This Wonderful Thing

by Adam Baron

  The hospital was right next to the River Thames. While Dad was being seen, Mum took us off for a walk and, in spite of the way I was feeling, it was pretty cool to be in London. We saw Big Ben, though it was covered in scaffolding, plus the Houses of Parliament. We saw a truck with people on, which drove straight into the water and became a boat. We also saw the London Eye, this big wheel with pods you can go in. We didn’t, though, but I stared at it, watching it turn really slowly, thinking that it was just like life. It didn’t stop. It just kept going, and you couldn’t direct it. All you could do was trust, and hope, and pray that it would lead you where you wanted to go. I was going to say something about it to Mum, but she was looking at her phone. She nodded and I frowned.

  ‘What is it?’ I said.

  Mum smiled. ‘Would you like to go on a boat?’

  ‘That one?’ Milly asked, pointing at the boat that had been a truck.

  ‘No. Different one. You can get a boat to where we’re going, then it’s just a short train ride to Charlton. What do you think?’

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

  The boat was a Thames Clipper. After Dad came out of the hospital we queued up. He warned us all about pickpockets, which he said London was rife with, and we crossed a gangplank to get on board. We stood outside, even though it was cold, and Mum pointed out landmarks as we cruised along. We saw Cleopatra’s Needle, which Dad said would be useless for sewing with (groan). We saw Shakespeare’s Globe and the Tate Modern, and then we stared up at the bottom of Tower Bridge. The boat sped up then, going really fast, all this spray flying up behind us. It stopped a few times and then we got off – at a place called Greenwich. I felt a bit wobbly on dry land, as if the whole world was moving beneath me, threatening to trip me up.

  That felt like my life too.

  The feeling didn’t last long, though. It vanished as soon as we visited this museum overlooking the river. We actually went in because it had started raining, but it was really good. It had things from Henry VIII’s Greenwich Palace in, like tiles from his chapel floor and these big cooking pots. I was glad about that because we were doing Henry VIII and I could tell Mr Newton, and I was also pleased because it WAS free. Though, when we came out, Mum said it wasn’t all we were doing.

  ‘We’re going on that,’ she said, pointing up through some trees.

  What Mum meant was this MASSIVE wooden boat. To start with I thought that it must be in the river, but it wasn’t. When we got closer, I saw that it was on land and the bottom had been encased in glass.

  ‘It’s like it’s in an iceberg,’ Milly said. And she was right. It looked amazing and I skipped forward, wondering what it would be like on board, though I still don’t know.

  Because this happened.

  Mum looked at her watch. She said that we were a bit early for our time slot. That meant we could have lunch so we went off to the left of the boat, which Dad said was called the Cutty Sark. We walked into something he called the Old Royal Naval College and found a bench. It had stopped raining now and it was all right to sit on after Mum had wiped it. Dad let Benji out of his pushchair for a runaround. Milly and I got our sandwiches out of my schoolbag – they were under Mr Goldy (no way we were leaving him behind). We took him out and, when we’d finished eating, I went to put him back – but Milly stopped me.

  ‘Not fair,’ she said. ‘You want to see the Cutty Sark too, don’t you, oh fluffy one?’

  I nodded Mr Goldy’s head for him, but then whisked him away. Benji had run up and tried to grab him.

  ‘Nice try,’ I said.

  Milly strapped Benji into his pushchair and wagged her finger at him. ‘You said “yuck”, remember?’

  Dad laughed. ‘I did too. And that’s really the smelly old thing you found in the river at Cuckmere?’

  I covered Mr Goldy’s ears. ‘Don’t listen to him,’ I said, though it suddenly did seem really strange that he’d come all the way from there to here. He had a whole history from before he met us, didn’t he, which we didn’t know about? And, for the very first time, I pictured him floating along, twisting past ducks, turning through weeds and reeds and bits of old wood, sinking perhaps and then bobbing up again until he got to the place where we’d found him.

  ‘Smelly!’ Milly said, with a shake of her head. Then we packed up and walked on through the crowds towards the Cutty Sark, Milly and I holding Mr Goldy between us.

  Until I felt something.

