“What look?”
“The same look you had when you made us strip a family of scarecrows for their superhero costumes.” Ben looked at me suspiciously and then said, “Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. You want us to bike to St. David’s, don’t you?”
“It’s not a terrible idea,” I said. “What do you think?”
I waited for Ben to answer while he looked up at the sky and blew air out of his cheeks.
“I think if I agree to bike a hundred miles to the most western coast of Wales, I’m not doing it on a purple bike with glittery tassels. That bike was made for Supergirl.”
A little pulse of excitement rippled through me. He hadn’t said no. “Okay, so if I take the purple bike, you’ll do it?”
“I guess. If you really want to.”
This was super-excellent news. “You’re the best.”
“I know.” And then quietly he said, “I’m in no rush to go home yet.”
An angry cough behind me made me remember that Ben wasn’t the only person I needed to convince.
“So if Ben’s the best, what does that make me?”
I looked at Charlie with my biggest begging eyes, pressed my hands together like I was praying, and dropped to my knees. “The equalist bestest wonderfullest friend ever?”
“Get up,” he said, “and don’t be weird. I’m in. The further away I am from Camp All Soy And No Joy, the better. But we probably should call home if we’re going to be away for another night. Make up an excuse and let them know we’re okay.”
“That is some bestest wonderfullest forward thinking from my equalist bestest friend,” I said.
“All brains, me,” Charlie said and swung his leg over the back saddle seat of the tandem bike. And then he said, “Hey, where are the handlebars?”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Dude, you’ve mounted that backward.”
17
This is where we meet Sheila
With Mike writing his report in one of the upstairs rooms and Phyllis out of earshot in the kitchen, we took the opportunity to call home from her landline. We all told the same lies—that we were staying over another night at our friend’s and that our phones weren’t working properly.
When Ben rang his house, Becky answered the phone. Ben said she didn’t seem bothered he would be away longer, and that she sounded pleased more than anything. She had told him not to be a nuisance and then had hung up on him. Ben’s face looked a little darker after the call.
One of Charlie’s three sisters answered when he called home. There was a lot of noise in the background. After a lot of shouting, his mom eventually came to the phone, made him promise to make healthy choices and mind his manners, and told him that they would discuss what happened to his phone when he got back.
Dad answered the phone after the first ring. “Fred, I’ve just been trying to call. Everything okay?” I wasn’t sure, but he sounded sad, which made it really hard to lie to him.
“Yeah, sorry, I broke my phone. You okay?”
“Fine—missing you though, bud.”
I felt bad when he said that. “I miss you too . . .” I swallowed and then rushed the next bit: “But can I stay another night?”
There was a pause. “Course you can, son. If that’s what you want.”
“It’s just that Ben and Charlie will be going away on their vacations soon.” It wasn’t a lie as such.
“I understand. Don’t you worry about your old dad. Mr. Burnley’s been around, keeping an eye on me.”
“We’ll have loads of time together later during break.”
“Course we will, Fred. You go have fun with your friends.”
“Thanks, Dad. Love you.”
“Love you too, Fred.”
“Look after yourself. Try and have a healthy breakfast.”
I heard the pssst sound of a can being opened. “Proud of you, Fred.”
I felt like the worst person in the world.
Ben must have figured there was something wrong because he asked if I was okay as soon as I’d hung up.
“I’m fine,” I said. “You okay?”
Ben nodded, but the way he said, “Yeah, you know how it is,” made me think he wasn’t fine. At all.
It was after noon by the time we finally set off from Phyllis’s house on our new-old bikes. Having earlier pelted Albert and Mike with potato and pear, she didn’t have any ingredients left to make us some more of her turnovers. Instead, she insisted on giving us the leftover cucumber-and-jam sandwiches for the journey. I thought they’d be awful, but they were actually alright.
PC Mike shouted his goodbyes from upstairs. He sounded very excited when we left. As we pulled away, we heard him shout something that sounded like, “Seven hundred likes already, it’s a record. It’s a miracle, Aunty Phyllis!”
It wasn’t a miracle—it was the power of the internet combined with a much exaggerated superhero story, but I didn’t know what he was talking about at the time. We found out later though.
As we got down to pedaling, I made sure the other two knew the plan. “We need to cycle as far as we can before it gets dark and then we can find a hotel or one of those youth hostel places for the night.”
Ben said, “As long as something isn’t a boat.”
I checked the money in my underpants. “We’ve got around forty quid. I figure we can cover a hundred miles easy in one and a half days.”
Obviously, I figured wrong, but at the time I had absolute faith in our cycling ability. I think there’s something about wearing a superhero costume that gives you an unwavering sense of self-confidence.
By the time we were halfway up the first hill, Ben realized his mistake in giving me the lilac bike. He was having to work twice as hard to shift Charlie’s body weight.
He kept shouting, “Are you sure you’re pedaling back there?”
To which Charlie would say, “Busting a gut, mate,” even though I could see he was relaxing while Ben did all the legwork.
I was going to tell Ben but then he said, “Don’t know why you’re smiling, Supergirl,” so I kept my mouth shut and sped off to the top of the hill.
