Uncle Shawn and Bill and the Not One Tiny Bit Lovey-Dovey Moon Adventure

by A. L. Kennedy

  “Of course.” Miranda fluttered her eyelashes and simpered. Seeing it was worse than toothache.

  “I can’t think why. You’re the ugliest thing I’ve seen since I was inside that whale.” He growled again. “And whose fault was it that the whale swallowed me? It was Uncle Shawn’s fault!” Then he became very quiet and still and his eyes glittered. “I, Sylvester Pearlyclaws, will not rest until I have the biggest and nastiest revenge in the history of getting your own back.” He licked his huge teeth. “Now, let us discuss the next stages of my plan.” And he led Miranda away to his secret den…

  Oh no!

  Sylvester Pearlyclaws is back!

  Sylvester Pearlyclaws, the world’s most terrible criminal, who is wanted in every country on Earth for doing terrible things (like covering Belgium in odd socks), is back!

  Last time Pearlyclaws tried to be wicked, Uncle Shawn stopped him and asked a whale to swallow him up and not spit him out until he had thought about being kinder. But Mr Hubb the whale didn’t really want a grumbling, nasty person in his tummy, so as soon as he guessed Pearlyclaws was safe to let go – BLEOOOOOG! Out came Pearlyclaws, surrounded by a big cloud of whale vomit.

  And as soon as he was free, Pearlyclaws – who had won badges for swimming – headed as fast as he could towards Shoogeldy Bay and Uncle Shawn and WEWENGE!

  No, not that. Wewenge sounds like a kind of unpleasant cheese and that’s not very scary.

  No, Pearlyclaws wanted …

  SECTION ELEVEN

  In which we find out more about falling in love. We also find out that you might not want your breakfast cooked by llamas.

  The very next morning, Uncle Shawn walked into the kitchen and announced, “Bill, I think I will have toasted banana and egg sandwiches today.”

  But Bill wasn’t there. Brian was sitting at the kitchen table and staring at a dish full of burning pancakes. “Emergencia,” Brian whispered, because he didn’t want to offend Carlos, who had been trying for hours to make not-on-fire pancakes.

  Guinevere, who did want to offend Carlos, was saying things like, “Congratulations. I did not think you could be any more stupid than you already are, but you have managed!”

  “Oh, goodness,” said Uncle Shawn. “I think Bill’s cooking lessons haven’t quite worked on us yet.”

  He quickly poured cream over Brian’s pancakes, which put them out and made them a lot more delicious.

  “Perhaps I should make us all porridge.”

  Uncle Shawn was trying to find the big porridge pot when he heard a pounding at the farmhouse door.

  When he opened the door he saw the postman, who was very out of breath and holding an enormous parcel. “Oh, hello Uncle Shawn. I had to run all the way here because this had to be delivered As Soon As Possible,” wheezed the postman. “I’m late because I could only find my second-best trousers this morning and they aren’t quite loose enough for running.”

  Before Uncle Shawn could offer Postman Hamish a glass of lemonade, badger footsteps thundered down the stairs.

  “My parcel!” said Bill. “Oh, hello, Uncle Shawn. I hope you made breakfast. I won’t be able to any more, because I am in love with the loveliest badger in the universe so we’ll be together all the time now…”

  Bill opened the big parcel with his clever badger claws and put on his new pink hat and then took out his new pink bow tie and tied it round his neck in a lumpy kind of bow.

  Uncle Shawn was a bit surprised by all this. “The loveliest badger in the universe? That sounds nice. I hope she is a kind and fun sort of badger, because you are a kind and fun sort of badger and badgers who are in love might want to match.”

  “Yes, yes, yes…” muttered Bill, spraying his freshly delivered Essence of Meadow perfume all over his fur and not paying attention. He paused and sniffed. “Perhaps I need just a bit more perfume.” And Bill started to spray all over again, waving the huge bottle about until every hair and bristle and whisker was dripping and letting off gusts of scent.

  “Um, Bill?” coughed Uncle Shawn. “I do like the smell of meadow, but maybe that might be just a little – Achoo! – a little bit too much. My eyes are watering and my ears hurt. By the way, what is the name of this badger?”

