Mum sighed. ‘And what are you basing this theory on?’
Scarlett opened her mouth to speak but Mum cut her off. ‘And don’t give me the thing about his teeth being too big!’
Annoyingly, this had been exactly what Scarlett was about to say, but clearly Mum was in no mood to listen so she folded her arms, put her headphones in again and kept quiet for the rest of the journey. This problem would need a lot more thought.
The following Saturday, Scarlett was updating her THE PROBLEM WITH MR WOOLF list when Mum said, ‘Are you going to mope around all day? Why don’t you go to the library?’
This wasn’t a bad idea. She did need some new books and Oliver had been trying to draw on the list with his crayons, so she got on her bike and rode the short distance.
The library was just what Scarlett needed and she was feeling much happier as she queued up at the desk to check out her new books. As she waited, her eye was drawn to a poster on the wall behind the desk that was entitled Wine Appreciation Course and had a map of different wine regions. Something on the poster seemed odd to Scarlett but she couldn’t quite work out what it was.
As she was staring at it, a familiar voice said, ‘I think you might be a bit young for that.’
And Scarlett turned to see Mr Woodman standing behind her. He was wearing his favourite brown trilby hat and smiling very broadly under his grey moustache.
‘Oh, I’m not going to go,’ laughed Scarlett. ‘I was just a bit confused by something.’
‘Can I help?’ asked Mr Woodman. ‘I’m good at puzzles.’
‘That’s kind of you,’ Scarlett replied, ‘but it’s probably nothing.’
‘Well then, do you mind if I walk back with you?’ said Mr Woodman. ‘Nigel’s outside.’
She and Mr Woodman walked back together and he wheeled her bike for her so she could hold Nigel’s lead. Scarlett liked Mr Woodman because he didn’t talk to her like she was a baby and was a very good listener. Before long she found herself telling him all about the Mr Woolf problem. It was quite good to share this with someone else, and, unlike Mum, Mr Woodman didn’t tut or roll his eyes, even when Scarlett told him about Mr Woolf’s teeth being too big. In fact, he was very interested and said ‘Uh-huh’ and ‘I see’ a lot. He even asked Scarlett to repeat a few things to him so that he was sure he’d understood them correctly.
When they got back, Mr Woodman said, ‘Wait there a minute, Scarlett. I’ve got something that might interest you’ and disappeared into his house.
When he came out he was carrying a large hardback book which had a bookmark sticking out of one page.
‘This book doesn’t have to be returned to the library until next week and I think you might find it useful,’ he said. ‘When are you seeing your nan and Mr Woolf again?’
‘Tomorrow for Sunday lunch.’
‘Well then,’ smiled Mr Woodman, ‘my advice would be to have a read tonight.’
The next morning, Mum shouted up the stairs as usual, ‘Scarlett, get your coat. It’s time to go to Nan’s.’
She was very confused when Scarlett called out, ‘I’m ready!’ from the kitchen.
‘Are you OK, Scarlett?’ she said. ‘Last Sunday I practically had to drag you to Nan’s and now you’re in your coat and shoes ready to leave … And what on earth are you doing with the laundry basket?’
‘Let’s just say I’ve developed some new interests which Mr Woolf might be able to help me with,’ said Scarlett with a smile. ‘Shall we go then?’
Mum looked a little bit suspicious but obviously decided it was best not to argue. ‘Umm, well, he is very knowledgeable …’ she said, trailing off.
To Mum’s astonishment, Scarlett was the first out of the car at Nan’s. She rang the doorbell twice and didn’t pull a face when Mr Woolf answered and she could hear one of his records playing.
Then, as soon as they were in and had all said their hellos, Scarlett turned to Mr Woolf and said politely, ‘Lewis, is this an example of bebop jazz?’
‘Why, yes, Scarlett.’ Mr Woolf was obviously delighted at being able to hold forth on one of his favourite subjects. ‘I didn’t know you were interested in jazz?’
‘Oh yes,’ lied Scarlett. ‘It’s just that I’ve never really had it explained to me.’
‘Well, Lewis is your man for that,’ cooed Nan, giving his elbow a squeeze. ‘Ooh, the things I’ve learnt.’
