by Kate Davies
“I found it in a secondhand shop in London,” lied Imogen, watching Mrs. Teakettle’s expression.
“It’s very nice,” said Mrs. Teakettle, her eyes clearing, her voice returning to normal. “Very unusual. I’ve been looking for one like that for . . . many years.” She had a strange, faraway look in her eye, as though she was remembering something that happened a long time ago.
And then she suddenly snapped back to herself. She blew Imogen and Delia a kiss and scurried off down the path, like an elderly but energetic mouse, waving to them over her shoulder and saying, “Good-bye, my dears! Tell the children: ‘Always eat your broccoli, unless you suspect it’s been laced with arsenic!’”
Imogen watched her go, suddenly feeling queasy. Was she just imagining it?
The hippo.
The gravelly voice.
The interest in the Kruks.
Delia’s eyed widened, and she turned to look at Imogen. “Was that . . . ?” she began.
“It couldn’t be,” said Imogen. “But . . .”
And then she dashed down the path after Mrs. Teakettle, crying, “WAIT!”
Mrs. Teakettle didn’t want to wait. She clutched her hat and hitched up her skirt (revealing surprisingly sturdy legs—legs that looked as though they were used to making a quick getaway) and broke into an all-out run.
“Stop!” called Imogen, pounding down the pavement after her.
Mrs. Teakettle didn’t want to stop. She scrambled up a fence into the neighbors’ back garden and jumped down onto the lawn.
Imogen climbed the fence after her, ignoring the rose thorns that scratched her ankles. She could see Mrs. Teakettle in the next-door garden, using a rake to vault herself over another fence. Imogen ran across the grass, and climbed up the fence on the other side of the yard, but by the time she was at the top, Mrs. Teakettle was jumping over a fence three doors down. She must have bounced off a trampoline.
Imogen paused at the top of the fence to catch her breath. Mrs. Teakettle was too far ahead, anyway—Imogen would never catch up with her now. She sat there and watched Mrs. Teakettle sprint across another back garden—the last before the main road—apparently not noticing the children’s toys strewn in her path.
“Watch out!” shouted Imogen.
But Mrs. Teakettle didn’t watch out. She didn’t see the tricycle until it was too late. She tripped and fell face-first into an ornamental fish pond. When she had heaved herself out of the pond, she was covered in lily pads, and a small frog was sitting on top of her hat. She stopped to take her shoes off and shake the water out of them.
She shouldn’t have stopped.
Because Imogen had jumped down off the fence and was chasing her again.
“Keep going, Imogen!” shouted Delia, who was somewhere behind Imogen.
So she did. She found the trampoline, bounced over the fence, and made it to the ornamental fish pond just as Mrs. Teakettle got to her feet.
When Mrs. Teakettle saw her, she ran a little bit harder.
But Imogen ran a little bit harder than that.
Her lungs were burning and her legs felt like rubber, but she had almost caught up with her now.
“Grab her, Imogen!” shouted Delia.
So Imogen reached out to grab Mrs. Teakettle’s arm. She missed and caught hold of Mrs. Teakettle’s little velvet hat instead.
The hat came off in Imogen’s hand, the frog bounding off with an irritated “Ribbit!”
Mrs. Teakettle’s curly gray hair came off with it.
Mrs. Teakettle shouted some very rare swearwords. Swearwords so rare and unusual that Imogen had only heard them once before, when she was a very young child. Swearwords so exotic and powerful that Imogen had gone temporarily deaf upon first hearing them and had only been cured by listening to jazz for several days (jazz always cures swearing-induced deafness in children). Imogen put her hands over her ears to protect herself.
Mrs. Teakettle turned around to look at Imogen. She said something, but Imogen couldn’t hear what it was, because she still had her hands over her ears.
But it didn’t really matter what Mrs. Teakettle said. It mattered what she looked like. It mattered who she was. Because now that her wig had come off, Imogen could see the line where her prosthetic nose and chin joined her face. And she could tell that Mrs. Teakettle wasn’t Mrs. Teakettle at all. She was—
“BIG NANA!” screamed Imogen.
