My Parents Cancelled My Birthday Page 3

  ‘Hi, Keith. You’ll never believe this. It’s a disaster. My parents cancelled my birthday!’

  ‘Who is this?’ said Keith.

  I gave Keith a strong look, which of course he couldn’t see, because we were on our phones.

  ‘It’s Tom, your best friend.’

  ‘Oh, hi, Tom, how are you?’ he said.

  ‘My parents cancelled my birthday.’

  ‘Whoa! Can they do that?’

  ‘I don’t know, but they have.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Keith asked.

  ‘First I need to get up and change my clothes,’ I said. ‘I sat in some dog food.’

  ‘Good,’ said Keith.

  ‘Then I need time to think. What would you do if your parents cancelled your birthday?’

  ‘Tricky …’ said Keith. He was quiet for a while. I thought he was thinking. Then I realised he was chewing some toast. Finally, he said:

  ‘Well, Mr Connors at school always goes on about Resistingance, doesn’t he? Which means fighting back. Like a warrior.’

  ‘Resilience,’ I said. ‘Mr Connors goes on about resilience. Which means being strong and not flaking out. I think.’

  ‘OK, well, you could do either,’ said Keith. ‘Resistingance or the other one. At least you’ve got some choices.’

  ‘Thanks, Keith, I’m going to take a shower,’ I said. ‘I can’t do either while I stink of Nosho Liver & Spleen.’

  ‘Does this mean I can keep your present?’

  I hung up.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  RESISTINGANCE!

  After my shower, I got back into my pyjamas and went to bed. I lay there for most of the morning. I think I was in shock. My parents cancelled my birthday. My Lucky Birthday. Does it get any more shocking than that? No, it doesn’t.

  To make things worse, everyone ignored me. Mum was at work. Dad had his headache on the sofa. Meg was too busy worrying about her tooth-fairy curse. Nana didn’t even try to make it upstairs to check on me. I know she had a bad hip (although, thinking back to yesterday, she did jump up pretty quickly when the fire broke out …) and I know she was sad about Margherita dying, but it would have been nice to see her. Or anyone really.

  My birthday was cancelled, the one I had looked forward to for so long. Gone. Over. Not happening.

  Then I remembered I had already sent the invitations out. What would Chas Cheeseman say when I told him it was cancelled? This was doubly, triply awful, plus also miserable, sad and really embarrassing. And just awful again.

  I went downstairs. It was very dark. I could just make out Dad slumbering on the sofa with a flannel on his face.

  ‘Dad,’ I whispered.

  He sprang up in shock. The flannel fell into his lap. Then he clutched his head and moaned.

  ‘You niblitz!’ he swore. ‘My headache was just beginning to ease, then you go and scare the blethers out of me! What are you playing at, Tom?’

  ‘I just wanted to check if you were still cancelling my birthday,’ I said.

  Dad groaned, lay down again and covered his face.

  ‘It is my Lucky Birthday,’ I said. ‘You know, if you absolutely have to cancel a birthday, could you cancel next year’s instead? I really, really want this birthday, this year. Can I? Please?’

  Dad still said nothing.

  ‘That’s a no, then, is it?’ I asked.

  No answer.

  I went into the kitchen. Nana was sitting at the table with her eyes closed.

  ‘My parents cancelled my birthday, Nana,’ I sighed.

  ‘Shush, I’m meditating,’ she said. ‘I need to clear my mind of worry and be open and ready for the next time Margherita speaks to me.’

  I found Meg in her room. She was sticking Blu-Tack around her teeth.

  She said something. I think it was: ‘So no more teeth fall out. Can’t risk another family disaster.’ But her mouth was so full it was hard to tell. She was dribbling a bit, too.

  ‘Believe me, Meg, the tooth fairy has nothing to do with anything. Sticking Blu-Tack around your teeth will not make Mum and Dad uncancel my birthday. They have cancelled my birthday, remember?’

  She nodded frantically and pointed at her mouth. She said something like, ‘I mow, mam mits da curds!’

  I felt like giving up. I wanted to cry. Maybe I did cry, I can’t be sure.

  I went back to bed. Hours passed. My mind, normally so sharp and smart, had gone to mush, like Meg’s soupy cornflakes. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t move. It was like the weight of having my birthday cancelled was pinning me to the bed. Maybe this was how Margherita felt when Tiny landed on her?

