Monkie Business

by Thomas, Debbie;

  ‘I’m sure.’ Grandma stuffed a pillow into a case. ‘I thought you’d be glad if I took them off your ’ands for a few days.’

  ‘Well, I suppose I am.’ Mum rubbed her forehead with a weary hand. ‘But how will you cope? The language, the constant demands.’ She pointed to the tin of Cadbury Heroes that Chunca had ordered for his bedside table.

  ‘Easily.’ Grandma punched the pillow. ‘I booked an ’otel in Margate for a week. The staff can run round after ’im while I go paddlin’ in the sea.’

  Mum smoothed the sheets with her palms. ‘Then what? You can’t bring them back. Now Klench has vanished, there’s nothing for them here.’

  ‘I’ll chat to Bacpac. Tell ’im the best thing they can do is fly back to the jungle. If they’re goin’ to live forever, they might as well do it there.’

  When Mum had gone to fetch clean towels, Grandma opened her handbag and checked the three plane tickets to Ireland that she’d bought.

  ***

  The helicopter propellers whirred to a stop. Klench paused in his seat, savouring his last moment in the cockpit before braving the ghastly outdoors.

  ‘Get outs,’ barked Inner Mummy.

  Sticking out his inner tongue, Klench grasped his rucksack and clambered off the helicopter. It was all right for her, sitting in her inner armchair while he did the dirty work of treasure hunting on this freezing scab of an island.

  Well, maybe not so freezing. The sun warmed his face as he scanned the beach. Definitely scabby, though.

  Klench turned back to the cockpit. ‘I phone you ven I find ze goblet,’ he shouted up at Brag.

  The cowboy clicked his tongue. ‘You better, Bulgy Boy. Ah’ll be lying low in Wales, waiting for your call. And before you try any ol’ tricks – like phoning someone else – remember, ah have ma contacts. Ah’ll know where to find you. And ah sure don’t appreciate a broken promise.’ Doffing his cowboy hat, he started up the propellers, grinning as the wind messed up Klench’s perfectly parted lemon hair.

  12

  Awetricks

  It was a cold, quiet and infuriating lunch.

  Cold because there was no fire. By the time the Slightly Platt-Hollers returned from their morning hunt above the woods, everyone was starving and couldn’t be bothered to wait for Coriander and Matt to get the fire going.

  Quiet because Marcus was still ignoring Terrifica; Mr Dabbings was knitting in silent shame after the phone fiasco; and the seagull salami was simply beyond words.

  Infuriating because the Slightly Platt-Hollers kept grinning at each other and tapping their noses.

  Abbie couldn’t stand it. ‘We get the message,’ she cried as Perdita winked at Henry. ‘You’d better tell us what you found, otherwise we’ll just head up the mountain too.’

  ‘Go on then,’ said Henry. ‘Why waste time asking us?’

  Abbie had to admit that was a surprisingly smart question from a boy with a blankie up his T-shirt.

  ‘It was probably nothing.’ Perdita nudged Ursula.

  ‘At least, nothing worth mentioning.’ Coriander sucked her cheeks.

  ‘So you might as well mention it.’ Dad dropped a piece of seagull salami casually on the ground. ‘Then we can join up again, work together. You know the saying. More minds make … er, faster finds.’

  ‘Actually, we don’t,’ said Matt.

  ‘Pleeese.’ Dad gave up on casual and clasped his hands together. ‘I’ll give you some of my cho–’

  ‘Dad!’ Abbie kicked his ankle.

  ‘We don’t need their help,’ said Terrifica. ‘We’ll find it ourselves, won’t we, team?’

  ‘But not till tomorrow,’ Perdita reminded them. ‘Remember the rules. Afternoons are all together. No sneaking off in teams.’

  Of course, it all depended what you meant by teams. Which is why, when Coriander suggested that they collect enough firewood to last a few days – ‘You never know how long this lovely weather will last’ – Abbie found herself climbing over the ridge with Marcus.

  ‘I mean we’re not actually a team,’ she murmured.

  ‘No. We’re two-fifths. Forty per cent.’

  ‘Or two people who happen to be walking in the same direction.’

  When they were on the moor, Marcus grabbed her arm. ‘Right. Did you see where they went this morning?’

  Abbie pointed to the mountain above the woods, where she’d spotted the Slightly Platt-Hollers on her walk round the lake. ‘You realise this is cheating,’ she said nervously.

