Dead Hairy

by Debbie Thomas

  Coriander inched closer on her knees. ‘The way you’ve always giggled in a tinkly way.’ Melliflua giggled in a tinkly way. The gun drooped a little more.

  Coriander’s hand reached out. ‘I could never giggle like you. I could never glide or a’milk. You’ve always had such style.’ Her fingers closed round the gun. ‘More than me. More than Mother.’

  ‘Mother!’ The gun jumped up. ‘As if she cared about milkmaids or giggles! All I ever heard was, “Coriander, Coriander. Kind Coriander, clever Coriander, cuddly Coriander.” Laying the table, fetching Father’s pipe. Bounding round them like a great St Bernard. Little Goodie Two Shoes. Well now, Corrieboo, the shoes are on the other feet. It’s my turn for glory. You can rot till Glory Be!’ With a whisk of gold she was gone.

  Coriander heaved herself off the floor. ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned Mother,’ she sighed.

  Fernando opened his eyes. ‘A terreeble theeng, thees – how you say? – jealousy.’

  ‘But she had nothing to be jealous of!’ cried Coriander. ‘She was always so glamorous. It was me who lumbered behind.’

  Abbie looked at Ollie, sitting next to Mum. Could jealousy describe the urge she had to unscrew his nose whenever Mum praised him? Was jealousy what she felt every time old ladies in shops patted his head and called him an angel? Was Abbie just a mini Melliflua? Would she too grow up into a bundle of bitterness and envy? Panic shot through her. No way. Before she knew it, Abbie was crouching over her brother, hugging him from behind.

  Ollie turned round. He hugged her back, smiling and surprised. ‘That lady’s like a creme egg,’ he said, ‘only backwards.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s soft on the outside, and hard on the inside.’

  Even though it wasn’t very funny, and even though the mention of creme eggs made her hungrier than ever, Abbie kissed his head.

  ***

  Down in Hair Science Dirk looked at his watch. ‘Tumbling topaz, where’s that blasted man? I phoned him over two hours ago.’

  Melliflua massaged his shoulder. ‘It’ll take him a while to load up. I’m sure he’ll be here soon, Dirkie.’

  ‘Don’t call me that!’ he snapped.

  ‘Sorry darling.’ Melliflua stuck her tongue out at the back of his head. There was no need to be so rude. She was on his side, for goodness sake. All this excitement was going to his head. And there was no need to be quite so horrid to Coriander and Perdita either. They were family, after all. Once Dirk had got what they wanted, he’d better leave them alone. No unnecessary violence.

  A trumpet fanfare blared from Dirk’s pocket. He grabbed his cell phone. ‘Yes? Spot on, old fruit. I’ll be right there.’ He ended the call. ‘He’ll be at the gate in ten minutes. I’m going to wait at the door.’

  ***

  Chester jumped onto the gate. He waited there for Grandma and Constable Wibberly, who was bringing up the rear with a torch. The moon lay like a sleeping silver head between pillows of cloud.

  Grandma and the constable reached the gate. There was a crackle of walkie talkie. ‘Sergeant Bolt to Constable Wibberly. Do you read me?’

  Wendy unclipped the machine from her belt. ‘Yes Sarge,’ she said in a small voice.

  ‘All well with the female geriatric? Over.’

  Why did he always speak in such a silly way over the walkie talkie? ‘Yes Sarge. We’re nearly at the museum. Over.’

  ‘Good work, Wibbers,’ said Bolt. Were those snorts of laughter she could hear, or just static? ‘Inform us when you locate the, er, hairy miscreants,’ he continued. There was a large raspberry sound. ‘Over and out.’

  Wendy blew a raspberry back at the machine. Then she hurled it into the darkness. She’d had enough of Bolt’s cheek. As soon as she got back to the police station she was resigning.

  Grandma counted the bars on the gate. ‘You don’t expect me to climb that, do you? I’m no streak o’ bacon, you know.’ Chester bounced on her head. ‘Oh all right,’ she sighed. ‘Give us a leg up.’ She waddled towards the bottom rung. Constable Wibberly bent down and cupped her hands into a step.

  The sound of an engine growled up the lane. Chester whizzed off Grandma’s head, grabbed her hand and pulled her behind a bush. Wendy followed. She switched off her torch as headlights ripped the darkness.

  ‘What in ’eaven’s – ?’ began Grandma. Chester slammed across her mouth. They crouched behind the bush.

