Scram! Page 2

  POSSIBLY EXPLAIN WHAT AN ORANGE FOOTBALL

  IS DOING IN MY

  BIRDBATH?’

  Mum is saying,

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Stampney.

  I’ve told her so many times . . .

  Marcie!’

  But of course there is no answer because Marcie is out somewhere else.

  Mum starts calling for Grandad because she knows he is the only one Mrs Stampney is never rude to. If he appears, she will have to pipe down. Mrs Stampney wouldn’t dare shout at Grandad.

  Kurt calls out, ‘Grandad’s gone to Peggy’s.’

  Peggy is Grandad’s best friend and she lives in the neighbourhood not that far away but even Mrs Stampney’s loud voice won’t reach all the way to Peggy’s house. So Grandad won’t know to come to the rescue.

  There is lots more complaining until the moaning is shuffled out and goes back next door. I can hear her muttering, ‘Those children are completely irresponsible.’

  When I’m sure Mrs Stampney is not going to march back, I creep downstairs and keep a lowish profile.

  Mum is pleased to see me because it means she can moan to an actual person about Marcie and her selfish behaviour, which has got Mum into unnecessary trouble.

  Of course I agree with everything Mum says since Marcie does get people into trouble usually all the time, even if it wasn’t this time.

  When Grandad comes home, Mum says, ‘If only you had been here ten minutes ago.’

  Grandad is very sympathetic until it is time to go off to watch television.

  After a few minutes, he comes back and says the TV has broken down and he can’t get it going.

  Mum fiddles around for seven or eleven minutes while he misses his programme on hedgehogs and then realises that the batteries have gone missing.

  Mum says, ‘That Marcie!’

  And then Marcie walks in and says,

  ‘What Marcie?’

  And Mum says, ‘I’ve just had Mrs Stampney round complaining about your football being in her birdbath and now I find you’ve taken the blimming batteries out of the remote control and Grandad has had to miss the start of his wildlife hedgehog programme.’

  Marcie says, ‘How could I manage to do any of that when I wasn’t even here all day?’

  And then Mum looks at me with very slim eyes. Because she has remembered that Marcie was at Casey’s since last night.

  Marcie says, ‘You are a lying toad, Clarice Bean.’

  And Mum says, ‘I’m inclined to agree.’

  I say, ‘But in fact Marcie is always

  kicking the football over the fence and I am normally always the one being shouted at

  for it so it might as well have been her.’

  And Mum says, ‘You are on very thin ice.’

  So I say, ‘And she stole my batteries from my torch!’

  Marcie says, ‘Yes, but I didn’t take them from the remote control, did I?’

  I say, ‘Yes, you slightly did because if you hadn’t taken my torch ones then I wouldn’t have taken the remote controller ones, would I?’

  And Mum says, ‘One crime does not cancel out another,’ which seems very un-right to me since the cause of my crime was utterly due to Marcie’s crime. And I start to explain this, but Mum holds up her pointing finger and shakes her head and I can tell that she is in an unfair mood.

  Mum says, ‘You need to take responsibility for your actions, Clarice Bean.’

  Marcie says, ‘Total lying toad!’ and stomps upstairs.

  And Mum says, ‘Honestly, Clarice.’

  Mum is in an even worser mood when Minal comes in and asks, ‘What’s for tea?’

  She points to all the food that is now trapped in boxes and says, ‘Nothing is for tea!’

  And then Marcie screeches down the stairs,

  ‘Who’s been in my room?

  Who’s been lying on my bed?

  Who’s been reading my dog magazine?

  The beagle page is all creased!’

  She sounds a bit like that bear from the three bears and so I run out of the house into the garden as quickly as my flip-flops will carry me.

  Only they aren’t my flip-flops.

  And Marcie is right behind me.

  I am trying to climb the tree but it’s hard to do in these kind of shoes and one of them flips off. And Marcie grabs it and throws it over the fence, which sets Mrs Stampney off again.

