Dead Hairy Read online

  Coriander nearly dropped the bottle. ‘No! She wouldn’t, she couldn’t. My sister, my own flesh and blood! Who showed me how to ride a bike. Who wiped my nose. Who helped me tie my shoelaces –’ Coriander paused – ‘together. Who let me carry –’ she frowned – ‘her bag to school.’ Coriander was sounding more and more indignant. ‘And clear her dishes. And tidy her room. Who taught me how to –’ she jabbed the air – ‘lose at Monopoly!’

  ‘And,’ cried Abbie, relieved that Coriander might be glimpsing the truth at last, ‘who kidnapped you. Who held you at gunpoint and locked you up. Oh no, she’d never poison your water.’

  ‘And even if she wouldn’t,’ Dad continued, ‘I bet her husband would.’

  Fernando was nodding on his stand. ‘Has husual,’ he said, ‘Senorita Abbie she espeak sense. Perhaps ees poison. Let me taste.’

  Mum opened her eyes. ‘Oh no,’ she mumbled. ‘Please don’t risk your neck for me.’ Her eyelids closed again.

  Fernando snorted. ‘What neck? At least I can save yours.’

  Perdita crouched by the stand. ‘Are you sure?’ she said. The head bobbed.

  ‘You’re a hero,’ said Perdita. She fetched the bottle from Coriander and held it to his puffy lips.

  Abbie couldn’t bear to watch. She covered her eyes with her hands.

  Gulp. Glug. Gasp.

  ‘Ees no water.’

  Oh no. Abbie peeked through her fingers.

  ‘Ees limonada.’

  Everyone whooped. Perdita brought the bottle back to her mum.

  ‘Even better,’ said Coriander, holding it to Mum’s lips. ‘The sugar’ll pep you up.’

  Abbie ran over to hug Fernando – well, to grasp his ears. Ollie came and patted him. Dad tapped him on the nose with an awkward finger. ‘Thanks a mil, Senor. Much obliged. And I’d love to hear about your raiding and pillaging when you have a mo.’

  Mum sat up. Bob looked like an abandoned bird’s nest. ‘Thank you, Fernando,’ she said. ‘Sorry for being rude. It’s just –’

  ‘My face,’ he said sadly.

  ‘No, no,’ Mum lied politely. ‘It’s just –’ she looked round the room – ‘all a bit much.’ She burst into tears.

  ‘Don’t be sad, Mum,’ said Ollie. He was standing by the Hairyquarium with Perdita. ‘Come and see the sea horse.’

  Abbie looked at him. Considering he was a prisoner in Freakville, with no food or loo, and a wet flannel for a mother, he was really doing quite well. Just for once her baby bro was acting more like a dude than doodoo.

  They passed the lemonade round. ‘Just a sip,’ said Dad. ‘Who knows when we’ll get any more?’ Mum sobbed even louder.

  ‘Let’s play a game,’ said Coriander hurriedly.

  Abbie chewed her sleeve. ‘How about What’s for Dinner?’

  ‘Bacon and eggs,’ said Ollie.

  ‘Pizza and ice cream,’ suggested Perdita.

  ‘Paella e Sangria,’ drooled Fernando.

  ‘Steak and chips,’ dribbled Dad.

  ‘Sausages, mashed potato, egg, chips, chocolate mousse, cream, ice cream, Bourbons and Jammy Dodgers,’ announced Abbie.

  ‘Abigail!’ Mum protested, forgetting to cry.

  Coriander smiled. ‘I’ll have the same as Abbie. Plus a Mars Bar. And you, Sadie?’

  ‘Tuna salad,’ mumbled Mum. Everyone booed.

  ‘Well, that was fun,’ Dad sighed. ‘I’m even hungrier now.’

  ‘Hey Ollie,’ said Perdita, ‘want to watch a movie?’

  ‘Ooh yes.’

  Perdita ran over to the Bobus hair stand. She stood on tiptoe and switched on the video.

  Mum sat up. ‘Is that you?’ she asked, peering at the crouching figure on the screen. Coriander nodded.

  Mum’s eyes widened. ‘Wow. What’s it like? In the jungle I mean. How do you manage?’

  ‘Manage what?’ said Coriander.

  ‘You know. Clean underwear, make-up, that sort of thing.’

  Coriander laughed. ‘You rinse your knickers in jungle pools. And the rest – forget it!’

  Abbie thought Mum might faint again. But to her surprise she smiled. ‘How relaxing.’

  ‘Oh it is,’ said Coriander, ‘that part of it. But you miss the family so terribly. I’d rather be stuck in here with them. Oh dear,’ her hand flew to her face, ‘I hope Matt’s all right. I wish they’d bring him up here.’ She sighed. ‘I s’pose they will, when they’ve got what they want from him.’ She tugged a plait.

