The Super Miraculous Journey of Freddie Yates

by Jenny Pearson

  “What’s a gun doing next to the dish soap?” I yelled.

  “Put it down! It could be loaded,” Ben said.

  Charlie placed the gun down on the bottom bunk, took a step back, and started to whimper. His legs buckled very slowly, and he sort of accordianed down onto the floor and began rocking back and forth.

  Even though I was wearing practically nothing, I started to feel really hot. Like, volcano-hot. “Guys, we need to get out of here.”

  “Fred, what’s going on?” Ben asked.

  I held up two rather ugly but apparently priceless gold swan rings. “My dad was watching something about these on the news.”

  “Fred, what are you talking about?”

  “Guys, I think we may have broken into a boat owned by a jewel thief. A jewel thief who owns a gun!”

  The information seemed to hang in the air for a moment before they fully took it in. Then Charlie began rocking faster and Ben ran around in tiny circles muttering unhelpful things like, “Oh my oh my oh my oh my. They’re going to kill us. I’m too young to die.”

  All the rocking and running did not help my own stress levels, and when Ben grabbed hold of my arms and said, “Fred, what do we do? Think of something,” all I could think to say was, “Do you know a male swan is called a cob and a female swan is called a pen and mute swans have a top speed of fifty-five miles an hour?”

  Charlie stopped rocking. Then he and Ben looked at me with these bewildered expressions until Ben said, “What the actual hell, Fred?”

  “Sorry—I don’t know why I said that.”

  “Well, let’s make like a swan and leave, like, now,” Ben said.

  Charlie pulled himself to his feet and then said, “Hang on—in our underpants?”

  “You want to wait for the owner of that gun to come back?”

  Charlie shook his head.

  “Didn’t think so. Come on, let’s go.”

  We fled Llywelyn-the-Now-Slightly-Less-Great in our damp shoes and underpants, sprinting out of the broken front door into the gray morning light. I cleared the gap between the boat and the dock the first try. I think the extra injection of fear propelled me across the distance. We pounded along the dock with no clue where we were headed, just as long as we were away from the boat . . . and the gun.

  We found ourselves back in the park. Ben stopped first and pulled me and Charlie behind this great big bush that, while providing excellent cover, was super prickly. The park was deserted—the stage was still there, but the booths were closed. People wouldn’t be arriving for the festival until around ten o’clock, when the scarecrow competition judging began.

  “What are we going to do now?” Charlie asked. “Do you think we should go to the police? Tell them what we’ve found?”

  Ben did not like that idea. “Can you imagine how much trouble we’d be in? We could end up with a criminal record. Or worse.”

  “Do you mean prison?” I asked.

  “I dunno, maybe. We did break and enter and Charlie’s also an arsonist, so it’s a possibility.”

  “Okay, so no going to the police, agreed?” I looked at them both and they nodded.

  “I think we need to get out of Barry,” Ben said.

  Ben was absolutely right. I was ready to get as far away from Barry as possible, but there was a problem. “If we get on a bus in only our underwear, people will ask questions.”

  “We need to find some clothes,” Charlie said.

  “You think?” Ben snapped a little uncharitably. “Where are we going to get clothes at five in the morning?”

  It was a good question.

  Sometimes there are good questions that are easy to answer, like How many people live on Earth? (There’s around 7.8 billion, by the way.) Sometimes there are good questions that are tricky to answer, like Which animal would be the cutest if it was shrunk down to the size of a mouse? (I mean, how do you even start?) And then there are good questions that seem impossible to answer, but the solution sort of jumps out at you from nowhere. And this was that type of good question, because after Ben said, “Where are we going to get clothes at five in the morning?” I said, “From there.”

  14

  We first realize that the Gaffer might be after us

  It took Ben and Charlie a second before they realized that I was pointing at the entries for the scarecrow competition. Ben looked at me, smiled, and then before I had a chance to tell him how it was going to work, he raced off shouting, “Bagsy Batman!”

