by T. Traynor
“The bit right – under – your – living – room – window,” he says triumphantly.
“Are you mad?”
“No. Look. We’ve talked about getting in behind the stand. That does give the best cover – you can’t see there from your house. But – and it’s a big but – we would have to walk halfway round the outside of the park to get there.”
“We’d be spotted for sure,” Hector says.
“Exactly,” says Lemur. “Whereas, if we slip in behind the corrugated iron opposite, we only run the risk of being seen for a minute.”
“But we’ll be seen as soon as we’re up the embankment inside – you can see everything from our house.”
“But we’re not climbing the embankment,” says Lemur. “We’re going to go along the bottom of it.”
“He’s right, Midge,” says Bru. “It’s all overgrown there. It’ll hide us.”
“We go right round, most of the way to the stand. There’s an open bit between the terracing and the stand. We’ll need to sprint that.”
“It might work,” I say grudgingly. I’m up for it – I just don’t want Lemur getting all the glory. “Wait a minute – how loose is the corrugated iron? Are you sure we can just pull it open?”
We screw up our eyes and look down the hill, trying to form a judgement. Not being owls, we’re defeated by the dark and the distance.
Then we hear somebody trundling the front door of our flats open. My dad gives us a wave as he heads off down the road to the lighting depot. He’s working nightshift this week, so he’s carrying his flask and his cheese pieces wrapped up in tinfoil. I run down to see him.
“Ten minutes, son. Then up, OK?”
“OK, Dad. See you in the morning.”
“See you, son. See you, lads.”
“Just enough time to check out the iron barrier,” says Bru, once my dad’s out of sight. He jumps to his feet. Lemur pulls him back down. “No. We don’t want to risk it. A big crowd of us gathering round there – we might be spotted. I’ll check it out on my way home.”
“No, let Hector go,” I say. “You’ve already looked at it, Lemur. A second opinion’s what we need.”
Hector’s up and off before Lemur can object. He gives us a grin and a salute and disappears into the gloaming. “I’ll report back tomorrow!”
The rest of us get up, reluctantly. “See youse,” says Skooshie, with a sigh. At times like these we would give anything we own or are ever likely to own just to stay out playing. Where’s that Time Bank when we need it?
I’m obviously more berry stained than I realised, because when I go up, the first thing my mum says is, “Bath!”
“I’m not sure I have the energy,” I tell her. “I might drown.”
“Bath!”
***
When I go to bed at night, I’m asleep before my head even hits the pillow. But in the morning the light wakes me early. And as I lie there, I can’t not think about school sometimes. I think about knowing nobody. I think about the fact half of them will know each other, because they went to the same primary school. I think about all the new subjects and teachers. And it’s exciting – really exciting – but I’m scared as well. Don’t think I’m worried about not being clever enough – I think I can handle that. I just can’t imagine what it will feel like to fit in, in a place that has no Lemur, no Hector, no Skoosh, no Bru.
They don’t blame me, I don’t think they do. Our teacher said Bru and Hector should try too, and Hector did and he got in as well but then he said he wasn’t going. Bru’s mum and dad didn’t think it was worth Bru trying.
So it’s just me.
7
Hector turns up the next morning with the worst possible news. The corrugated iron isn’t loose enough. So tomorrow is not Cathkin Day.
“Ah,” says Skooshie knowingly. “What we need is a jemmy.”
“A what?”
“A jemmy. It’s a metal pole with a flat end – we’ll use it to prise the iron sheet away from the fence.”
“Where’re we going to get that?”
“Can you buy them?”
“They’re really expensive.”
“So who’d have one?”
“Don’t know – a burglar, maybe.”
“Anybody know any burglars?”
“Well, there’s Skooshie’s Uncle Harry…”
“Just watch it, Lemur!”
“I’m joking!”
We were all looking at Skooshie up till this point (as clearly he’s the nearest to an expert in the jemmy area that we’ve got), but we look away in a hurry now, not wanting him to think that we were thinking about his Uncle Harry too. I’m not trying to suggest anything about Skooshie’s Uncle Harry or his occupation. I’ve met him and he’s really nice. He gave us money for sweets.
