by Adele Abbott
Hedgelog Bicycle Repairs was in a side street next door to a quaint little coffee shop called Bean A While. The window of the bike shop looked as though it hadn’t been cleaned for several months. Inside, it was poky and very untidy.
I heard footsteps coming from somewhere in the back.
“Yes?” The man was wearing a green smock. He had dark brown hair, but a pure white moustache. “Aren’t you Jill Gooder?”
His question caught me off-guard. “Yes, I am. How did you know?”
“It’s such an honour to meet you. I’ve been following your progress ever since you took part in the Levels Competition. I’m a big fan of the Levels, and I was very impressed by your debut. I was sorry to see that you didn’t enter last year. Will you be taking part this year?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“If you do, my money will be on you to win.” He reached under the counter and brought out a small booklet. On closer examination, I realised it was a programme for the Levels Competition in which I had competed.
“Could I have your autograph?” He handed me the programme and a pen.
“Of course.” I scribbled my signature on the front cover. Apparently, Kathy wasn’t the only celebrity in the family.
“Thank you so much.” He held the programme to his heart. It was all a little embarrassing. Who would have thought I had a fanboy?
“You’re not by any chance the Edward Hedgelog who went to CASS?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Daze told me. She was in the same year as you.”
“Daze?” He looked a little puzzled. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“You might have known her by the name: Daisy Flowers.”
“Oh yes. I remember Daisy, and come to think of it she didn’t like anyone calling her that, but I’d totally forgotten her nickname. What is she doing now?”
“She’s a Rogue Retriever.”
“That makes sense. She was always the sporty type, and something of a tomboy.” He glanced through the window. “Do you have a bicycle in need of repair?”
“No. That’s not why I’m here. Daze told me that while at CASS you found one of the dream-stones.”
“Oh, that.” His face fell.
“Is it true?”
“Yes, but I very much wish I hadn’t.”
“Why is that?”
“Delving into the dream world is not what I wanted to do with my life. I’ve always had a passion for bicycles, and in particular repairing them. That’s why I opened this place. I’ve tried to put the dream-stone thing behind me.”
“Not entirely, I hope? I was hoping that I could persuade you to help me with a recurring nightmare which I’ve been having.”
“I’d really rather not get involved.”
“How about if I were to promise you a signed photograph of me collecting the Levels trophy if I were to win it this year?”
His face lit up. “Would you?”
“Yes, but only if you help me to unravel my nightmare.”
“Deal!”
“Great! What do you need me to do?”
“I have to be in the room with you when you fall asleep.”
“Oh? That’s going to be difficult. I live with a human. I’m not sure—”
“You can come to my house. Provided that you’re able to fall asleep in the chair, I should be able to access your nightmare.”
“Okay. That works for me. Can you let me have your address?”
“Sure.” He scribbled it on a scrap of paper and handed it to me. “When did you want to do it?”
“Tonight, if that’s possible. I want to get to the bottom of this.”
“Tonight it is.”
***
Even though I knew the twins’ latest escapade was going to be a disaster, I had to check it out for myself.
I could barely get through the door at Cuppy C; I’d never seen the place so packed. All the seats were taken, and there was very little standing room. Noticeably, there wasn’t a man to be seen in the place. The twins had closed the cake counter, and brought in two extra assistants. It took me ten minutes just to squeeze my way through to the tea room counter.
“What did we tell you?” Pearl said. “Didn’t we say this was a great idea?”
“Looks like you were right,” I conceded. “Can I get a latte and a blueberry muffin, please?”
“We’ll have to start turning them away soon.” Amber passed me a slice of carrot cake.
“What’s this?”
“It’s all we’ve got left. All the other cakes have gone. We should have brought in more stock.”
There was no way that I was going to get a seat, so I joined the twins behind the counter.
“We want the Adrenaline Boys!” The crowd began to chant. “We want the Adrenaline Boys!”
“What time are they meant to come on?” I asked.
“In five minutes.” Pearl gave someone the last piece of carrot cake.
The audience continued to shout for the show to begin.
Suddenly, the lights dimmed, and a single spotlight lit the wall closest to the stairs. The crowd fell silent, and the sense of anticipation was palpable. Then the music began, and the Adrenaline Boys appeared. All four of them were dressed in tight leather trousers and black t-shirts. Jethro was standing on the far left. A guy with long blond hair stepped forward.
“We are the Adrenaline Boys.”
With that, they went into their first routine. Just as the twins had promised, it was far less raunchy than the show I’d seen with Mad, but that didn’t stop the audience getting more and more excited. After a few minutes, most of the crowd were on their feet, dancing—and edging closer and closer to the Adrenaline Boys.
“Get your shirt off!” Someone shouted.
“Show us your chest!” Another voice.
Soon, the music was drowned out by calls for the boys to shed their clothes.
“We have to stop this.” Pearl looked worried. “If they strip, the authorities will close down Cuppy C.”
