by Andy Stanton
‘What can I do for you lovely people today?’ beamed Thora Gruntwinkle. ‘We’ve got some absolutely wonderful French hens – all free-range and organic, of course.’
‘Oh, Miss Gruntwinkle,’ said Polly, ‘we din’t come in search of your delicious an’ hygienic meat products, we done come here cos there’s a ’mergency goin’ on in Lamonic Bibber.’
And so Polly explained all about the Dinnertime Wars. It took nearly two minutes to tell the whole tale but Thora listened patiently all the while, nodding from time to time to show she was paying attention rather than just standing there not saying stuff.
‘Oh, dear,’ she frowned when the sad story was done. ‘I’m very sorry for you all but what can I possibly do to – MAN ALIVE! WHAT ON EARTH’S THAT THING IN YOUR HAIR?!’
‘Oh, that’s just Alan Taylor,’ laughed Polly. ‘He’s a gingerbread man with ’lectric muscles.’
‘Well, I never,’ laughed Thora Gruntwinkle, shaking the tiny fellow by the hand. ‘Sorry for yelling, Mr Taylor, I’ve never met anyone so small and impossible before.’
‘That’s all right,’ grinned Alan Taylor, his electric muscles sparking merrily. ‘Now where were we?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Polly. ‘Miss Gruntwinkle, sir, we needs you to come back with us to Lamonic Bibber.’
‘Me?’ said Thora Gruntwinkle. ‘But why?’
‘It’s cos Billy William’s well in love with you,’ explained Polly. ‘An’ we reckons that if you goes an’ fall in love with him too then he’ll stop all his lonely angers an’ the war will be over.’
‘I see,’ said Thora, smiling wider than they’d ever seen her smile before, which wasn’t that amazing as they’d only known her for about ten minutes. ‘Well, I have always longed to get out of Carver’s Row and find a nice place to settle down, away from all the bustle and smoke. But tell me about this “Billy” gentleman. What’s he like? Is he handsome and delightful?’
Friday, Polly and Alan Taylor looked at each other guiltily.
‘Um . . .’ began Polly.
‘Oh, what have I got to lose?’ trilled Thora. ‘Let’s go!’
‘YES!’ cried Polly triumphantly.
‘YES!’ cried Alan Taylor.
‘CROPPER IN THE FLOPPER!’ cried Friday. ‘To the train station! We’re going home!’
Chapter 13
The Heroes Return. Again. Plus There’s One More of Them This Time
‘Wake up,’ said Friday to himself to wake himself up. ‘Wake up, Friday, we’re nearly there.’
Friday awoke with a yawn and looked out the train window. They’d been travelling all night but now the sun was rising over the sea, dazzling in its glory, like the biggest grapefruit imaginable emerging from its nest to hunt for sugar.
‘Rise and shine, friends,’ said Friday, kicking and punching the others with his mind until they awoke. ‘We’re here.’
‘Already?’ yawned Polly, climbing carefully down from the overhead luggage compartment. Alan Taylor poked his head out of her skirt pocket, blinked twice and went back to sleep. He’d seen it all before. But after a life spent in grey Olde London Town, Thora Gruntwinkle could hardly believe it.
‘Oh, it’s glorious,’ she gasped, as the sparkling blue ocean sped by outside the window. ‘I’ve never seen the sea before.’
‘How do you know it’s the sea then?’ said Friday suspiciously. ‘Are you a SPY?’
‘No, I just guessed,’ said Thora Gruntwinkle innocently, and Friday relaxed once more.
Now the train was pulling into Lamonic Bibber’s cheerful little station – but what was this? The opposite platform was bustling with townsfolk, all of them with suitcases and trunks piled high.
Old Granny was there with her sherry cabinet from before the War. Beany McLeany, who loved things that rhymed, was standing there with a rubber doll, a barber’s pole and a cheese and sun-dried tomato roll. Martin Launderette, who ran the launderette, was there with his launderette. Somehow he’d managed to put it on wheels, who even knows how? Jonathan Ripples, the fattest man in town, was there with his fridge. Henrietta Unimportant was there but never mind her. The Invisible Twins were there – or maybe they weren’t. It was hard to tell.
And every one of them had an anxious expression on his or her face. Except possibly the Invisible Twins. It was hard to tell.
