‘I am.’ Mr Archer’s cheeks glowed red like traffic lights.
‘You wouldn’t know romance if it bit you on both ankles. I’m disappointed in you, Leonard. Very disappointed. Excuse me.’ And with that Miss Jute swept past Mr Archer, her nose almost bumping off the ceiling.
Behind him, Mr Archer could hear his class roaring with laughter. He walked back into his classroom. Instant silence.
‘That’s better. And let’s just keep it that way,’ he snapped.
‘What would you like me to do, Mr Archer. I read, I write, I sing, I play the piano, I play hopscotch. Just put me to good use.’ Aunt Dottie smiled.
‘You play the piano?’
‘That’s right. Ben and Steve will tell you. I was playing for them only last night.’
‘Well, in that case,’ began Mr Archer, ‘I wonder if I might ask you for a favour. Could you play the piano and sing for us in our assembly this afternoon?’
‘Oh, no!’ the hushed words tumbled out of Ben’s mouth.
‘It’s just that Mr Clancy, who usually plays the piano, is off sick this week,’ Mr Archer continued.
‘She can’t. You can’t, can you, Aunt Dottie? You’ve lost your voice,’ Ben tried.
‘No, I haven’t. Here it is! La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la!’
‘But you can’t play the piano because . . . because you trapped your fingers in the fridge door last night and now they’re really hurting.’
‘No, they’re not. They’re fine. See!’ Aunt Dottie linked her fingers together and then stretched them out, making the bones crack. Mr Archer winced. ‘Mr Archer, I’d love to do it. Just tell me what, where and when.’
‘But, Aunt Dottie—’
Mr Archer had had enough. ‘Ben, d’you mind? Besides, this is none of your business.’
‘But, sir—’
‘I said that’s enough.’
And Ben knew better than to keep arguing. He listened, dismayed, as Mr Archer directed Aunt Dottie to the hall so that she could practise on the piano there.
‘Ben,’ Steve said urgently.
‘I know! I know!’ Ben hissed back. It was bad enough when Aunt Dottie made a fool of him, but he couldn’t sit back and watch her make a fool of herself – he just couldn’t. What was he going to do?
Chapter Thirteen
From Bad To Worse
AT BREAK TIME, Steve and Ben went to see Mrs Torin, the school nurse. Ben knocked on the door and she opened it, a cup of tea in her hand.
‘Mrs Torin, could you do something about this swi— thing on my head?’ Ben asked.
‘It . . . it looks like a switch!’ Mrs Torin frowned.
‘No. It’s just a funny spot,’ Ben said.
‘Hhmm! It’s the funniest spot I’ve ever seen. Well, come in then. I’ll see what I can do.’
Both Steve and Ben tried to walk inside the room.
‘Steve, where d’you think you’re going?’ asked Mrs Torin. ‘You can wait for Ben outside.’ She firmly shut the door in his face and took Ben over towards the light, reaching out a hand to touch the switch.
‘Oh, please don’t touch it. It’s . . . it’s very sore,’ Ben said quickly.
‘OK. I’ll put a plaster on it,’ said Mrs Torin.
Ben watched as she tore off a strip of pink plaster. ‘Could you be very careful not to touch it please?’
With great care, Mrs Torin applied the plaster, pressing down hard on either side to get it to stick. Ben turned to look at himself in the wall mirror.
‘The plaster is really noticeable.’ Ben frowned. ‘It’s almost as bad as the switch . . . I mean, spot. Don’t you have any brown plasters?’
Mrs Torin shook her head. ‘No. Sorry!’
‘I guess it’ll have to do.’ Ben sighed. One side of the plaster was already beginning to peel off.
‘Here. Let me,’ said Mrs Torin.
Before Ben could stop her, she pressed the plaster back on to Ben’s forehead. Unfortunately, she pressed the switch at the same time. Ben was ‘off’!
‘There you go.’ Mrs Torin smiled.
Ben didn’t reply. He stood still, staring at Mrs Torin.
‘Ben, are you all right?’
Ben didn’t answer.
‘Ben?’ Mrs Torin put a worried hand on Ben’s shoulder and gave him a shake. Ben keeled over backwards like a felled tree.
The door flew open.
‘What was that crash?’ Steve stood in the doorway, staring down at Ben. ‘Not again!’
