The Tale of Angelino Brown

by David Almond

  “Indeed, ma chère!” says Ms Monteverdi. She flaps her arms. “Angelino! Could you flutter to the dear Chief Inspector?”

  He does. He flies right over the heads of the laughing kids towards the Chief Inspector of Schools. He lands on Nancy’s shoulder and sits there and looks into the eyes of Bruno Black.

  “Aye-aye, kidder,” he says in his nice light voice.

  “This is the Very Important Chief Inspector,” says Nancy.

  Angelino grins. Ms Monteverdi comes to Nancy’s side.

  “Bet you’ve not seen nowt like him before,” says the Art teacher.

  “Saw not seen,” mutters Bruno Black. “Nothing not nowt.”

  He scribbles in his book.

  “Aren’t you a lucky bloke,” says Ms Monteverdi, “to meet such a creature on the day of your inspection?”

  Angelino farts.

  The Chief Inspector glares and scribbles in his book again.

  “What are you writing?” asks Ms Monteverdi.

  “Notes,” says Bruno. “Details of the things what I have saw in here.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like flying angels. Like kids which think it is OK to laugh at Chief Inspectors. Like teachers what don’t know manners, nor grammar. Like things that lead to deep, deep trouble.”

  “Oh, Chief Inspector! Have a smile, pet. Have a laugh. We like a laugh here, don’t we, children?”

  “Yes, Ms Monteverdi!” call the children.

  “The problem with poor Mr Donkin,” says Ms Monteverdi, “was that he wouldn’t have a laugh, a joke, a bit of carry-on.” She lowers her voice. “It’s the trouble with Mrs Mole, too…”

  “That,” declaims the Chief Inspector, “is because they are Important People with Important Jobs to do. Just as I, Bruno Black the Chief Inspector of Schools, have too. Enough of all this nonsense. Take away this silly angel. Continue to teach. I will continue with…”

  Ms Monteverdi reaches out and strokes Bruno’s brow.

  “You’ve a few hairs out of place here, love.”

  She smooths them back into place. Bruno goes all dreamy for a moment, then snaps himself out of it.

  “Enough!” he declares.

  Ms Monteverdi goes back to her happy children. Angelino takes flight and goes back to his paint-pot plinth. Bruno starts the shading Nancy suggested. Then he stops, and quickly scribbles a note to himself:

  NO! STOP WASTING TIME, KEVIN!

  He crosses out KEVIN and replaces it with BRUNO BLACK.

  PHONE THE BOSS! he scribbles.

  He takes out his phone. He calls the Boss. The Boss answers.

  “Good afternoon, Boss!” says Bruno in a very loud voice.

  The teacher and the children turn to him in surprise.

  “I am phoning the Boss,” he tells them. “I am reporting my once-over to him direct. So you better be on your best behaviour. Better watch your grammar. There’d better be no more nonsense or you might be the next one for the chop!”

  Ms Monteverdi laughs. So do the children. Angelino flutters into the air and they all gasp and paint and draw.

  Bruno lowers his voice, covers his mouth as he speaks.

  “Artists,” he hisses. “We could sell him to an artist, Boss. They’d give anythin’ to have a proper angel to paint.”

  “Good thinkin’, K,” says the Boss. “And I’m already talkin’ to a vicar, a bishop, two priests and a football manager from Italy. They’ve not seen through you, then?”

  “No, Boss. They suspect nothin’, Boss. I’m a Chief Inspector of Schools now, Boss.”

  “Congratulations. You are indeed a Master of Disguise, K. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

  “No, Boss. I’m lookin’ at him right now, Boss.” The classroom door opens. “Got to go, Boss. There’s some custard just arrived.”

  And it has. Betty’s coming through the door with a tray of chocolate cake and a jug of custard left over from dinner. She often brings extras to lovely Ms Monteverdi’s Art room for the children. And there’s a special delight for her today, of course, because Angelino will be there. She’s beaming brightly as she enters.

  “Chocolate cake and custard!” she announces.

  Then she stops. She looks at the School Inspector. Her smile grows even wider and even brighter.

  “Hello, Kevin!” she cries. “Why aren’t you at school?”

  Next thing we know, Chief Inspector Bruno Black is out of the Art room door, down the corridor, out of the school front door and running full pelt across the yard towards the gates with Mrs Mole and Samantha Cludd in hot pursuit. They can’t catch up. Bruno’s legs are long and fast. But when he reaches the gates he finds they’re locked, so up he climbs over the fence, and down he jumps to the other side and off he goes across the road until he disappears. Ms Monteverdi and the Art class watch it all from the window. Angelino flutters above their heads and squeaks with the excitement of it all. The kids urge Mrs Mole to run faster, faster, faster!

  “Caramba!” calls Jack Fox. “Fantástico! Lift them knees up, Mrs Mole!”

  Alice Obi grins.

  “I knew it,” she says.

  Mrs Mole and Samantha Cludd lose sight of Bruno Black.

  Back they dash towards the school.

  Betty hurries out to meet them.

  “Ee,” she says to the Acting Head Teacher, “what on earth was Kevin Hawkins doing here?”

  Mrs Mole slaps her forehead.

  “Yes!” she says. “Hawkins! I knew I’d seen him before!”

  “But what was he doing here?” says Betty.

  She counts on her fingers.

  “I’m sure he should still be at school.”

  “At school?” snaps Mrs Mole. “He said he was a School Inspector. He said he was the Chief Inspector!”

  “Well, he’s done very well for himself,” says Betty.

  “But he wasn’t an Inspector,” says Samantha. “He was an Impostor. And he said his name was Bruno Black.”

  “Why on earth would he do that?” Betty shakes her head. “Ee, he was such a canny bairn.”

  “A canny bairn?” says Mrs Mole. “Right from the start I knew that boy would come to no good! Samantha, call the police! Tell them A Monster Is On the Loose.”

  When Betty and Angelino get home after school, Betty starts making Bert’s favourite: shepherd’s pie with carrots and cabbage and lots of gravy. It’s not the kind of food for Angelino, so she makes him a little bowl of raspberry jelly with banana yogurt and three midget gems on top.

  It’s dark when Bert comes through the door, and the stars are starting to shine.

  Bert kisses Betty. He pats Angelino’s little head.

  “I went for a pint with Sam,” he says.

  “That’s nice,” says Betty.

  “I told him about our Angelino.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he sounded nice. He said he’d like to meet him. He said he was very happy for us.”

  “That’s nice. I’ve made your favourite, Bert. Can you smell it?”

  “I can, pet. Can’t wait to get stuck in.”

  They sit down to have their tea. Angelino sits on a baked beans tin and holds his bowl on his lap. He dips the midget gems into the yogurt and licks the yogurt off and he hums a little bit.

  “He’s getting bigger,” says Bert.

  “I know,” says Betty. “I’ll have to make him some new clothes. That dress is like a miniskirt. And you’ll never guess what we’ve got to tell you, Bert.”

  “What’s that, then?”

  She bites her lip and widens her eyes and says, “He’s learning to talk, Bert!”

  “Never in the world! What’s he saying?”

  “Go on, Angelino,” prompts Betty. “Tell Bert what you say.”

  Angelino puts his midget gem down. He licks his lips. He takes a breath and he says, “I don’t know nowt and I don’t know who I am.”

  Bert is speechless.

  “What do you think of that?” says
Betty.

  “It’s amazing,” says Bert. “Well done, son. I’m very proud of you.”

  Betty grins.

  “Didn’t I say he would be, Angelino?” she says.

  Angelino looks pleased.

  Bert shakes his head in wonder.

  “Ms Monteverdi taught him that,” says Betty. “And he’s learning to write.”

  “Well, I never,” says Bert. “What a clever lad!”

  “And even more!” Betty tells him.

  “What more could there be?” says Bert.

  “Flying!” says Betty. “Angelino can fly!”

  Bert laughs.

  “Of course he can!” he says. “He’s an angel. He must be able to fly. Go on then, little’n. Give us a whirl.”

  Betty flaps her arms to encourage him. Angelino flaps his wings, and up he rises over the table and over the shepherd’s pie and the midget gems and the jelly. Down he comes again.

  “Ee,” says Betty. “Don’t they grow up fast?”

  Bert laughs and laughs.

  “What a bloomin’ wonder!” he says.

