Yo-yo's Weekend Read online

  8.

  ''Gooooooooooooood Morning Yo-yo,'' trills Aunty Latch.

  ''Mmmmmmm,'' goes Yo-yo through sleep-gummed lips.

  ''Lovely day, me dear.'' Aunty Latch draws open the heavy, flowery curtains that will present Yo-yo with an unparalleled view over several slate-grey, rain-glistened roofs. ''What would you like to do?''

  ''Unnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnh.'' Yo-yo rolls onto his side and drags the duvet up to his ears.

  ''Well, you can tell us over breakfast. About half an hour?'' Aunty Latch breezes out.

  Yo-yo feels the early morning sunshine bleeding through his eyelids and realises with some dismay that he's not going to be able to get back to sleep. And it's only just turned 8.30, for goodness' sake. It's not like this at Gillworthy. There he's allowed to sleep as long as he likes. In fact, they prefer it when he sleeps. Things don't happen when he sleeps. As a rule. Though sometimes they do. Anyhow, Yo-yo knows that Matron Majeiskii sometimes puts stuff in his food to make him sleep so it is clear to him that the staff are happier when he's sleeping. There's nothing for them to do, he supposes, except play cards or catch up with their knitting or sit around watching him sleeping (he knows they do that occasionally). When he's sleeping, the pressure is off.

  When Yo-yo first went to Gillworthy he didn't sleep at all. Not once. Not for six nights. He sat cross-legged on the bed in a white, polyester, tie-up-at-the-back night-gown and stared at the bare, white walls for 144 hours (a.k.a. 8,640 minutes, a.k.a. 518,400 seconds). On the first morning, at eight o'clock, blond, block-headed Orderly Henke brought him a blue bowl of Coco Pops, a Rich Tea biscuit and a glass of milk. Yo-yo had been sitting cross-legged on the bed staring at the bare, white walls. He had been sitting cross-legged on the bed staring at the bare, white walls since his admission at half-past four on that dark and drizzly December day. Orderly Henke had put the tray on the floor, snapped his fingers around Yo-yo's head, then shouted for Matron Majeiskii that ''ve noo boy [was] in a trarnce''.

  People had

  pontificated and preached about his mental condition.

  He had kept his gaze fixed on the bare, white walls. People had

  passed their hands before his eyes.

  He had kept his gaze fixed on the bare, white walls. People had

  paraded objects and items in front of him.

  He had kept his gaze fixed on the bare, white walls. People had

  poked him and prodded him.

  He had kept his gaze fixed on the bare, white walls. People had

  pricked him with needles and poured electricity into his skull.

  He had kept his gaze fixed on the bare, white walls. People had

  pretended to give up and go away.

  He had kept his gaze fixed on the bare, white walls.People had

  pouted with personal affront.

  Finally, on the morning of the seventh day, Yo-yo had suddenly turned his head, gazed impassively at Matron Majeiskii's hair-matted hands and knotted, swollen varicose veins and flashed her one brief, brilliant, beatific smile. ''I like you,'' he'd said, ''You're kind,'' and she had fallen instantly in love with him.

  Doctor Molasses, however, had received a quite different reception when he had completed his clip-boarding along the corridor.

  ''At last you're awake,'' the doctor had simpered.

  ''I haven't been asleep,'' Yo-yo had answered. ''Have you never heard of meditation?''

  Doctor Molasses had humphed and glanced at Matron Majeiskii. ''You were asleep, Yo-yo,'' he'd insisted. ''Although your eyes were open, you were clinically asleep.''

  Yo-yo had turned his head and gazed impassively at the wine-dark, wine-darkened, soggy-frankfurter nose, the Swarfega hair, the panda rings under the tired eyes, said again ''Have you never heard of meditation?'' and returned his gaze to the bare, white wall.

  Doctor Molasses had harrumphed a lot and told everyone that Yo-yo was still in shock and deep denial and that they should give him plenty of space, plenty of time and plenty of fluids, intravenously if necessary, rectally if he objected. But Yo-yo had, for the first time in a week, seized the bowl from Orderly Henke and spooned down soggy Coco Pops with an appreciative thumbs up.

  ''I'm not mad,'' he'd chanted. ''I'm not mad. I'm not mad. I'm not mad. I'm not mad.''

  He flips back the bedspread and, with the emerald ring concealed under his night-shirt, pads down the stairs in his giant lion's-paw slippers to the kitchen where he is met by the mingled smells of bacon, coffee, pipe smoke and aftershave. The bear shoves past him on his way to the bathroom.

  ''All right?'' says Yo-yo.

  ''Aye,'' says the bear, ''Pushing along.''

  ''A'reet?'' grunts Uncle Reefer (grey slacks, white and blue checky shirt, pale green cardy with leather elbow patches) from behind his pipe-bowl.

  ''Aye,'' says Yo-yo, ''Fair to middlin'.''

  ''Bacon and tomato roll OK?'' says Aunty Latch (white and apricot floral print frock, pink pinny and plastic pink hair-curlers) from beside the grill.

  ''Sure.'' Yo-yo pulls over a chair.

  ''Morning,'' grunts Lily Gusset (tight, black, leather trousers, Union Flag T-shirt, bulging biceps complete with Rock Hard tattoo on arms like steel hawsers, chin like black sandpaper and a Grade 1 haircut) from behind a newspaper.

  ''Good morning,'' says Yo-yo.

  ''Good morning,'' says Aunty Latch.

  ''We've gabbed the whole night through,'' says Uncle Reefer.

  ''Good morning, good morning to you.''

  Then they are up and away in a splendiferous song-and-dance routine from Singing in the Rain, (or Capering Round the Kitchen).

  Yo-yo:When the band began to play, the sun was shinin' bright.

  Latch:Now the milkman's on his way, It's too late to say goodnight.

  All:So, good mornin', good mornin'!

  Reefer:Sunbeams will soon smile through,

  Yo-yo:Good mornin', good mornin', to you,

  Latch:And you, and you, and you!

  All:Good morning, Good morning,

  (Dancing round the table) It's great to stay up late,

  Good morning, good morning to you.

  As the music builds to a crescendo, the three leads go into a manic tap routine which ends with Yo-yo stepping on a chair-back then running up the kitchen wall. Lily Gusset shakes his paper irritably.

  ''Do you mind? I'm tryin' to read the footie scores. United got battered by the Toon Army last night.''

  Yo-yo pours himself some coffee and sits down. ''Sorry, Lil.''

  ''This ain't a West-End Musical, thank God.''

  ''Indeed.''

  ''I mean I know it's a beautiful morrrrrning, oh what a beautiful day, I've got a wonderful feeling, everything's going my….''

  ''Shut up.''

  ''Bloody car thieves,'' snarls Lily Gusset, ''I'd string 'em up by their bollocks if I got my hands on 'em. Bastards TWOCed another one from the Clifton Estate last night.''

  ''Aye,'' says Uncle Reefer. He jabs his stem at his nephew. ''Going out today?''

  ''I guess,'' says Yo-yo.

  ''You could always stay here and help me with me nudibranch,'' Uncle Reefer says. ''You haven't seen it yet. Getting ever so big. You could feed it and clean it out. Be an interesting job for a young lad like you, feedin' the nudibranch.''

  ''Aye, it's got very fat,'' adds Aunty Latch, flipping the bacon. ''He's no waster, your nudibranch, and he don't half leave muckment about.''

  Uncle Reefer breeds nudibranches. Yo-yo likes the nudibranch farm. It is full of fat slugs. Uncle Reefer has several but one prize sea-slug he treats like the son he never had. This is Chromodoris reticulata - Chris, for short. Chris is from Bali, Indonesia. Uncle Reefer paid a whole year's profit from the COZEE NOOK to acquire him, so £6.50. Worth every penny, he is a spectacular combination of red, pink, white and several millilitres of slime.

  Uncle Reefer is trying to breed Chris with another slug, Hexabranchus Sanguineus, Hexy for s
hort.