‘A few weeks back. That day I gave my class the test.’
‘I see. I see,’ he said, looking around his empty café. It was all falling into place. Milk’s genius had begun at exactly the same time as Carp’s Café’s incredible popularity. Coincidence? he asked himself. Ridiculous!
He knew exactly what to do next.
It was time to become Malcolm Blanket, super-spy.
CHAPTER 24
THE LUCKIEST GIRL IN THE WORLD
It had been the busiest day yet. The moment Irene opened the café door at ten o’clock that morning, the customers flooded in, fighting for seats like a fierce game of musical chairs. Carp’s Café had become the most famous café in the country, and people would do anything to get a table.
Everyone had their roles. Alfred took the orders and settled the bills, Irene limped about carrying food to the tables and Jarvis scurried around the kitchen like a dervish, cooking up the most exquisite dishes. Even Grandad dropped by to lend a helping hand, washing up the odd plate and putting it in the bin to dry. After school, Milk put on an apron and helped with the afternoon rush, preparing hot drinks and plating up Jarvis’s latest speciality, homemade scones smothered with kumquat butter and stinging-nettle jam.
There were still people waiting in the queue at five o’clock when Irene finally closed the café door and pulled down the blinds. Alfred counted that they had served one hundred and twenty-four customers, most of whom had enjoyed three courses. Exhausted, they all sat down at a table together and drank hot Bovril.
‘Incredible,’ beamed Jarvis. ‘That was incredible. Thank you, everybody.’ And they raised their mugs in the air, clinking them together.
Milk couldn’t remember feeling so happy, surrounded like this by her family and friends. Carp’s Café was thriving, Alfred and Irene were too busy to be arguing and even Grandad seemed to be enjoying himself. Milk hadn’t seen him in such high spirits for quite some time – perhaps even since Grandma had died. At times he was like his old self, cheerfully chatting with the customers, even if they didn’t always understand what he was babbling on about.
And to think all this had been brought about by the Porridge of Knowledge. Who would have thought that such magic existed in the universe?
Surely, thought Milk, I am the luckiest girl in the world.
Just then, as Milk was thanking her lucky stars, Jarvis got up from the table, ‘Milk?’ he asked, nervously scratching his cheek. ‘Can you come with me into the kitchen? I want to show you the, err, thingy I was talking about …’
Jarvis was hopeless at being subtle. Something was up. Milk put down her cup and followed Jarvis into the kitchen.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
He opened the cupboard under the sink and took out a Tupperware container. Inside there was just one small piece of porridge. ‘This is all we’ve got left.’
Milk couldn’t believe it. For no good reason she had imagined that the Porridge of Knowledge would last forever, somehow reproducing like magic.
‘Well, we’ll have to make some more,’ she said, decisively.
‘When?’ asked Jarvis.
Milk tried to imagine a day without porridge. It was impossible. The thought of Ms Cerise regaining control of the classroom made her stomach churn. There was only one possible answer to Jarvis’s question. ‘Now. We’ve got to make it right now. But this time we should double the amount.’
‘No, we’ll triple it!’ trumped Jarvis. His legs began skipping beneath him like an overexcited puppy on a linoleum floor. ‘Quick. If I go now I’m sure I’ll be able to get the ingredients.’
‘And I’ll go to the Elephant Stones to get more limpets,’ said Milk. ‘There’ll be just enough time before it gets dark.’
‘What about the dandruff?’ asked Jarvis, putting on his coat. ‘We need dandruff.’
‘That’s easy,’ replied Milk, hurrying over to the beaded curtain. ‘Alfred!’ she called out. ‘Could you come in here please? We need you for a moment.’
CHAPTER 25
CAPTAIN GRANDMAAAARRRR
Milk worked quickly, prising limpets off the rock face and dropping them into a plastic bag. It was even more blustery than usual and the light was fading fast. To top it all the tide was coming in; another ten minutes and she’d be cut off. The thought of spending a long, cold, dark night stranded on the Elephant Stones made her work even faster.
