Miss Swine’s eyes swivelled over to the boy. Without his parents noticing she glared at him. The intent was clear. Make any trouble and there would be TROUBLE.
“Come in come in!” Matron ushered the family through the front door. The first thing Jack spotted with his eagle eyes was a notice on the wall, half hidden behind some party decorations. It read –
Mum didn’t see the sign, she just saw the balloons and coloured streamers that half obscured it. This prompted Mum to ask, “Oh! Are you having a party today, Matron?”
“Well, yes and no, Mrs Bunting. It’s party time all the time at Twilight Towers!” lied Miss Swine. “Please come through to the living room and join in all the f-f-fun.”
Jack noticed that ‘fun’ was not a word Miss Swine found easy to say. In fact, she spat it out as if it were poison. It was a shame that neither Mum nor Dad seemed to see what an evil character this lady was.
‘The Birdie Song’ was thankfully just finishing. But the moment it did, a burly nurse lifted the needle on the record player and played it again straightaway.
DA-DA DA-DA DA-DA DAA
The living room was crowded with old folk and even more nurses.
At first sight, the elderly people appeared to be happily moving along to the music.
“Isn’t it wonderful, Barry?” said Mum. “All these oldies are having an absolute ball!”
Dad nodded his head slightly. But the man wasn’t really listening. Instead his eyes were scanning the room for his father.
“Well, Mrs Bunting…” began Miss Swine.
“Call me Barbara, or ‘Babs’ for short,” replied Mum.
“Well, Babs,” Matron began again, “I hate to blow my own trumpet, but everyone agrees what makes Twilight Towers so special is how happy all my old folk are. And I put that down to the fun atmosphere we have here! We sure know how to ”
Jack loathed the way this evil woman was weaselling her way into his mother’s confidence.
“Oh, one teeny-weeny thing,” said Matron abruptly. “Mr Bunting?”
“Yes?”
“Did you bring your father’s will like I asked?”
“Oh yes, Miss Swine, I have it right here.” Dad reached into his inside jacket pocket and passed her an envelope.
DING!
So that’s what Matron was up to in her office, thought Jack suddenly.
Now he knew exactly what the evil woman was doing with the tracing paper. She was rewriting the old folks’ wills and forging their signatures at the bottom. Doubtless so that she would become the sole heir to their fortunes. That explained the mysterious room full of treasures too.
This was fraud on a grand scale.
“Thank you! I just need to keep it here in my office for safekeeping.”
“Mum! Dad!” cried Jack. He had to tell them.
“Please be quiet for a moment, son, the nice matron is talking!” Mum insisted.
“Yes, you please keep it safe for us, Matron,” went on Dad. “Thank you so much.”
Looking around the room in desperation, suddenly the boy realised something else.
SOMETHING DARK.
SOMETHING CREEPY.
SOMETHING SO SINISTER IT CHILLED HIM TO THE BONE.
38
Dummies
Jack realised that none of the old folk in the living room were moving of their own accord.
The brawny nurses of Twilight Towers were actually manipulating them, as a ventriloquist might a dummy. One old man with a hearing aid that whistled loudly seemed to be clapping along to the music. But when you looked again, you realised Nurse Rose was holding his hands in hers.
An old lady appeared to be bopping her head along. Look again and it was being moved in time by Nurse Blossom.
A third elderly inmate with a ruddy nose and a monocle gave the impression he was a champion ballroom dancer. The short man was whisking a tall nurse around the living room as if it were a dance floor. Or was he? On closer inspection, it was the nurse, Nurse Violet, who was leading. She was holding up the little old man. His slippers scraped the ground, his eyes were closed and he was snoring loudly.
As well as the Bunting family, there were quite a few other visitors to Twilight Towers that afternoon. This was the only fifteen minutes of the week that anyone could come after all. Among them, an old man wearing milk-bottle-thick glasses looked like he was visiting his wife. The woman was tiny, like a little bird. The pair were playing draughts together, though in reality one of the beefiest nurses, Nurse Tulip, had stuck her arms through the old lady’s cardigan sleeves and was moving the pieces on her behalf. The giveaway to Jack was that the little old lady now had these massive hairy hands.
