Wow.
Who knew that three, thoughtless little words like “Sure, I’ll help” could turn a GOOD day into a BAD day quite so fast?
With no set lessons, Saturday mornings at St Grizzle’s are pretty relaxed.
Unfortunately I’m NOT RELAXED AT ALL.
I tossed and turned and couldn’t sleep last night, and I’ve woken up late with an ouchy crick in my neck.
“Hi,” I say to Granny Viv as I walk into the kitchen and find my grandma gazing out of the window as she washes the dishes, her stripy jumper and jeans covered by an apron.
“Hello, Dani, darling!” she says, pulling her pink rubber-gloved hands out of the water and giving me a big, damp hug.
“Where is everyone?” I ask her.
I walked through the dining room just now and it was empty except for a few dirty breakfast dishes and glasses.
“I think the Conkers are watching a movie on the screen in the art room, the triplets are out on the lawn having a who-can-stand-the-longest-on-one-leg competition by the looks of it and the Newts wanted to have their breakfast ‘like owls do’.”
“Which means…?” I check.
“Which means they’re eating peanut butter on toast up in a tree,” says Granny Viv, pointing a sudsy rubber finger at the big oak just outside the kitchen window. “As for the others, Swan popped out to the shops with her mum in the minibus and Zed is playing Xbox in the office with Toshio.”
Granny Viv looks long and hard at me before saying something else.
“But I think you’re REALLY asking if I’ve seen Arch … and sorry, I haven’t,” she says. “Didn’t you two manage to make up last night?”
“No,” I say, flopping back against the work surface. “He just blanked me whenever I tried to talk to him.”
“He did seem to be giving all his attention to Boudicca … which was nice for her, I suppose,” Granny Viv points out.
“Yeah, very nice,” I mumble, although she must know that watching my best friend spend every minute of yesterday evening making mini-movies with his tag-along zombie was NOT so nice for me.
First they were out in the woods. After tea (they ate together, away from the rest of us) he was up in Boudicca’s cupboard, shooting stuff in there. I kept checking on my phone to see if they’d posted anything on our YouTube channel, but nope.
Later when me and Swan knocked on the brand-new Linens’ dorm, Arch had just taken the bird bunting and mobiles we’d made, said thank you on Boudicca’s behalf and shut the door on us.
“The thing is, Arch was just being extra-nice to Boudicca to get at me,” I say sulkily. “He’s jealous of Zed! Can you believe it?”
“Look at it this way, Dani,” says Granny Viv, passing me a plate of warm, fresh-out-of-the-oven cookies. “Arch isn’t himself right now. He’s feeling as if he’s losing his parents, and seeing you so settled here with new friends he’s probably feeling like he’s losing you, too…”
“But he’s not losing his parents and he’s not losing me. Things are just … just changing a bit!” I protest.
“And he’ll come to see that eventually,” Granny Viv says with a nod, like a wise old punk owl. “But your friend is hurting and you might find he’s a bit quiet and—”
“SHE’S GONE!” Arch roars at the top of his panicked voice as he tears into the kitchen, clutching an iPad. “I JUST WENT UP TO HER CUPBOARD AND BOUDICCA’S NOT THERE!”
“Not AGAIN!” exclaims Granny Viv, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Right, before we start organizing another search party, let’s think this through for a minute. Arch – you spent a long time with Boudicca last night. Did she say anything? Did she seem as if she didn’t like her cupboard after all? Any clues you can think of as to where she might be?”
“Uh, she didn’t say much. I tried to get her involved in making the mini-movies but she didn’t really join in.” As he speaks, Arch throws me a slightly embarrassed look as if to say…
a) I’m sorry I got so grumpy, and
b) it wasn’t fun making mini-movies without you.
“And the cupboard, Arch? Did she seem unhappy there?” I repeat Granny Viv’s question.
“Oh, no – she LOVES that. Especially the bunting and stuff.”
Arch throws me another embarrassed look as if to say…
a) the bunting and stuff was really cool, and
b) I’m sorry I closed the door in your face.
“So you can’t think of anything else that could be helpful, Arch?” Granny Viv prompts him.