‘Steve, quick! Run to the staff room and tell them to phone for an ambulance. Ben’s had an allergic reaction to the plaster I put on his forehead.’
Steve stared at Ben, who was lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.
‘Steve, move!’ Mrs Torin urged.
‘No, I . . . I . . .You don’t understand.’
‘Look! Stay with him. I’ll do it.’ Mrs Torin raced down the corridor.
Steve didn’t waste a moment. He ran into the room and ripped the plaster off Ben’s forehead. Then he pressed the switch. Puzzled, Ben sat up.
‘What am I doing on the . . .’ Ben’s hand flew to the back of his head. ‘Ow! That hurts.’ His hand moved to his sore forehead. ‘Ouch! So does this!’
‘Quick! Stand up! Come on.’
Ben scrambled to his feet. ‘What’s the matter?’
Steve explained as he and Ben raced down the corridor. They managed to catch up with Mrs Torin about five metres away from the staff room.
‘Mrs Torin, it’s OK – see? Ben’s fine,’ Steve called out.
Mrs Torin stared. ‘Ben? You were out cold. You . . .’
‘No, I’m fine. Honest.’
‘We’ve got to go out, miss, or we’ll miss our break time,’ Steve said quickly.
‘Bye.’
And Mrs Torin could only watch bemused as Ben and Steve dashed off.
Well, at least Ben could put a plaster over his switch, so that was one weight off his mind, but something else a lot more pressing had taken its place. Aunt Dottie! He had to come up with a way – and fast – to stop her singing.
‘Whizziwig, about Aunt Dottie . . .’ Ben removed his bag from his shoulder and opened it ‘I don’t suppose—’
‘Don’t even think about it!’ Whizziwig sniffed. ‘I didn’t come all the way to this planet to stop you getting embarrassed.’
‘I was only asking!’ Ben told her. ‘There’s no need to bite my head clean off my neck!’
Steve and Ben walked along the corridor, deep in thought.
‘We’ve got about two minutes left of our break time – if we’re lucky,’ Steve grumbled as they passed their classroom.
Ben happened to glance in, then he stopped short. ‘Look! Who’s that in our classroom? That’s Trump, isn’t it?’
Ben opened the door. Trump turned around. He had GUILTY written all over his face.
‘What’re you doing in here, Trump? This is our classroom, not yours.’ Steve frowned.
‘I was looking for something.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ Ben raised his eyebrows.
‘Yeah! And I’ve found it now, so I’m off.’
Ben and Steve stepped aside as Trump pushed past them and sauntered down the corridor. They exchanged a look before following him out of the room. Why had he been in their classroom? Just what had he been up to? At that moment the buzzer sounded.
‘So much for our break time,’ said Ben, and sighed.
They sat down at their table. For once they were going to be the first ones rather than the last to arrive back from break. But the mood Mr Archer was in, he’d still probably find a reason to have a go at them.
Chapter Fourteen
Inspiring
MR ARCHER WAS the last one to enter the classroom and, from the thunderous expression on his face, he hadn’t mellowed out one iota.
‘I didn’t want any nonsense this morning and I don’t want any now either,’ Mr Archer snapped.
‘Good grief!’ whispered Steve. ‘I wish he
’d chill out a bit.’
Mr Archer visibly shivered and picked up his jacket, which was hanging over the back of his chair. He put it on and pulled it tightly around himself.
‘Charlotte, could you shut the windows please? It’s freezing in here.’
Charlotte gasped. ‘But, sir, it’s not. It’s baking. It’s fifty million degrees in here.’
Mr Archer pointed at the two open windows. ‘Charlotte, if you don’t mind.’ And his tone made it very clear that even if she did mind, he wanted the windows closed. Everyone groaned. Charlotte stood up and did as she was told. A few brave ones in the class started to fan themselves to make the point. Ben and Steve bent under their table. Whizziwig grinned up at them from Ben’s bag.
‘Whizziwig, that’s not what Steve meant,’ Ben hissed.
‘I just wanted Mr Archer to stop snapping and being so miserable. I didn’t want him to be chilly,’ Steve explained.
‘That’s not what you said,’ Whizziwig pointed out.
‘That’s what I meant,’ Steve whispered crossly.
