Monkey and Me

by David Gilman

  “But what about the jokes?” Rocky said.

  “All you have to do is make sure she can see your lips,” I said, trying to make things easier for Tracy’s membership. “She’s got a great sense of humour.”

  “How would you know?” Mark said all miserable-like, still irritated because everything was my fault.

  “Because she wants to join the gang. How funny is that?”

  The realisation crept over them like a measles rash. Skimp smiled. Rocky grunted and Pete-the-Feet actually chuckled.

  “Beanie’s right, she must have a twisted sense of humour, wanting to join an all-boy gang,” Rocky conceded.

  Mission accomplished.

  I gave my next forged letter to Mrs Carpenter who was teaching Science – and I thought she might have been relieved when I gave it to her because her class was about micro-organisms which can cause illness and viruses that can… well, I didn’t really need to sit in that class, did I?

  The gang had done a really good job of collecting food for Malcolm and my backpack was full of fruit. When I squeezed through the gate I still went very carefully round the track, just in case anyone else was hanging around. But as usual, the haunted house kept everyone else away. I waited till I got to the foot of the stairs, but then, before I could even call out his name, I heard him running along the upstairs corridor and bounding down the stairs.

  He must have been watching from his window and had recognised me, which made me feel really nice inside. He was only about the size of a little three or four year old, but when he jumped up on me he was very heavy and I fell over. He was all over me like a bouncy toy and I was laughing so much I couldn’t get up.

  I made the “I am hungry” sign and he opened his mouth and stuck his fingers inside. It was time for a picnic.

  I got onto the sacks in the greenhouse and opened up all the food. We sat together, peeled bananas and got through the recommended five pieces of fruit. Over the last couple of visits Malcolm and I had developed a little routine. We would greet each other and then eat something and then he would take my hand and lead me on a tour of the house. We’d go into every room and I would imagine who must have lived there, because in its day it must have been a very beautiful house. But you could see the big cracks up the wall and the bits of ceiling that had fallen down and the holes in the roof where the birds came in and made their nests in the rafters, and in a way it made me feel quite sad that it was falling down. But on the other hand the birds and Malcolm had found a home. And, as Mark always says, we all aspire to better things in life. So I suppose Malcolm and the birds have gone up in the world.

  After our tour we would go back to the greenhouse and snuggle down into the sacks and have a nap. But today we stayed up in the bedroom and looked out the window because I knew Mark and the gang had gone to get Tracy. I saw someone creeping through the bushes and almost banged on the window to tell them where I was. But then I saw it was two men – it was Potato Face and Comb Head! And they were going around the house, checking to see if they could get inside.

  When we had decided to protect Malcolm, Rocky and Skimp had pulled the old kitchen door back into place and put all sorts of rubbish in front of it as a deterrent to anyone else getting in. Then we had found a small hole in the wall at the back courtyard, and that’s where we all squeezed through now.

  Malcolm’s teeth chattered. I held him as we watched the men give up trying to get in the house. I realised that sooner or later someone who wouldn’t care that the Black Gate was haunted was going to break in. And when they did that they might not realise that the reason Malcolm made all those threatening noises was because he was scared. Then they might get the wrong idea and try and hurt him. I had done my research on Mark’s computer and when we first thought that Malcolm was grinning and being happy it really meant he was distressed and frightened. Things aren’t always what they seem.

  It wasn’t long before Mark and the others arrived.

  “Potato Face and Comb Head were here,” I told them.

  “Did they get in?” Mark asked.

  “No. But they might come back.”

  “I’ll set some booby traps before we go,” Rocky said.

  “Yeah, well don’t forget to tell us where!” Skimp told him.

  “Remember, we’ve got a girl to worry about now,” Mark said.

  I looked at Tracy – had she heard?

  “They don’t want me in the gang, do they?” she said to me.

  I shook my head. “Did they say anything insulting when they went to get you?” I asked.

  “If they did I didn’t hear them,” she said and then smiled. Told you. Great sense of humour.

  She didn’t seem to care much about Mark and the others, she just looked at the size of the old house and said, “Wow.” Everyone else just stood there. I don’t think that we were used to the idea yet of a girl being with us. “Where is he?” she asked.

