Singin' in the Drain Read online

  STEVEN BUTLER

  The Wrong Pong: Singin’ in the Drain

  Illustrated by Chris Fisher

  PUFFIN

  Contents

  Rubella Interrupts

  An Emergency

  What’s Goin’ On?

  Rubella’s Dilemma

  Meanwhile

  Practice

  In the Morning

  La La Laaaa!!!

  Meanwhile

  Abominatia Bunt

  NEXT!

  The Audition

  Meanwhile

  Results

  Bad News

  Off to Rehearsals

  Tonight is the Night!

  Halitosis and her Amazing Hinka-Circus

  Meanwhile

  PLACES!

  Meanwhile

  It Begins

  The Hinka-Hamper

  Meanwhile

  Discovered

  Abominatia’s Secret

  The Secret’s Out

  Meanwhile

  Sabotage

  The Tremundous Hinka-Hurl

  Back at Home

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  THE WRONG PONG SINGIN’ IN THE DRAIN

  Steven Butler is an actor, dancer and trained circus performer as well as a keen observer of trolls and their disgusting habits. He has starred in The Wizard of Oz, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat and as Henry in Horrid Henry Live and Horrid! His primary school headmaster was the fantastically funny author Jeremy Strong.

  Books by Steven Butler

  THE WRONG PONG

  shortlisted for the Roald Dahl Funny Prize

  THE WRONG PONG:

  HOLIDAY HULLABALOO

  THE WRONG PONG: TROLL’S TREASURE

  THE WRONG PONG:

  SINGIN’ IN THE DRAIN

  For my fellow Ozians – the 2012 cast of The Wizard of Oz at the London Palladium …

  Edward Baker-Duly, Emma Barr, Matthew Barrow, Marianne Benedict, Adam Bracegirdle, Lisa Bridge, Martin Callaghan, Philip Catchpole, Tom Clark, Kate Coysten, Owain Rhys Davies, Mike Denman, Andrew Edwards, Sophie Evans, Russell Grant, Tom Hargreaves, Lizzii Hills, Victoria Hinde, Emma Housley, Luke Johnson, Tom Kanavan, Paul Keating, Gemma Maclean, Ashley Nottingham, Terel Nugent, Des O’Connor, Richard Roe, Stephen Scott, Rachel Spurrell, Laura Tebbutt, Emily Tierney, Katie Warsop, Jay Webb, Anthony Whiteman, Anna Woodside

  ‘Ha, Ha, Ha! Ho, Ho, Ho!’

  Rubella Interrupts

  Neville twitched in his sleep. He was dreaming about being Super Neville, sidekick to his favourite television hero, Captain Brilliant.

  ‘NEEEOOOOORRR!’ he shouted, dreaming out loud. Super Neville was soaring through the clouds, wearing his green pants of power, defeating bad guys on all sides as easily as squishing ants. He snorted, then smiled. It was great being Super Nevi–

  SLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPP!!!

  A grey-green hand swished through the air and swatted Neville straight across the face. He woke up, gasping and flailing his arms and legs like an upturned tortoise.

  ‘Ugh! Who’s there?’

  ‘GET UP!’ a voice grunted in the darkness as a sausage-finger poked Neville in the ribs. ‘Oy!’

  Neville reached over to the bedside table and fumbled for his glasses. He put them on, still not sure whether he was awake or dreaming, then flicked on the lamp.

  ‘AAAAAAAGH!!’ Neville nearly jumped out of his pyjamas as the sight of his enormous troll-sister, Rubella, flashed into view. Her face was so close their noses were almost touching. ‘Oh! Rubella, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Shut up, scab!’ Rubella said and leered a wonky, wart-covered grimace … then smiled. ‘D’you know I’ve been waiting to say that for yonkers.’

  An Emergency

  ‘What’s going on?’ Neville said, rubbing his pink, smarting cheek. If his mum and dad found out there was a troll in their home again, they’d scream the roof off. The last time Rubella and the Bulch family came up the toilet, they nearly destroyed his entire house. ‘Why are you here, Rubella?’

  ‘Get your thingies,’ the great chunker said, frowning. ‘You’ve got to come with me.’

  Neville hesitated. He looked around his bedroom, wondering if his troll-parents, Clod and Malaria, were there too.

  ‘WELL? COME ON!’

  ‘Keep your voice down. Mum and Dad will go nuts.’

