‘Where exactly?’ said Sergeant Farrow.
‘In the garden, I think,’ said Bee.
He scanned our faces before he continued. ‘There’s been a complaint about the noise coming from this house. And suggestions of a fight.’ I knew he thought it was us. If only Bodger and Teapot and that lot hadn’t just left.
‘Sorry,’ said Jonno. ‘It wasn’t us.’
‘Of course it wasn’t,’ said Sergeant Farrow. ‘It was all the other people in the house.’ He made a point of looking behind us for all the non-existent people. ‘Shall we see if we can find that brother?’
We moved aside to let the two of them in. Bee went to the kitchen, they followed and we trailed behind. No whispering, no funny looks. I don’t know about the others but I was thinking about the Three Strikes Law – we’d lost the dog, stolen Probably Rose and were guilty of being in a noisy house. Did that mean we were in big young-offenders’-institute-type trouble?
Louis came in the back door at the same time as Bee stepped into the kitchen from the hall. He saw the uniforms. They saw him.
‘Well, well, another familiar face,’ said Sergeant Farrow.
Louis went beetroot, worse than the raspberry colour I go. ‘What’s up?’ he said.
‘The same thing I was called here for a few months ago as I remember – a disturbance, reported by your neighbour.’
‘It’s all over,’ said Louis. ‘It was just some friends.’
‘Like last time. A few high spirits, was it?’
‘That’s right.’ Louis’s face darkened to maroon. ‘Sorry.’
‘So you probably think we should just let it go, do you?’
‘We’d be very grateful,’ said Bee. ‘It’s my birthday.’ As she said birthday her face crumpled up. It hadn’t exactly been a brilliant day.
‘Well, I’m afraid that’s not quite how it works. Let’s take some names and addresses, shall we?’ My heart accelerated to maximum speed ready to burst out and run away up the street on its own.
The woman police officer got out a pad and asked who lived at the address. Only Bee answered. When Louis explained that he didn’t live there any more things got worse.
‘I think I’d better make a call. Is there a number I can get your parents on, Bee?’
Bee hesitated, but she had no choice. She told him her dad’s mobile number. The police sent the Tribers (plus Lily) to sit in the living room. We waited in complete silence – not a sponsored one, a scared one.
Over and Out
Bee’s mum and dad came home in a taxi. We heard the brakes, the car doors open and slam, Bee’s dad pay the taxi driver and the key in the door. It made me realise that with the volume up so high the neighbours probably heard as much of The Italian Job as we did, as well as the banging, crashing and breaking glass. What was the breaking glass?
The footsteps went from the front door along the hall to the kitchen. And then there was shouting. It was Bee’s mum. And she was livid. It was half Italian, half English so I got the idea, but not the detail. That was probably good. I really wanted to go home. None of us were talking. And the delicious tea seemed like it happened days ago.
There was another knock on the door. We all sat up a bit taller, like mongooses on high alert. I heard a voice that sounded familiar – it was Copper Pie’s dad.
‘Bee’s mum must have rung our parents,’ whispered Fifty.
Copper Pie’s dad came straight into the living room. ‘Time to go home,’ he said.
‘Bye,’ shouted C.P. His dad nudged him. ‘Thank you, Bee.’
My dad came next. Our departure wasn’t quite so quick. Dad did a diversion via the kitchen to talk to Sergeant Farrow. ‘Good evening,’ said Dad.
I stood behind him, stared at the floor and tried to work out how many tiles there were altogether. Louis must have told them all that it wasn’t the Tribers who were to blame, which was a relief. Dad spent a few minutes murmuring stuff that was meant to help the situation, and then he said the magic words, ‘We’ll be off, then.’
Absolutely, I thought. I said, ‘Thank you for the lovely tea’ to Bee’s mum and we scarpered. Well, I did. Dad walked normally. I was in such a hurry to get out I didn’t even say goodbye to the Tribers.
Saturday
I woke up, pleased to be in my own bed knowing I could talk all day if I liked, or not speak at all, and, assuming no one lost a dog, or a sister, or had a noisy party, I could avoid any more run-ins with the police. But my next thought was about Bee. About how she had a rubbish party. The thought didn’t last long – it wasn’t my fault, it was her brothers’. I was soon daydreaming about freshly waxed boards riding massive waves that went on forever. My phone rang – it was Jonno.
