Beware! Killer Tomatoes

by Jeremy Strong

  ‘Well, my parents aren’t going to split up,’ I said staunchly

  ‘They won’t bother to ask you,’ snorted Maisie. ‘Don’t be so stupid.’

  ‘I’m not stupid!’

  ‘Keep your voice down. I don’t want anyone to hear.’

  ‘Oh, right? Why not? And don’t say “because”. Why can’t anyone hear what Little Miss Smartypants Alien has to say?’

  Maisie scowled back. ‘You won’t tell?’

  ‘Cross my heart or die from a fart. OK?’

  ‘My dad’s gone – a few months ago. One day he was there and the next day he wasn’t. Neither of them said a word. They never told me. So now I’m not telling them anything either. I don’t speak to Mum. Haven’t spoken to her for ages.’

  ‘You’re crazy!’

  ‘Not.’

  ‘Are. How long have you been keeping that up?’

  ‘Seven months. Mum thinks there’s something wrong with me and that’s why I’m here. They keep trying to get me to speak, but I won’t.’

  ‘You can’t not speak forever.’

  ‘Can if I want.’ Maisie sulked for a bit. ‘Anyway’ she eventually murmured, ‘it’s gone on so long I can’t just start again. If Mum knows I could have spoken all this time she’ll be furious.’

  ‘No, she won’t.’

  ‘Will. When my mum’s cross she’s like a tiger on fire.’

  ‘A tiger on fire?’ I repeated, puzzled.

  ‘You’d be cross if you were a tiger and you were on fire, wouldn’t you?’ said Maisie. ‘And tigers are dangerous, so a tiger on fire would be really, REALLY dangerous. Stop laughing, it’s not funny.’

  I tried to look serious. ‘Are you going to stay silent for the rest of your life?’

  ‘No, stupid, only until I’m eighteen and then I can leave home.’

  ‘Eighteen! Maisie, that’s – um, ten, nine years from now! You’re mad.’

  ‘And you can get stuffed!’ she swore. She jumped up, flounced across the ward, grabbed a very surprised Cathy from the desk and dragged her from the room.

  ‘Get stuffed yourself,’ I muttered. But she’d gone. Girls – they’re always trouble.

  I didn’t have much time to think about it though, because shortly after that Acne-Man came over with some news.

  ‘There’s a visitor for you tomorrow. A man phoned and asked if it would be all right and I said yes, you wouldn’t be going anywhere.’ He grinned at me and went on. ‘He seemed to think it was important and he needed to speak to you. He’s an inspector, he said. Probably going to arrest you.’

  Looking at Acne-Man’s face I could see he thought he was making a joke. Some joke! I could only nod. My mouth had gone totally dry. I was numb from my toes to the tips of the hair on my head. This was it. Tomorrow was going to be Doomsday and there was nothing I could do and nowhere to run, because I had a broken leg and couldn’t run at all. There was no escape. I wondered if there’d be handcuffs.

  7 How to Escape from Hospital

  Three o’clock in the morning – do you think I could sleep? No way Kirsty’s been talking in hers. She does different voices as if she’s having a conversation with herself! She had a deep gruff voice that said: ‘… get down!’ Then Kirsty’s normal voice whimpered: ‘But I’m only a little squirrel.’ What with that AND Liam doing his hamster impressions it’s no wonder I was awake.

  I wished it was me fast asleep, dreaming about squirrels. Instead of which I was having a waking nightmare. The police were coming in the morning and I was scared. I felt so alone – except I wasn’t.

  ‘Pssst!’

  ‘Maisie?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘Me neither. Why couldn’t you sleep?’

  ‘My eyes were open.’

  I had to put a hand over my mouth to stifle a snort. ‘You’re crazy.’

  ‘Stop saying that. I’m not. You’re horrid.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m just… well, the police are coming to see me tomorrow.’

  ‘Bedpans!’

  ‘Exactly’ I paused for a moment and added quietly, ‘I’m scared, Maisie. Someone died and it was my fault and now they’re going to question me and I’ll have to go to court and I’ll end up in jail.’

  ‘You could escape!’ Maisie said eagerly. ‘I’ll help you. We’ll tie your sheets together, you climb out of the window, slide down and disappear into the night.’

