Something rustled again. Abbie looked down.
Not a pigeon. A hand. Attached to an arm. Beckoning.
She glanced round – there was no one about – and crouched down.
Under a pile of leaves, lying on his stomach, was a man. He lifted his head and tugged an earlobe. The elephant keeper!
‘Coriander,’ he mouthed.
There were footsteps behind. A family came out of the orang-utan house. Mr Big Ears shrank into the bushes. Abbie stood up.
‘… picked his nose,’ the little boy was saying, ‘and eated it.’
‘That’s enough, Tarquin,’ said his mother.
‘Like this,’ said the boy.
‘I said that’s enough.’
When they’d gone Abbie crouched down again.
The grey head popped up. ‘Stay,’ mouthed Big Ears. ‘Tonight.’ He put a finger to his lips. ‘Bugs.’ Abbie scanned the ground for beetles.
The man shook his head and pointed up a tree. Abbie gasped. A little black box was strapped to a branch.
Two teenagers came out of the ape house. Big Ears dropped down.
‘… so like, cute,’ said the girl. She stared at Abbie, who was still crouched on the path. Abbie pretended to tie her shoelaces, remembering too late that she was wearing sandals.
The girl nudged the boy. They snickered off.
Big Ears popped out. ‘Orangs,’ he whispered, pointing back to the building.
A group of grown ups spilled out, chattering in a foreign language. Big Ears slid back into the undergrowth. One of the tourists smiled at Abbie.
‘Looking for my, um – marbles,’ she mumbled, scanning the ground. The smiling tourist nodded. Then he took out a dictionary from his rucksack.
Abbie jumped up. Where had Big Ears gone? And what had he said? ‘Stay tonight,’ she repeated. ‘Stay. Tonight. Stay tonight. Stay tonight.’ No matter how she said it, the meaning didn’t change.
Abbie gulped. She looked at her watch. Quarter to six. Fifteen minutes till the zoo closed. The three parts of her – duvet-lover, biscuit-thief and valiant friend – had a little inner squabble. Duvet-lover won. Time to go home. Abbie headed for the exit. She paused to watch two seals shimmer round their pool.
A hand tapped her shoulder. And there was Big Ears again, his arm reaching out from behind a tree. ‘Coriander,’ he whispered. ‘Prisoner … orangs. Boss –’ he drew a finger across his throat. Then he snatched her wrist. He dragged her along the path to a huge wheelie bin. He lifted the lid. ‘In!’ he hissed, pointing behind him. Abbie heard footsteps coming down the path. So urgent was his voice and so earnest his face, she didn’t think of disobeying.
Big Ears gave her a leg up. She swung one trembling leg then the other over the side of the bin. Her sandals sank into mush. Chips and cheese, sandwich and sausage: who knew what her toes were cuddling? She held her nose and tried not to think about it.
Big Ears closed the lid on her and began to pick up rubbish from the ground around the bin. He was whistling loudly. Abbie opened the lid a slit and peered through. Her throat felt dry as toast.
The blonde lady who’d been trimming the grass by the tapir pen was marching down the path. Or rather was being marched. By a man. Or rather a burger on legs. His white shirt and trousers met at a vast brown-belted waist, like the two halves of bun meeting the beef. But despite his width there was nothing flabby about him. Everything was neat and tight.
He stopped in front of the bin. ‘Vot she look like?’ His voice was high and squeaky.
‘I – I can’t really remember,’ said the lady.
Burger Man squeezed her arm. ‘But I sink you can, Dolores. Remember ve haff you on tape. Talkink.’
‘Ow. Please let go Dr Klench. She – she had curly hair I think. On the plump side.’
Big-boned, thought Abbie indignantly.
Burger Man dropped Dolores’ arm. He turned to Big Ears, who’d suddenly become fascinated by the writing on a chocolate wrapper. ‘Good evenink, Charlie.’ Big Ears stood to attention. ‘A girl iss sniffink around. You haff seen her, yess?’
‘Me? Ooh no Dr Klench. I been clearing the, ah … Just a bit more, um … and I’ll be heading, um … you know.’
‘You are sure?’ Burger Man glared at him with eyes like squashed flies.
‘Me? Ooh yes Dr Klench. I haven’t noticed any sniffink – I mean sniffing. And even if there um … she’ll have … you know, by now.’ He tapped his watch.
