‘Where indeed, Annabelle,’ Aunt Trinny said. ‘Sorry, I mean Amy. It is Amy isn’t it? Whatever, I’m so glad you’ve reminded me.’ A frown crossed her brow then, rather strangely, crossed back again. ‘He went out to buy some Brussels sprouts and some of those new state-of-the-art eco-friendly condoms, and he hasn’t come back yet.’
‘When was that, dear Aunt Trinny?’ Daniel asked, sensibly and incisively.
‘About two . . . no, not two . . . it must be three weeks ago,’ Aunt Trinny said. ‘Now, children, who wants some fried muesli and baked beans?’
‘But what if he’s had an accident?’ whined Ricky. ‘Or been kidnapped? Or abducted by aliens and methodically dissected in their mobile experimental laboratory? Or run off with a rather fit blonde lap dancer? Or . . . gosh, did you say fried muesli and baked beans?’
‘I think I did,’ said Aunt Trinny, uncertainly. ‘But help yourselves anyway. You all must be old enough by now to drive mopeds with an engine capacity not exceeding 50cc on UK roads, so you should manage to serve yourself fried muesli and baked beans. I’m just nipping out into the garden to carefully slaughter one of the unsuspecting goats for tonight’s dinner.’ She looked pensive. ‘I’m looking pensive,’ she said, ‘because I think I’ll choose Blodwyn . . . yes, Blodwyn it is then. She’s usually the most unsuspecting, what with only three legs now and a painfully inadequate short-term memory.’
Aunt Trinny wandered pensively out of the kitchen, leaving the four children and their faithful dog Whatshisname to fight over the next line of dialogue.
‘Hey,’ said Daniel, pleased that he’d got in first. ‘Cool! Yo! Rispect! That’s hella swag, Uncle Quagmire goin’ hooky like tha’, fo sho, innit, like, peeps?’
The others stared at him. Amy leaned forward and frowned at Daniel. ‘Do you have to suddenly talk like that?’ She pointed a handy wooden spatula at him.
‘Like-a what? I’z well wicked, wooo-man!’ Daniel said. ‘Random, innit?’
‘It’s alright, Amy,’ Betty said. ‘Remember his condition? He tends to go into some form of urban street-talk coma when he gets very nervous or very scared. It was all that stuff about alien abduction and dissection, it started him off. Come on, let’s talk about something normal and he’ll soon snap out of it.’
The three looked at each other, couldn’t think of anything normal to say, so Amy slapped Daniel’s face with the spatula.
‘Gosh! That was a bit harsh,’ Daniel said, holding his cheek.
‘Yes, a good slapping works as well,’ Betty confirmed.
Satisfied with progress so far, they all sat and tucked into their food, knowing that they needed the sustenance of a good breakfast should things start to happen, which they often would, especially after a good breakfast.
And things did happen, and jolly well right on time too, for when Ricky glanced out of the window he saw the letter that the typical village postman had thrown over the gate several pages ago.
‘Look!’ he said, pointing with his best finger. ‘There’s a brand new letter on the compost heap! I’ll go and get it, as it might be important and the start of another exciting and spontaneous adventure!’ He jumped up, flung open the front door and ran outside to retrieve the letter.
When he came back in again, Amy told him that it might have been a good idea to put on some clothes first, but Ricky was far too busy opening the envelope to listen to a soppy sister.
‘It’s a letter,’ he said, enthusiastically scratching his bottom with the spatula.
Whatshisname sighed. This was a bad sign. This is the way adventures start. Don’t they ever learn? Don’t read it! Don’t read it! Please?
‘I’m going to read it,’ Ricky said.
Whatshisname sank onto the kitchen floor, thinking slippery slopes, wedges, thin ends.
‘Who’s it from? Show us, do!’ said Amy.
The four children gathered around the letter, which was from their dear Uncle Quagmire.
‘It’s from dear Uncle Quagmire,’ said Ricky, with unnecessary predictability.
‘What does he want?’ asked Amy.
Ricky read the letter, trying his best to paraphrase it in order to avoid accusations of plagiarism. ‘It says thanks for gathering around, and he hasn’t had an accident or been kidnapped or abducted by aliens and methodically dissected in their mobile experimental laboratory. Nor has he, he says, run off with a rather fit blonde lap dancer yet, although thanks for the suggestion. But he is . . .’ Ricky stopped talking.