As soon as she’d collected enough large limpets she got to her feet and began making her way back to shore. Normally she skipped from boulder to boulder like a cool-headed mountain goat, but now, squinting into the darkness, she took her time, pausing at the edges, trying to work out the best place to land on the next boulder. There was no moonlight to help her. One false move and she would plunge into the dark, churning sea.
Just then, Milk heard a deep roar, as if a train was hurtling through a tunnel towards her. It seemed to be coming from all directions, getting louder and louder until, with a mighty CRASH, a giant wave collided against the boulder, sending a wall of water shooting up into the air. Instinctively, Milk dropped to her hands and knees, gripping the jagged rock beneath her. Gallons of icy seawater splashed down all around, soaking her to the skin. Now she was scared. Not only was it almost completely dark, but she was cold and wet and at any moment another wave could easily knock her off the rocks. Though she was a strong swimmer, she didn’t fancy her chances being tossed around in the sea at night.
Uncontrollable shivers took over her body. In the distance she could see the street lights of Slopp-on-Sea curving along the promenade. She wished she was back in Carp’s Café, in the warmth, cooking up the porridge with Jarvis. She wished Grandad was with her to take her hand and guide her back to the beach, just like he used to. Keep moving, she told herself. I’ve got to keep moving. She decided to crawl; best to stay low in case of another giant wave. The jagged surface of the boulder cut into her hands and knees. Salt water stung her eyes and the bag of limpets felt heavy and cumbersome as she dragged it behind her. Inch by inch she shuffled forward. She could just make out the shape of the next boulder. It wasn’t far away, not a big jump, but too dark to see what kind of landing she would have. But there was no choice. She had to get off the Elephant Stones as soon as possible.
As she pushed herself up, Milk felt something loose roll under her left hand. It was smooth, about the size of a pencil, with a hard spine running up its length. At first she thought it was just a piece of driftwood, washed onto the rock by the wave, but as she brought it close to her face she saw it was a pocket knife, with a single blade that folded neatly into a wooden handle. Her knife! The one given to her by her grandma, the one she had dropped into the sea when Greasy Reece Blanket had dangled her over the edge.
What are the chances? she thought, as she ran her finger up and down the length of the knife, feeling the words that Grandma had engraved onto the wooden handle. She remembered the last time she had come to the Elephant Stones with Grandma and Grandad. It was near the end of Grandma’s life, when she was too frail to be clambering around on the boulders. Instead, she sat on a blanket on the beach and watched as Milk and Grandad scoured the rock pools for tiny fish or the shy crabs that would scuttle away from their windswept shadows. Whenever Milk found something interesting she scooped it up in her bucket and brought it back to the beach for Grandma to inspect.
‘What have you got for me this time?’ Grandma asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. ‘Ahhh, it’s Blackbeard’s tongue,’ she said, taking a sea slug out of the bucket. ‘They say that if you eat one of these you turn into a fearsome pirate.’
‘Really?’ asked Milk.
‘Really,’ insisted Grandma. She held the sea slug close to her pale lips. ‘Shall I try?’
And before Milk could answer, Grandma arched her neck back and pretended to drop the sea slug into her mouth. Staring hard at Milk she chewed and chewed on nothing more than air and then swallowed, pulling a face as if the most disgusting thing was slither
ing down her throat.
All of a sudden, she sat bolt upright and growled in her best pirate burr, ‘Aarrrrr! Avast, me hearties! I’m Captain Grandmaaaarrrr.’
Carried by the wind, her wicked laugh echoed across the beach and across the Elephant Stones and all the way out to sea.
The memory flooded through Milk like a bowl of hot soup. Instantly, her teeth stopped chattering and a delicious courage flowed through her body. Grandma was with her, she was sure of it.
Without a second thought, Milk leapt forward, landing perfectly on the next boulder. Though she could barely see her own feet, she zigzagged sure-footedly across the surface of the rock, sidestepping the crevices and the slippery edges. Another leap. Another perfect landing. All around her the wind howled and the sea raged, but Milk kept surging ahead, the knife firmly in her hand, until at last she landed on the final boulder. One more jump and she’d be back on the beach. She peered down into the watery gloom. It was high tide. Seawater lapped just inches from her feet, frothing and gushing like an angry washing machine. It was a massive jump to the shore. In all her life she had never jumped that kind of distance.
