Dirk gasped over his shoulder. ‘Crackling crystals, it’s worked! Strong as Samson!’
‘Just wait till I show everyone,’ giggled Matt. ‘All our worries are over.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that, old china. In fact, I’d say they were just beginning.’
Something smooth and cold tickled Matt’s ear. He turned round. The end of a gun popped up his nose.
‘Ullgfg,’ he said.
‘You finish those potions,’ Dirk growled, ‘and you finish ’em quick.’ He reached over to the desk and snatched Matt’s key to the door of Hair Science. ‘Otherwise,’ he snarled, backing towards the door, ‘the girlies get it.’ The door slammed. A key turned in the lock.
***
Back at home, Squashy Grandma’s stomach growled like distant thunder. She looked at the kitchen clock. Five past twelve. Should she wait for lunch? Everyone had rushed out in such a pickle this morning. Who knew when they’d be back?
She peered into the fridge. Nice bit of chicken. Just enough for one. She took it out and popped it onto a metal tray. Bending over, she opened the oven door. ‘Ooh, me lumbago.’ She rubbed her back.
What was Abbie up to? Probably hiding round at Perdita’s to get the wind up everyone. Grandma grinned. Just the sort of thing she’d have done at that age.
16 - Bottling up
‘Bags on the floor. And empty your pockets!’ Melliflua waved her pistol in the dazed faces.
‘Mell, what on earth – ?’ began Coriander.
‘I said bags down!’ Melliflua pointed to a patch of floor by the door.
Abbie wished she could stop wobbling. She wobbled to the door. With wobbly hands she wobbled her overnight bag off her wobbly shoulder. Mum did the same with her handbag, adding a whimper to her wobbles.
‘Pockets!’ barked Melliflua. ‘One at a time.’
On the floor went:
1) a big bunch of keys (Coriander)
2) three hedge trimmings (Perdita)
3) a cell phone, a pile of coins and a little book entitled Medieval Menus (Dad)
4) a pink comb and a tube of lipstick (Mum)
5) a blob of plasticine and half a plastic dinosaur (Ollie, with Dad’s help), and
6) the wrapper of a King Size Mars Bar (Abbie)
‘Now sit down!’ The pistol trembled in Melliflua’s hands.
Everyone fell on top of everyone else in their eagerness to obey. Melliflua scooped up the contents of the pockets and shoved them into Mum’s handbag. Then she slung Abbie’s and Mum’s bags over her shoulder and stood there, pointing the pistol at the pile of prisoners. There was a long silence, broken by Mum’s whimpers and Ollie’s whines – or was it the other way round?
Finally Perdita said, ‘W-what’s going on, Auntie?’
‘I’ll tell you what!’ Dirk reappeared in the doorway. He held his gun in one hand and a glass of something golden in the other. Probably not apple juice, thought Abbie.
‘Your father,’ he drawled at Perdita, ‘is about to make our fortune.’ He nudged Melliflua. ‘He’s getting somewhere with the Samson juice. I just saw a spider carry fifty times its weight!’
‘Marvellous, Dirkie.’ Melliflua’s voice had become higher and harsher. ‘And what timing! Matt has a breakthrough, Coriander walks into our arms, or rather firearms –’ she tittered – ‘and we walk off with the potions.’
Coriander stood up. ‘What potions?’ she whispered.
‘Down!’ barked Melliflua. ‘You know very well what potions.’
Coriander’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘You mean … ? No! Not Matt’s idea. You agreed with me it would cause nothing but trouble.’
‘Trouble for you, sweetie!’ Melliflua made a sound like water rushing over rocks. ‘We pretended to agree. It was a wonderful idea! Completely wasted on you and your miserable museum. And once we’d packed you off, we got Matt working on it. He was only too glad.’ She made a sound like ice being scraped off a windscreen. ‘Poor Mattiepoos. He thought you’d gone off in a huffy wuffy after your argie bargie. And that he’d win you back by making money for the museum.’
Perdita stared at her aunt. ‘So you did have Mum kidnapped,’ she said softly. ‘How could you Auntie?’
‘Oh very easily, my sweet. Very easily indeed.’ Melliflua glared at Coriander. ‘I’ve wanted you out of my hair –’ she tittered again – ‘for years, you great big goodie-goodie. Perfect daughter, brilliant student, darling wife, caring friend, fearless explorer – you’re enough to make a sister puke. I thought I’d seen the last of you. But thanks to Little Miss Meddler –’ she scowled at Abbie then back at Coriander – ‘here’s your chubby mug in front of me again. But no matter.’ A smile slithered across her face. ‘You’ve made things much simpler. We can deal with you all together now, can’t we, Dirkie?’
