Dead Hairy

by Debbie Thomas

  ‘Those are words, Mother, not numbers,’ said Dad. ‘She gets a bit mixed up,’ he explained.

  Dirkstein nodded in a sympathetic way. Then wished he hadn’t. ‘Addling algebra, my brain. It’s so heavy. I can’t hold it up!’ He rested it against the bars of the cage and closed his eyes. ‘I feel like an overripe melon.’

  ‘Yes?’ The woman lying next to him sat up. ‘Did someone call me?’

  ‘Vot – I mean who – are you?’ gasped Klench, backing away from the cage.

  ‘Mellon of Troy. I mean Helliflua. I mean – my voice – what’s happened?’ It had gone all squeaky.

  ‘Forget your voice. It iss your face zat iss problem!’ cried Klench.

  ‘What?’ Melliflua-Helen took out a powder compact from her pocket. ‘Aarrghh!!’ she shrieked. ‘What am I?’ For the smooth-skinned elegance of Melliflua had crumbled into a crook-nosed crone. ‘But –’ a memory flickered across her warts – ‘I took Helen’s potion. Why aren’t I byoooootiful?’ She put her head in her horny old hands and wailed.

  ‘Oh Mell!’ After all that had happened, Coriander couldn’t help crying for her sister. ‘What’s happened to her, Matt?’

  ‘I – I don’t know. I must have got the potion wrong,’ he said softly.

  ‘You’re telling me, you bungling birdbrain!’ Mell-Hell reached her arms out to her husband. ‘Oh Dirkie – how can you love me now?’

  Dirkstein shrugged. That was one problem he couldn’t possibly solve.

  But somebody could. Lying on the floor of the cage, Winnie opened her eyes. She staggered to her feet. Hair was gushing from her body, rich and red. Nearly tripping over her tresses, she bounded over to Mell-Hell and squeezed her in loving, lumpy arms.

  ‘Eeeuuaahh!’ gasped the old prune. ‘Stop … can’t breathe!’

  Winnie dropped her obligingly. Then she turned to hug the bars of the cage. They squashed together in her hands.

  Klench pointed the gun at her. The orang reached out and curved the barrel down towards the floor. Then she took the gun from Klench and tried to peel it like a banana. When that didn’t work she broke it in two.

  Klench squealed. ‘I vont my mummy!’ Winnie picked him up in one arm and smacked a huge kiss on the duvet of his cheek. Then she dropped him. He bounced on his bottom and came to a roly-poly rest next to Mell-Hell.

  Winnie ambled through the hole in the cage. Vinnie and Minnie followed, whooping and clapping.

  Eindirk stayed inside, peering at the bent bars. ‘Exploding exponentials,’ he murmured, ‘that was some force! Must be at least (17∏) + (43! + 67✴) where ✴ is strength of squeeze and … ooh, my head!’ He slumped it onto a shoulder.

  ‘Here, Winnie,’ said Coriander. She began to hum: a tune of fraying ropes and freedom. Winnie ran over to the prisoners. Vinnie and Minnie followed, holding her tresses like hairy bridesmaids.

  Winnie bit into the rope attached to the Hairy Hoot stand. Even her teeth were super-strong: they sliced straight through. Then, instead of lifting the rope over the prisoners, she lifted the prisoners out of the rope. They would have cheered if she wasn’t squeezing them so hard. She put them down as gently as she could, which wasn’t very.

  Wendy ran over. Everyone slapped her on the back as if she’d just scored a goal, which in a way she had. And Fernando was kissed and held aloft like the winning ball, which in a way he was.

  Coriander began to hum again: a triumphant, tie-up-the-crooks sort of tune. Winnie shambled back to the cage, her hair pouring behind like ketchup. Mell-Hell and Klench were sitting on the floor rubbing their bruises. Dirkstein was still mumbling maths inside the cage. Winnie reached inside and picked him up in one hand. She scooped up Mell-Hell in the other. With her foot she dribbled Klench like a fleshy football across the floor towards the abandoned rope. No one struggled – or if they did, no one else noticed against the Samson-like strength of Winnie. In a few seconds the orang had wound the rope round the three villains. Two of them looked very unhappy indeed.

  But the third was gazing in wonder at the knot that bound him. ‘Pressure must be 450 megabars, stress 133.7 … unbreakable, I’d say.’

  It was the perfect moment for a policeman who’d always dreamt of arresting someone to appear in the doorway.