‘You’re clearly very sophisticated, Lewis,’ said Scarlett sweetly. ‘We’re so lucky to have someone with taste and style to teach us about the finer things in life.’
‘Why, of course,’ said Mr Woolf benevolently, as if he’d always assumed that was the case.
‘Are we having wine with dinner?’ Scarlett continued. ‘I know Mum said she loved that lovely Italian Chablis you chose for dinner last weekend.’
Mum shot Scarlett a look of suspicion as she’d said nothing of the sort but Mr Woolf was so pleased that his brilliance had finally been recognised that he didn’t notice.
‘Well, yes,’ he said proudly. ‘It’s always so important to match your food and wine to get the best out of both.’
‘You’re obviously a wine connoisseur,’ said Scarlett.
‘Well, one doesn’t like to boast.’
‘So I’m quite surprised that you don’t know that Chablis wine does not come from Italy!’
‘What?’ roared Mr Woolf. ‘How would you know?’
‘A trip to the library can be very informative,’ said Scarlett. ‘Chablis is a wine region in France!’
Mr Woolf’s face darkened with rage.
‘And Nan’s “Italian” dress …’ she continued. ‘There’s something very suspicious about a designer outfit that has a label telling you to wash at sixty degrees!’
Mr Woolf looked like he might be seriously considering throttling Scarlett, but she wasn’t about to stop now.
‘You’re a fake, Lewis Woolf!’ she shouted. ‘You’ve never been to Milan. You know as much about wine and high fashion as Oliver knows about astronomy! And I bet you know nothing about antiques either!’
‘Ahh, well, that’s where you’re wrong, you little brat,’ said Mr Woolf with a sly grin. ‘I might have picked up that ludicrous dress in Primark and bluffed about wine, but I knew that watch on your dopey grandmother’s wrist was original art deco and I knew that one just like it sold at Sotheby’s last year for seven thousand pounds. All I needed to do was get it valued and then persuade her to hand it over!’
Nan gave a horrified gasp. ‘My old watch? That’s all you were after?’
Mr Woolf looked between Scarlett and Nan. He’d said far more than he meant to. His forehead wrinkled like he was trying to work out if he could lie his way out of this mess. But he quickly realised he’d gone too far and took a step closer to Nan, baring his large white teeth.
‘You didn’t honestly think I was interested in you, did you, you ridiculous old woman? Now I’ve had enough of playing these silly games with you and your tedious family. Just hand over the watch, unless you want me to get nast– OWWHH!!’
Mr Woolf never got a chance to finish his threat because, without warning, Oliver sank his teeth into his sock-free ankle. (Mum said later that she thought this was because Oliver was affronted at his family being insulted, but Scarlett thought it more likely that he was as offended as she was by people who didn’t keep their feet properly covered!) Either way Mr Woolf had had enough. Nursing the humiliation of having his lies exposed by an annoying girl and the pain of having his ankle gnawed by a two-year-old, he made a sudden break for the door.
To everyone’s surprise, Mr Woodman was standing outside the front door, and he wasn’t alone. Standing on either side of him were two burly-looking policemen.
‘Mr Woodman?’ said Scarlett.
‘Detective Inspector Woodman, actually. It’s very nice to see you again, Scarlett. And, Mr Woolf, it is very nice to eventually meet you in person.’
Mr Woolf made a sort of gargling sound in his throat.
‘What on earth is going on?’ said Nan.
‘I’m sorry to have to tell you that this gentleman is a con man,’ said Mr Woodman bluntly. ‘He’s been on a lot of senior dating sites using different profiles, looking for gullible victims. We’ve had our eye on him for some time but none of his other victims has been willing to come forward. Embarrassed, I suppose. But thanks to Scarlett we tracked down his last mark Mrs Beasley.’
‘What happened to her?’ asked Mum.
‘Well, before she had the misfortune to meet Mr Woolf here, she lavished all her affection and money on her dog, Rupert. Bought him a ruby-encrusted collar, in fact. That disappeared at about the same time Mr Woolf did!’
‘Well, a fool and her money are soon parted,’ sneered Mr Woolf.
‘But if all you wanted was Nan’s watch why didn’t you just steal it?’ said Scarlett. ‘Why stick around inflicting terrible casseroles and even worse jazz on us all?’
