The Parent Agency

“Oh yes, you’re right. I thought I heard someone say something, but it must just have been the dustbin men shouting in the street!”

Barry pulled a face at The Sisterly Entity. Then felt annoyed at himself as he realised that this meant that he was, in effect, recognising them. But it still made him feel better. Until Sisterly Entity One said:

“Write that face down, Ginny!”

“I’m… a… really… stupid… looking… boy…” said Sisterly Entity Two, moving her finger slowly across her palm.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_20a706a9-c4a5-5ff5-bfed-1987c5d6f81f)

Having broken his resolution never to recognise The Sisterly Entity, Barry thought he might as well kick them under the table (his feet, being free-floating, were well placed for this).

The last time Barry had kicked his sisters he had lost his pocket money for the week. But, seeing as that was only 75p, he reckoned it was just about worth it, and he had actually swung his feet back, in readiness to swing them forward towards their dainty little shins, when his dad said:

“Were you talking about your birthday party again?”

Barry let his feet swing back to their midway point. “Yes!”

“Oh, OK. Well, it’s all sorted.”

Barry’s heart lifted at this. His dad was really going to organise the car and the casino and the gadgets and everything?

Geoff smiled at him, revealing his yellow bottom teeth, and bent down to rummage in his IKEA bag (one of those enormous blue ones made out of, as far as Barry could make out, a tent: his dad always had one to hand). “I was going to save this as a surprise for the day, but you’ve forced it out of me…”

He sat up again, holding a DVD with the title: CASINO ROYALE.

“What’s that?” said Barry.

“What do you mean what’s that? It’s a James Bond film. One of the most famous. Come on, Barry, I thought you of all people would know that.”

His dad handed it over. On the front cover was a man with a pencil-thin moustache who sort of looked like James Bond, but not one Barry had ever seen before. It wasn’t Sean Connery, or Roger Moore, or George Lazenby, or Timothy Dalton, or Pierce Brosnan. And it especially wasn’t Daniel Craig. Who Barry knew was in Casino Royale.

“And I’m not just going to put it in the DVD player. We’ve got a projector at work that I can borrow and we can project it on to the living-room wall. That’s probably white enough if we shut the curtains really tight – although they never close completely in that room, do they, Susan? Oh well, it’ll probably be all right. Anyway, I thought that would be a great thing to do at your party…”

Barry looked up. “What? That’s it?”

“Huh?”

“No casino? Or car? Or tuxedo? Or gadgets?”

“Susan, what’s he on about?”

“I knew it! I knew you weren’t listening!”

“Barry, calm down…” said his mum.

“And this isn’t even the proper Casino Royale!”

His dad frowned. “It isn’t?”

“No.” Barry turned it round, reading off the back. “‘An all-star cast spoof the James Bond films in this hilarious 1960s comedy!! 007 has never been so funny!’ It’s a joke version! It makes fun of the whole thing!”

“Oh, Geoff,” said Barry’s mum. “You haven’t gone and got the one with David Niven in it?”

“I don’t know, Susan! I just went for the cheaper one on Amazon!”

“Da—” said Barry, and then realised he’d started to do the two-syllable thing again. Seeing The Sisterly Entity looking at him eagerly, as if willing him to do it, Barry made a fatal mistake. Which was to just repeat the first syllable again.

“…Da,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?” said TSE One, grinning madly. “Did you say… Da-Da?”

“I think he did, Ginny!” said TSE Two. “He said Da-Da. Like a baby. Like a baby trying to say its first words. To its da-da!”

“I didn’t! I didn’t! Shut up shut up shut up!”

“Barry, don’t tell your sisters to shut up!” said his mum sharply. Still no sign of her head above the dishwasher, though.

“Does Diddums want his dummy from his da-da!?”

“Or does he want Da-Da to change his Nap-Nap?!”

“OK, Ginny. Kay. That’s enough,” said Geoff, although not very strictly, and like he was trying not to smile. “But Barry, that’s enough complaining too.”

“No it isn’t! I hate you!”

“Oh, do you?”

“Yes! And Mum!”

And suddenly a feeling that had been welling up inside Barry for… well, since his dad had closed the door on Jake and Taj and Lukas just before tea, but in another way for much longer than that, maybe ever since he’d understood that, unfortunately, his name was Barry – a feeling that he wanted to both cry and shout and break something all at the same time – exploded out of him.

“I hate you because you’re boring! And tired ALL THE TIME! And always TELLING ME OFF FOR NOTHING! And saying, ‘That’s a swear,’ when all I’ve done is say BUM!”

“Barry. That’s a swear!” said his mum.

“NO IT ISN’T! And because you’re so much nicer to THEM…” He pointed at TSE. They both grinned at the same time. “…than to ME! And because…” Barry realised by now that he was doing the list in his bedroom. He decided to miss out Numbers 8 and 9 – ‘Not being glamorous’ and ‘Being poor’ – since even in his rage he knew that they might just sound a bit too horrible out loud. Especially as loud as he was speaking now. “And… YOU NEVER, EVER MAKE MY BIRTHDAY REALLY GOOD!!”

There was a short pause after he shouted this. Then Sisterly Entity One said:

“Write that down, Ginny.”

“I’m writing it down, Kay.”

“Right,” said Barry’s dad. “Well, if that’s how you feel, we won’t have a screening of Casino Royale on your birthday!”

“GREAT!” shouted Barry and he threw the DVD across the room. It spun round in the air as it made its way towards the sink area. Barry was secretly quite proud of the throw; his wrist had flicked sharply as he’d released the disc, like an Olympic discus champion.

“BARRY!!” his dad shouted. So loudly that, for the first time this dinner time, Barry’s mum looked up from the dishwasher. Just in time to be hit in the eye by a copy of Casino Royale, starring David Niven.