Mr Bambuckle's Remarkables Go Wild Page 2

  She sighed and plunged her grubby hand into the fruit bowl, retrieving a single squashed grape. She plonked it onto the counter. There was a big thumb print pressed into the centre and bits of juice had burst from one end. ‘Beat it,’ she said.

  I snatched the grape and ran.

  Yes, I became somewhat of a playground legend that day. Nobody gets free stuff from Canteen Carol. Well, nobody except Mr Bambuckle, who somehow succeeded in scoring chocolate bars for the entire class. I have no idea how he managed that!

  Some grown-ups are harder to persuade than others, mind you. Mrs Wordsmith may have been a soft target when I was in her kindergarten class, but she has been onto me ever since she realised I had successfully sucked up through the entire first year of school.

  I’ll never forget my very first kindergarten spelling test. Mrs Wordsmith stood at the front of the room and read out the words. ‘Number one – “cat”.’

  ‘Excuse me, Mrs Wordsmith,’ I said, in my sweetest voice.

  ‘Yes, Vinnie?’

  ‘Can you please give us a teeny-weeny clue?’

  Mrs Wordsmith smiled. ‘The first letter is “C”.’

  ‘You are the kindest lady in the whole wide room,’ I said.

  A couple of kids giggled.

  ‘Excuse me again,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, Vinnie?’

  ‘Can you please give us another incy-wincy clue?’

  Mrs Wordsmith was only too pleased to oblige. ‘The next letter is “A”.’

  ‘You are the kindest lady in the whole wide school.’

  Myra Kumar snorted with laughter.

  ‘One last thing,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, Vinnie?’

  ‘Can you please give us just one more itsy-bitsy clue?’

  The teacher chuckled. ‘The last letter is “T”.’

  ‘You are the kindest lady in the whole wide Blue Valley.’

  I managed to adorably extract every single letter of every single word that day. It was all too easy.

  ‘Well done, Vinnie,’ said Mrs Wordsmith, handing back my marked test. ‘You scored ten out of ten.’

  I batted my eyelashes. ‘You’re the best.’

  Yes, sucking up to adults is all too easy.

  Well, most of the time.

  Aunt Agatha is the one grown-up I’ve never been able to crack. No matter what I try, no matter how much I suck up, she doesn’t fall for it. It’s like she has built-in bootlicking sensors.

  She lives in a tiny house with her boyfriend, Ralph. He’s almost ninety years old, but that’s good for Aunt Agatha because she’s almost eighty.

  Sometimes Mum and Dad send my brother, Justin, and me to stay with Aunty Agatha during the school holidays. Ralph doesn’t enjoy the visits because he values his privacy and complains about all the noise we make. I guess that’s what you worry about when you’re old.

  Justin is a pretty decent older brother, but he’s not very good at sucking up. ‘Aunt Agatha, may I please have a slice of your marshmallow pie?’ he asked one day. Mum and Dad had gone on an overseas holiday and we were staying for two weeks.

  The pie sat steaming on the kitchen bench. It smelled like walking into a bakery first thing in the morning. The best part – the top of the pie – was smothered in glorious golden goop – dozens of hot marshmallows.

  ‘No,’ said Aunt Agatha.

  Justin’s head drooped and he trudged back up the squeaky hallway to his room.

  I thought I’d try my luck. ‘Aunt Agatha, may I have a slice of the pie?’

  ‘Not today, Vinnie. I’m taking this one to the bowling club for a special occasion.’

  My mouth was watering like Niagara Falls. ‘Please, may I have a slice?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Pretty please?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Pretty, pretty please?’

  ‘Still no.’

  ‘Pretty, pretty, pretty please with cherries on top?’

  ‘They’re not cherries, they’re marshmallows. Go and get ready to come to the bowling club.’

  I really should have walked away then. Aunt Agatha had made it perfectly clear she didn’t care too much for my apple-polishing. But I was stubborn in my craving for suck-up power, and I desperately wanted a taste of the pie. ‘I’ll be your best friend,’ I wheedled.

  Aunt Agatha responded by placing the marshmallow pie on the top shelf in the kitchen cupboard. ‘No!’

