In which the brilliantly waxed and curled ends of a moustache go limp
Thistlebloom was everywhere.
Absolutely everywhere.
Imposing order.
On Tuesday morning, Olive breakfasted and headed back to her room, feeling strangely unsatisfied. Her tummy was full of pancakes, jam and cream, but her mood was decidedly flat. Splash Gordon had not dived from the rafters into the pot of porridge or the jug of orange juice. Tommy had not stuck anything up his nose, and this morning’s tofu chipolatas were of just the right size to plug up one’s nostrils. Reuben the rabbit had not hopped along the tabletops, magically pulling gold coins and fried eggs from behind his friends’ ears. There wasn’t even a food fight. Nary a crumpet nor a banana had become airborne the entire mealtime. As Wordsworth declared, over the pages of his Little Blue Book of Wise and Witty Sayings, this morning’s breakfast was as dull as dishwater, as boring as a wet weekend.
Thistlebloom had sat up the front of the dining room, nibbling a dry piece of toast, sipping a cup of weak black tea and glowering. Reginald offered to butter her toast – as well as her cup, her saucer and her hands – but a frosty stare delivered down the length of her nose had sent him away. He sat on the bottom shelf of the tea trolley for the remainder of the meal, buttering nothing more exciting than his own knees. It was pitiful to see.
‘At least we can clean our teeth any which way we like,’ muttered Olive.
But no sooner had she stepped into the bathroom and greeted Helga the hippo than Thistlebloom appeared, hands on hips. ‘And just what do you think you are doing, young hippopotamus?’
‘What a silly question,’ thought Olive.
For it was quite apparent that Helga had covered the floor with water and soap suds for the express purpose of skating across the tiles on her bottom. It was terribly fun and combined her two great loves – water and making the most of having an enormous bottom.
The smile dropped from Helga’s face as she caught sight of Thistlebloom’s thin lips and stern gaze. But she could not stop. She tried, but slipped and skidded and thrashed about so that she lost control of an otherwise streamlined and elegant botty-skate, colliding with the bathtub. The tub broke free from the drainpipe and flew out the window.
Olive longed to clap and cheer, but thought better of it. She consoled herself with two or three tiny bunny hops on the spot, which she hoped Thistlebloom might attribute to enthusiastic tooth-brushing movements.
Thistlebloom snapped, ‘Are you bunny-hopping, Olive?’
‘I was brushing my teeth,’ Olive replied. Which was true but also a sort of lie. Thistlebloom’s gaze got the better of her. ‘And I might have done a bit of bunny-hopping at the same time.’
‘Move your toothbrush up and down,’ Thistlebloom instructed, ‘not side to side. And don’t bunny-hop. It looks silly and it’s inefficient. It makes it hard to do your vertical tooth brushing. Like patting your head and rubbing your tummy at the same time.’
Thistlebloom took one last glance around the bathroom. ‘Clean up that mess!’ she told Helga, and she was gone.
Her chilly aura, however, remained.
‘This is a sad day for botty-skaters everywhere,’ sighed Helga. She swooshed some water aside with her foot, threw her towel over her shoulder and headed off to find the bathtub. A soothing bubble bath would go a long way to ease her disappointment.
‘At least we will have some wild rollicking fun during our equine acrobatics lesson,’ said Olive to herself as she traipsed back to her room and changed into her unitard. ‘You can’t take the fun out of circus lessons.’
But she was wrong.
‘Roll up! Roll up! The circus is in town!’ The Ringmaster strode across the back garden, all dash and flash. His moustache curled with pride. The brass buttons on his red coat glistened in the sunshine.
He stopped and stared at the bathtub that had mysteriously appeared on the lawn. He nodded at Helga, who was soaking in a sea of bubbles, then galloped on like a merry show pony. He was smiling fit to burst, for he loved his job at Groves. Here was another glorious morning in which to challenge his circus performers and make the world of acrobatics, clowning, fire breathing, knife throwing, horse prancing, cannon blasting, water diving, dog dancing and lion taming a little bit brighter. He slapped his boot with his riding crop. He waved his top hat in the air. He laughed from the depths of his belly at the sight of Num-Num pushing Diana the lion tamer towards the fish pond with a garden rake.
‘Roll up! Roll –’
‘Hush!’ snapped Thistlebloom, sticking her head out the library window.
Now, ‘Hush!’ might not seem too dreadful a thing to say. But Thistlebloom managed to infuse a great deal of anger, authority and threat into that one simple word.
