by Adam Baron
‘For putting over the bathroom window?’
Stephan shook his head – but he still didn’t explain. Instead, he opened the shed door and pulled his workbench out. He put the plywood on it while I thought of Dad calling Stephan Bob the Builder, and laughing about what Stephan did ‘On the Bus’. He didn’t reach for a hammer, though, instead pulling out an electric saw. I got ready to watch, but Stephan had a surprise: he handed me some plastic goggles.
‘Got those for you earlier. And these.’ He followed the goggles with a pair of thick, colourful gloves. ‘Didn’t think you’d want to use Ellen’s.’
‘But what are they for?’
Stephan pointed at a line on the plywood. ‘You need to cut along that.’
I blinked at him. ‘I do? With that?’
‘Sure. Put those on,’ he said.
I did. The goggles needed tightening and the gloves were really stiff. It was hard to move my fingers, especially when Stephan handed ME the saw.
‘I feel like an astronaut,’ I said. ‘You know, on a spacewalk.’
Stephan laughed. ‘That’s a good description. I’ll help get you started.’
And he did. He held my arms and together we set the blade down on the straight line. He told me to press the button near my finger and when I did I GASPED. The saw was SO loud. It was really jerky too and I immediately let go of the button. I didn’t think I could actually do it, but Stephan looked at me.
‘Ellen found it hard to use at first too.’
‘What? Ellen’s used this saw?’
‘Sure. Lots of times now. With me of course. I was hoping she’d help us with this, but she’s at Veronique’s, isn’t she? Want to try again?’
Did I? If Ellen could do it … I waited until Stephan was holding my arms and pressed the button again, vibrations sprinting up to my shoulder like mad ants. It felt fantastic, though, thrilling and dangerous but safe at the same time. Then it got even better – I pushed the blade forward and it worked! It cut right through the wood, going straight along the line as Stephan guided me. Then I realised that, while he was still right there, he’d actually let go. It was JUST ME holding the saw! I nearly panicked, but instead I concentrated SO hard, really hoping that Mum and Dad were watching from inside. When I stopped for a rest, I glanced in through the kitchen window, sure that they must have heard the noise. Mum was cooking, though, with her back to me, Dad sitting at the kitchen table, drinking wine as he chatted to her.
It was disappointing – but I had to focus. I turned the saw on again and pushed the blade forward until the end of the line came into view. And then, with the most satisfying clonk, the thinner bit of wood fell down on to the patio.
‘Brilliant!’ Stephan exclaimed, as I lifted my finger off the trigger and the sound of the saw died away. ‘Think we’ve got a natural here. Let’s do the other side, shall we?’
I glanced back through the window, but Mum and Dad still weren’t paying attention.
So I did the other side, after which I asked Stephan what exactly we were making.
‘Wait and see,’ he said, and showed me how to use a normal handsaw. With it we cut some different, thicker wood. After that, he did get a hammer out, but it was me who used it, not him. I nailed the big bit of wood to one end of the plywood. It made a shallow ramp, which I stared at, still unable to work out what it was that we’d created. An art bench for Mum? Some sort of marble-run for Mabel? I had no idea – until Stephan told me to go up on to the garage roof again.
I climbed up the ladder this time and Stephan handed the ramp to me. He told me to set it down with the shallow end facing the garden, and I did, though still without a clue what it was for – until I’d climbed back down into the garden. Stephan tossed me my football.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Kick it up.’
‘On the roof? Really?’
‘You’ll see.’
And so I did, though first I put the ball down on the ground. I did this trick Billy Lee showed me: I moved my feet together really fast, which sent the ball up in front of me. Then I booted it, the ball arching up on to the roof, though it didn’t stay there for long. Nothing happened for a second, but then I heard a rolling sound and the ball came shooting off, thumping down on the grass right beside me.
‘That’s brilliant!’ I said. ‘I won’t have to climb up. It’s brilliant!’