“No,” says Arch, shaking his head. “Well … I suppose there COULD be something. Before I went to bed I left my iPad with Boudicca, so she could watch all the films on our channel, Dani. I joked that if she was too shy to make a film WITH me, she could always surprise me by doing one on her OWN…”
“Fire it up, Arch,” Granny Viv orders, pointing to the iPad in his hand.
Arch does what he’s told and “fires it up”. Or at least presses the “on” button.
And there it is.
A one-minute-long film set on a shelf in the Linens’ dorm, starring two of Swan’s bunting birds.
“Are you practising your violin every day, Boudicca?” said one bird, in a deepish, parentish voice. Or at least as deep and parentish as the off-screen Boudicca can manage.
“No,” said the smaller bird, in a tiny, high-pitched voice. “I don’t like playing the violin. I’ve told you that but you don’t listen.”
“Are you practising brushing your lovely hair with a hundred strokes every morning and at bedtime, Boudicca?”
“No. I don’t like having long hair. It gets all knotty and in my food. I’ve told you that but you don’t listen.”
“Are you settling in at school and making friends, Boudicca?”
“No, because I’ve never had any before. I don’t know HOW to be a friend.”
I clutch my chest when I hear what the little bird just said.
Oh, no… That night when I found Boudicca snuggled in Swan’s bunk – I heard it WRONG. I thought she said, in her whispery little voice, that she didn’t want to have friends. But now I realize she said something different, and sadder, altogether.
Boudicca has been weird with us all at St Grizzle’s simply because she doesn’t know HOW to be a friend…
“Well, Boudicca, your schoolwork is more important than friends,” the deeper, more parentish bird carries on.
“No, it’s not! There is a boy here that I would like to be my friend but I don’t know what to say to him. He is SO nice and he looks JUST like Marvin.”
“Who on earth is Marvin, Boudicca?”
“The only one who listened to me at home, that’s who. I miss him and I want to see him.”
“Now don’t be ridiculous, Boudicca. You can’t go back home.”
“Yes, I can! And stop calling me Boudicca. Nobody knows how to say it and I don’t like it! I’ve told you that, too, and you haven’t listened…”
The little bird, aided by Boudicca’s fingers, flutters and flies off out of shot – and the film stops.
Me, Granny Viv and Arch all stare at each other, stunned at how many ACTUAL words we’d ACTUALLY heard Boudicca speak.
“Do you think she’s going to try and make her way back to her house? On her own?” I say, thinking of how teeny-tiny Boudicca will be out in the great big world.
“She wouldn’t, would she?” says Granny Viv.
“I think she might have,” I reply, with flutters of panic flittering in my chest. “But where IS her home?”
“Hey, won’t Toshio have a record of Boudicca’s home address in the office?” Arch suggests.
“Good thinking – can you go and ask him, Dani? I’ll ring Lulu now to tell her what’s happening,” says Granny Viv, yanking off her Marigolds. “But how will an eight-year-old girl try and make that journey? Even one as smart as Boudicca?”
I suddenly have a snapshot memory of yesterday, of Boudicca nearly walking into the bus stop cos her n
ose was buried in Harry Potter.
“I think she might have gone into the village,” I announce. “Maybe she’ll try to catch a bus? She heard Arch say that’s how HE got here…”
“Meet you by Daisy in five minutes,” says Granny Viv, talking about her beloved camper van. “And Dani, after you ask Toshio to find the address, can you go and tell Miss Amethyst and Mademoiselle Fabienne that they’re in charge?”
“Sure,” I call out over my shoulder as I hurry away.
Exactly five minutes later, me, Arch, Granny Viv and Downboy are all piling into Daisy – even if one of us wasn’t invited. (Talking about YOU, Downboy.)
“Good luck!” Zed calls out as we slam the doors shut and fasten our seat belts.
“グッドラック!” Toshio calls out, too, waving and bowing madly.
We’re just rumbling off across the crunching stones of the driveway when Blossom gallops in front of us as if she’s doing dressage at a horse show. She’s even holding a long swishy tail at her bum.
