Friday Barnes 3

by R. A. Spratt

  ‘She’s going in the race!’ said Binky.

  ‘Wow!’ said Melanie. ‘Girls don’t usually enter because it can get so violent and there are so many injuries.’

  ‘I didn’t expect her to be the athletic type,’ said Binky.

  ‘Does it put you off?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Binky. ‘I’m prepared to be open-minded.’

  ‘Two minutes till we start,’ called the Vice Principal, who was acting as race marshal for the event. ‘Make sure you’ve all signed your legal waivers before the whistle goes off.’

  Debbie pulled her cardigan off over her head.

  ‘Gosh!’ exclaimed Binky. ‘What a stunner!’

  Friday looked closely at Debbie. She was wearing a very baggy grey t-shirt. Admittedly, with the leggings, she was more athletic than Friday might have guessed. But she clearly wasn’t seeing things with the same gossamer lenses that Binky was.

  ‘Now you, Binky,’ said Melanie.

  ‘What?’ asked Binky.

  ‘Take off your jersey,’ said Melanie. ‘That’s the whole point, remember? You’re supposed to be showing yourself off as eye-candy.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Binky. He pulled his own sweater off over his head.

  Binky had grown since Friday had first met him. He was at least six foot four now. And the weight work had paid off. He even had muscles in his neck. Friday knew she must have muscles in her own neck or else her head would fall off, but the muscles in Binky’s neck were sinewy and purposeful like tree roots.

  Friday noticed Debbie taking a secret glance at Binky’s muscly chest. ‘Binky, I think you might be more brilliant than we realised,’ said Friday. ‘Your skimpy clothing idea just might work.’

  ‘Runners, lift your potatoes!’ called the Vice Principal.

  The entrants picked up their potato sacks. From the look of concentration on their faces, 20 kilos of potatoes balanced on the back of your neck was heavy just to hold, let alone run with.

  ‘Remember, there are no rules. The first person to run around all four corridors and then touch the flagpole while still carrying his sack of potatoes is the winner. Is that clear?’

  No-one responded or even nodded their heads. They didn’t want to dislodge their potato sacks from their necks.

  ‘Take your places,’ called the Vice Principal.

  All the entrants jockeyed for a good position on the starting line.

  ‘May the superior entrant win!’ yelled the Vice Principal before firing his starting pistol.

  They were off, running at breakneck speed down the first corridor, shoving and bumping each other as they fought for the best position coming up to the first doorway.

  Patel got there first and, in an act of blatant cheating, grabbed one of the doors and swung it back into Ian, knocking him down flat. This skittled half a dozen runners as they tripped over Ian, which caused the rest of the runners to bottleneck in the doorway, stumbling out and falling down the stairs. Binky, who was running at the back, leapt over the stack of fallen runners.

  ‘Hey you, that’s not cricket!’ Binky called after Patel.

  Patel looked over his shoulder and laughed. Binky, in an uncharacteristic flash of quick-thinking, whipped off his size 14 shoe and threw it at Patel. It hit him neatly on the ankle, causing him to trip and slam into the vending machine in the corridor.

  The other runners swarmed past Binky and started sprinting down the second corridor, bursting out of the building and bounding up the stairs into the third corridor. Binky was lumbering along at the back, wearing only one shoe. Debbie was in the middle of the pack. Derrick Struthers was now in the lead.

  ‘It looks like Derrick is going to win,’ said Friday.

  ‘You’d think so,’ said Melanie. ‘But something melodramatic always happens in this race.’

  Her words were immediately proven true. There was a tearing sound and Derrick’s potatoes spilled all over the floor. All the runners behind him started slipping and rolling on the potatoes, slamming into each other and tumbling down. Debbie stood on one and her feet went out from under her, the potato sack around her neck pulling her over and she landed face down on top of three year 9 boys. Binky was the only runner left standing.

  ‘Run, Binky!’ yelled Friday.

  ‘Run!’ called Melanie.

  But Binky stopped dead, dropped his potatoes and bent over to help Debbie by picking up her sack for her. ‘These potatoes are very light,’ he said, confused.

  Debbie blushed. ‘I hollowed them out,’ she confessed. ‘Have I shocked you?’

  ‘I’m astounded,’ said Binky. ‘Not only are you beautiful but you’re clever, as well.’