“How can we stop them?” Amber said. “If we pull them off stage now, this crowd will lynch us.”
“We have to do something.” Pearl sounded desperate.
The twins were right. The situation was getting out of hand, but how were they going to get the boys out of there? Then, I had an idea.
Water began to pour down on the audience who rushed to the door to escape the deluge. Pearl took that opportunity to lead the Adrenaline Boys back upstairs.
“Lock the door,” I yelled at Amber, as soon as I’d reversed the ‘rain’ spell.
An hour later, we were still mopping up the water when the Adrenaline Boys came back downstairs.
“Thank goodness you got that lot out of here,” Jethro said. “That crowd was wild. Much worse than our usual audience.”
***
That evening, I found Edward Hedgelog’s house without much difficulty. The pretty little thatched cottage with the beautiful front garden wasn’t at all what I’d expected. The only clue that he lived there was the name on the plaque: ‘On yer bike.’
“Jill, do come in. Did you find me okay?” He was wearing a smoking jacket and cravat—quite the contrast to the green smock he’d sported in the bicycle shop.
“Yes. No problem at all. You have a beautiful garden.”
“Thank you. After bicycles, gardening is my next biggest passion.”
He led me through to the lounge at the rear of the house. It had large French windows which looked out onto an equally impressive back garden.
“Take a seat there please, Jill.” He pointed to a floral design rocking chair.
I did as he asked, and he took a seat opposite me in a red leather armchair.
“So, how exactly does this work?”
“It’s quite simple really. Once you’re asleep, I’ll use the dream-stone to enter your dream. Once there, I should be able to find out exactly what’s causing you to have the nightmares. Do you think you’ll be
able to get to sleep?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem.” I reached into my handbag.
“Sleeping pills?”
“No. I have something much better than that. This is guaranteed to send me to sleep.”
“What is that you’re reading?”
“It’s a movie newsletter, which is written by an ex-neighbour of mine.”
There was corridor after corridor. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t go any faster. After what felt like forever, I came to a staircase. I took the stairs two at a time. Once at the bottom, I found myself facing a door. I could sense there was danger behind it, but I had to find out what was inside. I turned the handle.
“Jill! Wake up, Jill!”
Someone was shaking me, and I could hear a voice in the distance.
“Jill, wake up!”
I was back in the rocking chair, facing the garden.
“Are you okay?” Edward Hedgelog was standing next to me.
“I’m fine. Did it work?”
“Yes. Well, kind of.”
“What do you mean? Were you able to get into my dream or not?”
“Yes, that wasn’t a problem. I’m just not sure I understand what I learned there.”
“Tell me what you found out.”
“Someone is trying to get a message to you. He’s trying to warn you of danger that you’ll be facing very shortly.”
“Who is he?”
“He didn’t tell me his name.”
“Did he have red hair and a red beard?”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“No. I’ve seen him, but I have no idea who he is.”
“That’s very strange.” Edward sat back down in the armchair. “He said that you had to remember the promise that you and he had made, and that you must act quickly because others were determined to stop you.”
“None of this makes a lick of sense.” I sighed. “Will I still get the nightmares?”
“I don’t think so. Not now he’s managed to deliver his message to you via me.”
“Thank you for your help, Edward,” I said as he showed me to the door.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t find any more information. You won’t forget the signed photograph when you win the Levels, will you?”
“If I win.”
“You’ll win. There’s no doubt about that.”
I felt deflated. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, but I was even more confused now than I’d been before. When the red-haired, red-bearded man had turned up at my door in Smallwash, I’d assumed he was some kind of nutcase. It seemed I was right because he was now claiming that he and I had made a promise together. I know my memory can be bad at times, but I’m pretty sure I would have remembered that.
I’d just have to hope that this would at least put an end to the nightmares.
Chapter 25
Yay! I’d had two consecutive nights without nightmares! Maybe the visit to Edward Hedgelog had been worth it after all.
The big day had arrived. Today was the day I went to London to collect my competition prize. I wasn’t due to get there until mid-afternoon, so had plenty of time before I had to catch the train. I planned to call into the office first, to check if I had any mail or telephone messages. I needn’t have bothered. The only mail was a bill, and the only message on the answerphone was someone wanting a quotation for a new garage door. Huh?
“Nice of you to turn in,” Winky said. “Where have you been hiding?”
“I’ve been catching up with some jobs in the house.”
“So, you haven’t been walking around dressed as a crochet hook, then?”
How did he know? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” When in doubt: deny, deny, deny.
“This isn’t you with the old bag lady and Jules, then?”
He held up his smartphone to show me a series of images taken at Woolcon. And there I was, dressed as a crochet hook, standing next to a ball of wool and a knitting needle.
“That’s not me!”
He grinned.
“I’m telling you, that’s not me. It must be someone else. Anyway, I can’t stay here and argue with you. I’m going to London today.”
“Can I come?”
“No. You can stay here and practise your deportment.”
