Dead Hairy Read online

  No wonder he’s not their biggest fan, thought Abbie. She went across to their other not-biggest fan. Fernando’s face was dead as a doll’s. She tugged his hair gently. ‘It’s OK. They’ve gone.’

  His eyelids sprang up. He glared round the room. ‘Hoot!’ he snapped.

  ‘Good morning to you too,’ said Perdita huffily. ‘Yes thank you, I slept very well.’

  ‘The senorita, she steell angry,’ said Fernando to Abbie. ‘But now she see. Look in Hootie beak.’

  Frowning, Abbie went over to the Hairy Hoot. She lifted the flap at the front of the beak. The tube was hollow. She ran her fingers round the inside wall to check – and felt the last thing she expected. She pulled it out.

  ‘Hah!’ crowed Fernando. ‘You see? Just now, Melliflua she show thees to Dirk. And she say, “Here. Another one arrive today.” And Dirk he read it. Then he say, “How these are getting out?” And Melliflua she say, “I no idea. But never mind how – they good news. They tell us she steell there. They help us keep an eye on her.” ’ Fernando paused dramatically. ‘Then you senoritas come to door. So Dirk he shove thees in Hootie beak for hide. And they pretend look at feesh.’

  ‘Give it here!’ Perdita ran over and snatched the toilet roll from Abbie. She began to unravel the pink tissue. ‘Oh!’ she gasped. ‘It’s Mum’s writing! Dated 28 July – that’s yesterday!’

  ‘My darling Matt and Perdita,’ she read. She stopped. Her top teeth scoured her chin. A tear bulged from her eye and dropped onto the toilet paper.

  Abbie put her hand on Perdita’s shoulder. Chester jumped over to dab her eyes.

  Perdita continued. ‘I hope you’re both well. I think of you all the time and wonder why you haven’t written. It’s now ten weeks and six days since I was –’

  ‘Hide!’ snapped Fernando. Chester plunged down the back of Perdita’s neck as the door to Rare Hair opened. Abbie snatched the loo roll from Perdita and shoved it into her pocket. Fernando shut his face down.

  ‘Almost forgot.’ Aunt Melliflua’s head wafted round the door. ‘Lunch at one, please, Perdie.’ She leaned forward to look at Perdita. ‘You all right, apple pie?’

  ‘Fine,’ Perdita mumbled.

  Abbie thought fast. They had to finish reading that letter. Now.

  ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘my mum’s invited Perdita for lunch. She’s already bought all the stuff.’ For good measure she added, ‘My grandma’s all excited. And cancellations make her ill.’ It wasn’t exactly a lie. Squashy threw a right wobbly whenever Bingo was called off.

  Perdita sniffed. ‘Th-that’s right, Auntie. There’s bread in the cupboard for sandwiches.’

  ‘But –’ Melliflua frowned – ‘what about making them, sweetie? You know I get a rash spreading butter.’

  ‘Try margarine,’ said Abbie helpfully. She ushered Perdita past her aunt and through the door. Then, fingering the loo roll in her pocket, Abbie thought again. ‘Or maybe you could go out for lunch.’ That would keep Melliflua and Dirk out of the way for longer.

  ‘Might just do that,’ murmured Melliflua, as the girls headed downstairs.

  ***

  Matt finished trimming Samson’s beard.

  ‘How often do you do that?’ said Dad.

  ‘Oh every day. Twice sometimes.’

  ‘I just can’t … I mean … I’m speechless,’ said Dad, who’d talked non-stop for the last half hour. ‘This place is just –’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, but I’d better get back to work. It’ll be lunch soon. I c-can show you the rest of the museum another time if you’re interested.’

  ‘Interested? I’ve never been so interested in all my life! This beats the Pyramids at dawn! The Parthenon by moonlight! This is … Living History! This is … The Past in Pigtails! This is … Abbie!’

  ‘Hi Dad.’ She poked her head round the door. ‘Can Perdita come for lunch, Mr Platt?’

  ***

  Coriander scraped out the last bit of melon flesh with her teeth. ‘Delicious.’ She wiped her mouth and handed the peel to Vinnie. He chewed it loudly.

  ‘Anyone for grapes?’ Coriander held up the bunch. Winnie nodded from across the room.

  ‘Ready?’ said Coriander. Winnie opened her mouth. It was nearly as big as Perdita’s.

  ‘Catch.’ Coriander threw a grape. Winnie caught it between her very large teeth.

