Saffron & Bruno and the Mince Pie Mayhem!

For the last week, after getting home from school, giving Saffron’s mum a hug and doing their homework, Saffron and Natty liked nothing more than rushing upstairs to stare out of the window.  To some, this may have appeared to have been behaviour bordering on the ridiculous but, there was a terrifically good reason for their new afternoon routine.  Honestly. 

Once they had helped themselves to a mug of hot chocolate each and couple of biscuits, up they would go and out they would stare.  Bruno and Jeremiah would be well and truly cwtched, and the two girls would simply stare out of the window, and then they would smile.  The smile wasn’t just one of their ordinary smiles.  It wasn’t a smile of hello to a friend at school, nor was it the smile when you realise you have your favourite food for tea.  It wasn’t the smile of ten out of ten on a spelling test; nor the smile of contentment after a particularly great game of tag.  It was a smile that sparkled and twinkled in the fading evening light.  It was a smile dusted in snowfall and with a little bit of “Ho, ho, ho”.  Saffron and Natty stared out of the window and watched the Christmas lights of the village switch on and shine and dance in each window, on each tree and around each house.  The village was alive with twinkling beads of colourful light.  They played in the shadows and made the village seem a haven for happiness.  The patterns choreographed across the roofs and houses.  They blinked and flickered in curious configurations.  The smile they produced was one full of yuletide joy.  It was a smile for the eyes and the cheeks and the whole of the face.  Bruno and Jeremiah were cwtched, and the girls smiled at the coming of Christmas.

The lights danced and twinkled in the evening darkness.

 *

Saffron was changed into her best Santa pyjamas and under the duvet, Bruno lay in the crook of her arm, and she was reading a book about a witch and some small men who all lived on a flat round world.  It was making her laugh.  Natty was enjoying reading the story of the boy and the big piece of fruit.  The sound of the walking through walls practice was going on, as usual, and all seemed well in this festive world.

And then, all of a sudden, it wasn’t.

The walking through walls practice came to an abrupt stop.  In the silence, Saffron and Natty put down their books and turned their eyes to the ceiling.  Another noise emanated from up there now; it was a noise that could only be described as a hubbub.  The two girls listened intently as voices raised, and then they heard just one voice: loud and clear.

“Oooooooh!  The cheek of it!”  The two girls threw off their duvets and rushed up the stairs to the eggshell blue door.  They heaved it open and found a flustered and red-faced Stephen Number Ten being calmed and pacified by a number of the Sixteen Stephens.  Andrew was stood to the side, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Ah, hello Saffron, Natty,” he said, greeting the two newcomers to the attic.

“What’s going on?”  Asked Natty.

“What’s wrong with Stephen?”  Asked Saffron.  Stephen Number Ten’s breathing was steadily returning to normal and then he caught sight of a piece of paper Stephen Number Four held in his hands and steam piped out of his ears, his eyes squeezed shut tight and his cheeks crimsoned once again.

“The absolute cheek of it!”  He yelled.

“What’s on the paper?”  Asked Saffron, suddenly aware that the paper held the answer to Stephen Number Ten’s ire.  Andrew floated over and retrieved the paper from Stephen Number Four.  He showed it to Saffron and Natty.

“Rumour has it you’re pretty hot with the pie flinging.  Well, we reckon you ain’t got nothing on the North Pole Posse! We’ll teach you a lesson yule never forget!  NPP!”

Saffron and Natty couldn’t help but grin, but then a confusion fell on them.  They looked over at the furious Stephen Number Ten.  He was seething.  Stephen Number Four looked over their shoulders at the note.

“What is a ‘posse’, anyway?”  He asked.

“Is it a badly spelled cat?”  Asked Stephen Number Fourteen.

“What would a badly spelled cat be doing at the North Pole?”  Asked Stephen Number Four.

“Getting cold?”  Said Stephen Number Five.

“It’s not a badly spelled cat,” said Stephen Number Twelve, “The word ‘posse’ is just another name for ‘gang’.”  Andrew looked impressed.  The Sixteen Stephens took in this new piece of information, wondering what it could all mean. 

Saffron and Natty shared a look of bewilderment, too.  Who on earth could have written a note like that?  A curious look of excitement, realisation and disbelief appeared on Saffron’s face.

“No,” she said.

“What?”  Asked Natty.

“No way!”  Said Saffron.

“Oh, yes,” said Andrew.

“Do you mean…?”  Asked Saffron, the sentence falling away before it could be completed.

“I certainly do,” Andrew replied.

“What’s going on?”  Asked Natty.

“The ‘North Pole Posse’,” said Saffron, “Has this got something to do with Father Christmas?”
“Father Christmas!”  Exclaimed Natty

“Father Christmas!” Exploded Stephen Number Ten, “Every year he comes down here and every year I beat him and every year he keeps sending me letters telling me, ‘I ‘ain’t got nothing on the North Pole Posse!’  It drives me mad!”  Stephen Number Ten was certainly seething again.

“Beat him?”  Saffron sounded curious, “Beat him in what?”

“The Annual Christmas Related Food Stuff Food Fight, of course!”  Stephen Number Ten had gone puce.  Saffron and Natty couldn’t help but giggle.  The idea sounded preposterous.

“Are you telling me that Father Christmas comes here every year and has a food fight with Stephen Number Ten?”  Saffron could not keep the scepticism out of her voice.

“Yes indeed,” said Andrew, “And not just Father Christmas; his reindeer and a crack team of food flinging elves come down and face off against Stephen and the fifteen other Stephens, and me.”  Andrew smiled.  Saffron gave a little shake of her head, as if she was trying to shake the idea out of one of her ears.  Natty laughed.

“That’s incredible!”  She said.

Stephen Number Ten was eventually calmed down.  Saffron and Natty closed the eggshell blue door and climbed back down the stairs to bed.  They lay in the dark, neither quite able to say out loud what they were each thinking.  The Christmas lights played across the ceiling, jigging and racing patterns fluttered and twisted around the room.  Both girls smiled big, wide smiles.  Every now and again one of them would give their head a little shake; a happy sigh would be emitted.  The girls each fell asleep to dreams of sleighbells, mince pies; snow flurries, decorations, reindeers, and of Father Christmas.

*

The girls could think of nothing else all day, the next day at school.  Rachel bore the brunt of the constant chattering on the school bus.  The girls simply could not concentrate on anything they had to do at school.  Gladys and Gloria exchanged knowing looks at lunchtime, as they caught snippets of the girls excited conversation.

“Oh, yes,” said Gloria, “It’s nearly that time of year.”

“You’re right, “said Gladys, “The Annual Christmas Related Food Stuffs Food Fight must be just around the corner.”

