Alice-Miranda to the Rescue

by Jacqueline Harvey

  ‘Nonsense,’ Myrtle scoffed. ‘I think Mr and Mrs Dankworth look as though they need a break. Why don’t I put the kettle on?’

  Roberta glanced over at the half-empty boxes in the kitchen. She doubted whether she’d be able to find the kettle let alone the crockery, but Myrtle Parker was on a mission. The woman was digging about in the kitchen before Roberta had time to object. Within ten minutes Myrtle had located the silver kettle as well as plates, forks and some rather unusually wide mugs (she had searched in vain for china teacups and saucers) and, to Roberta’s great surprise, she had even unearthed a tablecloth.

  Meanwhile, Reginald had busied himself by holding the spirit level for Barry, who was hammering another picture hook into the wall. ‘I thought most people only got around to hanging the artwork weeks after they’d unpacked everything else,’ Reg said, picking up the heavy frame. He spun the picture around and came face to face with the head of a very large dog.

  ‘Not in our house,’ Roberta replied. ‘My babies are the first things to go up.’

  ‘How lovely,’ Myrtle said as she set about clearing some space on the dining table. She looked up just as Reginald passed the painting to Barry. ‘That’s not a baby!’ she blurted.

  Roberta laughed. ‘Of course she is. That’s my Emerald,’ the woman said. ‘She was my first champion, God rest her soul.’

  ‘Do you have other … children?’ Myrtle asked.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Roberta replied with a smile. ‘They’re in the Poochie Palace. Except for Farrah Fawcett – she’s hiding.’

  ‘Where?’ Myrtle gasped, her eyes darting about.

  ‘Under the covers in our bed. She’s been very anxious about the move, the poor princess. The vet said I should just let her find a warm spot where she feels safe, and eventually she’ll come out when she’s ready.’ Roberta hurried over to another large framed picture and picked it up. ‘I just love this shot of me and Farrah. Isn’t she divine?’

  Myrtle Parker flinched at the sight of Roberta Dankworth nose to nose with what appeared to be some sort of miniature poodle. ‘So that one’s not an Afghan?’ she squeaked.

  ‘No, Farrah Fawcett’s my little bubba. We always do our hair the same way. Well, I do hers and mine because, of course, she can’t manage a hair dryer, although given half a chance I think she’d try. You should see her with the curlers in – she’s adorable.’ Roberta could have prattled on for days. ‘And don’t you love that outfit? I had her blouse made exactly the same as mine and it got so many compliments – it’s part of our Haute Hound Spring/Summer collection.’

  Myrtle stared and shook her head. ‘And where is this Poochie Palace?’ she asked.

  ‘Out the back. We had it built before we moved in,’ Roberta said. ‘Would you like to see it? I can take you to meet the family.’

  ‘Perhaps later,’ Myrtle replied quickly. She wasn’t especially keen to meet the beasts, though she did want to find out just how many there were.

  ‘At least come and have a peek through the curtains,’ Roberta pressed. ‘They won’t bite you from here.’

  ‘They’d better not bite me from anywhere!’ Myrtle put down the cake knife and followed Roberta Dankworth to the back of the house, where she pulled the drapes aside. ‘Good grief!’ Myrtle reeled. ‘Reginald, you must come and see this!’

  In the back garden was a house, about half the size of the Parkers’ bungalow but much prettier. It was almost like a slightly smaller version of the Dankworths’s main house with its own picket fence too.

  Her husband padded over to the window. ‘Now, that’s what I call a doghouse,’ he said, his eyes sparkling.

  Roberta smiled. ‘I’m going to be featured on Dog Days – they’re coming to film me and my babies. Barry’s company sponsors the show.’

  ‘What sort of business are you in, Barry?’ Reg asked.

  ‘Accessories for dogs,’ the man said. ‘We sell everything from puppy ponchos to hound haircare. Designer clothes, shoes, collars, beauty products – you name it, we’ve got it.’

  ‘Ah, Haute Hound – Couture for Designer Dogs. Is that you?’ Reg said. He’d seen it advertised on the telly the other night after the movie had finished.

  ‘That’s us!’ Roberta beamed, all teeth and lips. She wiggled her bottom with the HH logo on it in Reg’s direction.

