Hamish and the GravityBurp

by Danny Wallace

  ‘Do you know what, Dad?’ said Hamish, sternly, which was not like him at all. ‘I’m angry with you too.’

  Angus Ellerby stopped in his tracks. These weren’t words he’d ever heard from his son before. He knew that deep inside Hamish there must have been some anger from when he’d had to disappear. And maybe it was finally coming out.

  ‘I’m really angry, because you don’t seem to trust me as much as you should,’ said Hamish, almost trembling. ‘You should be proud, not angry.’

  Alice put a hand on Hamish’s back. Not to stop him, but to help him find the strength.

  ‘Look at me,’ said Hamish. ‘Look at the PDF. Think about everything we’ve done in the past.’

  His dad kneeled down, so that they were at eye level.

  ‘I get that sometimes you have to leave me behind,’ said Hamish. ‘But I’m scared you’ll go away again, or that something will happen to you. When you went away that first time, I know it’s just because you love me. And when you wanted us to stay in town and do nothing, I understand that it’s just because you love me. When you said you wanted us all to leave Starkley, I understand that it’s just because you love me.’

  His dad nodded, softly.

  ‘But I love you,’ said Hamish. ‘And I love Mum. And I even love Jimmy most of the time, even though I do not think he has a future in spoken-word poetry. And I love my friends and I love Starkley. And they’re things worth fighting for, not hiding from.’

  The wind whipped around Hamish’s hair as his dad stared into his eyes and thought about what to say next.

  And then he smiled.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I don’t ever want you to think you can’t tell me things. You should always say how you feel. Never hide it. And what you did was incredible. What you all did.’

  Hamish smiled at his friends. They were a great team, and now they’d proved it more than ever.

  ‘I mean, as your dad, I have to say it could have gone so wrong,’ he added, before catching himself. ‘But, as a Belasko agent, I have to say I’m so proud of you. There was the Before. Then there was the Now. But the Then? That was up for grabs. This could have been the Superiors’ world, or ours, Hamish. You and your pals made sure it was ours.’

  Normally, he’d have ruffled Hamish’s hair at this point. But now he stood tall, and held out his hand for Hamish to shake.

  ‘You were right to tell me not to give up on Starkely. And you were absolutely right to do what you did. And I have always been proud of you.’

  And just then, Hamish felt pretty important.

  I wish I could tell you that they got home to a huge party, with balloons and party poppers and those disgusting iced biscuits that you seem to like so much, but the truth was Starkley was in quite a mess.

  Only now that things were getting back to normal did Hamish realise just what an effect the GravityBurps had had.

  There was rubbish all over the place. Windows that had cracked under pressure. Tree branches that had broken off and now lay forgotten in the street. And brick dust all over the place from when the buildings had transformed.

  But, when the PDF climbed out of Dad’s lorry, Hamish immediately forgot about all that. The whole town came out to cheer their heroes.

  Mr Longblather. Dr Fussbundler. Madame Cous Cous. The whole of Winterbourne School. Kids, parents and even old Mr Neate stood around them and applauded.

  ‘My brave, incredible boy!’ said his mum, rushing out of the council offices, picking Hamish up and spinning him round. ‘What kids you are!’

  ‘It wasn’t just us,’ said Hamish, blushing. ‘There was Vinnie. And a certain sea monster. And we mustn’t forget the other heroes of the hour: the Norwegians!’

  Erik and Viktor Viktorius stepped forward and each did a little bow.

  ‘It’s just nice to feel useful!’ said Erik. ‘Not even Norwegian kids want Norwegian candies any more.’

  He made a sad face. Way to kill a mood, Erik.

  ‘Well,’ said Dad. ‘I guess we set to work cleaning up the town!’

  Everyone cheered, even though that sounded rubbish.

  And then the put-put-put of a small engine coming around the corner filled the air.

  ‘Oh, no!’ said Mum, guessing what it would be. ‘Not now!’

  A small van turned the corner and came into view.

  On its side was written PUBLIC OFFICE OF PRIDE.

  And in the driver’s seat was a burly woman with a teetering pink beehive.

  ‘It’s Goonhilda Swag!’ yelled Mum. ‘Come to close the town!’

  ‘SURPRISE!’ shouted Goonhilda, struggling to get her seat belt over her neck cone, and stumbling out of the van. ‘This is the SURPRISE VISIT I warned you about!’

  Everyone took a step back as she walked towards them, a sneery grin taking over her face.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ she said, thrilled. ‘Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear.’

  She whipped out a clipboard from somewhere behind her and began to make notes.

  ‘Brick dust. Inadequate refuse control. Broken windows.’ She tittered. ‘An upside-down car. Bits of old tree contravening health-and-safety regulations. A strange, grotesque old man.’

  Mr Neate frowned.

  ‘Everyone outside all at once, causing a fire hazard.’

  ‘We were just about to clean up,’ said Hamish’s mum. ‘You see, Ms Swag, we’ve had quite a couple of days . . .’

  ‘What has happened to the sweet shop?’ said Goonhilda. ‘Why is it now a science laboratory? Did you get planning permission for that? And what on earth has happened to the town clock? Someone appears to have turned it into an intercontinental ballistic missile!’

  She looked shocked now, rather than happy. She had never had a case like this before. It was like Starkley had wilfully changed itself into something that went against everything the Public Office of Pride stood for. This was a direct challenge to her authority. These people were mocking her! They had no respect! No respect at all! Well, she would teach them a lesson all right. She would shut this town down!

  ‘Right!’ she said, walking over to where Hamish and the PDF were standing. ‘You can witness this. I am about to sign a document which will go straight to the Queen and inform her that your town is to be struck off the map!’

