Nat’s catching-up with Mum was spent clothes shopping while telling Mum how utterly rubbish Dad had been recently.
The Atomic Dustbin – Dad’s horrible old camper van – had broken down twice picking her up from school and once when he’d volunteered to take the hockey team to an away match.
“We were so late the other team was allowed to start without us and we were ten-nil down before we even got on the pitch,” she complained, making Mum giggle.
Then she revealed Dad had made them pork pie and chips for tea THREE times last week. And it would have been four times but Bad News Nan had come round, insisted they had a proper meal with vitamins, and then ordered pizzas because cheese counted as veg, near enough.
Mum’s shoulders shook with laughter as they picked out tops.
“He does look after you pretty well though,” chuckled Mum in the changing rooms. “I mean, compared to being looked after by a trained gorilla.”
“Why are those girls staring at me?” said Nat, noticing a gaggle of gigglers, pointing and sniggering in the shop doorway. “Are my pants showing?”
Mum came out of the changing room and raised her eyebrows at the girls, who took the hint and ran off. Nat LOVED the way Mum could do that. She had seen Mum reduce grown men to quivering jelly by the simple raising of her fearsome eyebrows. Including the policemen who were always telling her off for driving much too fast in her little red car.
Dad couldn’t scare anybody, thought Nat. He only makes people laugh, the big dope. Even when he’s TRYING to be fearsome.
Nat sometimes practised raising her eyebrows at Darius when he was being especially annoying, but he just laughed and said it made her look cross-eyed.
“Can’t you be NORMAL?” shouted one of the girls outside, and the others shrieked with laughter as they took off through the shopping centre, smacking themselves on the bum.
What a weird bunch of girls, thought Nat, but within five seconds she had forgotten all about them because Mum said she’d buy her a new pair of flip-flops.
But a similarly strange thing happened as they were choosing a DVD to watch that night. Nat was having a good-natured argument with Mum as to whether they watch a big disaster movie (Mum’s choice) or a film about girls who win a singing competition and sing a lot (Nat’s choice). Dad wasn’t there; he was just going to have to watch what he was told.
Nat suddenly became aware of a couple of boys over by the comic book films who were sniggering and looking over at her. She glared at them and they slunk off.
“People are watching,” one said, for no apparent reason, then fell about laughing.
But yet again, Nat soon forgot all about it when Mum suggested they could go to the shop that sold bath bombs next.
It was only late on Sunday night, in bed, snuggled in and smelling of crème-brûlée bath bomb, that Nat plugged her phone in and was instantly greeted by a million pings that told her SHE HAD MESSAGES.
I’m popular! she thought. I’m finally popular! Go me.
But then … she read them.
“What have you done you’ve ruined my life I can’t bear to look I’m going to kill you and I’m not even joking,” yelled Nat, thundering down the stairs in search of Dad.
Dad was sitting on the sofa with Mum, just about to pour himself a glass of wine. When he saw the furious expression on Nat’s face, he poured a very big one.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed, love?” he said nervously, seeing his doom approaching in the shape of a twelve-year-old in a purple tiger-striped onesie.
Nat waved her phone under his nose.
“You’ve done something stupid and horrible and embarrassing, haven’t you, Dad?”
Dad coughed and fidgeted. Next to him, Mum was starting to raise her eyebrows.
“Is this about the funny video by any chance?” he asked, trying to sound as if he wasn’t actually IN MASSIVE TROUBLE.
“What video is this, Ivor?” asked Mum, quietly. There was only one thing scarier than Mum shouting, and that was Mum being quiet.
“Ah yes, it’s probably easier if I show you …” began Dad, with a nervous chuckle. He picked up his laptop from the floor and opened it. It shone into life.
“Do you like my new screensaver?” he asked, trying to change the subject. “It’s us at Legoland just before I knocked over Big Ben and got banned for life.”
“I DON’T CARE – WHAT DID YOU DO?”
“I made myself a website,” announced Dad, clicking the keys. “I’m taking Christmas crackers into the twenty-first century.”
On the screen, a cartoon cracker snapped open and out fluttered a joke.
“That’s the joke about the monkey needing the toilet,” gasped Nat. “Which means Darius flipping Bagley made this website for you. I knew YOU couldn’t do it. You don’t know anything about computers.”
“I do,” said Dad defensively. “I designed the whole thing.”
“Where’s this video?” snapped Mum. Dad moved the mouse over to a drawing of a large pile of rubbish.
“It’s here in this area called The Jokeheap,” explained Dad excitedly. “I can put all sorts of funny things here. Darius showed me how. It’s like my comedy scrapbook.”
“Or a dump,” offered Mum, “where visitors can rummage about in the rubbish of your mind.”
Dad clicked a bit more and fresh images rose from the rubble.
“Look, I put a video of a dog who sings the national anthem in there, and the one where that boy tries to skateboard on ice. And, um—”
“AND THE VIDEO OF ME DANCING AND SHOUTING AT YOU!” shrieked Nat in horror as her face rose up from the jokey rubbish dump.
“Oh no, not all of it,” corrected Dad. “Only the funny bits. Which is mostly you jumping up and down and shouting – in a cute way, obviously.”
“People are watching …” said Video Nat, “… can’t you be normal?”
A memory struggled to the surface of Nat’s brain as Video Nat ran around smacking herself and making silly noises. Why were those words so familiar?
“You’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” said Dad. “I’ll take it down. Anyway, not many people will have seen it yet. Look here, I’ve got a counter on my website. It shows I’ve only had ten hits. And five of those were me, checking on how many hits I had.”
Mum put her head in her hands. “It only takes one person to see it and share it,” she said. Dad looked blank. Mum pushed him off the laptop and tapped some keys.
“Look,” she said. “Here in the comments bit.”
“I never read the comments,” admitted Dad, “because people can be very rude about my jokes.”
“Shut up and listen,” said Mum. “There’s a comment from ‘CatLover 34543’ who says:
All the jokes here are rubbish, but I love the video of the funny little ‘Can’t you be normal’ girl. I’m sharing this with EVERYONE I know. And I know loads of people.
“No problemo, I’ll just email her and ask her to delete it,” said Dad. “She seems like a nice person. She loves cats.”
“Don’t you know ANYTHING, Dad?” said Nat. “I had this talk with you about online safety, didn’t I?”
“Umm …” said Dad.
“Tell him, Mum,” said Nat, throwing her