‘Is what?’ Amy asked.
‘He is . . .’ Ricky repeated.
‘Is what?’ Betty asked.
At this point, Ricky looked up from the letter and at each of the others in turn. His face was ashen, yes, ashen. The others were about to say exactly how ashen when, all of a sudden . . .
Chapter Two
In which we experience the first of many irritating Secret Five meetings; the kangaroo doesn’t turn up; they all chat and laugh about the doctrines of the sixteenth century Reformation and its effect on religious supremacy in Scandinavia; they meet an insignificant character who is wearing a hat.
‘I say,’ said Amy crossly. ‘That was a really silly place to have a chapter break. Is this how it’s going to be?’
‘I hope there aren’t too many of those!’ said Daniel, whose voice had become quite nasal, his nostrils now crammed full of Sugar Puffs. ‘But what about the letter, Ricky?’
‘He says,’ Ricky said, ‘that he needs our help and would we like to go and see him. He says that . . . golly! He’s been forced into hiding! He’s somewhere near here in a village called Stunning Bottom, in a big old spooky house called Greentiles. He says that he chose a big old spooky house rather than a small new unspooky one with a white uPVC conservatory because that’s more fitting for our sort of adventure.’
‘How very considerate of him,’ said Betty. ‘I think this calls for an official meeting of The Secret Five.’
‘If we must,’ Amy moaned.
Whatshisname opened one eye and peeped up at them. This was silly, this relentless urge to have adventures. What was it about humans? He closed his eye and released a thimbleful of hell-gas. That might do it.
‘Come on everyone,’ Betty enthused. ‘Let’s sit at the table and meet. Officially.’
So they did. They sat down at the table and met, officially, but it must be pointed out that, even if it were unofficial, to an impartial observer it probably wouldn’t have looked any different, although it would have significantly changed the meeting’s agenda, as the first and most urgent issue to discuss would have been the unnerving presence of that uninvited impartial observer inside their kitchen.
‘Okay,’ said Betty, who could be a bit bossy at times, as well as being slightly susceptible to an excessive production of earwax. ‘Secret Five regulations dictate that we need the password from you all first. Daniel?’
Daniel frowned quite a big frown, the first of several hundred highly irritating frowns. ‘I hate passwords,’ he moaned. ‘Can’t we just have a PIN number? Anyway, you know me! Why do I always have to say the secret password?’
Betty sighed. ‘Because this is a secret club and all secret clubs have secret passwords,’ she said. ‘We can’t risk outsiders and gatecrashers and spies getting into our secret club, can we now?’
Daniel had another frown, slightly bigger than the previous one but with crinkly bits around the edges where his ears were firmly attached to his head. ‘But I’m your elder brother! I helped change your nappies and tenderly wiped your dirty bottom with bits of recycled cotton wool, remember? One particular time, I recall . . .’
‘Er, thank you, Daniel. That may have been so,’ Betty insisted rather insistently. ‘But you can never be too sure these days, what with face transplants and all that.’
Daniel twitched. ‘Hey! Yo Sis,’ he said. ‘Yo, random! Diss am well shabby, woo-man. Innit? Like.’
The others groaned. ‘Betty, did you have to mention face transplants?’
Amy scolded. ‘Look what you’ve done to him now.’ She reached out and slapped Daniel with the spatula again. He rubbed his cheek and thanked her.
‘Sorry everyone, but we do need passwords,’ said Betty relentlessly. ‘It’s in The Secret Five Constitution, so it would take a convention, hours of vigorous debate, secret ballots, and a special committee to formulate and agree any amendments. And then there’s the subsequent ratification process.’
‘Or we could just use Tipp-ex?’ suggested Ricky.
‘That is a reasonable alternative,’ said Betty. ‘But for now . . . er, Amy, you say the password, then Ricky, then Daniel.’
‘But if I say it, then it won’t be a secret,’ Amy moaned. ‘Anyway, I’ve forgotten it. We change it so often I get confused. We should have it pasted up on the wall.’
Betty huffed, then puffed. Whatshisname, attracted by all the huffing and puffing, stood up. He sidled over to Amy’s side.
‘Aha!’ Amy exclaimed. ‘Thank you Whatshisname! He’s reminded me of the password! It’s testicle!’
