‘And say what? That we suspect your aunt and uncle? On the evidence of a soggy loo roll and a shrunken head? Oh, sure. They’d love it.’
‘What about Dad then?’ said Perdita.
‘Go ahead. He’ll either have a nervous breakdown or tell my dad. Or both. Let me just go to the zoo. If I don’t find anything, there’s nothing to tell. And if I do, you can tell who you like.’
‘How can you go without your parents knowing?’
‘Hmm.’ Abbie frowned at the carpet. Then she looked up and grinned. ‘Easy.’
She explained her plan. Perdita hugged her. ‘You’re brilliant.’
‘Tell me that when I’ve found your mum,’ said Abbie. ‘Now come on. We’d better go and make that coffee. You’ve got to get back with the loo roll.’
They stole back down to the kitchen. Abbie washed the dishes and Chester dried. Perdita took a little bottle from her pocket and poured a few drops into a glass of water. ‘Ollie’s treat,’ she explained.
Abbie raised her eyebrows in a you’re-going-to-tell-me-anyway-so-I-won’t-bother-asking sort of way.
‘Fruits of the Forest hairspray. Delicious.’
***
The door to Hair Science opened. Dirk popped his head round. ‘Just to let you know,’ he called to Matt, ‘I’ve been doing the accounts. Funds are at rock bottom, I’m afraid. Need to get a move on with those tests, old bean. See you later.’
He closed the door. Matt poured his latest potion over the earthworm that was wriggling across his desk. Tiny bumps sprang up all over the creature’s body.
Matt threw up his hands in exasperation. ‘How do I know if bumps are a sign of beauty in earthworms?’ He picked the worm up and headed for the door. ‘C-come on,’ he murmured, ‘I’ll take you back outside.’ He chewed his lip. ‘To be with your family.’
***
Coriander watched Winnie and Minnie creep through the door. They stole up to Vinnie who was asleep in the corner. Minnie tickled his nostril with a piece of straw. Then Winnie planted a great sloppy kiss on his cheek. Vinnie snorted awake.
Coriander chewed her lip. ‘How lovely,’ she murmured, ‘to be with your family.’
10 - Sleepover
Mum and Dad were delighted to hear that Perdita had invited Abbie to stay the night.
‘It’ll do you good to get away from your brother,’ said Mum. Abbie couldn’t agree more. She’d been at war with Ollie ever since Perdita had left. It started when Matt came to the door to collect her.
Ollie had hugged Perdita goodbye and said, ‘I wish you were my sister.’
Fury ripped through Abbie. ‘I wish she was mine and you weren’t born!’ Mum sent her to her room. On the landing she tripped over the eggbox tortoise Ollie had made that morning.
‘Stupid thing,’ she said, kicking it.
When Ollie came upstairs and saw the crumpled eggbox he burst into tears and said he hated Abbie … who opened her bedroom door to say what a coincidence, she felt the same about Ollie … who spent the next ten minutes sitting on the landing so he could tell on Abbie if she sneaked out for biscuits.
Dad said it was like the Siege of Troy.
Mum said she was sick of them both, she was going to get her eyebrows waxed.
Squashy said kids of today, what they needed – but no one got to hear what they needed because, just then, a lady from the library phoned to say that Squashy had left her purse behind.
‘My family, they’re the pits,’ said Abbie the next afternoon. She was climbing over the gate into the museum field.
Perdita was waiting on the other side. ‘Why? I think they’re great.’ She waved Dad off. He turned in his seat to wave back, narrowly missing a tree.
Perdita hoicked Abbie’s overnight bag over her shoulder and strode across the field. ‘Bet your mum helped you pack this,’ she said pointedly.
‘Too right.’ Abbie held up her hand and worked it like a nagging mouth. ‘“Have you got your toothbrush … don’t forget spare knickers … you can’t wear those trousers … take my cell phone.” She nearly found the Custard Creams I wrapped in my pyjamas, too.’
Perdita didn’t seem to have heard. ‘Bet Ollie’ll miss you tonight.’
‘Give me a break! It’s you he misses. If I was run over by a bus he’d tell Mum I’d crossed the road without looking.’
‘Maybe he’s just trying to get his own back. Coz he thinks you don’t like him.’
‘Maybe he’s right. Coz Mum likes him enough for two.’
‘Maybe she’s just protecting him. Coz you’re bigger.’
