Saffron & Bruno and the Great School Pie-Off!

Saffron and Bruno and Natty and Jeremiah were sat in the front bedroom watching and waiting for the purple car belonging to Natty’s parents to come around the corner.  Natty’s parents were back from their adventure overseas and the cousin’s visit was coming to an end.  At the end of Saffron’s bed sat a packed back.  The two girls were trying not to catch each other’s eyes.  A head poked through the ceiling and interrupted their watching.

“Um, Saffron?  Natty?  Please would you come up and have a look at the attic for a minute?”  The girls looked around at Andrew’s head, nodded, looked a bit confused and traipsed up the stairs to the eggshell blue door.

There was a mattress on the floor of the attic; it was made up with sheets and a duvet, and a small bedside table had been put next to it.  In one corner of the room a small table had been placed and a clothes’ rail had been set up.  The girls looked at each other with a touch more confusion on their faces.

“You don’t think…” said Saffron, her sentence trailing off.

“They must be…” said Natty, her voice doing likewise.  The sound of a car stopping outside the house sent the girls rushing to the attic window.

“Mum!  Dad!”  Shouted Natty and she bolted from the room.  Saffron waved down to her aunty and uncle, as did Stephen Number Fourteen who happened to be stood behind her, and then she too ran from the attic down to meet her relatives.

The thunder of two pairs of feet echoed around the hall.  Natty fell into the arms of her mother and father and the hug was a big one.  Saffron arrived at the door and seeing the huge hug immediately flung her arms around her own mother’s waist too.  Hugging appeared to be both necessary and appropriate.  Curious heads looked down from the landing.  Smiles featured prominently with these too.

*

Mugs had steam coming out of them and biscuits lay open on the table.  The four adults were talking non-stop and Saffron and Natty listened in closely to the conversation.  The girls had smiled at each other when plans for Natty’s parents to stay for a couple of days we revealed.  Natty thought it extra funny because she’d already said her goodbyes to Rachel and Serena and the rest of them at school, and now she would be able to see them all again tomorrow!

“That’s why we’re staying,” said Natty’s Mum.

“Yes,” her Father said, “your teacher asked us to come in to the school…”

“…and speak with your class,” said Natty’s Mum.

“We’re going to tell them what we’ve been up to,” Natty’s parents always had a habit of taking it in turns to speak, often finishing each other’s sentences or at least sharing a topic between the two of them.  Saffron and Natty’s head bobbed back and fore, like they were watching a game of tennis.  The girls grinned.  It would be so cool to have Natty’s parents come in and tell everyone what it was they’d been up to whilst Natty had been staying.  The two girls rushed off to play.  Saffron’s Dad made a valiant attempt to get the barbecue going and the adults began preparing food.  Saffron and Natty rushed off to give the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew the good news.

The girls opened the door to the attic to see the seventeen ghosts examining the new furnishings in the room quite closely.  Stephen Number Four was staring at the bedside lamp, sat on the bedside table.  He stared at it from above.  He stared at it from the side.  He stared at it from below.  He followed the wire that ran from the lamp along the floor and into the wall, and he followed it all the way to the lamp again.  He looked at the switch.  He stared at the bulb inside the lampshade.  Eventually, he shook his head and floated back to Andrew.

“And you say,” he said, still staring at the bedside lamp, “that it helps them to see?”

“Yes,” said Andrew.

“Why don’t they just use their eyes?”  Andrew shook his head.

“You’ve seen lights before,” he said to the staring ghost, “Remember the fairground?  Remember the street lamp?”
“Well, yes,” said Stephen Number Four, “I thought they were just for decoration.  You know, make the place seem a bit nicer, like…” his sentence drifted off to silence.  Andrew shook his head once more.  The two girls smiled.

“So,” said Saffron, “Natty’s going to be staying for a couple more days.”  The ghosts gave a cheer and gathered around the pair.

“Yes,” Natty confirmed, “And my Mum and Dad are going to stay too.  They’re sleeping in the attic with you!”
“Oh,” said Andrew, the realisation dawning on him, “I wondered what all this was about.  Right boys,” he turned to the Sixteen Stephens, “We’re going to have some company.  Everyone on your best behaviour; do you hear me?”  The Sixteen Stephens were all innocent smiles and noddings of heads.  They were absolutely delighted they were going to have some night-time company to play with. 