  Mum’s smile collapsed. For a moment she’d been in the jungle wringing out knickers. But the mention of Matt brought her back with a bump.

  A key jiggled in the door. Melliflua glided in, gun in hand and a bucket hooked round her arm. ‘Enjoying our stay, are we?’ She put the bucket down. ‘For your little emergencies.’ She gave a little wave. ‘Toodlepip, sweet peas. Oh, and sweet pees!’ She tittered out of the door.

  ‘She can’t be serious!’ cried Mum. ‘I really need to. But I couldn’t possibly. Not in that.’

  ‘No choice,’ said Dad curtly.

  ‘Go in the corner, Mum,’ said Abbie.

  ‘Pretend you’re in the jungle,’ suggested Coriander, ‘hiding behind a giant fern.’

  ‘I’ll look out for bottom-biting bugs,’ said Perdita. She bounded round the room, peering at the ground and kicking over pretend stones.

  ‘I’ll kill the snakes!’ cried Ollie. He lay on his stomach and wriggled between the stands.

  ‘I’ll beat a path,’ offered Dad, hacking round the room with his imaginary machete.

  Abbie snapped branches off invisible trees. ‘Here’s some palm leaves to wipe your –’

  ‘All right, all right,’ laughed Mum. ‘But no one look.’ She took the bucket. Everyone turned away. There was a teeny tinkly sound. Then she came back, smiling sheepishly.

  Abbie stared. She’d never seen Mum in such a mess. Bob was clinging to one side of her head and sticking out from the other. Her face was a blotch of make-up and tears, her velvet skirt was wonky and her blouse stuck out.

  ‘You look like a real explorer,’ said Abbie.

  ‘Me?’ Mum laughed. ‘I’d be eaten alive. I’m not cut out for that sort of thing.’ She came over. ‘Not like you, darling. You’re made of sterner stuff.’ She put her arm round Abbie. ‘You know what? I may be in a pickle. But I’m glad I’m in a pickle with you.’

  ‘Thanks Mum.’ Abbie grinned. A day ago she couldn’t have imagined anything worse than being locked up with the Rotten Lot. But look at them now: Mum in a mess, Dad talking raids and pillage to Fernando, and Ollie peering into the Hairy Hoot’s beak. Abbie suddenly realised three things:

  1) For a Rotten Lot, they weren’t really so rotten.

  2) She’d get them out of here if it was the last thing she did.

  3) If Squashy didn’t come soon, it might well be.

  ***

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Matt whispered to the mouse in the shoebox. Dirk had just dumped it on the desk and insisted on seeing the effects of the Helen of Troy juice first hand.

  The mouse scurried round the box. Matt’s eyes scurried round his desk. A stapler, a pair of scissors, a pot of glue, some pens and an old toothbrush.

  ‘I wonder,’ he murmured. He rummaged in a drawer. Yes – a can of spray paint! He sprayed the bristles of the toothbrush gold. Then he snipped them off. ‘Keep still,’ he said, grasping the mouse gently in his fist. As if understanding perfectly, the creature closed its eyes. ‘That’s it.’ Matt squeezed a line of glue across the mouse’s eyelids. Then he stuck on the golden bristles. The mouse fluttered its luscious new lashes.

  ‘Perfect!’ Matt clapped his hands. ‘Now for the rest of you. I’ll wash you off later, promise.’

  ***

  At Garton police station Sergeant Bolt wiped his eyes with a hanky. ‘Sorry dear, where were we?’

  ‘Famous people’s ’air,’ said Grandma, glaring at him through the reception window. ‘To rule the world. Look!’ she pushed Ab
bie’s tissue under the window.

  The sergeant flattened it out. ‘Oh yes – yes it does say that. I thought p’raps your specs were a bit steamed up.’ He nudged the officer sitting next to him.

  ‘It’s ’er brain that’s steamed up, Sarge,’ whispered the young man, who had so many spots there was hardly any face.

  Sergeant Bolt sucked in his cheeks. He read the rest of the letter. ‘Chest hair, eh? Serious offence, you know, hairy-chested grannies. Isn’t that right, Ludge?’ The two officers hooted with laughter.

  ‘I ’aven’t got chest ’air,’ snapped Grandma. ‘Me friend’s up ’ere, keepin’ me warm. Aren’t you ducks?’ She patted the top of her head. Chester held his breath and tried to think like a wig.

  ‘Her little friend up there needs a bit of brain surgery,’ spluttered spotty Ludge.

  Grandma had had enough. ‘If you don’t send someone out right now, I’ll – I’ll – write to the paper!’ she shouted. ‘They know me. I win all the crossword competitions. They’re bound to print me.’

