TALES FROM WITCHWAY WOOD: Crash 'n' Bang (13 page)

‘
Ha, ha, that’s confidence for you! Reckon your fans will turn out to support you?
’

‘
Well, obviously
.’

‘
Excellent! Good! Terrific! I’m guessing a lot of them will be tuned in right now. Any message for them?
’

‘
No. Will this take much longer?
’

‘
Er – no, I guess that’s it. Well, good to talk to you, thanks for coming in. I know you and the band are pressed for time, but I believe you’re going to do a quick number for us before you set off, right?
’

At this point, the road dipped sharply and the radio started the hideous crackling again.

‘Do something!’ shouted TT. ‘I want to hear what the competition’s like!’

Filth fiddled with the knob and the crackling was replaced by silence.

‘Lost the reception,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

‘I wonder if they’ve really got lots of fans,’ said Arthur, sounding a bit anxious.

‘So what if they have?’ asked TT.

‘Well – we haven’t.’

‘That’s all you know.’ TT snapped open the glove compartment, took out a large brown envelope and thrust it at Arthur. ‘Here. Fan mail. Arrived this morning.’

‘Oh my!’ said Arthur. A couple of little sparks shot from his nose. ‘How exciting!’

He reached into the envelope and drew out three smaller envelopes. They were decorated with hearts and sprinkled with silver glitter.

‘Read them out, then,’ said TT.

Arthur opened the first one.

‘
dere filth i am yor bigest fan can i hav yor autogarf luv charlene
.’

‘Well, that’s nice, isn’t it?’ said TT. ‘What’s the next one say?’

Arthur opened the next one.

‘
dere filth i am yor bigest fan can i hav yor autogarf luv jemella
.’

‘R-i-i-i-ght,’ said TT carefully. ‘Also very nice. And the third?’

‘
dere filth i am yor
–’ Arthur broke off. ‘Look, I don’t know why I’m bothering. They’re all for Filth.’

Crossly, he shoved the letters back into the envelope and thrust it at Filth, who gave an uninterested shrug and carried on fiddling with the radio.

‘You’ll have to reply,’ said TT.

‘No way,’ said Filth.

‘Well, somebody has to. You can’t let your fans down.’

‘Don’t look at me,’ said Arthur huffily. ‘I’m not answering his silly fan mail for him.’

‘Nor me,’ said O’Brian. It was the first time he had spoken in ages. He shuffled around irritably in his seat. There came the distinct sound of trousers ripping.

‘It’s not the manager’s job,’ said TT firmly. ‘I’ve got enough to do as it is. And I don’t think Chip wants to do it, do you, Chip?’

‘Uh,’ grunted Chip, shaking his head.

‘I’ll do it if you like,’ said Tallula from the back. ‘Just show me how you sign your name and I’ll forge it.’

Everyone looked startled. She had been so quiet, they had all forgotten she was there.

‘There you go!’ cried TT. ‘Problem sorted. The Wer— Tallula’ll do it.’

‘Cool,’ said Filth. ‘Thanks, Tallula.’

Arthur threw the envelope over his shoulder. It landed in Tallula’s lap. She smoothed it out and put it carefully to one side. She was glad to have a little job she could do for Filth, even if it was answering fan mail from other girls. Out of all the Boys, Filth was her favourite. She felt they had something important in common. Neither of them was in it for the fame or the money. It was all about the music. Besides, he was really cute.

‘Ridiculous,’ muttered Arthur, still put out. ‘He should answer his own fan mail. Shouldn’t he, O’Brian?’

‘Right,’ said O’Brian sulkily. To add to his woes, he was already feeling carsick. He tried winding down the window, but the handle came off in his hand.

‘Man,’ said Filth, sitting back from the radio with a sigh. ‘I can’t get it to work. Think it’s dead.’

‘That’s all right,’ said TT cheerfully. ‘We’ll just have to talk to each other.’

There was silence. Not a great start to what was going to be a long, long journey.

Tallula said brightly, ‘Anyone fancy a biscuit?’

Preparations

We all know what it’s like to spend hours and hours cooped up in a car. It’s boring beyond belief. Let’s just skip that bit and shoot on ahead a few hours. More interesting things are happening in Sludgehaven.

Ali Pali and the Mayor stood in warm late afternoon sunshine, surveying the field. Despite days of frantic activity, it was far from ready. The stage was still in the process of being erected. Teams of Gnomes in dungarees were scuttling around with ladders, lengths of cable and long planks of wood. On either side of the stage were two tents. One – the sparkly one with the fairy lights – was labelled CELEBRITIES. The second – big, white and ordinary – was for the BANDS.

Around the edge of the field, tents and stalls were springing up. A big tattooed Zombie and his big tattooed son were testing out the sound system. From everywhere came the relentless sound of hammering.

‘ONE-TWO!’ boomed the Zombie into a microphone. ‘TURN IT UP, DAVE, IT NEEDS MORE TREBLE. ONE-TWO! ONE-TWO!’