And it was. I kicked the ball up again, and again the ramp sent it down, on the other side of me this time. Stephan had a go and then we took turns, kicking it up and trying to catch it. That got too easy so we threw a tennis ball instead. I made Stephan use one hand, and start with his back to the wall, after which he had to spin round. Soon we were laughing like crazy and I SO wanted to show this to Lance. And Veronique! She’s not interested in football, but she’d LOVE this. She does fencing after school and she’d be great at it.
Stephan said that I had to start with my back to the wall too, but I still won (10–9 after Stephan dropped the last one). I squealed out, ‘YES!’ and did a lap of honour round the garden as Stephan shouted, ‘Boo!’ After that, I pretended I was on an open-top bus going round London with the winner’s trophy. Stephan shook his head.
‘Thanks,’ I said, when I’d tormented him enough. ‘It’s great. We’ve had that problem with the ball forever. I can’t believe we didn’t think of it. Though …’ I stared up at the roof as Stephan walked over to his workbench. He put it away and went back for the ladder, which was still leaning near the fig tree.
‘Yes?’
‘Well. If the burglars climbed over the garage and in through the bathroom window, why did they smash the door in at the end? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I know,’ Stephan said. ‘Not if it was a normal burglary. They would have left the same way they came in. But what if they only wanted to make it look like a burglary?’
‘So it wasn’t one?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Then what was it?’
Stephan turned and stared at the house, where Dad must have told Mum another joke because she was laughing again. ‘I think they were looking for something.’
‘Looking for something?’ I asked. It’s what I’d said to Veronique, and I remembered our conversation. ‘They can’t have been.’
‘Why not?’ Stephan frowned.
‘Because my bedroom was the one they trashed the most,’ I explained. ‘They hardly touched Mum’s. What could they have wanted from MY room?’
‘Who knows?’ Stephan put my gloves and goggles away and shut the shed door. ‘What did they take?’
‘From me? Nothing.’
‘And from the rest of the house?’
‘Mum’s iPad. And a Bluetooth speaker. And some painting of hers.’
‘So I’d think about those things, yes?’
I said I would but I wasn’t convinced he was right – until I remembered something. Veronique’s mum had said that, in their burglary, Auntie Mill’s CCTV didn’t show the burglars going in. So maybe they got in the back of their house too, and then broke the door afterwards. And, if that was the case, then it HAD to be the same burglars – but it also meant something else. If they were looking for something, and they THEN went to Veronique’s house, they couldn’t have found it at mine, could they?
But did they find it at hers?
I wanted to ask Veronique right way. I was about to go in and get Mum to call her, and on another day I would have. But I had an image of her and Ellen – p-l-a-y-i-n-g together. They’d be doing each other’s hair, or admiring their stupid friendship bracelets. Veronique wouldn’t even listen to me; she’d say I was ‘so funny sometimes’. I seethed inside and just waited for Stephan to finish packing up. Then I told him about Hall Place.
‘Wow,’ he said, not trying to dismiss me like Mum had. ‘You’re sure that the medal had a different number of roses before? And that they’re equal now?’
‘Yes!’
‘Well, that is strange. Let me think about it. And I know s
omeone who loves puzzles like this. Solving things. I’ll talk to them … if that’s all right?’
‘It’s great,’ I said, and I nodded, SO relieved that someone had taken me seriously. But then I had another thought. The medal and the burglary: they’d happened at roughly the same time, hadn’t they? So were they connected to each other?
I couldn’t think how, so I shook my head and ran inside.
I told Mum about the ramp. She said it sounded fantastic, but she was still cooking and I could tell she wasn’t paying attention. She didn’t ask to come outside for me to show her and neither did Dad. He was on his phone. When Stephan came in, I thought Mum would thank him for making it, but she just gave him this forced sort of smile as he washed his hands in the sink. Then Mabel ran through and bashed into Mum’s leg – and Mum snapped at her! This is something I’d been hoping for for DAYS, desperate for Mum to treat her and Ellen normally AND TELL THEM OFF. But, actually, I wished Mum hadn’t snapped at Mabel then. She was just excited because she’d finished her picture – which turned out to be for me.