  She shouts, ‘Don’t imagine you will be getting your shoe back,

  young lady!’

  That’s when Marcie notices that she has just thrown one of her own prized possessions into Mrs Stampney’s garden.

  Everything has taken a turn for the worse and

  I am probably going to have to stay up a tree all night and maybe longer.

  It is very, very hot and I really want to come down and sit in the paddling pool.

  Marcie starts

  throwing

  fallen apples

  at me.

  She says some

  bad

  things!

  Minal thinks this is very funny until I start throwing picked-off-the-tree apples at him, which makes Mum livid, and she shouts,

  ‘Do not throw good apples at your brother.’

  And Kurt is shouting out of the window for everyone to stop shouting because him and Grandad are trying to watch the hedgehog programme.

  Everyone goes quiet.

  Everyone is looking at everyone.

  You can hear the breathing.

  And then Marcie says in a voice which is like a hiss,

  ‘And don’t for one single minute

  think you are ever going to have my

  rainbow skates now –

  not for five pounds,

  not for

  nothing!’

  Luckily Dad comes home with a bag of shopping and says, ‘I have arrived to save the day!’

  Everyone is very relieved.

  Until he realises he has forgotten the two tins of tomatoes and he can’t save the day without them. It turns out he has also forgotten the spaghetti.

  I say, ‘I will run to Clement’ses,’ because, you see, I am trying to save the day and also save myself from Marcie who is hopping mad.

  Clement’s is the corner shop and is on the corner of our street, so it doesn’t take a minute to get there. It is fine to go in one flip-flop. But I have to hop because the pavement is as hot as toast.

  Clement’s is one of those good kind of shops which stocks most things that anybody would need.

  I get there just when Mr Clement is closing up.

  We don’t know if Mr Clement is actually named Mr Clement but that’s what we call him because he owns the shop.

  I have to be really quick because he needs to cash up and get home in a hurry.

  I think he wants to watch the football or the tennis or maybe he is playing football or tennis but he is definitely in a big rush.

  Sometimes you go to the shops to buy two tins

  of tomatoes and some spaghetti and nothing happens at all.

  Sometimes you go to the shops and they have sold out of tins of tomatoes and spaghetti, so you get the nearest thing, which is a tin of spaghetti in tomato sauce. It’s not even a type of label that you have seen before – it is utterly unknown.

  So you decide to get five because if there’s lots of it maybe people will be less disappointed. Well, this is what I do.

  The other reason for buying exactly five is that the tin has an offer for a

  a free dog identity tag and if you collect

  five tokens you can have one without paying for it. You just have to attach four first class stamps worth £3.40.

  We don’t have an actual dog and so we don’t need a dog’s name tag but I like the idea of it. And maybe I could give it to Marcie because she does want a dog one day.

  And it might make her less cross with me.

  But I doubt it.

  Strangely, when I come out there is an actual real-life dog lurking outside the shop. He looks like he is waiting for his owner who must be inside,

  only there was no one inside.

  He looks at me with no blinking,

  so I say,

  ‘Hello,’

  and give him a pat

  and

  walk off

  home.

  When I get in, it turns out that a tin of spaghetti in tomato sauce is nothing like a tin of tomatoes nor a packet of spaghetti but it is too late to change it for something nicer because Mum and Dad are now in a rush. They are going to the cinema, which Dad bought two tickets for and Mum forgot about and there is no other option for dinner in a hurry.

  So everyone has to eat spaghetti on toast while they grumble.

  Minal says, ‘What exactly in factually is it?’

  I say, ‘Spaghetti in tomato sauce, dumdum.’

  Mum says, ‘I don’t think it’s that obvious.’

  Dad says, ‘Is it definitely for humans?’

  Marcie says, ‘Why didn’t you at least get spaghetti hoops?’

  I say, ‘They only had unhooped.’