Big Nana stood there on the lawn like a sweaty, out-of-breath mirage, a familiar crooked smile spreading across her face. She grabbed Imogen and hugged her tightly. “Oh, Imogen,” she said, in her deep, gravelly voice. “I’m so proud of you!”
Imogen decided not to catch her train that afternoon. For once, something seemed more important than getting back to Lilyworth and getting her own back on Bridget Sweetwine: Her grandmother had come back from the dead. Except that it turned out Big Nana hadn’t actually died during the submarine heist. She’d simply stripped her clothes off and dumped them into the sea, so that people would find them and assumed she’d drowned. Then she’d swam away, never to be seen again.
Until now, that is.
The other Crims were shocked—they had been stunned into silence for the first time in their very noisy lives for at least half an hour—but they had all been delighted to see Big Nana again, fussing around her, making her tea, offering her some stolen cakes from the bakery. And although on one hand Imogen was delighted that Big Nana was alive—of course she was—she was so angry with her that she wasn’t sure she could bear to speak to her ever again.
Imogen sat on the sofa as the other Crims clamored to hear Big Nana’s stories, silent and shaking with cold white rage. For the last two years, she had believed Big Nana was dead. Her heart had ached every time she thought about her. Remembering Big Nana and the way her life had been hurt so much that she’d abandoned her family and her plans for the future and enrolled at boarding school. And now it turned out that Big Nana had been alive all this time, and the last two years had been a lie. She was beginning to feel like her whole life had been a lie.
“I’m surprised you all believed I’d drowned, really,” Big Nana said, cradling her fifth cup of tea. “You all know I’m a strong swimmer. I got a distinction in my Advanced Elderly Swimming badge.”
“Actually, we assumed you’d been eaten by a shark with a clothes allergy,” said Josephine.
“Well, I wasn’t.”
“SO WHERE DID YOU GO?” shouted Uncle Knuckles. “IF YOU DON’T MIND ME ASKING.”
“A little island off the coast of Scotland,” said Big Nana. “Beautiful place, and the people were lovely, but you know what I always say: ‘If you’re going to burgle your neighbors regularly, make sure there are more than four of them.’ I had to move on before they got suspicious. And that’s when I came up with the character of Mrs. Teakettle. I miss being her, actually. She was a lovely woman.”
“But, Big Nana,” asked Henry, “why did you fake your death? Were you sick of us or something? Or did you just think it would be cool?”
“No, my little persimmon tree,” said Big Nana, reaching out to rub his head. “I could never get sick of you. I’d never have left you if I hadn’t believed it would be in your best interests.” She sighed. “You may remember that when I was alive—officially alive, that is—we Crims were actually quite good at committing crimes. And that made a lot of people unhappy. Don’t you remember all those threats we used to get? That anonymous letter threatening to dip us all in molten metal and turn us into garden ornaments unless we stopped stealing herbaceous borders?”
“And that other one saying that if we didn’t stop committing bank robberies, we’d all be kidnapped and forced to work in a bank,” said Al.
“That was the worst threat,” said Josephine, shuddering. “Have you seen the outfits bank tellers wear?”
“I didn’t think it sounded that bad,” Al said wistfully.
“Right,” Big Nana said grimly. “I think we can all remember the
worst threat. None of us would be here now if they had carried out the worst threat.”
Imogen had never heard about these threats before. She supposed the adults must have kept them to themselves so as not to scare the children. That felt like yet another betrayal. She had believed that she was closer to Big Nana than anyone else, but Big Nana had kept so many secrets from her.
“Who threatened us? Who’s ‘they’?” Imogen demanded, her voice cold.
“Never mind,” Big Nana said quickly.
“It was the Kruks, wasn’t it?” said Imogen.
“Perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn’t,” said Big Nana. “The point is, I knew that they’d never leave us alone while I was alive. So I died.”
“Pretended to die,” said Delia.
“And the threats went away,” said Sam, nodding.
“Exactly,” said Big Nana. “My plan worked, as my plans always do, unless they involve soufflés—soufflés always let me down. But now things are getting really dangerous for you again.”
“Dangerous? How?” asked Uncle Clyde.
