by Cath Howe
Her mouth twitched. “No.” She buried her face in Nelson’s fur, murmuring, “He can hop really far.”
“My brother is called Jack,” I said, deciding to tell her about me instead. “He’s six.”
Molly looked up. “I’d like a brother.” She pulled hairs out of the brush and brushed again. Nelson stretched himself across her legs.
“You can have him,” I murmured, taking a long slurp of lemonade. “I love lemonade.” That was true; I wasn’t allowed it very often. “My mum’s a computer programmer,” I told her. “That’s why we moved; cos Mum got a new job.”
Molly looked away. “I haven’t got a computer,” she said in a fierce sort of voice. “I have to use the ones at school.”
We both slurped lemonade again.
Molly got up. “Come and see Nelson’s cage.”
I blinked in the gloomy shed, trying to look interested in her rabbit hutch, breathing in the sweet rabbity smell. I stared at Nelson’s water bottle and the bags of rabbit food and bedding. There wasn’t anything else to see. “Nelson’s allowed anywhere but he usually sleeps in here,” Molly said.
When we came out into the sunshine again, Molly slid down between the shed and the fence and grabbed a fistful of leaves. “Dandelions,” she said. “His favourite.”
Then, sudden and loud from the house came “Mols!”, then louder, “Mols?” That woman’s voice calling. Just like last time.
Chapter 11
Ella Criminella
Dear Dad,
Last night I dreamed you came home, just for an evening, because the prison was closed – maybe it was a holiday. All the prisoners came rushing out and you were all holding a special cake for your families and you rushed up to me and hugged me. Then you disappeared.
You were in a bright green jacket.
Ella
Molly looked terrified. She bundled the huge rabbit into my arms and stuffed the leaves in my hands. “Take care of him,” she said, rushing away. The kitchen door clunked shut.
Nelson was really heavy – heavier than the shopping, and solid, with clambering legs that dug in. My hands seemed to prickle. What if I was allergic?
Why had Molly made me hold him anyway? Couldn’t I just let him hop around? He seemed too fat to run fast. I eased him down on to the coat beside me with his leaves and clicked three pictures on my phone, sending them straight to Lydia. I texted, Operation 13. Here’s Molly’s rabbit eating.
Nelson’s machine-like jaws polished off the leaves so quickly. He stretched and seemed to gather his back legs into himself. Maybe, sometimes, with the grass so long, he got lost and Molly had to use a fishing net to find him. I picked him up again and wandered a little way towards the kitchen. It was a greenish kind of dark inside. The paint was peeling off the window. I walked back down the garden and took Nelson to see the fence. He must have seen it before. Rabbits don’t say anything – he can’t have been very impressed.
How long was Molly going to be? I looked back at the house. There was a feeling of secrets at Molly’s.
I sat down on the coat again in a sort of rabbit-bundling way, managing not to drop Nelson. He lolled there on my knee, all warm, a great big body, sniffing at the grass around us. I began to like the feeling, the vibration of him.
Molly came out from the back door again and sat down. “Sorry,” she said.
“Did someone call you?” I asked softly.
Molly made a tiny sound. “Mmm.” Her whole body sagged, as if someone had unpacked all her stuffing. Her eyes flicked back to the house. She scooped Nelson off my knees. All in a rush she said, “Mum’s busy. She… um… collects furniture.” Her face had that fierce look again, as if she was saying don’t ask me about this. She hugged Nelson to her. “Don’t go in my house,” she said. “Don’t ever go in my house.”
Her words felt like a slap – furious.
She still didn’t look at me, just stroked Nelson’s ears over and over.
That’s how you lie. It’s very hard to lie and look into a person’s eyes. That’s why teachers make you look at them.
There had to be something really scary inside Molly’s house. “No, no, I won’t,” I said.
She looked like she might cry. Why was her face so sad? Why had she spoken to me like that? I couldn’t tell her that I’d already been inside her house. “Molly, I—” I began.