  Kurt says, ‘Why didn’t you get the normal nice brand in the turquoise tin?’

  I say, ‘Because they only had the green-tin sort left – there was loads of it not being bought.’

  Dad says, ‘I’m not surprised.’

  I say,

  ‘It’s a new kind,

  I think.’

  Marcie says,

  ‘It doesn’t taste

  new.’

  Grandad says,

  ‘It sort of tastes of nothing but a little bit like

  the tin.’

  The problem is everyone’s very hungry but no one is hungry enough to eat this. All the larder foo
d is in boxes and Mum says she’s not prepared to unpack them until she’s finished the shelves. In the end Dad makes cheese on toast out of dryish crusts and slightly mouldy old cheese from the back of the fridge.

  And I am not popular.

  It’s funny how spaghetti in tomato sauce can be so delicious in a turquoise tin but in a green one – unedible.

  Dinner was not very pleasant and now I am slumping into a decline about the rainbow roller skates that I am never, ever going to have.

  I sit there thinking, What would Ruby Redfort do in this situation which is a tragedy?

  And then suddenly it pops into my head – what I need to do. I must get Marcie some more of those dog-bone flip-flops.

  So I run to my room and empty my money box of the three pounds and seventy-nine Ps, then I ask Mum if I can run to the post-office-convenient store to buy Marcie a new

  There’s Nothing Like a . . . Dog magazine.

  She says, ‘I think that’s a very wise idea.’

  But when I get there it turns out that they have run out completely of There’s Nothing Like a . . . Dog and the new one is There’s Nothing Like a . . . BICYCLE. It has a bicycle bell attached to the cover, not flip-flops.

  It’s all about bicycles and Marcie’s not interested in those, so my putting-things-right plan is not going to plan.

  When I come out of the post-office-convenient store, there is another dog sitting on his own outside.

  Except he’s the same actual one as the one from Clement’s. I wonder who he’s waiting for. I pat him on the head and run off home.

  When I get there, Mum and Dad are on the doorstep with a suitcase.

  I say, ‘Why are you taking a suitcase to the cinema?’

  Mum says, ‘It’s a long story.’

  Dad says, ‘Grandad will explain.’

  Mum says, ‘Please don’t give him anything more to worry about than keeping an eye on you four – I am trusting you all to be responsible.’

  Dad says, ‘No floods, no fires, no fights.’

  Mum says, ‘See you on Monday.’

  I say, ‘You are going to the cinema until Monday?’

  Mum says, ‘If only we were.’

  Dad says, ‘If only we were.’

  Mum says, ‘Keep out of your sister’s way until we get home!’

  Dad says, ‘Who does that dog belong to?’

  I turn round and there he is –

  the same dog for the third time sitting on the pavement.

  I think he must be following me.

  Mum and Dad shout, ‘Be good!’ then they are off running to the station.

  And me and the unknown dog are left standing by the gate not knowing what to do.

  I pat him on the head and then I say, ‘Scram,’ but in a nice way and it doesn’t budge him. He just sits there looking at me, not blinking.

  I don’t think we are speaking the same language.

  I didn’t get to that bit in the There’s Nothing Like a . . . Dog magazine, so I am not sure how to get him to understand me.

  I decide I had better take him back to Clement’s corner shop because his owner is probably wondering where he is.

  He seems quite happy to be walking with me and he keeps looking up at me like we know each other, which I suppose we slightly do.

  When I drop him back to the corner shop, I give him a pat on the head and I say,

  ‘See you around.’

  Then I walk home.

  I am quite nervous when I get to our front door because I have come back without Marcie’s free-gift flip-flops. I walk in very quietly, which is what Ruby Redfort would herself advise in these situations.

  She would say, ‘Tread CAREFULLY so as

  NOT to ALERT hostile beings.’

  Luckily Marcie has gone upstairs to talk for ages on the phone. I bet she is complaining about me to her friend Casey.

