Buch lesen: «Llama Out Loud!»

To my very own loud and loving family:

Mum, Dad and Chloe. This book would

not exist without you. Love you.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE: Unbelieeeeeevable!

CHAPTER TWO: Bargain Hunt

CHAPTER THREE: No Ordinary (Birth)day

CHAPTER FOUR: Feeding Time in the Lion’s Den

CHAPTER FIVE: Careful What You Wish For

CHAPTER SIX: It’s Llama Time!

CHAPTER SEVEN: A School of Fish

CHAPTER EIGHT: One More Probllama

CHAPTER NINE: Secret Agent Yasmin

CHAPTER TEN: A Load of Rubbish

CHAPTER ELEVEN: The Comeback Llama

CHAPTER TWELVE: The Best Worst Day of the Week

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Disgustingly Cute

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: The Octogenarians’ London Daycentre

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Six Failures and a Discovery

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Wormula Bumbula

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: A Fish for School

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Something Fishy’s Going On . . .

CHAPTER NINETEEN: Levi Spills the Beans

CHAPTER TWENTY: Chaos, Thy Name is Llama

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: The Golden (OLDie) Rules

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: The Importance of Friends

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Yasmin calls the Shots

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Worse to Worserer

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Listen to Me!

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Yasmin to the Rescue!

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: The Grand Checkers Tournament Final

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Your Local Community Llama

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There are some stories that are hard to believe. If you’re smart (which I can already tell you are, dear reader) then you won’t believe everything you’re told. For instance, I’ve never trusted fairy tales. I mean, come on. Do they expect us to believe that you can survive being eaten by a wolf? I’m also pretty sure that a house made of gingerbread would melt in the rain, or at least attract a few flies.

Since you’re clever, I’m sure you’ve always questioned those horror stories about kids that lost all their teeth eating too many sweets. Maybe you’ve watched a film and annoyed your friends by saying, ‘That would never happen in real life!’

Well, I’ll be honest with you. This story is hard to believe. But unlike a fairy tale, it doesn’t take place in a faraway kingdom. Instead, we’ll be travelling to the streets of Whitechapel in East London – a place you might hear the locals call ‘The Ends’ – where you can buy a samosa for a pound or a rainbow-coloured bagel from the many street vendors on Brick Lane. People from all around the world live under this one postcode, and even more come to visit on Sundays when the market is in full swing. It’s a small corner of London, but there’s a whole world inside it. And, despite what you might be thinking, the hero of our story isn’t some cockney geezer. It’s a girl – Yasmin.

Oh, and a llama. A toy one, of course, not a real one. That would be weird.

By now you must be thinking, that does sound unbelievable!

I know. But believe me. It’s real.

P.S. There’s one more thing you should know about Yasmin. You see, her parents haven’t stopped talking since 1991 and her brothers might as well be in training for the Most Annoying event at the Olympics. Not to mention Yasmin’s aunties, who always think they know best. Of course, Yasmin still loves them, but all the hubbub results in Yasmin making a very particular choice. A choice she upholds even to this day . . .

Actually – I can’t be bothered to do a flashback yet. Let’s just get to the story, hey? I’m sure you’ll find out what you need to know soon enough.

So where were we . . .? Oh yes. (Cue dramatic music.)

Life as Yasmin had known it, for a whole nine years and 363 days, was about to change.

Forever.

Yasmin was staring at the ugliest toy llama she had ever seen. It was in the £2.99 bargain bucket in Old Spitalfields market, with one dodgy eye that bulged out and wonky ears. A few tattered pieces of cloth hung around its neck as decoration. The stains all over its back legs were a worrying brown colour. Even £2.99 seemed way too expensive to Yasmin. You would have to pay HER to take the thing home.

And yet she couldn’t stop staring at it. It was one of those situations where something is just so disgusting that you have to look – like a squished snail on the garden path (and Yasmin had been guilty of quite a few snail casualties). The llama held her with its beady little glass eyes and it was starting to give her the creeps.

Yasmin didn’t usually come to the market after school. It was a crowded, covered square filled with everything you could ever need, from tablecloths to teapots. Yasmin often thought it was worrying that most of her clothes were bought from the same stall that sold toilet brushes. Walking around, it was easy to get confused in the maze of tables and the noisy, bellowing yells of the vendors. Today, just like any other busy afternoon, it was teaming with people who swarmed like ants around the colourful stalls. Actual ants also swarmed around the back of the food tents, trying to find falling crumbs to feast on.

It was noisy, smelly and definitely not the place that Yasmin would have chosen to spend the afternoon. But as usual, she had no choice. Even though it was her tenth birthday.

As the chosen School Representative, Yasmin had just made her weekly visit to the local elderly daycentre as part of a community programme. (More on that later.) But instead of taking her home, Auntie Bibi had cheerily grabbed her hand and yanked her in the direction of the market.