That afternoon, the staring out of the window had an added dimension to it.  The girls watched the lights come on, watched the patterns begin to swirl and jive, and sipped on their hot chocolate.  They nudged each other and laughed.  Their eyes would venture skywards, like they expected to see a sleigh swish past to deliver the next antagonistic note; or, they would turn ceiling-wards and wait to hear an outraged shriek from Stephen Number Ten.  Christmas suddenly felt very extra especially different.  The hot chocolate went cold in their mugs.

*

The covers were up to their chins and their eyes were determinedly pointing upwards.  The walking through walls practice was underway but the regular rhythmical bumping was slightly out of kilter.  The girls waited…and then there it was.

“What!?”  The girls were out of their beds and up the stairs and through the eggshell blue door before you could blink.

Saffron and Natty could not quite believe their eyes.  The attic was covered with a dusting of snow, there were fairy lights hung hither and yon and candy canes stuck out of the floor, like bizarre red and white flower stems.  The girls’ mouths dropped open in amazement.  Stephen Number Eight’s mouth had dropped open and had then been filled by a number of the candy canes.  His eyes glistened with a glorious sugary euphoria.

“Wow!”  Saffron simply could not believe her eyes.  “Andrew, did you do this?”  Andrew smiled and shook his head.

Stephen Number Ten was breathing heavily through his nose and being patted down by Stephen Numbers Three and Sixteen.  Stephen Number Eleven was soothing Stephen Number Ten’s brow.  Natty picked up the new note.

“You think you’re the King of the Flingers, boy!  Yule be made to think again, this year!  NPP!”

Saffron picked up a candy cane and began to suck on the minty deliciousness; Natty followed suit.  Stephen Number Eight’s face became a little frowny at the unforeseen loss of two sweet treats.

“So, what’s this food fight all about then?”  Saffron asked Andrew.

“It started a long, long time ago.”  Andrew said, “Father Christmas, St Nicholas we called him then, appeared with his reindeer, one December day.  Stephen’s first reaction was to bombard them with pies.  We never could work out why.  St Nicholas loved it.  He laughed and laughed.  And then he threw a pie back.  It took Stephen completely by surprised; he’d never actually been hit by a pie before.  It sent him into a frenzy that made St Nicholas laugh harder and harder.  The thing was, the laughter was full of jolliness, full of merriment.  He wasn’t laughing at Stephen, he was laughing with Stephen and at fun of the situation.  It took a while but eventually, Stephen found it funny too.  It was the first time we’d seen snow sparkle.  The following year, St Nicholas brought pies of his own and there was a food fight like I’d never seen before.  It was the second time Stephen got hit and the first time he got hit by a mincemeat pie.  He was mightily confused by this delicious new kind of pie; then he was mightily distracted by Stephen who kept trying to lick Stephen’s face.”  Saffron took a moment to adjust to which Stephen Andrew was talking about.  She smiled when the image of Stephen Number Eight trying to lick Stephen Number Ten’s face whilst he was in the middle of a food fight appeared behind her eyes.

“The next year, Stephen thought he’d catch St Nicholas cold,” Andrew continued, “He’d arranged an ambush with the rest of the Stephens…well, except for Stephen of course, he was simply tying on a napkin and readying his mouth for eating.  St Nicholas was ready for him, though, and he came in with all his reindeer firing!  It caught Stephen completely by surprise.  It was the biggest food fight I’d seen.  I’d not laughed quite so much in ages.”  The two girls smiled at the story.  The Sixteen Stephens had all fallen into a state of reminiscence.  This was odd, of course, because the Sixteen Stephens weren’t especially known for their memory.  In fact, the Sixteen Stephens were known, in fact, to have no memory at all.  Andrew caught the look on Saffron’s face.  “St Nicholas gave them this memory as a gift, one Yuletide time.  It was a present for them, so they knew to get ready for the food fight every year.  I’m not sure if he bargained on the effect it has had on Stephen.”  Stephen Number Ten fumed and frowned and fretted and formulated plans for the forthcoming Annual Christmas Related Food Stuffs Food Fight, completely forgetting that he, actually, found this fun.

As Andrew stopped speaking the lights flickered and the snow shook and sparkled.  There was a whoosh up above them and mince pies rained down from the ceiling.  A distant “Ho, ho, ho!” could be heard and Saffron and Natty stopped eating their candy canes and rushed to the window.  A streak of starlight and a red, white and green sparkle fell down.  The laughter could be heard echoing across the village.  Saffron and Natty looked at each other in astonishment.

“This is incredible!”  Natty exclaimed.

“I can’t believe my eyes!”  Saffron was equally exclamatory.  Andrew chuckled.  It was always the same.

*

It was a Friday night.  School had broken up for the term and Saffron and Natty had the pleasure of Rachel staying for a sleepover.  The three girls sat in the window and watched the town light up.  Each felt the anticipation of the great day arriving grow in their stomachs.  Saffron and Natty were also looking forward to that night’s incidents and alarums with Stephen Number Ten.  They couldn’t wait for Rachel see all she had heard about at school.

Sure enough, once all three girls had brushed their teeth and tucked themselves under their duvets (or snuggled inside their sleeping bag, as Rachel had done), the walking through walls practice commenced.  Each girl watched expectantly.

“I wouldn’t do your sleeping bag up, if I was you,” said Saffron.

“No fear,” Rachel replied, “I’m ready and waiting.”  They didn’t have to wait long.

“HOW DARE HE!?”

The three girls scampered up to the eggshell blue door, this time bedecked with a Christmas wreath, all pine cones and frosted needles, and hurried inside the attic to see an incredulous Stephen Number Ten jumping up and down on a piece of paper on which, the girls could see, a picture of Father Christmas with a multitude of custard pies flying all around him but not hitting him.  Saffron cold just make out the writing, “Just a quick pic to remind you how accurate you are! Yule never learn!  NPP!”  Saffron giggled.  Stephen Number Ten fumed.  Just then a shower of snow fell in the attic, sparkling white and drifting slowly to the floor, as if the attic were a just shaken snow globe.  There again was the laughter, “Ho, ho, ho!” and Rachel rushed to the window to see the magic trail off into the distance in the night sky.  There was a splatter sound.  The girls turned around to see Stephen Number Ten with a mince pie on his head; its gelatinous filling running down his face.  He fumed a little bit harder.  A look of inspiration appeared in Saffron’s eyes.  A look of gluttony appeared in Stephen Number Eight’s.

“You know,” Saffron said to the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew, “I have an idea that might swing the Annual Christmas Related Food Stuff Food Fight in your favour.”  A piece of pie filling dripped off Stephen Number Ten’s nose.

“What idea?”  He said.

