Iggy and Me and the Happy Birthday Read online

  “Oh, are we back on?” said Mum.

  “I don’t like the look of her,” Dad said, pointing at the Snow Queen.

  “Mwah ha ha!” Iggy said again, even better.

  “I’m scared,” Dad said.

  “Stop it, Dad,” I said.

  And Iggy went up really close to him and hissed, “Or I’ll turn you to ice!”

  She wasn’t supposed to say that. We hadn’t practised it or anything, but it was really good.

  In the end, Iggy said a lot of things she wasn’t supposed to. I didn’t mind. I added a few things too.

  The play was much longer than we meant it to be. Mum and Dad asked for an interval so they could put the supper on. And they really clapped at the end. They stood up and everything. Dad said that was called a “standing ovation”.

  He said, “Not every actor gets one of those, you know.”

  Later, after we cleaned up (which took ages) and had our supper and washed our make-up off in the bath and cleaned our teeth and had books, Iggy came into my room.

  She said, “That was the best game ever. I’m going to be the Snow Queen when I grow up.”

  “You don’t have to be the Snow Queen every time,” I said. “We could do another play.”

  “A different one?” said Iggy.

  “We could do Hansel and Gretel.”

  “Can I be the wicked stepmother?”

  “We could do Little Red Riding Hood.”

  “I want to be the wolf.”

  “Let’s do one tomorrow,” I said, and Iggy jumped around in my room with excitement.

  “Get into bed!” Dad shouted up the stairs.

  “Mwa ha ha!” Iggy whispered to me, then she skipped down the landing to her own room.

  Iggy and the birthday cakes

  Because it was going to be Iggy’s birthday we were making cakes for her to take to school. She wanted one fairy cake for everyone in her class.

  “That’s thirty cakes,” Mum said.

  “Thirty-one,” Iggy said. “There’s a new boy.”

  “I don’t know how you move in that classroom,” Mum said.

  “We don’t,” said Iggy. “We’re not allowed.

  We have to sit still nearly all the time.”

  “What sort of thirty-one cakes do you want?” Mum said.

  Iggy said she wanted little ones, all covered with sweets and sprinkles and icing

  “Can I help?” I said. I like making cakes.

  “I’m counting on it,” Mum said. Iggy jumped up and down on the spot and I smiled.

  I like cooking of all kinds. Iggy likes cooking too. She likes it because of the eating. Mum says if you’re cooking with Iggy, you have to watch her like a hawk. If you take your eyes off her for even a minute, things disappear before they get cooked.

  We went to the shop to buy the things we needed.

  To make a cake you need eggs, sugar, butter and flour and a magic thing called baking powder that fills the cakes with air when you’re not looking. To make thirty-one cakes you need a lot of all those things.

  To make icing you need icing sugar and water, but only a drop.

  To decorate a cake you need chocolate buttons, chocolate sprinkles, rainbow sprinkles, silver balls, dolly mixtures and Smarties. You also need special icing that comes in a tube like a tiny toothpaste, in four different colours, that you can actually draw a picture with.

  That’s what you need.

  Mum said we could choose two things each and two things only. Iggy chose Smarties and silver balls. I picked rainbow sprinkles and special icing.

  I said, “These are going to be the best cakes ever.”

  Mum said, “I agree.”

  Iggy said nothing because she had Smarties in her mouth.

  “Give those to me, madam,” Mum said.

  I think Iggy said, “Sorry,” but she did it with her mouth closed so we couldn’t count how many she was eating.

  When we got home we put all the things we’d bought on the kitchen counter. Mum got the stepladder for Iggy because she’s a little bit little to see what she is stirring.

  First we had to wash our hands. Mum said this was very important because nobody in Iggy’s class wanted to eat a cake that gave them a tummy bug.

  “I know,” Iggy said. “Cakes are supposed to be more fun than that.”

  We put the sugar and the butter in a big bowl on the scales. I did the butter and Iggy did the sugar. We had to get just the right amounts of them, which meant watching the numbers and shouting, “Stop!” when they got to 4. Iggy was so busy looking at the numbers that she sort of missed the bowl. Sugar started pouring off the edge of the table.