  Then I got a text from Keith.

  DID YOU CHOOSE RESILIENCE OR RESISTINGANCE? FROM KEITH.

  So far, I had chosen nothing. I had chosen bed and pyjamas and sadness, never-ending sadness.

  Maybe, though, Keith had a point.

  Maybe I did have choices.

  Maybe rather than just putting up with having my birthday cancelled and being resilient, I needed to get some of Keith’s Resistingance going. I needed to fight back! It all became clear. There was no point sulking. If I wanted to have my birthday, I had to make it happen myself.

  I sat up in bed, my heart beating fast. Suddenly I felt alive. ALIVE! Not dead, like a chihuahua under a gigantic pig. Alive, like a nice, clean almost-eleven-year-old boy who didn’t smell of Nosho Liver & Spleen any more and deserved the very best from life!

  It wouldn’t be easy, but I saw what I had to do. Having a brilliant birthday, as good as Chas Cheeseman’s birthday had been, was not about begging my parents to uncancel my birthday. I had to do more. I had to make my own luck. If I wanted my Lucky Birthday to happen at all, first I had to fix my family.

  I made a list:

  1.Convince Meg that she is no longer cursed by the tooth fairy.

  2.Fix Dad’s headaches so he can get back to finishing his book.

  3.Persuade Mum to work less (see above).

  4.Persuade Nana to stop looking for dead Margherita and go back to her flat.

  This wasn’t going to be easy. One almost-eleven-year-old boy, three days and a whole load of mess to put right. I wasn’t sure where to begin.

  My phone rang.

  A quiet, friendly voice on the end of the line said: ‘I think I’ve found your pig.’

  It was a good start.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  PIG, CHICKENS, PLAN

  Tiny! Found at last, by a nice-sounding man called Mr Hector. He described the pig to me – very large, fond of apples – and I knew, right away, it was Tiny.

  I rushed downstairs. Meg was squashing a banana through a sieve in the kitchen.

  ‘I’m just making it nice and soft. I must not lose any more teeth.’

  There was nothing to say to this. I just shook my head and ran out of the door.

  Mr Hector lived nearby, with a huge garden tucked away behind houses. You would never guess it was there. While we had an OK house with a tiny garden, Mr Hector had a tiny house – more of a shed really – and a massive garden. It was full of trees and plants, bushes and bees and chickens. Lots of chickens. They all rushed over to me when I arrived and followed me around, clucking. It was a bit distracting.

  Mr Hector was sitting under an apple tree. Tiny was lying at his feet. She looked happy. There were no signs that she had recently fallen off a roof. I scratched her ear. She grunted. The chickens clucked and hopped about by my feet.

  ‘I better take her home,’ I said. ‘Thank you for looking after her. My sister will be really glad to see her again.’

  Maybe Meg would be so pleased to see Tiny that she’d forget about the crazy tooth-fairy curse, stop eating mashed cornflakes and sieved bananas, stop stuffing Blu-Tack in her face and get back to normal. And I’d be one step closer to having a functioning family again, ready to celebrate my birthday.

  Then I remembered Nana.

  She would not be pleased to see Tiny again. Tiny was, after
all, the reason her chihuahua died. Tiny was a murderer.

  ‘Where do you keep this here pig?’ Mr Hector asked.

  ‘On the garage roof,’ I said.

  ‘Roof’s no place for a pig of this size. She needs grass, space, a pig house.’

  Mr Hector had a point. Plus, I suddenly realised, Dad hadn’t fixed the fence. It wasn’t safe for Tiny to go back up there. She’d fall straight off again, crushing who knows what this time.

  More problems!

  Problems that were getting in the way of my attempts at Resistingance, family fixing and birthday uncancelling. Arrgghh!

  I sat down on the grass and told Mr Hector everything. I hadn’t planned to tell him everything, but it just all came out – how Tiny had fallen off the roof, crushed Margherita, the séance, the tooth-fairy curse and how my parents had cancelled my birthday. Two chickens sat in my lap and fell asleep as I talked.

  Mr Hector sucked on his pipe for a moment.

  ‘I can’t make your parents change their minds about your birthday,’ he said. ‘But I can look after the pig for you. She can stay here until things are fixed. You can come and see her whenever you like.’

