The Super Miraculous Journey of Freddie Yates

by Jenny Pearson

  But because he sounded so certain when he said, “Yeah, he helped a load of leopards once and now he’s helped us,” I gave him the benefit of the doubt. If Charlie wanted to believe he’d experienced the miracle of Sheila the Savior Sheep, I didn’t have to ruin it for him with the facts. And to be honest, the only fact I was interested in at that point was that we’d escaped the Gaffer and we were still on our way to finding Alan.

  22

  We find out what Beryl saw when she got back from bingo

  After our breather we decided to head off using the smaller roads to Tythegston, because the last thing we wanted was to be spotted again. If I’m honest, we were all a little jumpy, but there was no sign of the Gaffer or his taxi.

  We arrived in Tythegston at 11:30 a.m., which was the perfect time for lunch. We parked our bikes by “the rec”—a patch of grass with a set of swings and a soccer goal that was leaning to one side—and walked along the main street. We had two problems to solve—hunger and our clothes (again). The cassocks didn’t feel quite as petal-like in the harsh light of day, and now that the Gaffer knew what we were wearing, it was essential that we changed. Again.

  We decided to stop the first person we came across to ask where we could get something new to wear. That person turned out to be a man with tattoos up his arms and a big red beard that sparkled in the sun.

  We asked him if there were any clothes shops. He laughed and said, “You won’t find anything around here, but if you boys need something now, the scouts are having a secondhand sale in the village hall. You might pick up something there.”

  The village hall was at the end of the road. A woman wearing a velvety headband and with her collar turned up sold us secondhand scout shorts and T-shirts for three quid a bundle. It was a good deal but brought our total money down to around £31, which worried me a little. We tried to sell her the bikes to raise enough money for a train ticket, but she wasn’t interested. Once we’d dropped our cassocks into a garbage bin we headed straight for the café for breakfast. I’ve never seen Charlie move so fast. I couldn’t really blame him—my stomach felt like it was folding in on itself, I was so hungry.

  The man behind the counter wiped his greasy hands down his apron, saluted us, and said, “Dib, dib, dib.”

  “Give us everything you’ve got, please, sir,” Charlie said.

  I elbowed him in the side and said, “Charlie, we’re on a budget.”

  He rolled his eyes and said, “All right, Mom. I’ll have the Big Bad Breakfast with a side of pepperoni pizza.”

  I ended up ordering scrambled eggs and toast. I really wanted a BLT sandwich, but I couldn’t get Ben’s yogurt fact out of my head. I didn’t think I could ever eat bacon again knowing that pigs couldn’t see the stars.

  I was so hungry I didn’t notice the TV set screwed into the wall next to us until I was halfway through my second piece of toast. I don’t usually watch the news—it’s kind of dull—but this particular news report quickly caught my attention. It caught everyone’s attention.

  Huw Jones, South Wales Today’s newsreader, finished telling us about the controversial new roundabout system in Carmarthen and turned to his cohost, none other than Carys Griffiths. “But traffic jams aren’t a problem for the heroes of our next feature, are they, Carys?”

  Carys giggled and her fluffy-cloud hair bounced around on her head. “They’re certainly not, Huw. Something super has been happening in South Wales for a second time.”

  My mouth dropped open and the piece of toast I’d been chewing landed in my orange juice. “What now?”

  The café owner came out from behind the counter, draping a dirty dish towel over his shoulder. “Have you heard about these guys? It’s all over social media.”

  “Heard about them, we—”

  I kicked Charlie under the table and shook my head.

  On the TV, Carys flashed another high-wattage smile. “Yesterday, everyone was talking about the three mysterious superheroes who saved pensioner Phyllis Griffiths from a vicious attack in the village of Gileston.”

  “Well, Batman, Spiderman, and Supergirl have been at it again, haven’t they, Carys?”

  “They sure have, Huw, but this time their heroics resulted in them fending off a would-be robber.”

  A grainy image of me, Ben, Charlie, and the turnip-faced shopkeeper appeared on screen. I hadn’t reckoned on there being CCTV footage.

