Agatha Parrot and the Mushroom Boy (7 page)

So far that made 1,200 grams which was getting to be a lot, but it still wasn't enough to make the scales move and lift the cake up.

‘I'll put some smaller weights on now,' said Miss Pingle. She added a twenty and a ten, and then the cake just started to twitch.

‘Ooooh!'
said everybody.

‘Ladies
and
gentlemen,'
announced Miss Pingle seriously. ‘We've got to 1,230 grams so now I'll go up one gram at a time until the cake balances.'

‘How jolly super!' said Mrs Twelvetrees.

James was getting really excited. He had guessed 1,233 and 1,235 so he was still in with a good chance. Gwendoline and Olivia were over by the railings trying to look bored. But then I noticed a little huddle of heads all anxiously looking towards the scales. It was the whole Slippin family – mum, Ellie, her little sister Flozzy, the twins – all staring with their mouths wide open. Even baby Bubbles was staring out of her
battered old pushchair and dribbling all over her purple tights.

Behind me was a noise like a duck coughing. It was Martha slurping the last few drops of green milky sludge up through the long stripy straw. ‘Hey Agatha,' she said laughing. ‘Do you think my grandad gets a prize for the worst guess?'

‘Never mind him,' I said. ‘Ellie's family is looking a bit desperate!'

‘Yeah, they really want to win,'
said Martha. ‘It's Flozzy's birthday this week and they'd love to have that cake. They haven't got enough money to buy one that big in the shop.'

Oh dear. To be fair to James he had bought two tickets, and he'd spent hours working out how much the cake weighed so I'd sort of forgiven him and was hoping he'd win it. In fact anyone winning would be better than Gwendoline. But Ellie's family was looking so hopeful!

Cake weights:

1233 – J Parrot

1234 – G Tutt

1235 – J Parrot

1236 – F Slippin

I'd been watching the cake stand and I saw Flozzy Slippin's name was next to number 1236. It was going to be very close! All we could do was wait and see what happened.

Miss Pingle had got some tiny tweezers and was using them to pick
the very smallest weights out of the box. ‘These are one gram weights,' she explained. ‘I'll put them on one at a time until it balances.'

‘Come on chaps, let's all count together,' said Mrs Twelvetrees.

‘One!' said everybody as the first tiny weight went on. ‘Two . . . three . . . oooh!'

The cake shifted ever so slightly. The weight had got to 1,233 grams which was one of James's guesses!
He had his fingers crossed so tightly that the ends were going blue . . . but the cake stayed where it was.

‘Here comes weight number four,' announced Miss Pingle.

That would make a weight of 1,234 grams. Gwendoline and Olivia suddenly barged through everybody and pushed right to the front.

‘You might win it,' said Olivia.

‘I do hope not!' said Gwendoline. ‘Can you imagine what Mum would
say if I brought that thing home? It'd serve her right for making me come here.'

But Miss Pingle had already put the tiny weight on, and the cake stayed down.

‘Well thank GOODNESS for that!' said Gwendoline. ‘At least it won't be me that's poisoned.'

Gwendoline and Olivia pushed their way back to stand by the railings like they didn't care, but
we all knew that Gwendoline was sulking her head off ha ha ha saddo!

‘Let's add one more gram, Miss Pingle,' said Mrs Twelvetrees.

‘Oooooh!' said the crowd.

James's crossed fingers went even bluer, and the Slippins's mouths all opened even wider and Bubbles's tights got even dribblier.

Very carefully, Miss Pingle tweezered the fifth tiny weight on to the scales. Everybody held their
breath and then . . . the cake slowly rose up into the balanced position!

‘YES!'
screamed James. He was jumping up and down, punching the air. ‘YES OH YES OH YES!'

‘Who had 1,235 grams?' asked Miss Pingle looking round as if she couldn't see him. (Wasn't that a nice touch? She might only be a new teacher but she's got a lot of style.)

Everybody was looking at James, except me and Martha.
We were looking at the Slippins.

‘That's really sad,' said Martha. ‘I wanted them to win.'

Ellie's mum was fumbling in her pocket and pulled out a crumpled £5 note. She came over to James.

‘Well done James,' she said. ‘But if you don't want the cake, can I buy it off you? Please?'

James looked at the £5 note and pulled a face. ‘You can't afford it.'

Ellie's mum sighed, but then Ellie
shoved her hand in her cardigan pocket and pulled out all the money she had. It was only a few coins, probably about 25p. She passed them to her mum who offered them to James along with the £5.

