by Dyan Sheldon
Personally, I thought her attitude was a little unfair. I never interrupted my mother during her Green meetings like other children would. In fact, I always went out of my way to be as far away from them as possible. I didn’t see why she had to carry on like I was always bothering her.
“I fell off the roof,” I said simply.
Told that her child had fallen off the roof, a normal mother would demonstrate shock, horror and maternal concern at the news. She would gasp and tears would fill her eyes. My mother just looked suspicious.
“What on earth were you doing on the roof?” she demanded.
The question was so unexpected that I answered truthfully. “I was trying to see the new kid,” I explained. “In the car. And then—”
My mother frowned and another leaf drifted to the floor.
“You were spying on the Bambers?”
I backtracked quickly.
“I wasn’t spying. I was looking. I just wanted to see what the new kid’s like.”
“It doesn’t matter what he’s like now,” said my mother. “The Bambers will turn him into a greedy green-killer like themselves in no time at all.”
“Greedy green-killer” was among the more polite names my mother called Mr Bamber. Since Mrs Bamber was married to Mr Bamber, she was a “greedy green-killer” too.
“You know what I think about spying,” my mother went on.
I did know what she thought about spying. Not a lot. A friend of Mr Bamber’s joined the Greeners the spring before, pretending to be interested in saving what remained of the countryside, but really to spy on the group for Mr Bamber. My mother caught him taping a meeting. My mother didn’t approve.
“But, Mum—” I was determined to get the conversation away from spying and back to me. “Mum, you’re not paying attention. I fell off the roof! Don’t you understand? I might have been killed.”
“That’s what happens to spies,” said my mother.
I gazed at her in horror. She really was incredible. If I’d been a badger cub or something she’d have burst into tears at the thought of me falling off a roof.
It was Caroline Ludgate who finally showed some concern for me.
“Did you really fall off the roof, Elmo?” she asked. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I really fell off the roof,” I answered. “And, yes, I’m fine.”
Mrs Ludgate peered down at me, looking for cuts and bruises.
“There’s not a scratch on you!” she said in amazement. “Are you sure you haven’t broken any bones?”
A few of the other Greeners started making sympathetic sounds, too.
At last I had an audience.
“That was the strange thing,” I told Mrs Ludgate. “I didn’t really fall to the ground, I just sort of floated down.” I pointed to the latest leaf to leave my mother’s head. “Like that.”
Mrs Ludgate smiled in that way adults smile when they’re not really listening to what a child is saying.
“That’s nice,” she murmured. “You’re a very lucky little boy.”
My mother’s mind was already back on Mr Bamber and the lost petitions.
“If only we were as lucky…” she mused.
“We don’t need luck,” said Alf Meadows. “What we need is a miracle.”
Everybody started talking at once again.
“I’m going to my room to change out of these wet clothes before I catch pneumonia,” I shouted over the uproar.
Nobody even glanced at me as I stomped out of the room.
I was pretty upset, I can tell you that.
“Stupid woods,” I muttered as I climbed the stairs to my room. “I hope Mr Bamber cuts them all down.”
I was so upset that I shut my door behind me and threw myself on my bed without even worrying about wrinkling the bedspread or getting it wet or anything. I didn’t even take my slippers off first.
I was so upset that I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone until I heard the beep of my computer.
THE NEW KID
ISN’T WHAT
I EXPECTED
Sitting at my computer table in the far corner of the room was the new kid. He had his back to me as he tapped the keyboard. He wasn’t wearing his hat now, and I could see that his hair wasn’t short, like all the other boys at school wore theirs, but tied back in a small ponytail. The monitor cast a pale blue light over his head. I’d never noticed that it did that before, but I’d never seen anybody else sitting at my computer before, either.
“Oi!” I said. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He didn’t turn round. He was even bigger in my room than he was in the Bambers’ driveway. I reckoned he had to be at least a head taller than I was, and most of it was legs.