  9 - Smudges

  Dad smacked the steering wheel. ‘Genius!’ he bellowed. ‘Your dad’s a genius!’

  ‘Keep it down, Dad,’ said Abbie from the back seat. ‘Perdita’s right behind you.’

  ‘You never told me it was real hair, Abbs!’ Dad went on. ‘Can you believe it? I touched Einstein’s eyebrows!’ He whooped with delight. The car veered onto the pavement.

  ‘Watch out, Dad!’

  A mother lifted her hand from a pushchair to make a rude sign.

  Dad waved an apology and swerved back onto the road. ‘I stroked Henry the Eighth’s beard!’ Beating a rhythm on the steering wheel, he sang:

  I stroked his beard –

  His weirdy beard

  So red and fat –

  How cool is that?

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Yes love?’

  ‘Shut up.’

  But Perdita was smiling for the first time since they’d found the letter. ‘You like our museum then, Mr Hartley?’

  ‘Like it?’ He swivelled round in the driving seat. ‘Like it?’

  ‘Dad!’ yelled Abbie as the wing mirror pinged against a lamp-post.

  ‘Sorry.’ He turned back to the front. ‘It’s fantabulent. It’s magnificous. It’s …’

  ‘… Probably better not to tell Mum,’ said Abbie.

  Dad sighed. ‘I know what you mean. She might not quite – what’s the word? – appreciate it.’ He paused. ‘She would’ve done once, you know.’

  Abbie snorted. ‘Not since I was born.’

  ‘Maybe. But when I met her she loved a bit of oddity.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Your mother,’ declared Dad, ‘once took me ice skating in pyjamas. She once hung our cutlery on the washing line. She once,’ he smacked his knee, ‘dug a hole in the garden and planted herself.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Abbie.

  ‘To see how it felt to be a tree. But when you were born she got all sort of –’

  ‘Boring?’

  Dad laughed. ‘That’s a bit harsh. I was going to say worried. Worried about being a good mother. About keeping up appearances, doing normal mum things. Dieting, ironing your socks, making yoghurt.’

  ‘That’s not normal,’ said Abbie, picturing the sludge in her lunch box. ‘That’s sick.’

  At the front door Perdita was clamped in an Ollie hug. Her eyes darted between Abbie’s face and pocket, while Ollie explained that he and Mum were making her a ‘special lunch’.

  As soon as Perdita had unhooked herself from Ollie, the girls ran into the garden and made for the treehouse. Abbie scrambled up after Perdita. She stood on the platform and fished out the toilet roll from her pocket. Chester wriggled out from under Perdita’s T-shirt, where he’d been hiding since the last conversation with Melliflua. He jumped onto her shoulder, ready for hanky duty.

  They sat down carefully on the wonky planks. ‘You’d better not stay too long,’ said Abbie. ‘You need to put the letter back in the Hoot’s beak. Your aunt and uncle might look for it when they get back from lunch.’

  Perdita nodded and, with shaking hands, peeled back the loo roll. It wasn’t easy. The tissue had gone lumpy from her tears. She took a deep breath and carried on from where she’d left off. ‘It’s now ten weeks and six days since I was … No!’ Perdita clapped a hand to her mouth.

  ‘What?’ whispered Abbie, peering over her shoulder.

  ‘Kidnapped!’ Perdita let out a sob. She read on. ‘And still you haven’t answered my letters. I’m so frightened you’re not at the museum any more, that you’ve been kidnapped too. But I hope and plait every day, trusting that yo
u’re OK. That I was the only one taken that night. The only one to feel those gloved hands across my mouth and that blanket over my head. The only one to be pushed into that waiting car.’ Perdita looked up. Tears streaked her cheeks. Abbie squeezed her arm.

  ‘So here I am at … Oh no,’ wailed Perdita. ‘I’ve smudged it!’ Her tears flowed faster. Chester leapt into action, dabbing her eyes. But it was too late.

  ‘Something something … oh it’s all blurred … keep me company. But they just remind me of … something … and how much I mi … something something. Please please write. But remember, you must addr … oh no! Look what I’ve done!’ Perdita put her head in her hands.

  Abbie took the loo roll. The next section was a splodge of tears and ink. Chester lay over the sheet, trying to dry the smudges. But the damage was done.

  Abbie squinted at the tissue. ‘Remember, you must addr … something … Ch … something … at B something.’ Underneath she read, ‘All my … something, Cor … something.’ At the bottom were lots of fuzzy kisses.

