Mr O’Malley led Holly to the side of the stage while Fozdrake gathered the trophy. ‘Peter Eriksson, congratulations, you are the newest Most Marvellous International Spelling champion.’
Fozdrake handed over the trophy. Peter worried he might drop it, he was shaking so much, until Esmerelda guided Grandpop Eriksson to the stage and they held it together.
‘I knew you could do it!’ Grandpop had no hope of stopping his tears. ‘Never doubted for a second.’
‘And here,’ Fozdrake said, ‘is your cheque for ten thousand pounds! Is there anything you’d like to say?’
‘Is this really happening?’
The audience laughed.
‘It most certainly is.’ Fozdrake beamed.
Peter took a few moments to think. ‘Firstly, I want to thank my mum, who’s watching right now. You’re the best mum on the planet. And, Grandpop Eriksson, for standing by me when you were going through your own tough times. You’re my hero.’
Grandpop nodded, unable to say anything for fear of becoming a blubbering mess.
‘And thank you to Mr O’Malley and Ms Stomp and my newfound spelling friends. And finally,’ Peter stared straight into the camera, ‘what I really want to say is this: I’m just a regular kid from a regular house, and if this can happen to me, it can happen to you too.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Fozdrake announced, ‘the world’s newest Most Marvellous International Spelling Bee champion.’
The audience were instantly on their feet, cheering and crying out his name.
‘Nice one, Peter.’
‘You deserve it!’
The room was a swirl of music and applause. Peter waved to the crowd and drank it all in. He felt light-headed, as if he were standing on the world’s tallest mountain, watching the most magnificent view. Beside him was Grandpop, and in front were the Wimples, the Kapoors, the Beauregard-Champions, Holly and her dad.
All clapping, just for him.
And he didn’t think about Bruiser or his dad.
Not once.
It’s almost time to leave the Wimples, but before we do, there were a few last things that happened in London.
After the Grand Final, the Wimples, Kapoors, Beauregard-Champions, Erikssons and Trifles went out for a slap-up dinner to celebrate, courtesy of the Beauregard-Champions. It was during dinner that Dad’s phone started beeping. A lot. His story had gone viral. News organisations all around the world splashed it on their front pages. It was called, Spelling Sleuths Stop Skulduggery.
And there, on every site, was a photo of the kids, Mr O’Malley and the Queen of England.
Mr Kapoor raised his glass: ‘To the spelling champions.’
Everyone clinked.
‘And to Arnie Wimple, journalist extraordinaire!’
Dad shook his head. ‘No, I’m not –’
‘Oh yes you are!’ Mr Kapoor raised his pointer finger. ‘I am only speaking the truth!’
Mum planted a very big kiss on Dad’s cheek.
‘Now it’s your turn to put up with the kissing,’ Rajish said quietly to India.
Dinner lasted long into the night, with Nanna Flo and Grandpop Eriksson leading duets on the karaoke machine and everyone taking turns to hold the trophy and have their picture taken with the champion. Finally, they all stumbled back to their hotel rooms.
Which is when Dad checked his email. There must have been hundreds, mostly congratulating him on his story, but there was one from the Huddersfield Herald, wanting to interview him for a job.
‘What should I say?’ His brow was riddled with worry creases.
‘Tell them you’re a world-class journalist,’ India said.
‘Who is dedicated and smart,’ Boo added.
‘And wanted by news agencies everywhere,’ Mum reminded him.
‘And if they don’t give you a job they must have cow manure between their ears, and I won’t mind telling them,’ Nanna Flo concluded.
‘Thank you,’ Dad said, feeling better.
‘When is the interview?’ Mum asked.
Dad worked out the time difference and his face went white. ‘Now.’ He gulped.
As if on cue, the phone rang. ‘It’s them.’
Mum kissed him again. ‘You’ll be fine.’
‘Go, Dad!’ India said.
Boo nodded. ‘You’ve got this.’
‘The Wimples are on a winning streak!’ Nanna Flo rubbed her hands together. ‘I can feel it.’
Dad took the call in the bedroom while the rest of the Wimples waited anxiously in the lounge room. Boo rested his ear against the door, trying to listen.
‘What’s he saying?’ India asked.
‘There’s a lot of muffled words … and laughter,’ Boo whispered. ‘Or maybe crying. It’s hard to tell.’