Taptaptap. Beepbeepbeep.
“I was waiting for you.”
Taptaptap. Beepbeepbeep.
“Waiting for me?” I was too surprised to say anything else.
The new kid shrugged.
“The Bambers are about as interesting as watching cement set. I couldn’t stand more than a few minutes of them. All he talks about is money and all she does is agree with him.”
I didn’t believe him. How could people who drove a BMW and a Porsche be uninteresting? I got to my feet. Standing, I was as tall as the new kid was sitting down.
“But how did you get in here?” I walked over and stood behind him. “You didn’t come through the front door. I would’ve seen you.”
The new kid turned round and smiled. “I came through the window.”
I barely heard “I came through the window”. I was too shocked over something else. My mother’s very into “our multi-racial society”, but the Bambers’ adopted son was a multi-racial society of one. His hair was black, his skin was brown, his eyes were shaped like almonds, but were blue. Not that that was what was so shocking.
“You’re a girl!” I didn’t even pretend to hide my surprise. “I thought you were a boy.”
The new kid went back to her game. “Clerical mix-up. It happens all the time.”
“But–but—” I stammered. I’d been sure the new kid was a boy. I’d read the article in the paper; I’d watched Mr and Mrs Bamber on TV. Mr Bamber said he’d always wanted a son. He’d said the new kid was twelve years old.
It was as if she could read my mind. “I am twelve years old,” she informed me rather sharply, “and my name’s Kuba.” For an orphan from South America she had a weird accent. She sounded American to me. “And that’s because I learned my English from American aid workers.”
I ignored the fact that she really did seem able to read my mind.
“But me and my mum saw Mrs Bamber in the boys’ department a couple of weeks ago. Shopping for you.”
“She should have waited,” said my new neighbour. “I told you, there was a clerical mix-up. Someone typed in male where they should have typed in female.”
I couldn’t believe it. This was not the best friend I’d been waiting for my whole life. No way. I’d been expecting a small, neat boy rather like myself, possibly with glasses, definitely with a pleasant and polite manner. I hadn’t been expecting a giant girl who broke into people’s houses.
“How did you say you got in here?”
She nodded across the room. “The window.”
I looked over at the window.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You couldn’t come in the window. It’s impossible. It’s two floors up.” And I should know, I’d gone out that way not that long ago.
“Nothing is impossible,” said Kuba. “Not if you know how.” She turned to me with another smile. “Now sit down. We need to talk.”
I get pushed around sometimes by other boys because I’m small and I don’t like the same things they like (which are mainly football and horror films), but I wasn’t going to be pushed around in my own room. And definitely not by a girl. Not even by one who’s bigger than I am.
“We don’t have anything to talk about,” I snapped. “Since you’re so good at climbing t
hrough windows, you can go out the same way you say you came in.”
But Kuba wasn’t a girl who was easily bullied. Probably because she was built like a tower block. She pointed to the monitor. She wasn’t playing a game at all. At least she wasn’t playing any game that I owned. There on the computer screen were Mr and Mrs Bamber. They were in their kitchen. Mrs Bamber was taking something out of the refrigerator. Mr Bamber was opening a bottle of wine while he talked on his mobile.
“There isn’t much time,” said Kuba. “They’ll be calling me down to dinner in ten minutes. I have to get back or they’ll know I was gone.”
It’s amazing how quickly you can get used to being shocked.
“What are the Bambers doing on my computer?” I demanded. It really was too much! And then, realizing how confused I was, I asked again, “How did you get in here?”
Kuba got up from my chair and went over and sat on the bed. Her arms were still folded in front of her and the blue light of the computer still shone on the top of her head.
“I should think you’d want to thank me for saving your life,” she said sourly. “Instead of asking me stupid questions.”
I made a disbelieving face.
“Oh, right … you saved my life.”
She raised her eyebrows. The light hovering around the top of her head shimmered.
