‘I’m not so sure about that.’ Mum frowned. ‘He’s a powerful man. I don’t fancy going to any dentist in Bradleigh now.’
‘Yippee!’ Ollie danced round the room. ‘No more fillings.’
Mum sighed. ‘I mean we’ll have to go somewhere else.’
‘Fillin’s,’ said Grandma. ‘Waste of time. Better to pull your teeth out and get falsies. I ’aven’t seen a dentist for three years.’ She grinned proudly, revealing a sliver of chicken wedged between her top dentures. ‘Mind you, I’d like to ’ave seen this dentist. Bet ’e was a sight.’
‘Not for long,’ said Abbie. ‘He ran inside and slammed the front door. But Marcus stood there like a bomb had hit him.’
‘A good bomb or a bad bomb?’ said Ollie.
Abbie rolled her eyes. ‘When did you last see a good bomb?’ But to tell the truth it wasn’t such a daft question. She recalled the confusion on Marcus’s face – amazement, fear, anxiety and hope – as his mum had jumped off the trampoline and run to her son. Mrs Strode-Boylie had waved at Abbie and led him off round the side of the house.
‘What a performance!’ Grandma chuckled. ‘Sounds better than Suds. ’Ere, talkin’ of which …’ She tapped her watch.
‘We’ll leave you to it, Mother,’ said Dad. Abbie followed him out. She’d never understood what Grandma saw in her favourite soap, about daily life in a launderette.
* * *
Klench finished his plate of cold chicken. ‘No puddink?’ he said.
The Ecuadorian guard took the plate. ‘This jail,’ he said, ‘not five-star restaurant.’ But looking at the roly-poly inmate huddled in the corner of the cell, he felt a twinge of pity. In his bright prison boiler suit, Klench looked like a lonely orange.
Lonely? Klench dreamed of lonely. ‘Go vay, Mums!’ he cried when the guard had gone.
‘But I can help you escapes,’ she cooed. ‘Ve’ll make a plan, my captive man.’
Klench clapped his hands to his ears. ‘Never mind prison. I vont to escapes you!’
32 - No One to Hate
Abbie didn’t know what to expect at school next morning. Would Marcus be friendly or furious? Grateful or hateful? Would he even come?
He did. But he slunk in late, after the class had greeted December the eleventh.
Mr Dabbings looked up from his desk. ‘Welcome back, Marcus. What was wrong with you?’
‘A bug, sir.’
Mr Dabbings nodded. ‘Some nasty bugs going round. I don’t mean the actual bugs are nasty. They just make us feel nasty. The bugs themselves are probably kind and thoughtful. Remember, kids, germs have feelings too.’
All morning, when she wasn’t thinking of Ten Ways to Respect a Dandelion, Abbie kept glancing at Marcus. But he was always bent over his book or talking to Greg.
‘Do you think he’s mad at me?’ she whispered. She’d told Perdita all about her visit to his house.
Perdita shrugged. ‘Dunno. Depends what happened after you left.’
Abbie dreaded to think. Had she made things worse?
At break time Perdita tried to cheer her up. ‘It was brilliant what you did,’ she said as they stomped round the playground to keep warm. ‘You stood up for Marcus. And his mum loved it, even if his dad didn’t.’
‘That’s the point,’ said Abbie. ‘His dad’ll be furious. Maybe he’ll take it out on Marcus.’
‘Hi.’ Greg appeared in front of them. And behind him – for the very first time in the history of behinds – came Marcus.
‘Hello,’ said Perdita. Abbie stared at the ground. Feeling sorry for Marcus was one thing, admitting it to him a whole new packet of Pringles. ‘I …’ she said.
‘I …’ he said.
‘You first,’ she said.
‘You first,’ he said.
‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘Sorry?’ he said. ‘I’m the one who’s sorry. For everything.’
Abbie took a deep, grateful breath. So that’s why he’s been avoiding us. Out of shame. ‘Well, I’m sorry too,’ she said. ‘I know things have been, um, hard for you.’
Marcus blushed. ‘It’s fine.’
Wow, thought Abbie, whatever’s happened at home, he still won’t complain about his dad. She felt a grudging admiration.
Marcus turned to Perdita. ‘Look. Letting your hippo out – it was all my idea. You mustn’t think anyone else helped me.’
She glared at him. ‘I don’t.’