“Well,” said Saffron, “Father Christmas knows about the fifteen other Stephens, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” said Stephen Number Ten.

“And he knows about Andrew…”
“He does,” said Stephen Number Ten.

“But,” said Saffron, “He doesn’t know about us, does he?”

“Doesn’t he?”  Asked Stephen Number Ten.  He looked at Andrew.  He was a little bit confused.

“Well,” said Andrew, “Perhaps, he does not.”  There was a murmur of excitement amongst the ghosts.  They had found their secret weapon.  Cunning looks and skulduggerous thoughts abounded.  Natty, though, had a thoughtful look on her face.  There was a hint of a frown.  Something wasn’t quite right.

“Um,” she said, “I think Father Christmas does know about us.”  It was like someone had let all the air out of a balloon.  The Sixteen Stephens slumped.  Andrew smiled.

“What do you mean?”  Asked Saffron.

“Well,” said Natty, “I’ve written Father Christmas a Christmas letter.  You’ve written Father Christmas a Christmas letter.  Rachel, have you?”  Rachel nodded her head.  “You see,” said Natty, “Father Christmas knows all about us.  He has our lists of presents and he’s been checking to make sure we’ve been good.”  The mood fell again.  What little air that was left in the metaphorical balloon ebbed away.

“He might be checking on us to make sure we are good,” agreed Saffron, “but he doesn’t know that we’re going to help Stephen Number Ten in the food fight.”

“That’s true,” said Rachel.

“Yes,” Natty agreed.

“Why’d Saffron call me, ‘Stephen Number Ten’?”  Asked Stephen Number Ten.

“So, if we know that we’re going to help in the food fight,” Saffron went on, “we just have to make sure that Father Christmas doesn’t find out what we’re planning.”
“How are we going to do that?”  Asked Natty, “He has a list.  He checks it twice.”

“I see,” said Stephen Number Twelve, butting in, “I think I get the picture.  You know that Father Christmas knows you’ve written to him but he doesn’t know you’ve seen what he’s written to Stephen; so, you know that he’s going to food fight Stephen in the Annual Christmas Related Food Stuffs Food Fight, but he doesn’t know that you know he’s going to food fight with Stephen in the Annual Christmas Related Food Stuffs Food Fight, so, you’re going to make sure that Father Christmas doesn’t find out that you know he’s going to but doesn’t know you’re going to and, so, if you can ensure the status quo remains, then hence, you’ll be able to help in the Annual Christmas Related Food Stuffs Food Fight because Father Christmas won’t know, you know.  You know?”

“That, incredibly, is absolutely correct,” said Saffron with a big beaming smile.  The Sixteen Stephens beamed also.  Even Stephen Number Ten, who had a big bit of mince pie gloop dangling off his chin.  Andrew smiled too.

The three girls were back tucked up in bed.

“How are we going to make sure Father Christmas doesn’t twig?”  Asked Rachel.  There was a pause.  It became a thoughtful pause.  Natty grinned.

“Got it!”  She said, “We just have to make sure we stay very firmly on the good list.” The other two nodded.  “Father Christmas won’t suspect a thing if we stay good from here to Christmas Eve!”

*

“Ho, ho, ho!”

*

There were six parents in the village who were quietly pleased by the behaviour of their children.  Chores were being done without the need of second asking.  Bedrooms were tidy.  Washing was in the washing basket.  Washing up was being done, and wiped up, and put away.  The parents, whilst dutifully noting the dates on the calendar, were delighted by the cheerful and cheery young girls of their houses.  Smiles and pleasant exchanges were plentiful.  Cups of tea arrived as if by magic.  All bikes and skateboards were put away in garages.  The only thing that stayed the same was bedtime; hiding away with a book and a cwtch was always something to look forward to.  Six parents sighed happy sighs.

*

“Ho, ho, ho!”

*

“Do you think it’s working?”  Asked Rachel.

“I reckon it is,” said Natty.  Saffron nodded her head in agreement.  “I reckon Father Christmas will well and truly believe we’re on the good list to stay, by now.”

“Excellent,” said Rachel.

“Now we just need to work on a plan with the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew.”  The girls smiled and rushed up to the eggshell blue door.

Plans were drawn up...

 Food Fight Plans were being drawn up.  To the side of the attic, a table had been laid out with a plan of said attic laid out across the top and cut out figures representing the ghosts, the girls and the North Pole Posse strewn all over it.  Stephen Number Ten stood next to the table holding a long stick with a flat, oblong shaped end set square on it.  Every now and again he would use it to manoeuvre a ghost to a new position on the tabletop plan.  A spaghetti of wires were plugged into an operators board to the side of the attic and Stephens One, Seven, Thirteen and Fourteen were all sat, wearing headsets, and connecting calls as plans were discussed.  All of that was completely unnecessary, of course, the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew were all in the attic, they could quiet easily just speak with one another.  It added to the atmosphere, however, and gave the troops a bit of a fillip.  Saffron, Natty and Rachel hurried over to Andrew, who was also stood at the planning table, and they glanced over his shoulder.  Arrows indicated where the ghosts would move.  There were three figures, each one a girl, and they were hidden away at the back of the attic, behind an old screen, ready for the coup de main; the surprise assault that would win the day.  A shiver of excitement ran down the girls’ backs as they saw the plan being put into place. 

Stephen Number Ten was watching the preparation of a range of pies, ready for the fight.  Stephen Number Six was piping custard into pastry cases.  Stephen Number Twelve was filling piping bags also with custard.  Stephen Number Fifteen was rolling chocolate logs.  Stephen Number Three was unwrapping a load of Christmas Puds.  Stephen Number Eight was…tied-up in the corner, salivating, and complaining about not being allowed to “help”.  The trifles were in the corner, setting.  The Sixteen Stephens and Andrew prepared.

*

Christmas Eve.  Night fell and the lights came on all across the village.  A frosty feel to the air blanketed the houses and people hurried to and fro, finishing their final Christmas preparations.  The girls crowded at the window and watched.  The patterns played on the pavement.  A sugar coating of ice began to glisten and sparkle as the temperature dropped and the expectations rose.  Saffron and Natty were delighted their plans had worked out.  Rachel was too.  So good had they been, their parents could not resist the request for the sleepover.  One more sleepover so everyone could wake together on Christmas Day and see what presents Santa had left under the tree.  The knowing winks the girls had shared about the real reason why they wanted the sleepover were cute and cautious…just as were the ones the parents shared, to give them a little extra time to prepare for Christmas Day.

