The World's Loudest Armpit Fart (5 page)

‘What happened to all the Hot-dog and Halibut jelly?’ asked Matthew.

‘Mum ate it all,’ answered Danny. ‘She spread it on toast for breakfast. Since she’s been pregnant, Mum’s been eating all sorts of weird stuff. She’s having jelly with everything: jelly and chips, jelly and spaghetti . . .’

Matthew laughed. ‘Maybe if she eats enough, she’ll have a jelly-baby!’

‘Do you need Hot-dog and Halibut for the mix?’

‘No. I think I’ve got
this
mix just right.’ Matthew poked the jelly with his finger. It trembled frantically for a few seconds and then was still.

‘Ace!’ said Danny.

Just then, Mum shouted from downstairs. ‘Danny! Matthew! There’s
another
Wibberley Wobberley wagon outside, and the driver says the whole delivery’s for you!’

‘Cool!’ said Matt as they dashed downstairs. ‘That lot’ll fill your garage!’

‘The garage is
already
full of the stuff,’ said Mum. ‘Danny, these jelly-records have got to stop.’

‘But we need that many for the Longest Mexican Jelly-wave in a Sports Stadium attempt,’ he explained. ‘We’ll fill the stands at Penleydale United with jellies, give them a poke at one end, and send a wave right the way round. It’ll be the last one, I promise.’

At that moment there was a screech of disgust from upstairs.

‘Mum!’ yelled Natalie. ‘I’ve got to get ready for my dance competition and Danny’s filled the bath with jelly!’

Danny, Matthew and Mum went upstairs and looked in through the bathroom door.

‘Tell him!’ wailed Natalie.

‘I’m telling you, Danny,’ said Mum. ‘You’re going to need a bigger bath!’

Danny and Matthew stood outside the changing rooms at school as the Bunbury Bantams’ minibus pulled up. Danny was wearing a Walchester United scarf around his face, in case Sally Butterworth had any kissing in mind. He pulled it tighter.

‘Hiya, Matt,’ beamed Sally, racing from the bus and slapping him hard on the shoulder. ‘Hiya, Dan. Are you playing today?’

‘No, I’m not quite fit yet. Just a few more days.’

‘So who’s in goal?’

Before Danny could answer, a voice snarled, ‘Butterworth!’

Sally spun round. ‘Potts!’ she growled.

Everyone stopped what they were doing. Footballs rolled away unkicked. Conversations stopped in mid-sentence. Parents and children craned their necks to see what was happening. Those standing between Sally and Maradona moved aside quickly, and the pair faced each other down two long lines of hushed, tense children. A gust of wind sent an empty packet of crisps skittering across the desert of tarmac that separated the two opponents.

Sally advanced slowly and menacingly towards Maradona, looking like a volcano about to erupt.

‘You’re useless, Butterworth,’ sneered Maradona, jabbing his finger at her. ‘
You
won’t score today, because
I’m
in goal.’

Sally glowered. ‘I know your weakness, Potts,’ she said. ‘You won’t stop me.’

Maradona snorted and pushed past her towards the changing rooms.

‘So, have you two met before?’ grinned Matthew.

‘Potts used to play for us,’ replied Sally. ‘He bullied my best friend, Vicky, and forced her off the team. We all hated him. We scored an own goal against him on purpose, just to stop him breaking the record for most clean sheets.’

‘He’s pretty good,’ said Danny. ‘You might not score against him today.’

‘He’s not as good as you, Dan, and I’ve scored against you.’

‘That was beach football,’ said Matthew. ‘It doesn’t count.’

Sally laughed and strode off to the changing room.

The game kicked off and Sally was unstoppable. Matthew tried to mark her, but she ran him ragged. After only five minutes, she got the ball about fifteen metres from the Sparrows’ goal, dummied Matthew, glanced up and saw Potts still on his line. She curled a shot high past his outstretched hand, into the corner of the net.

Danny didn’t know how to feel. Sally had scored against Potts (Ace!), but she had also scored against his team (Not Ace!).

As Potts went to pick the ball out of the net, he began to limp. Five more times Sally beat him, and set up goals for three more of her team. With every goal scored, Maradona’s limp got worse, and on the touchline his father’s face turned more and more purple. As Potts picked the ball out of his goal for the tenth time, the final whistle blew. He staggered towards the touchline like a pirate with a wooden leg.

‘You were useless!’ screamed his father.

‘I was injured,’ complained Potts. ‘I hurt my leg at the start. She wouldn’t have scored
any
if I’d been OK.’

The Sparrows’ coach shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Maradona. That girl’s obviously got you beat and we’re playing them again in the first round of the Invitation Tournament.’ He looked at Danny. ‘Make sure you’re match-fit by next week, Dan. I want you back in the team!’

It was the day of the Mexican Jelly-wave. In the home team’s changing room at Penleydale Town, the communal jacuzzi bath was full to the brim with gently bubbling orange jelly: quick-setting Pineapple and Parsnip added to Peach and Pickled-onion flavour. The air burbling up from the bottom of the big bath stirred the jelly perfectly.

Matthew had come up with a formula to calculate how
many
jellies they would need and how
much
jelly-mix they would have to make up:

TSA of T ÷ ASA of BJM = TN of JN → WWW × AV of JM = TA of JN (Total Surface Area of the Terraces, divided by the Average Surface Area of the Bottom of the Jelly Moulds = Total Number of Jellies Needed to Produce the Wibbly Wobbly Wonder, times the Average Volume of the Jelly Moulds = Total Amount of Jelly Needed).

‘We’ll need eight thousand eight hundred and twenty-three jellies,’ Matthew explained. ‘At an average of three point four litres per mould, we’ll have to mix twenty-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight point two litres of jelly, which is almost exactly one and a half big bathfuls.’

‘If you say so, Matt,’ said Danny.

Mr Eckersley, the club groundsman, had cleared out a storeroom and found a pile of dusty silver cups from Penleydale Town’s Golden Years, 1923–1936, when trophies came thick and fast. They made perfect jelly moulds and now stood in rows along the edge of the jacuzzi.

Every member of the Coalclough Sparrows football team pitched in. Some poured the liquid into the cups, while others carried the set jellies out to the terraces, where Danny and Matthew carefully placed them in rows, making sure that they all touched each other. After hours of hard work, two and a half sides of the ground were full of transparent orange trophy-shaped domes.