said Dad.
“Trying to be funny?” said the taxi driver aggressively.
“All the time,” said Dad. “It’s not easy either.”
The angry taxi driver grabbed the door handle and was about to yank it open when he saw Nathalia under her hair.
“Here, it’s you!” he shouted, suddenly smiling and showing big gold teeth. “Tell you what – if you say it, I’ll let your old dad off without a good beating.”
“Can’t you be NORMAL, Dad?” shouted Nat. She meant it too.
Eventually, after saying it a few more times, Dad was able to drive off safely.
“Quite useful, you being so famous,” said Dad cheerfully. “I bet you’re glad Darius gave me that video now.”
“Oh, I’m going to show him just how glad I am,” said Nat, thinking happy evil thoughts.
It wasn’t long before they reached a quieter part of town and soon Dad was slowing down outside a large old house in a street full of large old houses. This one was in the worst state of the lot.
The house was mostly red brick, with large windows and a pointy slate roof. It must have once been a bit grand, but not any longer. The bricks were stained, the roof crooked and the paintwork on the windows was old and peeling. There was a short drive flanked by two overgrown hedges. Dad turned the wheel and drove in and they bumped over potholes in the drive. Nat could hear a horrible wailing and barking and howling coming from inside the house. She noticed there were FOR SALE signs on the houses either side.
Then she saw a large blue and white sign which read:
PORTER OGDEN’S HOME FOR UNFORTUNATE CREATURES. DONATIONS WELCOME
Underneath someone had handwritten:
I mean donations of money, not more animals. Stop leaving them on the doorstep in cardboard boxes, will you?
“Is Darius living here now?” laughed Nat. “He’s an unfortunate animal.”
“Very good,” said Dad. “But no. This is where he’s working at weekends.”
“Why?” asked Nat.
“Because Miss Hunny says it’ll show Darius what it’s like trying to teach him.”
“I wish she wasn’t your friend,” said Nat. “I’d really like to like her.” She checked her hairstyle in the rear-view mirror for the tenth time. It was still ace.
“It’s gone a bit dry,” said Dad, peering at the crazy hairdo. “Shall I sprinkle some water on like we were told?”
“Yeah, whatevs, just hurry up. I want to show Darius before I batter him. He thinks I’m a goody two-shoes. Well a goody two-shoes does not have hair like THIS!”
Dad splashed on a bit of water and Nat hopped down from the van. It was quite a blustery day, but even though litter was being whirled around on the drive, Nat’s huge wild hair stayed in place.
“You’d think someone would sweep these streets more often, wouldn’t you, Dad?” said Nat, trying to dodge the litter.
“The local paper blames the council,” said Dad. “Your mum blames the government and Bad News Nan blames Europe, television, video games, bad parents, rap videos, footballers, mobile phones, wind turbines, vegetarians, gum chewers and the fact that we can’t hang people any more.”
“Who do you blame?” asked Nat, batting away an empty crisp packet.
“I just blame people who drop litter,” said Dad. “It saves a lot of time.”
By now they had reached the stained front door. There were bite and claw marks all over it. The howling and yelping and barking was louder here, and they could also hear frantic scrabbling and crashing as if something horrible was running wild inside.
“I’m sure it’s supposed to sound like that in there,” said Dad, not sounding sure one little bit.
Just as they were about to ring the bell they heard an elderly man’s voice: “That’s it, Bagley, tempt it back in the cage with that mouse. If that fails, use your hand as live bait.”
Nat turned to Dad, hand paused above the doorbell. “Although,” she said carefully, “we’re back to school next week. I could see him then. PLUS, it might not be Darius in there. He might be talking to a different Bagley.”
Something that sounded like a small lion snarled and growled inside.
“Live bait? You can get lost, poo breath,” came Darius’s voice. “If I put my hand in that cage I won’t have a finger left to pick my nose with.”
“Simba, in!” shouted the elderly man.
“That doesn’t work,” said Darius. “You know it doesn’t work because you’ve been shouting that for an hour and Simba is still not in. Do something different to shouting ‘Simba, in’.”
“Simba?” said Nat.
“Yes, I know, it sounds like a lion’s name, but you need to be a zoo to keep a lion,” said Dad. He checked the sign. “No, it’s not a zoo.”
“What’s the worst that can happen?” he said, ringing the doorbell.
“Oh,” said Dad, looking at Nat. “That’s odd.”
“What?” snapped Nat, who was already jittery waiting for the door to open.
“That crisp packet has stuck to the back of your hair.”
“Get it out then.”
“I mean, it’s really stuck. Your hair has gone very sticky. It’s just a guess, but I think something might have gone a bit wrong.”
He wore a shredded cardigan, slashed brown trousers, chewed slippers and one lens of his glasses had been smashed.
“Are you from the council?” he said, peering through his broken specs. “Sorry about the noise. And the smell. And all the escaped things. Have you come to put me in prison? It’s fine, you know, I don’t mind. I could do with a rest from all of this.”
Nat wasn’t listening; she was trying to pull the crisp packet off her head. This wasn’t how she wanted to show off to Darius. As she tugged at the packet, she realised just how glue-like the BOGWASH hair stuff was. Her hand was in danger of getting stuck as well and she yanked it away with difficulty.