*

Two pairs of feet thudded up the stairs to the attic.  The eggshell blue door was opened and a breathless Saffron and Natty raced inside.  Behind them came Natty’s Mum and Dad.  It was getting close to bedtime and the two girls were desperate to show Natty’s parents where they would be sleeping.  Natty’s Mum walked across the attic to the window and admired the view out over the fields and the village.  Natty’s Dad began to hang some of his clothes on the clothes-rail.  Both were completely oblivious to the grinning ghouls that gathered about them.  Saffron and Natty were just about bursting but they knew there was no point in saying anything, Natty’s parents could not see the Sixteen Stephens or Andrew.  The fact that Stephen Number Thirteen was looking out of the window right next to Natty’s Mum or that Stephen Number Six was pushing and twisting the hangers Natty’s Dad was using to hang his clothes up was neither here nor there.  The adults could not see the ghosts and the ghosts were beaming about it.  A small look of weary anticipation sat on Andrew’s face.

“You’re so lucky to live here, Saffron,” said Natty’s Mum, “I know it’s a quiet village, but it just feels like the place is so alive!”

“It most certainly does,” agreed Saffron.  Natty’s smile almost turned into a laugh.  The Sixteen Stephens crowded around Natty’s Mum as she stood at the window.  None of them were looking out, though.  All of them were looking at her.  Stephen Number Ten held his left hand out, thumb and forefinger squared, framing Natty’s Mum’s face.  He looked at her, steadily, closing one eye to gauge distance and trajectory…or so it seemed…possibly he was thinking about the circumference of the face and the required size of custard pie for absolute maximum coverage.  The girls couldn’t quite tell.  They giggled once more, bid Natty’s parents goodnight and ran back down the stairs to Saffron’s bedroom to wait.

Saffron and Natty lay, tucked into their beds. Jeremiah lay to one side, Bruno lay to the other.  Their duvets were pulled up to their chins and four hands gripped the edges and four eyes stared intently at the ceiling.  Two mouths hung slightly open and four ears strained to hear even the most minute of noise coming from up above.  The first hint of a giggle occurred when the daily walking into walls practice began; it had been postponed from earlier on account of curiosity.  The bump was the softest of bumps and the “Ouch!” was the most whispered of ouches they’d ever heard.  In fact, the ouches only seemed to be being said for traditions sake; the bumps were so soft there was no way they merited an ouch, not at all.  Saffron and Natty grinned at the vision of the slow moving Stephens and the slow bumps as their noses touched the walls.  They strained to hear whether Andrew was giving any of his normal encouragement but they could not hear him.  He must be whispering too.  After a while, the bumps and the ouches stopped.  The girls eyes stayed wide open and their focus remained on the ceiling.  They were simply dying to know what on earth was happening up in the attic now…

*

The following morning, four groggy faces fell upon the breakfast table.  Saffron yawned and poured some milk on her cereal.  Natty yawned and spread some marmalade on her toast.  Natty’s Mum and Natty’s Dad yawned, interrupting their attempts at coffee drinking.  Saffron’s Mum and Dad looked on a little perplexed.

“Um,” said Saffron’s Mum, “How come we didn’t get an invitation, then?”

“Hmmm?”  Questioned Saffron.

“You four,” said Saffron’s Mum, “you look like you’ve been up all night.”
“Yeah,” agreed Saffron’s Dad, “ I didn’t realise you were going to have an all-nighter up in the attic.  We’d have loved to have joined in!”  Saffron’s Mum and Dad put on pretend pouts.  The other four yawned again.

“It’s funny,” said Natty’s Mum, “I don’t remember waking up, last night…”

“No,” said Natty’s Dad, “we fell asleep really quickly.  We were shattered from the journey down.”

“Yes.  But, for some reason, I feel like I’ve had a really restless night.”

“My arm feels really tired.  It’s like I’ve been exercising all night.”

“And I really feel like a shower; my face feels all gloopy, for some reason.”

“And I seem to remember being asked if I had any food…repeatedly…”
“And I feel like I’ve dreamt that I’ve been to the pyramids and Pisa and the Great Wall of China…”

“Yeah,” said Natty’s Dad, “Like I’ve been looking at a bunch of holiday photos, or something.”