  Sergeant Bolt appeared in the doorway.

  He was wearing a green feathered cap and holding a bow and arrow.

  ‘You’re under arrest!’ he shouted. He aimed the arrow at the apes, then at the people, then at the shrunken head on the floor, trying to decide who the crooks were.

  Constable Ludge peered over his shoulder. He lifted the feathered cap off Bolt’s head and put it on his own. Then he doffed it at Wendy. ‘Evening Wibbers.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Sergeant Bolt, spotting her, ‘Constable Wibberly. I see we’ve arrived just in time. Don’t worry, my dear, you’re safe now. I’ve got everything under control.’

  Grandma strode forward. Chester, who’d crawled into the room behind Ludge, jumped onto her head. ‘Nonsense!’ she bellowed. ‘Poppycock and tommyrot! This young lady saved us long before you arrived. If it ’adn’t been for ’er and that conk –’ she pointed to Fernando – ‘we’d be goners. I think you owe your constable an apology.’

  Abbie could see the sergeant wasn’t going to waste the moment on silly little sorries. He glared down at Fernando. ‘You’re under arrest! For ending at the neck in a public place. And you’re under arrest,’ he shouted at Mell-Hell, ‘for being ugly in a public place.’ She burst into tears. ‘And you’re under arrest,’ he informed Klench, ‘for having too much waist in a public place. And you,’ he pointed at Winnie, ‘for excess body hair in a publi–’

  ‘Winnie!’ shouted Perdita. ‘What are you doing?!’

  The mighty ape was pushing both hands against the circular wall of Rare Hair. The bricks were crumbling. A powdery rubble wafted to the ground.

  ‘Oh no,’ gasped Matt. ‘It’s the Samson juice. She’s pushing the walls. Like Samson pushed the pillars in the temple of the Philistines. Sing, Coriander, sing!’

  Coriander began to hum, a tune of solid walls and unbreakable bricks. But it was no good. The Samson juice was stronger than her song. Winnie couldn’t stop. Another brick caved in.

  Everyone who could ran towards the ape. They tugged her arms, stood on her hair, yanked and yelled. But still she pushed.

  ***

  Which meant that no one was watching the roped prisoners. While backs were turned, Eindirk whispered something to Klench.

  On a count of three, something happened. And something else. Two small things. One of them was very smelly.

  A very fat man breathed in through his mouth and out through his bottom.

  The rope loosened. Just a little. But enough for skinny Mell-Hell and bony Dirkstein to slip underneath it. Which left just enough slack for Klench to lift it over his head.

  ***

  Out in the field Constable Tring jumped back. Something had landed on the grass. It was brick-shaped. Which, he realised on picking it up, was a reasonable shape to be because it was a brick. ‘I spy with my little eye,’ he began, ‘something beginning with –’ he sighed – ‘B.’

  ‘Look out!’ shouted the officer next to him. Another brick thudded to the grass. Tring looked up. A third brick was hurtling from the tower. There were three brick-shaped holes in the wall.

  ‘What the – ?’ he yelled as more and more bricks popped out and plummeted. He gulped. ‘I only pulled the ribbons, for Pete’s sake. I had no idea this would happen.’

  Three figures ran out from the bottom of the tower. (Well, two. The other one waddled quickly.) They rushed up to Tring.

  ‘Officer!’ panted the woman, whose warts were twinkling in the moonlight. ‘There are three gorillas up there. They’ve escaped from the zoo. They’re destroying the building. You’ve got to go up and stop them. We’re going to find the zoo manager.’ They dashed off.

  Constable Tring gulped again. His hand moved towards his walkie talk
ie. Then stopped. Why hadn’t Sarge contacted him? Perhaps he was lying in ape-torn shreds. Was it really wise to go up?

  The walkie talkie snorted. ‘Bolt to Tring. Do you read me? Over?’

  ‘Yes Sir. You OK?’ Tring’s voice was wobbly.

  ‘Well Tring. If you think that observing a hairy primate dismantle a wall while three miscreants escape behind our backs is OK – then yes, I’m one hundred per cent superdeelally. Now, I’m proceeding in a downward direction. Make sure no one leaves the building till I arrive. Over and out.’

  For the third time in three minutes, Constable Tring gulped.

  26 - Collapse

  ‘Everyone downstairs!’ ordered Sergeant Bolt.

