Saffron & Bruno and Pizza!

Saffron was sat on her bed in her bedroom.  She was reading a book, with Bruno cwtched into the crook of her elbow, and she was giggling to herself.  The book Saffron was reading wasn’t particularly funny (it was, in fact, an adventure about a girl and her gang of friends solving crimes and catching criminals!), but she was giggling just the same.  As Saffron read, up above her head came the bumps and “Ows!” of the Sixteen Stephens’ and Andrew’s walking through walls practice.  It was a sound Saffron was getting used to and growing to love hearing.

After a tiny knock, the door to her bedroom opened and Saffron’s mother walked into the room.  “There you are!”  She exclaimed, “I’ve been searching for you all round the house!”  Saffron returned her mother’s smile and hugged her as she sat by her on the bed.

“I’ve been reading my book,” she said and giggled again.  Saffron’s mother looked at her puzzlingly, “What’s so funny?”  Saffron paused.  There was a bump, an “Ow!” and no reaction at all from her mother.  It was quite obvious there was a bump and an “Ow!”, and it was just as obvious Saffron’s mother didn’t hear it.  Saffron giggled again.

‘Nothing’s funny.  Just the book,” she said.

“Well,” said Saffron’s mother, “It’s nearly tea time.  We thought we should go out and celebrate our first week living in our new house.  What do you think?”

“Oh, yes please!”  Saffron beamed with joy.

‘Any preferences?”  Saffron’s mother asked knowingly.  She felt fairly sure she knew exactly what her daughter’s response was going to be and Saffron didn’t disappoint her.

“PIZZA!”  She yelled, and threw herself on to her mother for another hug.  They cuddled and Saffron’s mother ruffled her daughter’s hair as she stood and walked out of the room.

“Ten minutes and then we’ll head out, ok?”  She said as she left the room.

“Ok,” Saffron replied, “Thanks, Mum!”

Saffron busied herself with choosing a special top to wear out to the pizza restaurant so it took her a minute or so to realise the bumping and the “Ow-ing!” had stopped.  She paused.  She looked up at the ceiling.  Silence reigned.  Odd, Saffron thought.  Quickly, she grabbed Bruno and rushed for the door on the landing that led to the attic.

At the door to the attic she hurriedly turned the key and the handle and pushed the door open.  In front of her was a sight to see.  Sixteen Stephens all stood staring at her, licking their lips and drooling saliva onto the floor.  Their eyes were wide open, shining with delight.  Three of the Stephens were even rubbing their bellies and making slurping sounds.  Andrew was looking a little embarrassed.  Saffron giggled at the sight in front of her.

“Did I,” asked Stephen Number Ten, “Hear someone say ‘pizza’?”  Saffron nodded.

“My mother, father and I are going out for our tea.  We’re going to have pizza.”  She smiled.  The ghosts stared at her.  The drool drooled a little harder and the eyes widened even further.  There was a pause.  Then there was a conga line.  The ghosts danced around the attic singing a wonderful, if somewhat repetitive song.  It went, “Pizza, pizza, pizza!  Pizza, pizza, pizza!”  On the last syllable of every third “pizza!” their hips thrust out one way and then the other.  The conga wound around the attic and, curiously, went higher and higher until their heads were nearly touching the ceiling.  The ghosts were floating on a wave of happiness and longed for cheese and tomato topping!

“Pizza, pizza, pizza!  Pizza, pizza, pizza!”  The chant went on and so did the conga.  It went out of the attic and down the stairs to the landing.

“Where are you going?”  Asked Saffron as she dodged aside to let the Stephens by.

“We’re coming with you!”  Said Stephen Number Ten, “I LOVE pizza!”

“Pizza, pizza, pizza!  Pizza, pizza, pizza!”  Saffron giggled and joined on to the end of the conga.  Andrew joined on behind her.  Down the stairs they went and out towards the car where Saffron’s parents were waiting.

“Look at her,” her mother said, watching her daughter dance down the garden path, “She’s always so excited about pizza!”

*

The posh maître d’ pulled the posh chair out from the posh table and helped Saffron to sit down.  He gentle pushed the posh chair back so she could easily reach the posh serviette, the posh cutlery and the posh glasses.  A posh centre arrangement decorated the posh table.  The restaurant was posh.

“Ahem,” the maître d’ cleared his throat, “I trust you’ll find everything to your liking, sir, madam and miss.  If you require anything please do not hesitate to ask.”  He bowed low and withdrew to the entrance of the restaurant… which was posh.

Saffron looked around.  Expensive drapes (not curtains) hung by the long, French windows.  Chandeliers hung from the frosting-white ceiling.  Elegant statues and objet d’art were scattered, very tastefully, around the room.  It was a very sophisticated and very posh restaurant.  Saffron smiled.  She wondered what the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew would make of it all.  She could see them now, noses pressed against of the posh windows; lips being licked, tummies being rubbed and drool being drooled.  Saffron giggled.

A waiter arrived with the menus, took their order and departed for the kitchen.  Saffron looked round to see Stephen Number Ten tucking the table cloth at the next table under his chin, pick up the knife and fork and call for service.  Stephen Number Twelve was sat at the table next to him clicking his fingers and shouting “Garçon!”  Andrew sat at a table with a couple of the more calm Sixteen Stephens and rolled his eyes at the performance.  Saffron giggled.

