For several days now, Adam’s Aunt Agatha had been distracted. She had wandered around the house humming to herself. She had neglected to criticise Adam’s efforts at his chores - that he hadn’t properly made the bed (“Hospital corners,” whatever they were), that he hadn’t swept every speck from the kitchen floor, or that he had left a microscopic dull tarnish on one of the bars of Aloysius’s cage. She had also neglected to tell him that he had scuffed his shoes, that his school tie wasn’t straight or that his hair was a mess. Adam even thought he saw her smile once, but decided he must be mistaken and that it was in fact indigestion.

It was all very strange.

After about a week of Aunt Agatha’s curious behaviour, Adam started to become quite worried. He could only assume Aunt Agatha was unwell and going slowly off her head. There was no other explanation he could think of. It quite cheered him up when he realised this, though, as it would mean his mum and dad would have to come home.

Adam stumbled upon Aunt Agatha one morning, enthroned in her chair in the living room. She had on purple furry slippers with green and orange pom-poms and her ankles were crossed in front of her. Her pet budgie, Aloysius, was hopping from the toe of one slipper to the pom-pom of the next, twittering, and Aunt Agatha was watching him. Her head darted from left to right, forward and back, as she followed his progress.

When Adam entered the room, Aloysius froze in mid-hop, shook his feathers indignantly and flew up to settle on Aunt Agatha’s lap, with a twitter that sounded very like a “tut tut” to Adam.

Aunt Agatha swivelled her head and scrawny neck towards Adam and fixed a questioning eye on him.

“What?” she demanded. “What do you want, boy, coming in here and frightening my little Aloysius? Why aren’t you upstairs cleaning the toilet like you’re supposed to be?”

“We’ve run out of toilet cleaner,” said Adam.

“Well go and buy some more then!” Aunt Agatha gave an exasperated sigh. “Do I have to do all your thinking for you? Honestly, you’d think with the school I send you to…”

“I don’t have any money, Aunt Agatha.”

Aunt Agatha glared at him and reached down the side of her armchair. She pulled up her ugly black handbag and Aloysius fluttered, settling himself on her shoulder this time, from where he stared unblinkingly at Adam.

As Aunt Agatha lugged out a cracked old brown leather purse with an enormous buckle, she looked at Adam and complained, “What do you think your pocket money is for, boy? I don’t understand how you can have frittered it all away and not have any left for the really essential things. Like toilet cleaner. Here.”

She extended her claw.

“And I want change, and a receipt. I’ve had to dig into Aloysius’s birthday fund for that; I hope you’re satisfied with yourself.”

“Al- Aloysius’s birthday fund?” gulped Adam, looking in horror at the preening green bird.

Aunt Agatha snapped her purse shut.

“Yes. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten, Adam. I’ve been planning his party for a week now.”

“Party?” asked Adam faintly.

Aunt Agatha nodded comfortably.

“His party. It’s tomorrow.” She plucked Aloysius from her shoulder and he clung to her bony finger. She nuzzled in close to him, crooning, “And we’re going to have a lovely-wuvly, super-duper time, aren’t we, my handsome man? Oh yes, lots of treats for mummy’s special boy tomorrow.”

Adam was revolted. At least now he understood why Aunt Agatha had been so strange over the last few days. Although, more than ever, he wished she had been going off her head after all.

When Adam awoke the next morning, there was a fierce storm raging around the house. The sound of the howling wind was eerie and frightening. As Adam lay in bed listening to it, he realised he was able to make out what could almost be words within the strange noise.

Tooooooo

Yooooooo

Ir-Deeeeeee

Adam realised with a jolt that what he was hearing was Aunt Agatha singing. He didn’t know whether to bury his head in the pillow to muffle the freakish racket, or to laugh. He compromised by wrapping one arm around his head and stuffing the fist of the other into his mouth. He kicked off the covers and hobbled around the bedroom floor, doubled over and snorting.

Appeee Ir-Deeeee

Al – o – eeee – shush

At the high pitched “eeee,” Adam quite literally collapsed in giggles, falling over and lying on the floor, still trying to stifle the strange noises coming from his own mouth. He crammed his fist further in and snot blew out his nose.

The sounds grew louder, accompanied by the dreadful stomp-clack! of Aunt Agatha’s shiny black shoes. There was a rattle as his bedroom door was thrown open, and Aunt Agatha’s now-familiar, and unique, musty Christmas-cake odour wafted into the room. She must have heard him falling over.

Adam scrambled to his feet and, averting his eyes from the door, threw on his clothes. When he turned to go down to the kitchen, Aunt Agatha was, to his relief, gone from the doorway.

He traipsed into the kitchen, where Aunt Agatha was sitting at the table, countless small parcels strewn in front of her. Aloysius was picking idly at a crumb left on her breakfast plate.

The sight of Aunt Agatha up, dressed, and having made her own breakfast quite took Adam’s breath away.

“We were waiting for you,” she said accusingly. “While you’ve been lounging around in bed, the birthday boy has been waiting very patiently to open all his pressies.” At this, she looked pointedly at Adam’s empty hands and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s upstairs,” said Adam quickly. “I did buy him a present, of course I did, I just haven’t had time to wrap it.”

“Hmm.”

Aunt Agatha clearly disbelieved every word Adam said. Which was clever of her, because Adam, of course, had not bought Aloysius, the hated green budgie, a birthday present.

Aunt Agatha turned her attention to Aloysius.

“Aloysius, baby boy, come to mummy,” she croaked. “Come and see what goodies mummy has for her best boy.”

Aloysius hopped towards her, leaving a present of his own on the table, which Adam hurried to wipe up. He pecked at the parcels one by one. Aunt Agatha whooped with joy and clapped her hands as he revealed, from beneath the thin tissue paper, a series of seed packets, a dangly mirror with jewels around the edge, a water dish, a small satin cushion, and a tiny fake chandelier for Aloysius’s cage. As the last present was unwrapped – unpecked – she swept them all, along with Aloysius, into her arms, declaring, “And we’ll go and try these out before mummy’s friend arrives and you can show her what a handsome and clever boy you’ve become.”

As she strode out of the kitchen, Aunt Agatha called over her shoulder, “My friend, Mrs Pointer, is calling for Aloysius’s birthday tea. The cake is in the tin on the counter. Try not to embarrass me.”

Adam gaped after her.

Birthday tea?

Birthday cake?

And finally….Aunt Agatha has a friend?

Today was turning out to be very peculiar indeed.

Mrs Pointer, when she arrived, belied her name in every way possible. Where Aunt Agatha was thin and spindly, Mrs Pointer was, far from being pointy, fat and heavy. Adam saw her squashy, snowman-like figure through the frosted glass in the front door as he went to answer it, and watched with interest as she squeezed into the hallway. She panted and thrust her wet umbrella at Adam, almost poking him in the eye with it. Aunt Agatha slithered out of the living room at the noise.

“Lavinia!” she squawked.

“Agatha!” replied Mrs Pointer. Her voice was mushy, as though she had a cake caught in the back of her throat. From the looks of her, thought Adam, she probably did.

“Take your coat off, Lavinia, and come in and say hello. You won’t believe how much Aloysius has grown since you saw him last, and really, I know I shouldn’t say
it, but I do think he’s more handsome than ever.”

“I don’t believe that’s possible, Agatha,” simpered Mrs Pointer. She pushed her arm into Adam’s face, her damp woollen coat dangling from it. Adam could smell the wet wool, like a dog, clinging to his face, suffocating him.

Mrs Pointer and Aunt Agatha moved towards the living room, Mrs Pointer hooking her fingers into her armpit and scratching.

Adam, left alone in the hallway with Mrs Pointer’s reeking coat and wet umbrella, shuddered. He hung the coat up on the stand, put the umbrella in the porch and trundled off to the kitchen to prepare the birthday tea and cut the birthday cake. He lingered over his chores, not at all keen to reacquaint himself with Mrs Pointer any time soon.

