Milton the Megastar

by Emma Read

  What Audrey and Ralph didn’t realize, from their vigil in the attic, was that from his refuge, Milton could climb on to the roof to catch bugs, or to get some fresh air, which was where he’d spent most of the last two days.

  He sat, sheltered under a tile, staring up at the vast sky, watching the stars, and wondering if his dad was also gazing up at the moon, wherever he was.

  Milton had always been prone to gloomy thoughts, but recently they seemed to have taken over. All he could think about was crawling into a dark hole and hiding from the world, the humans – even his friends.

  I’m a rubbish spider. I’m a rubbish friend. I’m a false widow, but I feel like such a fake. Dad’s probably wondering why I haven’t visited yet. Whatever must he think of me, playing at celebrity but then hiding in dark corners?

  ‘I wanted to save my kind, but I can’t even save myself,’ he said to no one in particular.

  And so he was rather surprised when a quiet voice answered from inside the hole, ‘Of course you can’t.’

  ‘Who’s there? How did you get in?’ Milton climbed back inside and hugged his legs. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want to help you,’ said Mini.

  ‘No one can help me. Please leave me alone . . . What do you mean, of course I can’t save myself?’

  ‘You’re just one small spider. I know you saved your entire species and spoke to humans and started an internet campaign, but it doesn’t change the fact: no one can do everything alone.’

  Milton sighed. ‘I’m sorry I was awful to you. I’m normally really nice.’ He offered a leg to Mini, but instead of shaking claws, Mini gave him a tiny hug.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I understand. I know what it’s like to be overwhelmed by the world. I’m so small, you’d imagine I’d never get anything useful done, but shall I tell you my secret?’

  Milton nodded.

  ‘I know when to ask for help.’

  After a serious amount of jaw-aching chewing through web, Milton and Mini eventually emerged into the attic to face Audrey and Ralph. One Short had joined them after dawn, and they all stood in a row, anxiously twiddling claws and clicking their fangs.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Milton in a small voice.

  Ralph bounded towards him and Milton breathed a sigh of relief. Ralph could always be relied on to forgive h—

  But Ralph scooped up Mini instead and threw her into the air. As he caught her, he said, ‘Mini! You little beauty, what did you do?’

  Milton’s legs wobbled.

  ‘Everyone,’ said Mini, ‘Milton needs some space, and some quiet and a whole lot of help.’

  Audrey looked at the floor. ‘We have been helping, but it’s getting too much.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Ralph. ‘We’ve replied to fan mail, hung bunting, made a gazillion ladybird cocktails.’

  Mini crawled back to Milton and held his claw. ‘Not that sort of help. Come and sit down and I’ll explain.’

  Break Time

  It was a warm Saturday morning, and Zoe and Greta were sitting on a rug in the garden, soaking up the sun, drinking fruit smoothies . . . and working. Both of them were surrounded by books and papers and wearing matching frowns.

  Greta cracked her shoulder blades. ‘Ugh, fancy having to work on a Saturday.’ She looked sympathetically at Zoe.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Zoe, throwing a fluffy gel pen on to her notebook. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Trying to sort the paperwork for moving my baby wolf spiders back to their natural habitat. It’s not as easy as booking them on a flight. You can’t transport animals to other countries without special permission. There are so many rules and regulations . . .’ She drifted off, ticking another box on her form.

  Zoe sighed and picked up her pen, wishing her friends weren’t so far away now. The new house was great, with loads of space, but it was much further from school, and so far using this as a reason for Dad to give her a phone wasn’t working.

  Greta signed the document with a loopy scrawl and leant back, soaking up the sun. ‘What are you working so hard on?’

  Zoe frowned. Surely that was obvious? ‘SATs next week,’ she said.

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ Greta threw her arms up. ‘I’m so sorry, of course it is. I’ve been so busy, how has it come around so soon? Can I help?’

  ‘No, it’s OK, Prof— I mean Gre— I mean . . . Mum.’ Zoe winced.

  ‘Oh, Zoe, you don’t have to call me Mum, Greta’s fine. Whatever you’re comfortable with.’ Zoe imagined her face made it clear that none of it was particularly comfortable. ‘Dad would like it if I called you Mum.’