‘Hey!’ cried Polly, crossing over to the other platform. ‘Where you all goin’ with your bags an’ your cases an’ your portable laund’rettes?’
‘Why, haven’t you heard, Polly?’ said Jonathan Ripples, chewing on Beany McLeany’s cheese roll when he wasn’t looking. ‘There’s a war on. We’re all getting out of Lamonic Bibber.’
‘Yes, it’s not safe here,’ hiccuped Old Granny, who was quite drunk. ‘We’re off to find a new town to live in. One without wars going on.’
Polly shook her head in disbelief.
‘Townsfolk,’ she exclaimed, ‘I simply cannot believes what cowards you done turned yourselves into. Me an’ my friends gone all the way to Olde London Town to save the day. We sat through Alan Taylor’s ’trocious drivin’, we braved the terrors of Carver’s Row – but if you can’t even be bothered to stick around I doesn’t even think this town’s worth savin’ in the first place.’
‘Oh, really, Polly?’ sneered Martin Launderette. ‘And just how were you planning to save the town anyway?’
‘I’m not tellin’ the likes of you, sir,’ said Polly. ‘If anyone wants to come an’ see for theirselves that’s up to them. But if you wants to jus’ hop on a great big train an’ turn your wriggly backs on Lamonic Bibber then good lucks an’ good mornin’ to you all, says I.’
And she crossed back over the platform to rejoin her friends.
‘Nicely put, Polly,’ said Friday.
‘Well,’ shrugged Polly, ‘they’re jus’ a load of Jimmy-Spinners what don’t even knows how to stick up for the Forces of Good. Now come on,’ she said to Thora Gruntwinkle. ‘We gotta gets you to that battlefield an’ turn it into a lovefield ’fore it’s too late.’
Chapter 14
The Power of Love
‘CHATTER CHATTER CHEE!’
BANG! BANG!
KA-THING!
WHOOOOOOOOSHHH!
‘OUCH!’
Kebab meat and entrails whizzed through the air as the heroes approached the high street.
‘It’s worse than ever,’ said Polly. ‘I can’t hardly see nothin’ through this smoke.’
‘Who said that?’ said Friday.
‘CHATTER CHATTER CHEE!’
‘OW! ME LEG!’
KA-BLLLLAMMM!
‘And who’s that over there?’ said Thora Gruntwinkle, pointing to a figure in the smog.
‘It’s Billy William,’ whispered Polly. ‘Do you loves him yet?’ she asked hopefully.
‘I’m not sure, it’s hard to make him out properly,’ replied Thora G.
As they came closer the full scale of the war became apparent. Meat was spattered everywhere, the houses were all boarded up and as for Billy William’s Right Royal Meats, well, it no longer resembled a butcher’s shop at all. Billy had turned it into a fortress with turrets and barricades and a drawbridge with his own face painted on the door. And high up on the parapet stood Billy himself, ready to defend his castle from attack.
He had a cannon and everything. Well, actually he didn’t have everything. But he did have a cannon, that much is true.
‘Come out an’ show yourselves!’ he cried to his enemies now. And lighting the cannon’s fuse with a flaming hot chicken wing he blasted a lump of goat meat straight into the middle of the high street.
‘Come out an’ show yourselves, you pathetic crisps!’
‘Oh, don’t you worry, we will!’ shouted Mr Gum from somewhere off in the distance. This was followed by some horrible laughter. And then silence, a heavy silence which hung in the air like the end of worlds.
‘Uh oh,’ said Friday. ‘Something bad’s going to happen. I can just tell.�
�
SHHMMMMMUFFFF!
A rumbling, lumbering noise, faint at first but growing by the minute.
SHHHHMMMUUFUFFF!
SHUMMUFUFFUFUFF!
SHMMMMUFUFUFUFUFUFFF!
‘I knew it,’ gasped Friday, courageously hiding behind Alan Taylor. ‘This is bad!’
The ground cracked and groaned and trembled as the noise grew until it seemed as if that was it – the whole place would just split apart like Jonathan Ripples’ shirt after one too many ice creams.
ShhShShhhmmmmuffuf!
From out of the smoke it came. A monstrous, hollowed-out kebab, a kebab as big as a tank. Dripping grease and oozing oil by the gallon it lurched slowly forward. In some places it was brown, in others grey. In still others it was blackened and burnt and as hard as iron and steel. And it stank so bad even the baying hounds who followed in its wake were afraid to get any nearer.