‘Don’t be stupid!’ Mr Woolf snarled. ‘One doesn’t just pounce on the first thing that moves. You’ve got to be discerning and wait for the best meal to come along. For all I knew, your nan had a whole safe full of treasures hidden somewhere in this crummy house!’
‘That’s enough!’ barked Mr Woodman. ‘You can tell this to the sergeant down at the station.’
And with that, Mr Woodman’s two policemen took Mr Woolf’s arms and led him to the police car.
Mum’s jaw had fallen open and Nan looked like she wanted the ground to open and swallow her up.
‘Well done for uncovering this, Scarlett,’ said Mr Woodman. ‘And, ladies, I hope this hasn’t ruined your day too much.’
The following Sunday as they parked outside Nan’s house, Mum said, ‘Now before we go in, Scarlett, I want you to promise you’ll try to be a bit sensitive. I expect Nan will be feeling rather foolish about this whole Mr Woolf thing. She’ll probably never want to meet another man as long as she lives so the last thing she needs is you telling her you knew all along – and had a list!’
Scarlett nodded. Poor Nan.
But actually Nan seemed quite cheery when she opened the door.
‘Hello, my dears, come in,’ she trilled.
‘How are you?’ asked Mum kindly.
‘Oh fine, fine. I went down to the police station on Thursday and gave my statement. Everyone’s been very nice. It looks like Lewis might be locked away for quite a long time though.’
‘Good!’ said Scarlett.
‘Anyway, let’s not talk about him anymore,’ said Nan. ‘It’s pork chops for dinner.’
Scarlett smiled to herself. Everything was back to normal. There were no nuts or olives in anyone’s food; they weren’t having to talk over a record that sounded like a cat that’d got its tail shut in a door; and Nan wasn’t dressed like someone from The Real Housewives of Cheshire, although – come to think of it – she was wearing a very bright shade of pink lipstick.
As she was considering this, Nan disturbed her by clearing her plate away. Scarlett barely had time to pick up the last roast potato before it was swept out from under her.
‘Sorry to rush you, dears,’ said Nan, ‘but I’ve got plans later.’
‘Plans?’ said Mum.
‘Well, yes,’ said Nan. ‘Actually, I’ve got a date.’
‘A what?’ Scarlett cried. ‘With who?’
‘Well, you know him, actually,’ said Nan. ‘It’s Kevin.’
Scarlett and Mum looked at each other blankly.
‘Kevin Woodman,’ continued Nan. ‘Oh, he’s a lovely man. He’s got a cheeky smile, like that chap from Midsomer Murders.’
Scarlett felt the library card in her pocket. She knew exactly what the next book she took out would be: Rules for Policemen and Their Dealings with the Public.
This was a brand new problem!
Sarah Snow and the Seven Spacecraft Engineers
Miranda Luby
If I fall asleep, my life is over.
I glance at the clock, trying to figure out how long I have left. But the numbers are fuzzy. My eyes are closing and my limbs have that made-of-warm-water feeling as I droop in the chair.
Nathan is in the chair next to me and he’s whispering my name because he knows what will happen if I fall asleep but I AM falling asleep …
NO! WAKE UP! I have to stay awake! OK. How about I tell you a fairytale? MY fairytale. The story of how I got into this mess. Because we can’t fall asleep in the middle of a story. No. We can’t. We need to know the ending. We have to find out what happens. Right?
Once upon a time there was a girl named Sarah Snow. (That’s me. I’m Sarah Snow. Hi.) She was twelve and lived in California with her dad and step-mom. She had super pale skin from being half Scottish and red lips from this apple-flavoured gum she chewed that had just the right amount of cinnamon in it.
Now, here’s what you should know about Sarah’s step-mom: she hated Sarah.
I’ll get to why but for now just believe me.
She.
Hated.
Sarah.
She wanted to get rid of her. Once, Sarah overheard her talking to her dad about some strict boarding school near Sarah’s real mum in rainy, cold Scotland and her dad was nodding like she had some kind of spell over him. But Sarah didn’t want to leave California. She couldn’t leave her dad. She wouldn’t leave her best friend Nathan Prince, who she took fencing classes with and who let her drape daisy chain crowns on his head at recess, hair glowing golden in the sun.