  “Um, well, I don’t know her name yet,” Bill replied. “But all badgers love meadows and I know she loves pink…”

  Through tears caused by the perfume, Uncle Shawn looked at his friend and his strange pink bow tie and his unusual pink hat which was flattening his ears at a peculiar angle. “Well, Bill. I do hope this badger is fond of jokes and dancing and toasted cheese. We will be here if you need us. And maybe in the end our pancakes will not be even a tiny bit on fire.”

  But Bill wasn’t listening. He left the box and all the bits of wrapping in a messy heap on the floor and simply scampered away in search of his beloved.

  “Hmmm…” said Uncle Shawn, as the llamas popped their heads round the door to find out who had been upsetting a million daisies and squeezing a hedge, because that’s what the hall smelled like now. “I hope this turns out for the best, but I am not sure that it will.”

  He went back to the kitchen and slowly made a big pot of porridge which tasted of being worried about a friend.

  Meanwhile Ginalolobrigida Llama, who always woke up slowly, was still out in her barn, putting blusher and shader and shaper on her nose. (It was her best feature.) But the very tiny spot she’d had on her nose yesterday had grown bigger overnight. In fact, the more she stared at it, the bigger it seemed to get. And it was starting to turn a funny shade of red.

  “I wish this terrible Nose Emergencia would go away,” she thought. But the Nose Emergencia stayed exactly where it was.

  “Oh, no! If a film director comes here looking for a magnificent llama to star in a romantic film they will not choose me because I look as if I am balancing an evil tomato on my face. I have a Face Emergencia!”

  Ginalolobrigida sighed and tried dabbing powder on the spot. The powder only seemed to make it annoyed.

  SECTION TWELVE

  In which we find out what Pearlyclaws’ signature looks like. This section may contain traces of Inverness. And there is also something extremely terrible in this section. You may wish to cover it with a cloth before you read on.

  Meanwhile, Sylvester Pearlyclaws had hidden in a smelly bin lorry and was being driven right the way into the big city of Inverness. When he arrived, he slipped out of the lorry – smelling a little bit of rotten fish and mouldy vegetables – and marched into the city’s biggest bank.

  “Behold! I am Sylvester Pearlyclaws! I wish to open my deposit box.”

  The bank manager was surprised to see Pearlyclaws wearing a postman’s trousers and a frilly blouse and ponging of thrown-away onions and kipper. But when he asked for Pearlyclaws to sign his name the signature was correct. (It said Sylvester T. Pearlyclaws and was followed by a frowny face.)

  And Pearlyclaws stared at the manager with his hypnotising eyes and convinced him that all was well, and perhaps the latest perfumes were all going to be based on kippers this year.

  So Pearlyclaws was able to march into the bank’s huge high vault and open his deep and long deposit box and pull out the deep and long drawer.

  Inside was a big bundle of money and lots of stacks of paper with titles like:

  The box also held a fake moustache, a doll in the shape of Uncle Shawn with lots of pins stuck in it, a small book with the title Why I Hate Llamas: A Poem in 600 Verses and – oh, no! – the biggest, heaviest, shiniest and sharpest pair of scissors you can imagine.

  In fact, please don’t imagine them. They’re too scary.

  Pearlyclaws lifted the scissors with his powerful wiry arms and waved them about, opening and closing the blades. They had been kept perfectly dry and oiled in the box. As he moved the handles, the blades glittered and made a terrifying sound…

  SKROOSH, SCREEESH, SCHROOOOSH, SCHREEEEESH.

  If you had heard them, all your fur would have turne
d white and your whiskers would have drooped. If you happened to have fur and whiskers.

  Pearlyclaws laughed, which sounded just like somebody clearing a drain with an angry hen tied to a stick. Now he had everything he needed for REVENGE!

  SECTION THIRTEEN

  In which Bill gets a new nickname. And Miranda lies a lot and is very sneaky.

  Badger Bill pounded out of the farmhouse with his plump but handsome badger’s knees rising and falling faster than Claude the spider pretending to be a yo-yo.

  He wasn’t exactly sure how he would find his Perfect Badger, but before he could wish very hard that she would just appear – in fact before he was even halfway to Shoogeldy Bay – THERE SHE WAS!