‘Schnik!’ muttered Burger Man. Abbie guessed that must be ‘****!!’ in Burger language.
She swallowed a scream. A fat hand was coming towards the bin. It was clutching the end of an ice cream. Abbie ducked. The bin lid opened wide. There was a hard-hearted whiff of men’s soap, then a soft-hearted waft of vanilla. A ball of cold hit her head.
‘So Charlie,’ came Burger Man’s voice, ‘now you come vizz me. Ve go shoppink for security cameras. Perhaps ziss girl returns tomorrow. Ve catch her on screen.’
Abbie licked the ice cream dribble from her cheek and listened to Big Ears’ protests.
‘Me? Ooh no, Dr Klench. Haven’t quite finished, um … just wanted to, er … you know.’
‘Charlie.’ The voice was very calm. ‘Ass Mummy used to say, I haff told you vunce. Come now.’ Abbie pictured the big ears drooping. Three sets of footsteps faded down the path.
Abbie stayed there for a very long time, crouching, trembling and licking.
Her pocket wriggled. Chester crawled up her arm and onto her head. Very gently he pushed open the lid. Then he slithered out. She peered after him. There was no one about. A cloud whispered across the silver-blue sky.
Abbie hoicked herself over the side of the bin and almost fell onto the path. She brushed her sleeves and stamped the worst of the rubbish off her feet. She looked at her watch. Six twenty. The zoo must be closed. Panic bubbled in her stomach. What now? Run to the exit? What if Burger Man was waiting there? What would he do to her? Why had Charlie Big Ears helped her?
Charlie? Ch-arlie! Could he be the ‘Ch’ in Coriander’s letter?
Three words danced across her brain. ‘Tonight. Stay. Orangs.’
Abbie felt all wobbly. She opened her bag, took out the cell phone and dialled the Hair Museum.
‘Hello?’ came Perdita’s breathless voice.
‘I think I might be on to something,’ said Abbie. ‘But I’ve got to –’ she swallowed – ‘stay. Here. Tonight.’
‘What?! Oh, um, hello Auntie.’ Perdita’s voice had gone all bright. ‘It’s Abbie. Yes Auntie, I’m coming. Bye then, Abbie.’
‘I’ll phone again,’ said Abbie.
‘And give my love to Ollie.’ Perdita rang off.
Abbie breathed deeply … and regretted it. Salt and vinegar, meat and mould shot up her nose.
Finding a toilet block further down the path, she washed off what she could of the wheelie bin. Then she turned back towards the ape house.
***
In the kitchen on the top floor of the museum, Perdita and Matt laid the table.
‘Perdie,’ said Matt, ‘the forks go on the left.’
‘Oh, sorry Dad.’ Perdita giggled and swapped them with the knives.
‘They’re upside down, Perdie.’
‘Oops.’ She giggled again.
Matt put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Are you all right, darling? You seem a bit distracted this evening.’
‘What? Oh, yes, just tired. I might go to bed early if that’s OK.’
‘Of c-course. Um, darling?’
‘Yes?’
‘Plates go on the table, not the floor.’
***
Coriander looked at her watch. Three and a quarter hours till her rounds. Might as well get ready. What else was there to do?
‘Who wants to come with me tonight?’ she asked. Vinnie, Winnie and Minnie jumped up and down. ‘All right,’ she laughed. ‘Come and help me pack the bag.’
12 - Found
The sun dropped slowly behind the high
zoo wall. The air was cool and still. Darkness leaked into the sky. A star twinkled down its nose at Abbie, as if to say, ‘All alone and far from home? You think I care?’
Abbie touched her pocket. Chester crept up her arm and snuggled against her face. But not even his talcum hug could block out the mournful smell of old dung. He settled round her neck in a comforting scarf.
There was a vending machine on the path. Abbie bought a Yorkie bar and a packet of crisps and ate them. At least you got good dinners here. She drank some more Fruits of the Forest and felt almost calm.
Something behind her squealed. She yelped.
Something ahead of her squeaked.
Something above her squawked.
And something below played the Mexican Hat Dance.
Abbie grabbed the phone. ‘Hello?’
‘Darling,’ came Mum’s faint voice. ‘Everything OK? Just wanted to check.’
‘Um, yes, fine,’ said Abbie, remembering just in time where she was supposed to be.
