Jungle Tangle Page 17

  While the others waited in the lounge for the police to return, Abbie went to the reception desk. She picked up the phone. Hang on. There’ll be so many questions. She replaced the receiver. Better leave it till they were back in Puyo. Then she could email Mum and Dad.

  * * *

  ‘No phone calls, no emails. It’s been a whole week!’ Mum pressed her fist against her mouth.

  ‘They must still be out of reach,’ said Dad. ‘Probably just held up. You know what these jungles are like.’ He tried to sound light yet loving, caring yet casual.

  It didn’t quite work. Mum burst into tears.

  ‘Just trying to help,’ Dad murmured, wiping his own eyes. He put his arms round her and said soothingly, ‘I know, love, it’s a nightmare.’

  Ollie patted Mum’s arm. ‘Don’t worry. Teacher says most big jungle animals are harmless. Only a jaguar would eat Abbie and–’

  Mum wailed.

  Ollie rolled his eyes. ‘I was going to say – and jaguars are shy.’

  Dad put his arm round them both. ‘I’ll give Matt a ring. See if he’s heard anything.’

  But down the phone came nothing but moan. ‘My wife, my daughter, my hippo … where are they?’

  * * *

  At Bradleigh police station Sergeant Bolt leaned over his desk. He took a pen and stuck it behind his left ear. He stuck another one behind his right ear. He stuck one up each sleeve, one down each sock and one in each nostril. ‘Eight,’ he murmured. ‘Same as last time.’ He found another pen and stuck it in his left earhole. ‘Ha!’ Removing the pen from his left sleeve, he jotted down his new record for biro body-storage spots.

  He sighed. The nostril pens whooshed across the room. Sunday was the pits. Nothing ever happened. No hold-ups, no showdowns, no car chases or murder cases. Not that they happened from Monday to Saturday either. It was just that he felt it more on Sunday. That was because it was the day of his favourite TV show, Cop on to This, in which ace detective Aubergine Frisk solved extraordinary crimes with his mind-blowing powers of–

  The phone rang. Sergeant Bolt snatched the receiver. ‘Brad-leigh Police Station. Can I help you?’

  There was a muffled sound.

  ‘One moment, please.’ He pulled the pen out of his left ear. ‘Could you repeat that?’

  ‘I said there’s a hippo in the park.’

  Sergeant Bolt lowered the receiver and wiggled a finger in his ear. Was the pen lid stuck inside? ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said into the mouthpiece, ‘I thought you said–’

  ‘I did. My Frankincense spotted it early this morning. I’ve phoned eight times but there was no answer.’

  Sergeant Bolt blushed. That was because he’d been watching Aubergine use his staggering gifts of–

  ‘You still there?’ said the voice.

  Sergeant Bolt cleared his throat. ‘Can you please inform me of the exact location of this mammalian individual?’ Nothing like a few big words to hide your boo-boos.

  ‘By the playground in Bradleigh Park. But that’s not much use. It left ages ago.’

  Sergeant Bolt put the phone down. It rang again.

  ‘Oi,’ came a woman’s voice. ‘Bleeding great pottymus wandering down me street half an hour ago. Thought you oughtta know.’

  ‘Where exactly did it–?’ The line went dead.

  Another call. ‘Twenty minutes ago … Primrose Mall … heading for the river.’

  And another. ‘You won’t believe this, officer. I’m at the river. I was just feeding the ducks and–’

  ‘I’ll be right there.’ Sergeant Bolt slammed the phone down. He scooped up his car keys and toy gun – a real confidence booster – and ran out to the police car. Then, sirens wailing and gun-caps loaded, he sped off to the river.

  27 - Goodbyes and Hellos

  After lunch at the Hotel Armadillo (specially imported pizza and chips) the police returned. A huge helicopter shuddered down, sending leaves and monkeys flying.

  Inside the aircraft the head policeman rubbed his forehead. It was on fire. Must be the jungle fever. After flying all the way to Quito to fetch a bigger helicopter and extra men, he felt worse than ever. He fished a bottle from his pocket. The doctor he’d seen this morning had prescribed one pill a day. He swallowed two. Then he clambered out of the helicopter.

  He stopped. He stared. He shook his head. The weirdest crowd was tottering towards him.

  A man without a neck.

  A woman with wonky eyes.

  A tall man in a cowboy hat with bandages dripping from his hands.

  A burger-on-legs in a grubby white suit and a mint-green tie.