  “You have to sit down and be quiet,” Mark told her as I called Malcolm, who hid in the bushes until he felt safe to come out. I could tell everyone was waiting to see just what Tracy was going to do with him.

  Tracy’s eyes widened. Her jaw dropped. She said, “Wow” again. And then she smiled. That’s what Malcolm does to you. He makes you feel good.

  Malcolm wasn’t too sure about the new member of the gang. And he clung to my legs until I eased his hand free and sat down with him. Then Tracy started talking with her hands. Malcolm looked at me, rubbed his face with his hands and looked again – as if in disbelief that someone else was talking like that.

  “He doesn’t know much,” Tracy said. “Only some very basic stuff.” She used her hands again and this time Malcolm responded. He touched his chest and then his lips and then me.

  “He says he loves you, Beanie.”

  No one said anything, but I could tell that the others were quietly fascinated by Tracy, even though she spoke slowly and with some difficulty. Me? I just felt very special after what Malcolm had said. Tracy kept making gestures.

  “He knows a few things, like when he’s scared or tired and enough to ask for food and to say when something hurts him or when he feels sick,” she said.

  I stroked his head and he wrapped his arms around me and Skimp gave him some chewing gum. Then we all sat around and chewed and blew bubbles. Malcolm was getting quite good at it and had less in his fur this time.

  “Why would they teach him those things?” Skimp asked.

  Mark said, “It must have something to do with that hospital tag on his wrist.”

  I looked at my own plastic bracelet on my wrist that the hospital gave me. It had my name and my date of birth, but Malcolm’s was all worn. Then I thought that as I go into hospital and have treatment, maybe it was the same for him. “What if he was in an animal hospital and escaped?” I said. “What if he’s really sick and needs treatment?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t a hospital he escaped from,” said Mark. “What if he ran away from a laboratory where they experiment on animals?”

  I suddenly felt sick. Even sicker than when I go for treatment.

  Tracy used her hands again. But then she shook her head. “He doesn’t understand that question, so he’s only got a very limited vocabulary and response.”

  Then Rocky said something really scary. “There’s a military biological research centre about thirty miles from here. You know, just past the cooling towers – all those buildings there, that’s why they’ve got a private road and guards at the gates. My uncle told me that’s where they do experiments on germ warfare and stuff.”

  Was Malcolm being experimented on? That sounded like torture. No one said anything for a few seconds, but then Malcolm squealed and started to panic. I grabbed him and held him. Mark jumped to his feet. “Quiet everyone! Listen!”

  Tracy looked at me because obviously she hadn’t heard him and I just put a finger to my lips and gestured for her to stay where she was.

  “Dogs!” Rocky said.

  Mark ran from th
e greenhouse into the kitchen and I could just see him peeping through the crack with the boards covered the windows. Then he came back in a hurry. “It’s the police with a dog unit,” he hissed.

  “Get your bag, Beanie!” Rocky said, and started throwing the scraps of fruit away into the bushes.

  “We’ll have to make a run for it,” said Mark. “Those dogs will smell us and Malcolm, and the cops will find the way we came in.”

  Tracy was watching Rocky and Mark as they whispered orders.

  “I’ll make a run for it, and draw them away,” Pete-the-Feet said, pulling his hair back and tying it with an elastic band. He was ready to run. “Then you get going with Malcolm.”

  Tracy waved her hand at them. “No,” she said, “I’ll stay. It will take them ages to question me. I can keep them busy for a long time.”

  She went closer to Malcolm and made a couple of signs. “I told him he has to stay quiet and go with you,” she said to us all. She stroked Malcolm’s head, and made a sign with her hand, and mouthed carefully, “Understand?”

  Malcolm climbed onto my back and held on tightly.

  “Can you carry him?” asked Mark.

  “I’ll manage,” I told him as Rocky grabbed my backpack and pulled it on his chest because he was also carrying his own school pack full of books.

  “I’ll take point,” he said, and headed for the hole in the wall. We could hear the dogs barking now. They were close.

  “Come on, