by Anna Wilson
After a good fifteen minutes of gentle persuasion and a second cup of steaming, creamy hot chocolate, Pippa grudgingly agreed that she would give Minx a chance.
‘I am so pleased,’ said Mrs Fudge with feeling.
Pippa grimaced. She could not quite manage a smile.
The doorbell rang as Pippa was washing up the cups. ‘I’ll get it, shall I?’ she offered. She didn’t wait for an answer, whizzing down the hallway before Mrs Fudge had a chance to take off her apron.
I have to get a moment to myself with this person so I can make up my mind without anyone trying to persuade me that I should like her, she thought.
She had become super-steamy hot under the collar of her polo-neck jumper, so when she unlatched the door she opened it a little too violently in a rush to let in some fresh air. As the door flew open, lots of things happened at once: Pippa lost her balance, pitching forward on one foot and flailing wildly with one arm, and as she tried to keep herself upright by holding on to the door with her other hand, a large spotty animal (freakily spotty, Pippa thought) shot past the house and disappeared into the bushes outside.
Before Pippa could cry out, or decide whether to run after the dog, a very dishevelled, extremely strange-looking girl emerged from the bushes. She looked around wildly as she raked her hands through her hair and brushed herself down.
‘Whhhooooa!’ said Pippa, spitting out one of her plaits which had got lodged in between her teeth in the confusion. ‘Did you see that dog?’
‘Yeah, crazy!’ cried the girl cheerily, scratching at her ear before again running her hands through her spiky hair (which was blue that morning). ‘It nearly knocked me over. I’m Minx.’ She bounded over, grabbed Pippa’s hand and began pumping it up and down as she had done to Mrs Fudge the day before. ‘I’m Mrs Fudge’s new assistant. Who are you?’
Pippa’s face clouded over. How dare this person confidently describe herself as ‘Mrs Fudge’s new assistant’? Mrs Fudge had said she was only on trial for now!
‘I’m Pippa,’ she muttered, dropping Minx’s hand. She turned on her heel, leaving the girl on the doorstep.
‘Well, hey, “I’m Pippa”!’ Minx called, stepping into the house. ‘Nice to meet you!’
And it certainly is NOT nice to meet you, Pippa chuntered to herself crossly as she stomped into the kitchen. Who does she think she is, laughing at me and taking the mickey out of my name? And what kind of weird loo brush is that on her head?
She had reached the kitchen, and was glaring at Dash and Mrs Fudge. ‘That new person is here. You didn’t tell me she had blue hair and freaky clothes and a head full of metal,’ she said.
Oh dear, thought Dash.
‘Ah,’ said Mrs Fudge.
‘Miaaaaaow?’ growled Muffles, which roughly translates as ‘Whatever next?’ The poor cat was wondering if she would be allowed five minutes’ peace in her own house ever again.
‘Hey, Mrs F.!’ called Minx, coming in behind Pippa. ‘Thought I’d change my look for my first day. Like it?’
‘Er, lovely,’ Mrs Fudge said, squinting uneasily at Minx’s hair. ‘You evidently know, er, a little about hairdressing.’ (Mrs Fudge was not keen on wild hairstyles. She of course gave her customers whatever they wanted and had done a superb Mohican on a Crumbly called Kurt when he had asked for one. But as a rule she liked the more traditional approach to hairdressing.) ‘And you’re just in time, Minx,’ Mrs Fudge went on. ‘Pippa, you should give her a quick tour before Mrs Prim’s appointment.’
‘Cool! I’ve brought some biscuits for the dogs. Hope you don’t mind? Your advertisement said “baking skills an advantage”, so I made these myself.’ Minx reached into her Big Silver Bag and brought out a plastic container, rattling it merrily.
Dash stared at the box longingly, his tongue hanging out.
Pippa grimaced. ‘ “I baked these myself,”’ she mimicked in a quiet sing-songy voice.
‘Pippa,’ said Mrs Fudge, giving her a warning look over the top of her half-moon spectacles, ‘would you like to take Minx’s bag and hang it up?’
‘It’s fine,’ said Minx quickly. She hugged her Big Silver Bag closely to her. ‘Thanks, though,’ she added.