  Three figures in white coats, one of whom had a circular wooden nose.

  An old lady with a wig that bounced on her head.

  A little girl with a tarantula that danced on hers.

  An anaconda that glided off into the forest.

  And bringing up the rear – Santa Alba and her blessed Chihuahua! – that crazy little box on legs.

  The head policeman lifted the pill bottle and poured the lot down his throat. Giggling with a sudden and inexplicable joy, he stumbled forward and began the arrests.

  Abbie and the Platts lingered at the entrance with the hotel staff. After hugs and cheers from the young men, they headed for the helicopter. Brillo scuttled after them.

  Halfway across the clearing Perdita stopped. She bent down and lifted him into her arms. ‘Pleeease, Mum. He’d have a great life. Dad could make him a sandpit or clockwork bugs to chase.’

  ‘But there are real bugs here,’ said Coriander gently.

  Brillo nuzzled Perdita’s face with his snout. ‘You see? He’s saying he wants to come.’

  Or maybe, thought Abbie, he’s saying goodbye. ‘How could we take him on the plane?’ she said.

  Perdita sniffed. ‘If we can take two shrunken heads, we can take an armadillo.’

  Coriander laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Darling,’ she said gently, ‘we must let Brillo decide.’

  The armadillo wriggled across into Coriander’s arms. He lay still for a moment then reached towards Abbie. She kissed his ears, drinking in his earthy smell. He slipped to the ground, rubbed against Perdita’s leg and shot off into the forest.

  Perdita stared after him. ‘Bye, brill Brillo,’ she whispered. Abbie squeezed her hand. They walked slowly towards the helicopter.

  The pilot agreed to drop them off in Puyo so they could collect their luggage. Abbie also wanted to visit Antonio Monio again to thank him for his help in finding Carmen. Maybe that would cheer the poor man up. Meanwhile the helicopter would fly on to Quito with the VUPs (Very Unpleasant Prisoners), then return to Puyo to collect them tomorrow morning.

  Grandma asked to sit in front with the head policeman. The VUPs sat behind them, handcuffed and guarded by the other officers. Abbie, Perdita and Coriander sat at the back.

  The helicopter roared into the air. Abbie saw Grandma talking to, or rather shouting at, the head policeman. What’s she on about now? Abbie couldn’t hear a thing above the racket of the engine. Whatever it was, the head policeman was nodding wildly – though it wasn’t clear if he was agreeing with Grandma or trying to dislodge Gav, who was hopping on his head.

  Abbie gazed out of the window. The forest canopy stretched below: a bubbling, endless lid of green. But underneath, she thought, it’s all so fragile. Somewhere down there lay Quempo’s village, and who knew how many others, all with mums, dads, uncles and children. Perhaps some of them knew nothing of the outside world, of ice-cream or blue eyes or socks.

  I hope that’s true, thought Abbie. The Earth needs its secrets. This delicate immensity must be one of the last. She hugged her rucksack and prayed it would stay that way.

  The rucksack wriggled.

  Abbie opened the flap. ‘You OK?’ she whispered.

  ‘More air,’ hissed the bag. ‘We sweat like peegs down here.’

  ‘I’ll leave the top open,’ said Abbie. ‘But don’t let the police see you. You’re illegal,
remember?’

  Half an hour later the helicopter touched down outside Puyo police station. When the propellers had stilled, Abbie, Perdita and Coriander climbed out.

  ‘Come on, Grandma,’ called Abbie.

  ‘I’ll stay put,’ Grandma shouted from her seat. ‘This nice chap’s agreed to take me on to Quito. I’ve got some business to see to.’

  ‘What business?’

  Grandma tapped her nose. ‘See you tomorrow.’ The helicopter door closed.

  ‘Come back!’ Abbie cried.

  Grandma waved. The engine started up.

  ‘She can’t do that!’ wailed Abbie. ‘She’ll never manage on her own.’

  ‘She’s not on her own.’ Coriander patted Abbie’s arm. ‘She’s got Gav to direct her and the police to look after her.’

  ‘And she can look after Dollarine,’ said Perdita, ‘while her parents are being locked up.’

  Abbie sighed. ‘I s’pose so.’ Though young Dollarine seemed quite capable of looking after herself, especially with a spider the size of her sandal in tow.

  When they’d waved the helicopter off, Abbie, Perdita and Coriander went into the police station. The officers who’d been rescued from the jungle were waiting for them with handshakes and party cakes.

