Charlie Burr and the Cockroach Disaster Read online

  Aw! What?

  Dad strolled in with my dingo pup, Spike, at his heels. He was carrying my box of practical jokes. ‘We’re a strong family,’ he said, ‘but your Mum’s at the heart of the caring and sharing. I reckon she deserves a bit more consideration, Charlie.’

  But Dad was the one who’d cracked up laughing!

  Dad waved my box of jokes at me. ‘If you want this lot back,’ he said, ‘you can earn it by being nice to your mum. And keep it quiet, she’s having a nap.’

  ‘Do you have to take everything, Dad?’ I said. I desperately needed something to give me ideas for my stall. ‘Can I at least keep the practical joke book? It’s for a school project!’

  The girls laughed in disbelief.

  ‘What?’ Dad snorted. ‘A project on how to play a trick on your teacher? Not a chance, Charlie!’

  He went outside to stow my box in his shed. Spike followed him. The pup knew Dad had my stuff. I think he was trying to look after it for me.

  ‘Serves you right!’ whispered Sharni.

  ‘You’d better get Mum a fantastic present for her birthday,’ hissed Tia.

  ‘Whatever he gets,’ laughed Sharni, ‘it won’t be better than what we’re making!’

  They went off to their room to work on their stupid secret present. Poor old Mum! It was bound to be crappy. The girls are useless at craft.

  I went in search of Spike. He was down the side of Dad’s shed chewing on an old tennis ball. He’s been mad on chewing lately.

  When Spike saw me, he grabbed the ball, raced over and dropped it at my feet. I picked it up. It was covered in drool!

  I threw the ball and Spike tore off after it.

  When Spike brought the ball back the third time, he got so excited that he stood up on his back legs as he waited for my throw. He even took a few steps backwards. It looked a bit like he was dancing. It was really funny!

  I tried to get him to do it again but he wouldn’t. He just waited till I chucked the ball, then ran after it and settled down to chew on it.

  I wiped my slimed hand on my shorts, then peered around the shed door. Dad was reorganising his shed. He built a new one after a cyclone flattened the old one, and he’s very proud of it. A lot of his gear was outside, stacked in neat little piles around the yard. I thought if I could spot something useful for the school, maybe he’d let me have it.

  I stared at the gear. There were tins of hot-pink paint left over from when Mum made Dad paint her new shed pink! There were also some old rubber tyres, rusty tools, a heap of tarpaulins, car magazines, old work boots and lots of other things. But none of it was stuff the school would want.

  So much for that idea!

  Dad turned around and saw me staring into the shed. ‘Don’t even think about it, Charlie!’ he said.

  ‘Think about what, Dad?’

  ‘Trying to nick your jokes back!’ He picked up my joke box and put it up on a high shelf.

  ‘Look, Dad,’ I said. ‘I’m really sorry about the roach disaster!’

  ‘Say sorry to your mum, Charlie. Not to me!’

  I would. When she woke up from her nap. I wanted Mum to have a wonderful birthday. Especially now that my joke with the roach had ruined her special outing to the coast!

  Spike came running into the shed with the tennis ball still in his mouth. I bent down and picked him up.

  ‘Come on, boy,’ I said. ‘Let’s go to my room.’

  I always think better when Spike is with me. And I had a lot to think about.

  Like how to outsell Tim and his rude galah at the fete. And how to win the mystery prize. And how to give Mum the best birthday of her life!

  I never got a chance to apologise to Mum. She ate dinner in her room and didn’t want to be disturbed. I spent all night trying to think of ways to make things up to her. But no brilliant ideas hit me.

  As if all that wasn’t bad enough, when I went into the kitchen this morning, I only just managed to stop myself from busting out laughing.

  Mum was sitting at the table cuddling Fluffy. She had squeezed one of Dad’s baggy old football socks onto her head to cover up her bald spot. She looked ridiculous!

  Like an idiot, I tried to apologise to her right away, while I was still trying not to laugh. ‘Er, M-Mum …’ I spluttered, ‘I’m really s-sorry …’

  ‘Are you laughing at me, Charlie?’ Mum asked. Her voice was like steel.

  ‘’Course not!’ I said. But a little snigger slipped out.

