Iggy and Me and the Happy Birthday Page 2

  8: A clock like Gabe Turner

  “What sort of clock has Gabe got?” I said.

  “It barks like a dog,” Iggy said. “He brought it in for Show and Tell. It’s funny.”

  “Ooh!” she said, and she wrote 9: Pants with days of the week on.

  “Those,” she said, “are actually quite useful.”

  “Let’s think of one more,” I said. “Then you’ve got ten things. That’s a pretty good list.”

  “Easy,” she said.

  10: A hamster

  “You already wrote that,” I said.

  I know,” said Iggy. “But I especially, doubly want it.”

  She took the list to show Mum and Dad. They had swapped places. Mum was reading in the deck chair and Dad was digging.

  “Very good,” Dad said.

  “Great pictures,” said Mum.

  “Where do I put it?” said Iggy.

  “Somewhere it won’t get lost,” said Mum.

  “Where’s that?” Dad said. (Things are always getting lost in our house.)

  “Put it on the fridge,” I said. Mum puts important pieces of paper there. “Put it on the fridge with a magnet.”

  Iggy ran off, flapping her list.

  “What does she want then, Flo?” Dad said when Iggy was gone.

  “She wants a hamster.”

  “She wants two hamsters,” Mum said, “according to that list.”

  “And apart from two hamsters?” Dad said.

  “She wants a bike,” I said. “She wants a pink and purple bike with tassels on the handlebars, and a bell and a basket, and a seat for teddies.”

  Just then Iggy ran out with her list again. “I thought of another thing!”

  “What is it?” I said.

  “I need an ambulance.”

  “A what?”

  “An ambulance for my toy hospital,” she said.

  11: Ambulance for teddies

  And, “Oh!” she said.

  12: Shelf for my books

  And, “Oh yes!”

  13: A pretend phone that looks really really real

  And then, “Just one more…”

  14: A HAMSTER

  Poor Iggy

  When Mum and Dad woke me up in the morning I heard a strange sound. It was Iggy.

  Iggy normally sings and chatterboxes when we are waking up, but today she was just groaning. It was quite loud.

  “Can you hear that?” said Mum.

  “Yes,” I said. “Why’s she doing that?”

  “She’s not very well, Flo,” Mum said.

  “Poor Iggy!” I said. “Not very well how?”

  Mum said, “She’s got a bad tummy. She’s been up all night. We’ve hardly slept a wink.”

  Before breakfast I went into Iggy’s room to see her. She was a bit of a funny colour. “Are you all right?” I said.

  “No,” Iggy said, and she shivered even though she was under all her covers up to her chin.

  “Are you cold?” I said.

  “No,” said Iggy, frowning at me. “I’m boiling.” And then I had to get out of the way because she needed to go to the loo double quick.

  All that day and the next, Iggy didn’t do any smiling. She didn’t want to play. Not even schools or shops or hospitals. She didn’t want to eat anything, definitely not cake. She didn’t want to read a book even, or watch anything on the telly.

  She just stayed in her bed, and was all hot and cold, and went to the loo a lot.

  At first it was peaceful.

  You could draw a picture or do your homework or make a piece of toast, without anyone interrupting.

  You could be on your own if you wanted, without anyone making a fuss.

  You could start a game and play it until you were finished, without anybody changing the rules.

  At first it was fine, but after a while it didn’t feel right. It was like a bit of Iggy had fallen out and she wasn’t Iggy any more.

  Dad missed her singing while she cleaned her teeth.

  Mum missed her playing a tune every time she walked past the piano, even when she was supposed to be in a hurry.

  I missed her talking at a million miles an hour and always making me laugh. I wanted Iggy to get better and come back. Mum and Dad agreed.

  The next day Mum took Iggy to the doctor. The doctor gave her some pink medicine. He said she had to rest and stay off school and only eat a very little of what she fancied.

  That night, Iggy still didn’t fancy anything, except some sips of water. She went up the stairs very slowly like she was climbing a big mountain and she went straight to bed.