Meanwhile, a couple of toddlers sat with a rather round old lady who must have been their grandmother. The children’s mother looked completely disinterested, and sat there flicking through a dog-eared magazine. The old lady appeared to be patting the children’s heads, but Jack spotted a piece of fishing wire attached to her hands. His eyes followed the fishing wire, which glinted a little in the light. It stretched across the room, ending behind a curtain. Hiding there was another nurse, Nurse Hyacinth, with a fishing rod. As the nurse twitched the rod up and down, so moved the old lady’s hand.
This is wicked, thought Jack. No doubt Miss Swine put on this absurd show every Sunday afternoon at Twilight Towers just for the visitors.
It might have fooled most people, but not Jack.
“Miss Swine, where is my grandpa?” the boy demanded. “What have you done to him?”
Matron simply smiled at the boy. “As soon as you arrived, I sent for your grandfather. I believe he will be joining us here at the party any second now…”
Right on cue the door to the living room swung open. Grandpa was in an ancient wooden wheelchair, being pushed by Nurse Daisy, she of the gold tooth and the tattoo of a skull on her arm. The old man appeared to be fast asleep.
Oh no, thought the boy. They must have force-fed him the sleeping pills after all. As Nurse Daisy pushed Grandpa into position in front of the flickering television, Jack rushed over to him. Knowing of their special bond, Mum and Dad held back for a moment.
The boy grasped the old man’s hand tight.
“What have they done to you?” he asked aloud, not expecting a response.
Suddenly Grandpa opened one of his eyes. It revolved around, to focus on his grandson.
“Ah, there you are, Squadron Leader!” whispered the old man. “Come undercover, have you?”
With slight hesitation the boy nodded. “Yes, Wing Commander.”
“Jolly good show. I must say those Smarties worked a treat!” With that the old man winked, and his grandson couldn’t help but smile.
Grandpa had fooled them all!
Then the old man looked around the room before saying, “So, Squadron Leader, how do you fancy stepping outside to do some…‘gardening’?’’
Jack understood exactly what this meant and winked back.
39
Bonkers
Miss Swine watched like a hawk as Grandpa and Jack disappeared out of the living room together. As families were visiting Twilight Towers that day, the front door was unlocked so the pair went out and made their way across the garden. Jack’s mother and father stayed inside in the warm living room, and watched them from the window.
As soon as they were a safe distance from the main building, Grandpa slipped Jack a couple of socks filled with dirt. These he was instructed to stuff down his trousers, one for each leg. As soon as they had reached the rather pitiful flowerbed (which was really nothing more than a patch of earth with a couple of flower bulbs sticking out), the boy took his grandfather’s lead. Waddling like a pair of penguins, first Grandpa and then Jack pulled on the elastic bands, tipping the soil socks up, and released the dirt. It trickled down their legs and out of the bottom of their trousers. After checking the nurses high up on the observation towers were not looking, they patted the dirt into the soil of the flowerbed with the
ir feet.
“Was that ALL the soil from last night, Wing Commander?” asked the boy.
“Roger, Squadron Leader,” replied Grandpa proudly.
Jack looked down at the tiny amount of dirt. It couldn’t have been more than a few cans’ worth. At this rate the tunnel wouldn’t be completed until 2083.
“The thing is, erm…” the boy started a sentence, but couldn’t quite finish it for fear of hurting the old man’s feelings.
“Spit it out, man!” demanded Grandpa.
“Well, the thing is, I worry that the tunnel is going to take forever, if that’s all the dirt you can get out in one night.”
The old man looked at the boy with disdain. “Have you ever tried to dig through a stone floor armed with only a spoon?”
This answer required no real thought. Like most people on Earth, Jack had never been foolish enough to attempt such a task. “No.”
“Well, I don’t mind telling you, it’s ruddy hard going!” exclaimed Grandpa.