  ‘I know, but I don’t want you to think I’m trying to replace your mum, or be something I’m not. Maybe when we get married . . .’

  Zoe looked at her spelling, punctuation and grammar, suddenly finding it fascinating. She had no idea what she wanted Greta to be, how she felt about them getting married, whenever that was happening, or where she, Zoe, even fit into her own family any more. Was she going to be like a spare wheel? The phrase ‘two’s company, three’s a crowd’ came to mind. Then Greta’s phone rang, saving them both from the awkwardness of the conversation.

  ‘It’s your dad,’ Greta said, unable to hide the relief in her voice.

  Up in the attic the spiders sat in a semicircle, with Mini in the middle.

  ‘I’m a money spider. There are over four thousand types of money spider, and because we are so small, new species are being discovered all the time.’

  Ralph tutted. ‘Humans – terrible eyesight.’ Mini smiled. ‘I’m a Lepthyphantes tenuis.’

  Mini made sure she said her scientific name slowly – Lep-thee-fan-tees ten-you-is – for the other spiders. ‘We’re the commonest spider in the UK. We’re everywhere, so wherever I go, my family are not far away.’

  Milton had a lump in his throat. ‘My family is a long way from here. If he’s even still alive.’

  ‘Oh, Milton,’ said Mini, rubbing his claw. ‘Your family are right here with you now.’

  Audrey took one long step forward. ‘Mini’s right. We’re your family.’

  Mini continued, ‘Milton has been struggling with all the things going on in his head. He’s had a lot to deal with. He’s reconnected with his dad, he’s become famous, humans are asking him to do new and strange things, and he feels responsible for other spiders because of the campaign. Those thoughts and ideas are like flies buzzing around in his head.’ She turned to Milton. ‘Your family can help you catch those thought-flies.’

  ‘Yeah, we’re here for you, buddy,’ said Ralph. ‘Tell us what you need.’

  Milton closed his eyes. When Mini explained it like that, it all seemed so clear. ‘I need a break,’ he said.

  As Milton was taking some time off in the attic, Zoe was downstairs, making a pile of baked beans on her plate.

  ‘Eat up, sweetheart,’ said Dad, eyeing her barely touched sausage and chips. ‘You don’t want your favourite dinner going cold.’

  ‘I’m not that hungry,’ said Zoe, as the bean heap collapsed.

  ‘Well, try and eat something. You need to keep your strength up, keep those brain cells firing.’

  Zoe looked blankly at her dinner and rubbed at the grey smudges under her eyes.

  ‘How are the exams so far?’ asked Dad.

  Zoe sighed. ‘OK, I guess. I think I’m doing all righ—’

  She was cut off as Greta flew in through the door, dropping bags in the hall and flinging her coat on a chair. ‘So sorry I’m late, guys.’

  Dad got Greta’s dinner out of the oven and popped it on the table as she swooped into her chair. ‘Work is so busy,’ she said, burning her mouth on a chip.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Dad. ‘I’ve got so much on.’

  Zoe sat quietly, eating tiny mouthfuls of sausage, watching Dad and Greta talking animatedly about their busy lives and wondered, if she got up from the table without making a sound, whether they’d even notice.

  Then Greta turne
d to her. ‘How’s Milton today?’

  Zoe grimaced. ‘Oh, no! I haven’t even thought about him. He’s out from hiding, but I forgot. I’m so awful. I’m an awful human.’

  Then suddenly, she began to cry. Big whoopy gasps that she tried to cover up by shoving food in her mouth. It didn’t work.

  Dad and Greta both leapt from their seats and hugged her as she sobbed through a mouthful of chips.

  ‘Oh, poppet. It’s OK. What are we like? Going on about ourselves when you’re so exhausted.’ Dad stroked her hair. ‘Milton will be fine. He’s got his friends with him. Gosh, I guess everyone is feeling pretty stressed right now.’

  Greta took her hand. ‘One more day, then SATs will be over. Maybe we should do something special? Take a break – what do you think, Owen?’

  ‘I think that’s a great idea. We’ll talk about it tonight. But for now, what would you like to do, Zoe? Shall we go and eat in front of the telly?’

