4. Where Did That Dog Come From?
Granny and Lancelot only live about five minutes walk from us so I zipped round there and told them everything.
Lancelot laughed and straightened his long grey ponytail. ‘We know all about Mrs Quince-Porage, don’t we, babe?’
Urrrgh! I don’t know why Lancelot insists on calling my granny ‘babe’. I mean, she’s at least sixty-four. That’s almost a hundred!
‘Mrs Quince-Porage?’ said Granny. ‘Oh yes. We’ve heard her singing. It sounds to me like a pig being hit on the nose with a rolling pin. She sings in her bath with the window open. What’s more, her garden backs on to ours so we can hear every squawk.’
‘We’ve got to drown her out by making lots of noise with the other instruments,’ I said. ‘I thought Lancelot could play his saxophone. Did you used to play anything, Granny?’
Granny stared ahead rather dreamily and nodded. ‘Oh yes. I was in a pop group.’
My granny? In a band? I almost fell off my chair in disbelief.
‘Really? Wow! I mean, when?’
‘A very long time ago, almost fifty years,’ sighed Granny.
Fifty years ago! That was probably before the Romans. I gave Granny a nice smile and asked her if that was when the dinosaurs were on earth.
‘NO IT WAS NOT, you cheeky whatsit!’ she cried.
I shook my head. ‘Granny, I can’t believe you were ever in a pop group.’
‘Oh it’s true, Nicholas. You see, when you youngsters look at old people all you see is how old they are. You forget that old people were young once and wanted to do all the exciting things you like doing. You know Mrs Wibbly, that old lady in your street? She’s eighty-seven, but I happen to know that she got a gold medal for the pole vault at the 1952 Olympic Games.’
‘That’s amazing! But, Gran, when you were in your pop group what instrument did you play?’
‘The double bass.’
This time I really did fall off my chair. The double bass!
‘But, Granny, you’re too small to play the double bass!’
Granny gave me such a dirty look. ‘Nicholas, I’ll have you know that I was the best double bass player for miles around. I was almost on television once.’
Lancelot frowned at her. ‘I thought that was because you fell in the river.’
‘Well, yes, I did fall in the river but I was playing the double bass when it happened and it fell in with me. It was so funny, Nicholas. I wish you’d been there. You see, the band was playing on a boat. We got a bit carried away and I was doing my usual thing –’
‘I think you’d better tell Nicholas what your “usual thing” was, babe,’ prompted Lancelot.
Aarrrrgh! That ‘babe’ business again. I can’t stand it!
Granny’s eyes were shining. ‘I didn’t just play the double bass. I used it like a piece of gym equipment. Sometimes I stood on the side of it and jumped off. I would swing it about and whirl it round. I balanced on it. And this particular day I lost my footing on the boat and the double bass and I both fell over the edge. We made quite a splash I can tell you. I had to paddle ashore, sitting on it!’
I looked at my gran. She seemed so small and sweet and kind. Who’d have thought she once used a double bass as a canoe?
‘Have you still got your bass?’ I asked.
‘It’s upstairs in a wardrobe. It used to have a proper case but I chopped that up and burned it one winter when we were cold. But I could never burn my bass and, anyhow, it was still a bit wet from going in the river.’
Lancelot and I followed Granny upstairs. In the back bedroom was a big wardrobe with double doors. Granny opened them up and there was the double bass. It was the most battered thing I had ever seen, covered in large bits of tape like giant plasters. It had actual holes in it too, with splintered edges. It looked as if it had fought the whole of World War Two on its own.
‘As you can see, Nicky, it’s been much loved,’ Granny said with a rather wicked grin on her face. ‘Oooh, I can’t wait to get my fingers plucking those strings again!’
She lifted the bass out of the wardrobe, placed one hand on the neck and slowly began to twang the strings. A quick bit of tuning and then Granny was off. Plink! Plonk! Plunk! Twang! Faster and faster went her fingers, her feet began to jiggle up and down and suddenly she pulled a huge thunking TWONNGGGG! on the lowest string, leaped in the air and ended up balancing with one foot on the curving side and the free arm and leg sticking out into the air. Granny jumped back down, a huge beaming smile on her face.
‘There! What do you think of that?’
‘Fantastic, Gran. But I can see how you might end up falling into a river.’
They both laughed.
‘Fantastic is the word, Nicholas,’ said Lancelot. ‘Don’t you think my babe’s the best ever? You tell your dad that we’ll be at your house tomorrow for band practice. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. We’re going to make so much noise Mrs Q-P will think there’s an earthquake. She’ll run straight back home and hide under the table.’
I left Granny’s house feeling on top of the world. Mum and Dad would be really pleased when they heard the good news. We now had at least two proper musicians in the band. Maybe Dad would say I didn’t need to be in it any more. After all, who wants to hear ‘Three Blind Mice’ being played on a recorder at a street party? No one, that’s who.
I had almost reached my house when I heard loud shouts from behind.
I was just turning round to see who it was when I caught sight of a flash of black and I was completely bowled off my feet. I crashed to the ground, rolling on to my back. Before I could even try to get up the creature was upon me, nudging me with a wet black nose and occasionally giving me a good going over with its wash-flannel tongue.
A boy came pounding up to me, still yelling. ‘Streaker! You daft dog! Leave Nicholas alone. Sorry, Nick, Streaker’s a bit of a handful. She just about pulled my arm off when she saw you and I had to let go of the lead. Are you OK?’
It was Trevor. He’s in my class at school and his dog is kind of famous in our town. What I mean is that Streaker is famous for being a nuisance, although she’s hugely friendly too – as you can tell by the fact that she carried on cleaning me all over even when I was back on my feet.
‘I’m fine, and I’ve had a free wash too. What’s all the fuss about? Why all the shouting?’
‘I wanted to warn you. Bad news. You know that meeting about the street party? Charlie Smugg was there.’
My face fell. I’d never seen Charlie, but I’d heard lots about him. He’s a bit of a bully and he likes to spoil any bit of fun going. He also happens to be the son of Sergeant Smugg, our local policeman, which makes him doubly difficult to deal with.
‘Was he the pimply pudding standing at the back?’ I asked.
Trevor nodded. ‘He came up to me today and said we’d all better watch out. He’s got plans, he said. His exact words were – “Your street party is history. It’s not going to happen. You wait and see.” Then he went off with his three Alsatians in tow, laughing his spotty face off.’
We looked at each other. This was serious. What was Charlie Smugg planning to do? And why? By the time I got back home I was well and truly WORRIED.