it?’
‘You see?’ said TT. ‘I told you. Where are you going?’ Arthur had climbed off his mattress and was heading out of the door.
‘Where do you think? I’m going to complain to the management. The service here is terrible.’
The van shook as someone climbed into the driver’s seat. The water in the fish bowl sloshed about a bit as whoever it was made themselves comfortable. Gareth stopped swimming in mindless circles and faced the glass to receive his latest caller.
After a moment, a scaly green face loomed towards him and a pair of hugely magnified eyes filled the horizon, like twin moons.
Gareth waited, fluttering his fins.
‘Ahem.’ The caller cleared his throat. ‘Um – Gareth? It’s – er – me. Arthur.’
Gareth waited.
‘All well in fish world, is it?’
Gareth blew an affirmative bubble.
Plop.
‘Would that be –’ Arthur hesitated – ‘a yes?’
Gareth blew another. There was a little pause.
‘Good,’ said Arthur. ‘Good to know you’re all right.’ He gave a heavy sigh. ‘I only wish I was.’
There was another little pause. Gareth waited.
‘I’m probably being petty,’ went on Arthur after a bit. ‘It’s just that – look, I know you’re TT’s pet and you have to be loyal, but – well, to be absolutely frank, I’m getting heartily sick of him taking over . I wasn’t that bad a manager, after all. I got us gigs, didn’t I? I kept the books balanced. I didn’t go round with a stupid hat on, flashing Magic Cards and buying cameras and watches and booking us into five-star boiler rooms.’
Gareth blew a stream of small, questioning bubbles. Plop-plop-pop?
‘Well, yes,’ said Arthur. ‘Yes, of course I want to win. And obviously I want a record contract – who wouldn’t? But everything’s happening so fast . It’s all out of my control. Right now I just wish I was home eating one of Mam’s curries, getting ready to do a local gig where nobody expects anything.’
PLOP! Gareth blew a big bubble of stout support.
‘Well, I know that,’ said Arthur. ‘I know we’re good . But are we good enough ? We haven’t heard the competition and some people – well, most people – just don’t get Crash ’n’ Bang. And we’re not at our best right now. O’Brian’s sulking and won’t be parted from his Pot in case someone steals it. And Tallula’s never been on a stage before so I’m worried about that. And I wouldn’t admit this to anyone else, but I’m a bit hurt because I didn’t get any fan mail although the piano’s the most important instrument and after all I did start the band . . .’
And so it went on, for quite some time. Another large, sleek limousine drew up and parked alongside the first – but Arthur didn’t even notice.
Some time later, Arthur came back into the boiler room. Everyone appeared to be asleep and snoring apart from the boiler, which was wide awake and roaring. He pulled the string hanging next to the bare light bulb and crept over to his mattress in the dark.
‘You’ve been a while,’ came O’Brian’s voice.
‘Yes,’ said Arthur.
‘Did you speak to the manager?’
‘No. He’s a bit tied up. Another celebrity’s just arrived. Lulu Lamarre. She’s out there signing autographs for the staff. She has twenty-seven pieces of luggage. I counted.’
‘So what took you so long, then?’ asked O’Brian.
‘I – er – checked on Gareth,’ said Arthur. ‘He – er – he says he’s fine.’
Tallula lay curled up in the dark in the back of the van, wishing that the voice droning on in the front seat would talk a little more quietly. This was the third visitor to the van and it seemed that he was going to be there for some time. Despite stuffing her fingers in her ears, she could hear every word.
‘. . . And everything keeps going wrong, simply everything. Ever since I wouldn’t mend the Fairy’s shoes. It was bad enough turning a job down – Leprechauns aren’t supposed
‘You see?’ said TT. ‘I told you. Where are you going?’ Arthur had climbed off his mattress and was heading out of the door.
‘Where do you think? I’m going to complain to the management. The service here is terrible.’
The van shook as someone climbed into the driver’s seat. The water in the fish bowl sloshed about a bit as whoever it was made themselves comfortable. Gareth stopped swimming in mindless circles and faced the glass to receive his latest caller.
After a moment, a scaly green face loomed towards him and a pair of hugely magnified eyes filled the horizon, like twin moons.
Gareth waited, fluttering his fins.
‘Ahem.’ The caller cleared his throat. ‘Um – Gareth? It’s – er – me. Arthur.’
Gareth waited.
‘All well in fish world, is it?’
Gareth blew an affirmative bubble.
Plop.
‘Would that be –’ Arthur hesitated – ‘a yes?’
Gareth blew another. There was a little pause.
‘Good,’ said Arthur. ‘Good to know you’re all right.’ He gave a heavy sigh. ‘I only wish I was.’
There was another little pause. Gareth waited.
‘I’m probably being petty,’ went on Arthur after a bit. ‘It’s just that – look, I know you’re TT’s pet and you have to be loyal, but – well, to be absolutely frank, I’m getting heartily sick of him taking over . I wasn’t that bad a manager, after all. I got us gigs, didn’t I? I kept the books balanced. I didn’t go round with a stupid hat on, flashing Magic Cards and buying cameras and watches and booking us into five-star boiler rooms.’
Gareth blew a stream of small, questioning bubbles. Plop-plop-pop?
‘Well, yes,’ said Arthur. ‘Yes, of course I want to win. And obviously I want a record contract – who wouldn’t? But everything’s happening so fast . It’s all out of my control. Right now I just wish I was home eating one of Mam’s curries, getting ready to do a local gig where nobody expects anything.’
PLOP! Gareth blew a big bubble of stout support.
‘Well, I know that,’ said Arthur. ‘I know we’re good . But are we good enough ? We haven’t heard the competition and some people – well, most people – just don’t get Crash ’n’ Bang. And we’re not at our best right now. O’Brian’s sulking and won’t be parted from his Pot in case someone steals it. And Tallula’s never been on a stage before so I’m worried about that. And I wouldn’t admit this to anyone else, but I’m a bit hurt because I didn’t get any fan mail although the piano’s the most important instrument and after all I did start the band . . .’
And so it went on, for quite some time. Another large, sleek limousine drew up and parked alongside the first – but Arthur didn’t even notice.
Some time later, Arthur came back into the boiler room. Everyone appeared to be asleep and snoring apart from the boiler, which was wide awake and roaring. He pulled the string hanging next to the bare light bulb and crept over to his mattress in the dark.
‘You’ve been a while,’ came O’Brian’s voice.
‘Yes,’ said Arthur.
‘Did you speak to the manager?’
‘No. He’s a bit tied up. Another celebrity’s just arrived. Lulu Lamarre. She’s out there signing autographs for the staff. She has twenty-seven pieces of luggage. I counted.’
‘So what took you so long, then?’ asked O’Brian.
‘I – er – checked on Gareth,’ said Arthur. ‘He – er – he says he’s fine.’
Tallula lay curled up in the dark in the back of the van, wishing that the voice droning on in the front seat would talk a little more quietly. This was the third visitor to the van and it seemed that he was going to be there for some time. Despite stuffing her fingers in her ears, she could hear every word.
‘. . . And everything keeps going wrong, simply everything. Ever since I wouldn’t mend the Fairy’s shoes. It was bad enough turning a job down – Leprechauns aren’t supposed
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