Charlie Burr and the Cockroach Disaster Page 3

  Poor Grandpa, he looked really upset.

  Mum whipped off the footy sock. ‘For goodness sake, Dad!’ she said. ‘It’s just one little patch.’

  It was a little patch the size of an orange! And it was right at the front, where everyone could see.

  ‘Crikey!’ said Grandpa. ‘Be a while before that grows back.’

  Mum grabbed Fluffy, jumped up from the table and headed for her bedroom.

  ‘What did I say?’ said Grandpa.

  Grandpa stayed and had dinner with us. After the girls had finished eating, they went to check on Mum. Dad told Grandpa the truth about where Mum’s bald spot came from.

  Grandpa shook his head. ‘You’re like your father, Charlie! When he was young, he was always mucking up!’

  Dad pretended he hadn’t heard what Grandpa said.

  When Grandpa left, I followed him out to his ute. If the chocolate fake poo didn’t sell as well as I hoped, I’d need something beside three dollars to donate to the school. And Grandpa has the biggest shed in town.

  ‘Grandpa,’ I said, ‘you know it’s the school fete on Saturday …’

  ‘Yep,’ he said. ‘I’m helping the teachers get organised before I go to Darwin on Friday.’

  ‘My teacher reckons there’s a lot of stuff the school needs,’ I said.

  Grandpa nodded. ‘More money from the government for a start. Reckon they think everyone lives in the city! That’s why the bush doesn’t get any money.’

  ‘Maybe there’s something in your shed I could give to the school?’ I said.

  But Grandpa was no help. ‘There’s only gear an old bushman like me would appreciate in there, Charlie,’ he said.

  Grandpa is worse than Uncle Joe Slade when it comes to parting with his gear. So much for that idea!

  When I went back inside the house, Dad made me clean up the kitchen all by myself. As if peeling the potatoes hadn’t been enough work!

  While I was slaving away, Dad took a cup of tea and a cream biscuit to Mum to cheer her up. But when he returned, he started hunting through our medicine box. ‘Have you seen the calamine lotion, Charlie? Your mum’s come out in a rash.’

  I had a horrible sinking feeling.

  ‘Maybe it’s in the bathroom,’ Dad said, dashing off.

  He came back with the laundry powder. ‘I found this shoved inside the bathroom cabinet. Charlie, tell me you didn’t …’

  ‘Aw, crumbs, Dad!’ I said. ‘The bubble bath had run out and I didn’t want Mum to be disappointed.’

  I didn’t tell him it had run out because of Spike.

  Dad sighed. ‘It’ll upset your mum if she finds out, so we’ll keep this between you and me. But jeez, son, can you start using your brains?’

  I thought I had! Just for once—just once—why couldn’t things go right for me?

  Last night I stayed up super late making advertising fliers for our fake dog poo sale. If Tim could do a flier, then so could I!

  DO YOU LOVE JOKES?

  ON SATURDAY

  GET ONE

  PAY UP

  OR BE SORRY

  ONLY 50 CENTS EACH!

  I got up at sunrise to make more fliers. By the time I ran out of paper, I felt really tired. I decided to skip breakfast and get going early. I wanted to give the fliers out before school started.

  Johnno was at school early, too. He looked miserable.

  ‘You okay, Johnno?’ I asked.

  Johnno nodded and rubbed his guts.

  ‘You crook?’ I said.

  ‘I don’t know how to tell you this, Charlie,’ he whined. ‘But Rosy …’

  There were tears in his eyes!

  I was worried. ‘Has something happened to Rosy?’ I said.

  ‘In the middle of the night she gave a lonely call,’ he replied, ‘so I went out to see her …’

  Johnno is always sneaking out to see Rosy. He’d sleep in her yard if his mum would let him.

  ‘Rosy always cheers up when I show her things,’ Johnno went on. ‘So I took the bag of chocolate fake poo with me. She thought the bag was a toy, like her big ball. She grabbed it off me.’

  I felt sick. ‘Then what, Johnno?’ I said. ‘Don’t tell me something’s happened to the poo!’

  ‘It all happened before I could stop her, Charlie!’ he wailed. ‘Rosy kicked the little poos around in the dark! They’re gone, mate!’

  ‘You ate them, didn’t you?’ I yelled. ‘That’s why you’re rubbing your stomach!’