Saffron’s Mum and Dad sat open mouthed.  Saffron and Natty smiled and yawned at the same time, which is quite an achievement.  They were both recalling the moment, last night, when their inquisitiveness got the better of them and they’d hurried up the stairs to the eggshell blue door, softly opened it and had a look in.  They smiled as they chewed their breakfast and remembered the sight of Stephen Number Eight shovelling his way through Natty’s parents’ belongings and hurrying back to her mother’s bedside and whispering in her ear.  They chuckled with full mouths as they remembered Stephen Number Ten absentmindedly flipping custard pies up in the air and onto the faces of the sleeping adults.  They giggled and dribbled as they remembered Stephen Number Ten whispering “food fight!’ into the ear of Natty’s father and then watching him flail about as though he was throwing pies and bits of cake.  The girls remembered laughing and remembered being shushed by the Sixteen Stephens.  The ghosts were completely fascinated by Natty’s parents.  Saffron and Natty closed the attic door and crept back down to their own beds.  Eventually, they had fallen asleep.

The four tired ones yawned again and Saffron’s Mum and Dad cleared away the breakfast things with puzzled looks on their faces.

*

There was a buzz of excitement around the classroom.  The buzz was most keenly felt on the table with Natty.  Saffron and Rachel were sat with their friend and admiring the look of pride and happiness on her face.  Her parents were stood at the front of the classroom, speaking with Mr Dressing, and the whole class was really looking forward to their presentation.

“Oh, no,” said Agatha Bartholomew, “Not another lousy presentation!”

“Hum,” went her round friend, Serena.

“Why can’t we focus on our learning?  If my parents knew we were spending another afternoon listening to boring adults talk about boring things, they’d be right down the school and in the Headmistress’s office before you knew it!”

“Ho…” said he erstwhile friend.  Serena recognised Natty’s parents from when they’d picked her up from Guide Camp.  She definitely did not want to get too involved in any dissent today.  She tried to keep herself to herself.

“This is soooooo boring,” wailed Agatha Bartholomew.  One of the boys in the class shushed her, and he received for his pleasure a look of daggers and a promise of revenge out in the playground.

“Now then, class,” said Mr Dressing, who had been oblivious to Agatha Bartholomew’s outburst, “Today we are vary lucky to be joined by Margaret and Trevor, Natalie’s parents.  They are both doctors for Mèdecins Sans Frontières, or Doctors Without Borders, and they’ve agreed to give us a talk about what they’ve been up to over the last wee while whilst Natty has been with us.”  Mr Dressing looked directly at Agatha Bartholomew and said very purposefully, “I have been reassured that you will not find the talk boring.”  He had been listening after all.

The first part of the talk seemed to be pretty straightforward.  Natty’s parents spoke about how they had become doctors and then how they had joined Doctors Without Borders.  They explained what the organisation did and how they had been to many countries providing medical care and helping the victims of wars, natural disasters, outbreaks of illness and disease and in countries that weren’t as developed as the one we were lucky enough to have been born in.  As they spoke, the atmosphere in the room changed.  The children drew forward on their seats and craned their necks to get looks at the equipment Natty’s Mum and Dad had brought along to show them.  Natty could feel eyes flick from her parents to her.  She could feel how suddenly different she now appeared to the rest of the children in the class.  She felt the affection radiate towards her, especially from Saffron and Rachel, and a tight concise beam from Serena Stout, too.  Then, Natty’s Mum flicked the light switch.  The room darkened and a screen lit up.  The pictures the children saw made them even quieter than they had been.

Natty’s Mum showed the group a few pictures from the refugee camp they had been working in most recently.  She spoke about the lack of proper facilities at the camps they had visited.  She spoke about the poor water supply and how the food was always the same, everyday, always provided by other groups working to help.  Saffron noted a few hands stray toward pockets and eyes flicker towards their bags and lunch boxes.  The pictures Natty’s parents showed were full of smiles and full of laughter.  The children in the refugee camp played games and were cheeky.  They children in the camps wanted to read and learn.  The children in the camps all spoke about what they were going to do in the future.  Saffron realised that all the children in the camps wanted to be kids.  She felt a tear come to her eye.  She wasn’t the only one in the room.