  ‘I’m really not hungry,’ stuttered Zoe. ‘But maybe . . . pudding?’

  ‘Ice cream with sprinkles on?’ Greta said. ‘And Dr Who?’

  ‘Springwatch?’ suggested Dad.

  Then they gave each other a knowing look and both said together, ‘Moana!’

  Finally, Zoe’s exams were done and the family had a tea party in the garden to celebrate. One half of the table was laid with sandwiches, fruit kebabs, party rings and crisps. The other half was a mouth-watering selection of ant bites, midge morsels, and dry-roasted millipede legs.

  Mr Macey stayed well down his end of the buffet.

  An air of relaxation settled over both humans and spiders, like a covering of blossom – all except for Mr Macey, who seemed distracted.

  Milton didn’t think it was just the fact that the centipede surprise was still wriggling.

  ‘Mr M’s acting weird,’ he said to Audrey, who was stretched out under a cocktail umbrella. He turned to Mini. ‘I’ve been studying human behaviour and I’m getting pretty good at it. For example, see Greta and Zoe there – Zoe has her arms crossed as Greta is pointing at her. It means Zoe wants to hug her. Very positive body language.’

  Mini looked impressed.

  ‘So trust me, Mr M is up to something.’

  At that moment Mr Macey picked up a glass and tapped a spoon on the side. The tinkling sound brought everyone to attention.

  ‘It’s been a busy few weeks for us all, especially my darling Zoe. Whatever happens, you are smart and brilliant and we love you very much.’

  Audrey put a claw to her abdomen. ‘That’s so lovely,’ she said, wiping five of her eyes with a napkin.

  Mr Macey’s phone buzzed and he turned it face down. ‘Here’s to Zoe.’ They raised their glasses and everyone clapped.

  ‘Greta has been working late and I’ve been pretty busy too. Basically, we’re all in need of a holiday.’

  Zoe gasped.

  ‘So, without further ado – an announcement: this summer holiday, we’re going to Hawaii!’

  Zoe danced around the garden with Milton, jumping for joy, in her hand. She looked so happy it melted Milton’s heart and he felt a sense of peace flow through him. This would be the break he needed and he would get to see his dad again. Everything was falling into place. It was all going to be OK.

  That was why Mr M had been fidgety – he’d booked a surprise holiday. That was all it was. Wasn’t it?

  Super-Suspicious Spider Smuggler

  Three long months later, a very excited gang of humans and spiders arrived at departures in London Heathrow Airport’s Terminal 3. As soon as they entered the enormous building, they all looked up. It was like being on a giant space station – silver beams and lights and people walking with purpose.

  ‘This way,’ said Zoe’s dad, pointing at one of the many yellow signs suspended in the air.

  Zoe had only been on an aeroplane once before, and was too young to remember. Her brain could barely keep up with all the information her eyes were sending it. Huge TV screens showed lists of flight numbers beside the names of exotic places she’d seen on maps, but had never properly felt were real. They’d seemed like fantasy worlds, but now here she was, at the portal to wondrous lands.

  She secretly reached into her rucksack and pulled out a small, but very special box. It was hand-painted (by Zoe) and the lid had a swirl pattern of laser-cut holes. Zoe whispered into the holes, ‘Guys, take a quick peek. This place is incredible!’

  At once, twenty-four eyes appeared under the lid, although only twenty-one of them could see anything.

  Milton waved one leg through a heart-shaped hole. This was the signal that they were fine. Two legs waving meant a problem. Like, for example, Dad or Greta discovering that Zoe had brought them along. They did not have passports after all. Or all those ‘special permissions’ that Greta had mentioned.

  At first the airport was magical. It was technically the start of the holiday, and Zoe imagined glamorous British Airways staff helping her with her bags, all smiles and treating her like an adult: Zoe Macey, International Traveller.

  The magic wore off after the first twenty minutes of queuing.

  Far from being glamorous, the airport was actually a series of waiting in line, yawning, fidgeting and shuffling, peppered with moments of extreme stress while finding passports and phones and looking as innocent as possible.

  Security was the worst.

  Because she was not Zoe Macey, International Traveller. She was Zoe Macey, Super-Suspicious Spider Smuggler.