  ‘It gave me a laugh seeing all those dogs on the runway,’ Reg said. ‘Beautiful creatures, they were.’

  Myrtle rolled her eyes.

  ‘Two of them were my big girls and Farrah Fawcett, of course. She’s a natural when it comes to modelling – you’ve never seen a dog with a more effortless twirl,’ Roberta said proudly, pushing her shoulders back and her bosoms forward.

  ‘Do you really mean to tell me that’s where your hounds live?’ Myrtle asked. ‘That’s preposterous!’

  Over on the ladder, Barry Dankworth winced. He wished Myrtle hadn’t said that. Roberta never took kindly to criticism when it came to her beloved dogs.

  ‘No, it’s not!’ Roberta snapped. ‘My babies deserve only the very best.’

  Myrtle snorted. ‘Next you’ll be telling me it has central heating and a swimming pool out the back.’

  Roberta glared at the woman. ‘Well, for your information –’

  ‘Perhaps we should let you get on with moving in,’ Reg interjected. ‘I think we’ve intruded for far too long, Myrtle.’

  ‘We haven’t had our tea yet,’ the woman bristled and hurried back to the kitchen.

  There was a stony silence as Roberta stalked along behind Myrtle and picked up the cake knife.

  ‘How many hounds do you have?’ Myrtle asked.

  ‘Six,’ the woman replied curtly, ‘including the current Chudleigh’s Grand Champion.’

  Myrtle poured water into the teapot. ‘Are they barkers?’

  ‘I can assure you they are not, and even if they were, you wouldn’t hear them anyway. We had the Poochie Palace fully insulated, double-glazed and soundproofed,’ Roberta replied tartly.

  Myrtle had never heard anything so ridiculous – a double-glazed doghouse! She and Reginald only had their windows upgraded a few years back. ‘Oh, I’ve just remembered I have some urgent things to attend to before the Show Society meeting tomorrow,’ Myrtle said. ‘I’m the president, you know.’

  A thin smile perched on Roberta’s otherwise extremely full lips. ‘Never mind then.’

  Reg Parker shook Barry’s hand and nodded at Roberta. ‘It was lovely to meet you,’ he said, apologising with his eyes.

  Myrtle was already halfway down the hall when she called out her goodbyes. ‘Well, that was disappointing,’ she sniffed as her husband caught up to her on the garden path.

  ‘It was kind of you to make the cake but, really, I’m sure it would have been better received if we’d waited another day or two,’ Reg said, gently touching his wife’s arm.

  Myrtle flinched. ‘She didn’t even say thank you. Did you see that, Reginald? Not a word of thanks from that woman’s overblown lips.’

  Meanwhile, back at the Dankworth residence, Roberta’s mood was similarly glum.

  ‘Who’s she to tell me what my babies should and shouldn’t have?’ Roberta huffed as she put away Farrah’s tea set.

  ‘She’s probably just never seen anyone as dedicated as you are,’ Barry said, trying to placate her as he popped a piece of cake into his mouth. ‘Mmm, this is delicious.’

  ‘Make sure you enjoy it because you won’t be having another one ever again,’ Roberta said. ‘I can assure you Myrtle Parker and I are not going to be friends.’

  Millie picked at the coloured skin around her fingernails as she and Caprice waited outside Miss Grimm’s study. The headmistress’s secretary was nowhere to be seen, leaving Millie to surmise that she was probably still in the dining room enjoying her morning tea. Millie had been enjoying hers too until Caprice had ruined everything. Now it felt like there was a great lump of carrot cake sitting in her stomach hardening into a rock.

  Mil
lie looked over at Caprice, who was sitting on the other side of the room. ‘Why did you do it?’ she asked.

  The girl turned her head ever so slightly and smirked. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she replied.

  Millie could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. She clenched her fists and breathed in deeply. ‘You’re unbelievable.’

  The girls couldn’t help but overhear snatches of conversation coming from inside the study. Mr Plumpton had caught up to them in the corridor and had insisted on having a word to the head mistress right away. Millie’s ears pricked up when she heard the man say her name.

  ‘I really don’t believe that Millie had anything to do with the paint bombs,’ the man said. ‘We all know that Caprice tells lies, and if Millie says that she was set up, then it’s more than likely to be the truth.’

  Caprice glared at the door.

  ‘Josiah, my instinct is telling me you’re probably right but the evidence points to Millie,’ the headmistress replied. ‘Plus, I don’t understand why Caprice would do this to her.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re going to get away with it,’ Millie whispered.

  Caprice blinked her big blue eyes. ‘Get away with what? You’re the one with the paint under your nails.’

  ‘You know, I was actually starting to like you when we were ice-skating in Zermatt – and now you’ve gone and done this. Was it about me or has Plumpy done something to get up your nose?’ Millie fumed.

  Caprice shrugged. ‘Sorry, did you say something?’

  The door opened and Mr Plumpton strode out. He looked at Millie and smiled tightly.

  ‘Girls, Miss Grimm would like to see you now,’ the man said. Millie pushed herself up off the chair and walked towards the door. Mr Plumpton gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder as Caprice stalked past.

  ‘Thanks for trying, Mr Plumpton,’ Millie said quietly before following the girl inside to meet her fate.

  Millie slammed the door and hurled herself onto her bed. ‘She’s a monster!’ the girl bellowed, burying her head under the pile of pillows.

  Alice-Miranda jumped up from her desk, where she’d just started her homework. She hadn’t seen Millie since morning tea and had been worried all day. She sat on the edge of the bed and rested her hand gently on her friend’s shoulder. ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  Millie rolled over, her face streaked with tears. ‘I’m on gardening duties with Charlie for the whole weekend and I have to clean the Science lab tonight after dinner.’ Fresh tears sprouted from Millie’s eyes and she hastily brushed them away.

  ‘That’s it, I’m going to talk to her,’ Alice-Miranda said, sliding off the bed.

  ‘Don’t bother,’ Millie whispered. ‘She’s a psychopath.’

  ‘I just don’t understand why she’d do it,’ Alice-Miranda said.

  Millie grabbed a cushion and hugged it. ‘Who knows? But I’m sure she’s not going to tell you.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll help you clean the lab and I’ll see if Sloane can come too,’ Alice-Miranda said. She pulled on a cream cardigan and slipped her feet into a pair of pale pink ballet slippers. ‘I’ll be back soon.’

  ‘You’re wasting your time,’ Millie called, but Alice-Miranda had already gone.

  Alice-Miranda knocked on the door next to their own and poked her head in to find Sloane reading at her desk. ‘Hi. May I come in?’

  Sloane turned and smiled, setting her book aside. ‘Of course. Is Millie back?’ she asked.

  Alice-Miranda nodded and closed the door behind her, then relayed the story about Millie’s punishment.

  Sloane shook her head. ‘I can’t believe Caprice set her up again – and after you practically saved her life when we were in Zermatt. I just don’t get her at all.’

  ‘Do you know where she is?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  ‘At some singing lesson with Mr Trout and Mr Lipp,’ Sloane said, rolling her eyes. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t heard all about the extra rehearsals she has to attend for the National Eisteddfod at the end of the term. She’s talked about it non-stop since we came back to school.’

  ‘I’m going to help Millie clean the lab after dinner,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘Do you want to give us a hand?’

  ‘I’d love to, but if I don’t finish this book Miss Reedy will have me in detention for the rest of the term. It’s the class novel and I should have read it over the break. Sorry,’ Sloane said, frowning. ‘I know you don’t believe in revenge, Alice-Miranda, but we have to do something about Caprice. The more she gets away with things the worse she behaves,’ Sloane said, swivelling her chair.

  Alice-Miranda sighed. ‘I don’t know what it is with her and Millie.’

  ‘She’s jealous,’ Sloane said. ‘I was the same when I first arrived. You and Millie are so close and I’d never had that sort of friendship with anyone.’

  ‘But now you do and Caprice could too,’ Alice-Miranda said, her brow wrinkling.

  ‘That’s true, but not everyone is as kind as you are, Alice-Miranda, and not everyone is willing to share their friends, either,’ Sloane said.

  Alice-Miranda bit her lip. ‘I just don’t know what more we can do. She was at the palace and she was skiing with us.’