  “Oh dear,” Mum said. “She’s not so good.”

  Dad shook his head.

  “Poor Iggy!” I said.

  In the morning, Iggy fancied rice crispies with sugar and no milk. Mum took it up to her room on a tray. We are never normally allowed rice crispies with sugar and no milk. We are never, ever normally allowed to eat in bed.

  Iggy had two bowls.

  I went up to say goodbye to her before school. I said, “Is your tummy better?”

  “No,” said Iggy with her mouth full.

  When I got home from school, Iggy wasn’t in bed. She was tucked up on the sofa under a blanket. She had a drink and a yogurt and three biscuits all lined up on a little table beside her. She had the remote control for the TV in her hand. She was watching cartoons.

  “I’m sick,” she said with a really big grin on her face.

  I put my school bags down and took off my shoes. “I know,” I said.

  “I had to just sit here, all day,” she said, without taking her eyes off the telly.

  “OK,” I said.

  “And I had to eat things that I like, and not eat things that I don’t.”

  “Can I have a biscuit?” I said.

  “Nope,” said Iggy.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Germs,” Iggy said. “You might catch them.”

  Just then Mum came in with a snack for me – a peanut butter sandwich and an apple and a glass of milk.

  Iggy’s voice went all wobbly and weak and feeble. “Can I have a sandwich?’ she said.

  “What do you want in it?” Mum said.

  “Peanut butter and marmite and cheese,” she said.

  Mum and me said, “Together?” together.

  “It’s delicious,” Iggy said, in her smallest, quietest, sickest voice.

  “How’s your tummy?” Mum said.

  “Sore,” Iggy said.

  “Oh dear,” said Mum.

  But as soon as Mum left, Iggy munched on a biscuit.

  When Dad came home the first thing he said was, “How’s the patient?”

  “Tired,” Iggy said in her smallest sleepiest voice.

  “Much better,” said Mum.

  “No I’m not,” said Iggy.

  “Well, you sit there,” Dad said, “and me and Mum and Flo will look after you.”

  Iggy thought of a new thing we could get her about every three minutes. First it was her pencil case. Then it was a glass of milk. Then it was her other pencil case and her sketchbook and her kangaroo and her nail varnish and a cut-up apple.

  “Is it your tummy that’s not working or your legs?” Dad said, and Iggy frowned at him.

  “It’s my tummy, silly,” she said. “My legs are perfectly fine.”

  “Are you sure?” Dad said. “Have you checked?”

  Iggy scowled at him while he had a peep under the blanket to see if her legs were still there. When she finished scowling, she clutched her tummy and groaned. “Owwwww!” she said, and, “Oaoooooh!”

  She opened one eye to make sure we were watching while she did it.

  “Oh dear,” Dad said. “If you’re that sick, you’d better go straight to bed.”

  Iggy stopped groaning straightaway. “I don’t want to go to bed,” she said.

  “Yes you do,” Dad said, and he whisked her up the stairs and tucked her in nicely.

  When Dad came back he s
aid, “So how are we going to make Iggy better?”

  “She is better,” Mum said.

  “I know that,” Dad said, “and you know that. But how do we make Iggy know she’s better?”

  I said, “I’m sure she’ll get better in time for her birthday.”

  Mum and Dad looked at each other.

  Mum said, “Of course she will.”

  Dad said, “Because if she’s not better, her birthday will be cancelled.”

  “If Iggy is still sick,” Mum said, “she’ll have to stay in bed for the whole thing.”

  Dad winked at Mum. Then he said, “Flo, I think you should go and tell her.”

  So I went upstairs and into Iggy’s room. She was drawing a picture and eating a biscuit. She hid it under the covers when I walked in.

  I said, “I need to tell you something.”

  “What?” Iggy said. She brushed the biscuit crumbs off her covers and on to the floor.

  “I think your birthday is going to get cancelled.”

  “What’s cancelled?” Iggy said. She didn’t look too worried.

