Just Tricking! (7 page)

‘I know it's you, Andy,' she says. ‘You're an idiot! Go away!'

When I finish singing, I go up and put my arm around her. I growl really loudly and give her a big sloppy kiss on the cheek.

‘Get lost!' she says. ‘I mean it!'

But I'm just starting to enjoy myself. I put my hand into her plate of spaghetti and pretend to scoop it into my mouth, but I deliberately miss and smear it all over my face. Jen is not impressed.

‘Get out of my dinner!' she says. ‘I can't eat that now. Why do you have to wreck everything?'

She picks up the whole bowl and tips it over my head. Strands of spaghetti and pesto sauce slide down in front of my eyeholes.

But I don't get mad.

I grab a glass of water, drink a big mouthful and, standing on one leg with my arms out to the side – like a fountain – I begin to squirt the water through my teeth. Ail over Jen. She starts screaming at me.

‘Andy – that's enough!'

That's Mum. And she means it.

Time to split.

I put my arms over my head, like I know I've been a very naughty gorilla, and skulk towards the stairs.

I forget that my feet are too big for the steps and end up in a heap at the bottom.

Not a very dignified exit, but a gorillagram they'll never forget.

I pick myself up off the restaurant floor as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened – as if this is the way gorillas always come down stairs.

Some women are watching me and smiling. One of them is the woman in the purple dress.

Just a gorillagram, eh?

I lope up to their table like I'm the sweetest, meekest gorilla on earth, just coming up to have my head scratched. Then, without warning, I raise my arms and roar as loudly as I can. They all jump back in fright.

It works better than I'd expected.

In fact, they get such a fright that I get a fright myself. With my heart racing, I make it back out onto the street.

I was going to go back to the car and change, but I'm too pumped up. This suit has powers I never even dreamed of.

There is a seafood restaurant next door to La Trattoria. Everybody is staring at me through the glass. It's weird. I'm feeling less and less like a human being.

This must be what it feels like to be one of the gorillas at the zoo – being stared at all day long. People watching you eat. People watching you go to the toilet. People watching you while you're trying to watch TV.

Except for one important difference – I'm outside on the street, free. The human beings are the ones who are trapped.

I start to imagine that I have just escaped from the zoo, and that I am seeing the street and its inhabitants for the first time – as if the human world is the zoo and I am the visitor.

I move up to the window and press my face against it.

I start staring back at the humans – pointing and poking my finger against the glass.

The humans are not quite sure how to take this. Some smile. Others just stare back blankly. They're not used to being watched.

An old man and lady are sitting at the table nearest the window. They are not taking any notice of me. I ignore the other patrons and study the old couple intently.

They just keep eating and talking, as if I'm not there.

I break off a couple of twigs from a tree on the edge of the footpath and hold one in each hand.

As the old man cuts his food with his knife, I cut an imaginary plate of food with my twig. As he puts the food into his mouth with his fork, I put the imaginary food into my mouth with my other twig.

The man looks at me. He says something to the old lady. She looks at me and waves her hand dismissively.

I ask myself what a real gorilla would do in this situation and the answer comes to me.

I turn around, bend over and moon them. I hoot loudly and run down the street to the next restaurant.

I can't stop laughing.

That old couple will probably spend the rest of their lives wondering why on earth they were mooned by a gorilla.

This is better fun than gorillagrams. I am a gorilla with a get-out-of-zoo-free card and I'm not going to waste a second.

At the next restaurant I don't press my face against the glass. I don't imitate anybody. I just stand gawking.

After a few minutes, one of the waiters comes out. He seems a little nervous.

‘Urn, er, ah . . .' he says in a shaky voice. ‘Can I help you?'

I cock my head to the side, as if I don't understand.

‘Can I help you?' he asks again after a long pause.

I step towards him.

He steps back.

I grunt.

‘I'm sorry, sir, but I really must ask you to move away from the window or I will have to call the police.'

I grunt again and step closer to the little man. He stands his ground.

I reach out and give him a big hug.

But he doesn't freak out. He hugs me back. The people inside the restaurant applaud.

I grunt, release the waiter and pat him on the head. Then I give a low bow, turn around and walk on down the street.