  ‘How we ever can thank you?’ said the first officer, handing round slices of passion-fruit pie.

  The second officer raised his glass of guava juice. ‘A toast …’ he said.

  ‘… To dancing box,’ finished the third officer.

  A snort of disgust came from Abbie’s rucksack. She jabbed it with her elbow. ‘Er, thanks for the cakes,’ she said loudly. ‘We should be going now.’

  A safe distance from the station she opened her bag. ‘Numpties! You nearly gave yourselves away.’

  ‘I never say notheeng,’ came Fernando’s voice.

  ‘Wasn’t me,’ insisted Carmen.

  ‘You liar lady.’

  ‘You cheatie boy.’

  ‘I love you, my Carmen.’

  ‘I love you, my Nando.’

  ‘Could’ve fooled me,’ Abbie muttered. ‘You never stop arguing.’

  ‘You argue too,’ said Carmen, ‘eef you been through what we been through.’

  ‘Good point,’ said Coriander. ‘It’s amazing when you think about it. Death, decapitation, desertion – and they’re still devoted.’ She reached into Abbie’s rucksack and patted the shrunken heads. ‘You’re a great advert for marriage, you know.’

  Abbie stopped. ‘What did you say?’ She stared at Coriander. ‘Now there’s a thought. I wonder if …’ She shook her head. ‘Nah.’ It was a potty idea.

  So potty it was worth a try.

  ‘Come on!’ she cried. Grabbing Perdita and Coriander’s hands, she ran down the road. Not towards the hotel. Towards a bar by the river.

  * * *

  You’d think he hadn’t moved for a week. Antonio Monio was slumped over the same table in Bar Tipitopitapas. ‘Oh oh,’ he moaned when Abbie tapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Oh oh,’ he groaned when she introduced Perdita.

  ‘Oh oh,’ he sighed when the shrunken heads were popped on the table.

  ‘Oh no!’ he cried when Abbie told him her idea.

  * * *

  Mrs Monio opened the door. Seeing her husband she tried to close it.

  But Abbie shoved past Antonio and jammed her foot in the door. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘we’re here to help you. Let us in.’

  Mrs Monio frowned. ‘Who you?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ said Abbie.

  A very long one. Four hundred and thirty-two years to be precise, plus twenty-six minutes for insults. But that didn’t matter. By the time Fernando and Carmen had finished their tale, Mrs Manuela Monio’s eyes were shining.

  ‘Such love,’ she whispered. ‘Such strong hearts.’ Not strictly true. But for once neither Carmen nor Fernando corrected her by explaining their hearts had conked out centuries ago.

  Carmen nodded. ‘You see? Eef we estay together, so can you.’

  Antonio Monio reached his hand across the table. ‘Take me back, Manuela. Weeth golden Inca box we can buy another hotel, oh oh.’

  She blinked at him. ‘But not een backside of beyond – you promeese?’

  He banged the table. ‘New York, Paris, London … Monio Metropole, here we come!’

  ‘Oh oh,’ breathed Manuela, clasping her husband’s hand.

  * * *

  ‘Graham, quick!’ shrieked Mum. Dad ran over to the computer and stood behind her.

  ‘Oh,’ he breathed. ‘Thank goodness.’ He put his hands on Mum’s shoulders and read.

  Email: hartleyhome@yahoo.co.uk

  Subject: safe and sound

  Hi Mum, Dad and Ollie,

  I’m writing this from the hotel in Puyo. We’ve had the most amazing adventure in the jungle. Can’t go into it now, except to say that we’ve found Carmen. And can you believe it, Hubris Klench has been arrested!

  Carmen is the crossest, bossiest shrunken head you’ve ever met. She’s always arguing with Fernando, which apparently means they love each other to bits. Are grown-ups weird or what?

  Hi Ollie. Tell your class we’ve stroked an anaconda, tickled a tarantula and met the coolest armadillo in the Amazon.

  I’m off to bed now. We’re flying back to Quito tomorrow – by helicopter! Can’t wait to see you on Thursday.

  All my love, Abbie XXXX

  Mum kissed Dad. Dad kissed Mum. They both kissed the screen.

  * * *

  ‘HA!’ Terry Strode-Boylie punched the air with his fist. ‘Victory!’ He jumped up and waved the Monday paper above his head.

  ‘What, dear?’ Genevieve put her coffee down.

  Terry smacked The Bradleigh Bellow on the table. He jabbed the headline.