‘I thought we might do some shopping, Yassy! What do you think?’ she chirped. ‘I knew you’d be pleased. You love shopping, just like your auntie!’

Yasmin sighed and patted her auntie’s hand. She actually hated shopping. But if it would make her auntie happy, then she would grin and bear it. Yasmin was good at keeping other people happy.

As soon as they were through the gates, Auntie Bibi made a beeline for a stall selling an array of brightly coloured scarves.

‘There’s the one I saw earlier!’ she chimed. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’

Yasmin thought the scarf looked like a giant feather duster.

‘You’re right. I should get more than one,’ Auntie Bibi agreed, as if Yasmin had suggested it. Yasmin always marvelled at her auntie’s ability to hold a conversation entirely by herself.

Deciding to make the best of things, Yasmin pointed to the small arts-and-crafts stall nestled in the centre of the market. There was a big wooden box filled with high-quality colouring pencils for sale, the kind Yasmin dreamed of owning for her sketches.

Her auntie pushed her hand aside. ‘Who wants boring pencils when you could have a pretty scarf?’ she said. ‘Come now. Doesn’t this look pretty?!’

Whilst her auntie tried on scarves for the fifty millionth time (she couldn’t choose between the fluorescent yellow or the sicky green), Yasmin had wandered towards the arts-and-crafts stall – and come across the previously mentioned llama.

Against her better judgment, she reached out and picked it up. It was soft and surprisingly warm, which made Yasmin feel a bit sick.

The market trader rubbed his hands together, sensing a sale. ‘You want it, sweetheart?’

Yasmin dropped the llama back in the box and sprayed her hands with the antibacterial gel she always carried. Her parents had told her not to talk to strangers. Especially ones selling low-end stuffed toys at unreasonable prices.

‘Oh, how cute!’ Auntie Bibi’s voice came ringing over Yasmin’s shoulder. ‘It reminds me of a toy donkey I had when I was a little girl. Do you want it, Yassy?’

Yasmin shook her head vigorously. But Auntie Bibi had already taken out her purse and was handing the market trader two shiny pounds.

‘Wonderful! You’re going to have so much fun together.’ She plopped the toy into Yasmin’s schoolbag, already directing Yasmin towards the exit. ‘Your Auntie Bibi always gets you the best presents. Now we need to get home. Dinner is almost ready.’

‘It’s £2.99, love,’ the trader called after them.

‘You’re lucky I even gave you two pounds!’ Auntie Bibi smiled sweetly and continued walking away.

Yasmin blinked. Within the space of what felt like a few seconds, she had managed to become the owner of what looked like a failed science experiment that she definitely did not want.

And things were only going to get stranger.

In terms of best days in the year, the order for most children goes:

Third place – last day of school

Second place – Christmas (or Eid for Yasmin)

First place – BIRTHDAY!!

But more often than not, what should have been the best day of the year for Yasmin was just like any other day. And, just like any other day, as Yasmin and Auntie Bibi turned the corner on to their road, they could hear yells coming from the Shah family home.

Number 11 Fish Lane was the last to be built on the road, and had been squished in between the furthest two houses on the street. This meant that the house was extremely tall and extremely thin, with one room on each floor. If it hadn’t been sandwiched between two other houses, it would probably have toppled over in a strong breeze.

Yasmin’s room was all the way up in the attic, while the bathroom was in the basement. The strange layout of number 11 meant that Yasmin had to walk up through every family member’s bedroom before she could get to her own. Being at the top of the house was good for privacy, but it also meant that you had to be careful after eating a spicy curry from Brick Lane. Yasmin was sure she could rival any Olympic sprinter running down those stairs in the middle of the night, desperate for the loo.

As Yasmin and Auntie Bibi came in through the kitchen door, they were hit by a wall of sound that Auntie Bibi immediately added to.

‘We’re home!!!’ she sang, heading over to Ammi, who was sweating over a boiling pot of rice.

‘WHYAREYOULATEDINNERISREADYGOGET CHANGED!’

Ammi only spoke in shouts and never expected an answer, even if she asked a question.

‘These potatoes need coriander! I always say add coriander!’ Papa yelled at no one in particular.

‘Papaaaaaa!’ Tall Brother roared. ‘Tariq accidently spilled curry paste on Yasmin’s chair.’

Short Brother smirked. ‘Whoops! Clumsy me . . .’

Yasmin scowled. That curry-paste spill was no accident. It would have to be soaked overnight in Ammi’s special baking-soda concoction.

‘I guess you’ll have to sit on the wonky stool at the end of the table, Yasmin,’ Tall Brother sniggered.

‘I hope you didn’t get any curry paste on my seat at the head of the table. A father should always sit at the head of the table,’ Papa shouted, angrily stirring his potatoes.