  ‘Just come on!’ Rubella growled, pushing her potato nose closer still.

  ‘Why?’ said Neville. He still felt like his head was inside a pillow. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Get up!’ Rubella snarled. She grabbed Neville’s hand and yanked it.

  ‘No!’ Neville shot back. He folded his arms and tried to look as stern as he could. ‘Not until you tell me what’s happening.’

  Rubella plonked her walrus-sized bottom on the end of Neville’s bed.

  There was a loud creaking sound and the entire thing flipped up, catapulting Neville and his pillows across the room. He landed on a pile of stuffed toys with an oomf!

  ‘It’s an emergency,’ Rubella said as the top end of the bed crashed back to the floor. She was still talking to the spot Neville had been lying on, not noticing that he’d shot off.

  ‘Something terrible.’

  ‘Oh no!’ gasped Neville, clambering back to his feet. ‘Is everything OK?’

  Rubella spun round, puzzled to see Neville on the other side of the room. She shook her head dramatically and looked like she was about to burst into tears.

  Neville’s heart jumped up into his throat. Considering that in the not-too-distant past he’d seen his troll-family swallowed by a sea monster, almost got his head chewed off by a slurch with teeth like screwdrivers, discovered his grandma Joan was really an evil troll-pirate, and had to break his troll-brother, Pong, out of London Zoo … this must be BAD!

  ‘There’s no time to explain,’ Rubella said, looking as if she was about to explode. ‘I need your help, Nev.’

  ‘OK,’ said Neville, grabbing his backpack and stuffing a few changes of socks and pants into it. ‘I’ll be quick.’ He thought about leaving a note for his parents, Marjorie and Herbert, but decided they probably wouldn’t notice he was gone anyway. ‘Let’s go.’

  Rubella grabbed Neville by the wrist and led him out of his bedroom like an angry mother and her naughty child.

  ‘Walk faster,’ Rubella urged, knocking the laundry basket over as they stormed down the hall.

  Neville cringed and prayed that his sister’s noisy lumbering wouldn’t wake his mum and dad as she clomped towards the bathroom. Predictably, the bathroom door had been snapped across the middle and was hanging off its hinges.

  ‘You could have been more careful.’

  ‘I was in a hurry,’ Rubella grunted. ‘Now, come on. We need to get Underneath.’

  Inside the bathroom, Rubella swung Neville on to her wide, sweaty back and put one foot into the toilet bowl.

  ‘Hold on tight,’ she ordered. Neville clung to the turnips sprouting from his big sister’s shoulders and squeezed his eyes shut.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Ready!’ said Neville.

  As the toilet flushed, they were instantly sucked into soggy, pitch-blackness.

  Here we go again, thought Neville as he shot round the U-bend. He never could get used to it. Back down the loo.

  WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH …

  What’s Goin’ On?

  No matter how many times Neville went down the toilet to visit his troll-family, butterflies always gurgled in his belly whenever he arrived.

  In no time at all, Rubella and Neville had flopped out of the pipes and were heading through the familiar tunnel filled with milk-bottle lanterns towards the town of Underneath. Neville gripped Rube
lla’s shoulders and tried to ignore the nervous feeling swishing about inside him.

  ‘Is anybody hurt?’ he said into Rubella’s ear. She ignored him and carried on galumphing downhill. ‘Rubella?’

  ‘WHAT? ’ Rubella snapped. ‘Just shut your rat hole until we get there, OK? Can’t you see I’m worryin’ my noggin off, you dungle droppin’?’

  Neville’s jaw fell open. What on earth could have happened? He started to feel sick with concern. What if his evil grandma, Lady Jaundice, had returned with her swashbungling crew? What if there had been a fire or a flood and the Bulch family home had been destroyed? What if someone was … DEAD?

  Please not that!

  Neville clenched his bottom, curled up his toes, scrunched his eyes tight and prayed to Captain Brilliant that no one was … was … He couldn’t even think it …

  Neither of them spoke for the rest of the journey. Neville stared, wide-eyed, as they passed beneath the stone archway with the words welcome under carved across the top, and barely noticed the junk town beyond it.

  He was way too nervous to enjoy the trip across the market square and the shortcut behind the priddle-players’ bandstand. He failed to take in the trolls going this way and that or the Bulches’ next-door neighbour, Gristle Pilchard, waving her walking stick and shouting ‘Hello!’ Neville hadn’t even realized they were walking up Washing Machine Hill until Rubella plonked him down on the ground.