  Huw Jones pointed at the screen. “Now watch closely. The would-be robber walks in and Mr. David Davies—that’s the shopkeeper—passes out from the sheer terror of it all. Now what happens next is interesting. The heroic trio approach the gunman. There’s an exchange and the man seems to have second thoughts and leaves. He knows he’s no match for South Wales’s superheroes.”

  “What I want to know, Huw, is what the terrific threesome said to make him leave?”

  “Unfortunately, Mr. Davies was not conscious during the incident, but we have him live on the phone.”

  Carys continued to grin at the camera. “Mr. Davies, can you tell us your impressions of the superheroes?”

  A still photo of David Davies appeared on the screen. “It was like being in the presence of otherworldly beings. They weren’t like you or me, they exuded power, greatness.”

  We were pretty awesome, but exuding power—that might have been a bit of an exaggeration.

  Carys spoke again. “So you think we’re dealing with the real deal, Mr. Davies? Genuine superheroes right here in South Wales?”

  “I’m one hundred percent convinced.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Well, I watched them fly out of here, didn’t I?”

  “Fly?” Carys and I said in unison.

  “Yes, I saw them fly with my very own eyes.”

  What. An. Absolute. Liar!

  Mr. Davies was having his moment in the limelight and he was doing what he could to make it shine as brightly as possible. Even if it meant ignoring the facts.

  Before Ben, Charlie, and I could discuss this unexpected turn of events, Carys and Huw threw something else at us.

  “It’s not just superheroes we’re reporting on today though, is it, Carys?”

  “No, Huw, it isn’t. Our news crew have been at Three Saints Church near the village of Llampha, following a miraculous event.”

  I could not stop myself from shouting, “Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” That was our church. I knew, I just knew it was going to be something to do with us.

  We sat there, eyes fixed on the screen, as Beryl—the caretaker of Three Saints, apparently—told a whole load of reporters about what she had witnessed early that morning. And I was right. It was everything to do with us.

  It took Beryl a few painful moments before she realized she was on camera.

  Carys said, “Beryl, could you tell us about the miraculous events at Three Saints Church?”

  Beryl said, “Oh, right now?”

  Carys said, “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Okay then. When I got home from bingo last night, I picked up a message from Elsie. See, she’d been walking her dogs across the fields. She called to say she thought she’d heard music being played up at the old church. It was late, so I waited until morning to check it out.”

  “And can you tell us, Beryl, what it was that you saw?”

  “I saw the most unimaginable sight. A vision, Carys. I saw a vision.”

  “Can you describe it for our viewers at home, Beryl?”

  “I can do better than that, I filmed it on my phone.”

  In stunned silence, we watched the video footage of three ghostly figures floating through Three Saints’s churchyard. Obviously, we knew it was us, on our bikes, wearing stolen cassocks. But from Beryl’s vantage point, I could see why she’d thought we were a ghostly apparition. We sort of seemed to drift through the graveyard, the sun bouncing off our helmets like haloes. The early morning mist certainly added to the effect. So did Ben’s ooooohing.

  “That really is
quite remarkable,” Carys said.

  Beryl’s eyes were dancing. “It was them, the Three Saints. Cian, Dynod, and Elvis. I’d swear my life on it. The one at the back was definitely Dynod—the one of ample proportions.”

  Charlie sputtered and sprayed me with his orange juice. “Charming!”

  “For viewers at home, I’ll quickly explain that Three Saints used to be a place of pilgrimage. That is until the bones of the three saints disappeared.”

  “That’s right,” Beryl said.

  “Can you tell us what happened next?” Huw asked.

  “There’s more?” I said.

  Beryl grew more animated. She raised her fists in the air. “I knew in my bones that something miraculous was happening. And then I heard someone calling me into the church. I could hear them saying, Beryl, Beryl—we need you, come in, Beryl. Come in, child.”

  “Yeah, whatever, Beryl,” I said and shoveled in another mouthful of scrambled eggs.

  I’d been feeling a little guilty that Beryl had been so completely duped . . . but this name-calling? Nothing to do with us.

