Casper Candlewacks in Death by Pigeon!

Chapter 3

Meet the Candlewackses

In this chapter, I’d like to talk to you about the mating patterns of Indonesian Wasps. But, given that the title is ‘Meet The Candlewackses’, that’s probably a bad idea. Perhaps there’ll be space for it later.

Casper dreaded coming home, every single day. It’s not that school was much better, but at least there he could get some sleep. Home was just horrible. First, there was his mum, Amanda Candlewacks. Amanda was once the most beautiful young woman in the Kobb Valley. She had flowing, golden hair that shone in the sun like radioactive noodles. She wore dresses made of pure, hand-woven silk and rode around on the back of a magical oversized butterfly. But then she married Casper’s father, they had their first little blond-haired baby, and it all went a bit wrong. Life got too stressful for Amanda and her escape was television. At first, she just watched the soaps. She’d track the goings-on of the folks down at Rudgebunkle Farm like there was a test on it afterwards. Then she got into the hospital dramas, and the knitting shows, and the late-night high stakes games of Hungry Hungry Hippos. Soon she wouldn’t miss a second of any of the sit-coms, even My Sister’s a Llama and Mates?!. Now she practically lived on that sofa, only getting up at advert breaks. She watched How Clean is your Face? and Cooking with Dinosaurs, sometimes The World’s Funniest Nostrils and always Whose Flan? Her once flowing, golden hair now resembled a dirty handful of dry straw, and she hadn’t ridden on the back of any magical oversized butterflies for years.

The poor woman was addicted to that telly like Betty Woons was addicted to jelly beans.

Casper’s dad, Julius Candlewacks, had to cook, clean, sweep, mop and dust. He had to do all the washing, get the weekly shopping and tend to his rapidly receding hairline. Add to that his job, head chef at The Boiled Sprout – the best (and worst) restaurant in Corne-on-the-Kobb – and the eight- month-old baby that he had to raise, Julius’s life was about as hellish as sticking your tongue in a hole punch. Casper was glad he didn’t have his dad’s life (or his hairline), but he did feel sorry for the man. He’d not had a day off for years, didn’t have any spare time for friends or sleep, and he hardly even spoke to Casper unless he was asking for help with the baby.

But it gets worse because this was no ordinary baby. This was Cuddles Candlewacks. Cuddles liked kicking, screaming and being sick and nothing else – except for biting. It loved biting. Cuddles was a tiny terror of a tiddler with six tremendous teeth, and preferred gnawing on people rather than cuddling them. Its teeth were razor-sharp, more like fangs, really, and it wasn’t afraid to use them. Audrey Snugglepuss, after trying to pat Cuddles on the head, lost her left thumb. She can no longer play the trombone (which, to be honest, is a relief).

Casper had never noticed whether Cuddles was a boy or a girl, but it didn’t really matter; its teeth would be just as sharp either way. Cuddles was just… Cuddles. Amanda had never taken any notice of Cuddles at all because it wasn’t on TV. Worst of all, since the last babysitter was admitted to hospital with multiple stab wounds and first-degree burns, when Julius went out to work every evening, Casper had to babysit.

“Hi, Dad,” Casper shouted. He stood in the cluttered hall next to an overturned pot plant. On his left was the darkened living room, where Amanda was slouched in her pyjamas, watching three pots of yoghurt splat about the screen. “Hi, Mum.”

No reply.

“Anything good on?”

“Shhh,” said Amanda, “this is a good bit.”

Casper walked past the stairs on his right, avoiding the patch of sick on the carpet, to the kitchen, where his father was overseeing Cuddles painting its face with its dinner. Julius was quite tall, with dark thinning hair and small ears. He wore a grubby chef’s jacket covered in sticky stains and crumbly bits, over a pair of mucky brown trousers that, years ago, used to be white. His chin was stubbly and unshaven and there were heavy bags under his eyes (eye bags, not shopping bags, you idiot). The poor man hadn’t had a full night of sleep since the day Cuddles was born.