  ‘But I can’t leave Winnie,’ wailed Coriander, clutching the ape’s thick arm. Vinnie and Minnie clung on too, in a cloud of brick dust.

  ‘Maybe she’ll follow you, Mum,’ shouted Perdita.

  With a sob, Coriander headed to the door. Winnie looked round. Coriander reached out her hand. Her lips were moving in a last desperate hum. But it was drowned out by the rumble of crumbling tower.

  Winnie stopped pushing. She looked from Coriander to the wall and back again. Another brick fell out. The floor shuddered. Coriander held out her arms. Winnie made her choice. She lumbered to the door. Vinnie and Minnie picked up her hair and followed.

  Down in the field four constables staggered backwards. They fell onto the grass. They rubbed their bottoms. They shone their torches and stared at the museum door. Who could blame them? Because this is what they saw:

  1) Sergeant Bolt carrying a bow and arrow,

  2) Constable Ludge wearing a green feathered cap,

  3) Constable Wibberly holding an oversized prune with a face,

  4) an old lady wearing a wig that was jumping up and down,

  5) a lady with bobbed hair that stuck out horizontally on one side,

  6) a man with a beard and a bald patch carrying a bird with a tube-shaped beak,

  7) a small boy holding hands with a small orang-utan,

  8) a big-boned girl holding hands with a big orang-utan,

  9) a lady with plaits holding hands with a very hairy orang-utan,

  10) a skinny man with glasses carrying the orang-utan’s hair,

  11) a skinny girl with plaits carrying more of it and

  12) the end of the hair, trailing along the ground.

  The silent party joined the policemen. Everyone turned to watch the tower. Walls were crashing, bricks smashing. The air exploded with debris and dismay. Sofas plunged from the top floor. A paddling pool floated down. Toilet rolls and test tubes, plates and plaits, books and beards: everyday items and priceless hairy bits dived together into dust.

  Coriander wailed as the Hairyquarium glittered down in a thousand raindrops. Matt moaned as the models and machines of his mind tumbled into trash. Perdita gouged her chin with her teeth and stared in wordless horror.

  Was it minutes or hours they stood there? Abbie had no idea. She watched in a trance as the tower sank to its knees like a fainting giant. The roar of destruction became a grumble. Finally a pancake hat floated through the haze and settled like a lid on the mountain of rubble.

  Abbie’s throat clogged with sand and sobs. She reached through the soupy air and took Perdita’s hand. ‘At least we’re all free,’ she whispered. ‘At least we found your mum.’

  Perdita squeezed back. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘At least that.’

  Mum put her arm round Coriander. ‘Come home with us,’ she said.

  Dad put his arm round Matt. ‘Stay as long as you like.’

  Grandma put her arm round Vinnie. ‘All of you.’

  They followed the policemen slowly across the field. One by one they piled into the police van. Bolt radioed headquarters. ‘Send two officers to Bradleigh Zoo without delay. Pursuing three suspects. 1) Unsightly female, 2) white-haired male and 3) spherical personage. Over and

  out.’

  ***

  Of course none of the crooks was anywhere near the zoo. Two of them, in fact, were eight feet away from Sergeant Bolt.

  ‘Where did Klench go?’ whispered Mell-Hell as the police van roared off. She was crouching behind the bush that, a few hours ago, had been occupied by Grandma, Wendy and Chester.

  ‘Will you shut it, woman?’ muttered Eindirk. ‘I’m trying to work out the diameter of the moon.’

  ‘Well, who needs Klench? Never trusted him from the start,’ murmured Mell-Hell. ‘We’ve still got each other,’ she added a little desperately. ‘And a bit of money. We could go to France, Dirkie.’

  ‘Whatever,’ he mumbled.

  Mell-Hell stood up. ‘Come on.’ She set off down the lane and forked to the right.

  Three steps behind her, it suddenly occurred to Dirkstein that the North Star was looking much prettier than his wife tonight. He forked to the left to get a better view.

  ***

  And Klench? Well, if anyone had stopped to count, they would have noticed an extra bush in the field. A neat, tight ball, with a bun on top and two fat stems.

  When the field was deserted, the bush stretched its arms. ‘Schnik!’ sighed Klench, gazing at the smoking remains of the museum. ‘I haff lost my vunders. But at least I still haff armss and legss.’ He chuckled. ‘Not to mention vicked old brain. I vunder … vere iss good holiday spot for vicked old brain?’ He gazed up at the moon. ‘Somevere far avay. Somevere vizz much hidey holess and few personss. Persons who vill not know off my eefil doinks.’ He thought for a minute. ‘Off course!’

