“Still sulking somewhere, I believe, yes.” Nat’s mum glances behind me and waves. “And this must be your little stalker, Toby. I remember you from the school fête a few years ago. You were shuffling around the raffle on your belly with binoculars.”
Toby steps forward, beaming. “That’s me,” he says, puffing out his chest proudly. “Although my Harriet-following skills have improved immeasurably since then. It’s very nice to meet you properly, Mrs Nat’s mum.”
“It is indeed.” She smiles at him, and then smiles at me, and then smiles at Toby again. And then – and I can’t actually believe this – she winks at me. She’d better not be winking for the reason I think she’s winking.
Ugh.
“Ahem.” Nat’s mum clears her throat and then gets a small hand-held microphone out of her pocket. “Excuse me,” she explains to us, “but shouting up the stairs is causing unnecessary wrinkling in my forehead. So I’ve invested in an alternative.” And then she clicks the little red button on the side. “Natalie?” she says into the microphone, and somewhere in the distance her voice starts bouncing around the stairs. “You have a couple of visitors.”
Silence.
Nat’s mum rolls her eyes and fiddles with the volume control. A loud screeching fills the house and she puts her hand over the top. “It’s linked up to a speaker outside her bedroom,” she whispers conspiratorially. “I put one under her bed too, although she hasn’t found that one yet. Natalie? Natalie?” She listens for a few seconds, sighs and holds the microphone up again. “Don’t make me turn it up to ten, young lady.”
“All right, all right,” I hear Nat shout, storming down the stairs.
Nat’s mum turns the microphone off, winks at Toby and me, retreats into the living room and shuts the door. Leaving us to face Nat.
And – from the look on her face – I believe she’s about to give the head-exploding Malaysian ants a run for their money.
ell?” Nat says after a few seconds. “I’m surprised you’re here again, Harriet. I thought you’d be busy auditioning for A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
I blink a few times in surprise. “No. I’m not.”
“You should be. I heard they’re looking for an ass.”
Oh.
Now why can’t I think of quips like that when I need them? Does she sit and make them up beforehand or do they just pop out like that, fully formed? If she ever talks to me in a non-violent way again, I must remember to ask her.
Toby holds his head up very high and looks Nat dead in the eye. “Natalie Grey,” he says in a stern voice. “Harriet has come here in great and glorious dignity – and, if I may say so, quite mesmerising beauty – to apologise to you. The very least you can do is stand there and listen politely. Otherwise you’re nothing but a… a… a…” I can see him looking around desperately. His eyes fall on the ground next to the front door. “A flowerpot head,” he finishes triumphantly. “Full of lavender.”
Toby clearly has the same problem I do. Nat lifts an unimpressed eyebrow.
“I don’t want to apologise again,” I say in a rush.
“Then what are you doing here? Are you going to give me more pointless gifts that I can enjoy breaking?”
“No. I just want you to come with me somewhere.”
Nat’s shocked into silence for a few seconds. “And why the hell would I do that?”
“Because neither of us is happy like this.”
Nat makes a hmph sound. “Actually, being without you is extremely liberating, Harriet. I never knew how much time there would be in life when it’s not being filled with documentaries about humpback whales migrating.”
That’s a low blow. She liked the humpback whale documentary. She said they were very “splashy”.
“Please, Nat? Twenty minutes and if you still hate me then you can spend the rest of the night cutting my face out of all our photos.”
“How do you know I haven’t already done that?”
We glare at each other obstinately for a few seconds, neither of us willing to budge.
Toby clears his throat. “If you need somewhere to put all the cut-out Harriet heads,” he interjects, “I’d be happy to take them off your hands.”
We both turn slowly to stare at him, but luckily my response is interrupted by the sound of the invisible Nat’s mum tapping the top of the microphone. “Ahem,” she says, like the disembodied voice of some kind of ancient goddess. “Go with them, Natalie.”
“What?” Nat says to thin air.
“I’m not having you marching around the house with a face like a smacked bottom for the rest of the week. Go with them.”
“No.”
“All right.” The voice of the goddess clears her throat. “It’s on six, Natalie.” A screech starts filling the house.
“Mum.”
“Seven.” The screech gets louder. Nat starts chewing on her bottom lip.
“At eight, Natalie, your ears are going to start hurting.”
Nat puts her hand over her face. “Please, Mum—”
“Nine. Ringing in your ears for the rest of the day. Don’t make me go to ten. I will.”
“Fine!” Nat shouts, glaring behind her and grabbing her handbag. She violently forces her feet into a pair of shoes next to the door. “Fine, all of you. Happy now? I’m coming.” She stalks out of the door and slams it behind her.
But not before we hear the faint sound of disembodied laughter.