  That wasn’t happening—no way was he getting Batman. It was my fantastic solution, so I should get to choose. Ben did not agree with my reasoning—he picked up Batman and ran off with the super-scarecrow under his arm, trailing straw behind him. He wouldn’t stop even when he could see I was getting mad. He’s a really good runner. I was never going to catch him. So in the end I said, “Fine, you take it if you’re going to be so childish.”

  That left Spiderman and Supergirl.

  Supergirl was not an option.

  Charlie must have realized that at the same time as me, because he launched himself at the Spiderman scarecrow, yelling, “Spidey’s mine!”

  I tried everything to get the Spiderman scarecrow out from under Charlie but, on account of his sturdiness, my efforts were futile.

  I ended up stuck with Supergirl.

  I was furious but, on reflection, Charlie would never have fitted into the Supergirl outfit, so I guess it was a foregone conclusion I’d end up wearing it. I was not going to pretend to be happy about it though.

  “Don’t look so miserable,” Ben said. “It actually really suits you. The skirt sort of flicks out when you walk.”

  “Shut up.” I turned my back to them and the skirt did a pleasing flutter as I spun. I wanted to do another little spin, but I waited until Ben and Charlie weren’t watching.

  “Are we keeping the masks?” Charlie asked. “I don’t feel complete without the mask.”

  “You bet we’re keeping the masks,” Ben said, putting his on top of his head.

  “Fine,” I said with a fake sigh, because there was no way I was leaving mine behind, but they didn’t need to know that.

  We put the scarecrows back as best as we could. One of them had lost an arm and Supergirl’s head was drooping to one side in a way that was not anatomically possible, so I wouldn’t say our presentation was of award-winning quality.

  I still feel a little guilty about destroying Clementine’s hard work. But frankly, we needed something to wear more than the scarecrows did.

  Unfortunately, superhero costumes do not come with pockets, which is a massive oversight. Everybody needs pockets, even superheroes. But fortunately, the material is super clingy, which meant that when we put our money into our underpants it felt like it was being held in quite securely.

  Before we left the park, there was one thing I had to do. I pulled the two gold swan rings out of my underpants and stuffed them onto one scarecrow’s hand.

  Ben looked at me, wide-eyed. “You took those?”

  “I did. But by mistake. I kind of panicked. What with the gun and all . . .”

  “You stole priceless rings from a thief with a gun? Do you have a death wish?”

  “I told you, I wasn’t thinking. The thief won’t know it was me who took them. If we just leave them here, maybe they’ll be handed in to the police.”

  Charlie looked confused. “Dude, that’s a scarecrow, it’s not going to hand anything in.”

  “I figured Big Trev and his mom would hand them in. See, I think there’s a reward. If it’s fifty pounds, that would make up for Ben getting Big Trev disqualified yesterday. Guys, we have totally ruined the whole Barry Festival for them.”

  “I wouldn’t say I got him disqualified as such.”

  I gave him a look that said, You’re not kidding anybody.

  “Are we sure leaving the rings here is a good idea?” Charlie asked.

  “We can’t exactly take them to a police station ourselves, can we? We’d have to
tell them about how we found them and that would mean confessing to breaking and entering. And then I could forget about going off to find Alan Froggley.”

  “Alright,” Ben said. “Let’s just leave them and go.”

  We left the three sorry-looking scarecrows and headed into the center of Barry. As none of us had working phones, we had to find out the old-fashioned way what time the buses went, by checking the schedule at the bus stop. We’d done timetables in fifth year so we were well prepared. However, we were not prepared for the fact that there was no direct bus route from Barry to St. David’s.

  “What now?” Charlie gave me a look like our situation was all my fault, which was incredible as he was the one who cooked our clothes.

  I slid off the narrow bus-stop bench for the umpteenth time. Lycra and smooth surfaces = zero traction. “I guess we keep heading west. The first bus is in twenty minutes and it’s headed to Gileston. The timetable reckons it’s a thirty-two-minute trip.”

  Ben kicked an empty Coke can in my direction. “Wow. What a plan.” His tone wasn’t helping the situation in the slightest.