No. She wasn’t going to Scotland. Not if she could stop it.
To understand why Sarah’s step-mom hated her, you have to understand something about Sarah’s dad.
He led a team of seven spacecraft engineers at the Mars Science Centre at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory. It’s a mouthful, I know, but basically they’re the team that manage the Mars rovers, those computerised geologists that cruise around up there. So, space robots.
Now, I know what you’re thinking – the same thing Nathan said when he found out: ‘Cool. What an awesome job. I wish my dad worked with space robots on Mars.’ Nathan’s dad was a spiritual healer who ate kale and hardly ever wore shoes.
Anyway, it wasn’t cool. What Sarah’s dad did, that is. Because the thing about the people who work at the Mars Science Centre at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory is that they live on Mars time.
I’ll spare you the insanely complicated explanation (it’s all ‘axial tilt’ this and ‘rotational period’ that) but, basically, a day on Mars is called a ‘sol’ and one sol is 24 hours, 39 minutes and 35.244147 seconds long. So Sarah’s dad’s days were 40 minutes longer than hers.
Because he lived on Mars time, one day Sarah’s dad would go to work at 7a.m. but the next day at 7.40 a.m. and the next at 8.20 a.m. and then at 9 a.m. and sometimes he’d be sleeping all afternoon or awake all night, eating lasagne at breakfast and cereal at midnight. If the rover was on an important mission, he’d even work all weekend.
She hardly ever saw him. Sometimes she thought he might as well have lived on Mars. It sucked.
To keep Mars time, he had this amazing NASA watch with extra numbers and buttons and dials that looked like a time machine. She told Nathan this at his house once and they thought up all the things they would do if they were masters of time (think: bring back AI robots to ace all their homework), but Nathan’s dad overheard and he went all misty-eyed like he was giving a spiritual teaching.
‘Time is a social construct, kids.’ Nathan’s dad was always saying weird stuff like that. ‘You can’t travel through something that isn’t real.’
Sarah shot a question-mark look at Nathan and they both had to run out of the room before they cracked up laughing. Later, Sarah decided that was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. Of course time existed. Right? I mean, just look at how it ruled her dad’s life.
‘I’m sorry, Space Monkey,’ her dad would say. ‘I wish I had more time.’ The bags beneath his eyes were like the dark side of the moon and his daggy NASA jumpe
r was covered in coffee stains. ‘I’ll find a way to make it up to you.’
‘Take me to work with you!’ she’d say. ‘You spend all your time there! I’ll be, like, deadly quiet and perfectly good.’
Sarah desperately wanted to go into her dad’s work. Firstly, to meet the seven spacecraft engineers, because they had awesome nicknames like G-force and Spaceman and Electro. But mostly to be on Mars time. To be on the same time as her dad. For their lives to sync up even just for one day. For them to be on the same planet, just once. Then, she thought, maybe he would see how right it was and he’d find a way for them to stay in sync for good.
But he always said the same thing.
‘When you’re older, Space Monkey.’
HEY! Are you still listening to my story? OK, good. Just checking. Cause it’s REALLY important that you keep me awake. If I fall asleep my life is ruined. Even though my bones are aching with tiredness. Even though I’m floating away like I’m in zero gravity.
The kids around me are starting to stare, starting to whisper. And now Nathan’s poking me with a ruler and I feel it but it’s like it’s happening to someone else … So … tired …
Now here’s the thing: whenever Sarah’s dad was home and awake at night or on the weekend, Sarah’s step-mom always seemed to suck up his time like a vacuum.
She’d declare a grown-up-only dinner, banishing Sarah to her room with a microwave meal. Or she’d organise a sleepover for Sarah with their neighbours all weekend, saying she could help babysit their kids.
Remember how I told you how Sarah’s step-mom hated her? Here’s why.
Time.
Because it was limited. It was finite. And what Sarah’s step-mom wanted was all of Sarah’s dad’s time to herself.
Every second of it.
‘We have a relationship, darling,’ her step-mom explained through pink-painted lips and a swirl of coffee steam one morning.
She called Sarah ‘darling’ but she also called her friends ‘darling’ and Sarah had heard what she’d said about them behind their backs so she didn’t take it as a compliment.
Once Upon A Fairytale Page 4