  He gets stuck into his shepherd’s pie. Angelino licks and nibbles and hums. Betty eats and eats and smiles. She gives Bert a bowl of jelly and yogurt for himself.

  “Do you remember a lad called Kevin Hawkins?” she says.

  “Can’t say that I do.”

  “He was a bairn at St Michael’s Infants when I worked there.”

  “Aye?”

  “Aye. He’s telling people he’s a School Inspector.”

  “He’s done well for himself.”

  “That’s what I said. Seems he’s not, though.”

  “No? Ah, well. So what clothes are you going to make for Angelino?”

  “I thought mebbe some jeans. And one of those nice checky shirts the kids wear these days.”

  “That’d be nice. You’ll put holes in, for his wings?”

  “Aye. And I’ll make some shoes out of those bits of leather in the drawer upstairs. Won’t he look lovely?”

  “He’ll look champion,” says Bert. He laughs. “Mind you, the rate he’s growing, you’ll soon be making him another set.”

  “I know,” says Betty. “Kids, eh?”

  She winks at Angelino.

  “Aye-aye, kidder,” he says.

  When they’ve all finished they sit on the sofa and put the telly on. Angelino’s on Betty’s lap. It’s the news, and straightaway there’s Mrs Mole.

  “It’s Mrs Mole!” cries Betty. “Look, Angelino, there’s the Acting Head Teacher!”

  She’s at the school gates in her green coat talking about the Impostor Bruno Black who deceived his way into school today. Samantha Cludd is at her side, wearing a clean headscarf and big earrings.

  “It was a dastardly act!” says Mrs Mole. “The Fake Inspector needs to be caught!”

  Then Professor Smellie appears. His hair is brushed very straight.

  “I have never been so insulted in my life,” he says. “He called me – and I can hardly utter the words – a hairy ungrammatical deceiver!”

  “Ungrammatical?” says the reporter. “That’s rather strong!”

  “And,” says the Professor, “he attempted to have me sacked! And indeed I was sacked!”

  “Sacked?”

  “Yes. By the Acting Head Teacher herself!”

  “But quickly un-sacked,” puts in Mrs Mole, “once the truth about the villain was known.”

  “And what is the truth?” asks the reporter.

  “The truth, sir,” says Mrs Mole, “is that the Fake Inspector Bruno Black once went by the name of Hawkins. Kevin Hawkins.”

  “And who saw through this fakery, Mrs Mole?”

  “It was our School Cook, Mrs Betty Brown. She recognized the Monster from the very start.”

  “Eee!” says Betty. “She said Betty Brown! I’m on the telly!”

  But then she shakes her head.

  “That’s just daft,” she says. “Fancy calling a lad like Kevin a monster. There’s monsters enough in the world without tarring daft lads with the same daft brush.”

  “You’re right, pet,” says Bert.

  At that instant, there’s a rapping at the door.

  When Bert opens it, two huge and helmeted policemen are standing there.

  “The name is Ground,” says the largest policeman once they are inside and sitting massively on Bert and Betty’s little sofa. He taps his helmet and points to the stripes on his sleeve. “Sergeant Ground. And my colleague here is PC Boyle.”

  The policemen remove their helmets and rest them on their knees. Boyle is very bald. He holds a notebook in his hand.

  “We are here,” says Sergeant Ground, “to talk about a certain Kevin…”

  “Hawkins, Sarge,” says Boyle.

  “Indeed, Hawkins,” says Ground. “What can you tell us about him, Mrs Brown?”

  “Well,” says Betty. Her voice is wobbling slightly. She finds it difficult to speak in the presence of two policemen.

  “Would you like some jelly?” she asks.

  “No thank you, madam. We would like some…”

  “Clues,” says Boyle.

  “Exactly,” says Ground. “You knew Kevin in the past, I believe.”

  “Yes, sir,” says Betty. “In St Michael’s Infants.”

  “And did he have the makings of a criminal back then?”

  “Oh no, he was nice as ninepence.”

  “Nice?”

  “Yes, sir. Daft as a brush sometimes, of course.”

  “Daft as a brush?”

  “Easily led, sir. It got him into all kinds of bother.”

  The policemen both narrow their eyes.