  ‘Oh yeah? What about all their nudging and winking and not telling us what they found? That’s not exactly honest.’

  They walked in silence over the moor. Flies glinted like metallic dust round Abbie’s head. A rabbit froze then fled, shivering a trail through the heather.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Marcus as they reached the stream. ‘What if we both just happened to be looking for firewood up the mountain and we both just happened to find something? That wouldn’t be cheating, would it?’

  Abbie frowned. It sort of would. But if she scrunched up her eyes and squashed up her brain, it sort of wouldn’t either.

  Half an hour later they reached the woods.

  ‘Let’s collect firewood here,’ said Marcus, ‘on our way back.’

  They slipped between the trees. Like the last time she’d come here, Abbie felt as if she was invading a private world. Secret scents laced the air: soft sad moss and sweet decay. She crept round bluebells that glowed as if lit from within, and roots like the knuckles of clenched fists. There was something so alive about the stillness: the brambles locked in silent battle, the strange little crackles and whispers. It was as if the trees were watching, holding their breath.

  Marcus seemed to feel it too. Tense and low, he tiptoed ahead.

  And froze. Voices.

  Now it was Abbie who held her breath. Ghosts.

  Of course. It all made sense. These woods were haunted.

  Abbie’s heart punched into her throat. Marcus crept behind a tree and beckoned. Somehow her legs took her to him. Crouching down, they peered into the gloom.

  Giggles. Not very ghostly ones.

  ‘We fooled them,’ said a voice.

  ‘Awetricks!’ said another.

  ‘Not really tricks,’ said a third. ‘Just a bit of fun.’

  Abbie’s hand flew to her mouth. In a clearing ahead of them, Perdita, Henry and Ursula were collecting wood.

  Abbie gawped. Marcus put a finger to his lips.

  ‘We didn’t actually lie,’ said Perdita, throwing a branch onto a pile. ‘We said we hadn’t found anything, which we hadn’t.’

  ‘Not our fault if they thought we had.’ Ursula yanked up a root with one hand.

  Abbie bunched her fists. All that nudging and winking – it was pure bluff. Outrageous! She stepped forward. Marcus gripped her arm. Shaking his head, he pulled her away towards the entrance of the wood.

  Back out on the moor, she snarled, ‘How dare they? The unbelievable cheats.’ Tears of fury pricked her eyes.

  Marcus stopped. ‘No they’re not.’ He flopped down on the heather. He was actually smiling! ‘Perdita’s right. They didn’t lie. We’re the ones who assumed they’d found something.’

  ‘But that’s what they wanted us to think.’

  Marcus lay on his back. ‘Course it is,’ he said, putting his hands behind his head. ‘And good luck to them. They’re just misleading the enemy.’ He laughed. ‘It’s even got a name in war. Propaganda.’

  Enemy, war – is this what it’s come to? A stone settled in Abbie’s stomach. How could she explain to Marcus that, while it might not be officially cheating, it still wasn’t right? He’d never understand. Cunning was in his bones. But Perdita? She didn’t have a sneaky cell in her body: at least, that’s what Abbie had thought until now. She sat down next to Marcus and hugged her knees miserably. In almost a year of friendship Perdita had been a tower of honesty and openness. And now that tower was crumbling.

  Was I wrong about h
er? About all of them? Because it struck Abbie that all the Platts were in on this. Matt and Coriander, whom she’d grown to love and trust like family, had winked and nudged along with the rest of them.

  The stone turned in her stomach. ‘Well, I’m going to tell them what I think of their little game.’

  ‘No.’ Marcus propped his head on an elbow. ‘Think about it. If they’ve tricked us, it’s only fair we trick them back. And if they catch us, we just turn round and say they started it.’ He grinned. ‘Relax, Abbie. The fun’s just beginning.’

  Oh, but it wasn’t. Not even the wolf burger and chips could cheer her up that evening. Nor the packet of Fruit Gums that Dad slipped her way when no one was looking. Nor the sunset that set the sky on fire. Perdita’s betrayal twisted in her chest, dark and sharp as the mountains that stabbed the burning clouds.

  Lying on her stone bed that night, she reached for her notebook and scribbled by candlelight:

  Perdita Platt, you lousy traitor,

  I’ll get you back, sooner or later.

  ***

  Chunca took the leprechaun-shaped peppermill from the table and tried to stick it through the hole in his right earlobe.