  Johnno didn’t say anything. But he looked incredibly guilty.

  ‘Do you think I’m stupid, or what?’ I said. ‘Rosy might have mashed some of the poo, but you gutsed the rest!’

  ‘We couldn’t have sold them!’ he blurted out. ‘After Rosy split the bag, the plastic wrap got really dirty!’

  So much for all the fliers I’d made! I opened my mouth to tell Johnno what a greedy idiot he was, but then Tim came over with Butch in his cage.

  ‘I taught him a new trick last night,’ Tim bragged, putting the cage on the ground. He poked his finger into the cage and wiggled it back and forth, chanting, ‘Dance, Butch! Dance!’

  The bird’s head swayed from side to side as he moved along his perch. He really did look like he was dancing! But suddenly he stopped, spun around on his perch and dropped a poo right on Tim’s finger.

  I cracked up laughing.

  Tim whipped his finger out and flicked the poo at me and Johnno. ‘That’s the only prize you two losers are going to get!’ he said and walked off.

  I hated to admit it, but Tim was probably right. What could beat a talking, dancing bird? Besides, our fake dog poo was all gone! Winning the mystery prize for Mum seemed almost impossible now.

  In class, Mrs Wilson wasn’t happy. The raffle tickets weren’t selling. I think everyone was sick of the same old canned goods every year.

  ‘It would be good,’ said Mrs Wilson, ‘if each family could buy just one ticket. All the money raised will be going to make the school a better place. If anyone wants to buy a raffle ticket, you can come and see me at morning break, lunchtime, or afternoon break.’

  The raffle tickets were only a dollar. If the prize was different, I might have bought a ticket. But I didn’t think canned goods would be a very exciting birthday present for Mum.

  Then Mrs Wilson asked Tim to come out the front and tell our class about the new pet of the week—Butch.

  ‘Galahs are clever,’ said Tim, holding up the cage. ‘This one can talk, dance and whistle.’

  ‘Crumbs,’ whispered Johnno. ‘Butch can whistle, too!’

  My hopes of winning the mystery prize sank even further.

  ‘I don’t know how old he is,’ Tim went on, ‘but Mrs Wilson reckons a galah can live for twenty-five years.’

  ‘Thank you, Timothy,’ said Mrs Wilson. ‘You can put Butch over on the side bench.’

  Julie Willis, Tim’s cousin, put up her hand. ‘I’ve brought a pet too, Mrs Wilson,’ she said.

  Tim put Butch’s cage down on the bench and glared at her. Julie and Tim were always fighting about something.

  ‘You know the class rules, Julie,’ said Mrs Wilson. ‘One pet for each week.’

  ‘But it’s only tiny,’ said Julie, holding up a matchbox with air holes punched in the top. ‘And I want to find out what it is.’

  Mrs Wilson likes it when we want to find things out. She said Julie could show her pet to the class after all.

  Julie passed the matchbox around. ‘I found him under a bush,’ she said. ‘He’s an insect, but I don’t know what kind exactly.’

  The insect was dull and brown, and it hardly moved. No one knew what it was.

  Mrs Wilson said she’d try and find a book with a picture of the insect in it. Then she asked Julie to put her pet on the side bench.

  Julie put the open matchbox next to Butch’s cage.

  ‘Chi! Chi!’ said Butch, dropping from his perch. He poked his beak through the bars and ate Julie’s pet right out of the matchbox.r />
  Julie screamed and burst into tears.

  ‘Yum, yum!’ said Butch.

  Everyone cracked up laughing except Johnno. ‘Bugs have feelings, too!’ he said. ‘And what about poor Butch? He must be starving! If he was free, he could eat whenever he liked.’

  Never mind worrying about the bug and the bird! Johnno should be trying to make things up to me—his best mate. After all, he was the one who ate all our fake poo!

  By lunchtime I’d cooled down a bit. I couldn’t stay mad at Johnno forever. Not when I needed his help.

  ‘I know I shouldn’t have eaten the fake poo,’ Johnno said, when we were having our lunch. ‘But I didn’t think the leftovers were any good to sell.’

  Yeah, right!

  ‘Why don’t we get together and make some more tonight, Charlie?’ he asked.

  ‘We used all the chocolate bars, remember?’

  ‘Oh yeah!’ Johnno said. He looked super miserable.