  “What’s your plan then?”

  I think I wobbled my head in a slightly patronizing way because he wobbled his head back at me and said, “What about a taxi?”

  I hadn’t thought about a taxi. I couldn’t deny it, it wasn’t a bad idea.

  Charlie must have thought so too because he said, “Good plan, Batman.”

  Ben gave me this scrunchy-faced smile and said, “And that’s why I got to wear the cool costume.”

  He led the way to the taxi stand with this smug little swagger. I waited until he was a few feet in front and then stuck my tongue out at him behind his back. I only did it once though. Okay, twice.

  There was only one cab at the stand. It was silver and had BIG T’S CABS written in black across the hood. Ben and Charlie suddenly got shy and pushed me forward to speak to the hairy man sitting in the driver’s seat. I peered in through the window. He had a full-sleeve tattoo that included a picture of the Welsh flag, a dragon, and a detailed map of Wales, which must have been very useful for a taxi driver.

  I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, sir. How much for a taxi to St. David’s?”

  He looked me up and down and said, “One hundred and fifty quid, but for you, princess, I’ll make it one forty-five.”

  While I was flattered that my Supergirl outfit had got us a five-pound discount, we had nowhere near that kind of cash.

  “Guess we’re bussing it,” Charlie sighed.

  As we turned to leave, the cab’s radio buzzed.

  “Go ahead, Dave, what you got for me?” the hairy man said into it.

  “Stu, the Gaffer wants all drivers to keep a lookout for three boys seen running from his boat in the early hours of this morning.”

  My stomach lurched and I almost vomited through the taxi window. It was very obvious that we were three boys. Charlie, Ben, and I exchanged worried glances.

  Stu pressed his radio button. “Any description?”

  We quickly pulled our masks down to cover our faces after he said that.

  “Er, yeah. They’re only wearing their underpants. One of them is a bit overweight.”

  I gulped and tried not to look at Charlie, who was doing his best to suck his stomach in, but Lycra is an unforgiving material to wear.

  “Reckons they’re between the ages of eight and sixteen.”

  Eight? Eight! I wasn’t sure who he thought was eight! In hindsight I think he was probably talking about Ben. He does have an immature way about him sometimes.

  “What they gone and done?” Stu asked as he picked his teeth.

  “Dunno. But the Gaffer is pretty anxious to find ’em. He don’t sound happy.”

  “Okay, Dave. I’ll keep ’em peeled. Got three kids with me at the moment. But they’ve definitely got clothes on and one’s a girl.”

  I didn’t know whether to be insulted or relieved.

  When Stu put his receiver away, I said, “Thank you for your time,” in my best girl-like voice. Then we ran as fast as we could to the bus stop.

  As we rounded the corner we saw that the 303 bus to Gileston was signaling to pull away from the bus stop. Ben raced ahead and managed to bang on the window. The driver let us on but he seemed grumpy about it, even though we were his only passengers.

  “Guys, what’s a gaffer?” Charlie panted as we made our way down the bus aisle. “Is it something to do with that sticky-tape stuff?”

  Ben said, “A gaffer is another word for a boss, you doughnut.”

  “Oh, that makes more sense. Do you think the gaffer they were talking about owned the boat? Do you reckon he knows we stole his stolen goods?”

  I flopped down on the back seat and Ben and Charlie sat on either side of me. “I dunno . . . yes, maybe. But I’m glad we’re not sticking around to find out.”

  “I thought we were done for back there. Lucky Fred’s got such a pretty face,” Ben said, squishing my cheeks.

  “Get off.” I batted him away. I wasn’t in the mood. “This morning has been a total nightmare.”

  “It hasn’t been great,” Ben agreed.

  Charlie pulled his Spiderman mask back up so that it sat on top of his head. “You don’t think he’ll come after us—the Gaffer?” His face had gone the same greenish-white color it went before he threw up after a ride on the Tilt-a-Whirl at the Andover fair.

  “Nah, there’s no way he’ll know it was us,” I said, but my brain had started whirling.