The girls waited for quiet and then they climbed the stairs to the eggshell blue door and pushed it open.  The attic hummed with determination and quiet confidence.  The Sixteen Stephens and Andrew had been busy.  The attic was now beautifully decorated.  A Christmas tree sat in one corner, covered in fairy lights and tinsel.  Sparkling trimmings and paper chains hung from the ceiling and more fairy lights convoyed in a series of patterns around the frame of the window.  Each of the Sixteen Stephens were wearing paper hats.  The remnants of Christmas crackers lay on the floor.  Stephen Number Twelve was examining the content of his cracker.  He held in his hand the joke and chuckled to himself.

“Oh, I say, this is a good one,” he chuckled once again, “What do you call a deer with no eyes?”  He called to room at large

“Blind?”

“Unlucky?”  Came the various replies.

“A poor deer?”
“Alan?”

“I’m sure we’ve heard this one before?”

“I give up,” said Stephen Number Twelve, “I really do.”  He went back to stacking his pies.

The appointed hour came.  Stephen Number Ten shushed everybody and made sure everyone was in position.  The girls had taken up their places behind the screen at the back of the attic.  The rest of the Sixteen Stephens were positioned around the room.  Andrew stood by the tree.  Everyone waited.

At first, the noise seemed like it wasn’t there.  The faintest of jingles cut through the silence of the attic.  The tinkling and jingling became quietly louder.  The temperature in the attic dropped.  A covering of frost appeared.  Saffron sniggered at the sight of frost appearing on Natty and Rachel’s ears and noses.  Inside each girl a peculiar sensation began to spread from their stomachs all the way to their toes.  Warmth and a cinnamon and sugar and niceness feeling inched its way to each girls’ fingers.  They looked at each other in surprise.

“He knows we’re here,” whispered Natty.

“He can’t,” whispered Rachel.

“He is Father Christmas,” whispered Saffron.

“Ssssh!”  Shushed Stephen Number Ten.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Stephen Number Fourteen, “I simply have absolutely no idea what you call a deer with no eyes.”

“Eh?”  Said Stephen Number Twelve.

“Ssssh!”  Shushed an increasingly shushy Stephen Number Ten.  And then there was the first thump up on the roof.  Everyone’s eyes looked up.

“They’re here…” said Stephen Number Ten.

The first thump sounded like a hoof-fall.  It was swiftly joined by more and then the sound of something much more substantial coming in to land.  The eyes of the attic’s inhabitants stayed ceilingwise.  There was a shuffle of hooves.  And then there was the tread of boots.  And then, there was a laugh.

“Ho, ho, ho!”  Saffron’s cheeks pinkened and her eyes shone.  The footsteps made their way the length of the roof.  There was quiet.  Then there was the sound of footsteps on the landing, outside the eggshell blue door.  The Sixteen Stephens and Andrew’s eyes followed the sounds along and down to the door.  The noise outside on the landing seemed to wake them from a trance.  They shrugged themselves awake and arranged themselves, pies at the ready.  The doorframe glowed a brilliant white, snow crystals sprayed into the room.  The scent of frosting made the three girls lick their lips…and Stephen Number Eight struggled against his bonds…he was still tied up in the corner, otherwise he would have eaten all the ammunition!  The door caved in, the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew flinched; through the fog of snow came the reindeer, firing pies as fast as their hooves would allow them to.

The Sixteen Stephens and Andrew had recoiled from the blast of the door and the snow.  Soon three or four of their number were covered in mince pies.  Resolutely, the reindeer advanced into the attic.  Custard pies now flew through the air, finding their mark.  Custard clung to the fur of the reindeer.  More pies pummelled their flanks. 

“Look,” said Stephen Number Seven, “It’s that reindeer whose as bad at walking through walls as us!”

“Eh?”  Said Stephen Number Fifteen, quite confused.

“That one with the red nose.  It’s redder than mine!”  Stephen Number Seven pointed at one of the pie-chucking reindeer.

“Oh yeah,” said Stephen Number Fifteen and returned to his pie throwing.  Stephen Number Eight strained at his bonds, over in the corner, his tongue reaching out to catch the crumbs of pastry and the dollops of filling filling the air.

Here's Santa!

 Stephen Number Ten appeared silhouetted against the fairy lights of the attic window.  In either hand he had a chocolate log.  They whizzed through the air and splattered against their targets.  One hit a reindeer right between the antlers, the other caught another on the side of the face.  Stephen Number Ten came on at the foe.  Custard pie after custard pie caught the reindeer in an onslaught.  They were beginning to buckle under the effects of the custard assault when a new sound was heard and the food flinging froze.  The reindeer moved to form up either side of the attic door.  The residue of frosty vapours hung.  A sound laughter filled the room and a red-cloaked and costumed figure strode into view.

“Ho.  Ho.  Ho.”  He went.  His belt was wide and his buckle huge.  His boots were fur-lined and his red hat white trimmed and at a jaunty angle.  His cheeks were rosy, his smile broad.  His hands…well, they were full of mince pie.  And they threw.  He was too quick for Stephen Number Ten.  Unctuous goo oozed down the ghost’s face.  There was a pause.

“Bring up the icing bags!”  Stephens Number Four and Five raced forward and squeezed.  Arcs of custard carved paths across the attic.  The reindeer were too slow and were caught in the stream of sugary yellowness.  Father Christmas “Ho, ho, ho’d” again and covered the two ghosts with a cavalcade of Christmassy confection.  It was then a roar split the room.

Stephen Number Eight found strength that only that amount of Christmassy confection could inspire.  He broke free of his chair and zoomed around the room hoovering up as much food as his mouth could carry. His arms moved in a blur, shovelling cakes and biscuits, chocolate rolls and sticky pudding into his face.

A white powder filled the air.  Icing sugar was providing a gentle covering on every surface.  The Sixteen Stephens had started a volley of trifles and the reindeer were buckling under the attack.  It was then that the elves appeared, sneakily sliding open the attic window, they came at the ghosts from behind.  Marshmallows and meringues pinged and splatted and crushed against the ghosts’ rear.  They turned to repel the new threat from behind and as they did Father Christmas brought out a bucket of green and red jelly and splatted the ghosts from his side.  The Sixteen Stephens were a green, red and white sticky mess.  You could barely tell one ghost from the next.  Pairs of eyes looked out through the goo.  One mouth kept opening and closing and sucking in as much of the sweetness as it could.

“Now, Saffron!”  Shouted Stephen Number Ten.

The screen fell away and the girls flung a volley of Christmas related food stuffs from the flank of the North Pole Posse.  Father Christmas, the reindeer and the elves were completely taken by surprise.  The custard and the jelly and the chocolate rolls and the pudding and the cream covered the lot of them.  You couldn’t see any fur.  You couldn’t see a pointy ear.  You couldn’t see a swatch of red material.  The attic was a mass of heaving, wriggling, squirming Christmas Related Foot Stuffs…and custard pie.