Skooshie grunts. It’s the kind of grunt that means he’s not offended. “Leave it with me. I might know where to find one. It could take a while, though.”
So we settle on that as Plan B (presuming we’re not counting the other 278 plans that came before Lemur’s Plan A). This still leaves us with an empty day.
“Time to consult The List,” says Hector. He reads it out loud, pausing for us to respond after each suggestion.
“Football.”
“Done that.”
“Tennis.”
“Naaa.”
“Queen’s Park.”
“Not today.”
“Scavy hunt?”
We just sigh.
“Games/Competitions.”
A collective groan.
“Invent Time Bank.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s a good list,” I say. “This just felt like a day for planning something… bigger.”
“Yeah.”
And there we were, slumped on the old settee cushions, not an ounce of energy between us. And we might be there still, if Hector, in an effort to drum up some enthusiasm, hadn’t started whistling The Flashing Blade theme tune.
“That’s it!” shouts Lemur, jumping up.
We look at him, slightly hopeful but unwilling to move until we know for certain it’s worth it.
“It is a day for planning something bigger,” he says. “The time has come for Mrs Whistle-Blower Revenge!”
This is enough to fire Skooshie up. “Revenge!” he shouts.
“Revenge?” says Hector.
“Revenge,” I say firmly. “I’m absolutely totally bored enough for revenge, whatever the risks.”
“C’mon, Hector. You know you want to…” says Lemur with a grin.
And next thing we’re all quizzing Bru for any intell from his Mrs WB encounter that will help us come up with a plan.
“Was it like the entrance to a witch’s coven – all dark and cobwebby, with great big spiders and loads of wee vampire bats hanging down?”
“No,” says Bru, regretfully. “It looked just like our doors except that she’s got a big flowerpot outside.”
“Those big, scary man-eating flowers – what d’y’call them?”
“Venus flytraps.”
“There to trap unwary boys…” says Skooshie, snapping carnivorously.
“Funnily enough, they weren’t boy-eating Venus flytraps, Skooshie,” says Bru. “They were plastic roses – and I know that because…”
“Start at the beginning,” Hector interrupts. “Don’t miss anything out.”
“Did you have to go inside?”
“What if she’d just kept you prisoner in her house, to teach the rest of us a lesson?”
“Did she have the whistle on a cord round her neck?”
“No, I didn’t have to go inside – which was a relief. She was all scowly and peering at me through her glasses while I said my bit about being sorry.”
“Sorry that you’ve got such an annoying wee brother!”
“Sorry that she’s deaf!”
“And then she had a go. Children these days – no respect – thoughtlessness – you’ll be old one day. She
kept talking that long, I didn’t think she’d ever finish. I started to wonder if anybody had ever been talked to death – if I might just petrify like those trees in Scotstoun Park, buried and turned to stone under the relentless pressure of Mrs Whistle-Blower’s voice.”
“Why didn’t you just leave?” asks Lemur.
“I didn’t want to make it worse. I’d just have had to come back when she told on me again. So eventually she finished but I didn’t know she had and I was still standing there like a numpty. She flicked her hand at me in an away-you-go-you-small-boy gesture, and I turned round a bit sharpish and kicked over her flowerpot.”
“Oooof!”
“That’s how I know about the flowers being plastic. I did think she completely over-reacted, considering I hadn’t killed it. I put it the right way up and gave it a wee dust, then I legged it.”
“The flowerpot!” says Lemur. “There’s our revenge!”
“Oh-oh,” says Hector. I know what he means. Lemur’s got that look in his eye, the one he gets when he’s leading us right into trouble.
“We’re going to steal her flowerpot!” Lemur announces.
Hector raises his eyebrows. Bru and I exchange a hopeful glance that says, “Aw, could we?” Skooshie whoops with delight.