“Come on, Cuddles. Eat this spoonful for Daddy…” pleaded Julius, prodding a plastic spoon towards the baby. Cuddles grabbed the spoon and flung it back at Julius, cackling with delight.

Casper surveyed the revolting mess that was the kitchen. There was baby food on the floor and quite a bit on the ceiling too. There was a massive pile of dirty pots and pans in the sink, sporting all different sorts of mould and grease, from putrid purple patches to stinking sepia slimy bits. Two smashed plates had been left on the floor next to the leftover cabbage, which a troop of hungry ants had recently invaded. They were now celebrating their victory by having a tiny ant-party with even tinier bottles of champagne and minuscule party hats.

“House needs a clean,” said Casper.

A pile of newspapers on the corner of the table began to ring. Julius looked at them and frowned. They rang again. Julius blinked. “Why are they…?”

“It’s the phone, Dad. Under the papers.”

Casper’s bedraggled father clicked his teeth and lifted the pile carelessly, strewing hundreds of issues of the Daily Kobb all over the kitchen floor, one particularly bulky sports section landing right on the cabbage, causing an early and tragic end to the ant-party. Not a moment too soon, Julius found the phone and answered it, while Cuddles stretched to grab the receiver with its chubby little arms.

“Hello, Candlewacks residence. Yes, speaking. It’s who? Ooh…” Julius looked up, caught Casper’s eye and tried frantically to mime something. He waved his arm around a bit and then put his finger on his top lip like a moustache and looked at Casper encouragingly.

“What?” said Casper. He thought his dad might have been trying to say something about cricket.

Julius mimed a sort of ‘forget it’ gesture and continued. “How may I help you, Mr Tiramisu, sir?”

Casper’s jaw dropped.

“You’d like to… well, of course! I’d be honoured. Will you excuse me for just one second, Mr Tiramisu, I just need to attend to a… cooking thing.” Julius snatched a dummy and jammed it into a wailing Cuddles’s mouth, but it chomped it in half and started smacking the pieces on its tray.

Casper looked over to his dad in disbelief. “Did you say Tiramisu?”

“It’s him!” Julius whispered to Casper. “He wants to eat at The Boiled Sprout!” He grinned manically and shook his fist like footballers do when they score goals, or like chefs do when famous Italian magicians want to eat at their restaurant.

“That’s great!” Casper lied. It wasn’t great, it was terrifying. Who knows what The Great Tiramisu would demand, but whatever it was, Julius wouldn’t be able to do it. And then what would happen…?

Julius whispered again, “Get me a pen and paper, quick!”

Cuddles launched again for the phone, but completely missed and almost toppled its high chair. It let out a frustrated screech and then distracted itself by gnawing on a mouthful of its own fingers.

Returning to the phone call, Julius said, “Sorry, Mr Tiramisu, I had to put the finishing touches to a dish. A scream? No, I don’t think… oh yes, one of my sous-chefs. Child? Well, I like to hire them when they’re young. So, ahem, is there anything you’d like to eat in particular?” Just in time, Casper handed his dad the pad of paper and he scrawled frantically,

TiramisuTomorrow, after show Finest Food IMPORTANT: NO CORIANDER

… and then Cuddles got its greedy little hand to the phone, grabbed it, threw it at the wall and it smashed into hundreds of little phoney pieces.

Chapter 3.5

All the Facts That Exist About Coriander.

Coriander was first discovered in 1834 by Sir Digmund Coriander-Discoverer, when he was looking in his garden for a little something to add flavour to his carrot soup. He tried adding grass, but it tasted too lawny; so next he tried some bark, but it tasted too tree-ey. Then he noticed, nestling amongst the lupins, a mysterious aromatic herb. He put some in his soup and the rest, as they say, is cookery.

Here are some fun facts about coriander that you may or may not know:

In some countries, coriander is used for medicinal purposes, such as in Burma, where it is the accepted treatment for a cracked rib.

A particularly leafy sprig of coriander won the 1997 Oscar for ‘Best Herb in a Supporting Role’ in the film Coriander and Me.