  Mum shoved back her chair and stormed off to her room with Fluffy draped over her shoulder. The end of the footy sock bobbled at the side of her head with every step.

  Dad was cooking at the stove. ‘This is no laughing matter, son!’ he said.

  I tried not to let any more sniggers come out but I couldn’t help myself.

  Dad frowned and turned back to the frying pan. Then his shoulders started shaking.

  I felt bad. ‘Aw, don’t cry, Dad!’ I said. ‘I’ll make it up to Mum.’

  I went over to the stove and patted him on the shoulder.

  But Dad wasn’t crying. He was laughing his head off!

  He faked a cough and wiped the grin off his face quick smart. ‘Thought a cooked breakfast might cheer your mum up,’ he said, flipping over an egg.

  There wasn’t much chance of that! The egg was burnt at the edges, the bacon was stiff and the tomato was squishy.

  ‘Especially now that things are even worse,’ he added.

  My sisters came in.

  ‘More of Mum’s hair fell out!’ hissed Sharni.

  ‘She had a shower early this morning and extra hair fell out and landed on her foot!’ growled Tia. ‘Her bald patch is even bigger now! And it’s all thanks to you, Fizz-Face!’

  So that’s what Dad meant by things being worse. No wonder Mum had used the footy sock as a hat!

  The girls looked ready to thump me. It was time for a quick getaway.

  I grabbed my bag and dashed for the front door.

  As soon as I got to school, Johnno started going on about how he’d thought of a great idea for our stall. I tried not to get my hopes up. Johnno’s great ideas usually turn out to be trouble.

  Don’t ask him what the idea is, Charlie! I thought.

  But Johnno just stood there grinning, so I had to ask him.

  ‘Another talking animal!’ he said. ‘Only it didn’t work out! Rosy doesn’t have a nice little curved beak like Butch does.’

  Rosy is Johnno’s pet camel. ‘What are you on about?’ I said.

  ‘I couldn’t teach her to say “Bumface”,’ Johnno said sadly.

  Was he for real? Trying to teach a camel to swear was a crazy idea!

  ‘And the only thing I found to sell was another horseshoe,’ Johnno said. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to sell some of those practical jokes? Kids love jokes!’

  I shook my head. Selling anything Granny gave me would be disrespectful. ‘I can’t get to them, anyway,’ I said, ‘Dad’s locked the box in his shed.’

  But Johnno was right. Kids do love jokes.

  Suddenly I had a brainwave. ‘Johnno, we could make our own jokes!’ I said.

  Johnno thought it was a deadly idea.

  ‘It would make things easier if we could remember what was in the joke box,’ I said.

  ‘I remember the fart spray,’ said Johnno. ‘I could fart into a bottle and we could cork it!’

  I cracked up laughing.

  ‘I mean it, Charlie!’

  I knew he meant it. That’s why I was laughing!

  At lunchtime, Mrs Wilson said that if anyone in our class wanted to have a stall on Saturday, we had to sign up with her. Otherwise the teachers wouldn’t know how many trestle tables to put out.

  Tim was the first to sign up. He told Mrs Wilson he was having a nature stall. I guess Butch was the nature part. Tim didn’t say anything to Mrs Wilson about making the bird swear.

  Then our friend, Mark, signed up. His older brother has just moved to Darwin. Mark i
s going to sell the stuff his brother left behind.

  Then it was me and Johnno’s turn.

  ‘What are you selling?’ Mrs Wilson asked us.

  ‘Er, we’re not sure yet,’ I said.

  ‘’Course we’re sure,’ said Johnno.

  ‘We’re selling some wicked jokes!’

  Trust Johnno to blab! What if our idea doesn’t work out?

  Tim was waiting for me and Johnno when we went outside to eat our lunch.

  ‘You’re wasting your time having a stall,’ he said. ‘That mystery prize is mine.’

  Not yet it wasn’t!

  ‘Think about it, Charlie,’ said Tim.

  ‘Not only is my talking galah a moneyspinner, but my dad’s got a lot of gear in his shed. Don’t you think there’ll be something in there the school needs?’

  I was pretty sure there would be. After my Grandpa Ted, Tim’s dad has more junk than anyone in town. But Uncle Joe Slade doesn’t like to part with anything he’s collected. If Tim wants something out of his dad’s shed, he’ll have to steal it.