  Perdita looked up. ‘I’ve ruined it. The address.’ Her face crumpled again.

  Abbie moved the loo roll out of the way of Perdita’s tears. She read over what she could. ‘We need to copy this out. Wait.’

  She jumped down from the tree. Two minutes later she was back with a sheet of paper and a pen. She copied out the letter, putting question marks where she couldn’t make out the words. Perdita watched through her tears, scraping her chin with her teeth and tugging her plaits. Chester hovered between her eyes and nose. Every now and then he jumped onto a branch to shake himself free of tears, like a dog after a swim.

  Abbie held up the copied-out letter. ‘I’ve guessed some of the words and underlined them,’ she said.

  Perdita sniffed.

  So here I am at ????????????? keep me company. But they just remind me of family and how much I miss you. Please please write. But remember, you must address it to Ch???? at B??????.

  All my love forever,

  Coriander XXXXXXXXXXXX

  ‘But we still haven’t got the address,’ moaned Perdita.

  Abbie frowned. ‘Well, we know it’s “Ch something” at “B something”. Maybe “Ch something” is a name. If she’s been kidnapped, perhaps she’s saying the letter has to be addressed to someone else. Someone who’s helping her. Maybe the same person who smuggled this letter out.’

  ‘And “B something”?’

  ‘That must be the place.’ Abbie peered at the loo roll again. ‘I think it’s two words. B something, then a shorter word.’

  ‘Is that “g” and “h”?’ asked Perdita, squinting at the end of the first word.

  Abbie chewed her pen. Then she shouted, ‘Bradleigh!’

  Perdita jostled forward to get a better look. ‘No … d’you think so?’ She sprang up, nearly knocking Abbie out of the tree. ‘So all this time Mum’s been in a town twenty miles away. When I thought she was cavorting with castanets. That’s incredible!’ She threw her arms wide. A grin ripped her face. ‘Brilliant! Fantastic!’ She danced on the planks. They groaned alarmingly. ‘Mum, Mum, here we come!’

  ‘Hang on a sec,’ said Abbie, spreading her palms either side to steady the planks. ‘There must be loads of places beginning with Bradleigh. Bradleigh Library, Bradleigh Sports Centre, Bradleigh Cinema … we’ve got to work out the second word.’

  Perdita went still. Air seemed to leak out of her. She flopped down next to Abbie. ‘We’ll never find Mum.’ Her head drooped.

  ‘Don’t give up now!’ cried Abbie.

  Perdita’s shoulders drooped.

  ‘What about these?’ Abbie pointed to her plaits.

  The plaits drooped.

  ‘Oh come on!’ Abbie hit a plank.

  The plank drooped. For goodness sake, when would Mr Platt come and fix this treehouse?

  Mr Platt. The Very Odd Job Man.

  The Very Odd Job Man from the phone book.

  ‘The phone book,’ murmured Abbie. It was worth a try.

  They didn’t have a chance to look before lunch. But Abbie was glad to see that Perdita had perked up. She was helping Squashy look for her glasses in the hall. Abbie laid the table and watched them through the kitchen door.

  ‘Where did you last see them?’ Perdita was asking.

  ‘How could I see ’em if I wasn’t wearing ’em to see?’ barked Squashy.

  Chester, who’d disguised himself as a belt round Perdita’s waist, suddenly jumped onto Grandma’s head. He pushed her wig off. Her glasses were underneath, perched on the mouldy wisps of her real hair.

  ‘Whassat?’ Squashy’s hand flew to her head.

  ‘Chester,’ said Perdita.

  Grandma grabbed him by the curls. Watching through the kitchen door, Abbie held her breath. What on earth would the grumpy old grumbleguts make of Chester?

  Grandma dangled him in front of her face. She pushed her glasses onto her nose and peered at him for a long time. Then she said, ‘Pleased to meet you, Chester. Cuddly little chap, aren’t you?’ Abbie grinned. You had to hand it to Squashy: it would take more than wriggling chest hair to rattle her trolley.

  ‘Don’t let Mum see him,’ Abbie whispered. ‘She’ll have a fit. Hey Grandma, he likes you.’ Chester gave a little bounce then dived back down to belt business.

  Lunch was quiche and ham and crusty white bread and cold sausage and lemonade and all those things Mum only did for visitors. Abbie was glad. It was about time someone made a fuss of Perdita.

  Not that Perdita really noticed. When she wasn’t pouring salt on her bread or ketchup on her thumb, she was scraping her teeth over her chin and drumming her fingers on the table.

  Abbie got the message. ‘We’ll clear up and make some coffee,’ she said as soon as everyone had finished. ‘You go into the sitting-room. We’ll bring it in.’

  ‘How kind,’ said Mum. ‘I can see you’re having a good influence, Perdita.’ Abbie’s mind stuck its tongue out at Mum.

  ‘I’ll help,’ said Ollie.

  ‘No,’ said Perdita hurriedly. ‘You go with your mum and dad and I’ll bring you a special treat.’ Ollie giggled. There they go again, thought Abbie. Good as married.

  The grown ups and Ollie went into the sitting-room. Abbie closed the door and fetched the phone book from the hall table.

  Perdita was already peering at the loo roll in the kitchen. Abbie plonked the phone book on the table and began to thumb through the business section. When she got to the ‘Br’ page Chester jumped off Perdita’s waist and stretched up the centre of the double page like a bookmark.

  ‘So, the first word’s “Bradleigh”. ’ Abbie studied the toilet roll. ‘And the second word looks short.’ Her eyes skimmed down the page. ‘Bradleigh Blinds?’ She studied the toilet roll. ‘Naah. The second word begins with a spiky letter. Bradleigh Inn? Nope, it’s wider than an I. Looks more like a …’ She muttered her way down the list until … she jabbed the page triumphantly.

  Perdita shoved her face over Abbie’s shoulder. ‘Zoo?!’

  ‘Look.’ Abbie pointed at the loo roll. ‘The first letter of the second word could easily be Z. And the only Z with “Bradleigh” in front of it is “Zoo”!’ Chester bounced round the table.

  Perdita looked from the phone book to the toilet roll and back. ‘Well …’ she bit her inside cheek. ‘I see what you mean. Yes!’

  ‘There’s the number. Go on. You can use the phone in Mum and Dad’s room. Everyone’ll hear you in the hall.’

  ‘Will you do it?’ asked Perdita. ‘I’m shaking too much.’

  Chester slipped under Perdita’s T-shirt. The girls crept upstairs with the phone book and tiptoed across the landing. Abbie closed the door softly and sat on Mum and Dad’s bed. Perdita sat on top of her.

  ‘Shove over,’ hissed Abbie.

  ‘Sorry. Not thinking,’ mumbled Perdita, moving away. Abbie held the receiver between them and dialled the number. Her heart thundered in her ears. She could hardly hear the ring tone.
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  After ten rings a woman’s voice answered, ‘Bradleigh Zoo. Can I help you?’

  ‘Hello,’ croaked Abbie. Her throat felt full of sand. ‘May I speak to Coriander Platt please?’

  There was a pause. Just a little one.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mrs Coriander Platt?’

  Another pause.

  ‘No one of that name here.’

  ‘Are you sure? I think she might be working there.’

  ‘No. I’d remember a name like that. Who am I speaking to?’

  Abbie slammed the phone down. Her hands were tremb-ling so much it took her ages to replace the receiver.

  Perdita grabbed her arm. ‘D’you think she’s there?’

  ‘I don’t know. And if she is, phoning was a bad idea. They’re not exactly going to be parading her with the penguins if she was kidnapped, are they? She’s bound to be hidden away. I’ll have to go there and snoop around.’

  Perdita squeezed her wrist. ‘I’ll come too.’

  ‘No, we’ve been through this. You can’t go. You’ve got to stay at home and pretend everything’s normal.’

  ‘But I can’t,’ moaned Perdita.

  ‘Got to,’ said Abbie. ‘Look, you told me your dad couldn’t handle it if you went missing. Plus, if your aunt and uncle are involved – which I’m not saying they are – you can’t just disappear. You have to go back and act normal. Otherwise they might –’ Abbie shrugged – ‘well, I dunno. But you’ve got to pretend nothing’s changed.’

  Perdita grabbed a bedspread frill. ‘They can’t be involved, they just can’t. Why would they be? I mean –’ she rubbed the lace miserably between her fingers – ‘Auntie Mell is mum’s sister!’

  And Henry the Eighth was Anne Boleyn’s husband, thought Abbie, but that didn’t stop him reorganising her head. What she said, though, was, ‘Look, we don’t know anything for sure. Let’s not worry about it till I’ve been to Bradleigh Zoo.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we go to the police?’