  That was helpful. I was really glad for that little bit of helpful. I thanked Mr Hector, patted Tiny and got up to leave. The chickens followed me to the gate.

  ‘WAIT!’ Mr Hector shouted from under the tree. ‘Lift up your right arm.’

  I turned around. ‘My what, sorry?’

  ‘Your right arm.’

  As I lifted my right arm, all the chickens lifted their right wings, as if following my command. Mr Hector laughed and scratched his head.

  ‘Well I’ll be,’ he said. ‘You’re a chicken whisperer! A chicken whisperer, as I live and breathe.’

  You can say ‘chicken whisperer’ as many times as you like, I thought, but I’ve still got no idea what you’re talking about. Mr Hector seemed to sense my confusion.

  ‘A chicken whisperer can communicate with chickens,’ he said. ‘And not just with words, but through gestures and even thoughts. It’s a rare power, son. You should be proud.’

  I didn’t really feel proud to be a chicken whisperer. I didn’t even want to be a chicken whisperer. I certainly hadn’t expected to discover that I was, in fact, a chicken whisperer. Not today and not ever. It was not on my birthday present list and it was not on my family-fixing to-do list. It would be more helpful to be a parent whisperer. But all the same, I thanked Mr Hector anyway, and ran home.

  Back at the house, I wanted to tell Meg I had found Tiny safe and well. I thought she’d be pleased, but I found her sticking tape around her teeth.

  ‘I just need to keep hold of my teeth,’ she said. ‘No crunchy food (but also no Blu-Tack, it tastes disgusting) and just wait for the curse to be lifted.’

  ‘Which is when, exactly?’ I asked. ‘My birthday is three days away! Actually, more like two and a bit now! TWO AND A BIT!!’

  ‘I don’t know!’ said Meg, twiddling a curl of hair nervously. ‘It’s up to the tooth fairy to lift the curse.’

  ‘How will you know when she’s done that?’ I asked, feeling very frustrated by Meg’s lack of logic.

  ‘When she tells me, I suppose, and leaves some money under my pillow again. There has been no money for either of my teeth that just fell out. Then I’ll know.’

  Great. So now there were two members of my family waiting to hear from a dead and/or mythical creature. Meg was sounding dangerously similar to Nana now. I had to do something – and fast! I thought about Resistingance again. And that’s when The Plan popped into my head.

  I went to my room and I rang Keith.

  ‘Hi, Keith, it’s me.’

  ‘Who?’ he said.

  ‘It’s Tom, your best friend. Are you free tonight? I’ve got a little job for you.’

  ‘What, like a bank job?’ said Keith. ‘Are you robbing a bank? Cool.’

  ‘No, I just need someone fairly short, like you, to do some acting.’

  ‘Oh sorry, no, I can’t,’ said Keith. ‘I have to help my cousin Craig. It’s pie-making night tonight. Happens once a month. I can’t miss it.’

  Then he hung up.

  I’d have to ask Harry instead, even though he was massively tall and not exactly ideal for the part. I called him and he agreed to meet me outside my house at 10 p.m. My Resistingance plan was ready.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE TOOTH FAIRY AND TINY

  The Plan involved getting Harry the Hulk to dress up as the tooth fairy.

  Then he would tiptoe into Meg’s room, wake her gently, tell her the curse was lifted and pop a few coins under her pillow.

  Simple.

  To really seal the deal, I decided that Harry the Tooth Fairy would then bring Tiny into Meg’s room to show her she was really fine and ‘all was forgiven’ or whatever she needed to hear.

  After dinner, I snuck out to collect Tiny from Mr Hector’s. It turns out that Tiny is hopeless at walking in a straight line so it took me a while to get her home.

  This was made worse because I also bumped into Chas Cheeseman. I smelt him before I saw him.

  He was wearing aftershave. Seriously! What kind of eleven-year-old wears aftershave?

  Sadly, Tiny was attracted to the smell and rushed up to him. She started nuzzling him with her big piggy snout.

  ‘Nice dog,’ said Chas, half laughing, half sneering. ‘What’s its name?’

  ‘Tiny,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Tiny! Funny name for such a huge fat pig.’

  ‘She was meant to be tiny. She just isn’t. She grew. A lot. That’s all, really. Now I have to go, bye.’

  Chas watched me trying to steer Tiny off down the pavement. Tiny kept weaving about and grunting. I could feel my cheeks burning.