  ‘I’ve got a broken leg and five kilos of sand hanging from my foot. I don’t think I’ll get very far.’

  ‘Wimp,’ she muttered before sinking into thought. ‘All right, what about this? You pretend to be dead. They’ll have to take you from the ward then. How long can you hold your breath for?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Hold it now and I’ll time you. Ready? Go.’ Maisie began counting. She only got as far as seventeen and then I had to breathe again.

  ‘I don’t think that’s going to be long enough,’ I said dolefully and Maisie nodded.

  ‘Seventeen isn’t very long. I can hold mine for fifty. Watch.’ She took a huge breath and then counted at breakneck speed. ‘Fortysevenfortyeightfortynine – fifty!’

  ‘Yeah, but you counted much faster for you.’

  ‘That’s because I’m smaller and younger.’

  ‘What difference does that make?’

  ‘My dad said – before he LEFT ME – he said that as you get older and bigger you do things more slowly so I was counting more slowly for you.’

  I shook my head. ‘You’ve completely lost me now. I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know what my dad was talking about either,’ Maisie shot back. ‘He and Mum just used to say stuff and I never knew what half of it meant.’ She was right there. My parents were a bit like that. Still are.

  ‘Look, don’t worry’ she went on. ‘Just make sure you don’t breathe when they look at you. Then they’ll wheel you away’

  ‘Where?’ I asked cautiously.

  ‘Um, well, this is a hospital so there must be people dying sometimes. I bet they have a big fire somewhere and they’ll put you on it.’

  ‘Maisie! That’s horrible!’

  ‘That’s what they do with dead bodies. Anyway you don’t have to stay on it,’ Maisie said quickly. ‘You could jump up and run away…’

  ‘… with my broken leg,’ I reminded her.

  ‘You’re just making excuses, you and your stupid broken leg.’ She lapsed into silence once more. Then I began to chuckle. I couldn’t help it.

  ‘What?’ asked Maisie.

  ‘Put me on a bonfire! That is so crazy!’

  She grinned back at me, but it wasn’t long before I felt the smile fade from my face. My voice sank to a whisper of a whisper. ‘I’m really, really scared,’ I murmured.

  ‘How do you know someone died?’ Maisie asked.

  ‘I saw his feet, remember? And he wasn’t moving.’

  ‘Maybe he was sleeping,’ she suggested.

  ‘I don’t think it’s very likely, not with fifty thousand tins of tomatoes on top of him.’

  ‘He could have been unconscious. Anyhow, you don’t know for sure he was dead.’

  ‘He wasn’t moving,’ I repeated. ‘People were yelling. Someone was shouting for an ambulance.’

  Maisie suddenly gripped my arm. ‘He would have been brought here, to the hospital,’ she whispered.

  ‘Probably. So?’

  ‘We could investigate, like detectives. We could find out what happened to him. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something. I am going to save you.’

  Great. Maisie the Weird Alien was going to come to my rescue. But even as I heaved a sigh I began to think she might be on to something. Maybe I should try and find out a bit more. I’d knocked the tins over and there was definitely a body beneath them, but was he dead? I’d have to ask questions around the hospital. How could I do that without arousing
suspicion?

  That was when a big, bright light went on in my brain. Of course! Miss Crispin’s Maths project. I could do a bar chart about injuries like I’d been thinking of, except that the injuries wouldn’t be mine – they’d be other people’s injuries! Suppose I

  did a chart for different kinds of injuries and illnesses in the hospital on different days? I could ask staff if there’d been any crush injuries on the day of my accident. At least it would be a start. I turned to Maisie.

  ‘Listen, suppose we… Maisie?’

  She’d gone.

  8 How to Make an Entrance

  I must have slept after that because the next thing I remember was Mrs Noseworthy shouting in my ear.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ she yelled.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I haven’t got any nothing, young man. You’ve got to get up your strength. Won’t be long before you’re out of here. Got to feed those muscles in your leg.’

  ‘Squash then,’ I growled.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Mrs Noseworthy. ‘You’re looking peaky this morning. I’ll be back later. I’ll see if I can get you some biscuits. That’ll put a smile on your face.’