Pippa shrugged and led Minx into the salon. As if I care what she does with her stupid bag, she thought.
Dash padded behind the girls, keeping a beady eye on Minx’s bag in case she should let one of her treats slip out. He sniffed at the air, vaguely thinking that he might try to discover a bit more about the stranger.
His first impressions had been nothing but good, but the loyal little dog still felt he owed it to Mrs Fudge to find out as much as he could. After all, the last newcomer to Crumbly-under-Edge had been Trinity Meddler, and she had certainly not been good news.
Strange, he thought, as he snuffled at her feet. She doesn’t smell like she did yesterday. In fact, there’s another smell on top of the original one . . . I think I can detect a nasty niff of . . . rotten vegetables?
But just as Dash was having this thought, Minx did drop a treat, right in front of his nose! He gobbled it up straight away and was soon in a happy daydream again while Minx kept up a steady, friendly stream of chatter to Pippa.
Pippa, on the other hand, was finding it hard to think kind and welcoming thoughts. I am going to ask Dash to help me keep a very close eye on her, she thought darkly. The slightest whiff of trouble, and I’ll make sure she’s out on that ridiculously over-pierced ear of hers.
9
Minx Charms the Crumblies
Mrs Prim was flustered and out of breath when she arrived for her appointment: her springer spaniel, George, was tying himself into knots as he wound his lead round and round her legs until they resembled the bottom half of an Egyptian mummy.
‘Oh my goodness!’ cried Pippa. ‘Here, let me help.’ She lunged at the lead and grasped it with both hands. Once she was sure she had a firm grip she pulled sharply, and Mrs Prim was sent spinning down the hall, freed, but decidedly dizzy.
‘Pippa, you are a treasure,’ gasped Mrs Prim, as she waited for her head to stop whirring. ‘This pooch of mine has been a very naughty boy this morning. Very naughty indeed!’ she exclaimed, aiming her comments at George, who did not seem to realize he was being told off. On the contrary, he was wagging his tail and panting excitedly. ‘We went for our usual walk in the park,’ went on Mrs Prim, ‘and there was a huge spotty dog running riot – goodness knows whose it is; I can’t say I’ve seen it around before. In any case, George went tearing after it, thinking no doubt that he could play a lovely game of chase. He would not come back when I called and so I had to run after him, and by the time I’d caught up with him the dog had gone. Oh! I’m exhausted! I didn’t think I was going to get him back in time for our appointment!’
‘Hmm,’ said Pippa, holding tightly on to George’s lead. ‘A spotty dog, you say? You know, I think I saw it too – out the front here – just before our new assis— Oh, George, stop it!’ she broke off to reprimand the spaniel, who was certainly very springy today.
‘I don’t know, dear,’ said Mrs Prim. ‘But whoever owns it has got a right handful there, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘And Raphael has seen it too, you know—’ Pippa began again, but she was cut short once again by George, who barked very loudly, his tail wagging, his tongue hanging out of a smiling mouth.
Pippa observed this with interest. She could have sworn that George was trying to tell Mrs Prim something. Such a shame that I can’t understand every dog the same way I can Dash, she thought to herself. Maybe George knows where the spotty dog has come from?
She was about to say as much when George wrenched himself free of her control and made for the door. Pippa gave it a swift click to ensure it was firmly closed and then dived for the spaniel to prevent him from bolting again.
He sat down firmly on the doormat and began barking and barking as though he was convinced he could break the door down with the racket he was making. If Pippa didn’t know bett
er she could have sworn he was saying something along the lines of ‘Let me outta here! I’ve got places to go, spotty pooches to see.’
The commotion brought Minx running from the salon where she had been helping Mrs Fudge get organized.
‘What’s up?’ Minx was asking. ‘Boy! What a noise! Hello,’ she said in the same breath, turning to Mrs Prim and grinning. ‘I’m Minx. And you must be Mrs Prim. And you –’ she paused to fix her attention wholeheartedly on the dog. Her eyes widened and her nose wrinkled as if sniffing at the most exquisite rose. When she spoke again her voice had dropped to a much slower, calmer velvety croon. ‘You gorgeous thing! You must be George.’
The effect of Minx’s voice on George was instantaneous. His eyes were on the new assistant as if he was entranced. He looked as though he thought Minx to be the most captivating creature he had ever seen: he was sitting bolt upright in a perfectly attentive position, his tail wagging very gently, his face soft and expectant. (Even Pippa had to admit that one good thing had come of this: George’s frantic barking was a thing of the past.) Minx gave him a gentle pat on the head and slipped a biscuit into his mouth. ‘Good boy!’ she said.
Pippa too was silenced by this strange performance (although, if you had asked her about it later, she would have argued that the only reason she was quiet was because she was watching Minx very carefully to see what she was up to).
Finally Mrs Prim stammered, ‘M-my, I – I can see why Mrs Fudge has employed you, young lady. You certainly have quite an effect on Georgie. I could have done with your help in the park this morning.’
‘The park?’ Minx asked.
‘Yes, Mrs Prim was just saying she had seen a spotty dog causing chaos in the park,’ Pippa said, glaring at Minx pointedly. ‘And it reminded me that I had seen it too. Just before you arrived, actually.’ She was beginning to wonder if Minx and the dog were actually connected in some way.
‘Mmm?’ said Minx, scratching her ear.
‘Yes, it was such a to-do,’ said Mrs Prim, and retold her tale of stress and woe. ‘A huge dog, it was – one we’ve never seen before. White with black splodges, a Dalmatian, I think. Utter nightmare – who knows where the owner is!’
Minx had turned away abruptly. ‘I’m – I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said.
‘It’s all right, dear,’ said Mrs Prim. ‘No harm done, as it happens. I’m only a little out of puff.’
Minx gave Mrs Prim a careful look over her shoulder, then as if someone had flicked a switch, she beamed and said brightly, ‘OK, that’s cool. Follow me!’
Pippa had watched this exchange with keen interest.
I must tell Dash, she thought as she went through to the salon.
Much to Pippa’s annoyance, Minx’s charm and expertise had the effect of winning over every single one of Mrs Fudge’s customers that day. At one point in the afternoon there was a scary moment when an Alsatian that had come in to have his claws clipped had terrified two small terriers who were waiting to be bathed.
‘It’s all right,you two,’ Minx told them, as they quivered on their leads in front of the huge, slathering beast baring his teeth at them. ‘He’s cool, he only looks fierce.’ And she put her hand gently on the Alsatian’s neck and stroked him as if to show he wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Then she led the shivering terriers over to let the Alsatian have an inquisitive sniff. Once all the dogs were calm, Minx rewarded them with some of her treats and within seconds the three dogs were scurrying around each other, tails wagging happily.
‘How did you get them to make friends like that?’ Mrs Fudge asked, in awe.
‘Amazing,’ agreed the dogs’ owners.
Minx looked bashful. ‘’S just that sometimes different breeds don’t read each other right,’ she said. ‘Like – even humans think Alsatians look rough, don’t they?’
Mrs Fudge nodded.
‘You know why? It’s only cos their ears are always pointy, their tails are always up and their eyes have a sharp, alert look about them. It sends out this signal that they are aggressive.’
Pippa was sceptical. ‘How?’
‘Well, to dogs, if another dog has pointy ears, it means “I’m the top dog”. It’s all down to how dogs would behave if they were still in packs – in the wild, I mean,’ Minx explained.
‘She’s right,’ Dash said, sidling up to Pippa and sitting quietly at her feet.
Pippa scowled. She made sure Minx was busy with customers and beckoned to Dash to follow her out to the kitchen.
‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I think there’s something really weird about Minx.’
‘Oh, Pippa,’ said Dash sadly. ‘You can’t say that after everything she’s done today! Look how amazing—’
‘Just listen!’ Pippa repeated in exasperation. ‘She’s not all she seems, I’m telling you. For a start, look at all that metal in her face. No normal person goes around stuck with pins like that. Maybe she’s got some wacky trick with magnets that makes all the dogs do what she wants, and she controls them with her stupid earrings. And then there’s that horrible necklace thing. Anyone would think she was trying to look like a dog herself! And this is the oddest bit – when Mrs Prim told us about the Dalmatian, Minx went all . . . weird,’ she finished lamely.