He lifted the lid from the tin on the counter and looked at the most fabulous birthday cake he had ever seen in his life. The icing was creamy white, with blue piping around the edges. In the centre was a picture of a green bird, Aloysius, Adam presumed, flying through a blue sky over treetops, all done in sweets that glimmered like jewels. Across the top of this picture, in the same blue as the piping, was written “HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALOYSIUS” and beneath it, “LOVE FROM MUMMY.” When Adam saw this last, his mouth stopped watering and he felt slightly sick. He dumped the cake onto a plate and hacked off a few slices to lay out with the scones and sandwiches that Aunt Agatha had insisted upon. He filled the teapot, added napkins and teacups and saucers to the tray and loaded it up with the food. Looking at the clock, he realised he’d been wasting time in the kitchen and Aunt Agatha would surely be yelling for her tea before he made it to the living room.

Adam was greeted with the sound of caws and croaks, and the occasional twitter, which grew louder as he wobbled slowly along the hallway. He assumed Mrs Pointer had brought a bird of her own, to keep Aloysius company, and steeled himself for his trip to the living room.

He nudged the living room door open with the tip of his toe and edged his way inside. The noises stopped as the door swung open and he glanced round quickly looking for Mrs Pointer’s crow, or vulture, or whatever bird she kept. He saw none. Aunt Agatha was looking grimly at him, daring him not to drop or spill a crumb of cake or a drip of tea. Mrs Pointer shifted around in her chair and looked at him with
a fishy eye.

Without turning away, she said, “Is this him, Agatha?”

“I’m afraid so,” sighed Aunt Agatha.

Mrs Pointer also sighed. “You poor thing. And the parents - ?”

Aunt Agatha shrugged. “I do what I can to help out.”

“So selfless, Agatha, you’ve always been so selfless.”

Adam put the tray on the table and almost before he had turned way from it, Mrs Pointer had grabbed three sandwiches and a scone. She continued to talk through mouthfuls.

“You’re so lucky, though Agatha,” she mumbled, “that your family listen to you. They respect you. They trust you.”

Aunt Agatha preened, much like Aloysius.

“Very true, Lavinia, but sadly lacking in any ideas of discipline. This boy is a trial, but I think I’m getting somewhere now.”

She smiled a vinegary smile at Mrs Pointer and leaned over the tray. As her arm reached out, she stopped, her hand hovering in mid air. She turned to Adam. Her face was white with one red spot in each cheek.

Adam took a step back.

“You cut Aloysius’s birthday cake,” she said softly. “You cut Aloysius’s birthday cake and we didn’t even sing Happy Birthday. Oh, you bad boy!

“Ummm…” said Adam.

Mrs Pointer was looking from one to the other with beady-eyed interest. Aloysius turned away from his new mirror and twittered at Adam.

“You bad, bad boy! Oh, Lavinia,” she wailed, “I’m so sorry, what can I say...”

“Now, now Agatha, it’s the fault of this foolish boy, don’t you upset yourself. You’ll just upset Aloysius if you do.” She paused to wipe some jam off her chin. “And you can’t have that on his birthday.”

She chuckled, a deep rasping sound, which Adam recognised as having heard from the hall, the sound he had mistaken for another bird.

Aunt Agatha glared at Adam. “I’ll deal with you later,” she threatened. “Just leave me alone with Aloysius and my friend. Go and make yourself useful somewhere.” She flapped her hands at him. “Shoo!”

Adam shoo-ed. 

From the kitchen, he listened to the sounds of the party. Mrs Pointer’s laugh carried down the hallway to him and he cringed every time he heard it. It became louder and more reckless as the day wore on, and was soon joined by hacking, barking sounds that it took Adam some time to work out were Aunt Agatha’s version of laughter. The volume rose and rose and quite drowned out Aloysius’s demanding twitter, and suddenly the voices broke into what he supposed was song. It was a looping, lurching, wailing sound, interrupted with the odd hiccup. Aunt Agatha and Mrs Pointer were attempting to sing Happy Birthday to Aloysius, and it seemed like the catastrophe of the cake was forgotten.

He heard the living room door open and Aunt Agatha screeched down the hall to him.

“Well, do we have to sit and look at our dirty plates all – hic – day? Adam!”

Adam hurried from his seat at the kitchen table, down the hall and back into the living room.

He had never seen anything like it.