But my phone beeped. I checked it. A message from Lydia. Clever old Ella Criminella! Can’t wait to hear all the goss.
“I have to go now,” I said. “Mum’s invited someone.”
On Monday, at lunchtime, Lydia beckoned me over to sit on the field with Rachel, Sophie and Immy. They were discussing the teachers’ first names. The others seemed to know nearly all of them. “Mr Goldman is Charlie and Miss Evans is Helen. She looks like a Helen,” Sophie said.
“What about Mr Gibbons?” Rachel asked. “No one’s found out his.”
“Plonkybrain,” Immy suggested.
“Stop it, Immy. This is serious,” Lydia said.
“No it isn’t,” Immy said.
Lydia’s face was concentrating. “OK then, does anyone know Miss Stevenson’s? I think she’s an Amy. You can sometimes find out teachers’ names if you just listen when they talk to other teachers and pretend you’re not really there. The drinking fountain’s a good place. Or carrying things by the office.”
“I know when Mr Hales’s birthday is – 29th May!” Immy said.
Lydia scrunched up her eyes against the sun. “I knew that anyway.” She shielded her eyes with her hand, gazing at Immy. “If your eyebrows meet in the middle, does that mean you’re turning into a wolf?”
Immy’s fingers flew to the space above her nose.
Everyone giggled. I joined in. I didn’t think Immy looked odd at all but everyone else was laughing.
Immy sprang up. “You’re not funny.” Her mouth was wobbling like Jack’s does sometimes. “My mum says people have different amounts of hair. It’s just normal.”
Lydia stretched her legs out. She let out a little growl.
“Stop it,” Immy said.
Lydia growled louder.
Immy walked away, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Ella and me are going to talk alone now,” Lydia told the others.
“All right,” Sophie said crossly, “be like that.” She got up and strutted away arm in arm with Rachel.
Lydia pulled me closer. “Back to Operation 13.” She locked her arm into mine. “I need my Ella Criminella.”
I felt a kind of jolt, hearing that name again. “I don’t like that name. It’s horrible.”
But Lydia poked me, hard. “It’s a joke. It’s funny.” She pointed to Molly bent over her notebook on the wall. “First things first: Molly’s dad?”
“I still don’t know about him,” I said, feeling odd about that question. “She said there was just her and her mum.” I remembered the fierce way Molly had told me.
“Didn’t you see any other people at her house?”
I felt as if I was a witness in a trial. “I didn’t go inside this time,” I said. “We sat in her garden. But she said her mum is a furniture collector.”
“Couldn’t you have gone in to the loo?”
“She didn’t want me to. She’s got a rabbit. She really loves it, kissing it like mwah, mwah. I had to look after it when someone called.”
“And that was when you sent me the photo…? Mmm, could be anyone’s rabbit.”
“But we know it’s hers.”
“It’s still not very interesting. Loads of people have rabbits.” Lydia sighed. “Tell me about the first time you went inside.”
“Well…” I pictured the dark room, the hand stretching out to me. I shuddered. “I saw a person… a long trailing sort of dark cloak… a really long white hand…”
“This is so creepy!” Lydia murmured, squeezing my arm. “Hey, Ella, I know what… Molly’s dad got turned into a rabbit. He’s under a spell!”
I l
aughed. Lydia pretended to have rabbit ears, waggling her hands above her head. “That’s it! You said she kissed her rabbit all the time. Maybe she’s trying to get her dad back. It’s like the frog prince only… with rabbits!” She did her little high trilling laugh, like music. “That’s it. My clever Ella Criminella. Her mum makes her dad disappear … and those piles of things in the house… they are… the enchanted palace. It’s like Rapunzel in the tower. Or Sleeping Beauty.” Lydia’s face switched suddenly to serious and fixed. “Go and sit with Molly when we go back in this afternoon.”
I didn’t know what to say. “But no one sits next to her.”
“She’ll let you,” Lydia said. “She must like you. She invited you. You have to do this, Ella.”
