Just Annoying! (13 page)

‘Prefer?' says Mum. ‘I don't like the idea of either option very much.'

Here we go again.

‘Cubs would be alright,' she says thoughtfully.

‘Huh?'

‘Lion cubs. They would be nice. They're very playful.'

‘But they're still going to eat you.'

‘But they'd do it in a playful way.'

That does it.

I'm just asking a simple question!' I say, slamming my fist down on the table. ‘Would you rather be eaten by ants or by lions? Why can't anybody just answer the question?'

Everybody is quiet.

Everybody except for Dad. He's busy whacking the sauce bottle like his life depends on getting tomato sauce right this minute.

Suddenly sauce explodes from the bottle. It splurts onto his plate, the tablecloth and his clothes. Down his shirt, onto his pants and all over the floor.

He looks at Mum.

‘Don't say anything!' he says.

‘I wasn't going to,' she says.

I can't help laughing.

‘What's so funny?' says Dad, wiping sauce out of his eye. ‘Did you have something to do with this?'

Of course I did. But I'm not about to admit it.

‘It's not fair,' I say. ‘Why do I get blamed for every little thing that goes wrong around here?'

‘Because every little thing that goes wrong around here is your fault,' says Jen. ‘Punish him, Dad. He gets away with everything.'

‘Andy,' says Dad. ‘I'm going to ask you a question and I want you to think very carefully about the answer. Tell me, would you rather lose your pocket money for one week or do double chores for two weeks?'

‘But you're assuming I'm guilty,' I say.

‘I'm not assuming you're guilty—I know it! Now, which would you rather?'

Uh-oh. This is not right. I'm supposed to be the one asking the questions.

‘Dad, before I answer, tell me one thing.'

‘What's that?' he says.

‘If you had to be squashed, would you rather be squashed by bricks or feathers?'

He frowns.

‘Don't answer, Dad,' says Jen. ‘He's just trying to get you off the track.'

Dad ignores Jen.

‘Probably feathers, I think,' says Dad. ‘They're softer.'

‘But there will still be enough to squash you,' I say. ‘Why not choose the bricks? They're not as soft, but they might be quicker.'

‘Hmmm,' he says. ‘That depends. Would they be dropped all together or one at a time?'

Jen pushes her chair back loudly and stomps off from the table. I don't blame her. We could be here for quite a while.

 

URDER, BLOODY MURDER!'
     I'm yelling at the top of my voice. So is Danny. I look at him. He looks at me. We nod. I take a deep breath.

‘MURDER, BLOODY MURDER!' we shout.

Sooty joins in, barking and howling.

We wait. But nothing happens. Nobody comes. No police sirens. My neighbours don't even bother sticking their heads over the fence to check out what the trouble is.

‘It's no use,' says Danny. ‘Nobody cares.'

I kick a divot out of the lawn.

‘It would be too bad if we were really getting murdered,' I say. ‘I bet they'd be sorry then. Let's try one more time.'

‘Alright,' says Danny. ‘Once more and then that's it. I've got a sore throat.'

‘MURDER!' we scream. ‘BLOODY MURDER!'

‘Would you idiots shut up!' says Mr Broadbent. ‘I'm trying to work.'

Mr Broadbent is standing in our driveway. Mr Broadbent lives next door. He's a university lecturer. He works in a little room right next to our fence.

‘How did you know that we weren't really being murdered?' I ask him.

‘Because you've been calling out for the last half an hour,' he says. ‘But, I swear, if you don't shut up I'll come back and murder you myself. And your dog!'

Mr Broadbent turns around and stomps back down the drive.

Sooty slinks off into his kennel. Danny and I look at each other. We don't say anything.

We're too scared.

Mr Broadbent has just threatened to murder us.

‘Did you hear that?' says Danny.

‘I think I did,' I say.

‘What are we going to do?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Should we call the police?'

‘I don't think that would be a good idea, Dan. They'll probably arrest
us
for pretending that we were going to be murdered in the first place.'

‘But we
are
going to be murdered!' says Danny.

‘We weren't
then,'
I say. ‘And if we shut up, then there is every chance that we won't be now.'

‘But how do we know for sure?' says Danny. ‘He's crazy. Did you see the look in his eyes?'

‘He did seem a little highly strung,' I say.

‘Highly strung!' says Danny. ‘That's putting it mildly. He was ready to flip out completely. I know. I've had a lot of experience with these guys.'

‘Oh really?' I say. ‘When?'

‘Just then!' says Danny.

‘That's hardly a lot of experience.'

‘I watch TV. I can recognise a psycho when I see one. He's going to kill us . . . unless . . .'

‘Unless what?' I say.

‘Unless we strike first,' says Danny.

‘What are you suggesting?'

Danny just stares back at me. ‘Do I have to spell it out?'

I cup my hands around each side of my mouth. ‘Earth to Danny! Do you read me—over?'

‘You think I'm crazy?'

‘I know it.'

‘Well, what do
you
suggest?' he says.

‘I think if he's as stressed as he seems then it would be a good idea to help him
des
tress. Cut the problem off at the source.'

‘What have you got in mind?' says Danny. ‘Elephant tranquilliser darts?'

‘I've got the next best thing,' I say. ‘Meditation music.'

‘Meditation?' says Danny. ‘I've never heard of them.'

‘They're not a band, you idiot,' I say. ‘It's just soft relaxing music. Jen's got heaps.'

I bound up the steps of the porch, go into the house and head towards Jen's room.

Jen is going through this huge New Age thing at the moment. Ever since she went to this New Age & Psycho expo, it's been meditation, chanting, incense and soft music.

I'm sure she won't mind if I just borrow one of her tapes. And even if she does mind she can just meditate and then she won't be angry any more.

I open the door of her room.

I'm almost knocked backwards by the stench.

There is a stick of incense burning in a holder on her dressing table. It smells like cat pee.

But it gives me an idea. I grab a handful of incense sticks from the bowl beside the holder. They might come in handy.

I pinch my nose and walk over to her tape collection.

She has every type you can imagine: waterfall, bird-calls, rainforest, wind, breaking waves—you name it, she's got it. The only thing she hasn't got is breaking wind. I guess that's because breaking wind is not relaxing. It's too funny.

I choose a rainforest tape and head for the door before the smell of the incense makes me throw up all over her Yin and Yang rug.

On my way back outside I go to my room and get my ghetto blaster. It's getting old, but it does the job. I just hope the batteries are up to it.

Danny is pacing up and down the backyard lawn.

‘Where have you been?' he says. ‘You've been gone for ages! What if Mr Broadbent had come back?'

‘Relax, Danny, I've got a rainforest tape. By the time we're finished the only thing Mr Broadbent will be coming back to do is to hug us for making him feel so good.'