“So how can I help you with the escape plan, sir?”
The old man thought for a moment. “Smuggle me in a bigger spoon?”
“With respect, Wing Commander, I don’t think the size of the spoon is going to make that much difference.”
“I’ll try anything to get out of this infernal prisoner-of-war camp. As a British officer, it is my duty to escape. You must promise to bring me another spoon tomorrow night!” demanded Grandpa.
“A soup spoon?”
“This is a mighty task, man. I need a serving spoon!”
“I promise, sir,” Jack murmured.
“Squadron Leader, the only thing that keeps me going in here is the thought of getting back in my Spitfire.”
At that moment, Miss Swine’s suspicions must have got the better of her, as she bounded out of the building at speed. The lady tottered across the garden in her high-heeled boots, her cape flapping in the wind. Two of her sinister helpers were at her side, Nurse Rose and Nurse Blossom. They were both so big and brawny, they looked more like Matron’s security guards than anything else. Trailing behind were Mum and Dad, huffing and puffing to keep up.
“On gardening duty, are we?” called Matron. Her words were riddled with distrust.
“Yes, that’s right. Just tending to these flowerbeds, Kommandant!” shouted Grandpa.
“Kommandant?!” repeated Miss Swine. “The silly old fool thinks he is in a prisoner-of-war camp!”
Matron laughed uproariously. The two nurses were a bit slow on the uptake, but after a moment joined in with their laughter.
“HA! HA! HA!”
As Mum and Dad reached the flowerbed, Miss Swine held court for a moment. “Oh, you have to have a good sense of humour to work here at Twilight Towers!”
“You certainly do, Matron,” replied Nurse Rose in her gruff voice.
“So many of my old folk have gone gaga. But ‘Grandpa’ here is the most gaga of them all.”
“How dare you!” said the boy.
“Don’t be rude to the nice matron, son,” said Mum.
“Look at him!” exclaimed Matron. “This man is bonkers!”
“No, Kommandant, my name is not ‘Bonkers’, it’s ‘Bunting’!” corrected Grandpa. “I think there is a Flight Lieutenant Bonkers with 501 Squadron over in Gloucester.”
“Oh dear,” murmured Matron. “Well, it’s getting rather chilly out here, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Matron,” said Dad who, being so skinny, was shivering slightly with the cold.
“Nurses? Would you be kind enough to help poor Mr Bunting back inside?” ordered Miss Swine.
“That’s Wing Commander Bunting!” protested Grandpa.
“Yes, yes, of course it is!” replied Miss Swine sarcastically.
Together Nurse Rose and Nurse Blossom picked up the old man by his ankles. Dangling him upside down they marched back into the building.
“Let go of him!” shouted the boy.
“Do they have to carry him like that?” pleaded Dad.
“It’s good for his bad back!” replied Matron cheerily.
Jack couldn’t take it any more and launched himself at one of the nurse’s backs. In an instant, she swatted him away as if he was a fly.
“Jack!” exclaimed Mum, as she pulled him back by his arm.
“I won’t talk, you know, Kommandant!” shouted the old man as he was carried off. “I would rather die than betray King and country!”
“Kommandant, indeed! Ho ho! That does make me giggle!” said Matron, before looking at her watch. “Well, we should all be getting back inside to enjoy the party. There’s still two whole minutes of visiting time left!”
Matron ushered Mum and Dad ahead. “Please, after you, Barbara and Barry.”
But then Miss Swine loitered for a moment to have a private word with Jack. “I know you are up to something, you nasty little child…” she hissed. “I’ll be watching you.”
A shiver ran down the boy’s spine.
40
A Rope of Knickers
The next evening, Jack was sat up on the top bunk in his bedroom. Under his pillow he had hidden a large serving spoon he had swiped from the school cafeteria at lunchtime. He had stuffed it down his trousers, which made him limp like he had a wooden leg.