  She was talking so loudly and with such force that she didn’t hear the sniffing noise from behind her.

  ‘You will RUE THE DAY you messed with Goonhilda Swag!’ she yelled, and so mesmerised was she by her own words she didn’t notice the shadow creeping over her shoulder from the small tartan trolley she’d paid no attention to. Nor did she feel the wet tang of saliva in the air . . .

  ‘Vinnie!’ said Hamish. ‘No!’

  But Vinnie was hungry. And as he slowly rose from his tartan shopping trolley he did not see a human being. He saw a neck cone with a pink beehive on top. A sight which to his little beady eyes looked exactly the same as a cone of candyfloss!

  CHOMP!

  For a second, no one said anything.

  And then Goonhilda Swag blinked, twice.

  She dropped her clipboard and raised her little fat hands to her head.

  ‘My beehive!’ she yelled. ‘What’s happened to my beehive?’

  She turned to see a giant, toothy, man-eating plant munching quite happily on what appeared to be a small pink poodle.

  She felt her head. Her barnet had gone! He’d made her look like Friar Tuck!

  ‘I HATE THIS TOWN!’ she screamed.

  And then Goonhilda Swag fainted.

  When she woke up, poor Goonhilda decided it must all have been a terrible dream.

  For, when she came to, on a bench in the middle of town, she saw a Starkley that was so beautiful she couldn’t understand how she could ever have had anything against it.

  It was the picture-perfect British village.

  Thatched cottages everywhere. A gentle sun glistening on a river she’d never noticed before. Around her, elderly couples danced around a
maypole, waving handkerchiefs and jangling bells. Two little boys were scrumping for apples in a happy vicar’s back garden. A local bobby tipped his helmet at her.

  ‘Starkley is . . . charming!’ she said. ‘Quite charming!’

  ‘I’m so pleased you like it,’ said Hamish’s mum, standing beside her. ‘It’s our home and, well, we love it.’

  ‘Oh, I can see why!’ said Goonhilda, who caught sight of herself in the window of Madame Cous Cous’s International World of Treats and admired her own tall tower of pink hair. What had she been thinking before? Perhaps it had been that fish sandwich she bought from the motorway cafe on the way here. It had clearly affected her thinking! ‘Well, rest assured that I will tell the Queen what a wonderful place this is! I will tell her at once!’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Hamish’s dad, opening the door of Goonhilda’s van and helping her in. ‘Have a safe journey home.’

  Goonhilda Swag started her engine, and happily put-put-putted away and out of Starkley forever.

  ‘Okay,’ said Alice. ‘I’d better turn off the Holonow.’

  VVSSSHEEEW.

  Starkley returned to normal.

  ‘And so begins the clear-up,’ said Hamish’s mum, with a happy sigh.

  ‘How long before she notices her hair, Mum?’ asked Hamish.

  They’d had to wait for Vinnie to cough up Goonhilda’s beehive like a wet hairball. Madame Cous Cous dried it with six hairdryers, and then attached it to Goonhilda’s head with sixty pieces of Billericay Bubble Gum – chewed until sticky by all the children in Hamish’s year.

  ‘Let’s just hope that’s the last we’ve seen of her,’ said Mum, looking relaxed for the first time in ages.

  Belasko agents were helping clean up Starkley, and had more news too. Once Vinnie had had his fill of the sweet shop, they’d take him back to his friends on FRYKT. He and his fellow spytraps would be well looked after from now on. Belasko had given a delighted Erik and Viktor Viktorius a twenty-year contract to supply the spytraps with as many Norwegian candies as they could eat. The button in the town clock was pressed again too, bringing everything that Hamish knew and loved back to its original state.

  ‘I can’t believe you let us think Starkley was so boring, Dad,’ said Hamish, as his dad joined the agents and townsfolk in clearing up.

  ‘We felt pretty guilty about it,’ said Dad. ‘That’s why we always made sure you at least had a sweet shop, and the fair visited once a year.’

  He ruffled Hamish’s hair.

  ‘In fact,’ he said, looking at his watch, ‘I made a call to Belasko Fun Incorporated, and . . .’

  From nowhere, a dozen lorries noisily rolled into town and, once the kids saw what they were, they couldn’t stop cheering.

  On the side of each lorry was the fairground ride they were carrying.

  And Hamish’s favourite:

  The fair was back in town. Just for them. Just for today.

  ‘Off you go,’ said Dad, smiling, as Buster, Alice, Clover, Elliot and Venk chased after the lorries, punching the air.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want help tidying up?’ asked Hamish.

  ‘Hamish,’ said Dad. ‘You saved the world. Three times. It’s time you just enjoyed being a kid again.’

  Of course, somewhere out there, on Venus or perhaps Neptune, the Superiors would be licking their wounds and making new plans, probably joined by Axel Scarmarsh and a band of ghastly Terribles. A new threat may rise. They always do.

  But that would be a problem for another day.

  As his mum cuddled into his dad, Hamish Ellerby ran off to join his friends, with a very special new mission indeed: to just enjoy being a kid again.

  Look out for…

  HAMISH AND THE WORLDSTOPPERS

  HAMISH AND THE NEVERPEOPLE

  HAMISH AND THE TERRIBLE TERRIBLE CHRISTMAS

  (eBook only)

  First published in Great Britain in 2017 by

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

  A CBS COMPANY

  Text copyright © 2017 Danny Wallace

  Illustrations copyright © 2017 Jamie Littler

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

  No reproduction without permission.

  All rights reserved.

  The right of Danny Wallace and Jamie Littler to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work respectively has been asserted by them in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988.

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  PB ISBN 978-1-4711-4712-8

  eBook ISBN 978-1-4711-4713-5

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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