Milk took four paces back, took a deep breath and charged. Her front foot powered off the edge of the boulder, flinging her high into the air. It was a spectacular leap, airborne for an age, soaring across the water until she landed on the beach, rolling in the sand.
For a moment she didn’t know what to do with herself. She sat on the beach hardly able to believe her luck. Great tears began to roll down her cheeks. Porridge or no porridge, she felt she could achieve anything. Grandma was always with her.
CHAPTER 26
LET’S COOK!
Jarvis was making a head start. He laid out the Porridge of Knowledge ingredients on the kitchen counter in the order they were listed in the book, from the burnt toast, all the way through to the dandruff that Alfred had kindly provided. Then he dug out his most gigantic pot and hauled it up onto the cooker. It stood so tall, even on tiptoes he couldn’t reach over the rim. After a moment’s thought, he scampered upstairs and brought down a stepladder, positioning it beside the cooker.
Now he was ready to cook … just as soon as Milk got back with the limpets.
Patience was not one of Jarvis’s strengths. He stood by the café window, peering up and down the dark street, tapping his foot anxiously on the floor.
He tried waiting for her, he really did, but in less than a minute he had gnawed three fingernails right down.
Where are you, Milk?
After two minutes he had pulled a loose thread so far out of his sleeve, his jumper developed a whopping hole in the elbow.
Come on, Milk. Hurry up.
By the third minute, he had drawn sixteen smiley faces on the steamed-up window, but still there was no sign of her.
That’s it, he thought, and waddled impatiently back into the kitchen.
Perhaps he should have waited after all; cooking with a stepladder was terrifying. You see, Jarvis didn’t like heights. Not one little bit. Sometimes, even the thought of changing a light bulb could bring on a cold, nervous sweat.
Nonetheless, he gripped the bottom of the stepladder, took three deep breaths and began his ascent. Surprisingly, going up wasn’t too bad. As long as he looked straight ahead, he felt in control. So far so good. At the top, he quickly tipped the twenty-four slices of burnt toast into the pot. That’s when he looked down. What a mistake! Instantly, his heart began thumping and his legs shook like jelly in an earthquake. The stepladder wobbled precariously beneath him, rattling on the kitchen floor.
‘Jarvis! What are you doing?’ cried Milk, rushing across the kitchen.
‘Oh, thank goodness you’re back,’ whimpered Jarvis. ‘Do something. Please!’
Milk grabbed hold of the bottom of the stepladder and with a few soothing words of encouragement, guided Jarvis through his perilous six-step descent. When his feet finally touched the kitchen floor he whooped with joy, as if he had just conquered Mount Everest.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ he gushed. ‘It was tough up there. For a while I didn’t think I was going to make it.’
‘You were very brave,’ said Milk, with a hint of a smile. ‘Did you manage to get all the ingredients?’
Jarvis nodded and pointed to the neat piles laid across the kitchen counter. ‘I got enough to triple the recipe. How about the limpets?’
Milk showed him her plastic bag, which was still dripping with seawater. ‘Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s cook!’
Milk stood at the top of the stepladder and stirred the contents of the pot. Before too long, the kitchen filled with the Most Terrible Smell in the World. Even with a tea towel tied firmly over her nose there was no escaping the hideous stink. It permeated right through the tea towel, into her mouth, down her throat, making her stomach retch.
‘How’s it looking?’ asked Jarvis, standing at the bottom of the stepladder.
‘Horrible. Just as it should,’ replied Milk, trying not to gag. She leant over the edge of the pot and stretched right down inside, stirring everything up good and proper with a wooden spoon. It felt like she was sticking her head into a sulphurous volcano, or worse still, a blocked toilet. For once she wished she had no sense of smell, like Jarvis.
‘I think it’s ready,’ she announced finally, coming up for air. ‘Turn off the gas.’
Milk climbed down the stepladder and removed the tea towel from her face.
