Jungle Tangle Read online

  Praise for Dead Hairy

  ‘We love Dead Hairy!’ Woman’s Way – recommended as part of their ‘Bring Back Books’ campaign

  ‘… extremely well written – immediate, clever, smartalecky … immensely enjoyable.’ The Irish Catholic

  ‘… romps … with exuberance and sparkling dialogue …’ Mary Arrigan, Irish Examiner

  ‘… great fun, loaded with laughs … this one is a pure delight.’ Fallen Star Stories

  ‘I can’t recommend it highly enough. I think it’s a brilliant book. I was roaring laughing at the first couple of pages.’ Brendan Nolan, radio presenter and author of Telling Tales

  ‘From the first paragraph to the last, this is a laugh-aloud read for any age, with a compelling plot and well-rounded characters.’ Inis magazine

  MERCIER PRESS

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  Blackrock, Cork, Ireland.

  www.mercierpress.ie

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  © Text: Debbie Thomas, 2013

  © Images: Stella MacDonald, 2013

  ISBN: 978 1 78117 116 5

  Epub ISBN: 978 1 78117 184 4

  Mobi ISBN: 978 1 78117 185 1

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  For my superstars:

  Stevie, Emily, Ruby and Rosa.

  And for Mum and Dad, whose love and encouragement have a lot to answer for.

  1 - Hair Ticket

  ♫ ‘Happy Birthday to You.’ ♪

  Everyone round the table hip-hoorayed. Abbie put a paper crown on the birthday boy. Mum, Dad and Ollie clapped. Grandma grunted.

  The birthday boy tried to bow. But bowing isn’t easy for a shrunken head. He lost his balance, tipped onto his nose and rolled across the table.

  Abbie caught him as he fell off the edge. ‘Careful. You were nearly lunch.’ The table was standing by a pool in the middle of a zoo. On the far side of the pool four penguins flapped their wings and eyed the birthday boy greedily.

  Abbie cupped him safely in her palm. ‘And now,’ she said, ‘for the cake.’

  The birthday boy blinked. He gasped. He craned his cut-off neck. And well he might. Coming down the path was a cake as big as a bicycle wheel. Candles were crammed on top. The sides were covered with chocolate icing.

  The Platts carried the cake between them on a huge tray. Coriander was on the left. Her three red plaits gleamed. Her green dress flapped like a bin liner in the breeze. Her husband Matt was on the right. His three black plaits flopped. His grey boiler suit sagged from his shoulders. Their daughter Perdita was in the middle. Her three black plaits bounced. Her orange trousers shone like carrots in cling film.

  She was lighting the candles with a flaming stick. ‘Four hundred and sixty … four hundred and sixty-one … four hundred and sixty-two. Happy birthday, Fernando!’ She blew out the stick. Her parents lowered the tray onto the table.

  Abbie popped the birthday boy beside the cake. She wiped her hands discreetly on her trousers. No offence to Fernando, but she still hadn’t got used to touching the hard, shrivelled head of a Spanish conquistador. She grinned. There was a lot she hadn’t got used to. Four months ago life had been duller than duffle coats. But ever since meeting the Platts, it had felt like a firework was strapped to her bottom.

  First there had been Coriander’s rescue. Abbie had found her imprisoned in the zoo by the wicked Dr Klench. With the help of three orang-utans and Chester, a trusty patch of chest hair, Abbie had freed Coriander. But returning home to the Platts’ Museum of Hair, they’d been recaptured by Perdita’s aunt and uncle who were in league with Dr Klench. The girls and their families – along with Fernando and the orangs – had barely escaped before the Hair Museum was destroyed.

  And that was just the summer holidays.

  Since then Abbie had been helping the Platts settle into their new home, the zoo. Looking after the animals with Perdita and her parents had been the biggest adventure of all. There was just one teeny problem.

  School.

  Perdita’s arrival this term had gone down like a foot in a cowpat. It wasn’t just her oddness. She was smart, too. The smartest in class. Smarter even than Marcus Strode-Boylie. Which, when you thought about it, wasn’t a smart thing to be because Marcus Strode-Boylie hated being outsmarted, especially by a girl.

  Talking of smart, thought Abbie – not. Dad was thumping the table with his fist. ♪ ‘For he’s a jolly good shrun-ken,’ he roared. Abbie winced. He really was the brightest star in the nerdiverse.

  Everyone else round the table joined in. Two penguins swam across the pool to get a better look at the cake. A third one got so excited he forgot how to swim and had to be rescued from the bottom by his aunt.

  Fernando’s eyes glittered. ‘All thees chocky. I never see such cake een all my born days.’

  ‘Too many born days by ’alf,’ muttered Grandma.

  You’re just jealous, thought Abbie. Ever since Dad had suggested a birthday party for Fernando, Grandma had gone all huffy. Mind you, Dad hadn’t exactly helped with comments like, ‘Four hundred and sixty-two, and he’s still got his own hair.’ Grandma relied on Chester – who had become her wig as well as her best friend – to cover her balding head, and she was only seventy-three.

  ‘Take a deep breath, Fernando,’ said Dad. ‘You’ve got to blow out the candles.’

  Fernando glared at him. ‘How I suppose to do that?’

  Good point, thought Abbie. She’d find it hard enough to blow out that many candles, and she had lungs. Where on earth would a shrunken head find the puff?

  Ollie got up from the table and crept over to Abbie. ‘Shall I get Winnie?’ he whispered.

  Abbie looked at him. For a maddening little brother, he had his moments. ‘Good idea,’ she murmured. Winnie was the orang-utan mum who’d escaped the Hair Museum with her baby, Minnie, and Vinnie the dad. In all the mayhem Winnie had been injected with a potion that made her superstrong. Blowing out the candles would be a breeze for her mighty lungs. But they mustn’t let Fernando see. The proud little head would never accept help.

  So Abbie distracted him while Ollie went to fetch Winnie. ‘You don’t look a day over thirty,’ she said, remembering that was just the kind of thing grown-ups like to hear on their birthdays.

  It was a big mistake. ‘Of course not!’ wailed Fernando. ‘At thirty I was shreenked by tribesmen. My ageing estop there, in Amazon jungle.’

  Ollie came back leading Winnie by the hand. The orang-utan – whose hair grew mega fast, also thanks to the potion – had been shaved that morning. She looked like a rusty thistle. Abbie winked at her. Winnie stood behind Fernando.

  Perdita cleared her throat. ‘One, two, three …’

  Fernando blew his hardest. And Winnie blew hers. A mighty wind wrinkled the tablecloth. Cream flew off cupcakes. Sausages shot across the table like supersonic slugs. Chester sailed off Grandma’s head and wrapped round the neck of the penguin that had nearly drowned, almost strangling him.

  ‘Well done, señor,’ shouted Dad.

  ‘You did it, Fernando!’ cried Coriander.

  ‘Good show,’ murmured Matt as four hundred and sixty-two candles smoked in the air.

  ‘Thanks,’ Abbie whispered to Winnie. ‘Well done,’ she said loudly to Fern
ando.

  He blushed to blackcurrant. ‘You people so kind. I no deserve.’

  ‘Go on,’ cried Perdita, ‘make a wish.’

  Fernando’s lips sagged. ‘You know my weesh. To find my señora, the wife of my life.

  The head of my heart, the heart of my head,

  Who roll on jungle floor

  In deepest Ecuador.

  My darling leetle Carmen.

  No lady is more charmin’.’

  He gave the very deep sigh of a very bad poet.

  Perdita winked at Abbie, who winked at Coriander, who winked at Matt, who winked at Dad, who winked at Mum, who winked at Ollie, who winked at Grandma … who burped.

  ‘Time for your presents,’ said Perdita.

  Abbie and Ollie put a small package on the table. There was an awkward silence.

  ‘For the love of Nora!’ Grandma burst out. ‘’Ow’s ’e s’posed to open that? ’E’s armless.’

  ‘Of course he’s harmless, Mother,’ said Dad. ‘He’s our friend.’

  ‘I said armless, brainless. ’Ere, I’ll do it.’ Grandma grabbed the packet and tore off the wrapping paper. The wind snatched it up and blew it towards the penguin pool. It caught in the beak of the nearly drowned, nearly strangled penguin, who nearly choked.

  ‘Sun cream?’ said Grandma, holding up a white tube. ‘Whassee want that for? ’Is skin’s as tough as a tangerine.’

  ‘Have you got him a present, Grandma?’ asked Abbie pointedly.