  ‘Look,’ I said, ‘if we can come up with a new plan for the stall, we still have a chance at beating Tim and winning the prize for Mum. But what if we can’t think of anything? How will I make it up to Mum for ruining her birthday then?’

  ‘You could offer to do the housework for the rest of the year,’ Johnno suggested.

  I couldn’t believe he even thought that thought. Why should I punish myself when everything that had happened was an accident?

  ‘Got any other ideas?’ I said.

  He shrugged. ‘My dad was in my mum’s birthday bad books once. Mum wanted a bracelet, but Dad gave her a saucepan. To make up for it, he cooked her a yummy dinner. But you can’t cook, Charlie!’

  My brain fizzed with a wicked idea. ‘I can cook burgers,’ I said.

  But burger patties weren’t cheap. And I only had three bucks in my saving sock. Also I needed to save a dollar so I could try and buy something useful at the fete to give to the school. How many burgers could I buy for two dollars? I wondered.

  At least there was plenty of bread and tomato sauce in the kitchen. So that part of the meal was free.

  I felt pleased with my new plan. I hadn’t given up on winning the amazing mystery prize yet!

  When I got home after school I ducked straight down the side of the house to get some money from my saving sock. My sisters are always after my cash and I didn’t want them seeing where my secret hiding place was, so I had to crawl past their bedroom window. It’s in an old bird’s nest in the gum tree behind Dad’s shed.

  ‘Come on, boy,’ I said to Spike, as I took two of my three bucks out of my sock. ‘We’re off to buy some burger patties.’

  Spike licked his lips. He loves burgers.

  Boy, was I in luck! Burger patties were on special. I got a packet of four fat ones for a dollar-fifty, so I even saved myself fifty cents.

  But walking home from school and then walking back into town had made me really hot. I tucked my t-shirt tightly into my shorts, then pulled out the neck of my top, and dropped the cold patties down against the bare skin of my chest.

  Brrrr! It felt lovely and cool. Things were going right at last.

  But my happiness fizzled out fast when I got home and went into the kitchen.

  ‘There he is!’ Tia said.

  ‘The idiot returns!’ said Sharni.

  Crikey, what had I done now?

  Then I noticed Mum sitting at the kitchen table. Raised lumpy bumps the size of five-cent coins were dotted all over her face, arms and legs. Worse still, she was holding the punctured bottle of jasmine bubble bath!

  I quickly glanced at Dad. Had he told her about the laundry powder? I wondered.

  ‘Charlie,’ Mum snapped angrily, ‘exactly whassh did you put in my barrth?’

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Dad hadn’t dobbed on me! But why was Mum slurring her words? Whassh? Barrth?

  ‘You tell him, Mum!’ said Sharni.

  ‘Give it to him!’ said Tia.

  The girls must have noticed Mum was speaking funny. I think they were trying to be kind to her by pretending they hadn’t.

  Why can’t Tia and Sharni mind their own business? I thought. When Mum’s birthday week is over, I’m going to make more chocolate poo and stick it in their beds.

  Actually, no! I’d borrow Mum’s plastic gloves and make camel dung nuggets instead!

  ‘I’m sshwaiting, Charlie!’ Mum said, flicking back the toe of her footy-sock hat. Sshwaiting?

  Dad looked at Mum anxiously. ‘I think the tablets I got from the Nursing Post for your rash might be a bit strong, Shirl!’

  Mum nodded. ‘I’m sshtill wery itshy!’ she said, scratching her neck. ‘And my tongue feelsh funny!’

  Mum was getting weirder every day!

  ‘I only added a pinch of laundry powder to the bubble bath!’ I said. That sounded better than telling her I’d tipped half a packet directly into the tub. ‘I’m really sorry, Mum!’

  But Mum wasn’t listening. ‘Got to sshlie down,’ she said.

  Dad supported her as she wobbled off towards their bedroom.

  ‘Laundry powder?’ said Sharni. ‘What do you think Mum is, Charlie—a footy jumper?’

  I took a deep breath and tried to ignore her.

  ‘Come on, Sharni,’ said Tia. ‘Let’s work on Mum’s present. It’s probably the only one she’ll get!’

  That was when I lost it. I was sick of the girls putting me down. Angrily, I whipped the burger patties out from under my t-shirt.

  ‘Wrong!’ I said, shoving the patties in their faces. ‘I’m going to make Mum a lovely dinner.’