Dash was looking very doubtful. It was clear to him that poor Pippa was clutching at straws. She was so desperate to get rid of Minx and be Mrs Fudge’s Number One Assistant again, that she was finding problems with the new girl where none existed.
Pippa was looking thoughtful. ‘You were going to go out and look for the spotty dog yourself this morning, weren’t you? Did you go?’
The dachshund shook his head, sending his silky ears flapping. ‘No.’ Pippa let out such a frustrated sigh that Dash added quickly, ‘But now you come to mention it, I have been picking up some unusual scents recently.’
‘You and your scents,’ Pippa said, looking up at the ceiling. ‘Sometimes it’s better to use your eyes, you know. I am using my eyes, and I’m telling you Minx behaved very oddly indeed when Mrs Prim mentioned the spotty dog. Now, why would she do that?’
Dash was thoughtful. His tail tapped the floor gently and he licked his lips over and over as if he was tasting the information Pippa had just given him, although actually all he could think of was when he might get another of Minx’s treats. He tried to focus, to think of something to say to reassure his friend. ‘Hmm,’ he said eventually. ‘Well, Minx did explain that she had learned all she knew from a dog whisperer. And she certainly seems to understand me—’
‘WHAT?’ Pippa cried. ‘That’s all I need! First she takes over my job, then she charms the customers, and now she’s charmed you! I may as well go home right now.’
Dash rubbed his head against Pippa’s long legs. ‘Now, now,’ he said. ‘If you’ll just let me finish. You’re still my favourite. It’s just that she seems to understand my body language or something. I can’t really explain it . . .’
‘Oh, great,’ said Pippa, who was feeling far from consoled by this. ‘So now you’re telling me she’s got magical powers?’
‘Well, she did seem to understand what I was thinking yesterday. It was very odd, because she obviously couldn’t actually hear a word I was saying. Not like you,’ he added. He put his head on one side and gazed adoringly at Pippa. It was a large-eyed puppyish look designed to get the angry girl to see that he was on her side. It worked.
‘Oh, Dash,’ she cried, softening immediately. She gathered him into her arms for a cuddle. ‘You’ll stick by me, won’t you? However marvellous this Minx turns out to be, you won’t let her replace me, will you?’
Dash closed his eyes and rubbed his silky muzzle against Pippa’s face. ‘Absolutely not,’ he assured her.
Although there is something special about this Minx, I can’t deny it, he thought guiltily. She really does know dogs like no other human I’ve ever met.
10
A Dark and Foggy Night
Pippa sighed and dreamed of spri
ngtime as she weaved slowly in and out of the trees on Liquorice Drive on her skateboard that evening. The nights had been drawing in recently until there seemed to Pippa to be so much night there was hardly any day. And the days were so overcast and misty, it was as if they were jealous of the nights and were trying to imitate them.
It had been a long and difficult day: she had left Minx and Mrs Fudge tidying up the salon together, nattering away as though they had known each other all their lives. Mrs Fudge had barely noticed when Pippa had called out ‘goodbye’. And Dash seemed glued to the new girl’s side.
They don’t need me any more, Pippa thought miserably, as she got to the end of the lane. It’s as simple as that.
A heavy fog had settled in Crumbly-under-edge during the afternoon; it was white and thick, as though someone had pulled down a blind over the world. It made the town look fuzzy around the edges and meant it was very hard to see where you were going. It didn’t bother Pippa though. She could have found her way home with her eyes closed, she knew the place so well. (Although the other people in the town might have had something to say about a ten-and-a-half-year-old girl skateboarding after dark with her eyes shut. And I wouldn’t try it, if I were you.)
‘I’m going to have to take charge of this Minx situation,’ Pippa muttered to herself. ‘And if Dash won’t help me do any clue-finding, I shall have to do it myself. There must be a link between Minx and the spotty dog.’ She thought over everything she knew about the new girl so far. ‘She turns up out of the blue with some vague story about travelling and house-sitting. She knows all about dogs from a dog-whisperer person but she doesn’t have a dog herself. She carries that stupid bag around with her everywhere, even when she goes to the loo – What was that?’ She broke off in mid-sentence and stopped her skateboard.