The Remarkable Secret of Aurelie Bonhoffen

by Deborah Abela

  Mrs Farnhumple’s mouth opened and closed as if she was gasping for breath. ‘It has everything to do with everything. It’s how the world sees you, it’s respect, it’s manners, it’s the very fabric of how our society functions.’

  Rindolf scowled and scratched his head. Mrs Farnhumple stood up and continued, as if she was conducting some kind of invisible orchestra.

  ‘The school community is like the world community. There are rules and ways of behaving that students need to follow if they are going to get on in life and make something of themselves. It is a great privilege to be a member of our community, but if Aurelie is to remain at our school, we need to see –’

  A great crash erupted. Mrs Farnhumple spun round to see Rindolf and Aurelie helping Rolo to his feet.

  ‘Is everything all right, Mr Rolo?’

  ‘Yes, I … I seem to have fallen off my chair. Please, go on.’

  Aurelie stifled a giggle as she resumed standing beside her uncles.

  ‘If Aurelie is to remain at our school, we need to see an improvement.’

  ‘Improvement?’ Rindolf asked.

  ‘Yes, in her dress, her attitude, her behaviour. We can’t have children throwing paint-bombs at teachers, otherwise, in just a few years, civilisation will be in a terrible state.’

  ‘Yes, but she didn’t throw –’ Rolo began, but Rindolf placed a hand on his brother’s arm and silenced him.

  ‘As her punishment, she is to write an essay on why teachers deserve the utmost respect, along with a formal apology for poor Mrs Sneed. Aurelie will, of course, pay for a new dress.’

  Aurelie looked up. ‘But Miss Farnhumple, I didn’t –’

  ‘Mrs. It’s Mrs Farnhumple.’

  She handed Rindolf the bill. His face whitened. ‘Dresses are expensive these days.’

  ‘Maybe Aurelie will think of that before she does anything like it again.’ Mrs Farnhumple stood. ‘I’ll expect the essay, apology and payment by the week’s end. Aurelie is excused from school, and we look forward to seeing her tomorrow to start afresh.’

  Rolo, Rindolf and Aurelie made their way outside and passed the assistant, who buried her head behind piles of papers as they went by.

  It wasn’t until they were sitting on the pebbles of Gribblesea Beach that they spoke.

  ‘Did that make sense to anyone else?’ Rolo threw up his hands.

  ‘Some of it,’ Rindolf said.

  ‘Which parts?’

  ‘The part where … where …’ Rindolf shook his head. ‘No. None of it.’

  ‘Well, don’t be saying things make sense when they don’t.’

  ‘I thought maybe just a little of it did, but …’

  ‘I don’t want to let Argus and Amarella down,’ Aurelie interrupted.

  The two brothers swapped looks before firmly sandwiching their niece between them. ‘How could you possibly do that?’ Rolo asked.

  ‘In fact, I think that is a distinct impossibility,’ Rindolf nodded.

  ‘A preposterosity.’

  Aurelie smiled. ‘That’s not a word.’

  Rolo threw his head back. ‘It is now.’

  ‘When it comes to being proud of you, Aurelie Bonhoffen,’ Rindolf said, ‘your parents wouldn’t know how to be prouder.’

  ‘And they’re very smart people.’ Rolo wriggled into her. ‘Nearly as smart as us, and we think you’re perfect.’

  Aurelie laughed.

  ‘What’s not to be proud of?’ Rindolf threw out his arms. ‘You know how to scare the dickens out of people, how to fix a broken dodgem car, how to juggle fire … and you can add up numbers in your head as quickly as anybody I know.’

  ‘You can name the capital of any country in the world,’ Rolo added. ‘And you’ve known how to read since you could sit up and hold a book. Before then even.’

  Aurelie paused. ‘I know about the ghosts, too.’

  ‘Ah, that,’ Rindolf said. ‘That takes getting used to. You just have to remember that each family has their own something that makes them special, and that’s ours. It’s hard to understand at first, but it gets easier.’

  Rolo picked up a pebble and tossed it back and forth in his hands. ‘It doesn’t happen very often, but Rindolf’s right. You’ll see. One day you might even find it comes in handy.’

  ‘Unlike your Uncle Rolo. We’re still waiting for him to come in handy.’ Rindolf laughed until Rolo’s pebble bounced on his head. ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Well, the only thing you’re really handy with is that overworking mouth of yours.’