  Grandma sniffed. ‘Course I ’ave. Somethin’ useful. Somethin’ that’ll protect that ancient brain of ’is. No point wrappin’ it.’ From her handbag she brought out a tiny sombrero, the sort of wide-brimmed hat that bad actors wear when they’re playing Mexicans. She popped it on Fernando’s head and pulled it down, squashing his birthday crown. ‘Perfect!’

  Abbie wouldn’t quite have said that. With the brim at his chin, Fernando looked like a spinning top.

  The wind lifted the hat. It frisbeed through the air and hit the head of the nearly drowned, nearly strangled, nearly choked penguin, who was nearly knocked out.

  ‘I confuse,’ said Fernando. ‘All thees present, they for sunshine. But now we in Frosty Crunchers.’

  A good name for November, thought Abbie.

  ‘Here,’ said Perdita, ‘maybe this’ll make things clear.’ She took an envelope from her pocket.

  Fernando frowned.

  ‘It’s an air ticket, you ’airbrain,’ said Grandma.

  ‘An hair teecket?’ said Fernando. ‘Why I need teecket for hair? I have plenty.’ He tossed his black locks.

  ‘She said air,’ Coriander explained. ‘It’s for an aeroplane. That’s a big metal bird that flies you across the world. I brought you here in one. You couldn’t see it because your eyes were sewn up. But you’ll see it when you go this time.’

  Perdita jumped up. ‘And so will we! Abbie and I are coming too.’ She did a cartwheel, landing on the foot of the nearly drowned, nearly strangled, nearly choked, nearly knocked-out penguin, who ran away and set up a home for battered seabirds.

  ‘Only three weeks to go!’ Abbie couldn’t wait to get away from school. Because she’d discovered this term that there was only one thing less smart than being the smartest girl in class. And that was being her best friend. It had made Abbie as popular as measles.

  Fernando still didn’t get it. ‘Where we fly een metal bird?’

  Coriander crouched down and rested her chin on the table. ‘To Ecuador,’ she said, looking into his eyes. ‘To find your wife.’

  * * *

  The second smartest pupil in the class heard footsteps on the landing. He stuffed his calculator down the back of his trousers as his dad poked his head round the door.

  ‘How’s the homework going, Marcus?’

  ‘Nearly finished.’

  Marcus’s dad came into the bedroom and peered over his shoulder. ‘Long division, eh? And all in your head. That’s my boy.’ He ruffled Marcus’s fair hair. ‘Make sure you check it, mind. I always checked my Maths–’

  ‘Three times, Dad, before you gave it in.’

  ‘And it paid off, boy, it paid off. Aimed for the stars, I did, and look where it’s got me.’

  Marcus looked. And saw a silver-haired man with wide shoulders and a square chin. The sort of chin that suggested Dr Terry Strode-Boylie MSD (Massively Successful Dentist) had got what he wanted and found it wasn’t quite enough.

  When his father had gone Marcus rescued the calculator. He had to get everything right. That pratty Platt girl and her stupid friend needed to be taught a lesson.

  * * *

  Dr Hubris Klench, burger-on-legs and villain extraordinaire, rolled out of bed. He bounced a few times and came to rest on the floor. Bouncing was one of his talents. The others were eating, keeping clean and wickedness or, as he fondly called it, ‘eefil-doink’.

  He opened his eyes. ‘Mummy?’ He peered round the hotel room. But his only companions were the bed, a wardrobe and a cockroach heading for the skirting board to collect her kids from school.

  ‘I must have been dreaminks.’ Klench rubbed his eyes. ‘Mummy died four years ago.’ But what a dream …

  Mummy had been towering over him, wagging a red-hot finger. ‘Hubris,’ she’d barked, ‘you have been in ziss country fifteen veeks. And still you have not done vun decent crime. Useless boy. I knew ven I died you vould mess up vizzout me. Am I right or am I right?’

  Klench remembered how Mummy’s questions often hinted at the answer. ‘Right,’ he whimpered.

  ‘Quite. So now I’m back to boss your brain and help you turn to bads again.’

  Klench had nodded meekly, recalling also her fondness for rhymes.

  ‘For starters you must lose veight,’ she went on. ‘Top-notch crooks must all be slim, zeir bumsies small and tumsies trim.’

  ‘Vy, Mums?’ Klench had whined.