‘We’re all missing you. Ollie doesn’t know what to do with himself. I keep telling him it’s only one night.’ A peacock screeched. ‘What on earth – ?’
‘It’s this crazy singer,’ said Abbie, ‘called, um, Peeko. Perdita loves her.’
‘Oh. Right. Well, remember to clean your teeth, darling. And don’t hesitate to ring if you get homesick.’
‘I’ll be fine, Mum,’ said Abbie in a small voice. ‘Bye.’ She ended the call.
Homesick – as if. Homesick was for babies and woossies and … girls alone in zoos at night. Abbie suddenly longed to be at home. Sitting round the dinner table with – yes – slobbery Grandma and whiney Ollie and geeky Dad and nit-picky Mum. She gave a little sob. As if in reply, the phone blooped feebly in her hand. Oh no. Battery low. A tear ran down her cheek. Chester reached up and dabbed it off.
She sniffed. ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Chess.’
The phone blooped again. Putting it back in the bag, Abbie’s fingers brushed the tape recorder. She brought it out and murmured into the microphone, ‘HEROIC ABBIE.’ That sounded good. ‘HEROIC ABBIE,’ she repeated, ‘HEADS FOR …’ For what? She bit the inside of her cheek and switched off the tape recorder.
She arrived at the Exit door of the ape house. She took out the phone again. It had turned itself off. Panda poo. Now she was completely out of touch.
Biting her lip, she pushed the door open. Warm thick air rushed up her nose. She crept along the passage and stood in the shadows, well back from the barrier. She felt like a spy peering in at the window of a family home. The cage was dimly lit. At the back, facing the mirror with their backs turned, were the three apes.
Sorry, four.
One was wearing a light green overall and combing the hair on the baby’s back. ‘There,’ it said. ‘Last tangle gone.’
Abbie’s hand flew to her mouth.
Of course Coriander didn’t really look like an orang-utan. It was just her rust-coloured hair and her round shoulders and the shock of it all.
Something whizzed through the bars into the cage. It landed on the middle plait down Coriander’s back. She whirled round. Her other two plaits whacked her in the face.
‘Oh, oh, ohhhhhh!’ she yelped. ‘No … it can’t be! CHESTER!’
He was all over her, jumping onto her head, cuddling her chin, tickling her cheeks. She was laughing and crying, trying to catch him. He came to rest on her shoulder.
‘Chess, Chess, how did you find me?’ sobbed Coriander. She buried her face in his curls. Then slowly she stood up. She took a nervous step towards the front of the cage and peered through the bars. ‘Is – is anybody out there?’
From the shadows, Abbie stared at the big round face she recognised from the photo with Abraham’s beard. Coriander had oil-dark eyes like Perdita and tiny teeth like Melliflua. But there was something else about her. Something unique. A warm, exciting orangeness. It made Abbie think of autumn: of bonfires and pumpkin pie, choppy seas and floppy jumpers.
Abbie came forward to the barrier. ‘Hello,’ she said shyly. ‘I’m Perdita’s friend Abbie. I … I’ve come to rescue you.’
Can round things get rounder? Because Coriander’s eyes seemed to. She walked as if in a dream to the front of the cage. The three orangs shambled after her. They stood clasping the bars and gazing at Abbie. Who suddenly felt very silly.
A tear rolled down Coriander’s cheek. Chester reached up from her shoulder to dry it.
‘How – how did you find me?’ Coriander’s voice was low and soft. ‘Where’s Perdita? And Matt? Are they OK?’
Abbie assured her they were fine – or as fine as a father and daughter desperate with worry could be.
Coriander sobbed and laughed and shook her head, all at once. ‘So they do want me back. I thought perhaps –’
‘Want you?’ Abbie burst out. ‘They want nothing else! Perdita’s refused to give up hope. She hasn’t taken her plaits out since you left. And Mr Platt’s going …’ she trailed off. Perhaps ‘bonkers’ wasn’t the most helpful word right now.
Coriander frowned. ‘Then why haven’t they answered my letters?’
‘Because they never got them.’ Then it all tumbled out. How Abbie had met Perdita, how they’d vowed to find Coriander, how they’d unstitched Fernando and heard his sorry tale.
Coriander listened silently, her head bowed. But when Abbie got to the part about Dirk and Melliflua hiding the letter in the Hairy Hoot she looked up sharply. Well, as sharply as someone without any sharp bits can look up. ‘No! Why on earth would they do that?’