  The security queue was the longest. It snaked around in a huge, unfriendly and harshly bright space. Although, on this occasion, Zoe was grateful for the long wait – it gave her time to think.

  Dad had explained that they needed to load their bags in trays to go through an X-ray machine, then they’d walk through a scanning arch where they might need to take off their shoes, but she hadn’t been able to picture it until now. The way he’d described it seemed easy, straightforward.

  But it was not.

  Tension hung in the air. Zoe picked up on the anxiety of the other travellers – what if we’ve accidentally packed scissors? Is there an oversized bottle of shampoo in my hand luggage? What if the dog put something in my pocket?

  Do we take off our jewellery? Belts? Shoes? Watches? Hats? Nose piercings?

  Ahhhhhhhhhhh!

  Sweat began to bead around Zoe’s forehead.

  Dad and Greta were tussling over bags, trying to put the tablets and laptop in one tray and the money and keys in another, but the trays kept escaping along the conveyor belt. In the next queue along, a toddler was being told off for spinning around on his Trunki when it had to go through the X-ray. A security guard was arguing with a man whose bag was too big to go through the machine and they both tripped over a teenager who was sitting on the floor trying to untie her Doc Martens.

  Zoe’s heart beat faster and she looked at the special box in her bag.

  ‘You can’t go through the X-ray machine,’ she whispered to it, keeping one eye on Dad and Greta, who were guzzling the last of their bottled water. ‘They’ll see you. You’ll have to come through the arch with me.’

  Two legs stuck up through the box holes and started waving.

  ‘I know, but it’s the only way through. Everyone and everything gets scanned. I can’t wait for you to find a safe way through by yourselves – there are too many people and, anyway, this place is crazy! You’d get stepped on.’

  Three pairs of legs now poked through the holes, waving frantically.

  Zoe was unmoved. She pretended to drop her bag (carefully), and as she bent down to pick it up, she opened the box. ‘Out. Now. Crawl up my sleeve and hide.’

  The spiders exchanged extremely worried glances but did as they were told.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ said Zoe. ‘This is the human world – you’re going to have to trust me sometimes.’ She giggled a little as they tickled her arm.

  Zoe slung her bag into a tray, along with her hat and cardigan, and lined
up to go through the arch.

  Dad went through first and got the thumbs up from the security guard.

  Then Greta. Also fine.

  The guard motioned for Zoe to walk forward.

  Taking a deep breath, she strode under the doorway-to-nowhere with as much confidence as she could muster, but as she passed through, the arch made a noise. Like that bleeping noise a computer makes when you’ve pressed the wrong key. Just an electronic sound, yet somehow it can make you feel like you’ve done something really, terribly wrong.

  Bradley O’Hair (Billionaire)

  ‘Step over to me, love,’ said the security guard. ‘Shelly here will pat you down. Is this your mum and dad?’ He pointed to Dad and Greta, and Zoe nodded, too terrified to speak.

  ‘Routine one, folks. We check on a regular basis.’

  Shelly stepped towards Zoe, wearing a pair of blue surgical gloves and holding a grey plastic paddle.

  To Zoe’s right, the man with the oversized bag was also being ‘routinely checked’. He was very red in the face, and Zoe watched in horror as a guard swept his hands firmly along the man’s arms, then patted down his sides.

  Greta stepped forward. ‘It’s all right, Zoe, sweetheart. You haven’t done anything wrong. They’re just doing their job.’

  Zoe tried to reply but her mouth was as dry as a camel spider’s sand burrow.

  ‘I promise I won’t tickle too much.’ Shelly smiled warmly.

  Zoe tried to smile back and look normal and not like a spider-smuggling criminal who was about to get her friends squashed right in her elbow pit, when she burst out laughing.

  ‘OK, then, Zoe, is it? Raise your arms like you’re an aeroplane.’

  Still giggling, Zoe did as she was told, but it was hard to stay still with three leggy spiders scuttling up her arm. She fought the urge to slam her arms down as they reached her armpit, and instead she puffed out her cheeks and went as red as Mr Huge Bag. As Shelly swept her legs, Zoe wriggled and arched as the spiders crossed her shoulder blades, then she had to fake a sneeze as they wriggled out of her T-shirt and into her hair.