‘Let me hear.’ India put her ear against the door too. ‘Now there’s just silence.’
‘Shove over.’ Nanna Flo muscled in as well. ‘You’re right. He’s doing a lot of listening. Or maybe it’s already over.’
‘So why hasn’t he come out?’ Mum squeezed in too.
They were straining to hear what was going on when Dad opened the door and only just managed to stop his entire family from toppling inside. ‘Whoah! Easy there, everyone.’
The Wimples straightened themselves up and huddled as anxious penguins.
‘What did they say?’ India was trying to read Dad’s face but found it impossible.
‘They saw my story and liked it. They said I have a good style.’
‘That means they know what they’re talking about.’ Nanna Flo stabbed at the air.
‘What else did they say?’ Mum asked.
‘They wanted to know if I had other story ideas, and when I began telling them, they stopped me midway.’
‘Talking too much?’ Boo asked.
Dad winced. ‘I was nervous.’
‘What happened next?’ Mum pressed.
‘They gave me a job.’
‘As a journalist?’ Nanna Flo asked, breathless.
Dad took a moment to answer. ‘Yep. I’m going to be a journalist again!’
Boo threw his arms around Dad, followed by India, Mum and Nanna Flo in an ecstatic Wimple family hug.
‘This calls for another celebration!’ Nanna Flo opened her purse and took out a handful of specially wrapped mint chocolates. ‘I took them from the restaurant.’
The Wimples gathered on the lounge, eating chocolates, while Dad talked about the articles he’d like to write and the people he’d interview – and the toilets he wouldn’t have to unblock any more or the roofs he wouldn’t have to climb to rescue the odd goat. India listened as she snuggled with her family, which felt as warm and cosy as any place she knew.
The next morning, packed and ready to leave, the Wimples, Kapoors, Beauregard-Champions, Erikssons and Trifles stood in the foyer of the Royal Windsor Hotel.
Waiting for them was Mr Elwood O’Malley.
‘It has been the utmost pleasure to have met you all,’ he said. ‘Not only for your spelling prowess, but for your kindness. If it wasn’t for you, the Grand Final would never have happened, my reputation would be ruined, and I would no longer be the Queen’s representative.’
‘We did what we thought was right.’ Holly smiled.
‘We did what should have been done a long time ago,’ India added.
‘And we did it with style,’ Summer reminded them.
‘And we’d do it again,’ Rajish said.
Prince Harry poked his nose from his jacket pocket. ‘All of us,’ Peter said, patting his scaly friend.
‘You have my eternal gratitude.’ Mr O’Malley rested his hand on his heart. ‘Au revoir, as the French say, until we meet again.’
Just before they left, Esmerelda appeared from the elevator and walked towards them.
She clutched her clipboard against her chest and gave one short, sharp wave. ‘Wanted to say goodbye.’ She hesitated awkwardly – India could tell she wanted to say something else, something befitting th
e moment and all they’d been through. Instead, she said, ‘So … goodbye.’
India didn’t expect to see the director, not after her declaration of not liking kids or spelling bees, but with only one small glance to the others, they stepped closer to Esmerelda.
‘What are you doing?’ She looked around as if she suddenly wanted to escape. ‘Don’t even think about it. I’m warning you …’
But it was too late – all five children flung their arms around her.
‘What are you doing?’
‘It’s called a hug,’ Holly explained.
‘It’s what people do when they like each other.’ India continued hugging Esmerelda, who held her hands in the air as if she were being mugged.
‘You should try it sometime,’ Rajish said. ‘You might like it.’
‘That’s enough now.’ Esmerelda stepped away and brushed herself down. ‘Hugs! Pah!’
Even though she looked annoyed, India could tell she didn’t mean it.
There was a great kerfuffle of more hugs and goodbyes, tears and promises to keep in touch, before the cab whisked the Wimples to the airport.
It was on the long journey home that the Wimples finally spoke to Mum about Boo going back to school. It took quite a bit of talking and some deal making – there were even tears – but the Wimples were at their best when they worked as a team, and Mum eventually agreed.
On his first day of school, the Wimples walked with him to the front gate.
‘You don’t all need to be here.’ Boo looked at the other kids who came to school without being surrounded by their entire family.
‘But this is a big day for the Wimples.’ Dad drove his hands through his hair so that it stood out in all directions.