  I almost died of shock. Mrs Noseworthy was being nice to me! Amazing! And then of course I realized why. It was because the police were coming to arrest me. She only felt sorry for me, that’s all. I expect the whole hospital knew

  by now. The police were coming for Jack, the eleven-year-old criminal. The killer.

  ‘Can you help me sit up?’ I asked Mrs Noseworthy and she adjusted the bed. Liam gave me a thumbs up and pointed across to the desk. I was surprised to see Cathy there, talking to Acne-Man, who had just come on duty for the day. They were smiling at each other and touching hands. Very strange.

  Liam slipped from his bed and came over. ‘I saw them snogging,’ he said excitedly.

  ‘You never did! What – I mean, like real…?’ Urgh. It was almost too disgusting to consider.

  ‘And I heard what they were saying,’ he continued. ‘Acne-Man said he’d always fancied her…’

  ‘Yuk!’

  ‘… and he said he didn’t have the courage to say anything about it until he got the note she wrote.’

  ‘She was writing him notes?’

  ‘No, she wasn’t,’ grinned Liam. ‘Cathy was really surprised and asked him what note was he talking about and he said the note she left on his desk.’

  It took a few seconds for the penny to drop. And then I got it. ‘You mean the note I… the one you…?’

  Liam nodded.

  ‘But it was from Kirst, K for Kirsty. I didn’t put Cathy’

  ‘I know, but it’s Kathy with a K, not Cathy with a C, see?’

  ‘Oh, bummy bums!’ I cried.

  ‘Now look what you’ve started,’ Liam said. ‘It’s disgusting.’

  It might have been disgusting but I was a bit miffed. It had been a perfect plan and it had failed.

  ‘Rats,’ I hissed, and at exactly the same moment had an utterly brilliant idea. ‘Quick, nip across to Kirsty’s bed while she’s snoozing and grab her chart.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just do it, before anyone sees.’

  Liam slipped over, took the chart off the end of Kirsty’s bed and brought it back. I took my pen and quickly added a steep upward line to Kirsty’s temperature. ‘Put it back, quick.’

  Liam had only just managed to get the chart back in place and himself in bed when the ward door swung open and my blood froze. A tall, sharp man came in, glancing round the room, his hard eyes glittering like tiny stones. He marched across to the desk lugging a large, heavy briefcase with him. It obviously had something important inside, like a portable torture rack.

  ‘I’m here to interview Jack Lemming,’ he announced loudly, and my heart went into a steep nosedive. My face was burning. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. I hardly dared look at the man as he approached, and then I saw my parents arrive. I didn’t know whether to be glad or worried. Thank goodness they were here, but then they’d find out about everything!

  I closed my eyes and wished I was far away on a desert island somewhere, just me all by myself on a warm beach with some coconuts and a tinkling waterfall nearby with sparkly fresh water and lots of free food and a pet monkey to play with and a boat – a cabin cruiser with twin outboard motors and some…

  ‘Jack?’

  I opened my eyes. I wasn’t on a warm beach. I was still in a hospital bed. I started to sweat.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hi, Jack,’ smiled Dad. ‘We came in because the inspector needs to ask you some questions about your accident. It’s quite straightforward.’

  Oh, Dad! If only it was straightforward! But it wasn’t. It was the opposite. What is the opposite of straightforward? Bentbackward. That’d be it. It was all bentbackward.

  ‘Perhaps I could ask a few questions?’ suggested the inspector, his cold eyes resting on mine. ‘I’m Mr Cutter. Managed to track you down at last. I was beginning to think you’d gone into hiding. I need to ask you some questions about the day of the accident. You were at the supermarket?’

  I nodded and gritted my teeth. Beads of sweat broke out on my forehead.

  ‘You left the supermarket on your bike and you rode into a car?’

  ‘Yes,’ I croaked.

  ‘What colour was the car?’

  My mind was being sucked into a whirlpool. What colour was the car? What on earth did he want to know that for? It must be a trick. He was trying to unsettle me and force me into a confession. I thought rapidly. Well, I’d got clever Mr Cutter sussed. He wasn’t going to get the better of me!

  ‘It was black,’ I said. (Which was true-ish. The tyres were black. In detective stories they call this

  ‘laying a false trail’. In other words I was leading Inspector Cutter right up the garden path.)

  Ha! You should have seen the effect that had! Cutter’s eyebrows slid right the way up his head and stayed there for at least ten seconds. I bet I could fool Sherlock Holmes if I wanted. ‘Black?’ repeated Mr Cutter.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It wasn’t… red?’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘It was red, and black. With silver bits.’

  Mr Cutter turned to Mum and Dad. ‘Just making sure we’ve got the right vehicle.’ He looked a bit perplexed. ‘Is your son always like this?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Mum.

  ‘Is he always…’ Mr Cutter struggled for a word. ‘Odd?’ he suggested, and Mum and Dad both nodded vigorously.

  ‘Oh yes. He’s always been very odd,’ said Mum. ‘But he did fall on his head when he was three.’

  ‘And again when he was five,’ added Dad.

  ‘And five and a half,’ Mum threw in for good measure. Thanks a bundle, Mum, Dad. You’re real pals.

  Mr Cutter frowned. ‘Tell me, Jack, what was the main colour of the car?’

  ‘Um, red? I think.’

  He wrote that down. ‘And the car was moving?’

  ‘No. It was parked.’

  ‘Was anyone inside?’ I shook my head. ‘You crashed into an empty parked car that wasn’t moving?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why? I mean how come you didn’t see a parked car right in front of you?’

  ‘My eyes were half shut.’

  ‘Oh, Jack,’ sighed Mum.

  ‘He’s a bit of a lemon,’ Dad explained, a trifle crossly.

  ‘Just for the record, why were your eyes half shut?’

  ‘It’s to stop bees and midges and things getting into them when I’m riding fast.’

  ‘Does that happen often?’

  ‘No, because I keep them half shut.’ I was thinking: this man’s an idiot! Does he think I do this for fun? Dad was giving me dark scowls for some reason. Mr Cutter tapped his pen thoughtfully on his notepad.

  ‘Yes, of course. So you were riding fast? Why was that?’

  Bums! My false trail hadn’t worked. I bit my lower lip. This was it. They�
��d all find out any second now.

  ‘Anyone for tea?’

  Phew! It was Mrs Noseworthy with the tea trolley. I’d never been so pleased to see her. She stood there with one hand holding the big metal teapot and the other on her trolley. And then, and then…

  … AND THEN – the curtain round the side of the trolley slowly fell open and a body tumbled out and crumpled on to the floor beside my bed. It lay there, face up, arms and legs

  spreadeagled, with a huge red bloodstain across the chest.

  It was Maisie, the ginger alien.

  For a tiny moment all you could hear was the dribble and splash of tea pouring out of Mrs Noseworthy’s teapot and on to the floor and her long, reverse scream, as if she was swallowing it. Her mouth was as wide as the Channel Tunnel and instead of the scream coming out of her mouth it was being sucked back in.

  The teapot fell to the floor with a clatter and a moment later Mrs Noseworthy followed. Her legs seemed to fold up beneath her and she collapsed in a heap, right in the middle of the tea-puddle.

  ‘Oh, my…’ began the inspector, then his eyes seemed to disappear inside his skull. He toppled forward and sprawled across Mrs Noseworthy while Mum and Dad just stood there, gazing down at the ever-increasing pile of bodies at their feet.

  Acne-Man and Tricia came hurtling across. Tricia plunged on to her knees beside Maisie and just as she bent over her, the dead Maisie suddenly sat up! She gave everyone a manic grin,

  flung her arms wide and cried out: ‘Yippee! I’m alive! I can speak!’ Then up she jumped and began to stride round the ward. ‘I can walk! I can talk! It’s a miracle!’

  And it was, sort of.

  9 How I Start Investigating

  Complete chaos. Mrs Noseworthy had to be given oxygen and then she went and had a sit-down in the restroom for half an hour. Mr Cutter was lifted on to a stretcher and carted away. Mum and Dad sat on my bed looking totally confused, and who could blame them?

  But it was Maisie who was the focus of attention. Acne-Man couldn’t believe his ears. He grabbed Maisie and shouted at her. ‘Can you really talk?’