  “When something’s cancelled,” I said, “it means it doesn’t happen.”

  Iggy stopped chewing. “Like Sports Day?” she said.

  Our school had a Sports Day, but it rained and rained and rained. Instead of the egg and spoon race, and the mums and dads race, we did normal lessons. And there weren’t any prizes.

  “Like Sports Day,” I said.

  Iggy’s chin wobbled and her eyes filled up with water. “Is that going to happen to my birthday?” she said.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe, if you’re sick. Dad said.”

  “Dad said?”

  “Yep.”

  Iggy started to sniffle. “Does that mean I’ll stay five?” she said. “I don’t want to stay five.”

  “It doesn’t mean you’ll stay five,” I said. “It just means you won’t have a party and fun stuff.”

  “You have to have a party on your birthday,” Iggy said. “You can’t not have the fun stuff.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “I want the fun stuff!” Iggy said.

  “Then you can’t be sick any more,” I said. “You have to get better.”

  “Is that all?” Iggy said.

  I said, “I think so.”

  “OK,” Iggy said. She got out from under her covers.

  “What are you doing?” I said.

  “I’m better,” Iggy said.

  “It’s bedtime,” I said. “You can get better in the morning.”

  “OK,” Iggy said, and she got into bed.

  “Good night,” I said.

  “Night, Flo,” Iggy said.

  In the morning, Iggy was up very early. My clock said something beginning with six which is much earlier than getting up time. I heard her walk into Mum and Dad’s room. I heard her say, “I’m better.”

  “Good,” Mum said.

  “Great,” said Dad.

  “So don’t Sports Day my birthday,” Iggy said.

  “What?” Mum said, and Dad said, “Am I still asleep?”

  “I’m better, so I can be six and have a party and all the fun stuff,” said Iggy. “OK?”

  Dad laughed, and Mum said, “OK.”

  Iggy came into my room. I opened one eye. She was dressed in her school uniform.

  “I’m better,” she said.

  “I know,” I said. “I heard you.

  “My birthday is back,” she said.

  “That’s good. I’m glad.”

  “Will you wake up now?” she said.

  “It’s too early,” I said.

  “Mum and Dad are still in bed,” she said.

  I opened both eyes. “I’ve got a good idea,” I said.

  “What?” said Iggy.

  “Let’s go downstairs and eat rice crispies with sugar and no milk before they get up,” I said.

  So we did.

  Iggy and the Snow Queen

  Iggy and me were making a play. We were learning our words and making our own costumes and scenery and everything. Our play was about the Snow Queen.

  The Snow Queen is a lady who can turn you all to ice just by looking at you. She is very pretty with her coat and her gloves on, but underneath her fingers are made of icicles and her skin is as cold as a snowball. She pretends to be friendly and nice until she’s got you where she wants you, and then she turns you into a snowman or an ice cube, just for fun. You wouldn’t want to meet the Snow Queen in real life.

  Iggy wanted to be the Snow Queen in our play for four reasons.

  One, because she still fitted into the white furry coat in our dressing-up box and it was the perfect Snow Queen costume.

  Two, because she’d been practising her mean face in the mirror. She screwed up her nose until it was all just wrinkles, and she bared all her snow-white teeth, and she stared at her reflection really hard like she was angry with it.

  Three, because it was the starring role, the best part, and Iggy was interested in that.

  Four, because it was nearly her birthday, and that was becoming Iggy’s biggest reason for getting what she wanted.

  I didn’t mind.

  We put flour on Iggy’s face with cotton wool, and blue chalk on her lips and her cheeks, so she looked like she was actually frozen. The whites of her eyes looked warm and yellow against her skin. Her mouth was all pink on the inside when she smiled.

  “Don’t smile,” I said.

  “I’m not,” Iggy said, and I saw pink when she talked too.

  Underneath the white coat she wore a white nightie, white tights and white knickers and vest. We found some white gloves that were all lacy like the curtains at Granny and Grandpa’s house. And we made a sort of crown out of tin foil and white pipe cleaners. That took ages.