And that’s where I saw a truly surprising sight. There was a sheep lying on its back in the middle of the road, its four legs pointing skyward.
By the time Charlie and Ben made it to the top of the hill, I’d propped my bike against a bush and was standing over the sheep, wondering what to do. Panting, Ben brought the tandem bike to a stop beside me.
Charlie had this look of utter horror on his face. “Fred! What did you do to that sheep?”
“I didn’t do anything to it. I just found it here.”
Ben climbed off his bike and bent down to get a closer look. “Is it alive?”
The sheep wiggled its legs a little, like it was using up the last of its strength.
“Yes, it is! But it doesn’t look particularly spritely.”
“Where do you think it came from?” Charlie looked up, as though he thought it had fallen from the heavens.
“Well, not from up there! We have to turn it over. I read in a fact book that sheep can’t right themselves once they’re on their backs.”
Charlie frowned. “You read some really weird stuff, Fred.”
Ben crouched down on the ground. “Come on then. It’s time to be heroic! Spidey, Supergirl, grab a handful of sheep and heave.”
Considering that sheep look a bit like fluffy white clouds, I was not prepared for how heavy the thing was. I didn’t think we were going to manage it, but like all good superheroes, we didn’t give up and eventually the sheep was back on all fours.
“Go on, Sheila,” Charlie said. “Off you go, go find your family.”
“Sheila?” Ben said.
“She looks like a Sheila, don’t you think?”
I shrugged. “I guess.”
Sheila dipped her head in what I like to think was her saying, Thank you, brave superheroes, and then disappeared off into the fields through a hole in the fence. We got back on ou
r bikes, feeling more than a little proud of our efforts.
It felt like we had been cycling forever by the time we reached the next village. My butt was sore, I had these weird yellow bumps forming on my hands, my legs were tired, and my costume was damp with sweat. Exhausted, we threw our bikes down on the green outside the village shop. By my reckoning we’d probably covered at least thirty miles. We bought three cans of orange soda and three candy bars for a snack, and I set about asking the shop owner as to our exact whereabouts.
The shopkeeper was a whiskery man with a face like a turnip. As I slid a fiver across the counter I said, “Excuse me, sir, do you have the time?”
He didn’t look up from the little TV set he was watching. “It’s almost two o’clock.”
That didn’t make sense. We couldn’t have been cycling for less than two hours.
“How far are we from Gileston?”
“Just over five miles as the bird flies.”
“Is that all?”
He handed me our change. “Sorry, love, can’t make it any longer.”
I turned to Ben and Charlie. “That means we’re traveling at about three miles an hour. We could have walked faster.”
“It was very hilly,” Charlie said.
“And windy,” Ben said.
“And there was Sheila,” Charlie added.
“Do you know how long it’s going to take us to cycle a hundred miles?”
“Three hundred hours!” Charlie leaned against the counter. “I can’t sit on that saddle for three hundred hours.”
“Just over thirty-three hours, Charlie, you doofus,” Ben said a bit uncharitably. “But it’s still a long time.”
Charlie’s never been the best at math, but he is really good at languages. He even made up his own one in fourth year. Spent a whole term talking to us in Charlish.
The shop bell clanged behind us as I closed the door. “We’re never going to cycle another forty-five miles today and fifty tomorrow. What was I thinking?”
“Cheer up. Superheroes don’t mope.” Ben opened his soda next to my face and it sprayed in my eyes. “We just need to adjust the plan, that’s all. Come up with a super-plan.”
18
We accidentally do something that looks a bit heroic-ish
We lay on the grass, looking up at the clouds, and tried to think of a super-plan—but before we could come up with anything, the shop owner burst through the door, shouting and pointing his stubby finger at us. “It is you, isn’t it? The outfits—they’re the same. It’s you, I know it is!”
We turned around to check if he was talking to somebody behind us, but we were the only people around.
Charlie swallowed the last of his candy bar. “What do you mean, it’s you?”
The shopkeeper was jumping from foot to foot, his face flushed pink. “Come in and see. Come quick!”
We followed him back into the shop. He pointed at the TV screen and clapped his pudgy hands together. “See, it is you, isn’t it?”
I froze.
He was right. It was us. On South Wales Today. Sitting on top of Albert.
“When you came in here I didn’t know you were genuine superheroes. I thought you were just kids in costumes.”
I was barely listening, because PC Mike had appeared on the screen. A woman in a bright blue suit and fluffy hair like a cloud held a microphone under his huge smiling mouth.
“I’m here with Mike Griffiths, the journalist who broke this miraculous good-news story. How many hits have you had since you put the story on Twitter?”
“Just over half a million in a few hours.”
“Half a million!” I shouted. It was hard to believe news had traveled so quickly, but the internet is a powerful thing. We later discovered the fluffy-hair woman was PC Mike’s second cousin. When he contacted her, she was over to his place in a flash, asking him questions like, “What do you think it is about this super-trio that has captured the country’s imagination?”