“Well, what else do you think stopped you from falling? Your parachute?”
Since I had no idea what had stopped me from falling I didn’t say anything. I just glared back at her.
“Besides,” Kuba continued. “I couldn’t let you damage that beautiful fountain. I haven’t seen anything that exquisite since the Renaissance.”
I wasn’t exactly sure what the Renaissance was, but I knew you had to be over twelve to remember it. I continued to glare.
“You know,” Kuba continued, “you’d save us both a lot of time if you asked me why I’m here, rather than how.”
“OK,” I said, trying to look at her and Mr and Mrs Bamber at the same time. “Why are you here?”
I don’t know what I thought she was going to say – something like “because I wanted to meet you” would have been all right – but I wasn’t really prepared for what she did say.
“Because I’m an undercover angel and I need to talk to you.”
I didn’t say or do anything for a few seconds. Kuba’s words sort of jogged around in my head: “because I’m an undercover angel … because I’m an undercover angel”. Then I started to laugh.
“Oh, right!” I spluttered. “Sure you are. An undercover angel from South America come to save the world.”
“Not the whole world,” said Kuba. “Just a tiny part of it.”
I spluttered some more. “Where are your wings?”
“Wings are for birds.”
I couldn’t stop laughing. “You don’t look like an angel. You look like a basketball player.”
Kuba gave me a very unangelic look.
“And you don’t look totally unintelligent, but I could be wrong.” She leaned towards me slightly. “Tell me this, Elmo Blue. If I’m not an angel, how did I get into your room? If I’m not an angel, what are the Bambers doing on your monitor? If I’m not an angel, why didn’t you hurt yourself when you fell off the roof?”
The best thing to do when someone asks you a question – or a few questions – that you can’t answer is ignore them.
“I don’t know,” I snapped. “And I don’t care. I don’t even care why your hair’s all blue. I just want you to go home and leave me alone.”
Kuba shook her head. “Not everyone can see it, you know.” She flashed her dentist-giving-you-good-news smile. “It’s my halo.”
That did it. I grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her to her feet.
“What do you think I am – stupid?” I screamed. “Only someone who was really stupid would believe that you’re an angel. What are you supposed to be doing? Guarding the Bambers?”
Somehow, without me actually noticing, Kuba had got out of my hold and was sitting at the computer again.
“Not the Bambers.” She laughed, but not musically, the way you’d think an angel would laugh. Kuba laughed like a giraffe. “The Bambers don’t need my help right now.” She tapped a couple of keys. “At the moment, I’m here to help your mother.”
“My mother?” She really did think I was stupid. “You’re an angel, and you came all the way to Campton to help my mother? To help her do what?” I went on, my voice thick with sarcasm. “Garden?”
“No.” She hit another key. My mother appeared on the computer screen. She was in her “office”, the room that used to be the pantry at the back of the kitchen. She had her head on the stack of petitions that weren’t lost by Mrs Ludgate and she was crying. I’d never seen my mother cry before. “I’m here to help her stop Mr Bamber.”
“Turn that off,” I ordered. Crying was a private thing. I didn’t want to watch.
Much to my amazement, Kuba hit the keys again. The Bambers’ voices filled my room.
I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help myself. I gawped at the screen.
Mr Bamber had finished his phone call. He was handing Mrs Bamber her glass. He raised his own glass and touched it to hers.
“Here’s to us,” said Mr Bamber. “By this time next week we’ll be on our way to being millionaires.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs Bamber. She touched Mr Bamber’s glass with hers. “Here’s to Kuba. Our own child at last.” I’d never seen Mrs Bamber look so happy. “Isn’t she wonderful, David? Aren’t you thrilled?”
Mr Bamber, however, wasn’t thinking about Kuba. He laughed.
“That crazy vegetarian do-gooder across the street doesn’t stand a chance,” said Mr Bamber. “Bleeding-heart pain-in-the-bum” and “green ghoul” obviously weren’t the only things he called my mother.
