Free Behaving Badly by Isabel Wolff Page B

what height?’
    ‘Oh, only about a hundred feet or so.’
    ‘You’re mad.’
    ‘I’m not.’
    ‘You are—you’re crazy, Daisy. I’ve often said it.’
    ‘But apparently it’s really good fun. Basically, you suspend cables across the gap, with a sort of pulley thing, then you take a running jump off the edge—’
    ‘You do what ?’
    ‘But then your harness takes the strain and instead of plummeting to the ground you find yourself bouncing along the wire like a puppet on a string. It’ll be fabulous .’
    ‘Just thinking about it makes me feel sick.’
    ‘And it’s supposed to be much more fun than abseilingbecause it gives you that lovely feeling of falling into empty space.’
    ‘Uhhhh.’
    ‘Then on Saturday night, Nigel’s taking me out, but —’ there was a theatrical pause, ‘—he won’t tell me where . He says it’s going to be a “very special evening”. Very special,’ she added happily. ‘That’s what he said.’
    ‘Hmmm,’ I said. ‘Do you think it might…mean something?’
    ‘Well, yes, I really think that it might . Anyway, enjoy your fete,’ she said cheerfully.
    ‘I shall do my best,’ I replied.
    The next morning I awoke feeling awful, having slept very badly. I’d had this really weird dream. In it, I was in a theatre somewhere—I don’t know which one, but it seemed to be quite big—and the curtain had just gone up. And I seemed to be playing Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz for some reason, with Herman as Toto, and Daisy as the good witch Glinda, and my mother as Auntie Em. And Alexander was in it too. He was the Lion.
    ‘ My goodness, what a fuss you’re making. Why you’re nothing but a great big coward! ’
    ‘ You’re right. I am a coward. I haven’t any courage at all. I even scare myself .’
    And then Nigel appeared as the Tin Man.
    ‘Don’t you think that the Wizard could help him too?’
    ‘I don’t see why not. Why don’t you come with us? We’re on our way to see the Wizard of Oz to get him a heart, and him a brain, and I’m sure he could give you some courage.’
    So we did go to see the Wizard, who, to my amazement, was played by my dad. And then I suddenly realized that it wasn’t Alexander playing the Lion any more, it was Jimmy, which confused me. And I was wondering, in the dream,where Alexander had gone, and whether he minded being replaced by Jimmy, because the Lion’s a really good part; and I was hoping that the audience wouldn’t notice, and I was beginning to feel quite stressed about it all—and that’s when I woke up. With my head full of Jimmy. The thought of speaking to him at the fete made me feel sick. To distract myself I spent the morning answering e-mails—I’m constantly amazed at the things people ask.
    ‘I’m wondering if my cat is obsessive-compulsive as it constantly washes itself,’ said the first. No it’s not—that’s what cats do. ‘How can I get my tarantula to be more friendly?’ asked another. I’m afraid that’s just tarantula behaviour—you can’t. ‘My African Grey parrot keeps telling me to “Fuck off!” Do you think it really means it?’ No.
    Sometimes people like to tell me the ‘funny’ thing their animals do. ‘ My donkey brays backwards—it goes Haw-Hee.’ ‘My horse can count up to ten.’ ‘My Persian cat plays the piano—it runs up and down the keyboard.’ ‘My mynah bird can sing “Heartbreak Hotel” .’ Suddenly another e-mail arrived—from my dad. It contained the usual stuff about the weather in Palm Springs (great), the celebrities he’d seen playing golf (lots), and the Hollywood gossip he’d overheard (scandalous). He said he hoped that my new practice had got off to a good start. Then I got to the final sentence and gasped. ‘I also want to tell you that a few days ago I made a decision which will no doubt come as quite a surprise to you—to return to the UK. I’ve been offered a very challenging job in East Sussex—’ East Sussex!! ‘—running a