‘What do you mean it tried to eat you?’ I ask.
‘Matt’s gone potty,’ says Abbey.
‘No, I haven’t, Abbey,’ yelps Matt, hopping up and down. ‘And that’s the problem! No potty!’ He turns to Nan. ‘Can I use the portaloo out the back? I’m capital D Desperate. Please?’
‘Sorry, darl. You know the rules,’ says Nan.
For as long as we can remember, Nan has had a brand-new portaloo in her back garden.
That’s weird enough.
What is weirder is she has never let anyone use it.
Or even go near it.
She has a cross-stitch sign above her mantlepiece that reads:
‘Nan!’ says Matt, ‘the indoor dunny tried to nom nom my bummy.’
Nan gets up to investigate and we follow.
Outside of a plumbing convention, it is a very strange thing to be standing in a group staring at a toilet.
However, this loo is glowing an eerie green, so we can’t help but stare.
‘Be careful, Rich,’ says Matt. ‘That thing is totally loo-co!’
‘What is going on here could probably explained by science,’ I say, expertly.
‘You think?’ says Abbey, rolling her eyes.
Nan’s happy-go-lucky vibe has evaporated like a pool of Superfizz on a sunny day. It’s strange, she never takes anything too seriously, but this science-fiction toilet situation has got her frowning like a blobfish at a maths exam.
‘What is . . .’ I say.
‘. . . going on?’ says Abbey.
Nan sighs. ‘Abbey, dear, cancel my tattoo appointment and pack my unmentionables. Nan’s gotta go –’
‘But I need to go!’ says Matt, dancing on tippy toes.
Matt bolts to the back door. ‘Sorry, Nan, I’m using the portaloo!’
‘No, Matt! Stop him, Rich!’ yells Nan.
I sprint out after Matt but trip on one of Nan’s rude garden gnomes.
Then everything goes into slow motion . . .
As we fly into the portaloo, I see:
1. A roll of toilet paper
2. A soap dispenser with no soap in it
3. A slightly too small basin to ALMOST wash your hands in
4. A mirror over the slightly too small basin
5. A big red button marked F.L.U.S.H.
6. But no toilet!
Matt and I slam face-first into the mirror. It makes the sound of a pair of wet footy socks being slapped on a table.
The door goes . . .
Then something says . . .