8.
Suspended by his reins, Donald struggled ineffectively. Miss Whitehead’s prediction proved correct. His plight attracted the attention of the other partygoers, who began to form a semicircle around him, just out of range of his boots – but unfortunately not of his invective.
“Go away! Sod off, you idiots! What do you think you’re staring at?”
“A grumpy little baby, strung up like a puppet?” suggested one of the girls, switching her phone camera to video. This made him more angry than ever, and he danced a little dance of frustration, which his audience found most entertaining. He had quickly become the focus of the party, and his erstwhile attackers, positioned at the rear of the group so they couldn’t be accused of incitement, quietly congratulated each other on the outcome of the altercation. Whether or not Miss Whitehead had intended this humiliation I don’t know. She was nowhere to be seen, in any case. Duncan’s language was deteriorating to the point where we were anxious he might incur further sanctions, when Margaret returned.
“What the…? What’s going on? Why is Donald….?”
We explained what had happened, and that we had been told on no account to help him.
“He’s swearing so much,” said Alice, uneasily. “If one of the teacher’s hears…he could be in even worse trouble.”
“Oh dear. That’s Donald, all right. I was afraid something like this might happen. Never mind. I brought something with me in case of this eventuality.”
She delved into her bag and brought out an article whose function we understood at once. A blue pacifier with an oversized teat, and a teddy’s yellow face on the big round boss. But it was mounted on two broad matching leather straps, designed to buckle together. Alice’s eyes widened, and her hand went to her mouth.
“Gosh, Margaret,” she gasped, “I’ve never seen one like that!”
“Probably not. But it should keep him quiet. It has a padlock, but we don’t need to worry about that. In those mittens he can’t do anything.” She rolled the article up in her hand.
“I don’t want him to see what I’m planning to do. Could you hold my bag for me for a minute?”
We took her bag. She pushed her way to the front of the crowd. Donald caught sight of her. His face registered relief.
“Mags! Come and release me, quick. I’m gonna beat the crap out of some of these idiots.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea, sweetie? Didn’t Miss Whitehead put you here for a reason?”
“Miss Whitehead? That old bat? D’you think I care about her? Just get me out, stupid!”
If Margaret had any doubts about what she was about to do, this tirade probably dispelled them. She walked straight up to him, smiled, and thrust the pacifier into his open mouth. By the time he had brought his fists to bear on her stomach, it was buckled firmly in place. He tried to hold onto her, but the leather mittens simply slipped off her body. She stood back and looked at him thoughtfully.
“There, that’s better. Now you can swear as much as you want, and no-one will be able to make out a word. Is it comfortable?”
His cheeks had turned redder than ever.
“Mmm. Mmff!”
“I quite agree, Donald. It’s not fair. But it’s in your own best interests. Enjoy!”
She turned her back and rejoined us. We stared at Donald, gyrating and shaking his head as if trying to dislodge his new appendage. All to no avail. Not only had it muffled his curses, but he now looked twenty times as funny, with the blue pacifier and yellow teddy face where his mouth used to be. The audience were screaming with delight, and the clicks of their cameras had redoubled.
“He’ll be safe there, now. Shall we go and find Douglas, and get some food, before it runs out?”
We located Douglas on the opposite side of the hall, surrounded by a little gaggle of girls.
“Douggie? Want to come get some food?”
“Oh, yes, thanks Margaret.” He said goodbye to his new friends, and went with us to the long table where teachers were handing out food and drinks.
“Donald’s not shouting any more. We could hear him right across the hall.”
“No, Douglas,” said Alice, “he was a bit upset, but now he’s fine. Now, what would you like to eat?”
While we ate, the judges were moving about the hall looking at all the different costumes, one of them making notes on a clipboard. They came and asked Douglas to stand up so they could make a proper assessment. I thought they seemed quite impressed, but of course they were giving nothing away. After they had gone, Alice suggested we should go and check on Donald. But before we could move, we saw two women coming towards us. Miss Whitehead and one of the judges. Miss Whitehead approached Margaret.
“Hello. I’m Veronica Whitehead. This is Madeline Lockett, the head judge for tonight’s competitions. I understand you are in charge of our little recidivist over there? Margaret, is it?”
“Well, yes. I’m his sister. I am looking after him tonight.”
“Margaret, we have a dilemma. Maybe you can help us resolve it. Madeline?”
“We would like to award Donald the prize for the overall winner of the costume competition,” she said. “I mean, he stands out. His costume is perfect, and it’s original. He should get the prize. But there’s a problem.”
Miss Whitehead took over. “It would look unfair to reward him after he was involved in that fracas earlier. The school considers fighting one of the very worst misdemeanours. The two older boys are going to be punished, and the school won’t distinguish between either party in these matters. It takes the view that it takes two to tango, as it were.” She allowed herself the ghost of a smile.
“I see,” replied Margaret. “So…what are you…”
“If he was prepared for his part to do some small penance, as it were, then I think we could justifiably go ahead with the award. But he’d need to agree. We are asking you to secure that agreement.”
“What would he have to do?”
“My idea is,” said Miss Whitehead, “…my idea is, that he should agree to wear his costume to school all next week. That seems to me a suitable punishment for violence. For their part his two assailants will be required to attend dance practice once a week for a month. Do you think he would accept that? The alternative would be something more conventional – suspension perhaps.”
“Or summary execution,” Alice whispered to me under her breath, looking sideways at Miss Whitehead.
For a moment, Margaret was taken aback. Then she laughed out loud. “Really? That would be so…appropriate! Let me talk to him. Can you give me a minute?”
“Of course.”
She was about to leave, but hesitated. “What’s the prize?”
“A cheque for fifty pounds.”
She laughed again. “Great!”
Alice and I followed her over to where Donald was tethered. His aggression had subsided, and his crowd of admirers, exclusively female, had closed in and were patting his cheek, jingling his bells, adjusting his plastic pants, and asking him questions he was unable to answer with his mouth full of pacifier.
“Excuse me girls,” interjected Margaret. “Could I please have a private word with Baby Donald? It’s very important.”
The girls drew back. Margaret leant against the wall, one hand each side of her brother.
“Now, Don, I have to ask you a question. Listen carefully. Are you enjoying wearing your baby costume?”
An emphatic shake of the head.
“I don’t believe you. You seem so content. Now, would you like to be able to wear it to school all next week? Your personal uniform.”
His eyes widened, questioningly.
“You are going to be punished for your part in the fight. You have a choice. Suspension, detention, something like that….or what I have just said.”
The anger in his eyes was enough of a reply.
“Well, it’s a pity. It means you’ll forfeit the best costume award. And the prize. But if that’s your final decision…”
His expression had changed. He was trying to say something. “Take his pacifier off, Margaret,” said Alice. “I think he wants to tell us something.”
“All right. Just for a minute.”
She unbuckled the strap. Donald gasped. He took a deep breath. “What’s the prize?”
“Fifty pounds.”
“I’ll do it! I’ll be a baby all next week! Now let me free!”
� 
Topic: A Scary Story (Read 14565 times)