He kicked a stone wretchedly. ‘It was a terrible thing to do.’
‘You’re telling me.’ She nodded fiercely.
‘You probably won’t forgive me.’
She shook her head. ‘Probably not.’ Then she whacked him on the arm. ‘Because I already have! Here.’ She held out a tiny package. ‘Have an Incan toothpick.’
* * *
What a strange day. Abbie kept expecting Marcus to trip her up, or put her down, or at least smirk. Strangest of all was the PE lesson, when he chose her and Perdita for his Rounders team. Even Miss Whelp looked surprised, her eyebrows doing high jumps.
Along with her own amazement, Abbie felt … what? Not exactly disappointment, more a kind of bewilderment. There was no one to loathe any more, no one to blame for a bad day at school.
As the day wore on, though, she began to get the hang of not hating Marcus. It was actually quite fun. Being enemies had been such hard work, like trying to make a jigsaw from pieces that didn’t fit. Because when you decided to hate someone – really hate them – you had to hate every single thing about them: the colour of their hair; the way they threw paper aeroplanes into the bin; the tone of their voice. And the truth was that Marcus’s hair was the happiest of yellows. His aeroplane aim was to die for. And he had a good voice. Whenever it was his turn to serenade the classroom herbs they had a growth spurt.
Abbie had arranged to go to the zoo after school with Perdita. They’d booked a volleyball match with Winnie: the ape’s mighty arms could easily handle two opponents. As the girls headed through the school gates to the bus stop, Abbie felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned round.
‘Hey.’ Marcus was smiling. Not a bad smile, thought Abbie, without the sneery bits.
‘My mum asked if we can give you a lift.’ Marcus pointed to the small, blue, distinctly un-Jaguarish car parked by the pavement. Mrs Strode-Boylie waved at the girls from the driver’s seat. Next to her, staring at the floor, sat the Massively Successful Dentist.
Abbie gave Perdita a look that said, Hang on. What if he yells at us? Or kidnaps us? Or zaps us with a dento-gun and turns us into toothpaste? But Perdita was already striding towards the car. Biting her lip, Abbie followed.
To her relief, Marcus’s mum smiled as they got in. ‘Hi, girls. Glad we saw you. We’re popping over to the zoo anyway. Aren’t we, dear?’ The MSD nodded into his tie.
All the way to the zoo Mrs Strode – sorry, Strodboil – hummed a happy tune. Her husband sat in silence.
The car pulled up at the zoo. Abbie and Perdita got out. They waved to Charlie, who was feeding the ducks at the entrance pond.
‘Well I’ll be …’ he gasped, dropping his loaf as Marcus followed the girls through the barrier.
Behind them came Mrs Strodboil. She was guiding a silver-haired man by the elbow. ‘Hello, Mr Chumb,’ she said. ‘You haven’t met my husband. He’s a Massively Successful Dentist, you know. And a Massively Kind one, too. Aren’t you, sweetness?’
The MSD winced.
‘Which is why he’d like to offer a free dental checkup.’
The MSD whimpered.
‘To all the animals.’
The MSD whined.
‘Starting with the carnivores.’
The MSD wept.
‘Otherwise,’ she nudged her husband playfully, ‘I’ve explained that Marcus and I will be packing our bags and visiting my parents. For a very long time.’
* * *
‘This little piggy vent to Bradleigh,’ murmured Klench. In a few days he’d be on the plane to Englan
d, prison and the woman of his dreams.
‘No!’ cried the woman of his nightmares. ‘I vill not let her visit.’
‘How you stop her?’ shouted Klench. A spider heading for a breadcrumb in the corner dropped her bag in alarm.
‘I’ll find a vay, you great soufflé,’ muttered Inner Mummy.
33 - Deck the Walls
Friday didn’t feel like the last day of term. Maybe that was because the class had spent the week making wedding decorations, so it seemed like they were already on holiday. Or maybe it was because the children had arranged to meet at the zoo the following week. Perdita had invited them all to help prepare the café, the venue for the wedding service.
Wendy insisted on spring-cleaning over the weekend. ‘Everything that can sparkle will sparkle. And,’ she added wisely, ‘there’s a sparkle in everything.’ By Sunday afternoon Abbie had to agree. Even the tea bags on the counter gleamed.