‘Keener, I’ve been thinking about Bee. She didn’t have a very good birthday, so I thought we could try again. I thought we could have a surprise Tribe party in the Tribehouse.’ I was about to answer but he carried on. ‘I’ve called Fifty – he’s cool. So’s Copper Pie.’
‘And so am I,’ I said.
‘Good. So, we’re meeting at the Tribehouse at twelve o’clock. Ask your mum to donate something for the party. My dad’s given me a piñata. It’s a star. He brought it back from Mexico. It’s real. See you later.’ He’d gone. I lay there wondering what a ‘real’ piñata was.
Eventually I smelt bacon – that meant Dad had started breakfast duty. It’s his Saturday job. I get brought a bacon sarnie that I eat in front of the computer before it’s time to go to my swimming lesson. Amy has French toast with Marmite in bed. Flo has fried egg and potato waffles in front of the telly before she goes to ballet. Mum has tea, a big pot, in bed with the magazine from the paper. Dad has bacon, egg and beans and reads the other bits of the paper. We always set off late and get there just in time, thanks to nifty short cuts.
At the pool I remembered I was meant to be bringing something for the party. I asked Dad to call Mum and ask her if she could find some party snacks and drinks for me to pick up later. ‘Will do,’ said Dad. ‘After I’ve dropped Flo.’ Dad goes for a large cappuccino while I’m doing 30-second lengths and Flo’s messing about in a tutu.
I checked every single locker before and after swimming, looking for forgotten pounds to put towards my mountain-board fund. It was one of my worst mornings – only one measly pound coin. My best is eight.
Dad dropped me at Fifty’s early. The Tribehouse was empty so I went up to the house.
‘Hello, Keener,’ shouted Fifty’s mum – the radio was on quite loud. She turned it down. I think she’d been dancing because she was panting.
‘Is Fifty here?’ I asked.
‘No, but he will be soon. He’s gone to get me the paper. His dad’s got a wedding today,’ (Fifty’s dad has two jobs – he does wedding photographs as well as being a postman) ‘and Rose is asleep so I’m stranded.’ She smiled. She’s always nice. ‘Come and sit down.’ I sat on a stool. My legs dangled.
‘Did Fifty tell you about the party?’ I asked.
‘He did. And I think it’s an excellent way to make up for yesterday’s disappointment. In fact, I’ve got an idea. Let’s decorate the hut.’
Whether I thought it was a good idea or not wouldn’t have mattered. Fifty’s mum was off. She got on her knees and all sorts of stuff came flying out of her cupboards. She bundled it all up, told me to get the Blu-Tack and the Sellotape, grabbed the baby monitor and off we went down the garden.
‘Find the other end of the bunting, will you, Keener?’ I gave her a blank look. She pointed at the triangular flags on a string. It took a while to untangle them but by the time Fifty came through the Tribe flap we’d wound a line of flags all the way round the hut and were on to the tinsel.
‘That’s for Christmas, Mum,’ said Fifty.
‘There are no rules, Fifty.’ She tossed him some. ‘Hang it from the string.’ He did. It looked like there were shiny caterpillars crawling down the walls. Bee was going to love it.
‘Can we pick some of them?’ I asked, pointing to a loa
d of flowers growing at the bottom of the garden (which is like a wilderness).
‘Poppies? Yes, why not. Let’s bunch them up and hang them from the bunting too.’ Some grizzling came from the baby monitor. Fifty’s mum was having too much fun to bother with Rose. ‘Get your sister for me, darling.’
Fifty went off to get his favourite person in the whole world. We did the poppies. I got a text from Bee, but I didn’t know what to tell her so I ignored it.
‘That’s brilliant,’ said a mass of fluffy hair. It was Jonno, wriggling awkwardly through the flap. He was holding the piñata and a plate. ‘Take this, Keener.’ I relieved him of the plate. It was food – little pastry-looking things.
‘That looks nice,’ said Fifty’s mum.
‘Dad did it,’ said Jonno. ‘And he gave me this piñata.’ Jonno held up an orange star-shape. ‘It’s a proper one from Mexico, made of clay, but there’s nothing in it, and I haven’t got a stick.’
‘We need to fill it up then,’ said Fifty’s mum.
‘Dad said they used to fill them with nuts and fruit,’ said Jonno.
‘Good idea,’ she said.
‘No way,’ said Fifty, coming down the garden holding Rose. ‘It’s a party. We need sweets.’