Hold on…
“Hey!” I yell at Blossom out of the open van window. “What is THAT? The thing you’re using for a tail? Where did you get it?”
“It was on the floor of the bathroom! FINDERS KEEPERS!” Blossom yells, before trotting a lap around the statue of St Grizzle and disappearing off round the side of the school.
“Wait, you don’t think that was…” Arch begins, going white.
“I hope not…” I mumble.
“Hold tight!” says Granny Viv, and puts her foot down on the accelerator.
VROOMMMM!
So we MIGHT be looking for a bald Boudicca.
“Any sign of her?” asks Granny Viv, gazing at the bus stop in the distance.
“Nope,” says Arch, peering up the road at the shelter. “There’s no one there.”
And then I spot someone I could do without seeing.
Sneery, meanie Spencer from the local village school. And he appears to be with his surprisingly smiley, sweet-looking mum, who has rosy cheeks, a baby in a buggy and very possibly NO idea how awful her eldest child is…
As we chug up the high street, Spencer frowns at Granny Viv’s psychedelic camper van, then frowns his blond eyebrows into a DEEPER v when he spots me inside.
OK, he is an idiot but he might be able to help.
“Stop for a second,” I tell Granny Viv as I I lean my head out of the window.
“What, for THAT unpleasant yob?” grumbles Granny Viv, who’s no fan of Spencer’s.
“Yeah, but that unpleasant yob knows what Boudicca looks like,” I explain. “Or at least what she used to look like…”
Spencer pulls a worried face as Granny Viv deliberately veers towards him.
“Hi,” I call out, above the screech of Daisy’s brakes.
Spencer’s nostrils flare as if he’s just dying to say something rude about one of us Grizzlers. But he shoots a sideways glance at his smiley mum and can’t do a thing.
“Er, hi,” he reluctantly says back.
“Who’s this, Spencie, darling?” his mum asks pleasantly.
“Uh … someone I know a bit. She’s a Griz—She goes to St Grizelda’s,” Spencer mutters.
“I’m Dani and this is Arch,” I say politely, chucking my thumb in my best buddy’s direction.
“And I’m Viv!” my gran calls out to Spencer’s mother, giving her a wave. “I work up at the school and I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your boy before.”
“Really? How lovely! It’s always nice to meet Spencer’s friends,” his mum says brightly as the baby in the buggy giggles and coos.
Spencer looks like he might be sick, having Grizzlers described as “friends”.
“Hey, do you remember the new girl you saw us with on Thursday?” I ask Spencer, since we have no time to waste.
“What – the geek, I mean the girl with the book?” he checks.
“Yeah, we’re looking for her,” I say. “Seen her around the village this morning?”
“Maybe,” says Spencer, sounding reluctant with his information. He turns and points back up the road, past the empty bus shelter. “Is that her on the bench there?”
Aha! The bus shelter had obscured the view of the bench just beyond it – and the tiny person sitting on it.
“Yessss! I think it is her!” Arch suddenly yelps as he screws up his eyes and stares at the distant small figure.
“You really have SUCH a helpful son,” Granny Viv calls out to Spencer’s mum, who beams with pride as the van suddenly zooms off up the high street.
In the wing mirror, I see Spencer’s disgusted face watch us go. Ha! He must HATE the fact that he’s been so helpful to us Grizzlers…
As for runaway Boudicca, she doesn’t see us coming, since she has her head in her hands. With her skinny little legs and her luxurious tumble of hair (yay – still there, amazingly), it looks as if someone has left a semi-open furry umbrella leaning against the bus stop bench.
“Boudicca!” I call out of the window, when Granny Viv draws close enough.
“BOO!” Arch shouts louder, reaching over me and yanking at the door handle as we come to a stop.
At the sharp sound of her shortened name, Boudicca glances up. Her face isn’t blank any more – it’s bright pink from crying and her grey eyes are red-rimmed.
Ah, and Boudicca’s hair isn’t two perfect wavy curtains any more either, I notice – one side has a large clump cut out, leaving a clumsy stump of stubble in its place. It’s as if she started cutting her hated long hair then panicked in case she wasn’t doing it right.