Mrs Pointer was lying back on the settee, her great fat mound of a tummy looming up like a large hill, or indeed a small mountain. Her eyes were closed and her jaw hanging open. Her bottom lip trembled and blubbered fatly with every outward breath that escaped from her cake-stuffed mouth. Her ample chest was covered in crumbs – of cake, of scone, of sandwiches – but also spattered with dollops of jam and smeared with streaks of butter. Her hand was lying lazily by her side, a small glass tipping dangerously towards the settee as her fingers relaxed. As Adam watched, she began to smack her lips and roll her head with its six chins slowly from side to side, and suddenly she let out a great belch. She struggled upright – well, upright-ish – scissoring her chunky legs, and blinked blearily around, mumbling, “Ver’ sorry, dreadf’ly so.” She promptly went back to sleep. The glass in her hand slipped to the floor and made a dark puddle.

“Adam!” squawked Aunt Agatha.

Adam jumped and turned towards Aunt Agatha. She was sprawled in her usual chair, knees together, ankles wide apart. Aloysius was pecking gently at her arm. A yellow paper party hat was perched on her head, although it was somewhat crumpled and had slipped over one eye. The other eye appeared to wink slowly several times at Adam. It was horrible.

“Adam! Don’t stare at Mrs Pointer. She’s not feeling ver’ – hic – very well, and I sugges-, sugges-, sugges-, said a little nap would do her the world of good.” She tried to snap her fingers, missed, tried again, gave up and pointed at the tea tray.

“Get that tidied up. Hic.”

Aunt Agatha flopped back into the chair, waved her arms around in the air for a minute or two and gave a deep sigh.

She looked like she was falling asleep, and Adam wasn’t taking any chances. He piled the dirty plates and cups haphazardly onto the tray and crashed his way back to the kitchen.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but eventually, when the sunlight had moved around the kitchen some way, he heard some rumblings and groanings coming from the living room. He peeped his head out from the kitchen door and saw Mrs Pointer lumbering vaguely around at the front door. She held her umbrella under one arm and was trying to put her coat on. She wouldn’t let go of the umbrella, and it jabbed at the coat whenever she tried to pull it over her arms. She spun round and round trying to work it out, and managed only to pull her coat over her head. Adam saw her arms struggling underneath it and the umbrella finally fell to the floor with a clank. Mrs Pointer’s head poked through the top of the coat, her hair mussed and sticking out in tufts all over her head. When she located her umbrella on the floor and bent over to pick it up, Adam gasped at how dark the hall became. Her bottom was enormous! With a groan, Mrs Pointer stood upright. She lurched towards the front door and began to knock on the glass. Adam could hear her mushy voice calling, “Hello? Hello? Let me in?”

Adam ran down the hallway to the front door, stretched over Mrs Pointer’s back and unlatched the front door. She knocked on it again and seemed surprised when it swung open, but with a mumbled, “Oh, jolly good,” she wobbled her way out.

Adam took a deep breath and went into the living room. Aunt Agatha was blinking her eyes and seemed confused. She looked up at Adam through half-closed eyes, her party hat in tatters in her lap. Aloysius was asleep on her shoulder, head tucked under his wing.

“Mrs Pointer went home,” Adam said. “Just now.”

Aunt Agatha nodded and looked around the living room, as though to assure herself that at least Adam wasn’t telling lies about this. She nodded again. Adam swallowed.

“Umm, Aunt Agatha, about the cake…” he began.

Aunt Agatha grimaced at him.

“Very nice,” she said sleepily.

“Sorry?” asked Adam.

“The cake. It was very nice. Thank you, Adam.”

She grimaced again. It was tight, crooked twist on her face.

She wasn’t grimacing, Adam realised. Aunt Agatha was smiling.

Adam fled while the going was good. Aunt Agatha had obviously had some sort of memory loss or, or, or personality change or something, this afternoon. She seemed quite content snoozing in her chair, had thanked Adam – thanked him! – for the cake, goodness only knew why, and had smiled at him. A smile that belonged in Adam’s nightmares, certainly, but she had smiled.

Adam was quite sure things would be back to normal tomorrow. It almost made him wish it could be Aloysius’s birthday every day.

Or even once a week would be good.