  ‘Here we are,’ Rubella grunted. ‘This way.’

  Neville shook his head and looked about, as though he was waking up all over again. They were in front of the Bulches’ jam-jar house. From the top of Washing Machine Hill, Neville could see the whole town spread out below him. The sight of all the ramshackle buildings made of junk and the thousands of milk-bottle lanterns twinkling in the darkness was a beautiful one, but it didn’t fill him with excitement. Although it was a relief to see it was all still there, he couldn’t help worrying about what Rubella had said.

  Neville turned to Rubella and was just about to question her some more when Rabies, the Bulches’ giant pet troll-mole, came bounding round the edge of the house. He jumped up, resting his front paws on Neville’s shoulders and slobbered all over his cheek.

  ‘Good boy, Rabies,’ Neville said, gently nudging the enormous creature back to the ground. ‘Play nicely.’

  ‘Hurry up!’ Rubella said impatiently. Then a look of concern spread across her face. ‘But brace yourself, Nev …’

  Rabies scampered away and Neville watched as his troll-sister clomped towards the green-curtained doorway. She brushed the tatty old thing aside and headed indoors.

  Through the jam-jar walls, Neville could make out the blurred shapes of his troll-family. He counted them nervously.

  ‘There’s Pong,’ he thought out loud as a small mottled shape skittered about on the other side of the glass. ‘And that’s Mooma …’

  Neville gasped; he could see his mooma’s shape bending over the big rusty stove, and Rubella flopping her backside on to a barrel seat. Pong was spinning and cartwheeling about under his mooma’s feet, but where was –?

  ‘DOODA?’ Neville cried and ran through the green curtain. Something must have happened to Clod! ‘DOODA! WHAT’S HAPPENED TO DOODA?’

  Malaria, who was midway through stirring an enormous pan of left-sock stew, spun round and screamed. The clay pipe that hung from the corner of her mouth flew out and clattered on the floor, sending wisps of purple smoke around her feet.

  ‘BLLLOOOOOAAAAAAHHH!’ Pong shrieked with glee. He waddled over to where Neville stood and hugged him excitedly.

  ‘OH MY GRACICLES!’ Malaria shouted, clutching her spade-sized hands to her cheeks. ‘Nev, what’re you doin’ ’ere, lump?’ She darted towards Neville and scooped him up in a troll-hug. ‘I was never expectoratin’ you … What a squibbly surprise.’

  ‘Where’s Dooda?’ Neville hugged Malaria round her thick neck. ‘What’s happened to him, Mooma?’

  ‘Eh?’ Malaria said.

  ‘Just be honest,’ Neville sobbed. Tears were already streaking down his cheeks. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’

  ‘What’s jumbled you, Nev? You’re shakin’,’ Malaria said, raising him to the level of her copper-coloured eyes. ‘Clod’s not deadsy.’

  ‘He’s not?’ Neville wiped his eyes on the back of his pyjama sleeve. ‘So … is he alive, but really, really hurt? Arghh! What happened?’

  ‘Nev, pick up your pieces,’ said Malaria with a surprised look on her face. She hugged him tightly. ‘I don’t know what whoppsy great fibbers you’ve been listenin’ to! Dooda’s fine and chuffly … He’s snizzlin’ upstairs, ’avin a nap.’

  ‘What?’ Neville said, heaving an enormous sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or faint. ‘But, if nothing’s happened to Dooda, what’s the emergency?’

  ‘Emergency?’ Malaria chuckled. ‘There ain’t no emergency …’

  THUD … THUD … THUD … THUD … THUD …

  Clod appeared at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing his eyes and yawning. ‘’Ere, what’s all this hollerin’?’ he said.

  ‘Clod, my honker,’ Malaria said, beaming. ‘Look who’s come to visit!’

  She held Neville up at arm’s length.

  Clod rubbed the last of the sleep from his eyes and stared for a moment. Then he focused on Neville and his face lit up into a huge, wide grin.

  ‘NEV!’ Clod yelled, jumping into the air. ‘What a sight for sleepy peepers!’ He thudded across the kitchen and threw his arms round Neville and Malaria. ‘I’m as honkhumptious as a hump-honker.’

  Neville burst into tears again. ‘I’m so glad to see you!’ he blubbed, planting a kiss on his dooda’s rough cheek. ‘I thought you were … I thought you were …’

  ‘Go on … tell ’im,’ said Malaria, chuckling.