  We were just coming out of the Old Royal Naval College, the road sweeping right towards the big boat. Milly was staring up at the tall masts, but I spun round because, all of a sudden, I was frightened. Why? I didn’t know, and I scanned everything around me.

  And saw a hand.

  It was reaching through the crowd, but the mass of people was so dense that I couldn’t make out its owner. All I could see was that it was reaching in my direction. It was almost on me and – thinking about the pickpockets Dad warned me against – I pressed my schoolbag into my side, ready to cling on to it. Without warning, though, the hand jerked back, probably because the group of tourists next to me had stopped to take photos. I sighed, and was about to tell Dad, to warn him too – but I felt it again.

  This time it wasn’t fear exactly. I just felt like something wasn’t right. Something was happening, near me, something drawing me to it. I spun round, searching through the crowd, expecting it to be the hand again. There was no one very near me now, though, and anyway the feeling was coming from somewhere else, pulling my eyes to the side.

  And up.

  To a bus. It was a big red London one. I’ve never been on one and I wondered if that’s why I’d spun round to it.

  But it wasn’t.

  It was the boy.

  On the top deck.

  Banging on the bus window.

  And shouting.

  What he was shouting I didn’t know because I couldn’t hear – but he was in a frenzy. He was jumping up and down, which would have been enough to get my attention on its own.

  But then I realised something.

  The boy wasn’t JUST banging on the window and shouting.

  He was shouting at ME.

  And then this happened.

  Our eyes met. Mine and the small girl’s. They locked on like laser beams – until the bus jolted forward. I stumbled, righted myself and looked again. But the girl had broken away from her sister and was trying to run through the crowd! And I couldn’t help myself, the words bursting out of me like a Jack-in-the-box.

  ‘MR FLUFFY!’ I screamed.

  I turned and leapt down the stairs, Ellen and Mabel galloping after, Ellen wanting to know what was going on.

  ‘It’s MR FLUFFY!’ I screamed,

  and the bus came to a halt.

  ‘Cymbeline? Hey, Cymbeline! Cymbeline, wait!’

  That was Mum, as we got to the bus stop. But I did NOT listen. Instead, I sprinted over to the door, waiting as it hissed open. Then I leapt on to the pavement, trying to stare through the forest of bodies and pushchairs, bikes and dogs, my brain spinning round like a washing machine: Mr Fluffy? Who I’d just been thinking of? Who was at the very centre of everything that was going on! Had I really seen him? The answer was YES, though that was totally impossible. How COULD he be there? I couldn’t answer that so I just tried to find him – but where WAS he? All I could see were people: arms and legs and bodies and heads until …

  ‘MR FLUFFY!’ I screamed.

  I’d spotted him. Half a leg and an arm – but it was him, up towards the Cutty Sark. Now I am usually an extremely polite person. I say please and thank you, and I ALWAYS hold doors open (and not just for women – sexist!). I also say ‘excuse me’ and I did that now, as I smashed my way through the crowd.

  ‘Excuse me!’ I cried, as I bumped a girl off her skateboard.

  ‘Excuse me!’ I bellowed, as I grabbed a pushchair and spun it round.

  ‘Excuse me!’ I yelled, as I barged past two old ladies, one of their ice creams jumping ou
t of its cone and taking off through the air like a tennis ball.

  ‘Excuse me!’ I roared, as I jumped over three chihuahuas and a guide dog, their leads getting tangled like spaghetti.

  ‘Excuse me!’ I shrieked, as I trod on the back of a nun’s black dress and grabbed her arm.

  What was she doing there?

  And then it was wonderful. Then it was brilliant – because I saw him! And not just a bit of him. I saw ALL of my first !Teddy of Most Extreme Importance! He was up ahead, still with the two girls, though the little one was holding him now. She was clutching him to her chest and staring around – for me? I presumed so but, before she saw me, her eyes hit on something else and she gasped. And then she turned and ran – but I wasn’t having that. She had Mr Fluffy so I chased after her, bobbing this way (‘Excuse me!’) and that (‘Excuse me!’) until the girl was backed up against some wire railings, the river right behind her. There was nowhere for her to run now and so I sped up, then skidded to a halt in front of her.