The ultimate fighting machine. The engine of destruction. The KEBABILATOR.
There was a hatch at the front and through that hatch Polly saw a sight she would never forget in all her days. Greasy Ian. Mr Gum. And Philip the Horror. Which was man and which was beast?
Polly could not tell, for their eyes all blazed with the madness of war and it was the most terrifying thing she had ever seen, even including the bit in that film where all those toy clowns come to life and start dancing around on the table.
‘You got no chance this time, Billy der Willy der Wills!’ roared Mr Gum, his teeth gnashing and his beard flying behind him like wildfire. ‘We’re gonna smash you to pieces with our greases!’
‘Faster, Philip, faster!’ urged Greasy lan, waving his big brass fist. Philip the Horror turned the handle and the Kebabilator rumbled forward.
‘FIVE!’ shouted Mr Gum as they approached the butcher’s shop.
‘FOUR!’ bellowed Greasy Ian.
‘CHATTER CHATTER CHEE!’ screamed Philip the Horror.
‘TWO!’ shouted Mr Gum.
Billy was frantically reloading his cannon but even a fool could see he was out of time.
‘He’s out of time,’ said Friday O’Leary.
Any moment now the Kebabilator would smash Billy’s fort to bits.
But now Polly seemed to hear a voice inside her heart, the pure true voice of the Spirit of the Rainbow, reminding her of what had to be done.
‘Only love can save us now,’ said the voice. ‘Shove Thora into the middle of things and see what happens.’
So Polly shoved Thora Gruntwinkle into the middle of things.
There the beautiful vision stood, Mr Gum’s war machine on one side, Billy and his cannon on the other.
As if awaking from a trance Philip the Horror stopped turning the handle.
Slowly the Kebabilator rumbled to a halt.
Billy put down the cannon.
Thora stared at the villains.
The villains stared back at her.
Time seemed to stand still.
And then . . .
Their eyes met across the crowded battlefield.
Somewhere in the distance a string quartet started to play.
Everything went all slow-motion.
‘It’s the power of love,’ whispered Friday in amazement.
‘Yes,’ said Alan Taylor unnecessarily.
‘Thoooooooooooraaaaaaaaa!’ exclaimed Billy. ‘Yooou caaaaame for meeeeee!’
Billy scrambled down from his fortress and ran for Thora Gruntwinkle. She was no longer just a poster on his wall, she was really here! He threw his arms out wide to get his hands on the love.
Thora started running too.
The string music swelled.
Billy ran faster.
Thora ran faster still.
‘My love!’ cried Billy William the Third.
‘My darling!’ cried Thora Gruntwinkle.
But Thora Gruntwinkle wasn’t running towards Billy.
‘You’re just who I’ve been searching for!’ said Thora Gruntwinkle, throwing herself into the brawny arms of Greasy Ian. ‘You’re big and strong and you’ve got a pet monkey! Oh, Greasy Ian!’ she said, guessing his name instantly, which is always how it happens when you meet your one true love. ‘Will you marry me?’
‘Aye,’ nodded Greasy Ian and they put their lips together and started slurping away at each other, just like at the end of a film.
‘Shabba me whiskers!’ muttered Mr Gum. ‘I think I’m gonna be sick.’
‘BLEURGH,’ agreed Billy William the Third.
And that was it.
Confetti just came down from nowhere, no one even knows why.
Bluebirds appeared, cheering everyone up through not one but two methods:
1/ Chirping
2/ Eating the scraps of old meat that were lying in the road
And the sun came out and the clouds blew away and the Kebabilator was carried off by squirrels and recycled into delicious acorns. And far, far away in Carver’s Row, a single daisy pushed its way up through the cracks in the cobblestones and sat there blinking proudly in the sunshine.
Yes, my friends, it was the power of love and it couldn’t ever be stopped, not even in a thousand years. Not even in a million years. Not even in a million million years. Well, maybe in a million million years, but who cares? You and I won’t be around then anyway. Especially me.
But hey, sorry. Don’t think about that. Think about the power of love, which makes life worth living in the first place. For without love what is there? Just a lot of homework and sitting around watching bad TV.