Auntie Bibi giggled and patted her younger brother on the head. Papa hated it when she did that and immediately smoothed his hair down in the reflection of the fridge.

‘Ammi, I’m laying the table but Tariq isn’t helping!’ Tall Brother called out.

‘Yes I am!’ Short Brother bellowed.

‘No you’re not!’

Unnoticed, Yasmin hurried up the stairs, leaving the noise and the thick aromas of curry and daal behind. She needed a moment of peace away from her family before dinner.

On the floor above the kitchen was the room that Auntie Bibi shared with Auntie Gigi. The aunties were twins, and had lived with Yasmin ever since she was born. It would have been strange not to hear their thunderous snores every night, or their endless gossiping at all hours of the day.

As Yasmin passed through her aunties’ room, the smell of perfume washed over her. She inhaled the sweet smell deeply before noticing her Auntie Gigi, who was applying incredibly thick eyeliner in the mirror. She looked like a panda who had melted in the oven. Why people made such a fuss over makeup, Yasmin would never know.

‘Yassy darling, could you put my shoes on for me? You know I can’t bend down nowadays, my back won’t let me.’

Yasmin didn’t want Auntie Gigi to snap in half, so she did as she was asked. With much pushing and tugging, the shoes went on. Auntie Gigi sighed in relief.

‘Well done, flower. Now go and get your party dress on.’ Auntie Gigi winked.

Both of Yasmin’s aunties were shopping fanatics. However often Yasmin politely protested, Auntie Gigi would still buy flouncy, frilly outfits for her to wear – outfits that Yasmin would never choose herself. But because she knew her auntie was just trying to be nice, Yasmin bit her lip, forced a smile and took herself off up the next flight of stairs.

In her parents’ bedroom, everything was in military-level order as usual. Ammi would accept nothing less. The same couldn’t be said for her brothers’ room on the floor above. They had left the TV playing a particularly noisy and violent programme, and Short Brother’s PE kit was in a stinking pile on the floor. (Yasmin usually referred to her siblings as ‘Tall Brother’ and ‘Short Brother’ as their heights were, quite honestly, the most interesting thing about them.)

Yasmin paused at their door with a grin. A year earlier, her brothers had hung up a sign that said ‘No Girls Allowed’ in big, red letters. They obviously hadn’t thought it through, since Yasmin had to go through their room to get to hers. She liked to rub this in by grinning at the sign every time she swanned through.

As she entered her little attic bedroom and slung her schoolbag in the corner, Yasmin felt her shoulders relax for the first time. She had decorated her room to include all the things she liked. There was a big poster about the ancient Egyptians on her ceiling (Yasmin loved history) and she had painted the wall behind her bed like a chalkboard. It was filled with little doodles and ideas that popped into her head just before she went to sleep. She thought of drawing a special birthday doodle, but the inspiration left her when she saw the dress that Auntie Gigi had bought, laid out neatly on the bed and wrapped in a pink bow. It was lime green with embroidered jewels around the bottom and, of course, a pair of matching sparkly shoes.

Auntie Gigi had written a little note on the top.

Yasmin rolled her eyes. What was wrong with a pair of jeans? Dresses just made her feel . . . icky.

Suddenly inspiration struck again. She knew exactly what she wanted to draw. With a little smirk, Yasmin picked up her black sketch book and began drawing one of her favourite doodles: a comic strip she called ‘Secret Agent Yasmin’ (or SAY for short). In each comic strip, she had a different mission. Flipping through to find a blank page, Yasmin saw some of her earlier masterpieces such as THWART TALL BROTHER’S PRANK. For her latest edition, the mission was clear: AVOID WEARING UGLY DRESS.

Yasmin examined her finished masterpiece. It hadn’t lifted her spirits. All of the comics she drew were fun . . . but they were just daydreams. She never had the confidence to act on any of them.

Yasmin picked the dress up and tossed it into the corner of the room, wishing that a sinkhole would suddenly appear and slurp the dress away into the depths of the earth. She stomped over and blew a raspberry at the crumpled heap. It was no use trying to fight her family’s wishes. She would have to wear it, or she’d be labelled rude and ungrateful.

Tonight, there would be no favourite smelly trainers and jeans.

Tonight, like every night, Yasmin would have to wear the clothes her aunties wanted her to wear.

And eat the food her parents wanted her to eat.

And sit where her brothers wanted her to sit.

Even though it was her tenth birthday.

The kitchen was chaos. All six family members placed bowls of steaming food, chutneys and lemonade on the table whilst shouting about what should go where. Yasmin crept in, wearing her new dress. It was probably best just to sit quietly at the table, like she usually did. But unfortunately, Short Brother had already spotted her.

‘So . . . did you win your checkers match this afternoon, Yasmin?’ he asked, trying to act like he was too cool to care.