The small English village of Upper Crustenbury, in the picturesque Kobb Valley, is famous for its bountiful coriander crops; so much so that its residents hold an annual coriander festival to celebrate their favourite herb.

The word ‘coriander’ comes from the Romanian, Quarie ain derr, which, due to a small translation error, literally means ‘A small, sticky badger with a pair of shorts on its head’.

Famous Italian magician ‘The Great Tiramisu’ is violently allergic to coriander. If he eats even the smallest amount, his face inflates and turns green and he breaks out in big oozing yellow pustules. Because of this, he telephones ahead of his visit to any restaurant to ask specifically that no coriander be added to his food.

These are all the facts that exist about coriander. If anyone tells you any more coriander facts, they are lying and should be pelted with rotten quinces. If you don’t have any quinces to hand, a handful of chopped apricots will do fine.

Chapter 4

What Casper Saw

The whole village had turned out to see The Great Tiramisu, apart from Julius, Cuddles and Amanda Candlewacks, and the one-hundred-and-seven-year-old Betty Woons, who had hated magic ever since her husband was killed by a wild pack of cards. Everyone else was there, even the village mascot, Fatima the ferret, who was sitting in her cage in the front row nibbling on a vole. The magic show was nearing an end, and even Casper had quite enjoyed it, apart from the fact that Lamp Flannigan had taken the ‘no glow-in-the-dark trousers’ comment to mean no trousers at all, which had caused great embarrassment for Casper and hilarity for Anemonie and chums. Lamp thought all the laughing was a good thing, so he made some manly poses and showed off his legs, none of which made it any better.

The Great Tiramisu’s grand finale involved locking a volunteer, giggly little Teresa Louncher, in an underwater metal cage, and then impaling her with two sharpened (but rather bewildered) swordfish. The swordfish were removed, the cage was lifted out of the water, the magic wand was waved and Teresa sprang back to life, screeching with delight. At this point the audience in the village hall erupted with tumultuous applause like a really impressed volcano.

“He’s utterly delightful!” screamed Audrey Snugglepuss, village gossip and vice-chairwoman of the Corne-on-the-Kobb Carrot Cake Appreciation Society, from behind Casper.

“An’ so good wiv swordfish,” said Sandy Landscape, “but how’d ’e do that there one with the cheese and the dynamite?” (If you’re interested, he had a hidden mirror behind the walrus. Simple, really.)

It was most certainly a standing ovation. If there were an even better ovation than a standing one, like a jumping ovation or something, it would have been that. For the idiots of Corne-on-the-Kobb, Christmas and Birthday and Halloween and even Saint Pelican’s Day had come all at once, in the shape of a moustache-sporting Italian illusionist who could make bagfuls of rabbits disappear. Most of the villagers would have been impressed if he’d flipped a coin or jangled some keys, so you can imagine how amazed they were when The Great Tiramisu got cut in half, locked his legs in a safe, put that safe in another safe, put that safe in a box full of snakes, angered the snakes by insulting their mother, and then somehow unlocked the safes and glued himself together again, blindfolded, hands tied behind his back, while asleep.

“I thank-a you all, you beautiful people! Wasn’t I magnifico!” sang the magician, as some of the women near the front threw bunches of freshly picked dandelions and salad leaves at his feet. Mayor Rattsbulge, Corne-on-the-Kobb’s fattest mayor since the pie tax was abolished, managed to lift his hefty frame on stage to thank The Great Tiramisu personally and to offer him the key to the village (which he accepted reluctantly because he hadn’t a clue what it was for) along with a bouquet of summer roses presented by Anemonie Blight in a sickly pink frock and matching hairband. Yes, The Great Tiramisu was a show-off of the vilest proportions, but Casper had to admit that his magic tricks had actually been quite good.

As the excited idiots filed out of the village hall, Lamp, still without trousers, approached Casper eagerly. “Want to come and try my buggy? I’ve got some washing-up liquid now. Found it in a shop.”

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