I still had time to kill, so I decided to call in on Kathy and Peter.
“Jill?” Kathy looked stressed when she answered the door. “Aren’t you supposed to be in London today?”
“Yeah, but my train isn’t until later. I thought I’d check on how you were doing. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“No. It’s just Pete—he’s doing my head in.”
I followed her into the lounge. Peter was sitting on the sofa.
“Hi, Jill.” He looked cheesed off.
“I feel like I’ve walked in on something.”
“Tell her, Pete.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“I’ll tell her, then,” Kathy said. “That neighbour of yours is poaching Pete’s customers. She’s signed up four of them already.”
“Megan?”
“Who else? Megan and her hot pants. I told him to have a word with her, and warn her off, but he won’t.”
“It’s called competition, Kathy,” Peter said. “I don’t have a divine right to keep any customer.”
“Yeah, but how are you meant to compete with her skimpy top and short shorts?”
“Maybe I could start wearing hot pants?” He laughed.
Kathy didn’t.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny because I don’t.” Kathy fixed him with her gaze. “Megan and her hot pants are stealing food out of our kids’ mouths.”
“You’re being melodramatic as usual,” Peter said. “Tell her, Jill!”
“Hey! Leave me out of this.”
“You should have a word with Megan, Jill,” Kathy said. “She’s your neighbour.”
“What exactly am I meant to say to her? Don’t flash your hot pants at Peter’s customers?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
Just then, Lizzie came out of her bedroom, and rushed over to me. She was much happier than she’d been the last time I’d seen her.
“Hiya, Auntie Jill.”
“Hi. You look very happy today?”
“Katie is my best friend again.”
“That’s good news. I’m really pleased for you.”
“Joe Bear isn’t. He’s really sad because he can’t be my best friend anymore. He keeps asking me why I’ve found a new best friend.”
“He’s only a toy,” Kathy said. “He can’t be sad.”
“But he is, Mummy. He’s been crying.”
“Now you’re being silly, Lizzie.”
“No, I’m not!”
It was time for me to step in. I knew that Lizzie was telling the truth about Joe Bear.
Why don’t I go and talk to Joe Bear, Lizzie?”
“Would you, Auntie Jill?”
“Sure. You stay here with Mummy and Daddy, and I’ll go and have a word with him.”
I left Lizzie, Kathy and Peter in the lounge while I went to Lizzie’s bedroom. Joe Bear was on her bed. After closing the door behind me, I reversed the ‘enchantment’ spell. Joe Bear’s work was done; Lizzie now had a real life BFF.
***
Normally, when I travelled by train, I went standard class, but I’d decided that such an auspicious occasion deserved something better. The price of the first-class ticket had brought tears to my eyes, but given that I would be getting a year’s supply of custard creams it seemed worth it.
“Good morning,” I said to the man in the pinstriped suit seated opposite me.
He looked at me over his newspaper. “Good morning.”
“Are you going to London on business?”
“Yes.”
“Do you go down there often?”
“Most days.”
“I’m going to collect a prize.”
“Really?
”
He was pretending to be uninterested, but I knew he was dying to know what I’d won.
“I won the competition in Biscuit Barrel Monthly magazine; a year’s supply of custard creams.”
“Custard what?”
Was this guy for real? “Creams. You know, custard creams.”
“That must be very exciting for you.” He was trying to hide it, but I could tell he was green with envy.
The offices of Biscuit Periodicals were some distance from the train station. I could have taken the tube, but I figured it would be crowded. The letter had mentioned that they’d be taking photographs, so I wanted to arrive there looking my best.
I hailed a taxi.
“I’m going to pick up a prize.” I gave the driver the address.
“Really, love? What kind of prize?”
“A year’s supply of custard creams.”
“They’re the Mrs’s favourite. Me, I prefer Garibaldi.”
That was wrong on so many levels, but I didn’t feel I should comment.
Fifteen minutes later, the taxi dropped me right outside the offices of Biscuit Periodicals. The fare was a little more than I’d expected, but I still gave the driver a tip.
“Good morning,” the bubbly young woman behind reception greeted me.
“Morning. My name is Jill Gooder. I’m here to collect a competition prize.”
“Biscuit Barrel Monthly?”
“That’s the one.”
“Take a seat over there please. Someone will collect you in a few minutes.”
There was a selection of magazines in the waiting area—all of which were biscuit related. I’d just started to flip through Biscuit Digest Quarterly when the door to the right of the reception desk opened, and a young man with streaked blond hair emerged. He was wearing a silver-grey, double-breasted suit.
“Jill?”
I stood up. “That’s me.”
“Jason Finger. Pleased to meet you. Please come with me. We’ll be making the presentation in the Ginger Suite.”
We took the lift to the third floor. The Ginger Suite was directly opposite the lift doors.
“This way.”
Waiting for us inside was a woman who greeted me with a broad smile. Standing next to her, was a photographer.