  ‘No. It’s to spice up your food.’ Grandma showed him how to twist the bottom so that pepper came out.

  Chunca got twisting. Black flakes freckled his Irish stew.

  ‘That’s enough,’ warned Grandma.

  But Chunca was enjoying himself. Pepper blanketed the stew. He took a mouthful. ‘Pwwfffhhh!’ he gasped in ancient Quechua, leaping from his chair.

  The barman of the pub hurried over. ‘Everything all right, fellas?’

  ‘Not used to Irish food,’ said Grandma, passing Chunca a glass of water. ‘Foreigners.’

  The barman nodded. ‘Plenty of those round here. Americans mostly, in search of their origins.’

  Grandma was too tired to explain that it wasn’t their origins these Americans were after, but their endings. It had been an exhausting day. First the early morning lift to the train station, pretending that they were catching the eight-fifty to Margate. Then the nine-ten to Stanstead Airport, the flight to Shannon and the hour’s bus ride to the town of Killyboon on the north-west coast of Ireland.

  When the barman had gone Chester dived from her head and mopped up the worst of the pepper from Chunca’s plate. ‘Eat up,’ yawned Grandma, while Chester sneezed back up to wig duties. ‘Busy day tomorrow.’

  ***

  Klench lay in his tent. He shone his torch beam on the wall. A daddy-long-legs, who’d always dreamed of going on stage, leapt into the spotlight and tap-danced across the canvas.

  ‘Bravo,’ said Klench. The daddy-long-legs bowed. Klench squashed him with the torch. ‘Schnik,’ he murmured, regretting it immediately. ‘Now I have no companies.’ He turned over uneasily.

  ‘Nonsense.’ Mummy opened an inner eye. ‘I am here, but give me break. I cannot alvays stay avake.’

  ‘I know zat, Mums,’ he muttered. ‘In fact I vish you’d sleep all ze times. I mean I have no livink companies.’ He let out a whimper.

  ‘Oh, stop!’ Mummy sat up in his brain. ‘I told you, zere are no ghosts here. Go to sleep, my dumpy dear.’

  But he couldn’t. He’d been on edge ever since arriving on this island. First that nerve-wracking creep across the moor, praying he wouldn’t bump into the school party. He mustn’t be spotted. Unarmed and alone, he’d be easily overpowered. No doubt they had some way of contacting the mainland and could call the police. Luckily he’d made it across to the woods without seeing a soul. But he’d been so busy scanning the horizon he’d almost walked into that bog at the edge of the trees. Only Mummy’s inner shriek had alerted him.

  Then there was the misery of stumbling through the dense undergrowth till he’d found this clearing.

  And beyond the sweat and strain of putting up his tent, there was something else. He’d felt it the minute he’d entered these woods: an alertness in the air, as if the whole place was alive.

  ‘Only birds and forest creatures. Settle down now, flabby features.’

  How could he, after that terrible afternoon trying to hide and hunt at the same time? His metal detector hadn’t so much as burped as he’d circled the lower slopes of the mountain. And as for the heat – he’d sweated almost as much as his ex-prison colleague Dampy Staines, who’d ended up in solitary confinement after his cell-mates rioted. Who’d have thought April would be so warm at this latitude? He was stinky, clammy and restless.

  Sighing, he closed his eyes. Crime was so complicated. When he’d found the treasure he’d settle on some tropical island and set up a little business. Yes, a bakery-cum-launderette where customers could eat pastries while their clothes were cleaned. ‘Nosh ’n’ Vosh,’ he murmured. Comforted, he fell asleep and dreamed of Grandma’s grateful smile as he presented her with a complementary profiterole atop a freshly washed dressing gown.

  13

  Look Who’s Cheating

  Abbie swung her legs down from the stone bench. Yawning, she climbed out of her sleeping bag. Not such a bad night; she must be getting used to her bumpy bed. She pushed back the curls that smeared her forehead and slipped on shorts and a T-shirt.

  It wasn’t much cooler outside. The sun glittered like a feverish eye through lashes of faint cloud. Abbie pressed two fingers into the nape of her neck where an ache was flowering. Yesterday came rushing back: the shock and sorrow of Perdita’s not-quite-cheating.

  Dad was clattering about in the food tent. Abbie slunk past to avoid breakfast duties and headed for the lake. She stopped at the wall where a Fruit Gum lay abandoned from last night. Bringing it to her mouth, she had second thoughts and stuck it in a crack in the wall, where a family of spiders cheered at the surprise delivery of a new red sofa.