“Ok,” said Stephen Number Ten, covered from head to where his toes would have been, if he had toes, in food, “We’ll call it a draw.”  Father Christmas laughed.

“Ho, ho, ho!”  Stephen Number Ten joined in.  Soon, the attic echoed to the sound of laughter.

Andrew and Father Christmas struggled through the gloop until they were stood next to one another, then they were arm in arm.  Saffron, Natty and Rachel took in the view.  Never in their wildest dreams did they ever think they would be involved in a festive food fight with Father Christmas and all his helpers.  Andrew and Father Christmas nodded to one another.  They clicked their fingers.

Andrew and Father Christmas were arm in arm.

 The attic was pristine.

They clicked their fingers for a second time.

Saffron and Bruno, Natty and Jeremiah, Rachel and Sofia, the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew, Father Christmas and all his helpers were in the front room and standing around the Christmas Tree.  Father Christmas gave a big smile.  With a wave of his hand, his sack full of presents appeared.  He took a few from the number and placed them under the tree.  With a curious twinkle in his eye, he gave a nod to the glass of sherry, the mince pie and the carrot, by the fireplace.   The sherry glass emptied, a bite appeared in the pie and the carrot gnawed itself in two.  Glistening snow-white footprints appeared from the chimney to the tree and back.  Saffron and the girls stood close to each other and hugged.  There was definitely magic in the air, this Christmas.

With another snap of his fingers, Father Christmas was back in his sleigh and riding off into the snowy night; there were miles to go before he slept.  Saffron, Natty and Rachel all waved goodbyes from the attic window.  Behind them the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew waved too.

“That,” said Stephen Number Ten, “was the finest Annual Christmas Related Food Stuffs Food Fight we’ve had for a long time.”  He nodded his head in agreement with himself.  Stephen Number Eight nodded too and enjoyed his bulging belly.  The rest of the Stephens were glad the fuming and seething were over for another year.  Smiles and a festive feeling of joy were shared by all.

“Happy Christmas, Saffron,” said Andrew.  Saffron smiled at one of her seventeen most favourite ghosts.

“A Happy Christmas to you, too,” she said in reply.

“Merry Christmas to everyone!”  Said Natty and Rachel.

“Ho, ho, ho!”  Said a booming voice trailing off in the distance.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Saffron & Bruno and the Circus.

Something odd was happening in the field opposite the window of the attic.  It was a something that was odd enough to halt the walking through walls practice and make the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew gather at the window to watch what was going on.  Trucks and caravans were pulling up and parking.  The Sixteen Stephens looked blankly at one another. Andrew bided his time.  It was too early in the year for the fair; the car-boot sale happened in the school car park, and the annual Easter Egg hunt happened annually at Easter, when eggs were hunted.  They were certainly very colourful vehicles; they were all covered in pictures of acrobats, jugglers, magicians, ballerinas and …ah, yes… and clowns.  The Sixteen Stephens each gave a smile, and so did Andrew; then, went back to their walking through walls practice.  They knew all they needed to know, now.  Each ouch was now accompanied by a dismissive snort or some such other derisory noise.  Clowns.  Foolish things.  You’d never catch one of the Sixteen Stephens plumbing the depths.

The circus had arrived!

Down in her room, Saffron, Natty and Bruno looked out of the window and watched as the circus trucks parked up and began to unpack.  Natty grabbed Jeremiah, so he could see the big tent too.  The girls grinned from ear to ear at the thought of a visit to the big top.  They were curious as to why the walking through walls practice restarted quite so soon after it had stopped?  They felt sure the Sixteen Stephens would be fascinated by the arrival of the circus and that Andrew would be in his element explaining all that he knew about the attraction.  They left the bedroom and headed upstairs to see what was going on.

Opening the eggshell blue door, Saffron and Natty, and Bruno and Jeremiah, walked into the attic and a cacophony of dismissive ouches.  Walking through walls practice was back underway.  The girls and their toys stood and watched.  The Sixteen Stephens were well and truly focused on damaging their noses and Andrew was routinely going through his mantra of encouragements and gee-ing ups to get the ghosts through the walls.  He had even added in an impromptu “imagine there’s a custard pie on the other side of the wall waiting for you.”  All this did was make Stephen Number Ten stop practising for a while and lazily spin a pie on his finger instead, and make Stephen Number Eight create a small puddle of drool on the floor and bang his nose firmer and more painfully into the wall than he had been doing so.

After a while the ghosts realised that Saffron and Bruno, and Natty and Jeremiah, were in the attic.  They paused their practice and said hello.  The girls and looked confused.  Well, the girls looked confused, Bruno looked like he always looks, like Bruno, and Jeremiah did his best Jeremiah impersonation.

“Um… You have seen what’s over in the field, haven’t you?”  Asked Saffron.

“You’ve seen the circus trucks, we mean,” said Natty.

“Yes, we’ve seen them,” said Stephen Number Twelve, “All very good.”

“Hmmm,” agreed the rest of the Sixteen Stephens, “All very good.”  Andrew smiled.  He had an inkling as to how this conversation was going to go.
“’Hmmm, all very good’?”  Mimicked Saffron.  “What do you mean, ‘all very good’?  It’s a circus!”

“We know,” replied Stephen Number Seven, “We have seen circuses before”
“Yes,” said Stephen Number Twelve, “They’re like a great big tent for camping in but no one sleeps in the tent, they just run around and jump about and make other people in the tent go ‘ooooh’ and ‘aaaah’ and then they all go home and don’t even sleep in the tent!”  The two girls were dumbfounded.  If they had been asked to describe how they thought the Sixteen Stephens would react to a circus arriving in the field across the road, flippant indifference would not have been the words they would have chosen… no, ecstatic, delirious, insanely happy, custard pie flinging joyous, high five slapping excited, or bunting and kazoo wieldingly euphoric would have been the words they would have chosen.  Saffron wriggled her nose in bewilderment.  She could not actually believe her eyes.  This is something of a sentence, of course, given that she was staring at a room full of ghosts; it’s that that usually would have people doubting their eyesight not the reaction of said ghosts to the arrival of a circus in the village!  Saffron turned to Andrew in the hope of getting an explanation.

“Andrew?”  She asked, “What’s going on?”  Andrew shrugged his shoulders.

“They don’t like circuses.”  He replied.  Saffron and Bruno and Natty and Jeremiah looked agog.  Well, Saffron and Natty looked agog, Bruno looked like his always did, and Jeremiah kept up the Jeremiah impersonation.  The Sixteen Stephens didn’t like circuses?  What on earth could that be all about?  The two girls turned again and looked at the wall walking into ghosts and shook their heads.  How could you not like a circus?  Saffron decided to ask out loud.