When Natty’s Dad switched the lights back on, there was a collective breathing out and breathing in from the children.  The classroom was very quiet.  Natty’s Dad stood in front of the group and smiled.
“I’ve had a thought,” he said.  “I bet all of you in here would love to be able to do something to help out, wouldn’t you?”  There was a smattering of yeses and a nodding of heads around the room.  “Well,” he said, “How about we do something fun and try to raise a bit of money to buy some medicine we can take back with us when we next go?  How about that?”  The noise from the class was loud.  The shared sense of desire to do something hit Natty’s father in the chest and he stepped back, as if pushed over by the force of the children’s determination to help out.  “What do you think we can do?”  He asked.  There was a pause.

“Well,” said one of the boys in the class, “ We’ve done lots of sponsored silences and walks in the past.  We could do something like that.”  There were murmurs about that suggestion.  Rachel stuck her hand up.

“How about a ‘search down your sofa ‘idea?”  The class looked at here, “Everyone has loads of money down the back of their sofas!  We could all go along our streets and knock on doors and get people to look!”  The class laughed at the novelty of the idea.

“I like the way you’re thinking,” said Natty’s Dad.

“I know,” said Serena.  Agatha Bartholomew looked astonished at the voice that had come out from her friend’s mouth.  “I think we should have a bake-off, like that one off the TV.  We could do a bake off, and sell the cakes and make some money.”

“I like that idea,” said Mr Dressing who adored the one off the TV that Serena was referring to. “We shall definitely do that!”

“Pies,” said Saffron, out of the blue, “It should be a pie-off!”

“Ok…”said Mr Dressing slowly, “A pie-off it is.  We shall have a pie fair on Monday.  Every one bakes as many pies as they can.  I shall speak with the Headmistress and Mr Stevenson the baker to come and be judges.”  The atmosphere in the classroom was light again.  Everyone’s heads spun at the idea of the pie-off.  Saffron knew exactly to whom she was going to go to for help with hers.

*

Stephen Number Ten stood facing the corner of the attic and firmly shook his head.  A frustrated Saffron and a pleading Stephen Number Eight were having no luck in making him change his mind.  Saffron has zoomed up to the attic to see the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew on her return home from school fully expecting Stephen Number Ten to want to be able to help her out.  It did not appear to be that that was the case.

“Please, Stephen,” she tried once more, “I know you know how to make the most perfect custard pies.  Please tell me your recipe.  I really want my pies to be the best at the pie-off!”  He shook his head once more and pressed himself even further into the attic corner – if he’d been a better ghost he would have gone right through the wall…but he wasn’t, so he didn’t.

Stephen Number Eight was fairly apoplectic.  The thought of all the pies had brought him out in a sweat and then, to hear that his pal Stephen was not going to help out his pal Saffron, well, he simply did not know which way to turn.  And this was making him hangry!

“Oh, come on Stephen,” Stephen Number Eight said to Stephen Number Ten, “Please help out with your gorgeous pies!  I simply adore your pies, Stephen.  They’re like the best pies ever, in the whole history of custard and pies.”  The plea fell on deaf ears.  Stephen Number Eight’s stomach rumbled.

“Oh well,” said Saffron, “I guess I’ll go and speak to Mum about helping me.  Saffron slouched out of the attic and down the stairs, closing the eggshell blue door behind her.  She sort of understood that Stephen Number Ten would want to keep his recipe secret for himself, but she also felt certain he would help her out.  Oh well.  Her Mum made some of the best pies in the town, even Mr Stevenson the Baker knew Saffron’s Mum’s pies were good ones.  She would have to be content with that.

Back in the attic Stephen Number Ten was in a heated debate with Stephen Number Eight about the need to keep the weights and balances of the ingredients a top secret otherwise everyone would soon be able to make the most aerodynamic pies and then where would he be?  If everyone knew how to make the best flying custard pies, he’d have to rely on his skill and wits to be able to win a food fight…he’d much rather stick to the current situation and stack the odds in his favour, thank you very much.  Stephen Number Eight slumped on the floor, flummoxed.  He calmed himself with the thought that there would be lots pies up for grabs very soon, and his stomach rumbled again.  All the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew leapt up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs and the door opened to let Natty’s parents and Natty in to the room.  They had obviously been out for a family evening and were talking away about the pie-off and the camps they had been speaking about at school that afternoon.