  ‘Is that so? Well –’

  ‘Please don’t tell Argus about today,’ Aurelie said. ‘I’ll find a way to pay for the dress without bothering him.’

  ‘What happened today stays between us,’ Rindolf said. ‘And Rolo and I will pay for the dress.’

  ‘I don’t care what Mrs Farnhumple has to say.’ Rolo flicked his head. ‘If it means changing one thing about you, I won’t have it!’

  ‘Neither will I.’ Rindolf straightened.

  ‘Are all your teachers like her?’ Rolo scowled.

  ‘No. Most of them are really nice.’

  ‘That’s a relief. I think I’d rather eat my hat than sit in class with too many of her.’ He held up his very crumpled hat.

  ‘Looks like someone’s already started,’ Rindolf said.

  Aurelie laughed.

  Rindolf caught a glimpse of the pier clock. ‘Lilliana’s going to do a lot worse to us if we don’t get the ghost train prepared for tonight. Race you to the gates.’

  Rolo grabbed Rindolf’s jacket and pulled him onto the stones.

  ‘Not lying down you won’t. Ha.’ Rindolf flung his leg out just in time to trip him up. ‘Oooph!’

  ‘Why you –’ Rolo began.

  ‘See you there,’ Aurelie yelled over her shoulder.

  ‘Looks like we’re on,’ Rolo said.

  The two brothers picked themselves up from the pebbles and raced after Aurelie to the pier.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Mayor Finnigus Bog

  Mayor Finnigus Bog wasn’t a thin man and, in point of fact, he’d been called, in not-so-polite circles, pudgy, rotund, even chubby. Some say he was worn into shortness by the controlling nature of his wife. Others say it was because his pockets were heavy from the weight of too much money.

  Each morning he would stand before his polished, freestanding mirror and offer a kind and welcoming smile. ‘There you are, Finnigus Bog. You’re a handsome devil, aren’t you?’

  He examined his smile first, then manoeuvred his face into expressions he might need later in the course of the business day: stern but charitable, harsh but fair, understanding to a limit. His favourite look he kept until last, the look that offered others the promise of great things – a holiday, a pay rise, time off for a wedding … but only a hint of a promise. A promise left no room to wiggle out if the deal didn’t serve him well. He had a special look for that. A slight downward turn of the lip that said, sometimes life doesn’t turn out how we would have hoped.

  His smile faltered. ‘Indeed,’ he said quietly.

  He stood taller and tucked his stomach in. If he stood far enough away from the mirror and squinted, his profile became the figure of a strapping young man, not the portly midriff of a middle-aged one. He still cut a fine figure for the sculptor who was chiselling his likeness into a marble statue for generations of Gribblesea citizens to admire. He imagined it now, standing over two metres tall with an inscription in a brass plaque that would say:

  TO THIS MEASURE OF GREATNESS,

  WE OWE SO MUCH.

  At the sound of a car door slamming outside, his stomach bulged out again in an abrupt exhale. It was a particular car door slam – an expensive one he’d have recognised through a hailstorm – and it came from the back lane of Mayor Bog’s house.

  ‘He’s early,’ Bog complained. ‘How’s a man to do business before breakfast?’

  He fixed his tie, slipped into his jacket and hurried down th
e stairs to the corridor, where he promptly tripped over a pair of young legs.

  ‘What in the …?’ He regained his footing.

  ‘Sorry, Father.’ Rufus, the owner of the outstretched legs, whipped them in and sat up.

  ‘You don’t think there would be a better place to play with toys?’

  ‘It’s not a toy, sir. I’m making a model of the Mary Rose. A ship that –’

  Mayor Bog heard a thump on the back door. ‘Play in your toy room. I’ve an important guest.’

  Rufus watched his father almost run to the door. ‘A ship that Henry VIII built.’ He moved into the room.

  ‘Why, Mr Crook.’ Mayor Bog almost bowed. ‘How nice to –’

  ‘Not here, Bog,’ he snapped through a hardened jaw. ‘Let’s be a little discreet.’

  Crook charged into the house and down a corridor decorated with expensive rugs, fine art and priceless vases before climbing the spiral staircase to Bog’s study. He made himself comfortable in a deep leather lounge while Bog panted and hurried to the chair behind his desk.

