Agatha Parrot and the Floating Head Read online

  This book is dedicated to Ivy Malting who is really nice and is going bowling on Saturday and can take a friend hint hint.

  First published in paperback in Great Britain 2011

  by Egmont UK Limited

  239 Kensington High Street

  London W8 6SA

  Text copyright © 2011 Kjartan Poskitt

  Illustrations copyright © 2011 David Tazzyman

  The moral rights of the author and illustrator have been asserted

  ISBN 978 1 4052 5596 7

  eBook ISBN 978 1 7803 1069 5

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  www.egmont.co.uk

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by the CPI Group

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

  stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means,

  electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise,

  without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

  The gang!

  Arty Bianca likes painting wild animals and plays her trombone loud on Sunday mornings.

  Big jolly Martha likes chips and football and can sort out boys anytime.

  Agatha (that’s me) is going to be a famous celebrity actress. And that’s true.

  Mad Ivy once did 103 hops on the same leg without stopping. Nobody knows why, not even her.

  Ellie is scared of being in this book because she had a dream that the pages were squashing her.

  CONTENTS

  The Usual Boring Old Warning

  The Start

  Looking Down Plugholes

  The Cold Heatwave

  Cornflakes and Eskimos

  Martha’s Bummy is a Talloon

  Mysterious Puddles

  The Emergency Bucket and Mop Operation

  The Clever Dummy

  The Other Martha Puts her Foot in it

  It’s Tudor Time!

  The Strange Story of Queen Martha

  The Ghost of Anne Boleyn

  Mummies and Ice Cream

  Top Secret Ending

  The Usual Boring Old Warning

  Hiya and THANKS for trying out this book! But before we get on to the story I’ve got to warn you about something. It starts all nice and normal like this . . .

  Last Tuesday me and Ivy went for tea at Martha’s house.

  . . . BUT there’s a bit later on where Martha’s head explodes. Don’t worry because she’s all right, even if one of the teachers was trying to chop her head off with an axe. It all ends up happily ever after with everybody having ice creams so is that OK with you? Good.

  Sorry about that, but the old man who is typing this book out for me says that you have to have SAFETY WARNINGS. To be honest I couldn’t care if this book freaks you out so much that you have a nosebleed, in fact I think that’d be pretty cool (ha ha!) but he says I have to warn you about the Martha’s head bit because if I didn’t then you might ask me for £1000000000 of compensation but you’d be lucky because I’ve only got 73p so there. You have been warned.

  There’s still a couple of pages left before the story starts so I’ll introduce myself because that’s good manners.

  I’m Agatha Jane Parrot and I’m a supermodel celebrity actress who just happens to be killing a bit of time at school before I get famous. Soon I’ll be in films and having my picture in the papers and going to posh parties, but first I’ve got to learn all that stuff like the water cycle and the eight times table.

  Yesterday we did the Romans invading Britain but I don’t know why the Romans bothered. It was cold and wet and we hadn’t even got any telly to watch in those days so they might just as well have stayed in sunny Italy eating pizzas. Sounds good to me.

  Me and Ivy and Martha all go to Odd Street School which is at the end of our street where we live which is called Odd Street because the houses just have odd numbers like 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, 11, 13, 15 . . . and all that lot. If there were any houses on the other side of the street then they would be the even numbers, but there aren’t.

  Ivy says it’s because somebody folded the plans in half and the builders didn’t realise so they missed half the street off and I believe her ha ha! It’s probably not the truth, but who cares so long as it’s funny? My granny believes there’s little sooty fairies living up her chimney and she’s well cool so there.

  I live at number 5 with big brother James (a bit older and a lot smellier), little sister Tilly (with a pink sparkly ballet dress, need I say more?) and two old slaves to obey all my orders (i.e. Mum and Dad) but none of them come into this story so don’t bother remembering all that.

  Next door at number 3 is Martha who is the big smiley one who can fight boys, then on the other side at number 7 is Ivy the hypernutcase who always jumps over her gate and swings off the washing line. Yahoo GO IVY!