“Can I see those photographs again, please Mum?”  Natty’s parents looked at each other and then Natty’s Mum nodded.  As Natty flicked through the pictures she smiled at the children and their games in the pictures.  Natty’s Mum came and sat next to her.  She began to tell Natty the names of the children and what she had learned about them as she had been giving them treatment.  As the two spoke, a ghost floated over and had a peek over their shoulders.  The conversation continued, eyes opened wider and a smile appeared on the ghost’s face.  Every now and again the ghost would look at Natty’s mother as she pointed out some detail about the picture being looked at or explained a little quirk or fact about the child in the photo.  The ghost found a tear forming in his eye.  He floated over to Andrew and quietly said something to him.  Andrew floated down through the attic floor.  There was a pause.

“Hurray!”  Cheered Saffron, the sound muffled coming up from below.  Stephen Number Ten smiled.  So did Stephen Number Eight.  His stomach rumbled again.

*

Pies as far as the eye could see.  Custard pies, Bakewell Tarts, cherry pies, blueberry pies, apricot flans and just set custard creams: pies, pies and more pies.  Mr Stevenson’s eyes beamed.  He enjoyed pies.  One of the foremost reasons he had opened his bakery was his love of pies.  He licked his lips at the thought of all the taste testing that would have to be done today.  Right behind him, Stephen Number Eight did exactly the same…and, right behind him, Stephen Number Ten cast a critical eye over the competition.  He wondered which would fly the best.

Saffron stood behind her table.  It was groaning with custard pies: custard pies made to a very particular recipe.  Saffron was very pleased.  Mr Dressing was also very pleased.  The quality and quantity of the pies in the school hall had overwhelmed him.  He knew his class would enthusiastically take up the challenge to fund raise for Doctors Without Borders, no one could have seen those pictures and not been moved to do something but even he was quite take aback at the outpouring of pies that now sat before him.  Next to Mr Dressing, Natty’s Mum and Dad also stood and smiled.  They could both feel their hearts warming at the action, intent and generosity of this group of school children.  They turned their attention to the stage, where the Headmistress had stood and was about to talk.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, families and friends.  Welcome to the School Pie Competition, the ‘Pie-Off’!”  She smiled at the gathered throng and waited for the applause to die down.  “I am sure I speak for Mr Stevenson the Baker and our other esteemed Guests, Trevor and Margaret Stitching, both doctors with Médecins Sans Frontières and Natalie’s parents, and the inspiration for today’s events, when I say we are staggered at the response from our students!  What an eyeful of pies we have in front of us!  What a tantalising treat we have for our tastebuds!  What a simply splendid act of giving by our wonderful children!”  The applause rang out again.  “It leaves me simply to say, do enjoy your pies and … let the judging commence!”  The clapping, this time, went on for just enough time to make you think it wasn’t going to stop and then it did stop because the people clapping seemed to remember there were pies to eat!

A gentle hubbub filled the school hall.  The sounds of people speaking with their mouths full mingled with the sound of people taking their time over the delicious mouthfuls they found on every table.  Saffron’s table was drawing quite the crowd.  Word was spreading that a very special kind of custard pie was on offer from her table.  There was a crowd three deep all stood around reaching in to take a piece of her pie.  As the quantity of pies on her table decreased, an increasingly nervous Stephen Number Ten was floating behind Saffron and wondering what on earth he was going to throw when the inevitable happened and he shouted his two most favourite of all the words?  A bit of a cold sweat was breaking out on his brow.  Twitchily, his fingers gestured at the grasping hands and involuntary shooing motions were occurring.  It was at that moment that something out of the corner of his eye distracted him and attracted his attention away from Saffron’s diminishing pile of pies.  With a face full of curiosity, Stephen Number Ten floated over to where Mr Dressing was helping to provide some further entertainment at the afternoon’s event.

With reluctance etched on his face, Mr Dressing had his head through the hole in a cut out figure.  His head now appeared to be on the body of a jolly, flour and jam covered baker.  At a distance of about ten feet, a queue of people had lined up to all have a go at lobbing a custard pie at the teacher.  What had seemed to be a fun way to help with the fundraiser now made Mr Dressing slightly rue his rash decision.  The first pie flew and splatted into the cut out above his head and off to the right.  There was cheering and laughter.  The second pie flew and flopped down on to the floor before it had even reached Mr Dressing, the laughter was louder that time.  Pies arced across the air and failed to find their target.  Mr Dressing was beginning to feel slightly more at ease.  The odd splotch of cream or crumb of pastry was not too bad a price to pay…and then he felt a bit ashamed given what the fundraiser was actually for.  He looked at the next pie thrower and called out a challenge, “You’ll never hit me in a month of Sundays!” and that’s when Stephen Number Ten decided he had had enough and decided to get involved.