  He took out the Bobus hair he’d pinched on the way out. Sell that to one of his smuggler contacts and he might have enough for the air fare.

  27 - Slurp

  ‘Pass the Coco Pops,’ said Grandma.

  Vinnie still hadn’t got the hang of it. He shoved his hand into the packet and took out five brown nuggets. He held them out in his palm to Grandma.

  ‘Oh forget it,’ she muttered and grabbed the packet from him. Vinnie liked grabbing games. He grabbed the sugar bowl and tipped it over Winnie’s shaved head. Abbie giggled and helped herself to thirds.

  Breakfast had been brilliant over the last three days. Because of all the visitors Mum had organised shifts:

  1) Orangs

  2) Children

  3) Grown ups

  But the children and Grandma had voted to eat with the orangs. Abbie loved watching Minnie scoop jam from the pot with her fingers. She adored the way Vinnie chomped with his mouth wide open and Winnie gobbled bananas whole. They made Abbie look like the Empress of Table Manners. How could Mum tell her off for lifting her cereal bowl to slurp the last drop of milk?

  Not that Mum would, Abbie was pretty sure of that. Since they’d escaped from the museum Mum had done nothing but go on about how brave she was and who knows where they’d be without her? And that wasn’t the only change. Mum had eaten a whole packet of biscuits in one go and worn jeans in front of the visitors.

  It was like a bag had burst inside her: a bag of fun that had been tied up and shoved into a corner to make room for all the musts and shouldn’ts of motherhood – or at least, her kind of motherhood.

  And it was another mother who’d burst it. One who used knickers (clean of course) as a shower hat to keep her plaits dry. One who was far more interested in the contents of the fridge than the colour of the kitchen. Who ate ice cream for breakfast. And who looked into Abbie’s bedroom and said what a clever idea to use the floor as a wardrobe.

  It was all a bit of a squeeze with the visitors. But nobody minded. Ollie was thrilled to share his room with a family of orang-utans. Vinnie and Winnie slept on a pile of cushions. A bed was made up in a pulled-out bottom drawer for Minnie. But she always ended up under the duvet with Ollie.

  Perdita slept in Abbie’s room. Well, not exactly slept: more like talked through the night about what had happened and what was going to.

  Mum and Dad said the Platts must stay as long as they wanted. And that Matt and Coriander must sleep in
their bedroom while they dossed down in the sitting-room. Which didn’t sound like a big deal, until you realised that Mum was separated from her armoury of skin creams and perfumes. For once, though, she didn’t seem bothered. She’d even started coming to breakfast without make-up on.

  Chester attached himself to Grandma. Literally. He only left her head to find her things. In three days he rescued her watch from the dishwasher, her toothbrush from the garage and her slippers from the compost heap.

  And Fernando? Dad asked if he’d consider dictating a book – Heads and Tales: confessions of a conquistador. Fernando was delighted (well, as delighted as a lovelorn head can be). He agreed to set up home in Dad’s study as long as the mirror was taken out.

  All in all it had been the best three days of Abbie’s life. Not that she said that, of course, what with the Platts having lost their museum and everything. Coriander kept saying it didn’t matter: all she cared about was being together again, and anyway it was only stuff.

  But what stuff! All her precious hair, collected over years and continents. All Matt’s inventions, created over years and workbenches. Every now and then Abbie caught Coriander gazing into space and Matt rubbing his teeth.

  But neither of them complained. Matt busied himself by quietly fixing things round the house. Abbie noticed that the sitting-room curtains were meeting for the first time in their lonely lives. And that the hall lamp was working. And that the hot tap in the kitchen no longer sounded like Grandma with the gripes.

  Coriander trimmed everyone’s hair. Winnie had to be shaved every morning. Thanks to the Samson juice her hair still reached her bottom by bedtime.

  The orangs spent most of their time in the garden with the children. Vinnie snored in the treehouse. Winnie practised controlling her strength by hugging earthworms. At first they just squashed to goo between her finger and thumb. But by the third day she was managing to pick them up and nuzzle them against her cheek, before returning them to their relieved families. Minnie taught Ollie to dangle from the treehouse by one arm, though he never quite mastered tickling his ear with his toe.