  “Stop!” said Mum.

  “It’s only on 3,” said Iggy.

  “There’s three more on the floor,” Mum said, getting the dustpan and brush.

  “Oops,” said Iggy. “Never mind.”

  We mixed the butter and sugar together until they went all creamy and fluffy. My arm ached after about six stirs and I had to have a rest. Iggy’s ached even quicker, but Mum is very strong and her arm hardly ached at all. We took it in turns.

  “There,” Mum said. “That’ll do.”

  Iggy put her finger in and scooped a blob into her mouth. “That’s not nice,” she said, pulling a face.

  “Don’t eat it then,” Mum said, and she made Iggy wash her hands again.

  After that we put the flour and the eggs and the magic powder in. We had to crack the eggs without getting bits of shell and gloop everywhere. It wasn’t easy.

  Iggy didn’t like the feel of egg white on her hands. “Yeuch,” she said, and she washed her hands without even being asked.

  Mum got out the special cake tray with the round holes and Iggy put the paper cases in. There were twelve holes in the tray. Iggy counted them.

  “That’s not enough,” she said.

  “I know,” Mum said.

  “There has to be thirty-one,” Iggy said.

  Mum said they didn’t make a tray with thirty one holes in. She said, “We’ve only got this one with twelve holes in. Which means we are going to have to do this three times.”

  “That makes thirty-six,” I said, because I’m learning my twelve times table. “Three times twelve is thirty-six.”

  Mum scruffed my hair up at the top. “Maths Whizz,” she said.

  “That’s too many,” Iggy said.

  “You can give one to your teacher,” I said.

  “And your dad will eat four,” Mum said.

  Iggy frowned. “No he won’t,” she said.

  We put spoonfuls of cake mix into the paper cases. They didn’t look like much splodged in the bottom, but Mum said once they started cooking they’d fill up to the top with cake.

  The bowl was still full of cake mix. Every time Mum wasn’t looking, Iggy stuck her finger in and ate some.

  “You’re going to make yourself sick,” Mum said, without even seeing.

  “How do you know?” Iggy said. She wiped her finger on her T-shirt and made her face all still, like when she’s hiding something.

  “Because I know you,” Mum said, tickling her. “And I know how yummy cake mix is too.”

  Iggy grinned and licked her lips.

  Mum put the splodges in the oven. We had to wait twelve whole minutes until they were done. It felt like forever.

  When the first twelve came out, Mum said we had to leave them to cool or the icing would just dribble off. She said, “Icing doesn’t like getting hot.”

  We put twelve more splodges in the oven.

  While we were waiting and waiting, Mum put two bowls on the table. She put the Smarties in one and the silver balls in another. The rainbow sprinkles had their own pot with a sprinkly hole to pour them through. I laid out the special icing tubes in a neat row of yellow, green, red and black.

  Every time I looked away from Iggy I heard a crunching noise. “What are you eating?” I said.

  “Nothing,” Iggy said, but she had bits of Smartie on her tee
th, I could see.

  “Mum,” I said, “she’s eating the smarties.”

  “Hands off, Iggy,” Mum said. “Just wait. It won’t be long.”

  I looked at Mum, and when I did I heard more chewing.

  “Iggy!” I said, and Iggy said, “What?”

  She was smiling and her smile was full of rainbows.

  “Stop eating stuff,” I said.

  “I’m not,” she said, with sprinkle juice squeezing from the corners of her lips.

  Mum said, “Let’s make the icing.”

  We put the icing sugar in a bowl and then we dripped a drip of water in, and Iggy stirred. It took three drips to turn a whole lot of sugar into icing.

  When I said to Mum, “That’s amazing,” I heard a slurping noise.

  Iggy had icing on her fingers and she was licking it off.

  “How did you get icing on your fingers?” Mum said.

  Iggy shrugged and slurped some more. “I slipped,” she said.

  “Fingers out,” said Mum. “I mean it.”

  I looked at Mum and I heard a rattling sound, like tiny marbles. “What’s that?” I said.

  “I don’t know,” said Iggy, with a mouth full of silver balls.

  “No more,” Mum said. “That’s enough. You’ll have nothing left for your cakes.”

  I could see Iggy looking at the special icing in the tubes. I knew what she was thinking. I’ve seen her eat toothpaste out of the tube before. On holiday she ate toothpaste until she was sick.

  Iggy’s hand reached out for the red icing. She had a gleam in her eye.

  “Mum! Help!” I said, and I crashed my hand down on the table to stop her. “She’s going to eat the special icing!”

  Mum said we both had to leave and do something else for ten minutes. She said, “Out, both of you. Go and draw a design of what your cakes will look like.”

  So we did. I drew the crinkly paper cups, and I used red and yellow and green and black pens for the special icing. My cakes had cats and dogs and faces and flowers on.

  Iggy used all her pencils for the rainbow sprinkles. “Delicious,” she said, and she pretended to eat her own picture.

  “You’re a greedy pig,” I said. Iggy snorted just like one and we fell about laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Mum said with her head around the door.

  “Oink oink,” said Iggy, and we fell about laughing some more.

  “Cakes are ready,” Mum said. We got up and raced to the kitchen in no time flat.

  Mum was right. The paper cases were filled to the top with bubbly cake. The air smelled like hot butter. My mouth was watering.

  We had six cakes each to play with.

  The white icing wasn’t too runny and it wasn’t too hard. It was just right. I dangled it from my spoon and it sat on top of the cake in an almost-circle.

  “Perfect,” Mum said.

  Iggy swirled her spoon and the icing landed on her cake in crazy squiggles.

  “Perfect,” said Iggy.

  I drew a cat with the special black icing. It sort of looked like one. I gave it silver balls

  for eyes and rainbow sprinkle whiskers.

  “Brilliant,” said Mum.

  Iggy squidged one black blob on her squiggly icing and one black blob straight in her mouth. She popped a Smartie in the middle.

  “Brilliant,” Iggy said.

  I put my first cake on a plate to dry. “Next one,” I said.

  Iggy tore her paper case off and took a big bite. “Next one,” Iggy said, spraying crumbs.

  This time I did another almost-circle and a red flower with a green leaf. I put silver balls all round the outside.

  Iggy did more squiggling and squidging and popping.

  On the third cake I did squiggling and squidging and popping too because it looked like fun.

  Iggy did a black and yellow bumblebee with Smarties for eyes.

  “That is so good,” I said.

  “I know,” Iggy told me.

  We did all our cakes really well. We did heart cakes and crown cakes and star cakes and covered-in-everything cakes. Then we left them to dry and we helped Mum clean up. I cleaned up with a cloth and Iggy cleaned up with her eating. She emptied all the leftover sprinkles and silver balls and Smarties into her mouth and crunched them up.

  She said, “What do we do with the special icing?”

  “We don’t eat it,” Mum said, taking the little tubes away. “We’ll be sick.”

  “No we won’t,” said Iggy. “We love icing.”

  “You can’t eat icing on its own,” Mum said.

  “Why not?” said Iggy. “It’s the best bit.”

  “Can we have a cake now, Mum?” I asked. It was hard looking at them all sitting there. It was hard to look at them and not have one.

  “Just one,” Mum said.

  I picked a flower cake and Iggy picked an everything cake.

  “Do you want one, Mum?” Iggy said.

  “I don’t mind if I do,” Mum said, and she picked a star one.

  “Well,” Iggy said, “if you’re having another one then so can we,” and she grabbed one and put her teeth in it before anyone could argue. I think it was her bee one.

  “Iggy!” Mum said. “That’s your third cake!”

  “It’s yummy,” said Iggy, nodding.

  After that I did my homework, which was money. Mum was on the phone to her sister, my Auntie Kate, who lives in America. Neither of us was watching Iggy like a hawk.

  When Dad came home from work and I went to show him the cakes, there were only eight left.

  Mum was cross. She said Iggy couldn’t take eight cakes in to school for thirty-one children. She said, “Eight cakes is worse than no cakes at all.”

  “Where’s that Piggy Iggy?” Dad said.

