Gary Drake did this loud croak. ‘The boy’s a genius!’
Mr Inkberrow takes off his glasses, huffs them and polishes them with the fat end of his tie. ‘Nine times eleven equals “a hundred and one”, you say, hmm? Let me ask you a follow-up question, Taylor. Why do we bother getting up in the morning? Can you tell me that, hmm? Why oh why oh why do we flipping bother?’
Relatives
‘They’re here!’ I yelled, as Uncle Brian’s white Ford Granada Ghia cruised up Kingfisher Meadows. Julia’s door closed as if to say, Big deal, but a volley of getting-ready noises banged downstairs. I’d already taken down my map of Middle Earth and hidden away my globe and anything else Hugo might think babyish, so I just stayed sat on my window sill. Last night’s gale’d sounded like King Kong trying to yank our roof off and was only just dying down. Across the road, Mr Woolmere was hauling off bits of his blown-down fence. Uncle Brian turned into our drive and the Granada came to a rest alongside Mum’s Datsun Cherry. First out was Aunt Alice, Mum’s sister. Then my three Lamb cousins piled out of the back. First came Alex in a THE SCORPIONS LIVE IN 1981 T-shirt and a Björn Borg headband. Alex is seventeen but he’s got bubonic zits and his body’s three sizes too large for him. Next was Nigel the Squirt, the youngest, busy solving a Rubik’s cube at high speed. Last came Hugo.
Hugo fits his body like a glove. He’s two years older than me. ‘Hugo’ would be a cursed name for most kids but on Hugo it’s a halo. (Plus, the Lambs go to an independent school in Richmond where you get picked on not if you’re posh but if you’re not posh enough.) Hugo wore a black zip-up top with no hood and no logo, button-fly Levi jeans, pixie boots and one of those woven wristbands you wear to prove you’re not a virgin. Luck loves Hugo. When Alex, Nigel and me are still swapping Euston Road for Old Kent Road plus £300 and praying to scoop the kitty from Free Parking, Hugo’s already got hotels on Mayfair and Park Lane.
‘You made it!’ Mum crossed the driveway and hugged Aunt Alice.
I opened the window a crack to hear better.
Meanwhile Dad’d come round from the greenhouse all togged out in his gardening gear. ‘Blustery weather you’ve brought us, Brian!’
Uncle Brian’d hauled himself out of his car and did a jokey step-back-in-amazement when he saw Dad. ‘Well, catch a load of the intrepid horticulturist!’
Dad wagged his trowel. ‘This blooming wind’s flattened my daffodils! We have “our man” do the lion’s share in the garden, but he can’t come until Tuesday, and as the old Chinese proverb—’
‘Mr Broadwas is one of those priceless village characters,’ said Mum, ‘who’s worth twice what we pay him because he has to undo all the damage Michael wreaks.’
‘—as the ancient Chinese proverb goes, “Wise Man Say, to Be Happy for Week, Mally Wife. To Be Happy for Month, Sraughter Pig. To Be Happy for Rifetime, Prant Garden”. Rather amusing, eh?’
Uncle Brian pretended to find it rather amusing.
‘When Michael heard his ancient Chinese proverb on Gardeners’ Question Time the other day,’ Mum remarked, ‘the pig came before the wife. But look at you three boys! You’ve shot up again! Whatever are you putting on their corn flakes, Alice? Whatever it is, I should put some on Jason’s.’
That was a kick in the ribs.
‘Well,’ Dad said, ‘let’s all get inside before we get blown away.’
Hugo received my telepathic signal and looked up at me.
I half waved.
The drinks cabinet is only opened when visitors and relatives come. It smells of varnish and sherry vapours. (Once, when everyone was out, I tried some sherry. Syrupy Domestos, it tastes of.) Mum had me haul a dining-room chair into the living room ’cause there weren’t enough. These chairs weigh a ton and it banged my shin something chronic but I acted like it was no sweat. Nigel flumped on the bean-bag and Alex got one of the armchairs. Alex tapped out a drumbeat on the arm-rest. Hugo just sat on the rug, cross-legged, saying, ‘I’m fine here, Aunt Helena, thanks,’ when Mum told me off for not bringing enough chairs. Julia still hadn’t appeared. ‘I’ll be down in a minute!’ she’d hollered, twenty hours ago.
As usual, Dad and Uncle Brian kicked off with an argument about the route from Richmond to