“How can you not like circuses?”  Saffron asked out loud.  The Sixteen Stephens paused their walking through walls practice and looked at Saffron.  “I mean,” Saffron carried on, “what’s not to like?  The acrobatics, the trapeze, the magicians…”

“The Jugglers, playing with fire and maybe knives and stuff that’s sharp…” Natty joined in.

“And what about the beautiful dancers and the ringmaster, holding control over the whole show…”
“And the clowns…” At the mention of that word the whole attic shuddered.  Stephen Number Ten’s cheeks went a bit pink.  The Sixteen Stephens closed their eyes and did that funny thing that people do when they’ve come in out of the rain or if someone has mentioned spiders to them.  They all sort of shuddered. Then they made that funny noise that goes with that funny thing people do too.  The Sixteen Stephens shuddered and went “uuuuhhhuuuhhh”… you know the noise…  Saffron and Natty were shocked.  Surely the Sixteen Stephens would love clowns?  The make up, the costumes, the pratfalls, the jokes, the missing you with a ladder and then hitting you with a ladder, all the clowns getting out of a ridiculously small car and then the car falling to pieces.  It all seemed like exactly the sort of thing the Sixteen Stephens would find hilarious.  Andrew shrugged again.  The girls shook their heads again and left the ghosts to their practice.

*

It was with a curious mixture of emotions, the following day, when Saffron and Natty, and Bruno and Jeremiah, went back up to the attic to give the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew their news.

“Dad got us tickets for the circus, tomorrow night,” said Saffron, unsure whether to be excited or not.

“That’s terrific!”  Said Stephen Number Four, “I hope you have a brilliant time!”
“Oh.”  Said Saffron.

“Wow!  Fantastic!”  Said Stephen Number Fifteen, “I bet the trapeze artistes will be amazing to see for real!”

“Um.”  Said Natty.

“You’ll have a great time, I’m sure,” said Stephen Number Twelve.  Bruno didn’t say anything, neither did Jeremiah.  The girls goldfished a bit with their mouths and, once again, turned to Andrew for an answer.
“Just because they don’t like circuses doesn’t meant anyone else doesn’t have to like circuses,” he said.  The girls goldfished some more.  Bruno didn’t, nor Jeremiah.  It did make some sense, they supposed.  Saffron thought of onion gravy; it was something she did not like at all but her father seemed to appreciate it and that was all okay…perhaps, this was sort of the same thing.

“After all,” said Andrew, interrupting her train of thought a little, “It would be a poor old world if we all liked the same things, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” said Saffron.

“In actual fact,” said Stephen Number Twelve, “we do quite enjoy circuses.”

“You do?”  Said Saffron, “Yesterday, you were all ‘Oh, very good’.”

“I know,” said Stephen Number Twelve, “but we do enjoy the circus, truly we do.”

“We love the acrobats,” Stephen Number Eleven chimed in, “They’re so flexible and the shapes and twists are incredible to watch.”
‘I like the one who jumps off the incredibly high platform and dives into a bucket of water,” said Stephen Number Four.
“No,” said Andrew sympathetically, “You saw that once of a cartoon and it seems to have stuck in your head, somehow.”

“Right into the bucket, no splash!”  Stephen Number Four mimed a ‘no splash’, whatever that might look like.  Andrew shook his head and chuckled.

“I love the glamorous costumes and the music,” said Stephen Number Two.

“I thorough enjoy the history and tradition of the role of the Ringmaster,” said Stephen Number Twelve a little pompously.

“I love the hot dog stands,” said Stephen Number Eight.  Saffron looked at Natty and Natty looked at Saffron.  They both had in mind to ask the same question.

“What’s wrong with clowns?”  Asked Saffron.  The Sixteen Stephens did that funny thing and made that funny noise again and then looked at each other as if waiting for one of them to give the obvious answer.

“I mean,” said Natty, “not being funny or anything…”

“Just like a clown,” said Stephen Number Twelve under his breath.
“Pardon me?”  Said Saffron.

“Clowns,” said Stephen Number Twelve, “They’re not funny.”

“They’re hilarious!”  Said Natty.

“Yeah,” said Saffron, “Buckets of confetti, slipping over, water coming out of the flower when you sniff it, all that stuff.  They make you laugh!”  She was met with sixteen of the stoniest looking faces she had ever looked at.  The Sixteen Stephens all did that funny thing again and made that funny noise.  Stephen Number Ten’s cheeked darkened.  Andrew chuckled.

The girls were surprised by the Sixteen Stephens' reaction to their having tickets to go to the circus!

*

The big top buzzed with chatter and kerfuffle and music and “roll up, roll ups” and excitement.  Saffron and Natty, and Bruno and Jeremiah of course, and Saffron’s Mum and Dad, searched for their seats and took in the sights around them.

“It’s been ages since I’ve been to the circus,” said Saffron’s Dad.  The big top was quite the sight to see.  The circus ring was just as you’d imagine it, decked out with a straw-like matting and ringed with colourful barriers about a foot tall.  To the back of the ring was the main entrance, all decorated in glitter and shimmy; gold and pink and silver.  Streamers ran from the walls to the top of the circus tent and there, up in the rafters, the trapeze stood ready for performance.  The tension in the tent was growing.  The grins on the audience’s faces were growing.  The groans from the Sixteen Stephens were growing.  Andrew shrugged as Saffron and Natty turned at the unexpected sound.

“What are you doing here?”  They asked.

“I couldn’t keep them away,” said Andrew.

“Look,” said Stephen Number Ten, his cheeks positively glowing, “look at that picture.”

“Look at his nose,” said Stephen Number Six, “How hard must he walk into walks for it to be that red?”  Saffron and Natty shushed the silly ghosts and turned back to the circus ring.  The music had built to a crescendo and then fell silent.  A spotlight picked out the Ringmaster, who had come out through the sparkling curtains and was calling the audience to attention.

“Ladies and Gentleman!  Boys and Girls!  I give you tonight not the village’s finest circus, not the county’s finest circus…not the country’s finest circus, but … the world’s finest circus entertainment!”  There was a mighty cheer from the audience.  Stephen Number Twelve cheered along.  Stephen Number Ten rolled his eyes.  Stephen Number Eight tried to see if he could fry and egg on Stephen Number Ten’s cheek; Stephen Number Ten put a stop to that toot sweet.  Stephen Number Eight started eyeing up the hot dog stall, instead.  “Ladies and Gentlemen!  Boys and Girls!”  The Ringmaster continued, “I give you ‘Circus Magnifica’!”  The cheers turned to ooohs as four acrobats flew out over the top of the gold and pink and silver entrance, tumbling and cartwheeling through the air.  They landed in the centre of the ring and bowed low to accept the applause of the audience.  At once, they were off into a mesmerising routine, twirling and somersaulting, leaping off platforms and forming human pyramids and fantastic shapes that both defied gravity and the likelihood of having a skeleton of bones still joined together in the proper fashion!  The shrieks and cheers of the audience were loud and long.

"I give you Circus Magnifica!"

 Next came a trio of jugglers that had the crowd spellbound.  They formed a triangle around the perimeter of the ring and their act sometimes had them juggling individually and sometimes in threes.  The crowd thrilled at one moment when the jugglers faced out to the crowd and the juggling clubs came hurtling towards them from over their shoulders.  The timing was impeccable and the soft hands were sure, as not one single club was dropped.  It was astounding.  The rafters rattled again to the cheers of the crowd.  Soon, they were hushed to silence as the jugglers adorned themselves with blindfolds and lit the juggling sticks aflame.  The flames leapt from hand to hand, turned circles in the air and leapt once again, and again.  Each throw was accompanied with an intake of breath from the audience.  The trick finished with each of the jugglers throwing off their blindfolds and turning to catch the final burning stick facing their section of the crowd.  The cheer almost took the roof off the big top.  Saffron’s eyes were ablaze with admiration.  It was all so exciting, she actually felt the moment when she started to breathe again; she hadn’t realised the moment when she had stopped!

As the crowd regathered itself after the excitement of the juggling act, the trapeze artistes got themselves ready for their turn in the big top.

“Oh, me,” said Stephen Number Fourteen, “I do so love the trapeze artistes.  They are my fa-a-vor-ite, without a doubt.”  The Sixteen Stephens and Andrew, Saffron and Bruno, Natty and Jeremiah, and Saffron’s Mum and Dad and the rest of the audience, turned their attention to the top of the big top and listened to the breathless commentary of the Ringmaster.

“See the flying trapeze, see the artistes, not secured by wires, no, Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, secured only by the strength of their hands and arms!  Secured only by the determination and grip of steel that is felt through those fingers!”  There was a hushed intake of breath as the trapeze began to swing.  What followed was equally as stunning as the jugglers.  The artistes swooped, spun, dived and twisted; they appeared to defy gravity and hang in the air waiting for their fellow artiste to come and seize a hold of them before they fell.  Saffron realised after a moment that her mouth was hanging open.  She closed it; realised a moment later that it was back hanging open again; looked around, saw that everyone else’s mouths were hanging open (except Stephen Number Eight, whose mouth was chewing on a hot dog he’d got), and she left it open.  The sight was an amazing one.  The final, triple-flip, somersault and pike, with the trapeze artist snatched from the air at the very last moment brought the crowd to their feet.  The applause was loud and it was long and, then, as it subsided, it happened…the honk of a car’s horn.  Saffron turned her eyes to the circus ring floor where a tiny jalopy car was tweedling its way to its centre.  She felt the temperature behind her drop by a fair few degrees, except in two particularly specific spots.

Comical music was playing over the sound system.  Accompanying this music came the roar of an engine, the squeal of brakes as the car stopped and a horribly loud car horn.  The door to the car opened and out got one, two three, four five, six clowns.  The audience clapped and cheered.  There was no way six clowns could fit in that car!  It looked too small even for one clown!  The first clown out of the car, expansive trousers and huge shoes and all, was holding the door open for the other clowns.  Once the last clown was out of the car, he closed the door.  The car collapsed into a heap, wheels rolling off stage, the horn giving a dying honk.  The car door was left in the hands of the clown.  He turned to the audience, gave a shrug and dropped the door…right on his own foot.  The other clowns honked with laughter and pointed at their unfortunate companion.  The audience laughed along too.  Then one of the clowns came on stage carrying a ladder over his shoulder.  Into the old routine he went, and even though everyone knew what was coming, it was performed with such gusto that the audience couldn’t help but laugh along again.  He swished the ladder around, missing clowns one way to hit them in the way back!  Clowns ducked and dived, tumbled and tripped trying to get out of his way.  Through all this, one of the number of clowns had wandered off to the front of the crowd and was letting people smell the flower he was wearing in his lapel.  Sure enough, everyone who smelled the flower was squirted in the face with water.  It was an old trick but a good trick and the audience were gamely playing along.  Saffron’s Dad, in fact, soon wore a wet face and Saffron could not help giggle at the silliness of it all.  Behind her, she could hear a tut.

“See,” said Stephen Number Four, “look at his nose.  If he’s walking into walls that hard he needs to see a doctor!”

“Or a Psychiatrist,” agreed Stephen Number Fifteen.

“What I don’t understand,” said Stephen Number Two, “is why one of them even needs a ladder.  I mean,” he went on, “what’s he going to lean it on?  We’re in a tent!”

“And, how’s he going to climb up it with feet that big?”  Asked Stephen Number Eleven, not unreasonably.  And then it happened.  One of the clowns appeared on stage carrying a custard pie.  Saffron could sense a further cooling and heating of the atmosphere behind her.  The clown with the custard pie approached one of his companions and squashed the pie right in his face.  Saffron felt the heat behind her reach boiling point.

“Enough!”  Shouted Stephen Number Ten.  “I can’t take ia moment more of this utter…nonsense!”  The fifteen other of the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew all looked at the enraged ghost (as did Saffron and Natty).  Stephen Number Ten thrust an accusing arm toward the clowns performing on stage, who were, obviously, completely oblivious to the uproar occurring be seats B23 and B24.  “Every time we come to the circus, we see clowns belittling and defiling the artistry that is the throwing of the custard pie!  Every time we come to the circus, all we ever see is a pie thrust into the face of an expectant accomplice!  Where’s the style?  Where’s the élan?  Where’s the panache?  Where’s the fun in that?  It’s easy to go up to someone and shove a pie in their face, see,” to demonstrate, Stephen Number Ten floated over to a clown and shoved a pie in the clown’s face.  The clown was a little taken aback.  “How much more skilful, more expertise to measure the arc of flight, the pace and power required, the trajectory to be traced?”  Stephen Number Ten rose into the air as he spoke, wild gestures and sweeps of the arm accompanied each sentence; his head swung back to and fro, in real danger of loosening off his neck and careering through the air.  He produced a pie, twirled it a few times and then threw it in a beautifully defined parabolic arc, splatting straight into the face of the clown he’d just shoved a pie into.  The clown was taken aback again; he hadn’t factored on being hit by pies during this part of his performance.  He began to look around nervously, checking to see whether any other errant custard pies were en route.  A pained and tortured look cast itself across Stephen Number Ten’s eyes.  How could his beloved custard pies be treated with such disdain?  “I can take it no more.”  He concluded, “I am aghast at the treatment of the pie.”