  There’s lots of other people and stuff to know but you’ll pick it all up as the story goes along. As well as Martha’s head exploding there’s a balloon that gets top marks in spelling and a mad teacher who saves the world from a bit of wet carpet but first of all there’s a really disgusting pizza. How disgusting? I’ll give you a clue:

  What would you get if you drove a steam roller along the bottom of the ocean?

  Give in? Never mind, the answer’s coming soon. Off we go then . . .

  The Start

  Last Tuesday me and Ivy went to tea at Martha’s house. Martha’s mum works at the Spendless food shop and they have a slogan ‘You’ll spend less at Spendless’ which is true. Most people go in, take one look round and then come out without spending anything at all. That’s because Spendless never sells anything you might have heard of, but the good bit is that Martha’s mum gets lots of random things to bring home and try out.

  That night Martha’s mum put three uncooked cheese and tomato pizzas on the table then she opened up all her cupboards and got out all the half-eaten pots and packets she could find. ‘Choose your own toppings,’ she said. ‘Put on whatever you like!’ Martha’s mum is big and jolly just like Martha.

  Most of the pots had labels with funny writing on them, so the only way to tell what was inside was by opening them up and having a look. The first one I tried turned out to be marmalade which isn’t too bad on a pizza actually. I’d give it 6/10. Ivy found ham with red pepper bits (8/10), pineapple (10/10) and black cherries in syrup (2/10 but Ivy LOVES them because she’s nuts).

  We put loads of stuff on the pizzas. I made a spider pattern, Martha did a rainbow and Ivy did a face with lots of mad hair made from spaggetty. (Or is it spaggeti? Spaghety? Spahgetti . . . oh you know what I mean, it’s that long stringy stuff you can eat with bollonays sauce. Bolonaiz. Bollonnaze . . . OH FORGET IT.) She said it was supposed to be me because my hair is a bit impossible like my mum’s is. At least it’s better than having hair like my dad because he’s as bald as a light bulb ha ha!

  We’d just about finished loading up the pizzas when Martha opened a jar of yellowy-pink stuff which smelt like James’s football socks (0/10).

  ‘No way am I having THAT!’ said Ivy.

  ‘Coward,’ said Martha.

  ‘Then I dare you to put it on YOUR pizza,’ said Ivy.

  That got Martha thinking. ‘I’ve already got pineapple, beetroot, garlic sausage, dried banana, olives and raspberry jam. Anything else might ruin the taste.’

  I had a look at the label on the jar.

  The only bit I could understand was the ‘best before’ date and it was ages away, so whatever it was should have been safe enough.

  Ivy gave Martha a poke in the ribs. ‘Go on
Martha, I dare you to eat all that for a million billion pounds.’

  Ha! Martha would eat her own head for 20p. So for a million billion pounds she slopped the whole jar of yellowy-pink stuff all over her pizza (oh boy did it STINK or what?), and then her mum came in and shoved all the pizzas in the oven.

  We had ten minutes to wait, so we got talking about the class trip that was coming up. There were only three days left before half-term and so far not one person in our class had had a single day off sick. As a special reward Miss Pingle had said that if we all made it to the last day, the whole class would go to see the Egyptian mummy exhibition! Mummies are well cool because out of zombies, vampires and mummies, they are the only ones that are real. At least I think so. Gosh I hope so. Eeky freak – scary!

  ‘I bet one of the boys goes off sick and ruins it,’ said Martha crossly. ‘Remember the end of last term when Matty knocked himself out playing football?’

  Hmmm . . . that wasn’t how Ivy and I remembered it! Actually it was Martha who knocked Matty out. He’d kicked the football across the playground and hit Martha on the leg and messed her trousers up. All the boys had laughed so she kicked it back HARD and the next thing Matty knew he was sitting in reception with a bandage round his head. Ha ha wicked!