‘Or have all the oldies turned into fossils?’ Tall Brother smirked.

Yasmin pointed to the ‘winner’ badge she had pinned to her party dress and took a sip of lemonade. She had been competing in the checkers tournament at the elderly people’s daycentre for a few weeks now and had won every match. It was a game that required concentration, logic and quiet – some of Yasmin’s favourite things. The focused calm that surrounded a game of checkers made Yasmin feel like she was wrapped in a nice warm blanket. Even if she didn’t win the tournament, she was sure she could make it to the finals.

‘Phhhst.’ Tall Brother rolled his eyes. ‘You won’t win the whole thing.’

‘Yeah, no chance,’ Short Brother added, quick to copy his brother.

Yasmin ignored them both and got up to help Papa and Ammi with the chapattis.

‘How is school?’ Papa asked as she passed him a handful of flour.

‘DIDYOUPASSTHESPELLINGTEST?’ Ammi added.

‘Of course she did, she’s great at spelling.’

‘SHEGOTTHATFROMME.’

Yasmin gritted her teeth. This was her birthday celebration. Weren’t birthdays meant to be fun? All her parents wanted to do was talk about school.

‘For your science project I have decided we will study moss growth and reproduction,’ Papa told Yasmin. ‘That is what I studied at university, therefore I am very knowledgeable on the subject.’

‘But how will moss growth help her grades? I think she should study the water cycle,’ Auntie Gigi called over from the table.

‘Do not question me, sister. I am the man of the house.’

‘Man of the house or not, you are still our younger brother!’ Auntie Bibi countered.

‘COMEONEVERYONEDINNERISREADY.’ Ammi’s voice cut through the hubbub. She was the one person nobody ever questioned.

‘Yassy, are you coming to sit down?’ Auntie Bibi asked.

Yasmin took a deep breath and walked over to the table with a sour face. She may have to sit through this meal, but she didn’t have to smile.

‘One more thing before we eat.’ Papa seemed very pleased with himself as he produced a square parcel wrapped in red paper out of his briefcase. ‘A present for Yasmin.’

Yasmin’s eyes grew wide. Maybe her parents did care about her birthday after all! Carefully peeling open the paper, she uncovered her birthday present.

Smiths Bumper Book of Logic and Reasoning Puzzles – proven to increase brain activity!

Yasmin stared at it in silence, trying to muster a grateful smile. Her brothers giggled.

‘Yasmin will have the most active brain in her whole class.’ Papa beamed. ‘Now let’s discuss your maths grades –’

Yasmin managed to get through the dinner without throwing her rubbish present through the window. Then, finally, it was time for dessert. And Ammi had made a birthday cake!

‘Your Ammi spent all afternoon baking this cake, Yasmin,’ Auntie Bibi prompted.

Yasmin’s face softened and she smiled up at Ammi. The cake was double-tiered chocolate, with beautiful buttercream flowers on the top. The family collectively gasped at its absolute chocolatey amazingness.

Ammi carried the heavy cake to the table with such care that it might as well have been a newborn baby. She gently placed it in front of Yasmin and was just about to light the candles . . . when Yasmin opened her napkin.

Pepper puffed out of the napkin’s folds.

It rose into Yasmin’s nose in a big cloud of spiciness, causing a loud –

Nobody moved.

Sounding like a plug popping out of the plughole, Yasmin unstuck her face from the icing.

For once, the whole family was quiet. Through icing-coated eyelashes, Yasmin could see that they were all staring at Ammi and holding their breath.

Ammi looked at Yasmin.

Yasmin looked at Ammi.

Auntie Gigi looked at her own napkin and then used it to wipe Yasmin’s face.

Then, in the loudest voice ever to come out of Ammi’s mouth – the equivalent of a jet engine and an earthquake – Yasmin’s mother boomed:

‘YASMIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!YOURUINEDTHECAKE!’

Yasmin’s brothers cackled with laughter. Tall Brother slyly picked up the pepper shaker and wiggled it teasingly at Yasmin. Her parents always seemed to miss their pranks.

‘Because of your outburst –’ (Outburst? thought Yasmin. It was a sneeze!) ‘– Ammi’s cake is ruined! Why didn’t you blow your nose before dinner?’ Papa ranted.

Ammi’s cake? Yasmin heard ringing in her head.

Ammi’s cake???

AMMI’S CAKE????

It was her cake, it was her birthday, and none of this was her fault. But would her parents listen to her side of the story? NO! And her aunties never helped, not to mention her horrible brothers.

A whole wave of noise came crashing down. Ammi was calling out an endless stream of orders. Papa was scooping up pieces of cake from the floor. Auntie Gigi and Auntie Bibi were trying to comfort Ammi and Yasmin’s brothers were just licking bits of icing that had fallen on the table.

Yasmin might as well have not been there.

So she did what she was best at, and disappeared.