guys down in the hall were cracking up, helpless with glee. And Chloe was still yelling at Beast, yelling at the top of her voice.
‘Go away!’ she screeched. ‘Don’t you understand plain English? GO AWAY!’ It was, in a word, pandemonium.
And it was at this moment that the front door opened and Mr and Mrs Norman stepped inside. They aren’t usually cross sort of people. In fact, if they had got cross with their own brats more often right from the start, the world would be a much more gracious place. Their inability to get cross or yell at their offspring was legendary. But this was different.
Their hall was full of large young men they’d never met before. One looked like a weasel, one like a pickpocket and one like an enormous and tasteless root vegetable. A random girl, naked except for Mrs Norman’s best velour dressing gown, cowered in the background. And the babysitter from hell (me) was halfway up the stairs, being urinated on by their entirely nude and grouchy children.
‘What the hell is going on?’ demanded Mr Norman. He doesn’t normally say much, which made his present anger all the more alarming. As the official babysitter, I felt it was my duty to explain. Their children’s pee was on my head. Normally this would have entitled me to some kind of apology, but I had the feeling that, in the present circumstances, it was just somehow further proof of my total incompetence.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. It seemed the best place to start.
.
.
16
SUNDAY 11.18 p.m.
A daring escape . . .
‘You know Chloe . . .’ I faltered. ‘She came to babysit with me last time.’
‘Sorry about the dressing gown,’ said Chloe. You could see she was tempted to take it off guiltily, but that would have increased the number of nude people present to three. Mrs Norman wasn’t listening anyway. She was halfway up the stairs.
‘They’re sleepwalking again,’ she said. ‘The twins stared down at her like two statues. They had finished peeing now. ‘Get the carpet shampoo, Clive,’ she said. Mr Norman walked past us towards the kitchen. Mrs Norman hustled the twins off to the bathroom.
‘These guys were just leaving,’ I said to nobody in particular.
‘My clothes must be dry by now,’ said Chloe hurriedly. The tumble-dryer was out in the utility room, beyond the kitchen. ‘You go and get them!’ she whispered to me. She didn’t want to tangle with Mr Norman in the kitchen. I pushed past Donut, pausing only to hiss, ‘Get lost!’ to the guys.
Mr Norman was on his knees, ransacking the cupboard under the kitchen sink.
I tiptoed to the utility room and got Chloe’s clothes out of the tumble-dryer. She locked herself in the downstairs cloakroom to get changed. Beast hung about outside, whispering things through the door. I had to leave her to look after herself – there was other stuff to do.
Donut and Weasel were still hanging about in the hall, watching Mr Norman shampooing the stair carpet and sniggering unpleasantly.
‘For God’s sake!’ I whispered. ‘Get lost, can’t you? Just GO!’
Couldn’t they feel the atmosphere of embarrassment that hung heavy on the air? Weasel looked at Donut, shrugged and moved towards the door.
‘I’ll wait outside, then,’ he muttered.
‘You too!’ I insisted, pushing Donut towards the door.
‘We’ll wait in the car, yeah?’ Donut called to Beast.
‘Right!’ answered Beast. ‘We’ll be with you in half a second.’
We? I thought. Who’s he trying to kid? Moments later, though, Chloe emerged, back in her own clothes and carrying Mrs Norman’s dressing gown, which she hung on the hall stand. It looked wrong there, but I could understand that she wouldn’t want to take it upstairs with Mrs Norman on the warpath up there.
‘OK, Chloe, babe,’ said Beast. ‘Let’s go.’
I turned in disbelief to Chloe. Earlier that evening she had said Beast was a complete and utter cad, and she never wanted to speak to him again. Only moments ago
‘Go away!’ she screeched. ‘Don’t you understand plain English? GO AWAY!’ It was, in a word, pandemonium.
And it was at this moment that the front door opened and Mr and Mrs Norman stepped inside. They aren’t usually cross sort of people. In fact, if they had got cross with their own brats more often right from the start, the world would be a much more gracious place. Their inability to get cross or yell at their offspring was legendary. But this was different.
Their hall was full of large young men they’d never met before. One looked like a weasel, one like a pickpocket and one like an enormous and tasteless root vegetable. A random girl, naked except for Mrs Norman’s best velour dressing gown, cowered in the background. And the babysitter from hell (me) was halfway up the stairs, being urinated on by their entirely nude and grouchy children.
‘What the hell is going on?’ demanded Mr Norman. He doesn’t normally say much, which made his present anger all the more alarming. As the official babysitter, I felt it was my duty to explain. Their children’s pee was on my head. Normally this would have entitled me to some kind of apology, but I had the feeling that, in the present circumstances, it was just somehow further proof of my total incompetence.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. It seemed the best place to start.
.
.
16
SUNDAY 11.18 p.m.
A daring escape . . .
‘You know Chloe . . .’ I faltered. ‘She came to babysit with me last time.’
‘Sorry about the dressing gown,’ said Chloe. You could see she was tempted to take it off guiltily, but that would have increased the number of nude people present to three. Mrs Norman wasn’t listening anyway. She was halfway up the stairs.
‘They’re sleepwalking again,’ she said. ‘The twins stared down at her like two statues. They had finished peeing now. ‘Get the carpet shampoo, Clive,’ she said. Mr Norman walked past us towards the kitchen. Mrs Norman hustled the twins off to the bathroom.
‘These guys were just leaving,’ I said to nobody in particular.
‘My clothes must be dry by now,’ said Chloe hurriedly. The tumble-dryer was out in the utility room, beyond the kitchen. ‘You go and get them!’ she whispered to me. She didn’t want to tangle with Mr Norman in the kitchen. I pushed past Donut, pausing only to hiss, ‘Get lost!’ to the guys.
Mr Norman was on his knees, ransacking the cupboard under the kitchen sink.
I tiptoed to the utility room and got Chloe’s clothes out of the tumble-dryer. She locked herself in the downstairs cloakroom to get changed. Beast hung about outside, whispering things through the door. I had to leave her to look after herself – there was other stuff to do.
Donut and Weasel were still hanging about in the hall, watching Mr Norman shampooing the stair carpet and sniggering unpleasantly.
‘For God’s sake!’ I whispered. ‘Get lost, can’t you? Just GO!’
Couldn’t they feel the atmosphere of embarrassment that hung heavy on the air? Weasel looked at Donut, shrugged and moved towards the door.
‘I’ll wait outside, then,’ he muttered.
‘You too!’ I insisted, pushing Donut towards the door.
‘We’ll wait in the car, yeah?’ Donut called to Beast.
‘Right!’ answered Beast. ‘We’ll be with you in half a second.’
We? I thought. Who’s he trying to kid? Moments later, though, Chloe emerged, back in her own clothes and carrying Mrs Norman’s dressing gown, which she hung on the hall stand. It looked wrong there, but I could understand that she wouldn’t want to take it upstairs with Mrs Norman on the warpath up there.
‘OK, Chloe, babe,’ said Beast. ‘Let’s go.’
I turned in disbelief to Chloe. Earlier that evening she had said Beast was a complete and utter cad, and she never wanted to speak to him again. Only moments ago
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