“C’mon, Hector,” says Lemur. “You know she deserves it. And it’s the only thing we can get to.”
“I don’t know,” says Hector. “Nicking stuff – it’s not right.”
“Well… we won’t take it for good,” says Lemur.
“Really? You promise?”
“Yes,” says Lemur with a grin. “She’ll get it back in time. We just want to keep it long enough to wind her up.”
“So you’re on for it, Hector?” asks Bru.
“I’m on – as long as we return it once she’s good and annoyed.”
“And she won’t ever know it was us,” says Lemur.
I wonder briefly what the chances are of this being true. You’ll find out soon enough.
So Hector officially changes The List, adding in huge letters WBFPR (Whistle-Blower’s Flowerpot Removal), known in all future discussions as “Wibfipper”. Apart from that, we don’t see much of his usual enthusiasm for planning. It’s like he’s still a bit doubtful about the whole enterprise.
“Let’s do it now!” says Skooshie.
“Too much chance of other people seeing us with the flowerpot,” I say. “I mean, boys coming out of those flats carrying a pot of plastic flowers. It’s going to look suspicious.”
“Maybe we could have a back-up story ready?” says Lemur.
“What like?”
“Like we’re from a flowerpot repair company,” says Skooshie.
“Yes,” says Lemur. “That Bru broke it a bit when he kicked it—”
“I did not!” Bru is outraged at the unfairness of the suggestion.
“I know, I know… I’m just saying, it would be a good excuse – that we were all there taking it away to be fixed. Like they do with televisions.”
“(1),” Hector interrupts loudly, in the tone of a man unable to bear the havering any longer, “there’s no such thing as a flowerpot repair company. (2) Even if there was, it wouldn’t employ twelve-year-old boys. And (3) even if it did, how big is the flowerpot that it would need five of us – five of us! – to carry it?”
“It’s not that big a flowerpot,” Bru confirms.
“Hector’s right,” says Lemur. He looks into the distance and sighs, then says, “What do you think we should do, Hector?”
I glance at Lemur in surprise. Is this Lemur handing over control to Hector? Is that pigs oinking overhead that I can hear? Will I get home tonight to find a single Jammy Dodger left in the biscuit tin and hear Kit say, “No, Midge, I think you should have it.” Lemur catches my eye and winks.
“We need two men in there at most – any more and we’ll definitely get caught,” says Hector. Looks like he’s warming to the plan now. “One to get the pot, the other to watch out for anybody coming. The rest stay outside and give warning if anybody’s coming into the flats.”
“We can bark like a dog!”
“We could,” says Hector. “Though as dogs aren’t actually allowed in the flats that might stand out a bit. Why don’t we do a bird call?”
We pool our knowledge. It turns out we know owl, seagull and crow. To be honest, our seagulls and our crows sound much the same. Bru can do a sparrow, but that’s ruled out as too quiet. We’re all really good at owl. Then Hector points out it’s a night bird.
“We could go for the flowerpot just as it’s getting dark?” suggests Lemur. “There won’t be many people coming in and out of the flats, so as long as we’re quiet we shouldn’t be noticed.”
“And any hooting will blend right in at that time of day,” Bru adds.
“Owl it is,” says Hector. “So about half past eight?… Good. Any volunteers for the actual Wibfippering?”
Skooshie’s hand shoots up, like he’s still at school. “Me!”
“Bru should probably lie low on this one,” says Lemur.
“Why?” Bru demands.
“The whole Kenny fiasco, Bru,” I say. “You’ll be top of any suspects list she makes. Just in case.”
“Aw, right – good point.”
“You and me then, Skoosh,” says Lemur.
“Good – so Lemur and Skooshie on the inside. Bru, Midge and me covering the outside. You’ll need to take a bag for the flowerpot – a dark bag, so you blend in. I think we might have one at home.”
Hector in charge – Hector in his element.
“Time to practise our own calls!” he concludes.
“Whooo, whooo, whooo’s ready for revenge?”
“WE ARE!”