  Tia snorted in disgust. ‘Urgh! They stink!’

  Sharni snatched the patties and stared at them before chucking them back to me. ‘Those pongy old burgers are way past their use-by date,’ she said. ‘Do you want to poison Mum, too?’

  The girls laughed themselves silly and walked off to their room.

  I inspected the patties. Sharni was right! No wonder they were so cheap.

  When Dad returned, I was still staring in disappointment at the burgers.

  ‘I want you to know, Dad,’ I said, ‘that I was going to make Mum really happy on her birthday by cooking her a special dinner.’

  Dad sniffed. ‘I wouldn’t serve her those, son!’ he said. ‘They smell!’

  I chucked the patties in the bin.

  Dad stroked the stubble on his chin with one hand. ‘A dinner, ay?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I sighed. ‘That’s what Uncle Mick did for Aunty June when he was in her birthday bad books. Unc gave Aunty a saucepan for her birthday but Aunty wanted a bracelet.’

  Dad went all quiet.

  ‘You didn’t buy Mum a saucepan, did you, Dad?’

  ‘Frying pan,’ he grunted. ‘I’ll have to get her something else. She really needs cheering up. A surprise dinner’s a brilliant idea, son. Reckon I could whip up a magnificent home-cooked meal if I put some thought into it!’

  But the dinner was my idea! I hadn’t given up on it yet. Johnno might have some spare burgers at his house.

  ‘I can picture it now,’ Dad said. ‘Moonlight. Good food. Waiters.’

  Waiters? What was Dad talking about?

  ‘We’ll have it out under the stars. Your mum likes stars. Don’t make any plans for Friday night, Charlie. That way you and me will be free to put things into action.’

  ‘Like what, Dad?’

  ‘You have to learn how to be a waiter, boy! Invite Johnno to stay for the weekend, too. You can serve the food and Johnno can serve the drinks. After all, we want the birthday dinner to be perfect, don’t we?’

  But Johnno and me still had to come up with a new idea for our stall. And whatever that idea was, we’d need all of Friday night to sort it out!

  I went to bed that night wondering how things could possibly get any worse.

  Guess what Johnno brought to school? Camel poo!

  ‘We might’ve run out of chocolate, mate,’ he said, ‘but Rosy’s given us plenty of dung!’

  Oh, crumbs! Not
the camel-dung-fake-dog-poo idea again.

  ‘Dung is usually dry,’ Johnno went on. ‘But Rosy has an upset stomach, so this lot is nice and squishy. It’ll be easy to roll into fake dog poo.’

  My best mate just didn’t get it.

  ‘But it wouldn’t be fake poo, would it, Johnno?’ I said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s real poo from a real animal. Just not a dog!’

  Johnno said he didn’t think it would matter.

  I told him Mrs Wilson wouldn’t let us have a stall with real poo on it. And that no one would be stupid enough to pay us for camel poo anyway.

  Johnno looked disappointed. ‘What am I going to do with the dung, Charlie?’

  ‘Hide it!’ I said. ‘If Mrs Wilson sniffs it out, we’ll be in big trouble!’

  Johnno groaned. ‘I don’t want to carry it back home. It’s too heavy!’

  Johnno lives out of town, so it’s a long walk to his place.

  ‘Did you wrap the dung in plastic before you shoved it in your bag?’

  I asked.

  He nodded.

  ‘Then I guess we could move it to my bag at lunchtime,’ I said. ‘After I’ve eaten my lunch!’ I thought I could give it to Grandpa Ted for his vegetable garden. He’s always looking for free fertiliser.

  Johnno cheered up a bit. But then his face fell again.

  ‘Charlie,’ he whined, ‘can I share your sandwich at lunchtime? There was too much dung in my backpack to squeeze my lunchbox in.’

  I couldn’t believe he’d even tried!

  At morning break Tim was walking around with the galah in his cage. He said he was giving Butch some fresh air but I reckoned he was drumming up business for his stall on Saturday.

  ‘Butch doesn’t need fresh air inside his cage,’ Johnno muttered to me. ‘He just needs to be allowed to fly around.’

  Lots of kids gathered around Tim, waiting for Butch to talk. The bird didn’t seem that interested. But when he put his head on one side and started whistling the Australian national anthem, everyone was amazed.