Chapter 12
Investigating
Dear Dad,
The art room at Moor Lane is full of things to draw. There’s a skeleton in a bowler hat. Miss Denby showed us how to make photos with mixtures of things called still lifes. If I go to a place and take a photo I just select, zoom, click. Maybe I could work for a newspaper.
Hope your food is getting better. Jack hid some broccoli in a plant. I’ve been looking after your crocodile key ring with the big wide mouth. Do you remember when I gave it to you for your birthday?
Here is a photo of a squirrel on the tree outside my bedroom window, a pet rabbit and one of Jack making his cold custard face. Isn’t the rabbit fat? He’s called Nelson.
Love, Ella
I joined the line-up and, when I got back into Willow class, I went to the back of the classroom where Molly had already sat down. I stood there holding my bag. Molly looked slowly up at me, piled up her things and made space for me.
“Thanks,” I said and sat down.
Oh wow – it worked! I waited a bit and then grinned over at Lydia, but I couldn’t catch her eye. She was giggling with Sophie. Being Lydia’s friend sometimes felt like a thin thing, a thing that might melt away and, just for a horrid moment, I felt as if they might be giggling about me. But then I thought, no, Lydia’s just excited. I still wished she’d look at me, though.
Molly did talk to me a little bit, but with comments like, “Have you finished?” or “Can I turn it over now?” When we shared a worksheet I showed her one of my answers to a question about owl pellets. She worked so quietly she could almost not have been there. I didn’t feel as if me being next to her mattered. Maybe she was thinking about something else when she was in school. There was a smell around Molly too: old clothes. I wished I was next to Lydia and laughing.
It couldn’t hurt Molly though, could it – me finding things out?
That afternoon, Mrs Reynolds collected Jack first, because he got out five minutes before me from the other playground. She and Jack were waiting when Mr Hales let us out. Mrs Reynolds waved.
“Is that your grandma?” Lydia asked, appearing beside me.
“No. She’s a childminder,” I said, then added quickly, “for Jack.”
Mrs Reynolds went on sitting in the sunshine with her stick next to her and Jack leaping behind her along the planter while all the other mums and dads stood and talked to each other. I had to point her out to Mr Hales so he would let her collect me.
“Why is she so old?” Lydia asked.
I shrugged. “She just is.”
“We mustn’t forget about Operation 13,” Lydia said. “Sit with Molly tomorrow.”
“But I…”
“Gotta dash, Criminella,” Lydia said. “Write it down. Like a proper investigator. I need to find Immy.”
I wished Mrs Reynolds only collected Jack. Nearly everyone in my class was allowed to walk home on their own or with a friend. I rushed into the office to collect my phone, and that made me feel better because I could play on it all the way home, until Mrs Reynolds said, “Put that away now, Ella, unless you have an actual call to make.”
I gaped at her. I hadn’t had my phone all day and now she was stopping me having it for no reason.
Mrs Reynolds’ face had very papery skin. She tucked her stick under her arm and reached out to take my hand. I pulled away. Did she think I was a baby? Jack flung her arm around on the other side and she wobbled. and nearly fell over. “All right then, let’s agree that you both walk sensibly beside me,” she said, starting to lean on the stick again. “How was your day?”
We walked home very slowly. At home, she made us wash our hands and then we had juice and biscuits. She wasn’t that bad, just kept asking me things, especially maths things. She made us do homework. Jack read her his reading book and I filled in two sheets. Then Mrs Reynolds checked them as if she was the teacher.
I was getting sick of having to be good. I would have done all the maths questions in the world soon. Then Mrs Reynolds suddenly said, “Telly on.” She switched on a quiz. The contestants were being asked about geography and books and European football clubs and Mrs Reynolds started shouting out the answers from the kitchen while she made pasta sauce.
I wondered if Mum had told Mrs Reynolds about Dad. He loves quizzes.