The pie left the hand of the now suitably wound-up flinger and veered well off course.  Mr Dressing’s sneering face began to issue the challenge to the next thrower in line when something quite dramatic happened to the pie that had just been thrown.  It, the pie that is, changed direction.  It altered its course and rose up from nearly on the floor, accelerating to splat speed and hit Mr Dressing square in the face!  The crowd couldn’t believe their eyes!  Neither could Mr Dressing, except he couldn’t open his eyes to believe them because they were full of pie!  Stephen Number Ten had a satisfied look on his face.  The amateurish flinging that had gone on previously had incensed him.  He could take it no more; every pie would now hit its target.  Poor Mr Dressing didn’t know what had hit him…actually, Mr Dressing knew exactly what had hit him: an awful lot of pies.

Poor Mr Dressing!

The throwers couldn’t believe their aim.  One small child gently looped her pie toward Mr Dressing and watched it corkscrew through the air with ever-increasing velocity and splatter straight into the poor teacher’s face!

“Again!”  She cried and was duly re-pied!  This one almost reached the end of her toes before plummeting to the floor, stopping, pausing, floating about a bit and then hurrying at Mr Dressing very, very quickly.  Every pie that flew, from whatever angle it was initially launched managed to find a way straight to Mr Dressing’s face.  The poor man looked like a bedraggled blancmange!  The throwers, having first been a bit confused, were now testing theories amongst themselves that they simply couldn’t miss.  One man dropped his pie on the floor.  It didn’t reach the floor; it hovered and launched itself straight at poor, gloop covered Mr Dressing.  Another lady chucked her pie over her shoulder; it arced around in a glorious orbit and splatted right onto the end of Mr Dressing’s nose!  The oddly flying creamy discuses were drawing quite a crowd.  Andrew could see what Stephen Number Ten was up to and gave Saffron a nudge.  She looked up and her hand flew to her mouth in astonishment.  She giggled at poor Mr Dressing.  Realising she needed a distraction, Saffron hurried up to the stage and spoke into the microphone.

“Hurry up, ladies and gentlemen; only five more minutes to taste test the pies and then it’s judgement time!”  The gathering at the pie-flinging stall gathered themselves up and went off to try some more pies.  Mr Dressing breathed a sigh of relief.  He didn’t think he’d ever eat pie again.

*

The Headmistress took the stage and the crowd hushed in expectation.  Mr Stevenson, Natty’s parents and a still cream covered Mr Dressing also ascended the stage and stood by a table of trophies.

“Well,” began the Headmistress, “What a terrific afternoon we have had.  Such delicious pies, this has been quite the decision I can tell you.  And thank you to Mr Dressing for being such a wonderful sport, well done!”  There was a round of applause for Mr Dressing in amongst which was a lot of conversation about the aerobatic nature of the pies used on the stall.  “So, on to the prizes.”  There was a hush again.

“In third place,” said Mr Stevenson the Baker, “Sebastian and Tony with their cherry tartlets!”  Clapping ensued and Saffron became aware of a drooling Stephen Number Eight at her side.

“In second place,” said Natty’s Dad, “…Natty and Rachel!  Well done girls!  Your caramel cream pies were absolutely gorgeous!”  More clapping and a few cheers and more drooling.  A pool was forming.

“And,” said Natty’s Mum, “The winner of the trophy for best pies in the school ‘Pie-Off’ is…Saffron!”  The cheering was loud.  The applause was loud.  The drool pool was flooding the floor.  “What delicious pies they were, Saffron.  How on earth did you make something as simple as a custard pie taste so divine?”

“Oh,” said Saffron, “inspiration for a pie like that just hits you, I suppose!”  Saffron grinned at a grinning Stephen Number Ten and raised her trophy high.

“Well, well done to all the winners, especially well done to you, Saffron,” said the Headmistress.  She looked out at the hall and the multitude of pies and tarts still on the tables.  “I must say,” she said, “I’m not sure what we’re going to do with all the leftovers…I’m on a diet!”  There was laughter and the crowd looked about.  There did seem to be an awful lot of pies left.  Stephen Number Ten had a very innocent look on his face.  Stephen Number Eight has a very interested look on his face.  There was a pause.  The Headmistress looked like she was going to speak once more.  Before should could, Rachel quickly moved over to the microphone.