And I have to admit that it was great.
Mabel had drawn a football match. But not a normal one. She’d drawn a unicorn football match, little unicorns all surrounding this big unicorn, who was about to score a goal. The unicorn had a red shirt on (Charlton) and my name on the side.
Spelled FIMBALEEN.
That was even further away from reality than Mabel normally got, but she was so proud of the picture. I thought Mum’s snapping might make her cry so, very quickly, I took her upstairs. I got some Blu-tack from my art box and put the picture up on my door. This did cheer her up, but not completely. Mabel looked serious. Very serious. She stared up at me with her massive brown eyes, and then she asked me something that made me feel
‘Thimbeline,’ she said, her voice all trembly. ‘Are you glad that we came to live in your house with you?’
I blinked. The question was like a missile blowing up everything inside me. ‘Why are you asking?’ I croaked.
‘It’s Daddy,’ Mabel said.
‘What about him?’
‘Well, he said something really weird. To Ellen and me. He told us that it’s hard for you. Us being here. IS it hard for you, Thimbeline?’
‘Well …’
‘He told us. He said it’s a big change. He said we have to be really nice to you, which is why I made you that picture.’ She pointed to the red unicorn. ‘A Charlton-corn. To make you feel better. Does it?’
‘Does it?’
‘Make you feel better?’
And I opened my mouth to reply, seeing the picture properly for the first time. The team the red unicorn was playing against all had twisted horns and downturned faces. They were clearly meant to be evil, but only then did I realise that they were all blue – which could mean only one thing.
They were Millwall unicorns.
Mill-corns.
That Mabel had drawn me triumphing over evil Millwall unicorns was SO nice of her. I also thought about Stephan and the ramp – but THEN I thought about Ellen again. She’d stolen my biscuits! She’d booted me in the face! She’d stolen Not Mr Fluffy AND she’d stolen my friend. I wasn’t going to lie – I still wished that they would GO.
‘It …’
‘Yes, Thimbeline?’
But Mum called me to come down, so I didn’t have to answer. And she had something to tell me.
I thought it must be suppertime – but Stephan wasn’t in the kitchen and neither was Dad. Instead, sitting at the table was someone who made me stop in my tracks: Veronique’s mum! I hadn’t heard her come in and I stared, this sharp, glinting thrill inside me. Was it Ellen? Had she done something terrible?! Had Veronique’s mum brought her home in disgrace? The glee ripped through me as I looked around – but she wasn’t there, which was when I realised that Mrs Chang didn’t seem angry. She looked a little worried, and so did Mum.
‘What is it?’ I said. Mum put her teacup down on the table and so did Mrs Chang. ‘Has something happened?’
‘No,’ Mum said. ‘Nothing new. Just something we need to ask you.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes,’ said Veronique’s mum. ‘It’s a bit odd. About your burglary.’
‘The door?’
‘No. Not that.’
‘Is it Veronique’s room? Was it messed up more than anywhere else?’
Veronique’s mum looked surprised. ‘Yes. How did you …?’
‘Mine was too, though nothing’s missing. Was anything taken from Veronique’s room?’
‘No,’ said her mum. ‘That’s the thing, though something happened. Veronique didn’t tell me about it at the time because it upset her, and you know that she struggles with her feelings, don’t you? Under-standing them?’
I did. And I also knew that she struggled with understanding the feelings of her best friend! ‘So what happened?’
‘Your teddies,’ Mum said.
‘What about them?’
‘None of them are missing?’
I’d checked that when I’d had to lend one to Mabel. ‘No.’
‘And nothing else is wrong with them?’
‘Wrong with them?’
‘Yes,’ Veronique’s mum said. ‘Like Veronique’s teddies.’
‘Not Cyrano de Bergerac!’ He was Veronique’s !Teddy of Most Extreme Importance!, a yellow elephant she’d got in France.
‘No. He was fine. But some of the others …’
‘Yes?’
‘Were attacked. With scissors or a knife. It really upset Veronique and I just wondered if any of yours were like that.’