The pizza arrived and Saffron’s face shone.  It looked resplendent on the plate.  It looked exquisite to the eyes.  It looked toothsome on the table.  She took a bite and her tastebuds tingled and fizzed with delight.  Saffron loved pizza.  And so, it seemed from the slurping and burping and shoving and chewing, did the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew.  Saffron’s gaze took in all the ghosts as they champed and chomped through their vegetable delight, their pepperoni surprise and their hot’n’spicy selections.  Soon all Sixteen Stephens and Andrew had enormous bellies and tomato sauce mouths. 

Stephen Number Ten gave a great big satisfying belch and then looked around the restaurant really rather slyly.  Now that he had been fed, a mischievous twinkle came into his eye.  He flexed his fingers and tapped them rhythmically on the table.   A glint appeared in his eye to go along with the twinkle and Saffron had a fair idea about what was about to happen next.

“Ahem,” at that moment, rather fortuitously, the maître d’ appeared at Saffron’s table, “Is there anything sir, madam or miss may require?”

“Yes please,” said Saffron with a smile, “please may I have some more serviettes? “Ahem,” replied the posh waiter, “Of course, miss.  I will bring them to you, momentarily.”  He bowed down low again and backed away.  Saffron turned to see what Stephen Number Ten was up to.  On his table were stacks and stacks of pizzas.  In fact, on each of the ghosts’ tables were stacks and stacks of pizzas.

There was pause.  And then Stephen Number Ten said two words.

“Food Fight!”

The pizzas whizzed and frisbeed, flew and whished back and forth across the dining room.  Splat, splatter, ker-splat, ker-splatter; cheese, pepperoni, tomato, mushroom began to cover the room and all the occupants.  Stephen Number Ten had turned his table on his side and was using it to hide from incoming food.  Stephens Number Six and Two were using the statues for cover and flinging pizzas as fast as their arms would let them.  Stephen Number Eight was running around the room trying to catch as much pizza in his mouth as he could, and Stephen Number Twelve was still sat at his table delicately eating his pizza, using a knife and fork to cut miniscule pieces which he would pop into his mouth, whilst the mayhem went on all around him.  Stephen Number Fourteen was on his mobile telephone.  Saffron watched and wondered why.

The restaurant was wrecked.  Food hung off the chandeliers.  The drapes were draped in a bizarre pattern of round pizza bases and slops of sauce.  The statues were covered in mess.  The objet d’art were objet pizza and the maître d’ was a maître p’!  The tables were up-turned and the posh cutlery and the posh glasses were lying all over the floor surrounded by bits of veg, crust and strings of mozzarella!  There was a lull.  Then there was a knock at the restaurant door.  The maître p’ opened the door to find a long line of pizza delivery-men queuing to get in.  Each of them held a stack of pizzas in their arms, ready for delivery.

“More ammunition!”  Shouted Stephen Number Fourteen, and the food fight began again in a frenzy.

In amongst it all, the maître p’ brought Saffron the extra serviettes she had asked for.  She thought she might have a little bit of mess to clean up.

Things were definitely getting messier and messier. Along with the pizzas, flans, tarts and desserts were being flung.  Cream and custard joined the cacophony of comestibles careering across the restaurant room.  Saffron laughed with glee at the gloop that daubed the drapes and chandeliers and tables and chairs…and ghosts.

To the side sat Andrew watching everything with a weary eye.  He clicked his fingers and the mess disappeared.  The restaurant was renewed and Saffron, instead of using the extra serviettes to clear up a mess used them to wrap up the leftover pieces of pizza she was too full to eat.  She would take them home for a late night supper snack.  The ghosts trouped out singing “pizza, pizza, pizza!” as they went.  Saffron smiled.

“Ahem,” the maître was a d’ again, “I trust everything was to your delight?”

“It was,” said Saffron, and she allowed the waiter to help her from her chair, ready for her journey home.  The restaurant was as posh as ever: posh chairs, posh tables, posh drapes, posh chandeliers and posh decorations.  Even the door handle on the exit was posh.  How, you may wonder, could a door handle be posh?  Well, believe me, all the door handles in this place were posh.  And so were the welcome mats.  It was that sort of restaurant.

*

Saffron could not wait to tell Bruno all about the restaurant food fight.  When she got home, she rushed up the stairs, serviette parcel in her hand, and hurriedly opened the door to her bedroom.  There on the bed, just where she had left him, was Bruno.  As she told her toy frog all about the pizza madness she could hear a new noise from up above in the attic.  Taking the place of the bumps and the “Ows!” came the groans and the moans of ghosts with over-stuffed stomachs.  As she listened, she was sure she heard a Stephen say “I’m never eating food again!” and another say, “My belly is as big as a balloon…a big balloon at that!”  Saffron giggled.  They most certainly were the silliest of ghosts.  “I’m sure,” she heard a Stephen say, “I’m sure I’ve eaten all the food there is in the world!”  The silliest of ghosts indeed, she thought.  And then she remembered the leftover pizza pieces wrapped in her extra serviettes.  A peckishness fell about her and she reached for the parcel and began to open it.

“Hey,” she heard a voice say, “Can you smell pizza?”

“Hmmmm, pizza!”

“I love pizza!”

“Me too!”

And then there was a pause. 

And then there was a song.  The song went:

“Pizza, pizza, pizza!  Pizza, pizza, pizza!  Pizza, pizza, pizza!” 

And Saffron just knew there would be a conga-line going on in the attic as well.

FOOD FIGHT!