‘Maybe you should mind your own –’ Abbie bit her lip. The last thing she wanted was another fight. ‘Hey, wait for me!’
Perdita’s pants were swarming with ants today. By the time Abbie reached the museum door she’d already climbed three stairs. She looked round. ‘Sorry. I’m just so nervous. What did you say?’
Abbie caught her up. ‘I said, how did you manage to get your aunt and uncle out of the way?’
Perdita giggled. ‘I told them Samson’s got headlice. I knew that’d scare them off. They won’t be back till I’ve treated all the hair in the museum. And you’ll be gone by then. There’s a bus at three. Let’s go and find Chester.’
They climbed up past Hairstory and Hair Science. On the third landing Perdita opened the door to Rare Hair. Chester was inside, dusting the case of the Bobus hair. He jumped onto Abbie’s head. Then he shot back to the Bobus case and rubbed till the glass squeaked.
‘He’s nearly done,’ said Perdita. ‘I told you he’s a great worker.’
A faint snoring sound was coming from the back of the room. The girls went over to Fernando’s stand.
Perdita tapped the top of his head. ‘Wakey wakey.’
He opened one eye. ‘Qué? Eh, pardone. I dream of rainforest. Of love and leaves.’
‘Of what?’ said Abbie.
He yawned. ‘Of my love. My life. The wife who I leaved. Who I left in the leafs. No, leaved in the lefts – oh, thees Eengleesh!’ If he’d had a hand he would have smacked his head. Instead he took a deep breath. ‘My wife who I love. And I leafed in the leafs.’
‘We understand,’ said Abbie, patting his head. ‘You miss your wife.’
‘You no understand!’ Fernando’s beetle eyes glittered. ‘My wife she my life. Four hundred and thirty year we roll together on forest floor. Oh,’ his head wobbled so wretchedly it nearly fell off the stand, ‘I am sad bad man.’
‘No,’ said Abbie gently. ‘You’re a sad good man. Look how you’re helping us.’
Perdita crouched down till her eyes were level with his. She cupped him in her hands. ‘I’m sorry for shouting at you, Fernando. You’ve given us our only lead to Mum.’
Fernando gave a moan that would have split his guts, if he’d had any. ‘Oh my Carmen, my adored Senora. She gone for ever.’
At five to three the girls were standing at the bus stop on the main road.
Perdita hugged Abbie ferociously. ‘You’re the best.’ She pressed three five pound notes and some coins into her hand. ‘That should be plenty, for the zoo and snacks and –’ she gave a little hop, ‘two single bus tickets back!’ She squeezed Abbie’s hand. ‘Make sure you ask the driver where to get off. And make sure you don’t miss the last bus back. And make
sure –’
‘My hand doesn’t fall off. You’re worse than Mum,’ said Abbie, pulling her arm away.
Perdita gripped her wrist. ‘You’ll phone me as soon as you find anything, won’t you?’
‘Course. But what if your aunt or uncle answers? Or your dad? I wish you had a cell phone.’
‘I’ll try to get the phone whenever it rings. And if anyone else does, just pretend you’re phoning from your house,’ said Perdita.
The bus pulled up. Perdita shoved an old ice cream box into Abbie’s hands. ‘To keep you going.’
Abbie found a seat and put the box on her lap. She waved out of the window until Perdita was nothing more than a
prancing spider in the distance.
Abbie leaned her head against the itchy seat. She’d managed to keep pretty calm in front of Perdita. First rule of journalism, stay cool. But now her stomach was filling with trampolining crickets.
A little nibble: that would settle her nerves. But the Custard Creams were in the bottom of her bag. Cautiously she opened the lid of the ice cream box. There was a bottle of Fruits of the Forest hairspray and a pile of sandwiches. Without thinking she took a bite of bread. It was smeared with pink foam. At the bottom of the box, on a paper serviette, Perdita had written Magimousse. Stiffens hair and nerves.
‘Bleuhh,’ Abbie spluttered.
The lady in front turned round in her seat. ‘Poor love. My Waldo’s the same on buses. Here.’ She handed Abbie a paper bag.
‘It’s OK, I’m fine.’ Abbie suddenly realised that the only thing making her sick was the thought of eating hair mousse. It tasted wonderful and had knocked out the crickets. She polished off three sandwiches, leaned back again and closed her eyes. Her hand cupped the right pocket of her jacket.