The others giggled quite a short giggle then stopped because they weren’t too sure why they were giggling. Whatshisname lay down again and whimpered, no doubt recalling the surprise outing to the vets when he was but a puppy, in the days before everyone forgot his real name.
‘It’s not testicle!’ said Betty. ‘You’re so stupid! That was the password before the previous password.’
‘I thought it was testicle as well,’ Daniel said, now quite calm and fully recovered from his bout of street-talk. He snorted out a Sugar Puff at Ricky.
‘And me,’ said Ricky, picking up the Sugar Puff and popping it into his mouth. ‘I thought it was testicle.’
Whatshisname whimpered again, and licked his vacant area. Not only were they planning another adventure, but they just had to keep on and on about that fateful day.
‘It’s ovum!’ said Betty. ‘Remember?’
They all nodded, paused, looked at each other, then shook their heads.
‘Right,’ Betty said. ‘Amy, what’s the password?’
‘Ovum,’ said Amy.
‘Correct. At last!’ Betty said.
The other two repeated the secret password then Betty declared the meeting open. ‘Now, I vote we go and find Uncle Quagmire,’ she said. They all nodded and Betty declared the meeting closed. They stood up and Daniel snorted the rest of the Sugar Puffs at Ricky, who scooped them up and dropped them back into the box.
‘Maybe we can all go for a hike to where he is,’ suggested Ricky. ‘Can we take some food with us, do you think?’
‘Ricky!’ scolded Betty. ‘You’re always hungry! But it’s quite a good idea that is worthy of consideration. Let’s take Marmite and rhubarb jam sandwiches! I’ll go off and find my John Prescott’s Hip and Thigh Diet Cook Book, Volume II, unabridged illustrated pull-out edition, and see what I can rustle up.’
‘What about something to eat for Whatshisname?’ asked Daniel.
‘Woof woof woof,’ said Whatshisname, extremely enthusiastically for a dog with his medical history.
‘Yes, we simply must take something for Whatshisname,’ said Amy. ‘How about a big bone that he can chew and chew.’
Whatshisname tried to frown at Amy. Bones? Bones! Dogs’ preferred liking for bones is a misconception conceived and perpetuated by humans intent on disposing of their unwanted food scraps. Peanut butter, please! Bones come in at a very poor second to peanut butter!
‘Bones, yes! He’ll love that! His favourite! But I bagsy carry the sandwiches,’ Ricky said.
‘Shall we go, then?’ asked Amy, rather impatiently.
‘Yes, but we’ll need to look at a map first,’ replied Amy patiently. Then she realised that she’d answered her own question, so she felt rather silly and stood there looking down at her feet in embarrassment.
Ricky went off to put on some clothes, and to go to the toilet for a sneaky stream of consciousness. He returned with The Sunday Sport Concise World Atlas (revised & updated to exclude Cornwall, which had been bitten off by a giant alien). They gathered around to look at the atlas, except for Ricky who was not very good at directions and had gone to clean up the bathroom floor.
Very soon Betty had made their lunch, changed out of her Barbie dressing gown and into jeans and an I ♥ McFly1 a-line v-neck x-factor t-shirt, and they were ready to go.
‘Right, we’ll take the little lanes and little paths,’ said Daniel, who obviously knew about such things.
So off they set, looking for little lanes and little paths. Whatshisname kept trotting down big lanes and big paths but came back when Daniel cheerily called Here Boy! and threw a lump of rock at him. Together they hiked along a riverside path which ran alongside a river, although there was some discussion about whether the river actually ran alongside the path and was therefore, in truth, a pathside river. But after a while the conversation, rather predictably, degenerated into a discussion on the doctrines of the sixteenth century Reformation and its effect on religious supremacy in Scandinavia, so they agreed to set aside the pathside / riverside issue for now, to be fully investigated by Ricky who would present his findings to members at an extraordinary meeting with a buffet lunch included.
But they were now a bit lost, so they stopped walking and gathered round to discuss exactly how lost they might be. The world atlas proved to be a bit confusing to them all.
‘Are we here?’ asked Daniel, pointing at the map.
‘No, silly!’ said Amy. ‘That’s Ethiopia! If we’d have turned right at our gate we would be there, but we turned left, didn’t we! Boys! Huh!’
Daniel was a bit upset at Amy’s free and easy use of exclamation marks, so he pointed a finger at her.
‘Where did you find that?’ Amy asked.
‘On the path, back there,’ Daniel told her, and he put it into his pocket for later, just in case there was an acute finger shortage at some point in the story.
They moved on and then, suddenly, as the path turned left without indicating, they came across a man with a hat.
‘Woof woof woof,’ said Whatshisname, for no reason whatsoever except to help maintain his status as a key character.
‘Let’s ask this man with a hat,’ said Betty.
‘Oh, yes, let’s,’ said Amy.
Ricky hailed him with his hand. ‘Man With A Hat! Is this the way to Stunning Bottom?’
‘Aaar,’ said the Man With A Hat, nodding his head. His hat nodded too.
‘Does that mean yes?’ Daniel asked the Man With A Hat.
‘Aaar,’ the Man With A Hat said.
‘Oh, jolly good,’ said Daniel.
‘Thur be strrraaaange a-goin’s on at Stunnin’ Bo’um, yunguns. Stay away frum thur,’ the Man With A Hat growled.
‘Gosh,’ said Daniel. ‘Really? Truly?’
‘What did he say?’ asked Betty.
‘No idea,’ said Daniel. ‘Let’s ask him again, shall we?’
But the Man With A Hat had gone on his way, eager to exit stage left and resume his day job as an assistant alchemist (which, incidentally, barely funded his acting career so he was now forced to take a part-time job at a call centre, circulating around desks playing Greensleeves on his violin to help soothe the nerves of customers on hold).
‘That’s queer,’ said Amy. ‘Why was he only wearing a hat? And why did his donkey have five legs?’
‘Why, it’s because he’s stupid!’ said Ricky, and they all laughed except Betty. And Amy and Daniel. And Whatshisname, to whom laughing and panting were so closely allied that he didn’t see why he should give the impression that he was panting at the sight of a donkey.
Then Daniel said, ‘Wait! Do you know what I’m thinking?’
Chapter Three
In which our pals encounter an unexpected hedge, of all things; Amy, typically, wants to join another story; Whatshisname philosophises about sound and smell; nothing much happens in an extremely short space of time, then the chapter ends a little too abruptly.
‘Honestly! I wish he wouldn’t do that!’ said Amy. ‘We need far more warning!’
‘Yes!’ said Daniel. ‘I was just saying . . . erm, what was I saying, before the unexpected chapter break?’
‘You said,’ said Betty, casting an irritable glance in the direction of the reader who, not for the last time, had been unfairly lumbered with the blame, ‘at least I think you said, do you know what I think?’
‘Oh yes,’ Daniel said. ‘Right . . . ahem . . . Do you know what I think?’
The others crowded round, closely, there and then, on the riverside path by the pathside river. Daniel lowered his voice. ‘I think that he’s . . .’
‘Why has your voice lowered?’ asked Ricky, frowning.
‘What?’ squeaked Daniel.
‘It’s lower. Sort of . . . well, lower,’ said Ricky.
‘Yes,’ said Betty. ‘I didn’t like to mention it, but now you have . . .’
‘Look,’ said Daniel, quite tetchily, ‘I don’t control this stuff, you know. Just accept that my voice went lower, okay?’
‘Okay,’ they all said, glancing at each other, obviously unconvinced. Then they all gathered closer, even closer than they were before, which pleased Ricky as he could sneak a look down Betty’s top.
Daniel started again. ‘I think that he’s . . .’
‘What are you doing?’ Betty snapped at Ricky.
‘Nothing,’ replied Ricky, rather too quickly.
‘Please listen to me!’ whined Daniel.
‘Yes you were. You were looking down my top!’ Betty snapped back.
‘I wasn’t!’ said Ricky. ‘And stop all this snapping!’
‘I saw you!’ said Betty, unsnappily.
‘Erm,’ ermed Ricky, ‘yes, maybe I did, just a little peek, but I’m at that stage in life. I can’t help it . . . or so it seems. And I’m only a young adult, apparently, and have been for years, so it can’t be classed as too peculiar, can it now?’
‘You two! Can I please continue?’ Daniel pleaded. ‘Could you have this discussion later, much later? Maybe in an appendix?’
The Secret Five and the Stunt Nun Legacy Page 2