  A tiny spark – a fizz of determination – zipped through my body. I had to have some of that pie and I wasn’t going to stop until I got my way. ‘Okay, lovely Aunt Agatha, I understand.’ I twisted a curl of hair around my little finger. ‘I will obey your every command.’

  Ralph shuffled over to his car – a white vintage Holden sedan – and popped the boot. He loaded it with flowers clipped fresh from the garden. I had to admit, they smelled divine.

  ‘What’s with the roses?’ I asked.

  Ralph huffed. ‘I’m doing something.’

  He didn’t like being interrupted when he was ‘doing something’. Which seemed to be always.

  To amuse myself, I made a game of following him around the house and trying to get his attention. Just for fun. No matter what I asked, it was always the same response.

  ‘Sorry to bother you while you’re watching television. I wondered if –’

  ‘Not now. I’m doing something.’

  ‘May I read that magazine when you’re done?’

  ‘Go away. I’m doing something.’

  ‘May I have the salt shaker after you?’

  ‘Be quiet. I’m doing something.’

  ‘I need to use the bathroom when you’re out.’

  ‘Stop hounding. I’m doing something.’

  That was something I’d rather him not be doing. But that’s beside the point. The point is, I wanted some of the marshmallow pie.

  Ralph returned to the house and wiped his shoes on the doormat. He always did that when he’d been in the garden.

  Justin joined me at the car. ‘It must be Oldies Day at the club or something,’ he said. ‘Aunt Agatha is putting on lipstick.’

  ‘Gross,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing quite like wrinkly red kisses.’

  ‘Don’t make me gag,’ said Justin. He pouted his lips. ‘I’m Aunt Agatha and I’m in love with Ralph. Smoochie, smoochie, smoochie.’

  I cracked up.

  Aunt Agatha walked out to the car. She was carrying the pie. ‘Out of the way, children, I need to put this on the front seat.’

  ‘Here, let me carry it for you,’ I said.

  ‘Thank you, Vinnie, but I don’t need your help.’

  I scooted around to the passenger side and opened the door. ‘But it’s always such a pleasure to be of service,’ I said, with a smile.

  ‘You’re not having any of the pie,’ said Aunt Agatha, twigging onto my ploy. ‘It’s for the special occasion. Besides, I have enough trouble keeping that pesky Cookie Simpson away from my desserts. That man’s sweet tooth is notorious for making cakes and slices disappear in the blink of an eye. I don’t want you to turn into a sweets scavenger like him.’ She brushed past me and placed the pie on the seat.

  ‘What is the special occasion?’ said Justin. ‘You and Ralph have been awfully quiet about it all.’

  Aunt Agatha shook her head. ‘It’s a surprise. You’ll find out when we get there. Now, you kids wait here a few more minutes while Ralph and I get the final things ready.’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Agatha.’

  I peered through the passenger window at the pie on the front seat. The marshmallows were tantalising me with their golden glow. ‘It’s killing me,’ I said. ‘I need that pie.’

  ‘No chance,’ said Justin. ‘You heard Aunt Agatha – it’s for the special occasion.’

  ‘I know how to make her crack,’ I said. ‘She hasn’t seen the best of me yet.’

  I crept down the side of the house to the shed in the backyard. It’s where Ralph keeps his tools and work things – a near-c
entury of workman life wrapped in corrugated tin.

  The shelves and tables were crammed with odds and ends. There were glass jars filled with nails, piles of sandpaper, hammers, drills, wood scraps and ice-cream containers labelled with masking tape. I spotted what I was after and swiped it from the shelf. Aunt Agatha and Ralph would be so pleased with me. They’d have to let me try the pie after this.

  Justin eyed me suspiciously when I returned to the car. ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘It is a special occasion,’ I said. ‘So, I’m going to polish the car for them. They’ll love me for it!’

  The can of polish was easy to open because the lid was on skew-whiff. I’d seen Dad do it before by wedging his nails in the gap. The lid popped off and rattled to the ground.

  ‘It smells more like a new house than car polish,’ said Justin.

  I ignored him, dipped a cloth into the polish and started to rub it all over the white bonnet. It left a purple streak, but I remembered watching Dad polish our car. There were always smears that needed to be rubbed in. So I rubbed harder.

  Justin leaned over the bonnet. ‘Are you sure this is polish?’

  ‘Pretty sure,’ I said, rubbing faster and faster. The bonnet was slowly turning violet.

  ‘Pretty sure?’ said Justin. ‘As opposed to definitely sure?’ He bent down and picked up the tin. ‘VINNIE, STOP!’

  Aunt Agatha and Ralph rushed outside as fast as old people can. Which is actually quite slow. They gave me just enough time to start polishing the side of the car too. Well, both sides. And maybe a bit of the boot. And perhaps a tyre or two. Do you even polish wheels? Well, I gave it a go.

  ‘Stop at once, you wicked child!’ snapped Aunt Agatha.

  ‘I tried to make her stop,’ said Justin. ‘But she wouldn’t listen.’

  The once white car flaunted its patchy purple jacket on the driveway. There were streaks of mauve – some gloopier than others – stained across the front, sides, back and wheels.

  Ralph’s cheeks were blooming patches of red. ‘What have you done to my Holden!?’

  I stared out the window as we pulled up at traffic lights. Justin couldn’t see out of his because it was coated in purple paint.

  ‘In all my years I’ve never seen anything like it,’ fumed Aunt Agatha. She was holding the pie on her lap. ‘And on the day of our special occasion.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I was only trying to help. Truly.’

  ‘You need to learn how to spell,’ said Justin. ‘“Purple” and “polish” are two very different words.’

  ‘They both start with “P”,’ I said. I thought back to all my spelling lessons in kindergarten. Maybe I should have paid more attention to Mrs Wordsmith instead of sucking up for the answers.

  The car continued crawling through traffic on its way to the bowling club. I had messed up. Was I losing my touch? It was an accident.

  We eventually pulled into the bowling club driveway and were met with stares of bewilderment from the other guests and patrons.

  Aunt Agatha’s face softened a little at the sight of her friends. ‘Now, let’s just forget that whole incident. We’re here to celebrate.’

  I hastily unclicked my seatbelt, opened the door and dashed around to the passenger side. ‘Here, let me take the pie for you,’ I said.

  To my surprise, Aunt Agatha let me lift it off her lap. The dense weight of deliciousness almost knocked me over. ‘Wow, it’s heavy,’ I said. ‘May I please try some? It’ll make it lighter to carry.’

  ‘You’re turning into an even bigger dessert vulture than Cookie Simpson,’ said Aunt Agatha. ‘And that’s saying something – he’s a pudding pest!’ She stepped out of the car and relieved me of the pie. ‘The answer is still no.’

  Just before we reached the entrance to the clubhouse, Aunt Agatha turned to face me and Justin. ‘This is a very important event for us, so make sure you behave. I’ve packed you both cheese sandwiches. You are not to touch the pie. Or any of the other food at the club for that matter.’

  ‘I promise I won’t touch any food,’ I said.

  Though I’m not sure I meant it.

  The bowling club was filled with oldies dressed in their Sunday best. There was a live band performing in the corner – also made up of pensioners. It looked like they were playing in slow-motion. I’ve never seen hair grow out of a drummer’s ears faster than he can hit the snare drum.

  The marshmallow pie was the showpiece on a table already overflowing with sweets and cakes. There were slices and shortbreads, muffins and party pies, as well as a thousand caramel donuts. The other guests had gone to a great deal of effort to cater for the occasion.

  ‘I badly want to try some of the pie,’ I said.

  Justin rolled his eyes. ‘Here we go again. Didn’t you learn your lesson with the car? You can’t just have what you want all the time.’

  Ignoring my brother, I walked over to Aunt Agatha. She was dancing with Ralph (in slow-motion) and looked like she was having a good time.

  I tugged on her dress. ‘I just want to say that your dancing is heavenly.’

  Aunt Agatha’s built-in bootlicking sensors were on high alert. She tilted her head as if to say ‘Rack off’.

  ‘Is there anything I can do for you? You know, to help in any way?’

  She frowned. ‘How about buying Ralph a new car?’

  Not a bad idea if I had enough money. Maybe Ralph could hire me to do some odd jobs. I could start by un-polishing his Holden.

  I tapped him on the elbow. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

  Ralph grunted and pulled away from Aunt Agatha. ‘Go away. I’m doing something.’