  ‘Are you well, Mr Crook?’

  ‘I’ve had a particularly annoying morning evicting a family from one of my apartments who’d failed to pay the last two weeks’ rent. One of the little runts even slobbered on my leg.’ He pulled a hanky from his pocket and wiped his trousers. ‘So I’m hoping my bad day’s about to change. How is everything going with you?’

  ‘Very well, thank you, apart from a slight backache after a game of tennis I –’

  ‘I don’t mean with you personally,’ Crook cut in, scissor-sharp. ‘I mean with the pier.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ The mayor apologised. ‘The increased taxes are having an effect: fireworks tax, permission-to-operate-after-five-pm tax, a noise tax. The Bonhoffens are turning out to be more resilient than we thought. But I’m sure it won’t be long now.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Perhaps …’ Mayor Bog paused, desperate to find the right answer. ‘Three months.’

  ‘Three months! I must have it before then.’

  Mayor Bog straightened. ‘There is a fondness for the pier even though it is old, Mr Crook. You are going to keep it as a pier, like you said?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Crook’s smile blossomed. ‘Only more elegant and refined than it is now.’ He sprang to his feet and swung Bog’s chair around to face the pier in the distance. ‘It will be restored to all its former glory. Imagine.’ Crook swept his hand before them. ‘Instead of a crumbling eyesore, the pier will be painted and repaired, spruced and polished so that it shines once again as the jewel of Gribblesea.’ Bog felt Crook’s breath against his cheek. ‘And the whole town would have you to thank for it. Hence, that very handsome donation to fund the completion of the statue in your honour.’

  Crook leapt forward, threw open the window and breathed in deeply. ‘Smell that.’

  Bog sniffed.

  ‘Can you smell it?’

  Bog nodded. ‘Yes?’

  ‘That is the smell of success.’ Crook latched onto Bog’s shoulders. ‘Your success. And all you have to do is get rid of that family.’

  ‘What if,’ Bog had an idea, ‘once the pier is restored, the Bonhoffens are employed to run it?’

  ‘Run it?’ Crook’s hands fell from Bog’s shoulders. ‘Run all our hard work into the ground, more like. No, Bog, the Bonhoffens once did a fine job with the pier, but their ways are old and the pier would once again be led into the sorry state it’s in now. I applaud them – we all do – but it is time for them to take their final bow.’

  Crook strode to the door. ‘I expect them out of there by the end of the month.’

  Bog’s lips quivered. ‘But that’s only –’

  ‘Two weeks. Yes.’ Crook’s smile was wide and unflinching. ‘How is the statue coming along?’

  ‘The marble is in position and the sculptor has made great progress. It should be ready in weeks.’

  ‘Excellent. A time when we shall all get what we want,’ Crook said. ‘I’ll see myself out.’ His leather shoes clacked against the polished floorboards, like a clock counting down the time Bog had left.

  The mayor sat heavily in his chair. His head fell forward into his hands.

  He stayed like this for several moments before he chose a pen from his drawer and began to write. From afar his concentration could have looked like a man writing a love letter or a note to a dear friend. But he was writing no such thing. It was a list. A list that went like this:

  1. More taxes … an entertainment tax? A close-to-the-sea tax? Not enough time.

  2. Spread rumours that the pier is unsafe and likely to fall into the sea at any moment? Too slow. A newspaper article would be faster? Journalists to be trusted? None.

  3. Eviction under the Health Regulations Act. Excess of mould, mildew, damp, etc.

  4. Sabotage – make the pier condemnable … Lice? Termites? Other vermin infestation. Rats?

  Mayor Bog lifted his head.

  ‘No respectable citizen would stand the filth of a plague of rats where innocent children play.’ Mayor Bog sat back in his chair. ‘You are good, Finnigus.’

  His pen scribbled across the page, outlining further details of his plan, when he was interrupted.

  ‘Mayor Bog? Is it okay for me to come in?’

  A thin wisp of a teenager in an oversized suit that dripped off his shoulders poked his head around the door.

  ‘Speaking of unwanted pests,’ Mayor Bog murmured before erupting into a sugar-sweet smile. ‘I’d say you’re already in, wouldn’t you, Julius?’

  ‘I guess.’ Julius kept standing where he was.