  A van pulled up and stopped in front of the bush. The engine stuttered to silence. The beam of its headlights splashed over the gate.

  A tall thin man was approaching from the other side. ‘Plummeting platinum, thought you’d never get here!’ he shouted to the van. He undid the padlock and opened the gate. The passenger door of the van opened. The tall thin man got in. His feet flashed red. The van bounced through the gate.

  Behind the hedge Wendy Wibberly felt something brush her nose. Her buttons sagged. She knew who it was, and what he was telling her to do, even before Grandma whispered, ‘After ’em.’

  Wendy helped Grandma up. Without a word the old lady headed through the open gate. Wendy followed, rubbing a button with her finger. She hated the dark. But she didn’t dare switch on the torch. Why oh why hadn’t she taken that job polishing brassware in the church?

  A cloud slid across the moon. A breeze tickled the darkness. The three pursuers trembled, shuffled and wriggled after the van, doing their best not to snivel, grunt or rustle.

  The van grumbled to a stop in front of the oddest looking tower. In the frail moonlight Wendy Wibberly could almost imagine a long face with plaits either side. The van’s two front doors opened. Chester dived to the left behind a bush. Wendy and Grandma lunged after him. They crouched down and peered out from a tuft that, for some strange reason, reminded Wendy of her old French teacher’s hairy ears.

  A short fat man got out of the driver’s door. He waddled to the back of the van. The tall thin man was already there, shining a torch on the double back doors. The fat man unlocked the doors and picked up a rope from the floor inside. He pulled it. A huge white bundle fell out of the van. He yanked on the rope again. It tightened round the bundle, which squirmed and squealed on the ground.

  The fat man slung the rope over his shoulder and heaved. The bundle squealed louder and wriggled in all directions. ‘Help me!’ he snapped. The tall man grabbed the front end of the rope. The bundle was dragged behind. The strange procession – tall man then fat man then writhing white bundle – heaved through the open door of the tower.

  Wendy Wibberly stifled a scream. Poking out from beneath the bundle were at least five feet.

  21 - Beasts

  ‘What’s that?’ Abbie put her ear to the door. Something was blundering and thundering, reeling and squealing up the stairs. It couldn’t be Grandma. Not even she could manage that racket.

  ‘Stand back!’ Dad yelled just in time.

  Through the door lurched Dirk. Then some rope. Then a fat man, head down and heaving. Then more rope. Then a jumble of white sheet and a stumble of brown feet. Last came Melliflua, gun in one hand, a huge padlock in the other.

  ‘Cage!’ gasped Dirk. For once he was completely out of snarl. Sweat varnished his face. Abbie was strangely comforted to note that a splinter of hair had fallen forwards, messing up his forehead.

  Melliflua streamed past and opened the door of the empty yeti cage. The two men threw themselves against the gibbering white bundle, forcing it inside. Melliflua shut the door and snapped the padlock round the bars. Dirk and the fat man dropped the rope and collapsed against the bars.

  Coriander shrieked. ‘Klench!’

  The fat man – who on closer look was extremely fat – bowed. ‘I voss missink you, my dear. So ziss mornink I make small phone call to my friendss, your sister and her hussband. Zey are so glad ven I tell zem you are comink home.’ He gave a fat chuckle. The sort a doughnut would give, thought Abbie, if doughnuts could chuckle.

  Klench beamed. ‘And now again I am free
and you are captiff. Ass Mummy vould say, vot goess around comess around.’

  Before Abbie could think of something witty, like ‘there isn’t much that goes around you mate’, Ollie yelled, ‘Rangatangs!’

  He pointed at the cage. The rope had loosened and the white sheet had slipped off. And sure enough there they were, Vinnie, Winnie and Minnie, all arms and legs and gymnastic lips. When they saw Coriander their whines turned to whoops. They jabbered across the cage towards her. Winnie hugged the bars.

  Coriander reached her arm through and grasped their leathery fingers. ‘It’s all right, my darlings. I won’t let them hurt you.’

  ‘We’ll see about that.’ Dirk had got his snarl back. He shoved Coriander aside and kicked the cage.

  It was nerves, honest. Minnie turned round, stuck her bottom out and aimed a liquid sunbeam at Dirk’s shiny red shoe.

  ‘Beast!’ roared Dirk.

  ‘Of course she is!’ cried Coriander, ‘and that’s how she’ll stay. You start meddling with her and I’ll … I’ll …’

  ‘You’ll clean up this mess!’ Dirk bent down and grabbed her leg. Coriander toppled over as he wiped his shoe with the hem of her pyjamas.