  ‘I’m going to use the potato to make mash later,’ said Debbie. ‘Do you want to come over and help me eat it?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ said Binky happily.

  Binky put Debbie’s sack back onto her shoulders then swung his own sack into position. The pair started running, picking their way through the fallen runners and potatoes. Jason Struthers was up ahead and on his feet, at the front of the chaos. He burst out of the final doorway first and sprinted for the flagpole. Binky and Debbie chased after him. But Jason held his lead. He slapped the whitewashed timber, dropped his sack on the ground and leapt in the air in triumph, accidentally kicking the Vice Principal with his muddy shoes, much to the delight of the crowd.

  ‘Sorry about that, sir,’ said Jason.

  ‘Quite all right,’ said the Vice Principal, wincing. ‘As a fellow winner of the Potato Dash, I understand the ebullience that goes with victory – and in the record time of one minute and forty-nine seconds, too.’

  Princess Ingrid stepped forward with the winner’s cup and handed it to Jason. ‘Congratulations,’ she said, formally.

  Jason took the cup and grabbed Princess Ingrid in a big hug.

  ‘Ew, gross!’ she screamed, less formally. ‘You’re all wet with sweat!’

  Jason held the cup aloft and the crowd cheered.

  ‘And now,’ said the Vice Principal, a smirk of pleasure returning to his face, ‘the traditional prize for the runner-up. A kick in the pants from the winner!’

  Jason grinned. Binky stepped forward, resigned to his fate. The crowd whooped and hooted.

  ‘Stop right there!’ called Friday, stepping protectively in front of Binky. ‘No-one will be kicking Binky in the pants today. At least, not for coming second.’

  ‘Why ever not?’ asked the Vice Principal. ‘I’ll have you know this is an ancient tradition of the school.’

  ‘Hardly ancient,’ said Melanie. ‘The school is only seventy years old.’

  ‘Still, it is important to uphold customs,’ said the Vice Principal.

  ‘Binky should not be kicked,’ said Friday, ‘because he did not come second. He won because Jason cheated!’

  ‘What?!’ exploded the Vice Principal.

  ‘That’s outrageous!’ protested Jason. ‘I competed fair and square.’

  ‘Besides, cheating is allowed,’ said the Vice Principal. ‘It’s in the rules.’

  ‘Oh yes, cheating is allowed,’ agreed Friday. ‘So there is nothing wrong with getting your roommate to slam a door on the rest of the runners. Or having your brother sabotage his sack of potatoes.’

  ‘You did those things?’ asked the Vice Principal.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Jason. ‘As you say, it is not against the rules.’

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed the Vice Principal. ‘That’s just strategy and tactics. Entirely admirable.’

  ‘Unless they weren’t tactics to slow down the other runners,’ said Friday. ‘They were tactics to distract everyone while one of the runners slipped out of the pack into a classroom, climbed out a window, ran counter clockwise around the outside of the quadrangle buildings, climbed in through another window in the science block and re-joined the race, just as we were again distracted by all the runners falling over on potatoes.’

  ‘That’s farcical,’ said the Vice P
rincipal.

  ‘Did you see Jason running in the second or third corridors?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Well, I’m sure he was there,’ said the Vice Principal.

  ‘There were sixty runners,’ said Friday. ‘No-one would notice if he slipped away when such dramatic accidents were occurring.’

  ‘You can’t prove it,’ said Jason.

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ said Friday. ‘To prove you did exactly that, all I have to do is take one sniff of the Vice Principal’s clothes.’ Friday leaned in and took a good long sniff of the mud stain on the Vice Principal’s shirt front.

  ‘Ew, gross!’ exclaimed the crowd.

  ‘Just as I suspected,’ said Friday. ‘Chook poo.’

  ‘What?’ said the Vice Principal.

  ‘The race was run on linoleum flooring and bitumen,’ said Friday. ‘And yet Jason has muddy shoes, because he jumped out of a window and landed in a flower bed. And I know for a fact that only this morning Mr Pilcher put chicken manure on all the flower beds on the east side of the school.’

  ‘Circumstantial evidence,’ said Jason. ‘My shoes could have got dirty anywhere.’

  ‘Then there was the hug you gave Princess Ingrid,’ said Friday. ‘According to her, you were disgustingly wet and sweaty.’