Jack and I were allowed upstairs now. I could still hear Mrs Reynolds shouting answers, as if she was one of the contestants in the TV studio too. Jack called me a slug and I slammed my bedroom door so he couldn’t come in, and sat on my bed. I made a list of things I already knew about Molly and I pinned it up, like a police chief.
Molly Gardener is very tall.
She lives at number 13 Ash Grove.
She goes to Moor Lane School.
She is in Willow class.
She has a rabbit called Nelson.
Her back garden is a mess.
Her house is full of old furniture and odd things in the wrong places.
Someone is in the house. They are wearing a long black coat and they have a long white hand.
Molly shops at the Co-op.
She always has a notebook with her.
She seems scared.
She often wears trainers but the teachers don’t tell her off. Why?
She hardly ever gives her homework in but Mr Hales doesn’t get cross. Why?
Lydia thinks her mum is a witch and she turned her dad into a rabbit.
Chapter 13
Something Strange
Dad
I’ve been thinking about the view out of your window. I would not like to only see a wire fence. From my classroom, we can see playing fields and a line of back gardens and from home I can see our new garden and the tree.
I would never throw things out of my window. That sounds bad. You don’t do it, do you? If a person is in prison and they do a bad thing, do they get punished? I know you said you don’t like hearing keys jingling, but maybe when you come home, you might change your mind.
It’s raining today – great big fat drops. I got wet coming home. Do prisoners have raincoats with hoods or umbrellas? Can you jump in the puddles? If you all jumped at once, would it make a big wave?
Mum is very busy at work. She even works in bed!!
I am sorry you can’t have your own phone. Could you borrow one really quickly and text me a picture of you with your friends? Someone must have one. Even Mrs Reynolds has one and she is old and doesn’t like it much. I showed her how to change the ringtone. She’s got a jungle one now and she laughs every time it rings but that doesn’t happen very often.
Here is a photo of Mum and me and Jack that Mrs Reynolds took.
Love, Ella
I didn’t want to sit with Molly but I did it all the rest of that week.
She didn’t seem to care either way. She seemed gloomy, busy in her head. And she dashed away to her notebook half the time. There wasn’t much to report.
Molly sighed a lot. She was a miserable kind of person, I decided.
I made careful notes for Lydia.
1. Molly’s lunch – Molly has some bread and cheese and an apple for lunch.
2. Pencils – she doesn’t even have her own colouring pencils.
3. She never puts her hand up.
&n
bsp; 4. Notebook, of course. She has that out a lot, at break and lunchtime. It is a little woven gold one with a cord wrapped round it and white pages.
“Did you look inside it?” Lydia asked.
“No,” I said. “I’ve never had a chance. Molly’s always there.”
5. Bank card. Molly also has a red bank card in her rucksack. I saw it when she was putting her lunchbox back.
I made sure Lydia knew that. “She does have money,” I said.
“How much?”
“She has a bank card – for getting money out.”
I could tell I had impressed her.
“Really? Do you think she’s really rich then?” Lydia asked.
“She doesn’t look as if she’s got loads of money.”
Lydia’s eyes were shining. “Wish I had a bank card. I’d spend a million, million pounds before Mum and Dad even noticed the card was gone.”
I was sure Lydia was pleased with me now. She must be. But she was frowning. “Operation 13’s not very interesting yet, is it?” she said. “Get Molly to invite you again.”
“She might not.”
“Oh, Ella, interview people then. If you found out something interesting, I’d ask Mum if you can come to my house for tea.”
For tea! My stomach felt squirmy. That would only be if I found out more.
Lydia pouted. “I thought you would have found out something really exciting by now. It’s not like Molly’s a master criminal or something.” She giggled. “I expect you know a lot more about that kind of thing!”
I stared at her. Master criminal… That kind of thing…
But then Lydia squeezed my arm and tickled me. “Only joking!” she called.
“Must dash. I’m going round to Rachel’s.”
I had a sudden pang of aloneness. I wished Grace was with me again and I could go round to her house the way I used to. Grace who understood. Grace who was kind.