Big Nana shook her head. “I can’t really tell you any more than that at the moment—you’re just going to have to trust me.”
“Why should we do that?” muttered Imogen.
But Big Nana either didn’t hear or didn’t want to hear. “Over the next few months, you’re going to be facing very serious threats from some seriously threatening people. You’ll need to be in tip-top criminal shape to survive. So I’ve come back to help you.”
Imogen couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “You didn’t come back, though, did you?” she said, standing up. “You disguised yourself as a babysitter and spied on us!”
“I didn’t spy on you,” Big Nana said gently. “Though I do think you look lovely in those tartan pajamas.”
“You’d never have come clean at all if I hadn’t figured out who you really were,” Imogen said, her fists clenched.
“Hey, I figured it out too,” Delia said sulkily.
“I would have told you who I was eventually,” said Big Nana, touching Imogen’s arm. “You know I would.”
Imogen jerked her arm away.
“I just wanted the time to be right, Imogen,” continued Big Nana. “But of course, I should have known you’d figure it out—I trained you well. You’re just as brilliant as I knew you would be when you were a little girl. You’re so much cleverer than the others—”
“Hey!” said Delia again.
Imogen found herself softening toward her grandmother—she still remembered how close they’d been!—but then, a moment later, she felt angrier than ever. “How could you do this to me?” she demanded. “Don’t you get how hard your ‘death’ was for us? When I heard you were dead, my whole world fell apart. I felt so lonely.” Her tears were flowing freely now. Big Nana reached out to comfort her, but Imogen pulled away. “And worst of all, I thought that if you, of all people, could die during a heist, then no one was safe. You made me believe what no Crim has ever believed before: You made me believe that crime doesn’t pay.”
The other Crims gasped, horrified.
Imogen nodded. “I know. Unbelievable, isn’t it? I’ve spent the last two years at boarding school, trying to forget everything that you ever taught me!”
“And I’m very, very sorry about that,” Big Nana said seriously, looking Imogen in the eyes. “It was an unfortunate, unplanned side effect of my ‘death.’ I can’t imagine how hard boarding school must have been for you. Team sports! Eating custard! Wearing a tie in a nonironic way!”
“There is nothing wrong with wearing a tie,” snapped Imogen, looking away. “They’re smart and comfortable and neat. . . .”
“She’s been brainwashed,” muttered Josephine, shaking her head.
“Imogen, my ripe kumquat,” said Big Nana, taking Imogen’s hand. “I came back to put things right with you. I wanted you to find your inner Crim again.”
Imogen allowed herself to look at Big Nana, and as she did, she felt a rush of love for her grandmother despite everything. She really did look very sorry.
“That’s why I pulled off The Heist,” Big Nana continued quietly. “So that everyone would be arrested and you’d get kicked out of school and come back to us, here, where you belong.”
Imogen stopped breathing. She stared at Big Nana, incredulous.
But Big Nana didn’t seem to be joking.
Imogen looked at the other Crims to check that they had just heard what she had just heard.
Big Nana had pulled off The Heist?
Everyone was staring at Big Nana blankly.
The ground beneath Imogen’s feet felt unstable all of a sudden. She reached out to steady herself against the wall. “Are you saying . . . that . . . that you were the one who pulled off The Heist?” she said slowly.
“Of course,” Big Nana said matter-of-factly.
“WHAT?” shouted Delia.
“WHAT?” shouted Sam.
“WHAT?” shouted Josephine.
“WHAT?” shouted Nick and Nate at the same time.
“PARDON?” shouted Uncle Knuckles.
“I said, of course it was me who pulled off The Heist,” said Big Nana, taking a sip of tea. “I made a few deliberate mistakes so that Imogen would know the rest of you weren’t guilty—I didn’t want you all to end up in prison for the rest of your lives. And also, that plan was ridiculous, Clyde. Everyone knows pigeons and roller skates don’t mix.”
The room pretty much exploded after that. Al had to hold Uncle Clyde back from throttling Big Nana. Josephine had to hold back Aunt Bets from karate kicking Big Nana. Sam and Henry were taking advantage of the situation to steal everyone’s wallets and phones. Freddie was taking bets from Delia, Nick, and Nate about who would end up in the hospital first. Isabella was crawling around on the floor trying to bite everyone’s ankles. And Uncle Knuckles was weeping quietly in a corner, muttering about his nerves.