  ‘Well, come in!’

  The boy was the son of a cousin and, having failed miserably at every job he’d ever put his hand to, Bog agreed to give him a position at the council and somehow teach him how to do it well. ‘And sit down.’

  Julius, in his hurry to sit, tripped over his own shoes, landed face-first in a rack of coats before pulling himself out and sitting in the chair opposite.

  Mayor Bog let out a long, drawn-out, why me? sigh. ‘The town of Gribblesea is in danger.’

  ‘Danger, sir?’

  ‘Yes, danger of losing its fine and noble reputation because of a blight, a stain, a blemish that is threatening to bring our beloved town’s name into disrepute.’

  ‘Disrepute, Mayor Bog?’ The boy teetered on the edge of his chair. ‘What is it, sir?’

  Mayor Bog stood slowly and looked out the window. ‘It’s … the pier.’

  ‘The pier?’ Julius laughed. ‘But everyone loves the pier. It has rides and fairy floss and waffles and the ghost train. I love the ghost train. Why, only last week I –’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Mayor Bog cut Julius off before the trip down memory lane gave him a headache. ‘It was once a place to be proud of, but it is old now – its glory dimmed – and the maintenance costs are far too much for the Bonhoffens. We can’t all keep having fun at the expense of a family who has given so much to this town.’

  ‘No, sir,’ Julius’s face was a portrait of guilt.

  ‘It is unfair to leave these good people with the crippling expenses of upkeep and wages and taxes when they simply can’t afford it.’

  Julius frowned. ‘But aren’t we responsible for the taxes that –’

  ‘Stay focused, Julius,’ Bog sneered. ‘These are good people who are suffering under the weight of a business that is threatening to drown them, and it is our duty to save them.’

  Julius brightened. ‘Maybe the council can give the Bonhoffens money, for restoration and upkeep. That is what we do with the parks and roads and the governor’s residence and your car and your wife’s tennis lessons and –’

  ‘Shush! Shush! Shush!’

  The force of the mayor’s words hosed the nephew into the back of his seat.

  ‘If we gave money to everyone who got themselves into financial strife, we’d have nothing left to run the town.’

  ‘Yes, Mayor. Of course.’
/>   ‘No, Julius, we have to accept that the pier needs new management and fresh ideas to restore it to its former glory and save the fine reputation of Gribblesea.’

  Julius felt a stirring of love for his town in his stomach. Or was it that he hadn’t had breakfast?

  ‘The problem is, Julius, the pier isn’t just in need of restoration. I’ve had reports that it is unstable and may even be,’ Mayor Bog turned to his nephew and screwed up his face, ‘infested with vermin.’

  ‘Vermin, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’ Mayor Bog put on his look of careful concern. ‘And we simply cannot stand by while our fine town is sullied.’ The boy sneezed loudly into his sleeve. Mayor Bog scowled. ‘We must encourage the Bonhoffens to leave so that a new era can begin.’

  Mayor Bog placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. The nephew shifted slightly.

  ‘If only we knew how to do it.’ Mayor Bog’s eyes darted across to Julius, whose face, unfortunately, seemed as full of ideas as a rather small rock. ‘If there were rats on the pier, for example, a lot of them, then the Health Department could be called in and the pier closed. We could announce the new owners and the restoration could commence immediately.’

  ‘So the Bonhoffens would be replaced? Just like that?’

  ‘Not “just like that”. They would be paid a large sum by the new owners and be given the chance to live free from the worry of debt. They could be happy knowing that generations of Bonhoffens have brought this town such joy. What could make them happier?’

  ‘So, to make them happy you need rats on the pier?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If we were to let rats loose on the pier, then we’d know for sure.’

  Mayor Bog turned to the boy. ‘I think you may have something there, but how could we do that?’

  ‘I know a man who can supply me with all the rats we’ll need. He runs a snake farm and breeds them for the snakes to eat.’

  Mayor Bog raised an eyebrow. ‘Well done, lad. I think you may just have rescued the reputation of Gribblesea.’ Julius blushed from the unusual praise. ‘How soon can you make it happen?’

  ‘I’ll arrange it straightaway.’ Julius headed for the door before slowing. ‘Sir? Are you sure releasing rats on the pier is in the best interests of Gribblesea?’