  ‘Dead,’ Neville whispered.

  ‘You thought I’d popped me conkers?’ Clod laughed. ‘What gave you an idea like that?’

  ‘Well … it’s just that Rubella told me …’ Neville glanced at his troll-sister. She was twiddling her great stumpish thumbs at the dinner table and staring suspiciously at the floor.

  ‘Belly told you what?’ Malaria asked. She turned and looked at her daughter. ‘What’s goin’ on?’

  ‘Rubella woke me up and said there was an emergency,’ insisted Neville.

  ‘WOKE YOU UP?’ Clod looked so shocked, Neville thought he might fall down. ‘D’YOU MEAN TO SAY YOU’VE BEEN UP AND OUT THE TOILET? What’s all this about, Rubella?’

  ‘Nothin’,’ Rubella mumbled, still staring at the floor.

  ‘What d’you mean, nothin’?’ Malaria barked. ‘You can’t go wifflin’ up the pipes on your own. Look at all the trouble Pong caused when he did it.’

  Pong giggled, then copied his mooma and waggled a finger at his big sister.

  ‘Come on, youngling,’ Clod said, marching over to Rubella’s side. ‘Out with it!’

  ‘I needed Nev’s help.’

  ‘What for?’ said Clod.

  Rubella shrugged and said nothing.

  ‘WHAT FOR?’ Malaria bellowed.

  ‘IT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!’

  ‘If you don’t explain right now, you rambunkin’ little madam,’ said Clod, folding his arms, ‘you’ll have no seconds, or thirds, or fourths at dinner.’

  Rubella sat up and stared at the rest of her family. She wasn’t about to miss out on food. Her bottom lip started trembling and her face screwed up into a grimace. Then she took a deep breath, gripped hold of the edge of the dinner table, opened her mouth to speak and …

  Rubella’s Dilemma

  Rubella’s mouth moved so fast, Neville could barely keep up. The words poured out like water from one of the old sewer pipes.

  ‘IT’S-THE-AUDITIONS-FOR-THE-TOWN-PAN-TROLL-MIME-TOMORROW-AND-I-NEED-NEVTO-HELP-ME-GET-GOOD-SO-I-CAN-BE-BETTER-THAN-GRUNTILDA!’ she screeched, barely stopping to breathe. ‘WHAT-ELSE-WAS-I-SUPPOSED-TO-DO?’

  Pong bu
rst out laughing. Everyone else just stared at the red-faced, panting troll-girl. No one spoke.

  ‘WELL?’ Rubella sobbed. She kicked at a pile of food scrapings on the floor. A mealy old teabag flew across the room and bounced off the side of Neville’s head with a dull slap. ‘WELL?’

  ‘I can’t understand you,’ said Neville.

  ‘Ugh!’ Rubella grunted. She reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a large piece of folded paper.

  ‘Wassat?’ said Malaria.

  Rubella threw the paper on to the table and Clod unfolded it. It was a brightly coloured poster, painted on the back of an old newspaper.

  ‘Read it, Nev,’ said Malaria.

  Neville clambered down from his mooma’s arms and walked to the table. He squinted through his glasses for a second, then read aloud …

  ‘Right,’ Malaria said. ‘I think you need to take a big bungly breath and explain so we can all understand, Belly. I’ll put on a pot of shrimp-scale tea and we’ll ’ave a nice long chattywag.’

  Clod pulled out a barrel seat for Neville, lifted him on to it and then sat himself down on the opposite side of the kitchen table.

  ‘Wha’s all this then?’ Clod said, putting a hand on Rubella’s. ‘Tell ole Dooda what’s up.’

  ‘It’s the auditions for the town pan-troll-mime tomorrow, and I need Nev to help me get good so I can be better than Gruntilda,’ Rubella mumbled pathetically. ‘She always gets the best parts.’

  ‘Pan-troll-mime? Is it that time of yearly already?’ said Clod.

  ‘Oh, Belly,’ Malaria said, lifting a rusted kettle on to the stove. ‘You’re a right nogginknocker sometimes!’

  ‘Pan-troll-mime?’ said Neville. Rage exploded inside him like a lit stick of dynamite and, for a split second, he forgot how afraid of Rubella he was. ‘You woke me up in the middle of the night, dragged me down here and worried me half to death because you want to audition for a stupid panto?’