‘Now,’ said Coriander, taking Wendy’s elbow, ‘off we go. You’re not allowed back before Friday.’ She led Wendy out of the café to discuss hairstyles for the orangs. The options for Winnie, of course, were endless.
On Monday at ten o’clock the children gathered in the café.
‘OK, team,’ said Terrifica, who’d organised a rota, ‘seating and cameras today. Henry and Jeremy, you clear the tables. Claire and Rukia, you can arrange chairs. Snorty, you’re in charge of microphones – no crackle, please. Greg, Marcus and Craig, you can help Mr Platt set up cameras round the zoo. Then the animals can watch the ceremony and the guests can watch the animals.’
‘What about me?’ squeaked Ursula. She ended up checking that all the chairs were 7.62cm apart, which was pointless because Rukia had already done it.
On Tuesday everyone brought in decorations. They were a mixture of Christmas, wedding and plain weird.
Greg brought tinsel, which he draped over the counter.
‘They’ll love that,’ said Abbie. ‘Green for Mr Dabbings, sparkly for Wendy.’
Marcus brought twelve boxes of dental floss. ‘Mum ordered Dad to bring them from his surgery,’ he said. ‘It makes great string.’
Rukia cut the floss into lengths of 12.54cm. Jeremy tied them to his holly angels. Henry hung them from the ceiling. With their wonky leaf wings and red-berry eyes they looked more like drunkards than God’s holy choir.
Snorty brought polystyrene bells that sniffed instead of chimed.
Claire had made a banner that said:
in dried lentils.
‘Wow, that must have taken ages.’ Abbie kicked Perdita before she could point out the mistake.
Ursula stuck a Christmas star on the window, though no one saw it because it was made of cling film.
Craig brought nibbles.
‘Those aren’t decorations,’ said Terrifica, ‘they’re sausage rolls. They’ll never last till Friday.’
‘Good point,’ said Craig and nibbled them all up.
Wednesday was flower arranging. Even though the wedding was still two days away, there was no danger of the flowers wilting because Mr Dabbings had knitted them.
‘No real ones,’ he’d insisted. ‘Think how it must feel, kids, to be wrenched from the soil.’
Thursday was Christmas Eve. The children gathered in the reptile house to wrap their joint present.
‘Do you think they’ll guess what it is?’said Claire.
‘Not if we add some knobbly bits,’ said Abbie. That was easy, as they were covering the gift in tinfoil.
‘Wendy’ll love the packaging as much as the present,’ said Perdita.
It took all morning, not just because of the size. The chameleons kept scuttling out of their playground and getting caught in the wrapping.
‘Oh no. I’ve taped Hue to the front again.’
‘That’s not a ribbon. That’s Toney.’
There was a nasty moment when Henry opened the sliding door and ran into Edie’s cage. ‘Look at me!’ he cried, sitting on her back and waving his arm like a rodeo rider.
‘Off!’ barked Perdita, as Edie opened a grumpy eye and an even grumpier mouth.
Everyone left after lunch. Abbie and Perdita waved them off from the zoo entrance. ‘You’ve done a brilliant job,’ Perdita called. ‘See you tomorrow.’
‘I’ll be off too,’ said Abbie. ‘I promised Mum I’d help decorate the cake.’
‘That’ll be fun,’ said Perdita.
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Abbie as Dad drew up in the car. ‘Mum’s really nervous.’
She needn’t have worried. At home she found Mrs Strodboil in the kitchen with Mum. Hearing about the cake from Marcus, she’d phoned to offer her help. Abbie wowed at the sculpted masterpiece.
‘When you’re married to a dentist you get to know toothpaste.’ Mrs Strodboil laughed. ‘It’s very similar to icing.’
‘So can I clean my teeth with icing?’ asked Ollie, licking a spoon.
Mrs Strodboil smiled. ‘Apart from the sugar.’
The cake had three layers separated by little white pillars. The bottom layer was a replica of the classroom. Tiny pupils sat at their desks. At the front stood a teacher with sideburns holding a guitar. The second layer was a replica of the zoo café. A lady in an overall was dusting a teapot. On the top layer a pair of knitting needles leaned against a huge button. Every single thing, from sideburns to duster, was made of icing.
* * *
Klench sat in the aeroplane, practising compliments for Grandma. ‘Your eyes are as brown as chocolate mousses. Your skin is softer zan old boots.’