  Sloane stood up and walked to the window. She stared into the garden, deep in thought. ‘All that happened by accident. Caprice wasn’t really invited, so she knows that we just put up with her and that’s why she’s so mean to us and especially to Millie. And remember, it was really you she was after at camp because she thought you were going to win the medal. She used Millie to try to get to you, which was pretty evil, and I suppose when her plan didn’t work, Millie became her target. Deep down I’m sure she knows we’d rather she wasn’t here,’ Sloane said. The girl spun around to face Alice-Miranda, her eyes wide. ‘Wow! Did I actually work all that out?’

  Alice-Miranda grinned at the girl. ‘Sloane Sykes, I think that you just might be the smartest one of all of us.’

  Becca Finchley sat at the kitchen table sipping tea from a china mug. She tapped her pen on the page and stared at the rosettes that papered the walls. The dog on her lap stirred and sighed deeply before falling back to sleep. Becca began to fill out the form. Could she really do it without him? He’d want her to – that much she was sure of – but the thought of being there without him made the ache in her chest worse. She wondered if seeing everyone would just make things harder. They’d be lovely, of course, and sympathetic, but that wouldn’t bring her husband back.

  The paperwork was due on Friday, along with the hefty entrance fee. But this was Chudleigh’s and maybe her last hurrah. As Becca signed her name on the bottom of the page, she heard the gate followed by the sound of running feet. The front door slammed as Daniel arrived home from school.

  ‘Mum!’ he shouted. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘In here,’ Becca called, and waited for the hurricane to reach the kitchen. Sure enough, seconds later, her only child flew into the room, his face shiny and red. He poured a glass of water and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl before walking over to give her a kiss.

  ‘How was your day?’ he asked.

  Becca grabbed him around the middle and pressed his face against hers. ‘All the better now that you’re here. What about yours?’

  He shrugged and took a bite of the apple. ‘I came first in the Maths test.’

  ‘Well done. See, I told you studying would pay off.’ Becca raised her eyebrows at the boy as he walked to the pantry and opened the door.

  Daniel grinned. ‘Yeah, but I wouldn’t want to make a habit of it,’ he teased.

  He was a smart boy. They both knew it, but he’d changed since the accident. His teachers said that he was handling things well and making good progress but Becca worried that he was keeping up appearances for her sake. Some days he’d go for a run and disappear for hours. He’d come home exhausted and flop into bed, where he’d sleep fitfully. There were nights she would hear him crying. By the time she’d man
oeuvre herself out of bed and into his room, he’d have stopped. It frightened her that he was bottling things up. The counsellor said it was just his way of dealing with what had happened and that he’d talk about it when he was ready, but it didn’t do much to put Becca’s mind at ease.

  ‘Did you walk up from the bus stop?’ she asked.

  Daniel closed the pantry door and leaned against it, looking at her. ‘Mrs Bird gave me a lift.’

  ‘I hope you said thank you.’ Becca pushed the wheels of her chair backwards and swivelled around. The cavalier King Charles spaniel on her lap woke up with a start and jumped onto the floor, headed straight for the utility room. Becca wheeled herself to the stove and lifted the kettle.

  ‘I’ll do that.’ Daniel stuffed the apple into his mouth and took the kettle from her hands. He flipped open the lid and began to fill it.

  ‘Sweetheart, it’s okay,’ she said softly. ‘I have to do things for myself. I made a cup of tea at lunchtime and didn’t spill a drop.’

  ‘I don’t want you to,’ Daniel said. ‘What if Siggy knocks into you and you get burned? Or you fall out of the wheelchair? I don’t see why I can’t just stay at home and do my lessons with you.’

  ‘You’re already smarter than I am, Daniel. Anyway, you don’t want to be cooped up here with your boring old mother every day for the rest of your life.’

  ‘Don’t say that!’ Daniel snapped. He turned away from her and brushed angrily at his face.

  Becca reached out and placed a hand on his arm. ‘Oh, honey, I didn’t mean to upset you. But you have to go to school – we can’t change how things are.’

  Daniel stared out of the kitchen window. ‘I could have,’ he whispered. ‘I could have changed everything.’

  Becca winced. ‘You know that’s not true.’

  ‘Yes, it is!’ Daniel said, shaking off her hand. ‘If I hadn’t gone to Grandpa’s, Dad would still be alive and you wouldn’t be in that stupid chair and we’d still have the dogs.’