‘I hope this isn’t going to go on much longer,’ fretted the Mayor. ‘We have strict noise regulations. As Mayor, it is my duty to enforce them.’

The Mayor was small. So small he stood on tiptoe to compensate. He had a mousy moustache and that horrible hairstyle that consists of a few strands grown really long and combed over a shiny bald pate. His chain of office was intended for someone much taller and clonked against his knees. That didn’t stop him wearing it, though. It made him feel important. Feeling important was important to the Mayor.

‘No, no,’ Ali reassured him. ‘All will be finished by sundown, Mr Mayor. You have my word. Now. Tell me. What do you think of your exclusive celebrity hospitality tent? It is my own design.’

‘Well – very nice,’ admitted the Mayor. ‘Very – glittery. I can see that.’

‘Everyone can,’ said Ali happily. ‘It is the sequins.’

‘Yes,’ said the Mayor. ‘There are certainly plenty of those.’

‘If there is one thing we Genies know about it is sequins.’

‘That’s as may be,’ said the Mayor, ‘but it’s the noise I’m bothered about. I don’t want complaints from the residents. As Mayor, I have to answer to them, you know.’

‘There are no residents,’ Ali pointed out mildly. ‘This is a field.’

‘Yes, but sound travels.’ The Mayor’s watery little eyes roamed around. ‘I thought you said there would be spellovision cameras. I don’t see any.’

‘Arriving tomorrow.’

‘Where will I sit? As Mayor, people will want to see me. Will I have a special chair?’

‘Of course. There will be a special judging table. You, the Mystery Celebrities and my humble self will assemble at eleven o’clock in the celebrity tent, where a range of delicious food and drink will be available. There will be photo opportunities and the press will be wanting interviews. At twelve on the dot, the Battle begins. The popular radio DJ Benny Bonkers will open the proceedings. At his signal, we shall parade forth and take our places, to great rejoicing.’

‘And who are these Mystery Celebrities? As Mayor, I think I should be told.’

‘Ah. Now, there I have excellent news. This is for your ears only.’

Ali leaned over and whispered in the Mayor’s ear, then stood back, looking smug.

‘Really?’ gasped the Mayor, his eyes widening. ‘Well, well. My word. Quite a coup. As Mayor, I congratulate you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Scott Sinister,’ murmured the Mayor. ‘Lulu Lamarre. Well, well.’

He pictured himself sitting between the famous stars, hopefully propped up higher with cushions. Chatting informally. Laughing uproariously. Having his picture taken with his arm resting lightly on Lulu Lamarre’s luscious shoulders.

Like many people, the Mayor had a weakness for celebrities. He knew all about Scott Sinister, of course. He had read articles about him in back copies of
Famous and Fabulous
in the dentist’s waiting room. He knew even more about Lulu Lamarre, Scott’s equally famous, glamorous on-off girlfriend.

Interestingly, both stars had connections to Sludgehaven. Early on in their careers, they had both starred in a memorable summer show at the Pier Pavilion. Since then, they had gone on to greater things, of course. But the Mayor was proud of the fact that Sludgehaven had played a small part in their rise to stardom. He intended to bring that up a
lot
.

‘You seem surprised,’ observed Ali.

‘I am,’ admitted the Mayor. ‘I was under the impression that they had finally ended their – er – association. A lot of bad feeling between them, I was told. Not that I read the celebrity magazines myself, of course. I heard it from my secretary.’

‘A little mild professional jealousy,’ said Ali, with a shrug. ‘It happens. Besides, neither of them knows that the other will be there. I thought it best not to mention it.’

‘Is that wise? Won’t they be upset?’

‘Relax, Mr Mayor,’ soothed Ali. ‘They know the drill. When the cameras roll, they will put on happy, smiling faces, you will see. And they will be sitting alongside your good self. You are an important man. They are most anxious to meet you. Lulu in particular.’

‘Really?’ said the Mayor excitedly. ‘She told you that?’

‘Oh yes. All will be well, have no fear. I have booked them separate apartments at the Ritz. They arrive tonight. And then, tomorrow – let Battle commence!’

‘Mmm,’ said the Mayor. His eyes wandered again around the busy field. ‘Well, let us hope it won’t be too noisy. Those microphones are very loud. There have already been angry letters in the
Sludeghaven Times
. This is a respectable town, Mr Pali. A quiet little haven for families. Peaceful pleasures. A gentle paddle, a stroll along the promenade, a cream tea followed by an early night. We are attracting a better class of visitor these days. We don’t encourage riff-raff.’

‘Music lovers,’ said Ali mildly. ‘Loving families and loyal supporters. And they will be here, in the field. Well away from the town itself.’

‘Let us hope so. The residents have made their feelings very clear.’

‘They will feel differently when they see their Mayor on the spellovison, though,’ said Ali. He gave the Mayor a little nudge. ‘Sitting on an important judging panel. Flanked by famous superstars. Picture in the paper. Eh?’

‘Well – yes,’ agreed the Mayor more cheerfully. ‘That’s true.’

‘Tomorrow will be your finest hour, Mr Mayor. You have my word.’