“What shall we do with the pies, guys?”  She asked.  Natty and Saffron jumped on to the front of the stage.  A ghostly figure hovered between them.

“I know!”  Yelled Natty.

“FOOD FIGHT!”  Cried three voices.

“No, wait,” cried a fourth desperate voice from someone who simply wanted to be able to eat as many pies as he could.  It was too late.  The pies flew.  And flew they did.  The room was filled with shrieks of laughter, shrieks of joy and shrieks of fun. It was also filled with just shrieks as the pies hit home.  Custard and blueberries and cherries and cream clotted the air.  Parents were hit.  Kids were hit.  Saffron, Natty and Rachel were hit.  Fifteen of the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew were hit.  And, teachers were hit…well, all except one.  Mr Dressing, feeling understandably put out at the sudden arrival of more airborne custard, carried himself under a table, pulled the tablecloth down to cover him and hid.

Food Fight! Thanks, Grace!

Saffron, Natty and Rachel were full of pie and full of laughter.  They had managed to sneak up on Natty’s parents and ambush them with a variety of fruit based pastries.  The two adults stood in the centre of the hall and looked like a very bizarre pair of desserts.  The girls’ laughter spread.

Huddled under his table, Mr Dressing shook a little and then, on believing that the noise in the hall was subsiding, he decided to have a quick look to see whether there was a direct path to the exit he could take.  He lifted the cloth.  A face appeared in front of his.  He could not quite make it out but it was definitely a face…was it?

“Ok boys,” said a voice from somewhere, “He’s under here.”  The space under the table seemed very full and then very flung.  Mr Dressing was covered in custard.  He thought he heard a laugh and then the tablecloth fluttered and the space didn’t quite seem so full after all.

The food fight waned and the energy in the room faded.  People looked at one another, some pointed, some simply swiped their fingers on the faces of those around them and took a mouthful of the swirled together pie filling that smothered faces and hands, bodies and heads.  A realisation that a fair amount of cleaning up was on the horizon and a few people started to edge towards the doors. 

In the middle of the hall, Saffron, Natty and Rachel were giving each other a very squelchy hug.  Natty would be away with her parents after the competition had finished and so a few goodbyes were in order.

Andrew raised his hand.  His thumb and his forefinger began to brush together.

“Don’t you dare!”  Yelled Stephen Number Eight.  Andrew looked to see Stephen Number Eight propped up like an upright vacuum-cleaner being pushed around the hall by a very happy Stephen Number Ten.  “I’ll see to this, just you leave it.”  Stephen Number Eight went back to sucking up as much pie as he could.  Andrew smiled and decided to indulge his friend for a while.  He could see his belly filling like a hoover bag and knew it would only be a little while before Stephen Number Eight would start coming apart at the seams.  Andrew waited until Stephen Number Eight had had his fill and then he clicked his fingers.  The hall was back to its previous state; the people, though, Andrew thought would be happy to look after themselves just this once.

Mr Dressing crawled out from under his table.  The Headmistress helped him to his feet and took him off to get cleaned up.  It had been a terrifically successful afternoon’s “Pie-Off”.

*

After one last hug, Natty jumped into the back of her Mum’s purple car, did up her seatbelt and then turned back to get in prime waving position.  Saffron cwtched Bruno and dug herself into her Mum’s side and got ready to fight back the tears and to be ready to wave too.

There were hugs and kisses between the parents and then Natty’s Mum and Dad climbed into the car too.  The engine sprang to life and the waving and shouted farewells began.

The waves went on even after the car was around the corner and out of sight.  Saffron, Bruno, her Mum and Dad and the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew waved furiously.  They were going to miss have Natty around.  Her next visit wouldn’t come soon enough!

In the car, Natty waved and waved and then gave Jeremiah a huge squeeze and smiled at her Mum and Dad.  Leaving Saffron and Bruno was hard, as was leaving the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew, of course, but being back with her Mum and Dad put a smile, albeit a melancholy one, on Natty’s face.

“Margarent?”  Asked Natty’s Dad.

“Yes, dear,” said Natty’s Mum.

“You know that food fight?”

“Hmmm?”

“Well, you know when we were covered in custard?”

“Yes.”

“Well, did that feel exactly the same as when we’d wake up in the morning in that attic of theirs?”  Natty smiled properly, hugged Jeremiah and settled down for the journey home.