‘Hmm,’ said Alice. ‘Sounds like you had some serious tummy trouble.’
Hamish frowned. So Alice hadn’t noticed the way the room seemed almost to move. Or the spotlights bursting overhead. Or the way the Prime Minister’s eyes had seemed to go empty, hollow, blank . . .
The last time he’d noticed something that no one else had, the world had been in serious trouble. What if something bad was happening again? Maybe this was all linked somehow? What if this was something to do with the Neverpeople? His dad might need his help!
‘What are you two talking about?’ said Buster, wandering up the path with a broom. He had a part-time job clearing away all the broken milk bottles Margarine Crinkle left everywhere. It could have been a full-time job, to be honest. ‘Is this important PDF business?’
‘You know there’s no Pause Defence Force since the world stopped stopping,’ said Hamish. ‘We’re just kids again! All that’s at an end!’
‘Every end is just another beginning!’ said Alice, who seemed to like that phrase almost as much as ‘be prepared’.
‘Who wants to be just kids again?’ said Buster, sadly, leaning on his broom. ‘And anyway we can’t stop being the PDF! What if the world needs saving again? Someone needs to be ready!’
‘Yes!’ said Alice. ‘Always be prepared! Have I taught you nothing, by repeatedly saying the same thing over and over?’ Hamish looked at his friends, and thought about how much they’d achieved together as the PDF. If something strange was afoot, then they were right: someone needed to be ready.
‘Let me talk to my mum,’ he said, thinking that maybe – just maybe – a trip to London might not be such a bad idea after all.
Let’s Go to London!
At the rickety bus stop in the town square by the clock, Hamish’s mum was all jangly and jittery.
‘Have you got everything, chicken?’ she said, her nerves getting the better of her. ‘Have you got your Chomps? Have you got your watch?’
Hamish checked his wrist again. There it was. The watch his dad had given him. The Explorer. It had proved extremely useful the last time things had gone crazy. And it meant the world to Hamish because it was from his dad.
‘What about your helmet?’ asked Mum.
‘I don’t think I need it.’
‘You should wear a helmet on the bus!’ she said. ‘In case things fall on your head! And have you packed your shin pads? Have you tucked your trousers into your socks?’
Hamish nodded. His mum was always telling him to tuck his trousers into his socks on long journeys these days. She’d learned that ‘advice’ from Hamish’s permanently-terrified friend Robin.
Nowadays, she worried about a lot of silly things.
– That Hamish might get in trouble with the police.
– That Hamish might go on a boat without a life jacket.
– That Hamish might sit on a shopping trolley and accidentally barrel down a big hill.
Hamish gave his mum a reassuring pat on the arm. Since his dad had vanished, Hamish and Jimmy had become extra precious to Mum. Hamish understood why because she had become extra precious to him too.
‘I can’t believe I’m letting you do this,’ she said, shaking her head and folding her arms. ‘London can be very unfriendly! And are you sure the Prime Minister’s people said it was all right?’
‘Well . . .’ began Hamish.
‘Yes!’ said Alice. ‘Mysterio gave Hamish a card and said, “PLEASE COME!” Clear as day! Except for the accent.’
‘Well, it’s only because I trust you,’ said Hamish’s mum. ‘And Alice, your uncle will be there to pick you both up and take you straight to the Prime Minister?’
‘Yes, Mrs Ellerby,’ said Alice, using her responsible voice. ‘Uncle Peter is really very trustworthy. He’s a policeman. And I’ve packed an extra baguette for Hamish.’
The 10.11 coach to London pulled into view.
‘We’ll be there by lunchtime,’ said Alice. ‘Honestly, Mrs Ellerby, I do this all the time. It’s not like we’re going to some whole other world!’
‘So you do this all the time?’ said Hamish, as the coach whizzed through the countryside.
‘No, this is the first,’ said Alice, looking out of the window. ‘I’ve never been to London before. But sometimes you have to treat adults with kid gloves.’
‘How long has your Uncle Peter been a policeman?’ he asked.
‘Oh, you know. A while or so. Anyway, I can’t believe your mum makes you tuck your socks into your trousers.’