  “Bother?” says Boyle.

  “Explain yourself, madam,” says Ground.

  “Well,” says Betty. “If somebody said, ‘Climb onto the school roof, Kevin,’ he’d climb onto the school roof. If somebody said, ‘Bring a bucket of frogs into school,’ he’d bring a bucket of frogs into school.”

  “Doesn’t sound nice as ninepence to me, madam,” says Sergeant Ground.

  He looks very stern.

  “Are you noting this down, Boyle?”

  “Yes, Sarge,” says Boyle. “Daft as a brush. Bucket of frogs.”

  PC Boyle finishes writing, then turns to the table and stares at Angelino. Angelino stares back.

  “Aye-aye, kidder,” says Angelino.

  Boyle jumps. Ground stares at the angel for a moment too.

  “Concentrate, Boyle! Do not be…”

  “Distracted,” says Boyle.

  He blinks and continues to make notes.

  “Tell us more,” says Ground.

  “He loved my toad in the hole,” says Betty.

  “He’s not the only one,” says Bert. “You’ve tasted nowt like my Betty’s toad in the hole.”

  Ground sighs.

  “We need facts, madam,” he says. “Toad in the hole is not relevant. We need facts that will help us track down this monster. Have there been any previous instances of fakery and impostory and…”

  “He was an angel once!” says Betty, suddenly remembering.

  “An angel?”

  “Yes. Not a real one, of course. Not like our Angelino.”

  “Angelino?”

  “Yes, our angel. That’s him on the table.”

  The two policemen slowly turn their heads to look again at Angelino. The angel leans against his baked beans tin, nibbles a midget gem and looks straight back at them.

  “In the school Christmas play,” continues Betty. “He was swinging from the rafters over Jesus and Mary and Joseph. That’s where they put him to keep him out of bother. Ee, I can see him now. Daft little Kevin flapping his wings!” She giggles. “And then down he falls – crash bang wallop – right into the crib!”

  “Typical,” mutters Boyle. “Little monster!”

  “No damage done,” Betty assures him. “Snapped wing, that’s all. Course his parents weren’t there to see him.”

&nbs
p; “Fed up with his daft-as-a-brush antics, no doubt,” says Ground.

  “Oh no,” says Betty. “The mother would be swanning about with that fishmonger called Larry. And the father, well, he was always too fond of the Drunken Duck.” She shakes her head. “Poor Kevin.”

  “Poor Kevin?”

  “Yes, sir. After all, he’ll still be hardly more than a bairn. What is he, fifteen, sixteen? Shouldn’t he still be in school? Has he been thrown out?”

  “It appears, madam,” says Sergeant Ground, “that he has thrown himself out. It appears that he has not attended school these past six months. It appears that he had disappeared from the face of the Earth.”

  Betty claps her hand across her mouth.

  “From the face of the Earth?” she says.

  “Yes, madam. And now we suspect that he has been hiding away in the criminal underworld until this moment, when he has re-emerged as a moustachioed Bloke in Black. He has become a Fake Chief Inspector of Schools. And now he has become…”

  Sergeant Ground pauses, he takes a deep breath and then speaks in a Deep and Serious voice.

  “He has become A Monster On the Run.”

  “A monster?”

  “Yes. But he will not outrun the Long Arm of the Law. He will never outrun Ground and Boyle. He will… Have you anything else to tell us about him?”

  Betty thinks.

  “Well, he was a very good runner. He could spit further than any of the other boys. He loved dressing up in the school plays. He could imitate all the teachers’ voices…”

  “A veritable Master of Disguise,” mutters Sergeant Ground.

  “Yes, sir,” agrees Betty. “And he could…”

  “Could what?”

  “Well, it’s a bit embarrassing, sir.”

  “Spit it out, woman. We need the facts.”“He could break wind in tune, sir.”

  “He could what in what?”

  “He could fart like he was playing a little trumpet, sir.”

  The Sergeant flinches.

  “‘Away in a Manger’, sir. He could play that. And ‘We Three Kings’. He was doing that just before he fell, in fact.”

  The Sergeant stares.

  Boyle whistles ‘We Three Kings’.

  “That’s how it goes, Sarge,” he says to the Sergeant.