“So much, Carys. First, their bravery. The picture shows only one of the attackers, but they were outnumbered by ten to three—it’s a miracle really—”
This was the first of PC Mike’s humongous whoppers. As if there were even ten other people in Gileston.
“Second, they seemed to possess a superhuman strength—”
I mean . . . what?! The lies just seemed to trip off his tongue.
“And third, they appeared out of nowhere and then vanished just as quickly.”
Nothing about that bike ride felt quick.
“So we have no idea who these superheroes are?”
I held my breath.
“I believe one of them goes by the name of Charlie Ow. That’s all I have.”
“Thank you, Mike.” The fluffy-haired woman turned to face the camera. “I think we can all sleep better in our beds knowing there are some real-life superheroes out there protecting us. If you see them, please let us know. We’d love to talk to them! Now back to the studio.”
We stood staring at the screen while the weatherman told us it was going to remain hot and sunny with a small chance of superhero showers.
The flash of a camera snapped me out of my trance.
Dazzled, I said, “What are you doing, Mr. Shopkeeper, sir?”
“I’m tweeting this photo to South Wales Today. Real superheroes in my shop—think what it will do for business.” He disappeared behind the counter.
My instincts told me this was not a good idea, so I ran after him shouting, “We’re not real superheroes, honest.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, we’re not!”
“If Carys Griffiths from South Wales Today says you are, and I say you are, then you are, okay?”
It wasn’t okay because it wasn’t the truth, but I had a feeling that he wasn’t too bothered about that.
Unfortunately, what happened next didn’t exactly help my argument, as we ended up looking very superhero-ish by complete accident.
There was a low grumbling sound outside that made the shop windows vibrate. Outside, a person dressed all in leather had pulled up on a motorcycle. He looked like a Power Ranger who had gone to the dark side. I immediately thought it was the Gaffer and every muscle in my body clenched. In truth, I had such a violent whole-body reaction that I managed to give myself a wedgie. I think my butt must have contracted so hard that it temporarily swallowed part of my costume.
I watched terrified and slightly uncomfortable as the person got off the motorcycle and headed for the door of the shop. There was no time to hide. No time to run. Things were about to turn bad. Very bad. I knew this because of the following:
Clue 1: The biker did not remove his helmet after entering the shop.
Clue 2: He was holding a gun.
Clue 3: He said, “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. If you would be so kind as to remain calm during the duration of this robbery, that would be most appreciated.”
I have to say, as far as robbers go, he was very polite. It sort of made you want to do as he asked. However, it turned out that the shopkeeper was not one for following instructions. He passed out immediately. We probably all should have done the same, but as it was, we remained one hundred percent conscious.
“Are you the Gaffer?” I stammered.
The helmet turned to me. “Who?”
I gulped. “Never mind.”
We weren’t being robbed by the Gaffer. We were being robbed by a completely different criminal. This, while not at the top of my list of things to do on a Sunday, did make me feel a little better.
The robber threw a duffle bag at Charlie. “Spiderman—may I call you Spiderman?”
Charlie didn’t answer.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Spiderman, may I trouble you to fill this with the contents of the register?”
Charlie didn’t reply, he just stood there looking scared and whimpering, which seemed like a reasonable thing to do in the circumstances.
“I’d like to take this opportunity to
remind you that this is a gun and it is loaded.”
Ben gulped. I gulped. Charlie whimpered a little louder.
“So if you wouldn’t mind opening the register.”
There was an awkward pause and Ben had to nudge Charlie, who eventually jerked into action, stepped behind the counter, and rattled the register drawer. “I can’t. It’s locked. I don’t know how.”
“Could I trouble you to try again? Perhaps with a little more conviction?”
Charlie banged the register harder, then picked it up and gave it a good shake. “You can trouble me all you want, but it’s not opening.”
“I’m afraid it just won’t do to leave here empty-handed.” The robber didn’t sound impressed and I couldn’t help feeling that we were letting him down.
“Let me try.” Ben sidled next to Charlie and began pressing all the buttons on the cash register.
By now the robber was getting antsy, so I asked myself, What would Supergirl do? As I didn’t think I could bicycle-kick the gun out of his hands, I thought I could use my powers of persuasion instead, so I said, “Look, if it won’t open you could always help yourself to some chocolate bars instead?”
My suggestion didn’t go over too well because he said, “I’m not going to get very far on chocolate bars, miss. Now would someone please open the register before things become rather unpleasant.”
The atmosphere was getting tense. He clearly wasn’t going to leave until we had given him what he wanted, but the register would not open. Even when we dropped it on the floor.
Just when things looked like they might get unpleasant, Ben said, “What about this? It’s not money but it’s better than a chocolate bar.” He stuffed his hand down his costume. I had NO clue what he was about to pull out.
“It’s pure gold. Priceless. Been on the Antiques Roadshow and everything.”
My mouth fell open. Ben was holding one of the swan rings. I said, “Ben! You took that?”
He shrugged. “Thought we might need some collateral.”
“Why would we need collateral?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe if we find ourselves in the middle of a hold-up situation.”
In the circumstances, I couldn’t really argue.
The Super Miraculous Journey of Freddie Yates Page 9