But not even Chester’s reassuring wriggles could stop Abbie’s worries from worming back. What if they’d got it wrong? What if the address was Bradleigh Zips, which wasn’t in the phone book? That pause on the phone yesterday: had she imagined it? And if not, what on earth was she heading into?
***
There was a knock at the door of Hair Science.
‘Dad?’ came Perdita’s voice from the other side. Matt grabbed the tangle of golden hair on his desk and shoved it into a drawer underneath. He ran to the door and opened it a slit.
‘Hi Dad. I just wondered if you needed any jobs doing.’
Matt frowned. ‘Are you all right, Perdie? You look a bit flushed.’
‘I’m fine. Just been for a – a walk.’
‘Well,’ Matt rubbed his teeth, taking care not to open the door too widely. ‘You c-could trim the bushes. I noticed a few split ends on the bunches.’
‘Sure.’ And before Matt could thank her she was gone.
***
Coriander made her bed for the fourth time. This was the worst part of the day: mid-afternoon. Vinnie, Winnie and Minnie were out the front having fun. And she was stuck in here, without so much as a crisp packet to read.
Coriander lay on the bed. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine she was in the kitchen baking dandruff biscuits with Perdita.
Her eyes sprang open. Was it one egg or two you needed? No – she was forgetting the recipe! Perdita, too, was fading in her mind to a blank face with plaits. Coriander clasped her head. She had to get out of here – and soon.
11 - Schnik
‘Next stop Bradleigh Zoo.’ The bus driver looked over his shoulder at Abbie. She couldn’t decide if his fringe was too long or his face too short.
She finished her sandwiches and half the Fruits of the Forest hairspray. Burping delicately, she packed the rest in her rucksack and got off the bus.
It was a scowly smiley afternoon. The air was warm and humid. Clouds like old men’s eyebrows frowned across the sky. The minute Abbie unzipped her jacket the sun went in. The minute she zipped it up the sun came out.
Her mood, too, was all over the place. If the bus hadn’t dropped her right outside the zoo, and if the queue hadn’t been moving so fast, she might well have got back on. Did she really want to find Coriander? Sniffing out Bourbons in the kitchen was one thing, sniffing out lost mothers quite another.
But she was here now, with loads of ice cream money. Might as well have a wander. It could even be quite fun, imagining which animal she’d choose for a pet. It was years since she’d been here. Mum had sworn never to return after Ollie had got lost for two and a quarter minutes outside the reptile house and Abbie had pointed out the llama poo to four old ladies.
She arrived at the entrance hut.
‘₤5 love,’ yawned the woman behind the window. Even the cigarette dangling from her lips looked bored. She didn’t notice – or care – that Abbie was on her own.
Abbie pushed the money through the gap under the window. She took a deep breath. ‘’Scuse me. Does a lady called Coriander Platt work here?’
The lady tapped the cigarette on an ashtray. ‘Coriander? That’s an ’erb, innit?’ She squawked with laughter. ‘Not that I know of, love. Mind you, I only been ’ere a week. I dunno anyone. The boss ’asn’t even bovvered to show me rahnd. You’d fink ’e’d ’ave the manners … we close at six, dear.’ She pressed a buzzer. The tall entrance gate opened.
‘Thanks,’ said Abbie. That gave her two hours to snoop round. She went through the gate. The lady hadn’t noticed she’d gone and was still grumbling away.
There were toilets on the left, a shop on the right and a pond in front. Flamingos rose from the water like snooty question marks. Ducks wove between them.
Abbie looked round for someone official. But there was only an old couple eating apples on a bench and a mother with a boy in a pushchair. The mother was feeding the ducks. The boy was shoving an ice cream at every bit of his face except his mouth. Abbie thought of Ollie. She could be at home now making him cry. She chewed her sleeve. Not that she missed him, of course, or anyone else for that matter. It was just that she’d never been anywhere without the Rotten Lot knowing about it, and the crickets were stirring in her stomach again. What she needed was a spot of blood sugar.
She went to the shop and bought a double choc chip ice cream with double flakes and double chocolate sauce. Then she came out and sat on the bench next to the old couple.
‘Nice day,’ said the man, fanning himself with his cap.
‘Mmm,’ said Abbie, licking ice cream off her jacket.
‘Have you lost someone, dear?’ said the lady, whose hair was like a cauliflower.
‘Oh – no. My mum’s feeding the elephants with my brother.’ Abbie liked the sound of that.
The man eyed her ice cream. ‘That looks good,’ he murmured.