The louder and more upset everyone else got, the calmer Imogen felt. Maybe “numb” would be a better word; she felt as though she were floating above herself, watching what was going on from a great distance. She looked at her watch. She still had time to catch the train to Lilyworth. And now it seemed clear that she had no choice but to go back to her exemplary, law-abiding life at school and try to forget everything that had happened in the last few weeks. She would be elected head girl, then in a year she would graduate . . . then the world would be her oyster, and she would swallow it down in one glorious, slightly mucous-y gulp. She stood up and walked to the hall to collect her luggage.
“Good luck with everything,” Imogen called icily as she opened the front door.
There was a momentary pause in the madness.
“Imogen! Don’t go,” said Big Nana, standing up and rushing to the hall.
“Sorry,” said Imogen, forcing her voice to remain steady. “I’m glad you’re alive, Big Nana. But I’ll never forgive you for ruining my life, then getting me kicked out of school and very nearly ruining my life again.”
She slammed the front door behind her.
She could hear Big Nana calling to her, but she didn’t want to listen. She started to run down the hill toward the train station, which is a difficult thing to do when you’re carrying three bags and a toy hippo. Big Nana and the other Crims chased after her.
What are you doing? a voice inside her said as she ran. Why are you running away from Big Nana when all you’ve ever wanted was for her to be alive again? But she wasn’t sure she knew who Big Nana was anymore. She wasn’t even sure she knew herself anymore. When she had lost Big Nana, she’d given up the only thing she’d ever been good at: crime. She had gone to school, and she’d become good at something else: playing the game. She’d begun to think she might be a good businesswoman, a good politician, a good police officer, even—but over the last few weeks, she had begun to rethink the decisions she’d made. She had succeeded in freeing her family. She had proved that she was still a gifted criminal. And she had rea
lized that she still loved crime.
But Big Nana had been manipulating her all along. Had she ever had control of her own life? And what was she going to do now?
“Wait!” cried Big Nana.
“Why should I?” Imogen yelled as she ran against a red light, ignoring beeping horns and screeching cars.
“Because the family is in trouble!” shouted Big Nana. “The Kruks—”
Imogen stopped running. She turned and looked at Big Nana, eyes narrowed, hands clenched.
Big Nana and the other Crims stopped running too.
“The Kruks?” said Imogen, her voice full of venom. “The Kruks could have killed me because of you. They could have killed the Horrible Children, too. What kind of grandmother lets her grandchildren infiltrate the headquarters of the world’s most dangerous crime family? Oh yeah—the kind of grandmother who fakes her own death.”
“I’m sorry, Imogen,” Big Nana said, her gravelly voice cracking. “I’m so, so sorry. But don’t you see? We need you.”
“No,” said Imogen, shaking her head. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry I ever believed a word you said.”
She turned and sprinted toward the station without another backward glance. She got there just as the train was pulling into the station.
As she jumped onto the train, she heard Big Nana’s voice behind her. Big Nana really was a surprisingly fast runner.
“Don’t you remember what I always told you?” panted Big Nana as the train doors shut. “It’s never too late to change your mind. Until your funeral. And even then . . .”
But the stationmaster blew the whistle, and the train gathered speed. Imogen stood at the train door, watching through the window as Big Nana faded into the distance, growing smaller and more insignificant by the second.
“Good riddance,” whispered Imogen, choosing a forward-facing seat. She pulled a book from her bag—The Seven Habits of Highly Effective Head Girls—and started to read.
“AND THAT’S WHY you should elect me as your head girl.” Imogen stood back from the podium and shielded her eyes against the bright lights of the great hall. She didn’t like to brag, not even silently, in her head, but the speech had gone quite well. It was her final speech of the head girl campaign, and she’d ended on a high. At the side of the stage, Mrs. Pythagoras was saying something and giving her a thumbs-up, but she couldn’t hear her over the whoops and cheers of the crowd. She walked back to her seat in the front row and took a seat next to her clique.