‘Indeed we can,’ sneered Dirk. ‘And as soon as Matt’s perfected a couple more potions, we’ll be off down Billionaire Boulevard.’ He gulped his drink and waved his gun. Not a good combination, thought Abbie.
‘Potions? What potions?’ cried Perdita. ‘Please Mum, explain!’
‘Go on, little sis,’ jeered Melliflua. ‘Tell her your hubbie’s brainwave. Or should I say hairwave?’
Cut the comedy, thought Abbie, just stick to nastiness.
Coriander put her head in her hands. ‘It’s the hair,’ she moaned. ‘All those bits of beard and eyebrow and fringe that I’ve collected from famous people in history. Real hair, made of real cells. Matt figured that inside those cells must be the genes – the building blocks – of those famous people. The seeds of what made them great.’
‘You mean their talents?’ gasped Abbie, beginning to understand.
‘You mean their abilities?’ cried Dad, rethinking history lessons.
‘You what?’ wailed Mum.
‘Their gifts, their qualities – call them what you will,’ said Coriander. ‘Matt thought there must be a way to extract them from the hair and –’
‘Bottle them,’ breathed Abbie, ‘and –’
‘Sell them,’ said Ollie.
Everyone stared at him. It was simple. It was beautiful. A five-year-old could follow it.
‘Only to help people of course,’ said Coriander, her eyes brilliant with tears. ‘A dose of Einstein’s brains for kids at the bottom of the class. A drop of Samson’s strength for those who’re bullied. A dash of Helen of Troy’s beauty for girls who never get dates.’ She sighed. ‘At least, that was Matt’s plan. And all the profits would go to the museum.’ She shook her head. ‘But I told him he was playing with fire. That such gifts are dangerous if you don’t handle them well.’ Tears were tumbling down her cheeks. ‘What’s the good of genius if you don’t use it for good? What’s the sense in strength if you just beat people senseless?’ She put her head in her hands. ‘What if those gifts get into the wrong hands?’
‘Like these, you mean?’ cackled Dirk, rubbing his. ‘Quivering quartz, we’ve got it made! Think what politicians will pay for a splash of Henry the Eighth’s scheming. What crummy actresses will cough up for a bottle of Helen’s beauty. What second-rate scientists will spend on a bite of Einstein’s brain.’ He guzzled more drink. ‘We’ll be dancing in dosh!’ He wiggled a red shoe. ‘Cavorting in cash!’ He pirouetted on his points. ‘Rolling in riches!’ He fell forward. Melliflua grabbed his arm. Together they lurched through the doorway. There was the sound of a key in a lock followed by footsteps stumbling upstairs.
***
Down in Hair Science Matt tried to wipe his nose on the desk. But the wood was already soaked with tears. How long had he been slumped there, cursing himself? What an idiot. So blind in his eagerness to make Coriander happy – and look what he’d done!
He sat up. What had he done? Finished the Samson juice. But none of the others. ‘And I never will,’ he vowed, spreading his palms firmly on the desk. ‘I’ll just pretend to. Because otherwise Dirk’ll finish us.’ He took a deep, brave breath. Then he burst into tears.
**
*
Grandma opened the oven door. What was that funny smell? She grabbed a tea towel and brought out the tray of chicken.
Oh no.
She scraped her black, singed wig off the chicken. It crumbled to ash. Must have fallen off when she put the chicken in.
Grandma sighed. Maybe she’d just have a cheese sandwich. Quarter to one. Where were they for Pete’s sake? And why hadn’t they phoned?
17 - Shot!
‘Oohh!’ moaned Mum, leaning against the empty yeti cage. ‘I’m having a nightmare. Wake me up.’ When no one did, she reconsidered. ‘Aahh – we’re going to die!’ Ollie clambered onto her lap. He buried his face in her shoulder. She clasped him close. He wiped his nose on her sleeve. ‘My third best blouse!’ she wailed.
Dad put his arm round her. ‘Forget your blouse, Sadie. And calm down. We’ve got to keep our heads.’
‘You right,’ said a hoarse voice. ‘To lose head ees no joke.’
‘Fernando!’ yelled Abbie. In all the excitement she’d forgotten about him. She ran over to his stand.
Perdita followed, leading Coriander by the hand. ‘Fernando,’ she said proudly, ‘this is my mum. She rescued you from the jungle.’
He snorted. ‘Rescue? She lose my ladylove!’
Coriander’s smile crumpled. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I didn’t know there was a hole in my bag.’
There was a scream. Mum was squashed against the wall, jabbing her finger at Fernando. ‘Euuchh – what is it? It’s talking!’
Fernando wrinkled his nose at her. ‘I have mouth, I have leeps – what you espect?’ Mum buried her face in Dad’s chest.
‘Pummel the penguins,’ cried Dad, ‘it’s a shrunken conk!’
Coriander stroked Fernando’s wiry hair. ‘You poor thing,’ she said. ‘You’ve been through a lot. Look at those split ends. As soon as we’re out of here I’ll give you a nice wash and trim.’
‘Out of here? Out of here?’ Mum shrieked like a parrot. ‘How do we get out of here?’
Coriander went over to the snivelling heap of Mum. She knelt down and patted her arm. ‘There’s always a way, dear,’ she said gently, fingering a plait. ‘We just have to find it. Now, come and say hello.’
Coriander took Mum’s hand and helped her up. She led her to the shrunken head. Dad and Ollie followed.
‘Fernando,’ said Coriander, ‘this is Abbie’s family.’
Without thinking Dad held out his hand. ‘Honoured to meet you, Sir.’ Fernando sniffed. Dad dropped his arm hurriedly. ‘Sorry. Er, I’m Graham. This is Sadie, my wife. And my son Ollie.’
Ollie reached out and touched Fernando’s nose. ‘Cool,’ he breathed.
Fernando’s face split into a smile. ‘The brother of Abbie? Then my brother too. You have fine seester. She leesten to me. She brave warrior.’
‘Cool,’ breathed Ollie again, fixing Abbie with wide eyes.
‘Er, sorry for our rudeness,’ said Dad, glancing at Mum, whose mouth was a perfect egg shape. ‘Had a bit of a
shock.’
‘I no surprise. The Auntie-Uncle, they bad business. They … shhh!’ Fernando stopped and cocked an ear. ‘Here again they come. So here again I go.’ His eyelids closed and his face went dead.
The barrel of a gun poked round the door. Dirk followed. He threw a bottle of water on the floor. ‘That’ll keep you going,’ he growled. ‘For now.’ He turned to go. ‘Oh,’ he said, turning back, ‘forgot to ask. Anyone hungry?’
‘Me,’ said Abbie automatically.
‘Good!’ Dirk roared with laughter and slammed the door again.
‘Rats!’ Abbie stamped her foot.
‘Rat,’ corrected Ollie. He pointed to the floor by the door.
It was more like a hairy grey footprint. Until, that is, it stood up and shook out its curls.
‘Chester!’ cried Abbie. Mum fainted. Dad caught her. He lowered her to the floor and sat down, cradling her head in his lap.
Chester jumped onto Abbie’s shoulder. She tickled him. ‘You brilliant thing,’ she murmured, ‘sneaking in under Dirk’s shoe. Did you get flattened?’ Chester stood up and puffed out his chest – if chest hair can have one. ‘Now,’ she continued, ‘where’s the door key?’ Chester wriggled into a question mark.
Abbie frowned. ‘What do you mean you don’t know?’ Chester dropped to the floor and tried to squeeze beneath her sandal.
‘He means,’ said Perdita, ‘that it’s hard to see anything when you’re stuck to the bottom of a shoe.’
Abbie groaned. ‘Oh great! So we’ll just have to wait here for Chess to search the whole of the museum – and the whole of Dirk – till he finds the key. By which time Matt will have finished the potions and your aunt and uncle will be waltzing down Billionaire Booly-whatsit.’ She plonked down onto the floor. ‘And all the greedy grasping people in the world will have greedily grasped those potions. So they’ll be even greedier and graspinger than before!’
‘Abbie,’ said Dad, ‘grammar.’
‘Gimme a break!’ she snapped. ‘Who cares about grammar when the world’s about to disappear up its own … greedery? We’ve got to stop this. Come on everyone, think!’
Everyone did, in their own way. Coriander tugged a plait, not realising it was Perdita’s. Perdita scraped her chin with her teeth. Dad stroked Mum’s head and recalled great escapes in history. Fernando sang a sad serenade. Mum opened her eyes and closed them again. Ollie tickled Chester. Chester curled into a ball and bounced round Ollie’s palm.
Abbie stared at him. She looked round the room, then up the wall to the high barred porthole window. ‘Does that window have glass in it?’ she asked, pointing.