  Miranda Badger was standing next to a (not squeezed) hedge and appeared to be having a lovely chat with a rabbit. She was laughing prettily, showing her rather brown teeth and clapping her dirty paws. The ribbons on her purple bonnet were swaying romantically in the breeze and the frills and ruffles on her purple skirt were rippling delightfully.

  Bill’s heart did a headstand so quickly that he almost got hiccups. “Oooooh-wooo,” he said, not knowing how to speak to this amazing creature.

  Miranda let the rabbit go – she had been standing on his tail. As he darted away, she muttered, “Watch it, Sniffles. No more spying on me or you’ll discover how much I like bunny pie.”

  “Um, I beg your pardon?” said Bill, who hadn’t quite heard her.

  Miranda fluttered her lashes. Bill felt himself falling in love even more deeply – like a badger sinking into a lake of happy (but lying) custard.

  “Oh, I said Bunnypie,” Miranda said. “You don’t mind if I call you Bunnypie, do you? I don’t know your name. I noticed you on the beach yesterday but I was too shy to introduce myself. I’m Miranda Badger.”

  She was actually as shy as a busload of clowns. She shook Bill’s paw with a grip that would have crumpled walnuts.

  This made Bill squeak. “Eep. I mean, hello. I mean, can I call you Twinklebiscuits?”

  “No, of course you can’t, you idiot.”

  Bill’s heart, by this time, was completely confused – it had been upside down, flat on the floor, in the air and knocked sideways. “Oh,” he murmured.

  “I haven’t got all day, Bunnypie. Hurry up.”

  “My name’s Bill.”

  “That’s a horrible name. How stupid your parents must have been to give you it. Hurry up and ask me to be your girlfriend and then introduce me to your llama friends and everyone else at your farmhouse.”

  “How do you know I live in a farmhouse?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “And how do you know I have friends who are llamas?”

  “I just guessed – llamas are very popular this year. Don’t ask me so many questions. They hurt my dainty lady brain.” She dabbed at her forehead with one paw. “Why don’t you introduce me to any humans you know? Maybe one who’s an uncle?”

  “I know an uncle!” squealed Bill. “I know Uncle Shawn and he’s my best friend and we have so much fun and tell jokes to each other and…”

  Just for a moment Bill remembered how much he liked Uncle Shawn and how sad he might be if he left the farmhouse and only spent time with Miranda…

  But then Miranda squeezed his paw again (which hurt) and rubbed his ear (which made him feel like happy custard) and said, “Bunnypie, I’m so tired I may faint. First let’s go to my den and I will make us some delicious cocoa.”

  And although she looked about as likely to faint as a camper van, Bill let her lead him away…

  SECTION FOURTEEN

  In which we find the whole moon. (So this section is very full.)

  Uncle Shawn was sitting in his rocking chair outside, because the Essence of Meadow was still all over the farmhouse. Not for the first time, Uncle Shawn thought, “The moon is not meant to be full and bright all the time. It should only really look full for about three days. Hmmmm. And my wishes are not working. In fact, lots of people’s wishes are not working. Not every wish comes true, but at least some of them always do. And the moon is the land of wishes… Something must be very, very wrong up there. I wish I knew what…”

  Before he could realise that wishing probably wouldn’t help right now, another wave of terrifying perfume oozed up over his chin. “I do hope Bill is safe with all his falling in love.” He frowned and wibbled his hair with one hand. “Hmmm…”

  Sam and Sky came out to join Uncle Shawn. They were both trying not to sneeze too much – because of the perfume – and not to cry too much – because of Sky’s problem.

  “I don’t want to be invisible any more, Uncle Shawn,” said Sky. She wasn’t too invisible just at that moment, because she was wearing her dungarees and her favourite T-shirt with stripes. It looked as if some clothes were out playing with no one inside them. Away from the farm, this would have terrified people. Or made them try to catch her and put her in the laundry.

  “Maybe we could paint you with something so that we could see you,” said her brother.

  “Like what? I don’t want to be covered in paint for the rest of my life. It would itch.”

  “Well, then something like … like…” Sam couldn’t think of anything that would work. “Jam! We could paint you with jam.”

  “That would be horrible,” snorted Sky. “I’d end up covered in wasps.”

  “But people would definitely be able to see you.” Sam grinned – he was just being silly to cheer his sister up. “And they’d hear you – the wasps would be buzzing while they ate the jam.”

  “And stinging me!” Sky pinched her brother with her invisible pinching fingers – they were one of the few things she liked about being invisible. “And I asked Ginalolobrigida how much it would cost to cover me in make up every morning, and it would be more than all my pocket money forever!”

  Uncle Shawn sighed. “This week began very nicely with rhubarb pies and sunshine, but now you don’t want to be invisible and you can’t wish yourself out of it and the moon looks very poorly indeed and Bill has started smelling like a compost heap in June. And there’s a funny feeling in the air that makes me think worse things are on the way. Hmmmm.” Then he leaned back in his rocking chair and rubbed his wriggly hair again. “Sky, I thought you were enjoying yourself. You can stand invisibly beside important people making important speeches and blow raspberries and tickle them. You can fart next to naughty boys so that everyone blames them for the smell. You could get a job in a Haunted House and be all of the ghosts and make all of the scary noises.”

  Sky nodded. “I know. I once farted next to the nasty Lord Mayor every time he went outside for a week and in the end he resigned. But I miss being able to hug people without making them scream.”

  Uncle Shawn looked very hard at the empty space where Sky’s face probably was. “Are you really, really sure that you want to be just an ordinary kind of little girl, with only the usual wonderful things that are good about you?”

  “Yes, I really, really am.”

  “Then we must go to the moon! As everyone knows, it is the land of wishes!”

  The twins just had time to say, “But we don’t know that!” before Uncle Shawn jumped up and clapped his hands. “How lumptious! I haven’t been to the moon in ages! We need the giant soup dish. This will be such a simple adventure we won’t even need a plan!”

  Sam and Sky stared at him. They weren’t quite sure if he was joking. But if anyone they knew had been to the moon, it was bound to be Uncle Shawn.

  SECTION FIFTEEN

  In which we find Miranda Badger’s home. That means you should probably wash it at once and then wash your hands and stand outside for a bit. This section also contains a reminder never to drink cocoa if it is badly spelled.

  Miranda Badger’s nasty, dirty den looked like a cave that hadn’t really bothered. In one corner dozens of flouncy, brightly coloured frocks were heaped up like a terrible accident in a flower shop. In another corner there was a smoky little fire
burning inside a ring of stones. With no chimney the smoke just hung about miserably by the ceiling, wanting to play outside. Near the fire was a biscuit tin and a carton of milk. Bill’s sensitive badger nose could tell that the milk was sour without going anywhere near it.

  There was one moth-eaten chair you wouldn’t have been surprised to find in a rubbish dump. (Which is exactly where Miranda did find it.) The only other thing in the dusty den was an enormous metal chest.

  “I have only just moved in and all my furniture and tapestries and the grand piano and the Ming vases are still in storage,” Miranda said. She smiled like an open trap.

  Bill tried to think of something polite to say like, “You have a home that is as lovely as you are.” But that would have been like saying, “You smell of mouse droppings and make me want to take a shower.” He decided to just stay quiet.

  Miranda opened the big chest and rummaged inside.

  “Can I help?” asked Bill.

  “No you can’t and don’t ever look in this chest!” snapped Miranda, her wide bottom in the air as she clattered and clunked all the mysterious objects that were inside.

  She stood up and waved a dented (and not very clean) saucepan in one paw and a tin marked “SPESHUL COCOA” in the other. She remembered to smile and cooed to Bill, “And now I will make you my special treat…”

  She sloshed the sour milk into the pan, added brown powder from the tin, then stirred it all up like a maniac with a bit of stick. After that she set the pan in the fire to heat up. Even though Bill was very fond of cocoa, he had never heard of SPESHUL COCOA and he knew that the milk would be lumpy and taste like angry ponds and earwigs, even if the cocoa was really Speshul. But he was too much in love to complain. He slipped out of his embarrassing pink hat and bow tie.