  And stared.

  ‘That’s my teddy!’ I hollered.

  ‘Yours?’ The girl turned and stared at me. Some tourists did too.

  ‘Yes,’ I bellowed. ‘That is Mr Fluffy!’

  ‘No, it’s not! It’s Mr Goldy. Though …’

  ‘WHAT?’

  The girl thought about it. ‘That’s a really good name because he IS fluffy.’

  ‘I know!’ I screamed. ‘He’s VERY fluffy. He’s Mr Fluffy and he’s MINE!’

  ‘No, he isn’t!’ spat a grown-up voice from behind me.

  I didn’t really take the voice in at first – I was too focused on Mr Fluffy. I strode forward, GLUED to my !Teddy of Most Extreme Importance!, and still SO amazed to see him. Though would the girl continue to deny that he was mine? I never found out because the owner of the adult voice leapt in front of me.

  And it was the helper.

  The helper from Hall Place! I gasped, sure that I’d seen her before, and again trying to work out where. But, before I could, she leapt forward like a wolf – and grabbed Mr Fluffy!

  ‘Stop!’ the girl hissed, desperately trying to cling on to him. ‘You lied. You said son and then you said grandson. AND you broke into our house!’

  What?!

  ‘SO LEAVE HIM ALONE!’ the girl screamed.

  But it was no use.

  The woman was tall and too strong. With an almighty W-R-E-N-C-H, she tore Mr Fluffy out of the girl’s hands and started to sprint away. But then I saw the other girl, who’d also been holding Mr Fluffy. The girl’s sister? I had no idea but what I did know was that she was amazing. She crouched, leaned forward and FLUNG herself at the woman’s legs. It was one of the best rugby tackles I’d EVER seen, though it only stopped the helper. It didn’t knock her over. She did stumble, but she righted herself and shook the girl away, the girl trying to cling on. But she couldn’t do it. The helper was too big. Soon the helper was free, a twisted delight flashing across her face as she started to move again, certain now that she’d escape.

  But she was wrong.

  Because she’d never met Mabel, had she?

  I didn’t even know that Mabel had followed me! But there she was, standing beside me – glaring at the helper.

  ‘That is NOT your teddy!’ she thundered. ‘You’re too old to have a teddy! That is Thimbeline’s teddy!’

  And then she did something fabulous. In a flash, her hand shot out, and all of a sudden a Lego unicorn (Uni-leg) was flying through the air. It was in fact the Queen of the Uni-legs, her long white horn spinning as she galloped – into the helper’s face. This didn’t stop her, though. It only startled her – but it gave Mabel time to prepare.

  And then Mabel did what Mabel ALWAYS does.

  She

  !CHARGED!

  Mabel piled into the helper’s legs. It might have been that Mabel was smaller than the other girl, or just that no one can actually withstand one of her charges, but the helper went flying backwards. First she tripped on some steps and then she went crashing into the wire railings. And the result was great! The helper had flung a hand back on instinct, to protect herself. In it was Mr Fluffy and he shot high into the air, me whooping to see him free of the helper – until I saw where he was heading.

  The Thames.

  I’d lost Mr Fluffy once. In a river. SOMEHOW (and I had no idea how) that river had given him back – and brought him here. That river was just a normal river, though, and the Thames is HUGE. And fast. It’s a giant grey monster and it was about to swallow Mr Fluffy – this time forever.

  But then Ellen rushed forward.

  She had been standing next to Mabel. She didn’t charge, though. Instead, she ran carefully, her hands by her sides and one foot in front of the other – like she was doing gymnastics. And she was! First she did a cartwheel! That took her up to where the helper was sprawled out, and it was followed by a leap. That brought Ellen on to the top of the railings! They were wooden and wet – but she didn’t fall. She simply ran along them until, one foot out in front, her leg almost parallel to the railings, she jumped!

  And caught Mr Fluffy in mid-air!

  Which was fabulous. Incredible! Ellen had saved Mr Fluffy from another river. But she hadn’t saved him completely.

  Because of the helper.