‘Well, its too late now,’ Whizziwig said.
‘But with the windows shut, this room will turn into a sauna,’ Ben protested.
Mr Archer’s head appeared under the table. Ben only just had time to shut his bag.
‘Is this a private under-the-table conversation or can anyone join in?’ drawled Mr Archer.
Immediately, Ben and Steve tried to sit up. They both banged their heads on the underside of the table. Mr Archer came out from under the table first, followed by Ben and Steve, who were rubbing the backs of their heads.
‘Now, if you could all take out your Poetry Today books and turn to page twelve,’ said Mr Archer.
‘This would be a good time to use the ON/OFF switch!’ Ben whispered.
Steve could only nod his agreement.
‘Charlotte, could you read please?’ Mr Archer pulled his jacket tightly around his chest as he spoke.
Charlotte stood up. ‘Fear no more the heat o’ the sun. Nor the furious winter’s rages. Thou thy worldly task hast done. Home art gone and ta’en thy wages.’
‘Thank you, Charlotte.’ Mr Archer sighed. ‘Isn’t that beautiful language?’
Mr Archer didn’t seem to notice the few in the class who shook their heads!
‘Oh, yes, sir,’ Charlotte enthused. ‘I wish we all spoke like that! It’s so romantic. So inspiring!’
Ben and Steve stared in horror at each other. Ben Could only pray that Whizziwig had shut down to recharge her primary energy.
‘Indeed, Charlotte! Verily, thou speak the truth,’ said Mr Archer.
‘I thank thee, sir,’ Charlotte replied.
Ben ducked under the table. ‘Gadzooks, Whizziwig! What hast thou done, thou meddlesome hover ball?’
‘Only what Charlotte wished for.’ Whizziwig grinned. ‘Really, there’s no stopping me today!’
That’s the trouble, Ben thought.
Chapter Fifteen
Overheard
SURPRISINGLY ENOUGH, THE rest of the lesson went really well. Ben could only suppose that somehow the way they were all speaking had cheered Mr Archer up. By the time the buzzer sounded, their teacher almost had a smile on his face. Almost!
While Mr Archer and the others trooped out of the room, Ben gathered up his things, wondering what his mum and dad were going to make of the strange way he was speaking. They’d probably think it was wonderful too! He noticed that Charlotte was busy searching in her bag for something that was obviously being very elusive.
‘Mistress Charlotte, what misfortune furrows thy brow?’ Ben asked.
‘’Tis indeed strange, but this very morning did I purchase some vanilla bonbons and now I find them as absent as Mr Archer’s sense of humour.’
Steve and Ben looked at each other. They were thinking the same thing.
‘Absent? For truth?’ asked Steve.
‘Missing,’ Charlotte confirmed.
‘As if by vanilla-scented sticky fingers?’ asked Steve.
‘Quite so.’ Charlotte nodded.
‘I would wager we know the villain,’ Ben said to Steve.
Nodding to each other, they stood up and left the classroom. Trump wasn’t going to get away with it! Ben and Steve made their way out into the school grounds. As they looked around, their expressions grim, they saw Trump coming round a corner from the outside boys’ toilets. He held a bag of sweets in his hands and, as they watched, popped one into his mouth.
‘Aha! I do spy him.’ Ben pointed.
‘Let’s have at him,’ said Steve.
They ran over to Trump. The only thing Ben had in his mind was rescuing Charlotte’s sweets.
‘Are not those the confections of the lady who even now bewails their loss?’ asked Steve.
‘Indeed, I do believe they are the very same,’ Ben said with disgust. ‘And this dog’s bum did help himself to them. You cur! You knave! You saucy fellow!’
‘You what?’ said Trump.
‘Those are Charlotte’s bonbons, are they not?’ Ben said sternly.
‘It would appear so. They are most vanilla in hue.’ Steve prodded Trump in the shoulder. ‘You, sir, are a gorbellied rogue!’
‘You what?’ said Trump.
‘Verily, I shall relieve thee of them at once.’ Ben snatched back the bag of bonbons.
‘And be grateful we don’t render upon thee the duffing thou so richly deserve.’ Steve told him.
And with that, Ben and Steve marched off with a musketeer-ish swagger.
‘You what?’ Trump called after them, totally baffled.