  ‘Viz your flabs and tummy rolls, how you slip through nets and holes? Remember, Hubes, too much fat killed cat.’

  Klench hadn’t quite understood. ‘Vich cat?’ he’d mumbled.

  But Mummy wasn’t a woman to be mumbled at. ‘Silence! You diet or I riot …’

  Klench sat up on the floor. He gasped. Mummy was still glaring at him from the corner of his mind. That had been no dream. She was back to haunt him. He’d have no rest till he obeyed.

  He patted his stomach sadly. ‘You must go, my friend.’ But how? Since he’d arrived in this miserable town there’d been nothing to do except eat fajitas and steal toys from penniless children. A button pinged off his pyjama shirt. ‘But first let me have some breakfasts.’

  2 - Trouble in a Tracksuit

  You’d almost think Fernando was enjoying himself. It was the day after his party. He was sitting – or was it standing? – on a stool in the bird house, giving reasons why the Ecuador trip wouldn’t work. Abbie was sweeping the floor while Chester the chest hair dusted the perches. Perdita was back-combing the feathers of Mackenzie the parrot.

  Fernando sighed. ‘Ees too espenseeve.’

  ‘I’ve told you,’ said Perdita, ‘money’s no problem. The zoo’s doing brilliantly.’ She rubbed hair gel into Mackenzie’s crest. ‘There you go,’ she said. ‘Mohican Mack.’

  ‘Mohican Mack!’ shrieked the parrot, baring his tongue in a well-hard way.

  Fernando tried again. ‘Perhaps I get airseeck on plane.’

  ‘We’ll give you travel pills,’ said Abbie.

  ‘Perhaps I choke on peells.’

  Perdita wheeled round. ‘For goodness sake, do you want to find your wife or not?’

  ‘Wife or not! Wife or not!’ screeched Mackenzie.

  ‘Of course I want. But how? My Carmen, she teeny head. My Ecuador, she beeg country. Needle een haystack ees easier peasier.’

  ‘Easier peasier! Easier peasier!’ Mackenzie agreed.

  Chester stopped dusting. He dived to the floor and pulled out a needle from a pile of rubbish. Then he flew up and perched on Abbie’s br
oom handle.

  ‘Of course,’ cried Perdita, ‘the world’s greatest finder! We’ll bring Chess.’

  Hang on, thought Abbie. If we bring him, that means … ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘Oh no-no-no.’

  Chester shrugged. He dropped the needle back into the rubbish.

  Perdita grinned like a mouth organ. ‘You won’t come without her, will you, Chess?’ Chester shook his curls.

  ‘All right,’ Abbie snapped. ‘But bagsy not sit by Grandma on the plane.’

  ‘Bagsy not! Bagsy not!’ screamed Mackenzie.

  * * *

  Maybe it won’t be so bad, thought Abbie. She was flicking through her travel guide in bed that night. The pages of Exploring Ecuador blazed with adventure: she could almost smell the colours and taste the sounds of the mountains and rainforest. Yep, it would take more than Grandma to stop her going. Imagine the cool points she and Perdita would earn at school when they announced the trip … leaving out the shrunken-head hunt, of course. That would shoot them both off the scale on the class

  freakometer.

  And she could just imagine the look on Marcus’s face. Abbie grabbed her tape recorder from the bedside table. ‘BULLY BOY EXPLODES WITH ENVY,’ she said into the microphone, picturing the headline in the local newspaper. Underneath would be a photo of smoking green rubble with fair hair: all that remained of Marcus and his jealousy.

  Oh yes, Grandma’s company was a small price to pay. Besides, in all the excitement of Ecuador, the dear old cabbage would probably just fade to a grumpy lump. Abbie used to think of her as Squashy Grandma. But these days she was definitely more lumpy. Elephant dung wasn’t the lightest and, since Grandma had started to clean out Gina’s yard at the zoo, her wobbly bits had really firmed up.

  The rest of the family, too, mucked in whenever they could. Mum cooked a meal every Saturday for all the human staff: three Platts, five Hartleys, zookeeper Charlie Chumb and ex-policewoman Wendy Wibberly, who now ran the café. Ollie spent his weekends playing with the orang-utans. When he wasn’t wrestling strong-mum Winnie, he was tickling lazy-dad Vinnie or playing hide-and-seek with baby Minnie.