‘Yes,’ said Rose. She’s just like her brother – sugar-mad. It’s because in their house everything’s organic and chewy and made from brown rice.
‘I could bring some over later,’ I said. ‘What time is the party?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Jonno. ‘I haven’t invited Bee yet. She texted me earlier but I wasn’t sure what to tell her.’
‘Same,’ said Fifty. ‘You can’t invite someone to their own surprise.’
Rose stuck two fingers up Fifty’s nose.
‘Don’t do that, Rose. You’re all sticky.’ Fifty put her down on the grass. She stood there for a few seconds and then flopped back onto her fat nappy. She put her arms up – that means pick me up. They only reached the top of her head. I’d hate to have arms that short.
‘We don’t have to invite her. We’ll just tell her we’re meeting here.’
‘OK. What time?’
‘You said twelve o’clock,’ said the redhead, wriggling awkwardly through the Tribe flap. It was Copper Pie, holding two plastic bags and a Quality Street tin.
‘What time tonight,’ said Jonno. ‘Not now.’
‘Take the tin,’ said Copper Pie. Inside there was a chocolate cake with roses made of white chocolate on the top and Bee written in dark chocolate.
‘Your mum never did that,’ I said. Copper Pie’s mum is absolutely not the sort of person to spend hours decorating a cake.
‘Same,’ said Fifty.
‘She did. She said the least she could do was make an effort for Bee as her party was busted by the cops.’ Copper Pie grinned as he said that – I think he liked the idea that we were busted.
‘What’s in the bags?’ asked Jonno.
‘Party stuff from the nursery.’ Copper Pie dumped one bag down. ‘And junk food.’ Down went the other one. Copper Pie’s mum had sent him round with plastic cups, plates, bowls, straws, candles for the cake, party poppers, serviettes and balloons. There were also crisps, two packs of biscuits (party rings and wafers), a bottle of blackcurrant squash and two packs of mini-pork pies (C.P.’s favourites).
We blew up the balloons and tied them round the door. Fifty’s mum fetched a rug to put on the Tribehouse floor, but when we laid everything out on it there was no room for bodies. We brought the rug back outside, picnic-style. Keeping Rose away from the biscuits was tricky so Fifty’s mum took her up to the house for lunch. I was pretty hungry too.
‘We still haven’t decided what time,’ I said.
‘What about five o’clock?’ said Fifty.
We all said ‘OK,’ at the same time. Five o’clock it was. I disappeared off home for lunch, and to see what Mum had got for me to bring to the party. It was going to be good.
Better and Better
It was getting better and better. At lunch (sausages in baguettes) Dad said, ‘I could fix a net to the ceiling of the Tribehouse and fill it with helium balloons, if you like?’ Absolutely, I like! He did that for Flo’s birthday.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘Is there some helium left?’ asked Mum.
‘We’ve got enough for a dozen balloons or so, I should think.’ Dad winked at me. Mum has no idea what Dad buys on the internet. There are three canisters of helium in the cupboard in the attic – it’s Dad’s private store.
Mum had made a plate of sandwiches for the party, with all my favourite fillings. She’d cut them into shapes like she did when we were little. She’d also made strawberry jelly and sprinkled hundreds and thousands over it.
‘What time’s the party?’ asked Dad.
‘Five o’clock.’
‘So if I come with you at four that should give us time to set up,’ said Dad. I texted Fifty to say we were coming over early. He texted back: don’t forget sweets for pinata.
I raided the treat box – sorted.
Almost Five O’Clock
While I’d been at home, lots had happened at Fifty’s. There was country-dancing-type music playing in the garden (quite loud – I hoped Sergeant Farrow wasn’t doing his rounds), cushions round the rug for seating, and Fifty’s mum was still decorating. The Tribehouse had a blown-up and photocopied photo of Bee with Doodle on the door, a Happy Birthday banner along the side, and apples and oranges all along the ridge where the roof joins the walls. It looked made-up, like a gingerbread house, which reminded me of the Gingerbread Man story that Dad used to tell Flo when she sat on his shoulders.
Dad used the staple gun to attach the balloon net while I began the balloon filling. It’s boring so I did about five and then let Fifty have a go. When Jonno arrived he took over and Fifty filled the piñata with the goodies I’d collected. Dad hung it up from a branch. Copper Pie came last. By ten to five we were all ready and waiting – four Tribers, my dad, Fifty’s mum and Rose.