The policemen sitting either side exchanged a knowing look, as if to say, Solitary confinement – always drives ’em nuts.
34 - Hitched
Thank goodness it was a cloudy day. If the sun had been shining Abbie would have gone blind. Because a star had landed in the café.
From top to toe Wendy dazzled. Her veil glittered with silver sequins. Her dress was ablaze with bling. Studs and buttons, balls of silver foil and even a few teaspoons were sewn on with silver thread. Her train gushed behind like a waterfall.
By the bride’s side walked her stand-in dad. Sergeant Bolt stared ahead, the buttons of his police uniform nearly popping with pride.
The bridesmaids walked behind holding the train. Minnie wore a saucepan on her head. Winnie’s hair was tied with dozens of silver chewing-gum wrappers.
The groom was waiting at the café counter. He wore a knitted green suit. Bells hung from his jacket sleeves. They tinkled as he took his bride’s hand. They turned to the counter to face the vicar of St Brad-on-the-Tussock.
The Reverend Bulbs had a round face, smooth like an onion bulb and shiny like a light bulb. ‘Dearly beloved …’ he said. And the service began.
The best bit was the vows. ‘I, Branston Chickpea Dabbings, take you, Wendy Wanda Wibberly, to have and to hold, to love and to polish, till death us do part.’
‘I, Wendy Wanda Wibberly, take you, Branston Chickpea Dabbings, to have and to hold, to love and herb-relish, till death us do part.’
The best man stepped forward – except that he wasn’t a man and he didn’t exactly step. (Wendy had refused to have a best man: ‘You’re the best man, Brangles. I won’t have anyone stealing that title.’) Sporting a silver bow tie, Vinnie shuffled up and held out the wedding rings.
Abbie caught her breath. She’d been worried about this bit. Mr Dabbings would want knitted rings and Wendy would want shiny ones. Things could get messy.
Phew. Mr Dabbings slipped a glittering band of gold onto Wendy’s finger, and Wendy slipped a knitted band of gold wool onto his.
Everyone clapped. Abbie looked round. There wasn’t a dry eye in the café. Mum’s face was striped with mascara. Dad was snorting into a hanky. Ollie was wiping his nose on Mum’s sleeve. Coriander’s cheeks shone. Matt’s windscreen wipers raced across his glasses. All round the café pupils blinked, parents dabbed their eyes, policemen sniffled and Grandma insisted it was ‘just a cold’.
There was
n’t a dry eye in the zoo, either. On the wall above the counter Matt had projected a huge screen that was split to show all the animals watching the wedding from their quarters. In the elephant area Gina’s eyes watered. In the spider sandpit tears trickled down the tarantulas’ legs. In the tiger cage Silvio brushed his whiskers dry with a paw. And in the reptile house Edie shed fat crocodile
tears.
Perdita sat beside Abbie. ‘Look,’ she said, pointing to the back of the café. Abbie gasped. Who’d have thought? Corky Shocka, the hardest hack in town, was blowing her nose on yesterday’s Bellow.
Corky stood up. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, apes and, er …’ Mackenzie swooped into the café wearing a tartan top hat … ‘parrots. The bride and groom have given me the honour of holding the reception at my family farm. So please come and join us for a whopping great knees-up.’
Everyone spilled out of the café. The children threw confetti made from leaves. ‘Dead ones only, kids,’ said Mr Dabbings. ‘We don’t want to hurt them, now.’
At the zoo entrance stood the wedding carriage, a wooden cart draped with tinsel. Everyone oohed. Because at the front, in a silver harness, stood Hepzibah. It had been Coriander’s idea. ‘We know she loves to wander. And this ties things up perfectly – no hard feelings and all that.’ Because guess who was leading the procession to the
farm?
In front of the cart, in Corky’s open-top car, sat Marcus. Corky got into the driver’s seat. Mackenzie flew onto her head. Then, when the other guests had found their cars, Marcus stood up. He waved a stick of sugar cane in the air. Hepzibah lumbered forward. And they were off.
At the farmhouse a feast awaited. Mum had organised a buffet in the huge dining room. Corky’s farming family had helped, which was just as well because there weren’t just humans to feed.
‘Fruit over here,’ said Corky’s thin brother, Forky. He led the orangs and a gate-crashing pig to a tray on a bench.
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