  HIPPO HOP – ZOO FACES CHOP

  special report by editor Corky Shocka

  A runaway hippo could spell THE END for Bradleigh Zoo. Sunday strollers were STUNNED by the sight of Hepzibah Potts shambling round the town yesterday. The mud-mad monster CRASHED through the zoo barrier some time between Saturday evening and Sunday morning, when her escape was discovered by Charlie Chumb. The DISTRAUGHT zookeeper was at a loss for words.

  ‘It’s … er … we can’t, um … she’d never … ah …’ he told THE BELLOW.

  Zoo owner Matt Platt agreed. ‘Why would she run away? She has a wonderful life here,’ he snivelled. ‘Something must have tempted her out. It’s a complete mystery.’

  The WANDERING WOBBLER was finally arrested by Sergeant Bernard Bolt of Bradleigh Police. ‘I found the mighty miscreant immersed in the river west of Bradleigh Park. Her owners were contacted immediately. Upon their arrival, the offending mammal returned willingly to her pool of origin in the zoological gardens.’

  While the police are sure that Ms Potts has a WHALE of a life at the zoo, her escape is forcing them to RETHINK its FUTURE.

  ‘Hippo today – who knows what tomorrow?’ said Sergeant Bolt. ‘Without fences we could face all manner of wildlife on the streets. Much as it grieves me, we have to consider closure.’

  ‘How about that, Marcus?’ Terry banged the table. ‘Your shame avenged. Once that disaster area’s shut down we’ll stand tall again.’ He stood tall. ‘Revenge is sweet.’

  ‘Look, Dad.’ Marcus pointed to the bottom of the article.

  BUT WE’LL FIGHT THIS, won’t we, readers? Join THE BELLOW’S BATTLE to keep the zoo open. I’m sure you love visiting as much as I do. So put your names where your hearts are – and sign our petition below.

  Terry snorted. ‘Who’s going to sign a pesky petition? No, I guarantee it’s curtains for the zoo. Don’t you feel great, m’boy?’

  ‘Yes, Dad,’ said Marcus, feeling completely, utterly and 158.74% the opposite.

  28 - The Middle of the World

  Abbie needn’t have worried about Grandma. She’d had the time of her life in Quito. ‘I’ve been treated like a princess,’ she said, tickling Chest
er.

  It was Monday lunchtime. They were sitting in the canteen at Quito police headquarters. For once the plans had gone smoothly. The helicopter had collected Abbie, Perdita and Coriander from the hotel in Puyo and flown them to the capital.

  Grandma had spent the previous night at the Chief Superintendent’s home. ‘They couldn’t do enough for me,’ she said. ‘Mrs Super washed all me clothes. And the Chief bought me that.’ She pointed to a brand new shopping trolley in the corner of the canteen. ‘And,’ she produced a card from her pocket, ‘’e gave me this.’ She passed it round.

  ‘A lifetime’s free bridge jumping, anywhere in Ecuador.’ Abbie giggled. ‘Aren’t you the lucky one?’

  ‘Not just me. Gav got an award for rescuin’ the policemen.’

  The little box jumped from Grandma’s lap onto the table. He bowed. A medal was stuck to his screen. ‘Clap your hands for Gav the Fleet,’ he crowed, ‘Order of the Natty Feet.’

  He skipped across the table. Omelette and potato flew everywhere.

  ‘For love of Maria,’ yelled Abbie’s bag, ‘turn off thees beeghead!’

  Wiping egg off her T-shirt, Abbie was glad to oblige.

  ‘Course,’ said Grandma, ‘it’s the least they could do. We’ve really put the Ecuadorian police on the map. All them top villains caught red-’anded.’

  ‘What’ll happen to them?’ said Perdita. ‘Will they stay in Ecuador?’

  Grandma shook her head. ‘They’re bein’ flown back to their own countries to stand trial. At least …’ She paused. ‘Most of ’em are.’

  Coriander put down her fork. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, that cowboy chap – they ’ad to let ’im go.’

  Perdita smacked the table. ‘Why? He was about to wreck the rainforest!’

  ‘No proof,’ said Grandma. ‘The police thought at first ’e was Brag Swaggenham, a notorious oil baron ’oo once burned down an island in Indonesia. So they ’ad Brag’s fingerprints faxed from Jakarta. But the prints didn’t match this chap’s. So ’e’s free to go. And …’ She cleared her throat. ‘There’s someone else, too.’