Daizy Star and the Pink Guitar (10 page)

Last-minute nerves, that’s all it is, I decide, watching Murphy slouch along the street beneath the streetlights. Everybody has those … right?

W
hen the phone rings a few minutes later, I assume it is Murphy, still worried about the gig tomorrow. Becca takes the call … and it is definitely not Murphy.

‘Who did you say you were?’ my big sister asks carelessly. ‘Dad? I don’t think so. We don’t have a dad any more. He ran away to Africa and never bothered to call. We think he may have been eaten by a lion, or crushed by a herd of elephants, and that means you are an imposter!’

Becca hands the phone to Pixie, smirking.

‘Have you got me a honey badger?’ my little sister demands. ‘I’ve been building a hutch for one in the back garden. Do you think that I could feed it on hamster mix? Or would dog food be better?’

I grab the phone.

‘Dad!’ I squeal. ‘You’re alive!’

‘Definitely,’ Dad says, but his voice sounds very crackly and far away. ‘I am at Lilongwe Airport, ready to catch my flight home!’

‘Oh, Dad!’ I tell him. ‘We’ve been so worried! We thought you’d fallen down a well or died of malaria! Why didn’t you ring?’

‘My mobile ran out of battery and I’d forgotten to bring spares,’ he explains. ‘There was no electricity in the village to use a charger.’

‘That’s what Mum said,’ I tell him.

She also said he was an irresponsible idiot living in a fantasy world, but I decide not to mention that bit.

‘I have a lot to tell you,’ I say brightly. ‘I am a thrash-metal-punk guitarist now, and also a honey badger, but not the African kind, obviously. A different kind. You can come and see me tomorrow night at the Battle of the Bands and you’ll see. I really think I have found my star quality this time, Dad!’

‘That’s my girl,’ he laughs. ‘You know what? I have missed you, Daizy Star!’

I feel a little catch in my throat. ‘I’ve missed you too, Dad!’ I say, but my voice comes out all snuffly and one perfect tear rolls down my cheek.

Mum takes the phone and starts talking briskly about flight times and pick-up arrangements. She could at least try to seem a little bit pleased.

I try to picture their reunion at the airport. Their eyes will meet across a crowded arrivals lounge, and they will realize how much they have missed each other and run into each other’s arms, and everything will be sorted.

I hope.

But what if it isn’t? What if Dad still wants to live in Malawi and Mum says she’s had enough and the late-night rows start up again? I don’t want to think about that. I won’t think about that.

My dad is coming home … tomorrow! It’s almost more exciting than the Battle of the Bands.

I wake up next morning with a huge smile on my face. I could be on the edge of rock superstardom!

And best of all, Dad is coming home just in time to see it all happen.

Dad’s flight is an overnight one, so he should be in the air right now. Mum is up bright and early, ready to head off to Heathrow to meet him.

‘He won’t be jet-lagged, will he?’ I ask. ‘He’ll be OK to come to the Battle of the Bands?’

‘He should be,’ Mum sighs. ‘He’ll have all day to recover from the flight. Don’t worry, Daizy.’

‘I’m not worried!’ I argue. ‘Why does everybody think I am worried? Everything is going exactly according to plan.’

At school, the class is buzzing. Kelly, Freya and Luka have made a banner that reads
Honey Badgers Forever.
Miss Moon says she has got a front-row seat. Even Ethan has a ticket … and he asks if we’d like him to turn up early to help with the guitars and amps and stuff.

Yeah, right.

I give him a withering look. ‘You don’t have to turn up at all, Ethan,’ I say coldly. ‘Haven’t you got something more important to do? Like polishing your football boots, or practising your goal-scoring techniques, or dropping worms down people’s sweatshirts?’

Ethan looks sad. ‘Daizy, that worm thing was years ago,’ he sighs. ‘We were in Year Three, and I’ve said I’m sorry about a million times since then. You have to forgive me sometime, y’know.’

I raise an eyebrow frostily. ‘Wanna bet?’ I ask.

‘Ethan, she doesn’t mean it!’ Beth cuts in. ‘Daizy is just stressed because of the pressure and everything. Of course she forgives you, and she definitely wants you to come along tonight. We all do, don’t we?’

‘I do, Ethan,’ Willow breathes. ‘I’m counting on it. I’ll be watching out for you! And you’re just sooooo good at all that technical stuff, so maybe you could hang out with us beforehand and help me tweak my mike and my amp. That would be amazing!’

‘Er, right,’ Ethan says with a smirk. ‘See you there then.’ My two best friends are seriously embarrassing whenever Ethan is around. It must be their hormones bubbling away and turning their brains into mush. Growing up can be a very scary thing.

I check my watch. Dad will be home by now. He and Mum will be drinking tea and sharing stories about life in the African sun. And very soon they will be sitting side by side at the Battle of the Bands, watching The Honey Badgers win, and they will be filled with pride and happiness.

We will be a happy family again. When I hand over the £500 cheque to Dad he will send it off to Malawi and then his conscience will be clear and the nightmare will be over. That’s what I am hoping, anyway.

Our very last practice in the school music room is pretty impressive, if I do say so myself. We rock, in a deafening kind of way. Willow has perfected the art of the thrash-punk-metal screech, and Beth’s drumming sounds exactly like a washing machine full of gravel, on full spin. Murphy is brilliant on bass, and my guitar riffs are loud enough to lift the roof off.

We are almost ready.

All that is needed now is Becca’s thrash-punk-metal makeover skills.

After school, the four of us, with Pixie in tow, trail back to number 17, Silver Street. Everyone is excited, but I am just about bursting with happiness because Dad will be back and I cannot wait to see him. At the corner of the street, I break into a run and I don’t stop until I am hurtling through the front door into the hallway.

There is no sign of either Mum or Dad cuddled up on the sofa the way I hoped they might be. There is no sign of them at all.

‘Dad!’ I yell. ‘Dad! Mum? Where are you?’

Becca appears on the staircase.

‘They’re not here,’ she tells me. ‘Dad’s plane was delayed in Lilongwe … Mum’s been stuck at the airport all day, waiting for him. She rang my mobile to say we are not to worry, Dad is definitely on his way now. They should make it in time for the Battle of the Bands, but they might have to go straight there.’

‘What?’ I yelp. ‘But … Dad was meant to be here hours ago! What if they miss my moment of glory?’

Becca ruffles my hair. ‘It’ll all work out, Daizy,’ she says. ‘Don’t worry. Come on, help me get my make-up kit and crimpers set up … we have work to do!’

By the time Pixie, Beth, Willow and Murphy arrive, Becca and I have turned the living room into a thrash-punk-metal beauty salon. I get to work crimping Beth’s hair while Becca starts painting Willow’s eyes and nails a startling shade of neon green. There is lots of inky eyeliner and black lipstick that makes us look faintly vampire-ish.

Next, we get changed into the splash-painted T-shirts and little black skirts, or skinny red jeans in Murphy’s case, and Becca gets to work on our hair. She gives Pixie a handful of neon hair mascaras, and soon random stripes of turquoise, orange and pink appear in everyone’s hair. Becca starts backcombing madly and scooshing us with great clouds of hairspray, adding black lace bows and scarves to go with the black furry ears.