  At the edge of the lake she bent down and splashed her face and hair with water. She stood up and threw her head back. Aah, shampoo advert.

  ‘Hey, loo brush!’ She wheeled round. Dad was waving a spoon from the tent. ‘Come and help me scramble eggs.’

  ‘In a sec.’ Abbie ran her fingers through her hair. Of course, she thought, her mind clearing, the thing to do is confront her, get things out in the open. Marcus was wrong. They had to stop all this sneakery: nip it in the bud before it got out of hand.

  She came back up the beach and across to Perdita’s hut. ‘Hello. Anyone awake?’ She stooped through the entrance. Perdita was standing in the middle.

  Ursula was wrapping her three plaits round her neck. ‘The Stranglehold,’ she told Abbie. ‘For stopping burglars.’

  ‘What if they haven’t got plaits?’

  Perdita shook her hair free. ‘Then they shouldn’t be burgling. That’s unfair.’

  ‘Talking of unfair.’ Abbie put her hands on her hips. ‘We know what you were up to yesterday, with your nudges and nose-taps and “nothing-worth-mentionings”. You were trying to put us off. I can’t believe you’d do that.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ For the first time ever, Abbie saw Perdita blush. ‘It was meant to be a joke. But you’re right, it was a bit sneaky. Wasn’t it, Urse?’

  ‘Yes.’ Ursula slid her hands sheepishly into her pockets. Then she whipped out a blue wrapper. ‘Just like this!’ She pulled out a gold wrapper. ‘And this. And,’ she held up a yellow wrapper, ‘this!’

  Perdita stared at the Yorkie, Crunchie and Fruit Gum papers.

  ‘Secret supplies.’ It was Ursula’s turn to put her hands on her hips. ‘I found these lying around. So I spied on you and your dad. And I saw you scoffing chocolate in the food tent. Not very observant, are you?’

  ‘Well, you’re not very … observable!’ was all Abbie could think to reply.

  ‘Incredible.’ Perdita shook her head at Abbie. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before, Urse?’

  ‘I didn’t want to get Abbie into trouble,’ the tiny girl said nobly. ‘Plus,’ she added with a grin, ‘I thought it would be great for blackmail.’

  Perdita grabbed Abbie’s ar
m. ‘You’re coming with me.’ She marched Abbie outside and across to her parents’ hut.

  ‘Mum, Dad, you won’t believe–’ Perdita froze in the doorway.

  Coriander was standing with a small box in her hand. Matt sat with a bigger box in his lap.

  ‘Matches!’ Abbie ran in and snatched the box from Coriander. ‘And firelighters.’ She scooped the box from Matt’s lap. ‘Flint and steel, eh? What a total lie!’

  Matt rubbed a finger over his teeth. ‘Not total,’ he said in a small voice. ‘We did it medievally at first, but it took so long.’

  Coriander chewed a plait. ‘We thought you wouldn’t mind. We brought these as back-up, in case it rained and the firewood got wet.’

  ‘But it hasn’t rained.’ Abbie folded her arms. ‘And the firewood’s dry.’ This is fantastic, she thought. Spin it out. ‘It’s very dry. Very dry indeed.’

  ‘We just thought–’ whispered Coriander.

  ‘What? What was it you just thought?’ Abbie tapped her foot. ‘What thought was it that just thought itself into your thoughts?’ Her eyebrows arched. I’m brilliant at this. I should be a teacher.

  Matt blinked at the ground. ‘We just thought it would be good to speed up the cooking. Everyone’s so hungry all the time.’

  ‘But you didn’t tell Dad. You tried to impress him, made him feel useless.’ Abbie wagged her finger in a teacherly way. ‘That was mean. And naughty.’ She almost added, ‘Stay behind and tidy the cloakroom.’

  Coriander snapped out of her shame. ‘It’s thanks to your dad and his medieval mush that we’re all starving.’

  ‘Oh no we’re not – at least, not all of us.’ Perdita held up the chocolate wrappers. ‘Look what Urse found.’

  Coriander’s eyes widened. ‘You cheats,’ she murmured, sounding more envious than angry.

  Abbie snatched the box of firelighters from the ground. ‘You cheats!’ she shouted. The noise brought the others into the hut.

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Dad. ‘We’re all waiting for breakfast. You need to light the fire, Coriander.’