The Bed and Breakfast Star (8 page)

I wish I could figure out some way of taming him.

‘I’ll feed Hank for you, Mum, and see that Pippa has a proper breakfast,’ I promised kindly.

‘Your mum’s going to have a proper breakfast herself,’ said Mack. ‘That’s what she needs to make her feel better. A good cooked breakfast. And if we’re getting it as part of this lousy bed-and-breakfast deal then we ought to make sure we all eat every last mouthful.’

‘All right, I’m coming,’ said Mum, slapping a bit of make-up on her pale face and fiddling with her hair. She took out her mirror from her handbag and winced. ‘I look a right sight,’ she wailed.

‘You look fine to me,’ said Mack, giving her powdered cheek a kiss. ‘And you’ll look even better once you’ve got a fried egg and a few rashers of bacon inside you.’

‘Don’t, Mack! You’re going to make me throw up,’ said Mum.

I’d
throw up if Mack started slobbering at me like that.

We trailed down all the stairs to the ground floor, where this breakfast room was supposed to be. Mack started sniffing, his hairy nostrils all aquiver.

‘Can’t smell any bacon sizzling,’ he said.

We soon found out why. There wasn’t any bacon for breakfast. There wasn’t very much of anything. Just pots of tea and bowls of cornflakes and slices of bread, very white and very square, like the ceiling tiles in reception. You just went and served yourself and sat at one of the tables.

‘No bacon?’ said Mack, and he stormed off to the reception desk.

‘Hank needs his egg,’ said Mum, and she marched off after Mack, Hank balanced on her hip.

Pippa and I sighed and shrugged our shoulders. We straggled off after them.

The big lady was behind the desk. She was wearing a fluffy blue jumper this time. I hoped she’d painted her fingernails blue to match, but she hadn’t. Still, Mack was certainly turning the air blue, shouting and swearing because there weren’t any cooked breakfasts.

‘It’s your duty to provide a proper breakfast. They said so down at the Social. I’m going to report you,’ Mack thundered.

‘We don’t have any duty whatsoever, sir. If you don’t care to stay at the Royal Hotel then why don’t you leave?’ said the big lady.

‘You know very well we can’t leave, because we haven’t got anywhere else to go. And it’s a disgrace. My kids need a good breakfast – my baby boy needs his protein or he’ll get ill,’ said Mum.

She spoke as if Hank was on the point of starving right this minute, although she was sagging sideways trying to support her strapping great son. He was reaching longingly for this new blue bunny.

The big lady stepped backwards, away from his sticky clasp.

‘We’re providing extra milk for all the children at the moment. We normally do provide a full cooked breakfast but unfortunately we are temporarily between breakfast chefs, so in these circumstances we can only offer a continental breakfast. Take it – or leave it.’

We decided to take it.

‘Continental breakfast!’ said Mum, as we sat at a table in the corner. ‘That’s coffee in one of them cafetière thingys and croissants, not this sort of rubbish.’ She flapped one of the limp slices of bread in the air. ‘There’s no goodness in this!’

There were little packets of butter and pots of marmalade. And sugar lumps. Lots of sugar lumps.

I got busy crushing and sprinkling. I made myself a splendid sugar sandwich. Pippa tried to make herself one too, but she wasn’t much good at crushing the lumps. She tried bashing them hard on the table to make them shatter.

‘Pippa! Give over, for goodness sake. Whatever are you doing?’ said Mum, spooning cornflakes into Hank.

‘It’s Elsa’s fault. Pippa’s just copying her,’ said Mack. ‘Here, give me that sugar bowl and stop messing around. You’ll rot your teeth and just have empty gums by the time you’re twelve.’

I covered my teeth with my lips and made little gulpy noises to see what it would be like. I tried sucking at my sandwich to see if I’d still be able to eat without teeth. I swallowed before the lump in my mouth got soft enough, and choked.

‘Elsa! Look, do you have to show us all up?’ Mum hissed.

‘Stop it!’ said Mack. ‘Otherwise you’ll get a good smacking, see?’

I saw. I was trying like anything to stop choking. I got up, coughing and spluttering, and went over to the service hatch to get myself some more milk. There was a big black lady with a baby serving herself. I wondered if she might be Naomi’s mum and asked her between coughs.