‘Mine?’ I said.
And I ran upstairs. I brought my teddy basket down – two dinosaurs, three snakes, a crocodile, a horse from Pippy Longstocking, a panda, Uncle Bulgaria (Womble), this Olympic one whose name I’ve forgotten and Paddington. They were all fine. Tiny Clanger was too, and Not Mr Fluffy (though he wasn’t there at the time).
‘Why did they do it?’ I said.
‘Just nasty, I guess. And bizarre.’
‘Bizarre?’
‘Well, they didn’t do the ones that were animals, or characters. They just damaged the ones that looked normal.’
‘The teddy teddies?’
‘That’s right. Anyway, I’m glad it didn’t happen to you. I just wanted to come and check.’
‘Is Veronique okay?’ Veronique’s mum looked a bit shifty.
‘She is now. She’s …’
I sighed. ‘Having fun with Ellen?’
‘Yes. They’re … getting on very well.’
‘Great. I’m very glad to hear it,’ I said, and I was about to turn away and go back upstairs, but Dad came in.
‘You’ll never guess what?!’ he exclaimed.
‘Go on,’ Mum said.
‘Hall Place.’
‘What about it?’
‘They want me to do more workshops. Probably a regular thing.’
‘That’s good.’
‘Good? It’s great! Having something so close to home like that.’
‘Home?’ I said.
‘It’s fantastic!’ Dad went on.
‘So is it definite then?’
‘Think so. She loved it, particularly the baby thing. Great idea, that. Anyway, she wants to meet up to discuss it.’
‘Who does?’
‘The woman – who we spoke to at the end? The helper Cym met when he was there before. She’s in charge of events. She wants to talk about it and she also said sorry for not having time to chat before. So she wants Cym to be there too.
‘Cool, huh?’
They didn’t believe us.
Not Mum, or Dad, OR the police. They got there about ten minutes after I screamed. The figure was gone by then. It had spun round, the torchlight blinding me so that I couldn’t see its face. It lurched past me and ran down the stairs. I hurried back into our bedroom and flung the curtains open. Milly bolted upright and asked what was wrong, but I didn’t answer, just staring down int
o the garden until the figure came out of the French windows. It galloped down our garden, leapt on to Boffo’s hutch and climbed the back fence.
And the bedroom light came on.
‘Jess!’ Mum shrieked. ‘What is it?’
I told her. And, when the police came, I told them.
There were lots of police people. Four came in the house (Mum had turned ALL the lights on) and some more went into the garden, looking at the fence, then seeing if they could get any shoe prints from the flowerbeds (so Dad said). They were brilliant, actually, and so was Mum – until I told them about Mr Goldy.
‘What?’ Mum said. We were sitting at the kitchen table: Mum, Dad, Milly, me and two police officers. ‘That one you found at Cuckmere?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘But you gave that back to the woman who came round.’
I sighed and told her that we hadn’t, and then had to start from the beginning because the police officers were confused.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘it’s simple. We found a teddy and we argued about it. Mum put a photo on WhatsApp so that its owner could come and get it.’
The older police officer nodded to the younger one, who was taking notes.
‘Then this woman came round to pick the teddy up. Only –’ I glanced at Milly – ‘we gave her a different one. She took it away, but then she cut it open and left it in a bin.’
‘She … cut it open? A teddy bear?’
‘Yes! But it was the wrong teddy.’
‘The wrong …?’
‘Teddy! And now she’s come back for the right one.’
The older police officer scratched the back of his head. The younger one waited with her pencil ready. ‘The right teddy?’
‘Yes! That’s what she was looking for!’
‘And you know this because …?’
‘She went straight to our room and searched for it.’
‘Well.’ The older police officer shrugged. ‘We’d better see this teddy bear, hadn’t we? If it’s of such immense importance to the burgling community.’
I ran upstairs.
‘Here,’ I said thirty seconds later. I’d pulled Mr Goldy out of the doll’s house, and I set him down on the table.
‘Well, that is a very nice-looking teddy bear. He’s very …’