THINGS WRONG WITH ‘THE GINGERBREAD MAN’
If someone heard a cookie shouting ‘Let me out. Let me out,’ from inside the oven, they wouldn’t let it out, they’d faint, or call the BBC and get famous for baking a talking biscuit.
A gingerbread man would be no match for a cow or a horse or a pig or whatever else chased it. And it would get soggy as it ran in the wet grass and lose its feet, then its knees, etc.
The fox wouldn’t carry the Gingerbread Man all the way across the river, it would dunk him straightaway and eat him soggy.
‘I’ll just wait and see her face when she realises it’s her party all over again,’ said Dad.
‘What shall we do when she comes?’ said Fifty.
‘Say Happy Birthday,’ said Jonno.
‘Say Surprise!’ said Fifty’s mum.
‘Hide in the Tribehouse and shout Boo! when she opens the door.’ That was my suggestion.
‘But she’ll see the decorations,’ said Jonno.
‘And the rug,’ said Dad.
‘And the grub,’ said Copper Pie.
‘Same,’ said Fifty. He looked at his watch. ‘She’s late.’
I looked at Jonno. ‘You told her five o’clock, didn’t you?’
Jonno looked behind him as though I was talking to someone standing on his heels. He looked back at me. ‘I didn’t tell Bee anything,’ he said. ‘I thought you . . .’ He didn’t bother finishing the sentence. He hadn’t told her. And he could tell from my face that I hadn’t either, and so could everyone else. Just great!
‘Who’s going to call her?’ said Jonno.
‘I will,’ said Fifty. He held his phone to his ear for a while. ‘No answer.’
‘Try again,’ said Copper Pie. He tried again. I tried too.
‘Try her home phone,’ said Fifty’s mum. We waited in complete silence.
‘Hello, it’s Fifty. Is Bee there?’ There was a pause. I assumed whoever had answered the phone had gone to get Bee.
‘Oh, right. I understand. Yes. Sorry.’ We all stared at Fifty waiting to hear what Oh, right, I understand, Yes, Sorry, meant.
‘Bee’s in her room,’ he said. He looked worried. ‘She told her mum that she texted all of us and no one texted back so she doesn’t want to see us.’
Fifty’s face looked how I felt. Bee first party was ruined, and now she thought we were all ignoring her, so she was missing her surprise party. If only I’d answered her text, I thought. I bet I wasn’t the only one thinking that.
‘Ring her back,’ said Fifty’s mum. ‘Explain what happened. Tell her about the surprise if you have to.’
‘You do it, Jonno,’ said Fifty.
‘OK.’ Jonno got his phone out. He walked down the garden into the wilderness bit. We all wanted to hear but he obviously didn’t want us to listen. I didn’t blame him. I’m useless on the phone – although not as bad as Copper Pie who doesn’t seem to know when it’s his turn to talk. Jonno turned back round to face us almost straight away.
‘She won’t speak to me,’ he said. ‘Bee’s mum says she won’t open her bedroom door.’
It was a crisis. We’d tried to make things better but, because me and Jonno had got confused about who was telling her, we’d made things worse.
‘What shall we do?’ Fifty asked his mum.
‘Shall I have a word with Bee’s mum?’ We all nodded. Even Dad. ‘Back in a tick,’ she said. She scooped up Rose, marched up the garden and disappeared into the kitchen. We all waited. The Tribehouse looked like it was waiting too. And if she didn’t come, the fruit would rot and the flowers would droop and the rain would wash away the photo and the tinsel would lose its shine and its fringy bits and the flags would fade. It would be like Cinderella at midnight, just ordinary again.
I sat on the ground with my head on my knees.
A Party Without The Guest Of Honour
Nothing happened for ages. No one spoke. Fifty’s mum didn’t reappear. Bee didn’t appear. There was no lightning or thunder, no eclipse of the sun, no meteor, no rainbow, no mass migrations of geese or invasion of flying ants. I decided to hold my breath for a while. Maybe if I could hold it in long enough something would happen, I thought. That was a dangerous thought because I used to hold my breath when I was younger and end up going blue and fainting. I didn’t do it on purpose – it just happened when I was scared or had a shock. Amy said I did it to get my own way but that wasn’t true. Anyway, I had a go . . . but I didn’t last long. I didn’t seem to be able to stop my body from taking a breath – it did it on its own. I tried a few times but I kept taking a breath without meaning to.
Labradoodle on the Loose Page 7