‘Mmm,’ said Abbie, snatching globs with her tongue the way a lizard snatches flies. The old man stared at her.
‘Harold’s got cholesterol,’ said the lady. ‘Haven’t you, Harold?’ The man nodded gloomily. She patted his knee. ‘Time for walkies, Harold. Cheerio, dear.’
When they’d tottered off, Chester poked out of Abbie’s pocket.
‘Now what?’ she whispered, looking round. Chester stretched towards the path on the left. Then he sank down again.
‘OK,’ said Abbie. She got up, slung her bag over her shoulder and headed down the path. The sun broke through, polishing the bushes either side. Abbie put her hand into her bag and fingered the tape recorder. She felt suddenly brave. She was on a story. A mission. A quest. Nothing could stop her. Nothing could scare her.
‘Eek!’ she squealed. Two eyes were staring over a fence. Long sad eyes in a long sad face. Abbie jumped back. The creature stumbled off, its snout wobbling.
‘Very shy, tapirs.’ A blonde-haired lady in green overalls was trimming the grass by the fence with long shears. ‘Mind you, who wouldn’t be with a hooter like that?’
Abbie laughed politely. Then she cleared her throat. ‘Excuse me. Do you, um, know someone here called Coriander Platt?’
The shears went still. The lady looked up. ‘No. Why do you ask?’
‘I, well … nothing.’
The lady shoved the shears under her arm and hurried off.
Abbie joined a small crowd at the next fence. An elephant was curling its trunk round an iced bun. The audience clapped. It flapped its huge ears and tucked the bun into its mouth. A grey-haired keeper, whose ears were almost as impressive, held out another bun. The elephant scooped it up. Nice life, thought Abbie: eating, pooing and trumpeting all day.
A drop of rain spotted her head. The zookeeper parted with the last bun and swung his legs over the fence.
‘Excuse me,’ said Abbie. ‘I’m looking for a lady called Cori …’
The man tugged an earlobe and rushed off.
&nb
sp; ‘… ander Platt,’ said Abbie to the back of his head. A shiver went through her. Did he know something? Or had he just not heard her? Unlikely, with those lugholes.
She slipped behind a tree. Unzipping her bag, she took out her tape recorder. ‘MUM’S THE WORD FROM CAGEY KEEPERS,’ she murmured into the microphone.
Another raindrop sank into her neck. Then another, fat and warm. Abbie hurried along the path, past giraffes who ambled round their pen like giant clockwork toys, and ostriches who sat under trees in huffy huddles. She headed for the nearest building.
It was packed inside, and very hot. Damp tourists were pushing against a low barrier that separated them from the cage. For a few minutes Abbie could see nothing but coats and hairstyles. Then she found a gap in the crowd and wormed forward to the barrier.
At the back of the cage sat an orang-utan. Its back was turned. It was making kissy faces at a tall mirror in the back wall. In its arms was a baby. The baby suddenly wriggled free and stuck out its bottom at the crowd. A golden stream arced towards them.
‘Grilla dunna wee!’ yelled a little girl. The mother orang turned round to the crowd. She clapped her hand over her eyes, as if to say, ‘Get your species right, child.’ The crowd roared. The baby orang ran along a log. Grabbing an overhead branch with its picture-hook fingers, it swung across to a pole and slid down like a fireman. It scampered to a heap of straw at the front of the cage. The straw sat up and shook itself into another orang-utan, huge and floppy. This one – Dad, no doubt – bared his teeth at the baby, as if to say, ‘You ruined my nap.’ Then he lay down again and covered himself with more straw. He scanned the crowd with bright, sad eyes. Abbie wasn’t sure who was the audience. He’s like a kid, she thought, lying under a duvet and watching TV. She suddenly felt very rude standing and staring at him. ‘Sorry,’ she found herself whispering. She shuffled towards the exit.
Outside the rain had stopped. Water steamed off the path. Something rustled on the left. Abbie glanced at the bushes. A pigeon fussed into the air.
She looked at her watch. Five o’clock and nothing to report but deaf zookeepers. She was getting nowhere. Might as well go home. Part of her breathed with relief: the part that liked to lie under duvets and watch TV. But another part – the part that liked to sneak into the kitchen and pinch biscuits – felt tingly and daring. And a third part – the part that felt guilty whenever she denied pinching biscuits – knew it would be letting Perdita down to leave now.
Dead Hairy Page 7