  ‘OK, OK, keep your hair on. Geddit?’ Sergeant Bolt whacked Ludge’s arm. ‘Now then –’ he gulped down a giggle – ‘what we’ll do is we’ll send someone out with you. Let me see now. How about, um …’ he winked at Ludge, ‘Constable Wibberly?’

  ‘Great idea, Sarge.’ Ludge bit his lip. ‘She could do with some, ah … experience.’

  Sergeant Bolt nodded vigorously. ‘Indeed she could. Go and get her, there’s a good lad. Oh, hang on a sec.’ Grinning at Ludge, he brought Grandma’s tissue to his nose and gave a long, loud blow.

  19 - Waiting pains

  ‘… Then I put my hand into the pike’s mouth,’ said Coriander, ‘and pulled. The hair was all tangled round its teeth.’

  Mum’s eyes were bigger than her face. ‘Did you get bitten?’

  ‘No. I propped the fish’s mouth open with a Pikespike. That’s a little stick with a fork at each end. Matt made it for me.’ Coriander bit her lip. ‘Oh. What are they doing to him down there?’

  ‘How did you know the hair was from a pirate?’ asked Mum. Abbie could see she was trying to distract Coriander.

  ‘Well, I was in the Pamlico River in North Carolina. And I knew that’s where Blackbeard was killed in 1718. The hair I pulled out was all black and thick, and it smelt sort of wicked. You get a feel for these things. Then when I got home we put some strands into Matt’s Carbon Corkscrew to confirm the date.’ Coriander put her head in her hands, ‘Please just bring him here. Please.’

  Mum squeezed her arm. ‘What an exciting time you’ve had,’ she said brightly. ‘The biggest thrill I’ve had this year is stacking the dishwasher.’

  ‘Oh but that can be fun,’ said Coriander. ‘So can brushing your teeth or going to the supermarket. It just depends how you do it.’

  Too right, thought Abbie, picturing her treat after the weekly shop: a pot of Bio-organo-bacterio-vitaminfested yoghurt.

  Mum sighed. ‘S’pose so.’ She looked at Dad, still chatting to Fernando – or rather nodding like a ninny at his tales of Spanish plunder. ‘Do you know, I once took Graham ice skating in pyjamas?’

  ‘What fun.’ Coriander tried to sound brave. But tears had begun to trickle down her cheeks.

  Perdita stopped hiding. Ollie stopped seeking. Fernando stopped talking and Dad stopped nodding. Everyone who could ran over to Coriander. Everyone who couldn’t wobbled on his stand. Everyone who could sat down next to her. Everyone who couldn’t sighed in Spanish sympathy. And everyone stared at the floor.

  Where are you Chess? thought Abbie. Where are you Squashy?

  The window filled with night. The room filled with silence. The bucket filled with wee.

  ***

  ‘Where’s me beauty?’ barked Dirk, shoving the Hair Science door open and striding over to Matt’s desk.

  ‘Here.’ Matt tilted the shoebox towards him.

  ‘Sizzling sapphires!’ Dirk jumped back from the glittering mouse. She smoothed her golden whiskers and wiggled her golden ears.

  Dirk whistled. ‘What a corker. Imagine that on two legs! Now, give me the potion.’ Matt handed him a little brown pot with a white lid.

  Dirk twirled round, kissing it. ‘I can see those fat old frumps queuing up for their Helen juice already.’

  ‘Just because it works on a mouse doesn’t mean –’ began Matt feebly.

  ‘Oh I know old bean, I know.’ Dirk nodded in mock seriousness. ‘Mouse to man, that’s a jolly big leap. That’s why we’ve organised one more little test. And as soon as we know your recipes work,’ he whacked Matt on the shoulder, ‘I promise we’ll leave you in peace.’ He grinned a grim grey grin. ‘Eternal peace.’ He jabbed the gun against Matt’s head. ‘Now get up.’

  ***

  ‘’Aven’t a clue where we’re goin’ , ’ said Grandma, shuffling along the pavement, ‘but me friend knows the way.’ Chester wriggled proudly on her head.

  Constable Wendy Wibberly screamed. ‘It’s alive! What is it?’

  ‘A fine ’airpiece and a trusty friend. That’s all I know, and it’s all you need to. Now you just treat ’im with respect, my girl, or I’ll be mentionin’ a certain rude policewoman when I write to the papers.’

  Wendy Wibberly bit her lip. She knew all about respect – or lack of it. Joining the police force had been the biggest mistake of her life. In her first two months she’d rescued eight cats from trees and failed three times to arrest a lad she’d caught spray painting. Not a good start. Heights made her dizzy and the boy just ran off laughing. The other policemen laughed too. At her. Her head echoed with nine weeks of snickers …

  ‘Where’s me glasses?’ muttered Grandma. ‘Might need ’em when we get there.’