‘Robin’s mum told her that it reduces the chance of unnecessary trippage,’ said Hamish and Alice laughed. She’d never do that.
Hamish was a little nervous to be away from home without his mum, so he concentrated on what lay ahead. Alice seemed pretty sure that all they had to do was turn up at Downing Street and the Prime Minister would welcome them with open arms.
And of course there was one other thing to do. Hamish hadn’t mentioned it to his mum because he didn’t want to worry her. But he planned to take a detour to Arcadian Lane. He wondered what it could be. Maybe it was a huge skyscraper. Or a grand old house. Perhaps it was a museum. Or a video-games arcade. Maybe his dad would be there. Or maybe all this was for nothing at all.
Now that Hamish knew his dad was out there somewhere (and that there was a reason he’d gone) he missed him more than ever. He thought that going to Arcadian Lane would make him feel like he was closer to his dad, somehow.
Alice got a baguette out as the driver switched on the coach TV.
Life’s a Dream with Vapidia Sheen was on.
Hamish sighed. Not this again. It was always on. So many people watched it, even though none of them could really put their finger on why. Hamish thought people watched it just because it was on so often.
Vapidia was a big star. She had jet-black, glossy hair and was the first-ever winner of that singing show, Spin Me Round.
Have you seen Spin Me Round? People have to sing while someone spins them round. It’s a very clever format.
People had liked Vapidia because she could sing really well, no matter what direction she was facing. And she was bright and loud. She’d studied rocket science at university and could count up to a trillion. But then she got her own show and her personality seemed to change overnight. Now she just walked around, saying weird things.
Things like ‘I really like coasters’ and then pointing at a coaster.
Or ‘Look at this wall’ and then pointing at a wall.
Here is how the TV section of the Starkley Post describes Life’s a Dream with Vapidia Sheen.
Yeuch! Dullsville. Boretown. Tedium City. Blandling, Ohio.
Who’d watch that?
Well, plenty of people actually. Most of Starkley, night after night. It was the most popular show in the whole country. And no one but Hamish seemed to notice that Vapidia’s big brown eyes just seemed . . . empty.
No, not empty. What’s the word?
They seemed blank.
Alice suddenly nudged him.
‘Look!’ she said, excited.
They were arriving in London!
Pressed up against their window, they took it all in.
The skyscrapers of Canary Wharf. The building that looks like a gherkin. The grand old BT Tower in the distance, rising above it all.
‘And look! The Cutty Sark!’ said Alice, catching a glimpse of the very old ship with its huge sails as they drove alongside the river. ‘And there’s a sign for the Observatory!’
Hamish had always wanted to go to the Royal Observatory. He loved the idea of telescopes. He’d asked his brother for a telescope for Christmas. He knew exactly the one he wanted. A Gia-tron BugEye 5000 in British Racing Green. It was a right old stunner. But Jimmy had just said, ‘What do you need a telescope for when you can just stand closer to stuff?’
Hamish didn’t feel nervous to be out of Starkley any more. He felt excited. He would see the Prime Minister. And then he would find Arcadian Lane.
‘Next stop,’ called out the driver over the tannoy, ‘Victoria Station!’
Taxi!
This place was insane!
What. The. Heck?!
Hamish had never seen so many people.
People of all sizes, wearing all sorts of clothes, from all over the world, poured out of huge, noisy coaches. Black fumes poured out from behind them.
From behind the coaches I mean – not from behind the people. If black fumes poured out of the people’s behinds, they should really see a doctor.
There were coaches from Scotland. Coaches from Wales. Coaches that had driven all the way from Spain and Germany and France. They all had different names written on the side.
A green and brown coach with REG’S GUERNSEY FUN BUS! scrawled along it.
A sleek yellow and blue one marked GLOBALFLØBAL OF SWEDEN.
And a German one just called FAHRT.
A man carrying a tuba tried to inch his way past a group of Swiss girls wearing backpacks the size of small cars.
‘’Scuse me!’ he shouted, rudely. ’SCUSE ME!’
Everyone seemed in quite a hurry to see London, which was weird because it’s not like it was going to disappear.