The Ringmaster felt suddenly small and scared. His shiny black boots sank into the grass. His chest and shoulders slumped. The waxed and curled ends of his moustache went limp. He popped his top hat on his head, sat his riding crop on a garden bench and tiptoed across to the spot where Olive, Eduardo, Alfonzo and Anastasia were waiting to begin their acrobatics lesson.
‘Good morning, Ringmaster!’ Olive smiled and waved, eager to reignite his spark.
‘Hush!’ Thistlebloom pointed a bony finger down at them from the window.
Olive swallowed her words. Anastasia, Alfonzo and Eduardo stood up a little straighter.
The Ringmaster kicked a pile of knives, a chainsaw and a box of dynamite beneath a bush. He motioned with his hand for Bullet and Carlos to wheel the cannon back behind the greenhouse. He had planned a daring lesson that would involve juggling dangerous objects while performing acrobatic feats on top of galloping horses at the same time that Bullet Barnes and giant Venus flytraps were fired from a cannon over the top of their heads . . . or toes, depending on which way up the acrobats were positioned at the time.
But now, all of a sudden, it seemed rather rash. His students would have to practise their basic equine acrobatic skills instead.
How dreadfully uninspiring!
Star and Beauty the horses were in the apple orchard, eating the last of the late-season pippins. The Ringmaster was about to call them to action, but stopped. He glanced nervously up at the library window, then leaned forward. ‘Er, excuse me, Olive,’ he whispered, ‘would you be so kind as to fetch the horses?’
Olive nodded and skipped to the orchard. ‘Circus time!’ she sang.
Star and Beauty ignored her and continued to chomp on the pippins.
Olive shook her head, but was secretly delighted. Here were two creatures, at least, that Thistlebloom had not yet managed to tame. The horses were planning on being as naughty and uncooperative as ever.
Olive raised her eyebrows at Beauty. The black horse finished munching her apple, yawned theatrically and flopped down in the grass for a snooze. Right on top of Olive!
Our squashed heroine gasped, huffed, panted, then squeezed out from beneath Beauty. She sprang to her feet, cried, ‘It’s time for equine acrobatics!’ and slapped Star on the rump.
Star threw back her head, whickered and bolted from the orchard, making sure to kick a fallen apple into the air as she departed. The apple hit Olive right between the eyes.
Olive tried to look hurt, but burst out laughing. Good old Star. She would never be tamed!
But at that moment, a third-storey window was flung open and Thistlebloom’s voice cut through the air, loud and shrill. ‘Star! Beauty! Get to your lesson this minute.’
And they did!
Promptly.
Beauty sprang to her feet and trit-trotted over to the Ringmaster.
And Star . . . Well, let’s just say that Olive’s heart broke a little at the sight. Star tucked her tail between her legs and slunk back across the grass. She mumbled, ‘Terribly sorry for my poor form,’ and bent her knees so that Olive could scramble onto her back. She didn’t even comment on how much Olive must have eaten for breakfast.
In fact, the horses were so well-behaved, so unadventurous for the entire morning’s lesson, that not a thing went wrong. Dull as dishwater. Boring as a wet weekend.
There was a moment of hope when the delivery van from Dick’s butchery drove by. Num-Num gasped in delight, growled, ‘Toodle pip!’ and crashed through the fence. Galloping down the street, she chased the van, dribbling, drooling and roaring. ‘Leg of lamb! String of sausage! Lump of steak! Big fat butcher! Lub fresh meat! Num-num-num-num-num-num-num!’
At last, a spot of fun! Olive and Eduardo threw back their heads and laughed, but, immediately, Thistlebloom stuck her head out from a second-storey window and shrieked, ‘Hush!’
So they did.
And we all know how hard it is to stop laughing when told that we must. Why, the greater the threat, the more we titter and shake, until the laughter bubbles up inside and breaks free.
But not with Thistlebloom.
Thistlebloom could chill the heart of a volcano.
‘How does she do it?’ asked Eduardo as they shuffled back inside. ‘She’s everywhere. Sees everything.’
Olive shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s a gift.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Anastasia. ‘More like a really bad joke.’
‘I’ll tell you a really bad joke,’ said Alfonzo. ‘A man walks into a bar. He gets a black eye.’
Olive, Eduardo, Anastasia and Beauty chuckled. Star whickered in disgust and bit Alfonzo on the bottom. The Ringmaster guffawed and slapped Star across the rump with his riding crop.
And Thistlebloom, seeming to appear from nowhere, popped her head into the corridor, staring daggers. ‘Hush!’