8
We’re sitting outside Mrs Whistle-Blower’s flats, waiting, Bru, Hector and me. We knew we couldn’t get too close or any old folk looking out their windows would see us and jump unreasonably to the conclusion we were up to no good. So we hide ourselves behind the lock-ups, within hooting distance. We take turns peeking round the corner to keep an eye on the front entrance.
“This is really boring,” says Bru.
“It’s important,” says Hector. “They can’t complete their mission without us in place here.”
“We should have risked it,” says Bru. “We should all have gone in.”
“Playing with fire.”
Bru sighs. “I’d’ve liked the satisfaction of nicking her stupid flowers.”
“What’s that?” hisses Hector.
“Two old blokes coming out,” I say, because it’s my turn to be surveillance guy. “It’s fine – they’re heading for the pub.”
“How did you work that one out, Sherlock?”
“Well, it’s half past eight so the shops are shut – and they look happy,” I say. “Plus I overheard one of them saying, ‘Tommy said he’ll see us down the pub at nine.’”
“Excellent detective work,” says Bru. “Is it my turn now?”
We wait. Nothing happens. I consider trying a hoot, just to see whether I’ll be loud enough if I need to make the call. I decide it’s not worth the grief Hector will give me.
“D’you not think I should just go and make sure they’re OK?” asks Bru.
Hector doesn’t get the chance to answer. The front door of the flats is flung open, and Lemur and Skooshie come pelting towards us. There are yellow flowers sprouting out of Lemur’s armpit and Hector’s bag is flapping in Skooshie’s hand.
They don’t stop.
“Run!” shouts Skooshie as they career past us.
***
We’re sitting in the den in a circle round the loot. With a dramatic gesture, Lemur pulls the bag off and throws it to one side – “Ta da!” – to reveal a small brown pot with some yellow plastic roses in it. We’re not that impressed because we saw them before Lemur put them under the bag so he could do his ta-da gesture.
“The spoils of war!” he says, triumphant.
“Tel
l us what happened,” I say. “It felt like we were waiting for ages. What took you so long?”
“We had to be really careful,” says Lemur. “We slipped in at the back of the flats, just as planned.”
“We’d just got in when we heard the lift coming down,” says Skooshie. “So we had to hide in the bit under the stairs till they’d gone.”
“Yeah, we saw them coming out from our vantage point,” says Hector. “Two old guys going to the pub, we reckoned – no threat, so no hooting.”
“Then we started creeping up the stairs…”
“Slowly, slowly, not making any noise…”
“Not breathing too loud…”
“Not giggling…”
“I do not giggle,” says Skooshie. “Girls giggle. I… snort.”
“Not snorting…”
“Well, trying really hard not to snort…” Skooshie admits.
“Until we got to the right floor. We opened the first door…” Here Lemur pauses dramatically, “which creaks like the entrance to Dracula’s castle!”
“Eeeeeekkkkkkkkrrrrrreeeeeee…”
“We stop. We wait. We listen.”
“We’re wondering: what do we do?”
“Do we continue with the plan, taking it slowly?”
“Just hoping that she didn’t hear the house-of-horror sound effect?”
“Or do we speed it up – get in, get the pot, get out?”
“You changed the plan?” says Hector accusingly. “Without telling us?”
“Well, Hector, it turned out I’m not as fluent as I thought,” says Skooshie. “I didn’t know the Owl for ‘Hector, Hector, please send us an emergency change of plan by hoot!’”
“We had to think on our feet,” says Lemur. “It just made sense at the time. So Skooshie pulled open the second door—”
“Really quick, like pulling out a baby tooth.”
“I jumped in, grabbed the flowers—”
“Out the squeaky door – Eeeeeekkkkkkkkrr—”
“Thanks, Skoosh. I think we got the idea the first time.”
“Then down the stairs as fast as we could.”
“But really quietly down the stairs?” I say.
“Kind of.”
“You were supposed to do it really really quietly, so they didn’t come out of their flats and see you!” says Hector.