  “And then I saw it. The statue of the Virgin Mary was crying. Real tears, running down her face. It was beautiful. I stood watching her cry and I cried too. It was a very holy experience. We stayed there like that, crying together, for a good ten minutes.”

  I really thought Beryl was playing fast and loose with the facts at this point.

  “What happened then, Beryl? Tell our viewers,” Huw urged.

  “Well, there was a huge groaning noise. Made my very bones shake. It was like the Lord was passing right through me,” Beryl said, clutching her hands to her chest. I had to give it to her, she was convincing.

  “And then the Virgin Mary’s head exploded right off her body. Flew through the air to the other side of the church. The holy waters burst forth from the font like the River Jordan.” Beryl closed her eyes for a second and then opened them again. “It was a very biblical experience.”

  That was one way to describe it, I supposed.

  Huw spoke very softly when he said, “And what did you find then, Beryl? It was something quite amazing, wasn’t it?”

  “Well, the font of the Three Saints had cracked down the middle and underneath I saw three skeletons. The missing bones of the Three Saints. Finally, they’ve been set free.”

  “Shut the fridge door!” Charlie gasped as the camera panned down the headless statue of the Virgin Mary.

  There was no denying it. There were bones down there. For a moment, I thought Beryl might actually be telling the truth.

  And then something in my brain clicked.

  Beryl hadn’t experienced a miracle. She’d experienced the aftereffects of Charlie’s giant pear-and-potato deposit on century-old plumbing. The water pressure in the pipes must have blown the head off the Virgin Mary and revealed the bones of the Three Saints buried beneath.

  But Beryl didn’t know about Charlie’s super-poo and neither did Huw or Carys. They called it a miracle on national TV. And soon everyone else was calling it a miracle too.

  23

  Turns out the Barry Gazette travels farther than we thought

  We didn’t pay attention to the weather report, or to the café owner babbling on at us about superheroes and saints and how it proved South Wales was God’s real country. Instead, we sat there staring at each other and trying to figure out how we had ended up in the situation we were in. The blame clearly lay with Charlie’s bowels.

  Eventually Charlie said, “Saint Dynod. She thought I was Saint Dynod?”

  “More like Saint Dyno-Rod,” Ben said.

  It was funny, but I gave him a look to tell him now was not the time.

  Charlie pushed his plate away and muttered, “Mom’s right. Ample portions make ample proportions.”

  Ben pushed his plate back toward him and said, “TV adds, like, thirty pounds—you’re all good, munch away.”

  Charlie smiled and gulped down the last of his pizza side dish.

  “Do you think we should talk about what just happened?” I asked.

  “Dude, where do we even begin?” Ben said.

  I lowered my head onto the table. I suddenly felt really tired. “We haven’t been the best at keeping a low profile. We’ve made the Welsh national news three times.”

  “And I’ve been in the Barry Gazette once,” Charlie added cheerfully.

  “But, Fred, don’t worry. No one knows it was us,” Ben said. “Everyone thinks there are real superheroes out there and that Three Saints have appeared to a woman called Beryl.”

  I realized my cheek was resting on a blob of congealed ketchup. I sat up and wiped my face on a napkin. “But it’s all a lie.”

  Ben shrugged. “So?”

  I glared at him. “So?”

  Charlie sighed. “Yeah, what does it matter? What harm is it doing?”

  I couldn’t think of an answer right on the spot. “People should know the facts. We can’t have people thinking miracles are real.”

  “Why not?” Ben asked.

  “Because.”

  “Because?”

  I wasn’t going to argue any longer, especially as I didn’t know the answer. So I said, “What if the Gaffer works out it’s us and comes after us to wreak his revenge?”

  “How’s he going to do that?”

  I thought about it for a moment. Ben was right. There was nothing that could lead the Gaffer to us.

  Or so we thought.

  Ben mopped up some baked bean juice with his last piece of bread and popped it in his mouth. “There are only two things we need to worry about now: number one, finding Alan Froggley, and number two, keeping our parents sweet. We should call them.”