“You ‘a ghost’ upset at the treatment of the pie,” Stephen Number Twelve corrected him, but Stephen Number Twelve was ignored.

“That clown did not even have the good grace to say ‘food fight’,” said Stephen Number Ten, in very measured tones.  There were murmurings of agreement through the chorus of Stephens.  “And everyone knows,” said Stephen Number Ten, his incredulity expanding to a factor of eleven, “that whenever a pie is used in a face smearing fashion, the words ‘food’ and ‘fight’ shall be used, yay, verily and foresooth, t’was ever thus and ever thus shalt be!”  The ghosts applauded Stephen Number Ten.

“Huzzah!  Hurrah! And Gadzooks!”  They chanted.  Stephen Number Three went so far as to shout out the unfortunate phrase, “You tell ‘em like it really actually is, Stephen baby!”  Andrew shook his head in amused disbelief.

“Tell them?”  Said Stephen Number Ten in response, “Tell them?  I shall do more than merely tell them.”  Stephen Number Ten floated out into the middle of the circus ring.  “I believe the words I am looking for are ‘FOOD’ and ‘FIGHT’!”  Custard pies appeared in the furious ghost’s hands, they whizzed through the air and hit two clowns in their faces.  The clowns were shocked.  They knew the script, they weren’t supposed to get pied today; they were expecting some gloop down their trousers and a bucket of confetti to be thrown over them.  The last thing they expected were pies to the face; especially pies that materialised out of nowhere and splatted them in the face!

“FOOD FIGHT!”  Stephen Number Ten shouted again.  The remainder of the Sixteen Stephens piled over the top of the barrier surrounding the circus ring and began to fling their custardy wares.  The clowns were at sixes and sevens, which was odd because there were only six of them so quite how they became “and sevens” is anyone’s guess!  Pie after pie flew through the air and hit its mark.  The clowns were a mess of yellowy custard and golden pastry.  Whichever way they turned a pie was hurtling towards them.  The audience were roaring with laughter.  The couldn’t quite see where the pies were coming from but they could certainly see where the pies were landing…and they were landing right on the heads, faces and bodies of the clowns.  The bewildered look of the clowns added to the comedy.  Their flustered movements and searches for cover added to the fun.  One managed to get the door to the car up in front of him.  Stephen Number Twelve wound down the window and launched a pie through it!  One managed to put up an umbrella with no covering on its spines.  It was a pitiful gesture and one that didn’t help him one jot, pie after pie landed on him.  Stephen Number Five floated over to another of the clowns and flung pie after pie down his stupidly wide waisted trousers: so much so that the clown could hardly move his legs.  He slumped to the ground; custard seeped from out of the top of his shoes and over the top of his waistband.  The Sixteen Stephens were giving vent to the fury of a fair few years’ worth of circus visits and the crowd were completely enamoured with the resulting chaos.  Eventually, the clowns, exhausted and defeated by these mysteriously appearing custardy comestibles, slumped in a pile in the middle of the circus ring.  A small arc of water jetted out of a flower on one of their lapels and a small honk was emitted from a clown’s nose.  The audience rose as one and gave them an ovation like they’d never received before.  The Sixteen Stephens stood around the clump of clowns, pies at the ready.

“That’s for not treating the custard pie with the respect it deserves!”  Exclaimed Stephen Number Ten.

“And for having noses that should have by now received some sort of medical treatment!”  Yelled Stephen Number Four.

“And for having oddly shaped feet!”
“Yeah, although I reckon that’s not the real shape of their feet!”

“Yeah… Well, they should have thought about that before coming out in public then!”
“Yeah!”
“Yeah, and they should get trousers that fit properly!”
“Yeah, and a car with a decent warrant of fitness!”  There was now an element of confusion in the ghosts’ ranks.  It felt like they were losing their focus.  All eyes turned to Stephen Number Ten.  His cheeks weren’t glowing quite so fiercely as they had been.  He wore a look of triumph instead.  Stephen Number Ten gave the signal.  Each of the ghosts flung their last pie.  The clowns wore one last pie to the face and then there was a blackout.

The clowns were soon a custardy mess!

In the confusion that followed, which included much harrumphing from the clowns, shrugging from the flummoxed Ringmaster and a few finger clicks from Andrew, the circus ring was restored to its former shimmering gold, pink and silver glory and the show went on.  Saffron and Natty looked in astonishment at the sixteen ghosts who had returned to their seats via the hot dog stand and who were now all contentedly tucking into their sausage in a bun.  Except for Stephen Number Eight who was tucking into his sausage in a bun, his burger in a bun, a pottle of chips, some popcorn, some candyfloss, an ice-lolly and a mega-sized bucket of fizz.  Stephen Number Eight burped.  Contentedly.  Saffron and Natty shook their heads and turned back to the circus.  On stage a somewhat overawed magician was trying to get the show back on track.  He knew something was amiss but couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.  A few rabbits out of hats and flowers from up the sleeve and doves from out of the toaster (a quite unique variation on a theme), and a bunting of underpants from out his trousers later and the crowd were laughing and applauding as they always were.  The circus was a thundering success and the finale of the human cannonball went down a right treat.

*

Saffron and Bruno and Natty sat in the attic and watched the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew as they went about their walking through walls practice.  The circus had been the talk of the town; it had definitely been the talk of the classroom.  Saffron and Natty’s friends had spoken about nothing else all day.  The most talked about part of the circus show, of course, had been the clowns and the marvellous trickery and technology that had been used to launch all those custard pies into the circus ring.  The pupils in class and Mr Dressing were all agog at the rehearsal that must have gone into the performance.  Mr Dressing could not believe the skill of the clowns who seemed to be in the perfect spot to receive the pie to the face, to the back of the head or down the trousers on each and every occasion.  Only Rachel, who had not been able to go to the performance, had an idea as to what had actually happened.  A couple of knowing looks between the three girls had let her know she was right.

The bump of the noses and sound the ouches wound around the room.  Andrew exhorted his charges to feel the wall absorb through them and to feel themselves become one with the walls.  It never worked of course; the Sixteen Stephens just kept getting redder noses.  Absentmindedly, Stephen Number Ten spun a custard pie on his finger as he, repeatedly, walked into the wall.  He didn’t appear to mind that his nose was getting as red as a clown’s today.  Saffron smiled at her ghostly friend.  He flicked the pie into the air and deftly transferred it from one hand to the other as he moved.  He really did love the art of the custard pie: there was, indeed, so much more to it than merely shoving one in someone’s face.  There was style, there was panache, there was flamboyance, there was the satisfaction of seeing a well-aimed pie fly through the air and splatter just sweetly on the face of the recipient.  Saffron smiled again and gave Bruno a big cwtch.