  ‘Looking forward to your party, by the way,’ he shouted after me. ‘I can’t believe you’re still not even eleven yet. I’m already thinking what to do when I turn twelve in a few weeks.’

  Tiny swerved into a hedge. I followed her and sat there until I was sure he had gone.

  When I finally turned the corner on to our street I could see Harry waiting outside. He had borrowed a pink ballet tutu from his sister, Kerry, and was wearing his mum’s purple ski jacket and large sunglasses. He had also put on some pink lipstick, sprinkled glitter in his short black hair and draped a strand of silver tinsel round his neck.

  The costume was so convincing that Tiny didn’t recognise Harry. She sniffed him nervously. He took the tinsel off and said:

  ‘It’s me, Tiny, look!’

  Tiny grunted approvingly and nuzzled in for a tickle.

  I congratulated Harry on his look and we went inside. The house was silent. Everyone was in bed. It was quite late by now.

  I left Tiny in the hallway and we tiptoed upstairs. Outside Meg’s room I said:

  ‘You go in, wake her up, tell her you’re the tooth fairy and her curse is lifted. Then I’ll bring in Tiny. OK?’

  Harry was great as a fairy. Really convincing. But instead of looking pleased, Meg just looked terrified. Honestly!

  As the tooth fairy was lifting the curse she just lay there, the duvet pulled up to her chin, shaking. I could see all this through the crack in the door.

  Then it was my turn. I ran downstairs, but where was Tiny? She wasn’t in the hall any more.

  I found her in the kitchen, face in the bin, scoffing potato peelings. I managed to lure her up the stairs with the last slice of Nana’s vegan carob cake. I was at the top and she was halfway up when – disaster! The door to my parents’ room opened.

  Dad wandered out in his dressing gown, half asleep and heading for the bathroom. I dropped the cake and dived – literally dived – down the stairs. I heard the bathroom door shut. Phew! He hadn’t spotted a thing.

  But Tiny had already trotted up the stairs. When the bathroom door opened, Dad walked straight into her, screamed, jumped backwards and banged his head on the door frame. At this point, Harry appeared, dressed as a gigantic t
ooth fairy who likes skiing.

  ‘Is he OK?’ he asked, peering over Dad, who was flat out on the bathroom floor.

  Dad began to mumble and open his eyes. Harry smiled at him. Some glitter from his hair floated down on to Dad’s face.

  ‘An angel!’ said Dad. Then he touched his head. ‘My headache has gone. It’s a miracle!’

  Harry had never been called an angel or a miracle before so he was pretty pleased, but there was no time to soak up the compliments. I didn’t want to give Dad a chance to change his mind, so I rushed Harry out.

  Then I checked on Meg. She was sitting next to Tiny on the floor. Now it was my turn for some acting.

  ‘Whoa, crumbs, what is Tiny doing here?’ I asked. I pretended to rub my eyes like I’d just woken up, too. It was a nice touch.

  ‘The tooth fairy brought her,’ said Meg.

  ‘And did she lift your curse too?’ I asked. ‘Just, you know, possibly?’

  ‘She did!’ said Meg. ‘How did you guess? That’s exactly what she came to do. She said I didn’t have to worry about my teeth falling out any more. She wasn’t at all how I expected her to be – much taller – but oh, Tom, I’m so happy. Now I can eat biscuits again! And I can make you a birthday cake! Isn’t that great?’

  CHAPTER TEN

  NANA NEXT

  I slept in late, to recover from my amazing Resistingance plan. When I got up, the house felt different. The curtains were open. Meg was eating some noticeably crunchy toast at the kitchen table with no sign of mashing or Blu-Tack. This was good. This was brilliant, in fact! I could tick Meg off my family-fixing to-do list. My first victory!

  Best of all, Meg was flicking through some of my books. I had a lot of books, mainly about volcanoes and gladiators, but I don’t remember Meg asking to look at them.

  ‘Don’t panic, Tom. I won’t spoil your precious books and I’ll make sure they are correctly put back on the shelf in the exact alphabetical place, just how you like,’ she said. ‘I’m looking for inspiration.’

  ‘Inspiration for what?’ I asked.

  ‘Your birthday cake,’ she said. ‘Mum and Dad might have cancelled your birthday, but I’ll make sure you still have a cake.’