‘OUT OF THE WAY!’ yelled a red-faced woman with a tiny suitcase under her arm, and Hamish jumped. People weren’t like this in Starkley.
Hamish stood a little sheepishly by a bench while Alice studied a giant map behind him. Standing by a bench had always made him feel safe. It’s because benches, like London, don’t go anywhere. And, if you stand by a bench, well – you’re not going anywhere either.
Yet another huge coach arrived and dozens more people leapt out to fetch suitcases and bags. It made Hamish feel tiny. And then he realised he couldn’t see Alice any more.
‘Alice!’ he shouted. ‘Alice?’
Where had she gone? Hamish put his hand on the bench for reassurance.
Oh, brilliant, he thought. Alice has been kidnapped. That just showed how rude people in London could be! Or she’d gone off without him. Or she’d ended up in some sewers. Hamish’s mum had been right to worry.
Hamish suddenly wished he’d brought a helmet.
Well, at least he was still at the coach station. He could just wait for the next bus back to Starkley and get straight on it. At least he could say he’d been to London, even if it was just the coach station. But what about Downing Street? What about Arcadian Lane?
And then . . .
‘Oy-OY!’ someone shouted, cheerfully. ‘Oy-OY!’
A tubby man was leaning from the window of a luminous green London taxi. The kind of green no one in their right mind would ever paint anything. All the other taxis were black – but not this one.
‘You called Hamish?’ shouted the man, who had enormous glasses, a big nose, a squat body and a thick thatch of hair bursting out of his ears.
‘Y-yes?’ said Hamish, uncertainly.
‘Got a mate of yours in the back!’ he said, and he sounded his horn twice, for effect. ‘Oy-OY!’
The back window rolled down to reveal Alice.
‘Come on, H,’ she said. ‘Hop in!’
‘I thought your uncle was p picking us up,’ said Hamish, bouncing round the cab as it roared off down Buckingham Palace Road.
‘Oh . . . yes,’ said Alice, hanging on to the hand grips. ‘He’s been delayed.’
‘So where’s the first stop?’ asked the driver, pushing his glasses up and turning his radio down.
‘Number ten Downing Street,’ said Alice. ‘It’s the Prime Minister’s house. Do you know it?’
‘Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of it,’ said the driver, whose identity badge read LEOPOLD BANNISTER.
‘Why is your taxi so green?’ asked Alice, and Hamish felt embarrassed.
‘Why shouldn’t it be green?’ said Leo. ‘You can’t just do the same as everybody else in life! You gotta stand out! Be yourself! What’s the point of just blending in?’
Hamish could hear the radio. Someone was talking about the Prime Minister’s New Pants Dance and whether showing your undies on live TV meant you shouldn’t really be Prime Minister any more . . .
‘Oh, rats,’ said Leo, suddenly jamming on the brakes.
They’d hit a traffic jam. Hamish could see nothing but cars, one after the other, right the way to the end of the street, all of them angrily beeping their horns.
‘I’ll take you on the scenic route,’ said Leo, putting the taxi into reverse, mounting the pavement and knocking over a bin. ‘No extra charge!’
Leo certainly gave them the scenic route. The little satnav on his dashboard kept trying to tell him which way to go and he kept hitting it and muttering.
They saw the London Eye.
St Paul’s Cathedral.
They passed Buckingham Palace, where they saw men in bearskin hats twirling their guns and stamping their feet.
They sped down Horse Guards Parade, and spotted soldiers on horseback, waving bright, shiny swords.
At Piccadilly Circus, dozens of teenage boys stared up blankly at a giant poster of Vapidia Sheen.
‘Saddos,’ said Alice.
But it was exciting to see all these famous buildings and places!
Soon they were at Trafalgar Square, where the big stone lions lay beneath the statue of Lord Nelson, and, in the distance, Hamish noticed a police van pulling up and bundling someone into the back. He’d never seen action like this in Starkley! Well, not since all the monsters left.
‘Oy-OY!’ yelled Leo. ‘So how come you two are in London all alone?’
‘We’re not really,’ said Hamish. ‘Alice’s Uncle Peter lives here, except he’s a bit busy being a policeman.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ said Leo. ‘Where’s Uncle Peter live?’