  We found her on the sofa. She was frowning at the TV and she was holding her tummy. She was a bit green.

  “I don’t feel sick at all,” she said. “It’s not the cakes. It wasn’t me.”

  Dad got her a drink of water.

  I said to Mum, “Are you going to make more cakes tomorrow, for Iggy’s class?” and Mum said, “Yes.”

  “Good,” said Dad, and he winked at me. “That means I can eat one. Do you want one, Iggy?”

  “No,” Iggy groaned. “I don’t like cake.”

  “Yes you do,” Dad said. “You love cake.”

  “Not today I don’t,” Iggy told him.

  Dad said, “Will you like cake tomorrow?”

  “Don’t know,” Iggy said. “Maybe. Probably.”

  So Dad said we’d save her one to put in her lunchbox.

  And the next day when we made the new cakes, we didn’t have to watch Iggy one bit.

  Happy birthday, Iggy!

  Iggy woke up very, very early on her birthday. It was still dark and the birds weren’t singing. She ran around upstairs in the house, giggling. She burst into my room, and then ran out again and burst into Mum and Dad’s.

  “Wake up, wake up, WAKE UP!!!!” she shouted. “It’s my BIRTHDAY!”

  Mum said, “Happy birthday, darling.”

  Dad said, “Even the birds are still asleep.”

  I got out of bed and went to join in. I love birthdays, and Iggy’s birthday is the best one after mine because she gets so excited you think she might pop.

  Dad was lying on his tummy with his pillow over his head and Mum’s hair was all funny. Iggy was screwed up into the tightest, most excited ball in between them on the bed. Her face was all screwed up too and her nose was all wrinkly, and her smile was the biggest, widest thing about her.

  “Birthday!” she squeaked.

  “I know!” I squeaked back.

  “Exciting!” she squeaked.

  “Sleeping,” Dad said.

  “Not any more,” said Mum.

  “Coffee,” Dad said.

  So Mum and Iggy and me went to make Dad some coffee.

  Downstairs in the kitchen it was definitely Iggy’s birthday. There was a pil
e of presents on the table, and a heap of cards. There was a piece of string hanging near the ceiling with bits of paper pegged on that said HAPPY BIRTHDAY all across the room. Each letter was as big as a page and coloured in with hearts and stars and dots and things.

  “Wow!” popped Iggy.

  “Cool,” I said.

  “You like?” said Mum. She was wearing her dressing gown that Dad says makes her look like a monk. She looked really sleepy.

  “Wow!” popped Iggy again.

  The light in the kitchen looked really bright because of the dark outside. I felt like we were on the inside of a TV.

  “Nobody else is awake,” Mum said into the sink.

  Iggy was dancing around the kitchen. She was twirling and flipping, and her nightie made a circle around her and her feet went shuffle shuffle on the floor.

  “Can she open a present?” I said to Mum.

  “Ooh, present,” Iggy said, and she stopped twirling.

  There were six presents on the table. They were wrapped up in paper with spots and birds and stars and funny stick people on. The one with the funny stick people on it was from me.

  “Can she open mine?” I said.

  “Yesyesyesyes!” said Iggy. She held her hands out for it. I took it off the pile and gave it to her.

  “Happy birthday, Iggy,” I said.

  Suddenly Iggy looked very serious and important. “Thank you, Flo,” she said, and she stared at the paper and gave my present a squeeze.

  “Let’s go and open it with Dad,” Mum said. She carried two cups of coffee up the stairs in front of us.

  Iggy was next, carrying her present very carefully, like there might be a living creature inside. We all knew Iggy had been hoping for a puppy or a kitten or a guinea pig or a hamster. Especially a hamster.

  My present for Iggy wasn’t any of those. It was a pencil case. A blue pencil case with rainbows and aliens all over it. It was the nicest pencil case I had ever seen. I was really hoping that Iggy was going to think so too.

  She squeezed it again on the way up the stairs. She didn’t know it was a pencil case yet. For a living creature it was keeping very, very still.

  Dad was sleeping again. Iggy and me woke him up with bouncing. He groaned.