As his model planes dangled around his head, the boy felt torn. He had promised his grandfather he would make another of his secret visits to Twilight Towers later that night. However, even with a bigger spoon, Grandpa had a less than zero chance of escape. The only point the boy could see of carrying on with the whole charade was so that the old man would not lose hope. Because without hope Grandpa would have nothing. Perhaps Grandpa could live out his days digging his tunnel, dreaming of an escape that would never come? thought Jack. As much as he hated Twilight Towers and the sinister Miss Swine, the boy didn’t have another plan. Talking to his parents again had been no use. They believed their son had an overactive imagination after spending so much time with his dotty grandfather. To them, this sounded like just another one of their fantasies.
So, regular as clockwork now, the boy waited for night to fall. Then he grabbed the serving spoon and climbed out of his bedroom window. But when he arrived at Twilight Towers, he noticed something worrying. The drainpipe that he had used before to climb up to the window of Grandpa’s dormitory had been yanked off the wall. It was now lying in bits on the gravel. Were Matron and her army of nurses on to him? This was his only means of scaling the building. Frightened he would be walking into a trap that might land his grandfather in deeper trouble, the boy decided to leave immediately. But just as he was crawling back across the lawn, Jack heard a noise coming from the roof.
CREAK…
It was the sound of a little wooden door opening. Was it Miss Swine or one of her nurses? Had Jack been busted?
Looking up, he spied a figure on top of the building clambering out of a tiny hatch.
It was Grandpa!
Still in his pyjamas, the old man was trying to squeeze himself through the hatch hole. The opening was small. As he forced himself through, his pyjama bottoms slipped down, exposing his saggy behind.
Grandpa crawled on to the roof and stood up. As soon as he had regained his balance, he hoisted up his pyjama bottoms.
The roof had quite a slope to it, and as a wicked winter wind blew across the moors, the old man wobbled on his way down to the roof edge.
Jack called up to his grandfather as quietly as he could, “What on earth are you doing up there?”
The old man looked puzzled for a moment as to where this voice was coming from.
“Down here!”
“Oh! Squadron Leader! There you are! But I think you mean, ‘What on earth are you doing up there, SIR?’ Let’s not forget our manners, just because there is a war on.”
“Apologies – what on earth are you doing up there, sir?” the boy called.
“The Kommandant suspected something was up. Had the whole camp searched from top to bottom
. One of the guards found the tunnel I had dug in the basement. Well I say ‘tunnel’ – the scrapings on the stone floor I had made with the spoon. Now they know there is an escape afoot. Earlier, guards burst into our cells and ripped everything apart. Darn and blast them all. Smashed up furniture, upturned beds, looking for clues.”
“Did they find the spoon?”
“No! I just managed to hide it by clenching it between my buttocks. It was the one place they didn’t look! But I couldn’t hold it there any longer. So I had to make a new plan. I escape tonight!”
“Tonight?”
“Yes, Squadron Leader.”
“But, sir, how are you going to get down from there? You are four floors up.”
“Yes. Shame I didn’t pack my parachute. But I did manage to tie together this!” With that, the old man scuttled back to the hatch, and pulled out what looked like a rope of some sort. On closer inspection it wasn’t a rope at all. In fact, it was thirty or so pairs of frilly knickers Grandpa had tied together.
“Where did you get all those knickers from, sir?”
“They’re not mine, Squadron Leader. If that is what you are trying to say?!”
“No, sir!” replied the boy. Still it was an awful lot of knickers, or to use the correct term, ‘knickerage’.
“I found them all hanging up to dry in the laundry room!” continued Grandpa. “Dozens of pairs of ladies’ knickers, there were! All in extra-large sizes. Most queer!”
The old man began to uncurl his makeshift rope and let it out slowly until it reached the ground.
Oh no, thought Jack, my elderly grandfather is going to abseil down a building using only some frilly knickers.
“Please be careful, Grandpa, I mean Wing Commander, sir.”
From his position on the ground Jack watched as his grandfather tied his end of the rope of knickers around the bell tower at the top of Twilight Towers.
“Make sure the knot won’t come undone, sir!” called up the boy.
Grandpa's Great Escape Page 10