‘Um,’ said Alice, looking at the ceiling of the cab. ‘In an area called . . . Shaddington.’
‘Shaddington?’
‘Yes. Um, No. 4 Parsley Grove.’
‘Parsley Grove?’ said Leo, frowning. ‘I don’t know that one. What police station does he work at?’
‘Er . . . the main one?’ said Alice.
Hamish looked at her, suspiciously.
‘Oh, rats!’ said Leo once more, as they hit a right and pulled up at Downing Street.
Because there were people. Everywhere.
Some of the crowd held placards saying ‘WE DON’T WANT TO SEE YOUR PANTS!’ and chanted, as nervous-looking police officers held them back. Reporters from all over the country had set up TV cameras outside the famous black front door. A helicopter circled overhead, and more people arrived with signs saying things like and ‘PANTSGATE!’ and ‘WE WANT PANTSWERS! (answers)’.
It was impossible to get to the door. It seemed people wanted the Prime Minister to come out and explain himself and weren’t going to budge until he did.
‘Looks like you ain’t going to Downing Street today, kids,’ said Leo, sadly. ‘Anyway, that’s eleven pounds fifty.’
‘But it’s important,’ said Alice, staring out of the window at the crowds. ‘It’s important we get there!’
‘Important?’ said Leo.
‘Vital,’ she said. ‘We were invited. By the Prime Minister’s assistant.’
‘Was you now?’ said Leo, impressed. ‘What, that Canadian fella?’
‘Yes,’ said Alice. ‘Because my friend Hamish Ellerby here saved the world. Well, we both did. And the Prime Minister has made it very clear he wants to meet Hamish.’
‘Saved the world?’ said Leo. ‘Yeah, I heard something about that on the radio.’
‘There wouldn’t be a radio if it wasn’t for Hamish,’ said Alice. ‘Or a Big Ben, or tennis balls, or films, or snot, or a rubber industry, or luminous green taxi cabs taking scenic routes through London just so they can charge kids extra!’
Leo looked embarrassed. He’d been caught out. He thought about what Alice had said.
‘Well, if it’s that important . . .’ he said, with a grin, ‘I do know a back way . . .’
>
Ten Frowning Street
Do you know how long it takes to be a taxi driver in London?
‘It takes forever!’ said Leo, screeching round a corner at full speed. ‘My grandson put this computer box thingy in the car that’s always trying to tell me what to do! He thought it’d save me time, but it just winds me up!’
‘Go straight ahead,’ said the little satnav on his dashboard in a very posh voice.
‘I KNOW!’ shouted Leo. ‘I KNOW THE WAY!’
He kept trying to talk to it like it could hear him.
‘Go straight ahead,’ it said again, politely. ‘To that roundabout over there.’
‘I KNOW!’ shouted Leo, going quite red. ‘WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS?’
Hamish and Alice glanced at each other as they came to a roundabout. Did this madman really know a back way into Downing Street?
‘Continue round the roundabout,’ said the satnav, as Leo sighed.
‘Thing is, we train to be taxi drivers for years!’ said Leo.
‘Continue round the roundabout,’ said the satnav.
‘We have to learn every little nook and cranny of the city!’ he said.
‘Continue round the roundabout,’ said the satnav.
‘We have to know every side street, every bump in the road!’
‘Continue round the roundabout,’ said the satnav.
Alice nudged Hamish. They’d been going round and round this roundabout for ages. They’d just been going round in circles while Leo complained! The same statues kept passing by outside the window!
‘People think we can be replaced by robots!’ said Leo, shaking his head, lost in his thoughts. ‘It’s robots that’ll get us in the end!’
‘Continue round the roundabout,’ said the satnav.
‘We’ve been going in circles for ages,’ said Hamish. ‘Maybe we should . . .’
‘I KNOW!’ yelled Leo. ‘I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING!’
Moments later, on a road called The Mall, Leo took a sneaky left.
‘Horse Guards Road,’ he whispered. ‘Right, you two – get down. And don’t worry – like every cabbie, I’ve passed my Gift of the Gab test.’
Hamish and the Neverpeople Page 3