  She was back on her feet now. And, when Ellen landed, she jumped forward – and there was nothing that Ellen could do. There was nothing I could do either – but watch as she tore Mr Fluffy out of Ellen’s hand.

  Though she didn’t run away. Instead, she reached into her coat pocket and did something SO dreadful: she pulled out a knife! It was a Swiss Army knife and – after shoving Mr Fluffy between her knees – she picked out one of the blades. And then, too scared to approach her now, we just watched, in horror, as she jabbed the blade down into Mr Fluffy’s stomach.

  ‘No!’ I screamed, and the two girls screamed it too. But it was no use.

  The blade went in and the helper dragged it down, opening Mr Fluffy up. Once she’d done that, she shut the knife, shoved it back in her pocket and then dug her fingers deep into Mr Fluffy’s chest.

  And we all watched, wide-eyed, as she pulled out …

  fluff.

  And more fluff.

  And then MORE fluff.

  There was nothing else inside Mr Fluffy at all.

  I was STUNNED. I thought I’d worked it out! But the helper wasn’t stunned. A flicker of angry disappointment flashed across her face – but then she nodded. She dropped Mr Fluffy to the floor, like he was NOTHING, and turned.

  To look at ME.

  The helper studied me, staring at my face to start with and then at my hands, and my clothes, studying me like she was seeing if I had anything else with me. And I realised that that was exactly what she WAS doing. And I also realised, in that moment, where I’d seen her before. And it was like a big hand had reached right inside me and squeezed my heart.

  The helper nodded to herself. And then she ran. She shot right past me and I ran too – towards Ellen. Somehow she’d managed her incredible gymnastics while still holding on to her dad’s phone! I took it from her, then thrust it back, asking her to unlock it.

  And I called Mum.

  ‘Cymbeline!’ she squealed. ‘Where ARE YOU?’

  ‘Safe,’ I said. ‘But you have to tell me.’

  ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘Where you bought Not Mr Fluffy!’

  ‘Mr Fluffy? Cym, you know that.’

  ‘No! Not MR Fluffy! I mean where did you buy NOT Mr Fluffy?!’

  ‘The same place,’ Mum said. ‘We got him at the same time. We got him at Whitecross House.’

  And I closed my eyes in despair. But then I opened them again, in time to see the helper running up through the middle of Greenwich.

  Towards our house.

  ‘Cymbeline!’ Mum shouted. ‘Now listen. Tell me where you are!’

  ‘At home!’ I screamed.

  And I threw the phone back to Ellen and ran.
/>   It’s not far really. The bus might have been quicker, but I didn’t know when one would come. So I sprinted up past the cinema and then the butcher’s on Royal Hill. I pushed on past the bookshop and the fire station, and then I stopped at the zebra crossing until some cars had gone by. I walked over (YOU CAN’T RUN ON ZEBRA CROSSINGS!) and then sprinted as fast as I could towards home, nearly tripping as I barrelled down the alleyway that leads on to our street. At the end I stared at our door, before crossing the road and standing right outside it, which is when I realised – I DIDN’T HAVE A KEY! I couldn’t get in!

  But I HAD to get in! The helper was in there! She must have smashed a window or something because Mum was being careful now. But however she’d done it, I could hear her stamping down the stairs! And when I shoved the letterbox open I could see her too.

  Holding Not Mr Fluffy!

  And she was going to escape!

  There was nothing I could do! In a flash, I knew why she’d asked Dad to bring me down to the Cutty Sark: she thought I might have Not Mr Fluffy with me. Now she was going to go out through the back door, just like she had when she’d burgled us! I banged on the door and screamed – but it was useless.

  Until I heard footsteps pounding down the street behind me.

  Dad? No – it was Stephan!

  He sprinted towards me and collapsed against our front door. He was exhausted – but he didn’t pause. Instead, he scrabbled around in his jeans for the keys. He pulled them out, but it seemed to take him ages to get both locks open because he wasn’t that used to them. Eventually he managed it, though, and he shoved the door open, falling into the house with me darting in after him.

  But we were too late.

  A slam sounded from the kitchen. I chased in there to see the back door still shaking and a figure – the helper – ducking out into the garden.

  With Not Mr Fluffy.