  Chester reached down and tapped a lens. ‘Ooh, fancy that – I’m wearin’ ’em! Glad someone’s got eyes round ’ere.’

  … Not Snickers the chocolate bar. Snickers the nasty giggles. The sort that Sergeant Bolt was probably shaking with right now, at the thought of sending her off with this barmy old bat.

  ‘Ooh me back,’ said Grandma. ‘Just a little rest.’ She eased herself onto a bench. ‘’Ow much further I wonder?’

  Constable Wibberly sat down next to Grandma. She stroked a button on her jacket. Ah, the buttons. So smooth, so shiny, so calm. The whole reason she’d joined the police.

  Chester jumped off Grandma’s head and fussed round her lap. Then he sprang across to Constable Wibberly and tugged at her jacket. She swallowed a squeal.

  ‘All right duckie,’ said Grandma, heaving herself up. ‘Keep your curls on. We’re comin’. ’

  20 - Sisters

  Mum was snoring. A wire of spit gleamed down her chin. Bob was freaking out over Dad’s shoulder. What a photo.

  Dad was dreaming of being a conquistador. ‘Take the land, spare my family,’ he murmured.

  Fernando was grunting gloomily.

  Abbie was tickling Ollie’s cheek with the Bobus hair. He’d given up laughing ages ago.

  Perdita was sitting with her arms round Coriander.

  Coriander was rocking back and forth, hugging her knees. ‘Matt, my Matt,’ she moaned. ‘Matt, my Matt. Matt, my –’

  The door flew open.

  ‘MATT?!’

  Matt stumbled in. Behind him came a gun. Then a sleeve. Then their hard grey owner. Behind him came the swish of a honey dress.

  ‘Together at last,’ snarled Dirk, punching Matt in the back. Matt toppled forward. Coriander grabbed him from the front and Perdita from the back. A Platt sandwich.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ sobbed Matt into Coriander’s neck. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Aaaah,’ cooed Dirk, ‘found your hanky at last. Now you just blow your nose on your wife and tell her how you’ve made our millions.’

  Perdita wheeled round. ‘Leave my dad alone!’ She flew at Dirk. His gun went off. The bullet missed Perdita’s head by a Bobus hair. It punched a hole in the Hairy Hoot’s beak. Everyone screamed.

  Coriander snatched Perdita to h
er chest. ‘Darling! Are you OK?’

  Melliflua shrank against the door. ‘Careful, Dirkie!’

  Dirk grabbed her arm. ‘Shut up, woman!’ He was shaking. ‘Meddling mercury, that was close.’ He jabbed a finger at Perdita. ‘Any more nonsense, my girl, and the next one won’t miss. Let’s get out of here.’ He clattered downstairs.

  Melliflua hesitated at the door. She looked from Coriander to Perdita. Confusion glazed her amber eyes. Had the gunshot woken her up? Had it shown her that Dirk meant business? That someone in her family could actually get hurt?

  Coriander stretched out her arm. ‘Wait, Mell. Please.’

  Melliflua snapped back into action. She whipped her gun from her pocket. ‘Watch it, sis. Don’t push your luck.’

  Coriander sank to her knees. ‘How can you do this to me?’ she pleaded. ‘To Perdita? After all the time you’ve spent looking after her?’

  Not many people can snort prettily. ‘Hnih!’ snorted Melliflua prettily. ‘Why do you think I offered to look after her in the first place? Dirk smelt money here from the start.’ Did Abbie imagine it, or was there the tiniest wobble in her voice?

  Coriander must have heard it too. ‘Mell,’ she said, ‘you’ve always meant so much to me. I’ve always looked up to you. Always admired you. Don’t let it end like this!’

  Melliflua’s gun drooped just a little. ‘Admired me? Go on.’

  ‘Your style. Your elegance. The way you –’ Coriander’s hands drew circles in the air, as if trying to pluck out the right word – ‘glide.’

  Melliflua eyed her suspiciously.

  ‘The way you’ve always, er – flossed your teeth. The way you’ve always, ah – plucked your eyebrows. Remember when you did mine, for my first date?’

  Melliflua wrinkled her nose. ‘You looked like a hedge. I couldn’t let you go out like that.’

  Coriander was warming up. ‘The way you always, um – a’milked.’

  ‘I what?’

  ‘The Christmas play at school, remember? How you got to be a maid a’milking, and I was only a goose a’laying.’

  Melliflua’s eyes went misty. ‘Such a pretty apron.’