  Charlie’s face changed back to its normal pinkish color. “Yeah, you’re right. Hey, anyone want a peanut?” He magically produced a bag of peanuts from somewhere inside his costume.

  I tipped my head back and closed my eyes. I didn’t want peanuts. I just wanted quiet for a bit. I needed to think. “That was more than enough excitement for one day.”

  “You sound like my grandma,” Charlie laughed. And then his face fell. “Ah, sorry, Fred. Forgot your Grams is dead.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “Hey, Fred.”

  “Yes, Charlie?”

  “Do you reckon there’s a Giles finally resting in Gileston?”

  “Charlie, do you think we could have some shush?”

  “Okay, Fred.”

  I settled back into my seat and closed my eyes. To start with, I enjoyed the little bit of peace and quiet, but then I began to go over the events of the morning in my mind. And then I began to quietly freak out.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a chance the Gaffer would figure out that it was us who’d been on Llywelyn-the-Great, broken a door, started a fire, ruined his toothbrush, and stolen his rings. We’d probably left fingerprints all over the place.

  The smart thing to do would have been to give up and go home. But when I thought about going back without ever meeting my biological father, especially after every thing we’d been through to get here, I got this horrible aching feeling in my belly.

  I realize now that the aching feeling was more about Grams. I guess when you’re lost in a strange place it’s not so easy to figure things out. At the time, though, my mind was set on one thing—finishing my journey to find Alan Froggley. For that to happen, we’d have to be way more careful and keep a low profile. That meant no more breaking and entering, no more accidental arson, and no more robbery.

  But keeping a low profile turned out to be much harder than I had anticipated.

  15

  This is where we meet Albert and Phyllis Griffiths. Oh, and PC Mike

  The thirty-two-minute bus ride was uneventful, apart from one near-choking incident where Ben threw a peanut into Charlie’s mouth with such force that Charlie claimed it had bruised his epiglottis. After Ben had finished examining the inside of Charlie’s throat and Charlie had stopped going on and on about his ruptured epiglottal tissue, I told them that from then on, we had to go about our business in a less conspicuous way.

  “Absolutely on board with that,” Charlie said. A
nd then he said, “What’s conspicuous mean?”

  I explained, “We have to blend into the shadows. If we see trouble, we run in the other direction.”

  Charlie nodded then spit into his hand and held it out. I do not really agree with spit promises because it has been estimated that there are over one hundred million bacteria microbes in every millimeter of saliva, but our situation was serious, so I spat into my hand and Ben did the same. We pressed them together and I tried not to think about the three-hundred-million-bacteria-jungle oozing between my fingers. The whole thing was disgusting but I felt calmer that they were on board.

  Unfortunately, the calm feeling did not last for long and our spit promise to remain shadowlike was broken before the saliva had even dried on our palms. And for that I blame Phyllis and Albert . . . oh, and PC Mike—he should shoulder some of the responsibility too.

  We stepped off the bus into what I now know is one of the tiniest villages in South Wales. I remember thinking, Brilliant, we can’t get into any trouble here. All we had to do was hang around until there was another bus going in the direction we needed.

  The first person we saw in Gileston was this sweet little old lady singing “All Things Bright and Beautiful” at the top of her lungs. She was hobbling up the road toward us, wearing a knitted green hat with a red pom-pom and swinging her purse.

  She seemed so loud, so alive. I only stopped watching her when Charlie nudged me and said, “Hey, Fred, what’s he up to?”

  He was pointing at an old man who was crouching down behind a stone wall. There was something about him that made him look suspicious. I don’t know whether it was the steely look in his gray eyes or his big wispy eyebrows. Perhaps it was the shovel that he was gripping tightly in his leathery tanned hands while he hid.

  I said, “I don’t know, Charlie,” because I didn’t know.

  “Well, he doesn’t look like he’s about to do any gardening,” Ben said.

  The old man popped his head over the wall, spotted the little old lady, and then ducked back down. The little old lady continued to make her way along the road, praising the Lord for all creatures great and small at full volume.