  Tim must’ve guessed what I was thinking. ‘Even if Dad doesn’t let me have his stuff,’ he said, ‘my bird will be a winner. I’ll be able to chip in more than you!’

  Tim was probably right. But it was Mum’s birthday and I needed that mystery prize. I wasn’t giving up just because Tim had a swearing galah.

  ‘That prize is mine,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Johnno. ‘Charlie is hoping it’s perfume!’

  Tim looked as astonished as I felt. Then he laughed and ran over to where some kids were playing footy. ‘Ay! Guess what, everyone?’ he yelled. ‘Charlie loves girls’ perfume!’

  Everyone stopped playing and laughed at me.

  I glared at Johnno. ‘What did you say that for? Have you gone nuts?’

  ‘P-perfume. For your mum’s birthday,’ he squeaked.

  Now I got it! I had to admit it, Mum would be excited to get perfume. But who said the amazing mystery prize would be perfume? It could be anything at all. And anyway, why did Johnno have to blab like that to Tim? Now I’d get teased for the rest of the day!

  After school, Johnno decided to come to my place. I was still mad at him for turning me into the school joke. But if we didn’t come up with a proper plan for the stall soon, I wouldn’t be able to surprise Mum with something special on her birthday.

  When we got to my place Spike was lying on the kitchen floor, chewing his tennis ball. Dad walked in and said hello to Johnno, then told me to run a bath for Mum.

  ‘The girls bought her some magazines,’ he said. ‘She wants to read them in a relaxing bubble bath.’

  Johnno took Spike to my room and I ran the bath.

  But guess what I found lying on the bathroom floor? An empty plastic bottle of Mum’s favourite jasmine bubble bath! The stuff inside had poured out and soaked into the bath mat.

  I picked up the bottle. It was covered in little holes and tooth marks.

  That old tennis ball wasn’t all that Spike had been chewing!

  I hunted for something else to squirt into the bath. The shampoo was all used up. Dishwashing liquid would work, but Dad would see me sneaking it out of the kitchen. That just left the laundry powder.

  I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around the empty bottle of bubble bath and strolled back through the kitchen.

  ‘Just getting Mum a towel,’ I said.

  ‘Good to see you being considerate, Charlie!’ Dad said.

  Once I was in the laundry, I hid the punctured bottle down the bottom of a bag of junk Mum was throwing out. Then I wrapped the box of laundry powder in a new towel and hurried back to the bathroom.

  I poured nearly half the box into the bath before the laundry powder sudsed up properly. It smelt okay though—like a lemony jasmine smell. I didn’t think Mum would notice the difference.

  When I returned to my room, Spike was whining and sniffing around. Usually that means he wants to poo. I rushed him outside.

  While Spike searched for the right spot (he’s fussy about where he poos!) I tried to think of a joke Johnno and me could make that would be a bestseller. The stink of Spike’s pooey blob jogged my memory. I cleaned up his mess as fast as I could and raced inside the house.

  Back in my bedroom, I said to Johnno, ‘Remember the fake dog poo in my practical joke box?’

  ‘Aw yeah!’ he said. ‘It looked so real I could almost smell it!’

  Not only that, it was the right shape, the perfect size and the best browny colour. Also, there were little pits in the plastic, so it didn’t look too smooth.

  Johnno grinned. ‘It would’ve fooled even me!’

  Johnno isn’t that hard to fool, but I never said anything. After all, he is my best mate.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘Mum’s got lots of plastic wrap in the kitchen and——’

  ‘And,’ Johnno interrupted me, ‘I’ve got lots of camel dung!’

  ‘We can’t use Rosy’s dung to make joke dog poo, Johnno!’ I said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It doesn’t even look like dog poo. And I’m not rolling it into shape with my bare hands!’

  ‘I never thought of that,’ he said.

  I really wonder about my best mate sometimes.

  ‘So what do we use?’ Johnno asked.

  I said we could melt down the giant pack of chocolate bars Dad had hidden from us kids at the back of the freezer and wrap them in plastic.

  Before Johnno could answer, Dad poked his head around my bedroom door.