Chapter 15
All’s Well That Ends Good
‘Hooray,’ said Polly. ‘The nightmare is over an’ the world can dream happy dreamers again.’
‘I could not have put it better, child,’ said a familiar voice and Polly spun around – but the Spirit of the Rainbow was already gone, leaving behind only the tinkling of his laughter and a handful of fruit chews lying ’pon the roadside.
‘Amazing,’ said Alan Taylor, shaking his head in awe.
‘Will we ever sees him again?’ wondered Polly.
‘Who knows, little miss, who knows?’ said Friday, gazing into the distance. And the sun warmed their faces and the fresh wind cheered their souls and together the heroes stood there for some time, thinking about how mysterious and wonderful and good life could be. Except for Friday, who was mostly thinking he quite fancied a yogurt.
‘But what ’bouts all them townsfolk who deserted Lamonic Bibber in its greatest hour of need?’ said Polly at length.
‘I don’t think we need worry about that,’ laughed Alan Taylor. ‘Look behind you, Polly, look!’
So Polly did, and how overjoyed was she to see all the townsfolk walking back to town, their suitcases forgotten? Very overjoyed.
‘You comed back!’ she exclaimed in her perfect English. ‘You never done left us after all!’
‘How could we get on that train after your inspiring words, Polly?’ beamed big-hearted, big-stomached Jonathan Ripples. ‘You talked sense into our traitorous heads and reminded us of the town we truly love.’
And with that they all joined their arms together and sang a cheerful song called ‘Can Someone Please Untangle Our Arms? They’ve Got Stuck’.
‘Oh, what a friendly town this is,’ laughed Thora Gruntwinkle. ‘It’s just as I hoped.’
‘Chatter chatter chee,’ agreed Philip the Horror politely, taking hold of Thora’s pretty hand.
‘Look, all he needed was a mother,’ smiled Friday. ‘Now he’s the nicest monkey in the world. Or at least in the top twenty.’
‘An’ that’s it,’ said Polly contentedly. ‘All’s well that ends good. The story’s over.’
‘No, my friend,’ said Greasy Ian and already Polly could see how love was making him a kinder man and slightly taller. ‘The story has just begun. Me an’ Thora’s gettin’ married in ten minutes an’ you’re all invited. There’ll be roses an’ music an’ the fattest feast money can buy. But I promise – no kebabs shall there b
e. Those days are over!’
‘THE TRUTH IS A LEMON MERINGUE!’ cried Friday O’Leary. ‘To the Wedding Gardens, everyone! To the Wedding Gardens! ‘
And so, laughing and singing and cavorting, everyone headed off to the Wedding Gardens to see Thora Gruntwinkle and Greasy Ian married in the sunshine. Polly, Alan Taylor, Old Granny, big-hearted Jonathan Ripples, Martin Launderette – everyone!
Well, almost everyone.
‘I ain’t going to no stupid flippin’ weddin’ business,’ scowled Mr Gum as the townsfolk skipped off. ‘Shabba me whiskers! What a dirty rotten bother the whole thing is!’
‘I ain’t goin’ neither,’ said Billy William the Third, spitting into a molehill to annoy whatever might be down there, most likely a mole.
‘Love – who needs it? No one, that’s who.’
‘Well, then,’ said Mr Gum. ‘Seems like we been left all on our own again, don’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ said Billy, avoiding Mr Gum’s eye.
‘Yeah,’ said Mr Gum, examining a passing cloud as if it interested him greatly.
‘OK, then,’ said Billy. ‘Well, I’ll see ya around, Mr Gum.’
‘Yeah,’ said Mr Gum. ‘OK. See ya around, Billy.’
‘Bye then.’
‘Bye.’
The two men turned and began walking, Billy back to his half-ruined butcher’s shop and Mr Gum to his lonesome old house where the only company he had was the mice and the insects and the black and white TV with the dodgy homemade aerial. But before they’d gone very far Mr Gum suddenly spun around.
‘Um, Billy me boy,’ said Mr Gum awkwardly.
‘What is it, Mr Gum, me old letterbox?’ said Billy, stopping in his tracks.
‘You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?’ said Mr Gum.
‘Maybe,’ said Billy William. ‘I’m thinkin’ ’bout goin’ down to the Old Meadow to find some new pet flies.’