  Then we made the scenery. We put all the white sheets and towels we could find on the floor of the landing and over the banisters. I climbed up and stuck some hankies and tea towels to the ceiling so they hung down like icicles.

  “Cool,” Iggy said.

  “No Iggy,” I said, and I pretended to shiver. “Freezing.”

  We got all the white toys we had, like rabbits and polar bears and puppies and mice, and we dotted them about like frozen things. We put pillowcases over some of our other not-white teddies and they looked exactly like lumps of snow.

  Dad came upstairs and looked at the landing. “What the…?” he said, in a quite loud voice.

  “What is it?” Mum called from downstairs.

  “The airing cupboard’s exploded,” he said.

  “You’re joking,” Mum said and then she came up too. She opened her mouth and an “Ooh,” came out.

  “Not really,” said Dad.

  “What’s going on?” they both said.

  Iggy said, “It’s the Snow Queen’s lair,” and she pulled her mean face.

  I said we were doing a play.

  “For you to watch,” Iggy said.

  One of the hankies on the ceiling was tickling Dad’s head. “What’s that about?” he said.

  “They’re icicles,” Iggy told him.

  “Silly me,” Dad said, smiling at Mum. “I thought they were handkerchiefs.”

  Mum said a play sounded like a good idea as long as we promised to clear up afterwards. “Every single thing,” she said.

  “It’s a very good lair,” Dad said.

  “Thanks,” I said, and Iggy said, “We know.”

  In our play, I was a girl who got kidnapped by the Snow Queen and taken to her magic kingdom. I had to wear summer clothes because I was on a beach when it happened. Iggy put pink face-paint all over me so I looked sunburned. I had sunglasses and flip flops and a swimsuit and a towel.

  “You are going to be cold when we get there,” Iggy said.

  “I know,” I said, and I wrapped the towel around me like Mum does when she gets out of the bath. “I’m cold already.”

  “I’ll kidnap you by being friendly and extra nice,” Iggy said. �
��Then I’ll turn you into a snowman!”

  She threw a sheet over me and practised her best evil laugh. “Mwa ha ha!”

  It sounded good from under my sheet.

  “Then I can melt myself,” I said, “and rescue all the other frozen things and change the Snow Queen’s kingdom with my summery ways.”

  I covered some of the white sheets with colourful towels. “Look!” I said. “The snow is melting. And so will you, into a big puddle.”

  “Mwa ha ha!” Iggy laughed again, like she had other ideas.

  We practised loads of times. When it was ready, we made tickets with Mum and Dad’s names on. Iggy wanted them to buy the tickets for 50p, but Dad just tickled her until she stopped asking.

  They had a cushion each to sit on at the edge of the Snow Queen’s lair.

  “This is really good,” said Mum, smiling.

  Then I turned all the lights off and the play began.

  Iggy was supposed to start with her evil laugh. She was supposed to put pillowcases over my blue rabbit and her orange kangaroo, like she was turning them to ice. She was supposed to say, “Everything is lovely and cold.”

  Instead, she stood there grinning at Mum and Dad, showing the pink inside of her mouth.

  “Iggy,” I whispered. “Do your laugh.”

  “Oh,” Iggy said. “Heeheehee.”

  It didn’t sound evil at all.

  “Iggy,” I whispered. “Turn the teddies to ice.”

  “Oh,” Iggy said. “Where are the pillow things?”

  “Say the line, Iggy,” I whispered.

  “I can’t remember it,” she said. “Stop whispering at me.”

  “Oh dear,” Dad said.

  Mum said, “Do you need more time to practise?”

  Iggy didn’t answer. She just stood there, grinning at them. It was like the real Snow Queen had turned her to ice right there on the landing.

  “We’ve practised loads,” I said.

  Nobody said anything. I counted to ten in my head, and then I counted again.

  “Shall we come back later?” Dad said.

  “Mwah ha ha!” Iggy said suddenly. It made us all jump. She was pulling her mean face perfectly.