‘You're kidding, aren't you?' sneered James. ‘I tell you what. Give me £100 and it's yours.'

Oooh, I was getting cross and at first I didn't notice that Martha was tapping me on the arm. ‘You're
pulling your hair!' she said.

Too right I was. It's what I always do to wake my brain up. NO WAY could I let James have that cake now, but how could I fix it . . . ?

And then I felt something between my fingers, something very small, hard and round that had got stuck in my hair. I tugged it out.
It was a tiny silver ball! It must have landed there on Saturday when we'd been slapping all the icing and other stuff on the cake. Oh wow. All I had to do was drop the ball on to the cake to make it that tiny bit heavier and James would lose!

But Martha had been reading my mind. She pointed at James who was already pushing his way to the front. There was no way I could get to the cake before he did.
Eeky freak!

James could have just picked up the cake and walked away, but of course, being James, he couldn't resist turning to the crowd and doing a big bow. Absolutely nobody clapped, but he didn't care. He just waved over at Ellie and her mum and shouted, ‘I'll save you a few crumbs!'

Just as James was making me feel utterly sick, I felt Martha's fingers reaching into my hand. She grabbed the little silver ball and shoved it
in one end of the long stripy straw. (See? I told you that straw was important.) She took a deep breath, put the other end in her mouth, aimed it at the cake and
BLEW!
The ball shot out and stuck itself deep into the yellow icing. James was doing one last bow when behind his back, the cake slowly went down and the weights came up again.
YO! GOOD ONE MARTHA.
I mean to say, honestly, how cool was that? We love Martha.

‘I say chaps!' said Mrs Twelvetrees clapping her hands loudly. ‘It looks like we're not quite there yet. Let's have another gram
please Miss Pingle!'

And sure enough, one more gram went on and the cake moved back up into the balanced position.

‘I declare the official weight as being one thousand, two hundred and thirty-six grams!' said Miss Pingle.

‘WHAT?' blurted James who couldn't believe it.

‘And that's the
final
result,' said Miss Pingle sharply.

And with that she heaved the cake from the scales and walked over to the Slippins who were all standing with their hands outstretched to take it. And this time everybody DID clap.

Well actually, everybody clapped except James.

T
hat night Dad was sitting in the armchair trying to watch a programme about cars he couldn't afford to buy. Dad is one of those dads who can't watch telly unless he's holding the remote control, so he was being really grumpy. Mum had taken
Tilly out to ballet so there was only me and James in the house and James had gone to hide up in his room. That left me to face the great grumpiness of Dad alone so that wasn't very fair, was it? Never mind, I'd soon have it sorted out. Tum tee tum . . .

‘Would you like me to sit on the floor by the telly and change it when you want, Dad?' I asked.

‘Don't be silly,' said Dad, but then he had a think about it just like
I knew he would. ‘If anybody should be doing that it should be James.'

Correct.
Well done Dad. So let's get it organised shall we?

‘I don't mind doing it, honestly, really,' said good little Agatha who wouldn't hurt a sausage. ‘After all James is busy upstairs doing his homework.
*
You can't ask him to sit there changing the telly.'

‘Oh can't I?'

(
*
Big joke. All James ever does
in his room is put on his football shirt and look at himself in the mirror, and Dad knew it.)

And so it came to pass that one minute later James was sitting on the floor by the telly looking even grumpier than Dad
ha ha!

‘Make it a bit quieter,' Dad said. James reached for the buttons and turned the volume down.

‘Have I got to stay here all night?' he moaned.

‘Unless you go and get that remote,' said Dad. ‘I paid for the telly, that was MY remote control,
you lost it, so until you find it, you
ARE
the remote control. Now stop talking and make it a bit louder.'

James sighed and reached for the buttons again.

The car programme finished so Dad made James flick through all the other channels. He only watched about ten seconds of each one and made James change the volume every time. Gosh Dad was being super-grumpy that night, which is a bit worrying for a grown man with rainbow-coloured toenails.

I was on the sofa pretending to read a book about something but I can't remember what as it was dead
boring. Oh gosh, I shouldn't say that when YOU'RE reading this book should I? It might put you off reading books. OK, the book was about bananas and it was really interesting. Really, honest it was. You don't believe me do you? Bah. I'd better start this bit again. (Don't worry, you won't have to read this, they always cross these bits out before they send books to the printers.)