  Matt rushed over to help her up. ‘Leave her alone!’ It must have been the bravest thing he’d ever whimpered.

  ‘Oh we will, we will. It’s not her we’re interested in, you miserable mound of muck!’ Dirk gave a cruel cackle. The sort raw cabbage would give, thought Abbie, if raw cabbage could cackle.

  ‘You see,’ Dirk went on, ‘we met Friend Klench at a party four months ago. And when we got chatting, we discovered we had a common interest. Money. So when we heard Matt’s plan for the potions, we phoned Friend Klench. And we struck a little deal. Melliflua and I would – ah – lend your dear wife to Klench for haircutting and other duties at the zoo. And in return we’d – ah – borrow these hairy hobos for a few final tests. And when we’ve made our millions, we’ll split the profits three ways. Isn’t that right, woman?’ Melliflua nodded so hard her gun nodded too.

  A dripping black mat flew through the cage and landed on her face. ‘Aarrggh!’ she screamed, ‘Getoffme!’

  Abbie’s heart hurdled. Could it be? At last? But no. It was only yeti hair. Soaked by Minnie, thrown by Vinnie.

  Where are you, Chester? Abbie wailed silently.

  ***

  Twenty steps below, as a matter of fact. He was crawling up towards Rare Hair. Not too quickly, for two reasons:

  1) Less rush more hush

  2) Grandma

  She was huffing and puffing as quietly as she could, which was surprisingly quietly for a world champion huffer. But there was plenty of huff inside her – the angry, indignant kind. It was brewing inside like a storm. All ready to burst on whoever it was who’d ruined her evening. Dragged away from the crossword … laughed at by those cheeky coppers … saddled with a cry-baby constable … lumbago playing up, and – what was the other thing? Oh yes – family kidnapped.

  Three steps below, Constable Wibberly could almost see the old lady swelling like a balloon. Must be the bad light again.

  ***

  Back at the police station the sergeant grabbed the walkie talkie on his desk. ‘Bolt to Wibberly. Do you read me? Over.’ He’d tried to contact the constable five times in the last twenty minutes. Any excuse to speak into that marvellous machine. ‘Walkie talkie must be broken,’ he muttered. ‘Useless woman. Even technology gives up on her.’

  Constable Ludge dug a finger up his left nostril. He inspected the crop and flicked it at the back of Sergeant Bolt’s neck. ‘Wonder what they’re up to.’

  A grin unfurled across the sergeant’s face. ‘The old bat’s probably giving her a right wigging. Geddit?’ he said, whacking Ludge’s arm.

  Ludge rubbed his arm and scowled. It was too late for the Sarge’s painful jokes.

  22 - You reeker!

  ‘Pull yourself together woman,’ said Dirk, as Melliflua wiped yeti hair and orang pong off her face. ‘It’s only a bit of … Galloping gold! What the – ?’

  ‘– Blazes d’you think you’re up to?’ finished a voice.

  Abbie had to hand it to her. Planted in the doorway, hands on hips, she looked anything but squashy. ‘Grandma!’

  ‘Mother!’ yelled Dad.

  ‘Freeze!’ roared Dirk.

  Sensibly everyone froze. Everyone except Grandma, who was trembling with rage like a trifle on a tractor. ‘What’s all this?’ she thundered. ‘In all me born days … never ’eard such claptrap … potions from ’airstyles … world domination … messin’ with me family … ninety-three blinkin’ stairs … lumbago … no spring chicken you know … youth of today!’ Or something. All in one breath.

  She refuelled. ‘’Oo d’you think …? what’s with the monkeys? … never trust a man in red shoes … game’s up maties … the Law’s right be’ind me.’ She swept her arm backwards in a fanfare of air. ‘Law, in you come!’

  The Law crept forward. It looked round, from gun to apes to people. ‘Oh buttons,’ it gasped, and collapsed on the floor by the door. Hartleys and Platts rushed forward to revive it.

  Dr Klench was standing next to the shrunken head stand. He patted Fernando, whose face was as dead as a pan. ‘Dear dear Mr Hairy Head,’ he tutted. ‘Ze Law iss on ze floor. I am so scared.’ Then, turning to the glaring boulder in the doorway, he bowed. ‘Madam.’ Something like respect slid into his piggy eyes. ‘You are fine voman. You remind me off my mummy. It iss sad to meet you across a gun.’