She said she wasn’t, but helpfully banged me on the back. I took a long drink of milk and peered all round the room, hoping to spot Naomi. There were old people and young people and lots of little kids, black people and white people and brown people and yellow people, quiet people and noisy people and absolutely bawling babies. But I couldn’t spot Naomi anywhere. Maybe she had her breakfast sitting in the washbasin in the Ladies.

I did spot one of the boys who’d been writing rude words all over the wall. He saw me looking at him and crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. I did likewise.

‘Elsa!’ Mum came and yanked me back to our table. ‘Don’t you dare make faces like that.’

I pulled another face, because I was getting fed up with everyone picking on me when it wasn’t my fault. Then I saw a lovely lady with lots of little plaits come into the breakfast room. She had two little boys with her, and she was carrying a toddler. And there was a girl following on behind, her head in a book.

‘NAOMI!’ I yelled excitedly, jumping up.

Mack was taking a large gulp of tea at that precise second. Somehow or other the tea sprayed all down his front. He didn’t look too happy. I decided to dash over to Naomi pretty sharpish.

‘Hi, Naomi. I’ve been looking out for you. Is this your mum? Are these your brothers?’

I said hello to them all and they smiled and said hello back.

‘Is that your dad over there? That man shouting at you,’ said Naomi.

‘No fear,’ I said. ‘What are you reading then, eh?’

I had a quick peer. The cover said
Little Women
and there was a picture of four girls in old-fashioned frocks.

‘Little Women?’
I said, thinking it a rather naff title.

‘It’s a lovely book, one of the classics,’ said Naomi’s mum proudly. ‘My Naomi’s always reading it.’

‘Boring,’ I mumbled, peering at the pages.

‘
The Cursed Werewolf seized the young maiden and ripped her to pieces with his huge yellow teeth . . .’

‘There’s a werewolf in
Little Women
?’ I said, astonished.

‘Sh!’ said Naomi, giving me a nudge. She turned her back so that her mum couldn’t see and quickly lifted the dustjacket off
Little Women.
She had a different book entirely underneath.
The Cursed Werewolf Runs Wild.

‘Ah,’ I said. I decided I liked Naomi even more.

I sat down at their table, even though Mack was bellowing fit to bust for me to come back at once OR ELSE. Naomi’s little brothers looked utterly angelic above the table, all big eyes and smiley mouths, but they were conducting a violent kicking match out of sight. One of the kicks landed right on my kneecap. I gave a little scream and both boys looked anxiously at their mum. I didn’t tell tales, but I seized hold of several skinny legs and tickled unmercifully. They squirmed and doubled up.

‘Boys!’ said Naomi’s mum. ‘Stop messing about.’

She was trying to feed the baby but he kept fidgeting and turning his head away, not wanting his soggy old cornflakes.

‘Come on, Nathan,’ said Naomi’s mum.

Nathan shut his mouth tight and let cornflake mush dribble down his chin.

‘How about feeding him like an aeroplane?’ I suggested. ‘My baby brother Hank likes it when I do that. Here, I’ll show you.’

I took the spoon, filled it with flakes, and then let my arm zoom through the air above Nathan’s head.

‘Here’s a loaded jumbo jet coming in to land,’ I said and made very loud aeroplane noises.

Nathan opened his mouth in astonishment and I shoved the spoon in quick.

‘Unloading bay in operation,’ I said, and I unhooked the empty spoon from his gums.

‘Come on then, Nathan, gobble gobble, while I go looking for the next aeroplane. Hey, how about a Concorde this time?’

Nathan chewed obediently while I reloaded the spoon and held it at the right Concorde angle. I revved up my sound system.

Unfortunately, my dear non-relative Uncle Mack was revving up his own sound system. After one last bellow he came charging like a bull across the breakfast room.

I landed Concorde, unloaded the new cargo of cornflakes inside Nathan, and tried turning the spoon into a bomber plane with mega-quick, whizz-bang missiles.

Mack certainly exploded. But not in the way I wanted.

‘How dare you make this ridiculous noise and bother these poor people,’ he roared, yanking me up from the table.

‘Oh no, she’s been no bother at all,’ said Naomi’s mum quickly. ‘So Elsa’s your daughter, is she?’

‘No!’ I said.

‘No!’ Mack said.