  ‘It was still his fault,’ said Martha. ‘So if he does it again I’ll kill him. Well, not kill him, but you know what I mean.’

  Soon the pizzas were out of the oven and being chopped up and then Ivy was owing Martha a million billion pounds because Martha had eaten the lot. Then Martha’s mum came in and saw the strange jar was empty.

  ‘Aha!’ she said, sounding a bit surprised. ‘I see you’ve finished off that octopus paste.’

  ‘Octopus paste?’ gasped Martha.

  Ivy started giggling and doing a strange underwater dance round the kitchen. ‘Whoa! Does that mean Martha might grow eight arms?’

  Gosh, what a thought. Argh! Mind you, if Martha really did get eight arms, she’d be scarier than mummies, vampires and zombies all put together! Awesome.

  Looking Down Plugholes

  Next day and it’s lunchtime, and we’re all sitting round in the school hall. Our hall gets used for everything like concerts and football practice and assemblies, so there’s tons of stuff round the sides like ropes for climbing up and folded tables and a plinky plonky piano and a projector thing that has a sign saying CHILDREN MUST NOT TOUCH but that’s OK as it looks dead boring. It’s not like it’s a playstation or a chocolate bar machine or bubble blower is it?

  There are also lots of piles of stacked up chairs. You’re only meant to have five chairs stacked up at the most but Motley the caretaker likes to make things more exciting.

  That morning he had made a giant wobbly pile of NINE chairs! I expect the world record for stacking chairs is something like twenty-two or maybe even twenty-three because if the pile got any higher then you’d need to have a hole in the ceiling. But nine is pretty good for Motley, it might even be his personal best so let’s have a round of applause for Motley clap clap clap.

  So anyway, me and Ivy were just quietly sandwiching away when CRASH. Rory Bloggs had been running and slipped on a biscuit wrapper and smashed his big head into Motley’s nine stacking chairs which all fell on him ha ha. He was lying on the floor groaning and clutching his knee. Of course me and Ivy ignored him, but then something really bad happened. Miss Barking turned up.

  Miss Barking has got short black hair and big glasses like telly screens and she always carries a thick folder full of boring leaflets and forms to fill in. We hardly ever see her in school because she’s the deputy headteacher and she’s always away learning about issues. Issues can be anything so long as it’s boring and wastes time. Once she spent three days in a hotel learning about nutritional issues, then she came back to give us all a talk about not eating crisps for breakfast. Honestly, she shouldn’t go giving us ideas. The very next morning Martha swapped her cornflakes for a monster packet of cheese and onion crisps and said it was great, although you have to eat them fast before the milk makes them go floppy.

  Miss Barking stared at Rory then she stared at the biscuit wrapper, and then what does she do? Does she get the first aid kit? No. Does she call the ambulance? No. Does she have him stretchered off into a waiting helicopter like they do in films? NO! She opens her folder and starts hunting for a special biscuit-wrapper-accident form.

  ‘I knew this would happen one day,’ she moaned at Rory, who was still on the floor making a big fuss. ‘I told Mrs Twelvetrees that all biscuit wrappers should be removed by trained members of staff in a secure environment, but does she ever listen to me?’

  That didn’t get an answer. Partly because it was such a silly question but mainly because nobody was listening. She never learns.

  Rory was just about to make an even bigger fuss but he was in our class, so Ivy and me realised we better do something. We pulled him up to his feet and held him by the arms.

  ‘He’s fine,’ I said.

  ‘But I must take him to the office to be checked,’ said Miss Barking. ‘He’ll need an accident report, and then he’ll have to go home.’

  ‘No way,’ said Ivy shaking her head. ‘He just needs a quick run round the playground to loosen up, don’t you Rory?’

  Rory was shaking his head stupidly.

  ‘Oh, so you don’t need a run?’ said Ivy. ‘That’s good, isn’t it Miss Barking? He must be better already.’

  Good one Ivy! The two of us dragged Rory away from Miss Barking. He was pretending to limp because he thought we’d feel sorry for him. He thought wrong.

