twice more, they'll see the Head. It doesn't matter who's right and who's wrong. She says, ‘Three strikes and you're out', as if she's an American baseball coach.

Callum's name went on the board, followed by Copper Pie's. And then it was lunch.

The dinner ladies didn't like us pointing so Fifty asked for our food. We sat at our favourite table in the corner. Fifty talked a bit, but getting no answers was boring so he
went and sat on Ed's table. We could hear them laughing while we sat in silence.

I slept with my eyes open all afternoon. Dull wasn't the word, it was mind-numbing. The clock hands crawled round as though time had its brakes on. The only thing that kept me awake was the occasional bit of debris hitting the back of my head. I knew who was doing it, but I didn't complain because I knew I'd end up in the sad-face column.

Two minutes before the bell, the Head came to see how we were doing. That's what she said anyway. But I think, like Callum, she just wanted to enjoy the fact we couldn't speak.

As soon as we were out of the playground, I said, ‘Remind me never to agree to a sponsored silence again.'

‘Same,' said Fifty.

When I got home there was an empty cement bag on the table. On closer inspection I realised it was a cement bag that had been turned into a different kind of bag. Mum had been extra efficient.

‘Do you like it?' she said.

‘Not much,' I said. ‘But Bee will.'

‘As soon as I got your text about the party I knew where to go for a present. I was going to buy a recycled glass bracelet but I figured she might prefer the bag.'

‘You figured right. Thanks.'

I went to the cupboard to get some wrapping paper and a card from the stockpile. I chose one with a cupcake on it, scribbled inside and taped it to the pressie. I was ready. There
was time for a lie down in my hammock. I swayed from side to side and thought about all the parties we'd been to.

‘Are you going to wear a shirt?' Mum shouted up the stairs.

‘No need. It's only tea,' I shouted back. Every Christmas she buys me a stripy shirt, like a deckchair, that I have to wear to family dos. But I will
never
wear one in front of my friends. I was wearing my favourite Saltrock T-shirt – perfect for tuna with beans (Bee's mum's speciality) and a chocolate pudding. Or whatever we were having.

Fifty and Jonno were already sitting at the kitchen table drinking Coke when I pushed open the red door to Bee's kitchen. I said, ‘Happy Birthday' and gave Bee the present. She really liked it. Only Bee could get excited about a reused cement bag with a red strap. I didn't want a Coke so I had orange juice. There was a checked cloth on the table and candles and eight places. Lily came next, then Copper Pie, then Bee's dad, and then the twins. Bee's brothers are old – university age, except they don't go to university. They lived at Bee's until Bee's dad threw them out because they were too old to live at home. They live with a really cool actress now. I have no idea whether they have jobs, and I only know one of their names – Patrick. I hoped someone might say the name of the other one, because it's
embarrassing not knowing the name of one of your best friend's family.

‘Louis, take the basket.'
Excellent
. The other brother's name was Louis. ‘Go ahead,' said Bee's mum as Louis put the basket of garlic bread on the table. It smelt lush. I waited for someone else's hand to shoot out before I took a piece. Another basket followed. This time the bread had melted cheese on it. I stuck with the non-cheese. Melted cheese is too sticky. A bowl of mushrooms came next. Bee spooned some onto her plate.

‘Same,' said Fifty. He held out his plate so we all did as well.
Tasty!
There were more and more bowls and plates and baskets coming all the time. There was also loads of noise from the mini-conversations going on round the table. It was much better than tea at my house. Bee's mum and dad hovered by the cooker while we all ate. Bee's brothers were funny. They teased her – something we'd never dare do. After a while the plates all got cleared. I felt quite full but I'd kept a space for pudding. But pudding didn't come – more food came. This time it was a massive washing-up size bowl of pasta, that Bee's dad smothered in parmesan cheese from a really cool silver grater with a handle, and a pot of some sort of meat and tomato stew and, Fifty's favourite, some white beans.

‘We have to go,
bambina
,' said Bee's mum. She took out her lipstick and made her lips red without looking in a mirror. ‘We won't be late. Patrick, Louis, look after our guests.'

The twins lifted their glasses and both said something that sounded Italian at the same time. Bee's parents disappeared out of the kitchen door.