The Bed and Breakfast Star Read online

  ‘I’ll try harder,’ I said desperately. ‘I’ll try a new set of jokes, OK? Or I could put on a silly voice . . . ?’

  ‘Why not use your own voice, Elsa? And why do you have to try so hard? Just be yourself. Act natural,’ said the television man, chucking me under the chin. ‘Let’s start again, hmm? Tell us in your own words exactly what happened.’

  ‘But if I just say any old thing, without any jokes, then I’m not funny,’ I wailed.

  ‘Who says you’ve got to be funny?’

  ‘Well, I want to be a comedienne and get to be famous.’

  ‘You don’t have to be funny to be famous. And we don’t really want people chortling when this goes out on the news. We want to touch the heart. We’ve got a super story here. You’re a great little kid, Elsa. You’ll come over really well on television if you just relax.’

  ‘It’s kind of difficult to act relaxed when you’re standing on the pavement in your T-shirt and knickers and a whole bunch of strangers are asking you questions,’ I said, sighing.

  I wasn’t trying to be funny. But the weirdest thing happened. Everyone chuckled appreciatively.

  ‘So what happened, Elsa? You woke up in the middle of the night and . . . ?’

  And so I started to tell them exactly what happened. I said I thought the smell was someone cooking chips and I started – to get peckish and slipped out of bed to go and beg a few chips for myself. (They laughed again.) Then I told about tripping over Pippa’s My Little Pony. (More laughter – and I still hadn’t told a single joke!) Then I went on about the fire and dashing up and down the corridor banging on the doors and yelling. (I waited for them to laugh again, but this time they listened spellbound.) The television man asked what I’d yelled and I said ‘Fire’ and he said that wasn’t very loud and I said well, I did it a lot louder. And he said show us. So I did. I threw back my head and roared.

  ‘F-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-R-E!!!’

  That nearly blew them all backwards. Most people had their hands over their ears. Some shook their heads, dazed. Then someone laughed. They all joined in. Someone else cheered. Someone else did too. Lots of cheers. For me. FOR ME!

  It really was my Moment of Fame. I hadn’t blown it after all.

  My interview went out on the television. I thought I sounded sort of stupid, but everyone else said it went splendidly. (Well, Mum moaned because her hair was a sight and she didn’t have any make-up on, and Mack fussed because they’d cut out most of his bits and he was only shown from the waist up so no-one could see his great hairy legs.) But they didn’t cut any of my bits.

  I might not have made it into the Children in Crisis documentary. But guess what. My news interview was repeated later in the year in a special compilation programme called Children of Courage. And I got to do another interview with a nice blonde lady with big teeth, and Mum spent some of Mack’s betting money on a beautiful new outfit from the Flowerfields Shopping Centre for my special telly appearance. Mum made me try on lots of frilly frocks but they all looked awful.

  So she gave up and let me choose instead. I wanted black jeans (so they wouldn’t show the dirt). Mum bought me a black top too, and tied her red scarf round my neck, and then guess what we found at a car-boot sale? Red cowboy boots! They were a bit big but we stuffed the toes with paper and I looked absolutely great.

  The blonde lady with the big teeth loved my outfit too. She said I looked just like a cowboy. I was a bit nervous so without thinking I got launched into a cowboy joke routine.

  ‘Who wears a cowboy hat and spurs and lives under the sea? Billy the Squid!’

  She laughed! It wasn’t that funny, one of my oldest jokes actually, but she laughed and laughed and laughed. She said she loved jokes, the older and cornier the better, and she said I could maybe come on her special show one day and do my own comedy routine !!!!!

  We couldn’t go back to bed in room 608 when the firemen put the fire out at last. It wasn’t all burnt to bits. It was only the kitchen that had cooked itself into little black crumbs. But the whole corridor was thick with smoke and sloshy with water and all the rooms looked as if someone had run amok with giant paint-brushes and vats of black paint. All our stuff was covered in this black treacle, and there was a sharp smell that scratched at your nostrils.

  ‘Sorry, folks. You’ll have to stay in temporary accommodation for a few weeks,’ said the Chief Fireman, shaking his head.

  He looked surprised when all the residents of the Royal gave a hearty cheer. The Manager was prancing about in his silk boxer shorts, pointing out that only a few of the rooms were seriously fire damaged, and that the first few floors were barely affected. There was a lot of rushing around consulting, and eventually it was decided that only the people living on the top two floors need be evacuated.

  Us sixth-floor and fifth-floor people hugged and danced and shouted. All the other residents booed and argued and complained. Naomi and I had a big hug because she’s on the fifth floor so she could come too. Then Funny-Face came and clapped hands with me because though he’s on the fourth floor their room is right below the burnt kitchen and water had swirled right down through the room underneath and was dripping through to them, so they couldn’t stay either.

  We were all ferried off in police cars and coaches to this church hall, where several big bossy ladies with cardigans over their nighties handed out blankets and pillows and sleeping bags. They gave us paper cups of hot soup too – which we needed, because the church hall was freezing. The floor was slippery lino and fun to skid across in your socks, but not exactly cosy or comfy when we settled down to go to sleep. I didn’t exactly rate bed number eight – and it soon got crowded because Pippa unzipped my sleeping bag and stuck herself in too. She kept having nightmares and twitching and I had to keep waking her up and dragging her off to the toilet because I was all too aware of what would happen if I didn’t.

  There was only one toilet and there were queues for it all night long. It was worse in the morning. There was only the one small washbasin too, and most people didn’t have their toothbrushes or flannels or towels anyway.

  ‘I don’t know why we were flipping cheering last night,’ said Mum, trying to wipe round Hank’s sticky face with a damp hankie. ‘Compared with this draughty old dump the Royal is practically a palace.’

  ‘We can’t stay here,’ said Mack, sitting up and scratching. ‘I’m going right down that Housing Department first thing.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ said Mum, looking at him. ‘You’re walking down the road in your underpants, right? Don’t forget you haven’t even got any trousers any more. And look at me! This is all I’ve got – the old nightie that I’m wearing. All my clothes, all my make-up, my crinoline-lady ornament . . . all gone! Even if they’re not ruined by that smoke then someone will be bound to nick them before I can get back to claim them.’ She started to cry so I went and put my arms round her.

  ‘Don’t cry, Mum,’ I said, hugging her tight. ‘You’ve still got us.’

  Mum snuffled a bit but then hugged me back.

  ‘Yes, that’s right, Elsa. I’ve still got my family. My Mack. My baby. My little girl. And my special big girl.’

  The special big girl went a bit snuffly herself then. I was glad that Funny-Face in the next row of sleeping bags was still fast asleep or he might have jeered. He looked oddly little, snuggled up under the blanket. And he sucked his thumb and all!

  More big bossy ladies breezed into the hall and started heating up a big urn of tea. They had lots of packets of biscuits too. I helped hand them round to everyone. We could have seconds and even thirds. A Bourbon, a shortbread finger and a chocolate Hob Nob make quite a good breakfast.

  Then the ladies started dragging in great black plastic sacks crammed with clothes.

  ‘Come and help yourselves! There should be enough for a new outfit for everyone.’

  ‘Oh, big deal,’ Mum grumbled. ‘It’s just tatty old junk left over from jumbles. I’m not wearing anyone�€