‘And we want to make sure you’re okay.’ Mum sniffed.
‘Even though we know you will be,’ Nanna Flo said, trying to be strong. ‘You’re a Wimple, and we Wimples never give up! You’re going to be just fine.’
Kids skated by and rode past on their bikes. ‘Hey, Boo!’
Boo waved before turning to his family. ‘Yes, but now it might be time to go.’ None of them moved. ‘I have my asthma kit, my teacher has my asthma plan, the school has all your numbers – everything’s going to be fine.’
Mum wasn’t so keen. ‘Maybe we could walk you to class and see where you’re sitting?’
‘I’ll be okay on my own.’ Boo sent India a help me look.
‘We’d better go,’ she said. ‘Don’t want to be late on our first day back.’
Finally, Mum, Dad and Nanna Flo waved goodbye.
Boo and India watched them leave.
‘Don’t get me wrong, I love them and all, but I’m so glad they’ve gone,’ Boo said.
‘Are you sure you’ll be okay?’
‘India …’ Boo warned.
‘Okay. I’ll stop fussing. It just might take me some time.’
‘Boo!’ A boy with scruffy hair rode into school on his skateboard.
‘Liam!’ Boo tore across the yard.
It took all India’s strength not to chase him and make sure the running wasn’t going to cause a flare-up. But she’d promised – even though she might linger around the fringes of where he was, to keep a sneaky eye on him. At least at the beginning.
So we leave this story for the last time, a few months later, with the Wimples and Daryl reclining in deckchairs on the footpath of Main Street in Yungabilla.
They were wearing sunglasses and sitting across from the town’s newest addition.
‘She’s a real beauty!’ Nanna Flo shook her head, still not able to believe it.
‘It makes quite an impression,’ Mum agreed.
‘And it’s so big!’ Boo craned his head back to take it all in.
‘It’s a ripper,’ Daryl said in awe. ‘Nothing less than deserved.’
‘And it’s all because of our little girl.’ Dad beamed.
The object of their admiration was a sculpture of The Big Dictionary that had been placed in the very centre of town. Below it was a gold plaque, which said:
Dedicated to India Wimple,
Yungabilla’s Spelling Champion
Ever since the dictionary’s unveiling, people drove from all over the country to have their photo taken next to it. Like Mayor Bob had predicted, it made Yungabilla a tourist destination not to be missed.
The caravan park was overflowing with vans and tents, Gracie’s Café was busier than ever, and Mrs O’Donnell at the bakery had to wake up even earlier to make enough muffins, scones and lamingtons, which she kept high on a shelf behind her in case Bessie came by, but it was her delicious blueberry cheesecakes that people wanted most.
‘How does it feel?’ Nanna Flo asked. ‘To have your own monument?’
‘And to be a spelling champion?’ Mum added. ‘And a world traveller who has hobnobbed with the Queen?’ Boo said.
‘And a super sleuth,’ Daryl reminded them.
‘Can’t forget that!’ Dad declared.
India thought about it before saying, ‘That’s all very nice, and I liked London, but to tell the truth, I like being home much better.’
‘I like that too,’ Daryl said. ‘Yungabilla’s not the same without the Wimples around.’
And with that they all settled back into their deckchairs on Main Street in Yungabilla, where our story of the Wimples first began.
Deborah Abela is short and not very brave, which may explain why she writes books about spies, ghosts, soccer legends, WWII and children living in a flooded city battling sea monsters and sneaker waves. Some of her books are Max Remy Superspy, Grimsdon, New City and Teresa: A New Australian. When she was in Year 4, Deb had a wonderful teacher called Miss Gray, who made reading and spelling spectacular fun. Deb has won awards for her books but mostly hopes to be as brave as her characters.
Find out more about what she’s been up to at www.deborahabela.com.
A Random House book
Published by Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd
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penguin.com.au
First published by Random House Australia in 2018
Copyright © Deborah Abela 2018
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Penguin Random House Australia.
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ISBN 9780143786696
Cover illustration and design by Astred Hicks/Design Cherry
Internal typesetting and design by Midland Typesetters, Australia
Penguin Random House Australia uses papers that are natural, renewable and recyclable products and made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The logging and manufacturing processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.
THE BEGINNING
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The Most Marvellous Spelling Bee Mystery Page 17