  ‘He was,’ said Princess Ingrid. ‘I’m going to have to get my entire outfit dry-cleaned.’

  ‘But that’s impossible,’ said Friday. ‘The race only takes two minutes. But it takes the human body ten minutes from initial exertion for sweat to appear on the body and face. Look about you – even now, the other runners are panting but they are not sweaty. They will be in another three minutes.’

  ‘So I ran faster,’ said Jason, ‘and I start sweating faster, too.’

  ‘But I can prove the liquid on your face and body is not sweat,’ said Friday. She stepped forward and ran her finger down Jason’s cheek then licked it.

  ‘Ew!’ chorused the crowd again.

  ‘Just as I suspected,’ said Friday. ‘No salt. That liquid is not sweat – it’s water from the sprinkler Mr Pilcher set up in the rose garden. I bet right now there’s a muddy footprint in your shoe size on the windowsill of the biology classroom.’

  ‘Cheating is allowed in the rules.’ Jason had a look on his face as if he would like to strangle Friday, but the race was over so heedless violence would no longer be acceptable.

  ‘Cheating is allowed,’ agreed Friday, ‘but to win, an entrant must run around the whole course.’

  The Vice Principal took the Potato Dash Cup from Jason, who seemed like he was about to burst into tears. The Vice Principal handed the cup to Princess Ingrid, who turned to Binky. She glared at him. ‘I’m going to present this to you, but that does not give you the right to hug me,’ she warned.

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Friday. ‘You’re safe for another minute before he starts sweating.’

  ‘Quite sure,’ said Princess Ingrid, handing over the cup.

  ‘I’ll give you a hug,’ said Debbie, turning to Binky. ‘To thank you for your chivalrous behaviour.’

  ‘All right,’ said Binky.

  His head and neck turned bright red with embarrassment, but he bent over and gave Debbie a big bear hug. She smiled. Binky then clearly did not know what to do, because he gave Debbie a playful punch on the shoulder that nearly knocked her over.

  ‘And now for the ceremonial kicking in the pants,’ said the Vice Principal. ‘You have to kick Debbie.’

  ‘Oh, I’d never dream of doing that,’ said Binky. ‘Can I kick Jason instead?’

  ‘Just this once, I am prepared to bend the rules,’ said the Vice Principal.

  Binky gave Jason a kick that would make his rugby coach proud.

  Chapter 16

  The Case of the Missing Microwave

  When Friday and Melanie arrived at breakfast, everyone in the dining hall was watching Princess Ingrid be rude to Mrs Marigold.

  ‘This is ridiculous!’ Princess Ingrid declared.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Friday whispered to Ian, who was sitting by the door.

  ‘Apparently, the princess doesn’t like kippers,’ he said.

  ‘I shall not eat this,’ continued Princess Ingrid in a loud voice. ‘I refuse to eat fish. They are nasty, smelly creatures that swim around in their own poo.’

  ‘They are a good source of protein and essential fatty acids,’ said Mrs Marigold.

  ‘They are slimy,’ denounced Princess Ingrid. ‘And I will not put one in my mouth.’ She dropped her tray with a clatter and regally strode from the dining hall.

  ‘I’ve never seen a royal tantrum before,’ said Melanie. ‘I’m quite impressed.’

  ‘She’s definitely got a flare for the dramatic,’ agreed Friday, as they joined Debbie in the food queue.

  ‘Your roommate has impressive voice projection,’ said Melanie.

  ‘She certainly does, but forget about that,’ said Debbie. ‘Did you hear about the lacrosse shed?’

  ‘No,’ said Friday. ‘I didn’t even know there was one.’

  ‘Well, it burned down last night,’ said Debbie. ‘Didn’t you hear the sirens?’

  ‘No, I was listening to Latvian language lessons,’ said Friday. ‘Just in case I come across any vicious Latvian-understanding dogs again.’

  ‘Well, there were lots of sirens,’ said Debbie. ‘First the fire engine came, then an ambulance, because one of the firemen had an allergic reaction to something in the shed and went into anaphylactic shock.’

  ‘You’re very well-informed,’ observed Friday.

  ‘Oh, I overhead Rasmus the bodyguard briefing Princess Ingrid,’ explained Debbie.

  ‘One of the benefits of having a royal roommate,’ said Melanie.

  ‘It’s just about the only one,’ grumbled Debbie.

  It was Debbie’s turn to be served. Mrs Marigold gave her a generous portion of kippers. The queue shifted forward and Friday held out her tray.

  ‘Hello Mrs Marigold,’ she said brightly.

  Mrs Marigold scowled, scooped up the tiniest possible portion and flicked it onto Friday’s plate.

  ‘Is that all there is?’ asked Friday.

  ‘It’s all you’re getting,’ said Mrs Marigold. ‘Next!’

  ‘But I’m hungry,’ protested Friday.

  ‘You should have thought about that before,’ said Mrs Marigold.

  ‘Is this about the ban on kidney pie?’ asked Friday.

  ‘What have you got to do with the ban on kidney pie?’ asked Mrs Marigold.

  ‘Nothing,’ lied Friday. ‘So what have I done to upset you?’

  ‘You brought him here,’ said Mrs Marigold, tears started to well in her eyes.

  ‘Oh, has my father said something to upset you?’ asked Friday.

  Mrs Marigold sniffed and dabbed her eyes with the corner of her apron. ‘If only it was just that. I can take people talking nonsense to me all day long. I’m used to cheeky children and pompous teachers. But he broke my heart!’

  ‘You’re in love with my father?!’ exclaimed Friday.

  ‘Of course not!’ retorted Mrs Marigold. ‘Have you seen him lately? He needs a good hard scrub with a loofah and a proper haircut before any sane woman would look at him.’

  ‘Then what has he done?’ asked Friday.

  ‘He stole my microwave,’ said Mrs Marigold. ‘It was a Sunbeam Pro 3000. I loved that microwave.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like Dr Barnes,’ said Melanie. ‘He isn’t exactly the stealing type.’

  ‘No, actually, it’s just the sort of thing he would do,’ said Friday, ‘if he thought he could use it in an experiment. It would never occur to him to ask.’

  ‘Or perhaps he’s The Pimpernel!’ said Melanie.

  ‘What?’ said Friday.

  ‘In the book, the Scarlet Pimpernel pretends to be a bumbling fool so no-one will suspect him of thievery,’ said Melanie. ‘So maybe your father’s socially incompetent, shambolic exterior is really just a brilli
ant disguise.’

  ‘Have you told the Headmaster about it?’ asked Friday, turning to the cook.

  ‘Never!’ exclaimed Mrs Marigold. ‘I’m not a tattletale.’

  ‘But you’re prepared to take it out on my portion size, even though you’ve got no evidence or proof?’ said Friday.

  ‘If you can prove he didn’t do it,’ said Mrs Marigold, ‘I might consider allowing you to have full portions again.’

  ‘You can’t withhold food from a child,’ argued Friday.

  ‘You can have some of mine if you like,’ offered Debbie.

  ‘If you give it to her, I’ll take it back,’ threatened Mrs Marigold. ‘Then there will be two hungry children.’

  Debbie looked horrified. ‘Sorry, Friday, I love kippers!’ She scampered away with her breakfast.

  ‘Are you going to report me to the Headmaster?’ asked Mrs Marigold.

  Friday frowned.

  ‘I thought not,’ said Mrs Marigold. ‘Because if you complain about my portions, then I’ll explain about my missing microwave, and you don’t want the Headmaster to find out about that because then you’d drop your father in it.’

  ‘All right,’ said Friday, ‘I’ll investigate. But I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.’

  ‘A misunderstanding is when you accidentally pick up someone else’s umbrella,’ said Mrs Marigold. ‘It’s not when you deliberately walk off with a microwave that isn’t yours.’

  ‘I’ll come and investigate the scene of the crime after the breakfast service,’ said Friday.

  ‘Fine by me,’ said Mrs Marigold. ‘But there’s not much to see – just a space where a microwave used to be.’

  An hour and a half later, Friday was closely inspecting the kitchen bench with a magnifying glass, while Mrs Marigold sat with her feet up, sharpening her knives ready for the next day. Melanie kept her company, eating some leftover pudding (Friday was not offered any).

  The industrial-sized dishwasher chugged away on the far side of the kitchen as Friday methodically searched. She prided herself on being able to find traces of evidence in any circumstance. But in this instance Mrs Marigold kept her kitchen so spotlessly clean, there was no dust or dropped flour for Friday to find footprints in. There were no fingerprints, either.