  ‘Cut the creeping,’ snapped Dirk. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’ He took the gun from Melliflua and led the way to the door. He jostled Grandma into the room with the gun.

  ‘Take your ’ands off me, you brute,’ she barked. ‘I dunno, youth of –’ she looked at his hard grey hair – ‘not that you’d be one.’

  The door slammed behind the three villains. Chester swooped down from Grandma’s head and dabbed Constable Wibberly’s forehead.

  Mum took her hand. ‘There there,’ she soothed.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Dad, patting her police hat.

  ‘No it’s not,’ Wendy sobbed. ‘I’m useless at this stuff. I should be polishing things, not fighting crime.’ Tears splashed her jacket. Chester stretched out over her buttons to keep them dry.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, lying down again.

  ‘Where’s your walkie talkie?’ said Abbie. ‘At least we can send for help.’

  ‘No we can’t!’ wailed the constable. ‘I threw it away. Go on,’ she urged Chester, ‘rip my buttons off. It’s what I deserve!’

  ‘Rip your buttons off?’ echoed Abbie. ‘Now there’s a thought.’ She smiled at Wendy. ‘Have you got a clean tissue?’

  While Abbie organised her plan, Coriander got up and introduced the orangs to everyone. Matt held out a shy hand. Winnie seized it through the bars and drenched it in squelchy kisses. Perdita shook Vinnie’s hand. Ollie came up to the cage and waved at Minnie. Minnie waved back. Ollie scratched his armpits. Minnie scratched hers. Ollie blew a raspberry. Minnie blew two.

  Coriander shook the padlock. ‘We’ve got to get them out,’ she murmured to Matt in a wobbly voice, ‘before the others come back and …’ she shook her head at the apes.

  They seemed to understand their danger. Winnie hugged herself. Vinnie rubbed his stomach hair upwards. Minnie weed.

  Matt sank against the bars. ‘We’ll never break that lock!’ His face scrunched up. ‘What have I done, Coriander? Can you ever forgive me?’

  She took him in her arms. ‘Of course, my darling.’

  ‘Can you still love me?’ he sniffed.

  ‘As long as I live,’ she whispered. Abbie wondered precisely how long that was going to be.

  ***

  Down in Hair Science Dirk poured himself a third purply-red drink that probably wasn’t Ribena. ‘Where would ’e keep ’em,’ he mumbled, ‘that hopeless heap o’ horse poo? Think, woman!’

  ‘I’m looking, sweetness.’ M
elliflua swore at him silently and emptied another drawer.

  ‘You reeker!’ shouted Klench, from the other side of the Hair Science room.

  ‘I wha’?’ said Dirk, gulping more drink.

  ‘I think he means Eureka,’ said Melliflua.

  Klench was waving a cardboard box he’d found in a cupboard. ‘Yes yes, I reeka. I haff found them!’ He took out three silver packets. ‘Let uss go.’

  ***

  ‘What on earth – ?’ Sergeant Bolt stared at his desk. A hairy grey ball had just rolled under the reception window. Now it was flattening out in front of him. On top of it lay a silver button and a crumpled tissue.

  ‘Hey Sarge,’ said Ludge, peering over his shoulder, ‘isn’t that Wibberly’s writing? What’s it say?’

  Bolt peered at the tissue. ‘Life in danger. Send back-up to museum. W.W.’ The sergeant frowned. ‘What is she on about? Is this some sort of joke?’ He picked up the button. ‘But she’d never part with this unless it was serious. How on earth did it get here?’

  ‘The ball, Sarge?’

  ‘You’re not telling me that thing bounced all the way?’ Chester jumped up and down.

  ‘Well I’ll be darned. You’d almost think it understood.’

  ‘Sarge,’ said Ludge nervously. ‘I dunno how this ball thing got here. Or what it is – though come to think of it, it does look a bit familiar. But I reckon we’ve got to do something. Life in danger and all.’

  Four things suddenly occurred to Sergeant Bolt:

  1) Life without Dribbly Wibberly would be a lot less fun. And with no one else to tease, the other officers might turn their attention to his Santa Claus tum.

  2) Wibbers was really quite a sweetie.

  3) She’d had a bit of a hard time since joining up, not least from him.

  4) How could they help her? No one knew how to find the museum.

  Chester wriggled out under the window. He crawled across the floor to the door and waited.

  ‘Get me three more officers,’ commanded Sergeant Bolt. ‘We’re following the mop.’