Ben was fed up. Lunch time was ticking away and he still hadn’t found Charlotte to give her back her bonbons. Just as he and Steve were about to pass the assembly hall, they heard a horrible noise – like a cat in agony. Ben opened the door. Aunt Dottie was singing. Wincing, Ben closed the door again. He didn’t see Aunt Dottie glance up and catch sight of him, just at that moment.
Ben walked away from the assembly hall even more dejected than before.
He and Steve were turning the corner to go to the canteen for their lunch when Ben suddenly leaned back against the wall.
‘Woe is me. I am undone!’ he wailed.
Steve glanced down at his friend’s trousers. ‘No. Thy flies are intact!’
‘Not my flies, dolt! My reputation. My good name. My character.’
‘Prithee, what’re you on about?’ Steve frowned.
‘You grasp not my meaning?’
Steve shook his head.
‘Then I will say it plain. If a crow with laryngitis is a singer, then my aunt is a singer. If a shovel dragged across a gravel floor makes a singer, then my aunt is indeed a singer. She cannot sing, my friend. I love my auntie dear, but her singing doth suck!’
‘So what will you do?’ asked Steve.
Ben shrugged. ‘There is nothing I can do. Aunt Dottie has been asked to sing and sing she will.’
‘Come.’ Steve put his arm around Ben’s shoulder. ‘We cannot find Charlotte and lunch time will soon be over. Let us dine on the swill they call school dinners.’
‘That’s right! Cheer me up!’
Ben and Steve carried on walking down the corridor. But just around the corner from them stood Aunt Dottie. And she’d heard every word.
Chapter Sixteen
The Proposal
‘I DON’T WANT to go to lunch with you,’ Whizziwig protested from inside Ben’s bag. ‘I want to recharge my primary energy and I don’t want to be bumped about on your back while I do it.’
‘I hear thee!’ Ben told her. ‘Keep thy fur on!’
Ben and Steve headed back to their classroom. Ben put his bag, with Whizziwig in it, under his table.
‘I’ll see thee anon, Whizziwig. After my repast,’ said Ben.
‘Can you say that in English please?’ asked Whizziwig.
‘I’ll see thee later, after lunch,’ said Ben, fighting to get the modern words out.
‘Oh, OK!
’ Whizziwig ducked down under Ben’s table and closed her eyes.
Ben and Steve left the room. Seconds later the classroom door opened again. Annoyed, Whizziwig opened her eyes.
How am I meant to recharge my primary energy with Ben and Steve constantly interrupting me? Whizziwig thought crossly. She floated out from beneath the table, ready to give them a piece of her mind. Only it wasn’t Ben and Steve – it was Aunt Dottie. Whizziwig ducked straight back down under the table – and only just in time. Aunt Dottie flopped into Mr Archer’s chair to get her handbag out of his bottom drawer.
‘Are my piano playing and singing really that bad?’ Aunt Dottie asked herself. ‘I guess they must be if Ben says so. How am I going to get out of this? I’ll just have to tell Mr Archer . . . But I said I’d do it. I’m sorry now I opened my mouth. I wish I could play the piano properly, so Ben won’t be ashamed of me.’
Whizziwig’s eyes sparkled. The wish was granted.
‘And I thought my singing was good.’ Aunt Dottie sighed. ‘Not exactly Beyoncé – but close!’
Aunt Dottie got up and headed for the staff room. Try as she might, she just couldn’t figure out a way to tell Mr Archer that she wouldn’t be able to play or sing any more. She slunk into the staff room and chose the remotest corner so that she could sit by herself and think.
*
Mr Archer was in the staff room, pretending to read a newspaper. When Miss Jute went to make herself a cup of tea, he sprang up and followed her.
‘Er, Judy,’ Mr Archer spoke softly while looking around. ‘Judy, I would crave a moment of thy time.’
‘Yes, Leonard.’ Miss Jute’s voice dripped with frost.
‘The gentle sun of thy smile has turned to frosty winter and I must know the reason for it!’ said Mr Archer.
Miss Jute glared at him. ‘If by that you mean why am I mad at you, then I’ll tell you. On our last date, I had my hair done especially and I wore a brand-new dress that cost me an arm and both legs – and you didn’t notice. I spent all day trying to look nice and you didn’t say a word.’