  ‘Walk properly,’ hissed Ivy. ‘She’s watching, and if she sends you home, we won’t get to see the mummies.’

  ‘You’re lucky Martha’s not here,’ I said. ‘She’d have made you run round the playground.’

  Rory shook us off him and stomped away. He was sulking so much he forgot to limp ha ha big loser!

  But then we realised, where was Martha? She had never missed lunchtime before. We asked around and in the end it was Bianca Bayuss who told us with a very serious face:

  ‘She was toiling to the runnets.’

  We love Bianca. Don’t always understand her, but love her. Try again Bianca . . .

  ‘She was tunning to the roylets.’

  Eh? Yikes! No wonder Bianca was serious. She was trying to tell us Martha was running to the toilets. Ivy and me went to check and there was Martha leaning her face over a washbasin. She wasn’t looking well, so we were hoping that nobody else had seen her, but we were too late. There was somebody else already in there. Gwendoline Tutt.

  Gwendoline lives on Odd Street too, but she’s in one of the big houses up at the far end. It should be number 59 but that’s not posh enough for the Tutt family. They had to give their house a name instead. Are you ready for this? Tomen Sbwriel. Apparently her mum saw it on a sign in Wales and liked the sound of it which is a bit weird because the rest of us can’t even say it.

  Gwendoline is in the other class from us so she wasn’t getting to see the mummies and so she had been in a real mood all week. Typical Gwendoline, it was her fault anyway because she had been the one to miss a week off school when she went skiing while we were stuck in lessons. All the same, Gwendoline was the one who moaned the most because she was like that.

  Gwendoline was staring at Martha. ‘What’s up with her?’ she demanded.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. I couldn’t let Gwendoline know Martha was sick! I had to think of a good excuse. ‘She just likes looking down plugholes, don’t you Martha? In fact so do I.’ I shoved my face in the next basin. ‘Oooh, that’s a nice one.’

  Ivy stuck her head in a basin too. ‘Mine’s even better!’ she said, but then being Ivy she had to go a bit mad. ‘Oh wow that’s soooo cool, love it love it love it.’

  ‘You weirdos,’ said Gwendoline but then she pulled a face and left thank goodness.

  We got Martha standing up straight but her face was looking a bit green which was
n’t good. If anyone found out she was ill then she’d be sent home and we’d miss our day out.

  ‘I bet I know why you’re woozy Martha,’ said Ivy. ‘It’s that octopus paste isn’t it? Go on, admit it. Octopus octopus octopus . . .’ Martha was looking even greener but Ivy wouldn’t shut up. ‘Just imagine having a lot of chopped up octopus arms inside you!’

  Martha’s Insides

  Martha’s eyes were rolling and I was having to hold her up which was hard work because Martha’s quite a healthy size if you know what I mean. ‘Stop it Ivy!’ I said, but she started waving her arms around excitedly.

  ‘Hey, what if they all came alive at once? Blodge bubble blop blop blop . . .’

  Whooops! Martha stuck her head straight back into the basin.

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Ivy. ‘If she’s sick then I won’t owe her a million billion pounds any more.’

  ‘You big ninny,’ I said. ‘If a teacher sees her, they’ll send her home. Quick, watch the door.’

  Ivy whizzed off to keep a lookout while I splashed a bit of cold water in Martha’s face. Eventually she straightened up again and took a few deep breaths.

  ‘That was close!’ she gasped. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I told her. ‘We just need to get you through the afternoon. I’ve got an idea but we’ll need help.’

  The Cold Heatwave

  By the time lessons had started, Ivy had got round all the other girls and told them what was going on and what they had to do. I helped Martha into class and sat her in Ellie Slippin’s seat by the window but Miss Pingle didn’t notice. She’s a new teacher and she’s really good because her hair changes colour every week, and she can never work the computer. She was busy having a panic because the electronic white board was showing a poem about acorns when she needed to do times tables. She didn’t notice that Martha was going green again.