  ‘Charlie, I’m just popping down to Granny Mary’s place,’ he said. ‘The girls need more material for the birthday present they’re making your mum, so Granny’s letting them go through her craft boxes. Don’t do anything crazy while we’re away, okay? Your mum’s still in the bath.’

  We watched out the window as Dad drove off in the car with my sisters. ‘You beauty!’ I said. ‘Granny’s got heaps of boxes. They’ll be gone for ages. Come on, Johnno. We’ve got work to do!’

  I pulled the chocolate bars out of the freezer and started melting them in the microwave.

  ‘We need to make up as many fake poo parcels as we can while they’re away,’ I said.

  Johnno wasn’t too keen on helping. ‘But these are your dad’s chocolates,’ he said. ‘Won’t he mind us using them?’

  ‘Would your dad let a bar of chocolate come before your mum’s happiness?’

  ‘My dad doesn’t love chocolate the way your dad does!’ said Johnno. Then he smiled. ‘Anyway, this is better than Rosy’s dung, Charlie. We get to lick our fingers!’

  It’s amazing how much fake dog poo you can make in an hour! We even poked holes into each poo with a matchstick so they didn’t look too smooth.

  Johnno got a bit stupid, though. He made a giant dog poo. ‘Big dog, big poo!’ he said. ‘Little dog, little poo. We should make different sizes!’

  ‘Lots of little poos will make us more money than just a couple of big ones,’ I said.

  Johnno agreed to go back to making smaller ones.

  We put the plastic-coated poos in the freezer to set, then shoved them into Johnno’s backpack. I couldn’t take a chance on keeping them at my place. Dad’s really good at sniffing out chocolate so he’d be sure to find the fake poo if we hid it in my room.

  ‘Don’t forget to bring the poo to school on Friday,’ I told Johnno as he left for his place. ‘And make sure your mum lets you sleep over here on Friday night. That way we can get ourselves organised for the fete on Saturday.’

  I felt worn out. It had been a lot of hard work unwrapping the chocolate bars, melting them, moulding them into little blobs, sticking holes in them, freezing them and wrapping them up. And all the while I’d been worried Dad and my sisters would come home and catch us at it.

  But I felt good, too. Mum deserved a happy birthday.

  Sharni and Tia cruised back in from Granny Mary’s carrying a big box of stuff each. I asked the girls what they were making, just to bug them. I
knew they wanted to keep their present a secret.

  ‘Did you hear something?’ said Tia, pretending I wasn’t even there.

  I poked out my tongue at her.

  ‘Oh look,’ said Sharni, pointing to me. ‘It’s Fizz-Face!’

  It looked like that joke was never going to get old. The girls laughed as if they were winners and flounced off to their room.

  I felt so mad I decided to pay them back straight away. I started sneaking down the hallway. My sisters hate it when I spy on them.

  Dad appeared from nowhere and grabbed me by the back of my shirt. ‘I hope you weren’t going to annoy your sisters, Charlie.’

  ‘No, Dad!’ I lied.

  ‘Good! Because your mum told me you haven’t been very nice to them lately!’

  ‘B-but, Dad——’ I spluttered.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You can give me a hand to organise dinner.’

  Rats!

  By the time dinner came around, I was worrying about how Mum’s bath had gone. Had the laundry powder caked on the bottom of the bath? I hoped Mum never noticed it wasn’t the usual stuff.

  Mum came into the kitchen carrying Fluffy.

  That was a bad sign. When Mum’s upset, the cat gets all the cuddles.

  Mum joined the rest of us at the kitchen table. She was still wearing her footy-sock hat, but this time I knew better than to laugh.

  ‘Er, did you have a nice relaxing bubble bath, Mum?’ I said.

  Mum nodded. The footy sock flipped and flopped. I pressed my lips together.

  Then I heard the front door open. Grandpa Ted came charging down the hallway and into the kitchen. At first he just stared at Mum like he couldn’t believe she was wearing a sock on her head.

  Then in a trembling voice, he said, ‘Shirley? Why didn’t you tell me you were losing your hair? It’s not anything serious, is it?’

  ‘Who told you about my hair, Dad?’ Mum choked.

  ‘I called in to pick up some bush medicine off Granny Mary,’ Grandpa said. ‘She told me there was a problem!’