  This made sense. Ben leaned back in his chair and called over to the café owner. “Do you have a pay phone?”

  He nodded toward the corner. “Over there.”

  Charlie jumped up and his chair screeched across the floor. “I’ll go first.” Ben put a pile of coins into his hands and Charlie fed them into the phone.

  “Hello, it’s me, is Mom there?”

  There was a long pause.

  “Gabriella, it’s Charlie . . . Charlie, your brother . . . Just go and get Mom.” Charlie looked at us and rolled his eyes.

  And then his face fell.

  “What do you mean, I’m in so much trouble? Who came looking for me?”

  It was obvious something was up.

  Charlie frowned. “Well, what did he want? Did he give a name?”

  Ben and I flashed a look at each other. I tried to hear what Charlie’s sister was saying but I couldn’t make out any actual words from the stream of high-pitched shrieking that was coming out of the receiver.

  “But how did he know it was my sock?”

  There was more loud squealing.

  “Right, okay . . . okay. Okay. Can I speak to Mom now, please?”

  Gabriella said something else and Charlie slumped down on a chair.

  “Well, tell them I called, and it’s all fine and not to worry and we’ll be back this evening. Can you do that for me?”

  There was more squeaking on the phone. Charlie closed his eyes.

  “Gabriella . . . Gabriella . . . Gabriella!”

  He banged the phone on the table three times then yelled into it, “JUST LISTEN TO ME! Everything is okay. I’m here with Ben and Fred and we’ll be back soon. Make sure they all know that, okay?”

  Charlie hung up the phone and looked at me, then Ben. His face had gone white. “So that didn’t go brilliantly.”

  A very sick feeling wobbled around in my stomach. “They know, don’t they?”

  Charlie spoke slowly. “Gabriella said a man turned up at my house yesterday in a taxi.”

  “A taxi?” Ben’s voice was a bit quivery.

  “He asked to speak to me to interview me about my onion-eating win in Barry’s annual festival. Obviously, my mom said he was mistaken, but then he showed them my photo and said he knew it was me because my name and
address were on the sign-up sheet and I was named in the Barry Gazette.”

  “Right.” I felt my chest get tight.

  “Gabriella said Mom got hysterical as she thought I was at Fred’s house, not participating in eating competitions in Wales. The man then said to Mom that he was very interested in speaking to me and gave her a sock.”

  “A sock? Why did he give her a sock?”

  “It was my sock. He said I must have dropped it.”

  Charlie wasn’t making any sense. “How did he know it was your sock?”

  “It had a label with my name on it. Gabriella said it looked burned.”

  I thought about this for a moment. “He found it on his boat, didn’t he—the Gaffer?”

  Charlie shifted in his seat. “He must have.”

  Everything was unraveling.

  I noticed Ben was gripping the table so hard his fingers had turned white.

  “He knows who we are. He knows it was us on his boat and he knows we stole his rings.” I said all that very quickly and squeakily and I could tell Charlie and Ben didn’t catch any of it, so I said it again.

  “What are we going to do?” Charlie asked. “Our parents are going to kill us.”

  “Not if the Gaffer gets to us first,” Ben said.

  I swallowed hard. “Should we go home?”

  We sat in silence for a while, trying to process everything that had happened in the last half hour. It was a lot to take in.

  Then Ben said, “We could go home and tell our parents and the police everything. But I’m also thinking in these new disguises we can make it to St. David’s. If we’re careful. I mean we’ve come this far. What’s one more step?”

  I blinked at Ben. “Are you absolutely sure?”

  Ben smiled. “Sure.”

  I looked at Charlie. “What do you think?”

  “My sensible side is telling me we should probably go back. But my sensible side has always been much smaller than my non-sensible side, so I say we keep going. Ben’s right, we’ve got this far.”

  “I dunno,” I said. “All the signs seem to be suggesting that we should go back to Andover.”

  And then the door to the café was flung open and a freckled boy in a scout’s uniform called over to us. “The bus is leaving for the jamboree in five minutes.”