Her plan had been this: to make the porridge, have a nice cup of tea, then go home and sleep, ready for another day of porridge-fuelled fun. But, instead of saying, ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ completely different words came out of her mouth.
‘Shall we have some porridge?’
Jarvis was as surprised as she was. ‘What? Now? It’s nearly midnight.’
‘Why not? Just to check we made it right.’ She couldn’t really believe she was suggesting it at all.
Jarvis looked at his friend. The seawater had made her hair stick out in every direction and a small piece of seaweed was still pasted across her cheek.
‘OK,’ he said with a grin. ‘Why not?’
And it was as simple as that. Looking back, Milk sometimes wondered about this moment. Perhaps, she told herself, the fumes of the porridge had overcome her, making her say things that she didn’t really mean. Or maybe she was just tired. Who knows? But there was no doubt that this strange little conversation, this brief moment of greed, was to have incredible consequences.
CHAPTER 27
BIG-HEADED
Holding her nose, Milk reached down into the pot and scooped up two wholesome dollops of porridge, splatting them into the plastic bowls that Jarvis held above his head. They took their bowls into the café and sat down. No goofy, gooey, royal baby plate this time. Without cloth napkins or ceremony, they tucked in, washing down the filthy goo with gallons of water.
The shudders came very quickly.
Milk’s was first and, this time, it wasn’t gentle. Her whole body began shaking so violently she nearly fell off her chair. Jarvis’s came immediately after. His head wobbled on his neck and under his jumper his belly quivered like ripples on a pond.
Milk tried to speak. ‘W-w-what’s h-h-happening?’
‘I-I d-d-don’t kn-kn-know,’ juddered Jarvis.
They both grabbed hold of the table for support. The salt and pepper and plastic tomato danced across the table in a condiment conga, before tumbling off the edge and crashing onto the floor. Milk imagined she was in a rocket, seconds before lift-off, engine roaring, preparing to blast into space.
And then, all of a sudden, it stopped. Milk and Jarvis stared at each other, wide-eyed and woozy.
‘Are you OK?’ asked Jarvis eventually.
Milk thought long and hard before answering. Am I OK? Am I OK? She patted her head, checking it was still attached to her neck. She jiggled her legs and counted her fingers. Am I OK? She felt fine. In fact, she was more than fine, she felt great. In fact, she w
as more than great, she felt exceptional. In fact, she was more than exceptional, she was a …
‘Genius!’ she blurted. ‘I’m a genius! Jarvis, I know everything!’ Her eyes were glistening like a poodle’s wet nose. ‘I know that the prime minister picks his nose in bed and wipes it under his pillow. I know that Ms Cerise has nightmares every night about badgers chewing off her fingers. I know where socks go when they disappear from the washing machine. Jarvis, I know everything!’
It was Jarvis’s turn to declare his brilliance. ‘Well, I know that daddy-long-legs can laugh and if you leave Parmesan cheese in the sun it develops a brain.’
‘That’s not true,’ giggled Milk.
‘I know!’ screeched Jarvis, clapping his hands.
‘Do you realise what this means, Jarvis? We can do anything. We could build a spaceship, or teach llamas to talk, or …’
Suddenly she stopped. Jarvis was looking at her in such a strange way. ‘What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘Your head,’ he mumbled. ‘Something’s happening to your head.’
‘What are you talking about? Don’t be silly.’
‘No, Milk, look.’
Jarvis picked up a stainless-steel napkin dispenser off a table and held it up to Milk’s face.
At first she thought Jarvis was playing a joke, that the curved surface of the napkin dispenser was exaggerating the shape of her head, like those bendy mirrors you get at the funfair.
‘Very funny,’ she said, pushing the dispenser back towards Jarvis.
‘I’m not joking, Milk. Your head is … growing.’
And so it was. With every passing second, Milk’s head was inflating like a balloon. Her cheeks were getting puffier, her nose was getting wider, her chin was getting longer – her whole head was expanding.
‘What’s going on?’ she cried, touching her ears, which were already the size of plump cauliflowers. ‘Jarvis! Do something!’
The Porridge of Knowledge Page 10