“I thought it might be a sign that she turned out to be a girl,” Mrs Bamber was saying in her quiet, apologetic way. “I thought you might forget about the Greeners and Grace…”
But Mr Bamber was still having his own conversation. “No, she doesn’t stand a chance.” He grinned. “Not with half of her precious petitions missing.” He touched Mrs Bamber’s glass with his again. “The permission is as good as ours.”
I was shocked. I admit it. It almost sounded like Mr Bamber was saying that he’d stolen the petitions to make sure my mother would lose. But that couldn’t be true. Mr Bamber was an important businessman. Important businessmen didn’t do things like that.
Kuba was looking at me with a quizzical expression on her face. “Well?”
“It’s a trick,” I said. It had to be a trick. “Mr Bamber wouldn’t cheat like that. He’s had dinner with a prime minister.”
“So did Hitler,” answered Kuba. “And what about that spy last spring?”
I tried not to let on that I was surprised she knew about the spy. I decided to change tack.
“If you’re an undercover angel, why are you telling me?” I demanded. “Aren’t you supposed to keep it a secret? Isn’t that what ‘undercover’ means?”
Kuba made a face that suggested telling me wasn’t her idea, or even an idea she thought a particularly good one.
“I have to tell you,” she said flatly. “I’m not really meant to directly interfere in people’s lives. Not too directly. I need your help.”
“Well you’re not going to get it.” I was sure of that much. “I just want you to leave me alone.”
Kuba stood up as the timer went off on Mrs Bamber’s microwave.
“All right,” she said sweetly. “I’ll leave you alone for now. I’ve got to go anyway. They’ll be calling me to dinner in a minute.” She made a face. “Hamburgers.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Hamburgers didn’t seem so awful to me. All the kids I knew loved hamburgers, and I was pretty sure that if I’d ever been allowed to have hamburgers, I’d love them, too.
“Death on a bun,” said Kuba. She shuddered. “I’d rath
er eat soil. But Mr Bamber doesn’t believe that anyone under eighteen should be a vegetarian.”
“You’re a vegetarian?” This surprised me as much as her claim to be an angel. In my school there was only one vegetarian, and I was it. “A vegetarian from South America?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you get it? I’m an angel, not an orphan. I don’t come from South America any more than you do.”
“Yeah, right…” I said. And then, to get off the subject of angels, I said, “I suppose the Bambers have forbidden you to speak to me.”
Kuba shook her head. “Not at all. They want me to be friends with you.”
I couldn’t help feeling a bit chuffed about that. Even though the Bambers thought my mother was a crazy vegetarian, they thought I was the kind of boy they wanted as a friend for their adopted child.
“They do?”
“Uh huh. Mrs Bamber just wants me to make friends and be happy, but Mr Bamber wants me to spy on your mother. He was very disappointed that I wasn’t a boy, so you and I could be best mates.” She smiled, but there was nothing angelic about it. “Poor Mr Bamber,” crooned Kuba. “You should’ve seen how upset he was when he saw me! He nearly dropped his mobile. He would’ve sent me back if Mrs Bamber hadn’t stopped him.”
Now I was really shocked. Not about Mr Bamber wanting a boy, though. About the spying.
“Mr Bamber said that? He told you he wanted you to spy for him?”
“Well, not me exactly. He told Mrs Bamber.” She winked again. “They don’t think I speak much English.”
I don’t know what, but I was going to say something, only Kuba had gone. I looked at the space where she’d been, and then I looked at the computer. It was off.
I lay down on my bed to wait to be called for supper myself.
Maybe falling off the roof had hurt me more than I’d thought. I was definitely feeling confused.
There was no way I believed that the new kid was an angel. I mean, really – pull the other one. I’m a very logical and scientific sort of person. Everyone else in my family believes in instinct and feelings, but I trust reason. Even if Kuba had had wings I wouldn’t have believed her.