  I discover from Grandad that the reason for Mum and Dad running to the station with a suitcase is because Mum has not just only forgotten about the cinema but also she has forgotten that they should be going to a wedding instead.

  Dad forgot too so it is a double forget, which means it was almost a disaster and they could have missed their plane to who-knows-where. And if Grandad hadn’t reminded them when he remembered about it, then everyone would have forgotten. Although no one can remember whose wedding Mum and Dad are going to except for Mum and Dad but they aren’t here.

  Grandad says, ‘Perhaps we should offer the cinema tickets to Mrs Stampney? Do you think that would cheer her up?’ He doesn’t look very keen about this idea and no one wants to knock on her door to test it out, including Grandad.

  So I suggest I will pop next-door-but-one and ask the Cushions if they would like them.

  The Cushions are new to our neighbourhood and we don’t know their actual names – we just call them the Cushions because they put cushions on their doorstep and sit on them.

  Everyone likes the Cushions, except for Mrs Stampney, who is always complaining about them laughing too loudly over her fence.

  Sometimes they put plants they’ve grown on a table outside their house with a sign that says,

  ‘If there’s something you like, then please take

  it and if you are able to, then put a small donation in the honesty box. Enjoy!’

  Mrs Stampney doesn’t like people

  selling things outside their houses,

  so the Cushions are in her bad books.

  The Cushions are very pleased with the tickets and say thank you four times each.

  One of the Cushions says,

  ‘What’s your dog called, by the way?’

  And when I turn round

  there he is again, the dog from before.

  I say, ‘I don’t know.’

  And they say, ‘You’ll think of something!’

  And they run off down the street in a maddish rush because they don’t want to miss the film.

  The dog follows me back to our gate and then plonks down. He looks hot.

  I feel bad to leave him but I don’t know what else to do. He does not understand any words, not even sit or lie down.

  So how can I tell him to go home? I fetch some water for him and then I wonder if I should bring him in – just for the night.

  I am about to explain to Grandad that there is an uninvited dog by our gate but the telephone rings and when Grandad picks it up he looks very worried in the eyebrows.

  It turns out that Peggy’s neighbour’s poodle, called Violet, has slipped through the hedge and in through Peggy’s kitchen door. She is running around her house barking at Cheeks, her cockatoo.

  Peggy is terrified Violet will eat Cheeks. Cheeks is terrified Violet will eat Cheeks. Cheeks is now sitting on top of Peggy’s ceiling light and he won’t come down.

  Violet’s owners are not home, so Grandad phones up Uncle Ted to see if he can help with the escaped poodle. Of course he goes over there straight away. Uncle Ted is good in emergencies because he is in the fire brigade.

  I don’t think Grandad would want a

  strange dog in the house in case the same

  thing happened with Chirp . . .

  So I decide not to ask.

  I think about telling Marcie but Mum did warn me with her pointing finger to

  stay out of Marcie’s way.

  And when she holds up her finger it means she is saying it strictly.

  Before bed I have checked on the Clement’s dog fourteen times by looking out of the window.

  He is still completely there looking at our door.

  It’s not cold outside – it’s really warm, almost too warm to sleep, and I lie in bed with just a sheet on, utterly wide awake, wondering where this dog has come from.

  Lots of thoughts are wandering around my brain.

  Maybe he is an alone dog without an owner.

  Maybe somehow he heard me telling Robert Granger that we might be getting a dog and so he thought we might be interested in keeping him.

  Maybe he didn’t realise I was just making it all up.

  Maybe I sort of made him appear outside Clement’s corner shop. Like a wished-up dog.

  If I did wish him up, then it’s

  my fault he is having to sleep outside

  in the front garden. I think about this

  and it makes me worry.

  Who is responsible for him?

  Maybe it’s me?

  When it is midnight and I can hear that everyone else isn’t awake and I know that even Grandad’s radio is switched off, I tiptoe downstairs.