  Typical. Was it the only excuse he had?

  As fate would have it, Ralph was really doing something this time. I mean, really doing something – something unfathomably huge.

  He got down on one knee – which took such a long time the band got through two and a half more songs – and pulled a small box from his pocket.

  Everyone went silent and formed a ring around the couple. It was as though they had all known this moment was coming.

  ‘You know how much I love you,’ said Ralph, gazing up at Aunt Agatha. ‘Would you do me the honour of marrying me?’

  The crowd erupted into cheers at Aunt Agatha’s enthusiastic nods. The elderly lovers were engaged.

  ‘Mum and Dad are in for a shock when they get home,’ said Justin.

  Aunt Agatha tapped a microphone. ‘Thank you all for joining us,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely to celebrate our engagement at the club. Everyone here means a lot to us. You’re like family.’

  The guests clapped.

  ‘I’m not one for lengthy speeches,’ continued Aunt Agatha. ‘I say it’s time we eat!’ She shot me a fierce look, reminding me my limit was cheese sandwiches.

  Ralph tottered over to the food table and picked up the marshmallow pie, showing it off to the crowd. ‘She’s a clever girl, my Agatha – baked this earlier today.’

  The goodness of the pie was too much and my desire to eat it was too strong. Now was my moment.

  ‘Here, let me help you serve it up,’ I said, skipping over to the food table.

  ‘Vinnie,’ warned Aunt Agatha, ‘we spoke about this.’

  ‘Don’t do it,’ said Justin.

  ‘Let me help,’ I said to Ralph.

  ‘Not now. I’m doing something.’

  ‘You’re always doing something,’ I said. ‘Let me take the pie.’

  ‘Get nicked.’

  ‘Please?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Pretty please?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll be your best friend.’

  ‘NO!’

  I grabbed the edge of the plate the pie was on. ‘Just. Let. Me. Take. It.’

  Ralph was strong for an almost-ninety-year-old. He wrestled it out of my hands. ‘Buzz off. I’m doing something.’

  Then another pair of hands latched onto the plate, tugging it out of Ralp
h’s grasp. ‘The pie is mine!’

  An old man – dressed in suspenders, short shorts and high socks – gripped the plate so tightly his bony knuckles went as white as his wispy hair.

  ‘Who are you?’ I said.

  ‘Cookie Simpson,’ he cackled. ‘And this pie is mine!’

  Ralph grabbed hold of the plate and pulled it hard towards him.

  Cookie didn’t let go, yanking it back.

  The old men wrestled and wrangled and heaved and hauled. Neither of them were going to let go of the pie.

  ‘Hands off!’ yelled Ralph.

  ‘I will not surrender!’ bellowed Cookie.

  The plate began to tilt towards the floor.

  Ralph mustered all his strength and gave an enormous tug. Cookie’s hands slipped from the plate and he crashed backwards into the table, catapulting desserts across the room. They flew over the heads of the guests like sugary cannon salutes, landing with loud plops on the floor.

  ‘Fiddlesticks!’ Ralph stumbled sideways into me. He flung out an arm and grabbed my shoulder to steady himself, losing control of the precious plate. The pie did a triple backflip – almost in slow-motion – and tumbled to the floor.

  ‘Nooooo!’ I called, diving forward with both arms outstretched.

  I managed to catch the plate inches from the ground, my elbows burning as I slid across the carpet.

  Silence.

  Aunt Agatha was mortified. She raced over to check on Ralph and glared at Cookie, who was by now looking a little sheepish, even if he was busy drooling over the spilt desserts on the floor.

  The pie felt warm in my hands. The marshmallows on top had somehow stayed perfectly intact. I could reach out and take a bite if I wanted. Nobody could stop me.

  But could I stop myself?

  A pleasant feeling washed over me like melted butter on toast as the thought sunk in. I could stop myself.

  I stood up and carefully passed the pie to Aunt Agatha. ‘Congratulations on your engagement to Ralph,’ I said quietly. ‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy the pie.’

  Aunt Agatha’s face turned as soft as a marshmallow. ‘Thank you, Vinnie,’ she said. ‘You have shown enormous discipline to give it back.’