Abbie shrugged. She hoped that by saying nothing she’d say everything. Chester agreed by jumping through the bars onto her shoulder.
‘What?’ Coriander’s eyebrows arched. ‘You think my sister was involved with my kidnapping? That’s ridiculous!’ She gave a laugh – or was it a moan? ‘Melliflua’s devoted to us. Why else would she look after Perdita while I’ve been travelling? Why else would she care for her, like the mother I should have been?’ She put her head in her hands. ‘Ohhaaohh.’ That was definitely a moan.
What is it with these Platts? thought Abbie. No trouble believing a shrunken head can talk, but every trouble believing a relative’s gone rotten. ‘Fernando saw her hide the letter,’ she said gently.
Coriander shook her head. ‘He must’ve made that up.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’ Coriander threw up her hands. ‘Maybe he’s cross with me for losing his wife’s head. Maybe he wants to cause trouble.’
Maybe I’m an aardvark, thought Abbie.
‘Look, dear –’ Coriander had clearly finished that conversation – ‘have you got a phone? I’m desperate to talk to them.’
Abbie winced. ‘Sorry. The battery’s dead. Perdita knows I’m here for the night, but that’s all.’
Coriander sank against the bars. ‘Oh.’
‘But you’ll see her soon – as soon as we’ve got you out of that cage.’ Abbie tried to sound as if that would be the easiest thing in the world, although the thick bars and massive padlock suggested otherwise.
But ten seconds later Coriander was outside the cage, popping a big bunch of keys into her overall pocket.
‘You’re out!’ Abbie gasped, rather unneccessarily. ‘How come you’ve got the key?’
Coriander smiled sadly. ‘I’ve got all the keys, to all the cages. Just not to the main gate. I can visit all the animals but I can’t escape.’
Abbie shook her head in bewilderment.
‘It’s my turn to explain,’ said Coriander. ‘But first …’ She leaned over the barrier and wrapped Abbie in plump arms. She smelled just like she should, of cinnamon and apples. ‘You’re a brave and marvellous girl, Abbie. Perdita’s so lucky to have met you. Now then –’ Coriander perched her not entirely small bottom on the barrier – ‘let’s start by introducing everyone.’ She patted a spot next to her. Abbie sat down. Then Coriander beckoned to the apes.
All this time they�
�d been standing at the bars with their raisin eyes fixed on Abbie. Now they shambled through the open door. The two big ones crouched on the ground at Coriander’s feet. The baby swung on the barrier then jumped into Coriander’s lap.
‘This is Minnie,’ said Coriander, stroking the baby’s head. Chester jumped off Abbie’s shoulder and tickled Minnie’s chin.
‘And this is her mum Winnie.’ The middle-sized orang shuffled forward and wrapped her long arms round Abbie’s legs.
Coriander pointed to the biggest ape. ‘And this is Vinnie, Minnie’s dad.’ Chester jumped onto his nose. The orang bared his teeth in a huge yawn. Chester shot off, landing in Abbie’s lap.
‘Don’t worry, Chess,’ Coriander said, laughing, ‘they’re the gentlest creatures. They’ve done nothing but kiss and cuddle me for eleven weeks.’
‘You mean you’ve been with them all this time?’ asked Abbie. ‘In this cage? How come I didn’t see you when I came earlier, when the zoo was open?’
Coriander pointed to the back wall of the cage. ‘See that mirror? It’s a door. Behind it there’s a little room where I’m chained by my ankle all day. The chain lets me move round the room and use the bathroom at the back, but nothing more. So I can’t get out but the orangs can come in. The zookeepers bring me food during the day. When the zoo closes at night Dr Klench comes and unchains me. Then every morning, before the zoo opens, he chains me up again.’
‘Burger Man!’ breathed Abbie.
Coriander chuckled: a cuddly gurgle like a kettle boiling. ‘You’ve seen him, then.’
Abbie told her how she’d hidden in the wheelie bin. ‘That man who helped me – the one with big ears – has he been smuggling out your letters?’
Coriander nodded. ‘Charlie Chumb. He’s posted loads of loo rolls for me. Sorry about them, by the way. They’re all I had to write on. Charlie’s really tried to help me. But he’s terrified of Klench. They all are.’
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