“Get in, darling!” Granny Viv calls out to her.
After a moment’s hesitation Boudicca does as she’s told and scuttles in by my side, while Arch jumps over the back of the seat to the one behind so there’s room for her.
“Are you cross with me?” Boudicca asks us in her usual mouse-squeak.
“Well, it’s not exactly SAFE for you to be taking off on your own, is it, sweetheart?” Granny Viv chides her gently as she nods at me to fasten Boudicca’s seat belt for her.
“But Arch did it, when he wanted to see Dani!” Boudicca whispers in her own defence.
“And he shouldn’t have. Should you, Arch?” Granny Viv calls over her shoulder to my friend. He doesn’t answer straight away – I think he’s being licked to death by Downboy, who’s deliriously excited to have company in the back with him.
“No!” yelps Arch, trying to fend off the Drool Monster.
“But here’s the thing, Boo,” says Granny Viv, staring Arch’s tag-along zombie in the eye. “We’ve seen the short film you made. We KNOW you want to go and see your old friend Marvin back home. It’s not too far. So, how about we have a little trip there? Would you like that?”
Boudicca’s pale-as-huskies grey eyes swim with tears.
“Y–y–yes, please!” she hiccups, then buries her face in my T-shirt.
I’m not sure what I can do except stroke Boudicca’s head and pretend she’s my dog…
The stroking thing – I’ve always found it sends Downboy straight to sleep.
And what do you know? I’ve just found it ALSO sends troubled and emotional eight-year-olds to sleep, too.
Boo – as we’ve all agreed to call her from now on – has quietly zzzz’d and drooled down my T-shirt for the whole hour’s length of the drive to her house.
On the way, Granny Viv talked to Lulu via speakerphone, to let her know that Boo was okay and what the plan was.
That important call made, Granny Viv, Arch and me passed the time taking wild guesses about WHO exactly Marvin might be. Arch’s guess is that he’s Boo’s old tutor. Granny Viv thinks he’s a neighbour’s kid. I suspect he might be less alive and that he’s actually a beloved teddy or something.
Whoever Marvin is, if coming here helps Boo feel more settled back at St Grizzle’s then it’ll have been worth the petrol money and the drool stain.
“Looks like this is it!” announces Granny Viv as she pulls up outsid
e a humongous house that you might as well call a mansion. A mansion that looks VERY grand, VERY old, VERY ivy-covered and VERY like it could be the house of a zombie in a horror movie.
“Hey, Boo – we’ve arrived,” I say in my softest, here-we-are-but-I’m-not-sure-about-this-spooky-looking-place voice.
Boo sniffles and snuffles and dreamily blinks herself awake. Then her eyes light up like there are sparkles buried deep in them when she realizes where she is.
“Marvin!” she says, clicking herself free from her seat belt.
“MARVIN!” she calls out, once she’s yanked open the camper van door and hopped on to the pavement.
“MARVIN!” she yelps in a nearly normal person’s voice, scanning the skies as she runs into the front garden of the spooky great house.
“BOO!” comes an answering cry.
“See? THERE he is!” yelps Boo, turning to us as she points out her friend. “Doesn’t he look EXACTLY like Arch?”
“BOO!” her best buddy calls again to her.
The three of us stare at Marvin.
Well, he’s not exactly who ANY of us expected at all…
“He’s not REALLY like me, is he?” asks Arch.
“You’re the spitting image of each other,” Granny Viv insists with a grin as she drives us along the familiar country road with the vandalized St Grizelda’s sign JUST coming into view.
“Dani?” Arch says in desperation.
“It’s the floppy fringe,” I tell him.
“It is, isn’t it?” Boo says brightly, holding up the pigeon she has clutched comfortably in her hands.
“BOO!” coos the pigeon.
“No way!” says Arch, leaning over the back of the seat and studying himself and the bird in the mirror of the windscreen sun visor.
But there really IS a strong resemblance.
It’s all to do with some oddly growing feathers in Marvin the pigeon’s forelock, if THAT’S what you call a bird’s forehead.
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