‘No,’ said Perdita, ‘Dad hasn’t got round to it.’
‘It’s a long shot,’ murmured Abbie. Then she explained her idea.
‘Brilliant!’ shouted Perdita.
‘Wonderful!’ cried Coriander.
‘Si, si,’ agreed Fernando.
‘Hooray!’ cheered Ollie.
‘Worth a try,’ said Dad.
‘Mmnnff,’ mumbled Mum.
Dad found a clean tissue up Mum’s sleeve (Abbie was always amazed by her lack of snot). Chester found a pen by the empty yeti cage. Abbie wrote carefully on the tissue then scrunched it up. She laid it on top of Chester, who was lying flat on the floor. He curled himself round it in a ball shape.
Abbie picked him up. ‘You’re the coolest chest hair I’ve ever met,’ she said.
Mum opened an eye. ‘Did someone say chest hair?’ She closed it, giggling hysterically.
Dad stroked Bob. ‘Sssh, darling. You need to rest.’ Coriander sat down next to him. He eased Mum’s head gently onto her lap. Then he stood up. Chester jumped into his hand. ‘Ready, old thing?’ said Dad. ‘Brace yourself.’ He hurled the hairy ball at the window. Chester shot straight between the bars. Everyone cheered.
Coriander hugged Abbie. ‘You clever thing – we’re as good as free!’
Oh no we’re not, thought Abbie. You haven’t met Grandma.
***
Down in Hair Science Matt lifted the earwig out of the matchbox. ‘Quick,’ he whispered, putting it gently on the floor. ‘Run!’
The door burst open. Dirk swaggered over, gun in hand. ‘Where’s my Einstein juice then?’ He jabbed Matt’s shoulder with the gun.
‘There.’ Matt pointed a trembling finger at a little brown bottle on his desk. ‘I poured it on an earwig. Then I put a bit of pencil lead between its pincers. And look.’
He handed Dirk a scrap of paper. On it was written:
‘Sizzling sapphires!’ gasped Dirk. ‘You mean to say the earwig wrote this? What in the blazes does it mean?’
‘It’s, um, the formula for finding the circumference of an, um, elliptical, er, orbit round an, um, asteroidal, erm, electron quark. Pretty basic science.’
‘I know that, you moron!’ snapped Dirk, who was far too stupid to admit he didn’t understand a word. ‘What I mean is what does it mean for us? Is
the Einstein potion ready?’
‘Yes,’ murmured Matt.
Dirk grabbed the bottle. Then he smacked it down on the desk. ‘Wait a minute! How do I know you didn’t write this yourself, you pathetic pile of poop? Let me see the earwig do it.’
‘Sorry.’ Matt pointed to the empty matchbox. ‘It worked out a formula to escape.’
***
Grandma looked up from her crossword. Ten to four and still no sign. She shook her head. Youth of today – couldn’t keep time if it was nailed to their knickers.
There was a noise in the hall. At last. She shuffled out to meet the family, practising her grumpy face.
But there was no one there. Just a grey hanky with curls sticking through the letterbox. Grandma pulled it out. A crumpled tissue dropped out onto the mat. She picked it up. Neighbourhood prank. ‘Very bloomin’ funny,’ she muttered.
Hang on a sec. Those squiggles – could they be words? Where were her glasses? Ah yes, on their chain. She hoicked them onto her nose. A sandwich crust dropped onto the floor.
Dear Grandma, she read.
We’re at Perdita’s museum, locked up by her aunt and uncle. They’re forcing Mr Platt to make potions from famous people’s hair so they can rule the world blah blah. Go to the police. Bring them here. Take Chester. But disguise him. If the police find out he’s a piece of chest hair they’ll freak. Quick, Grandma, our lives are in danger.
Abbie.
Grandma sighed. ‘’Spose the crossword can wait.’ Then she looked at Chester, wriggling in her hand. ‘Didn’t recognise you, chuckie,’ she said. ‘Be a poppet and fetch me ’andbag.’ Chester flew into the kitchen. He dragged her bag into the hall and slung it over her shoulder.
‘Ta, love. ’Op on.’ She patted her wispy head. He jumped on top. ‘Snug as a bug,’ she murmured, smoothing him down and shuffling out the door.
18 - Waiting games
‘My head,’ moaned Mum. Bob rolled from side to side in Coriander’s lap.
‘Here, dear. Have some water.’ Coriander reached for the bottle that Dirk had thrown on the floor.
‘Wait,’ shouted Abbie. ‘It could be poison!’
Dead Hairy Page 11
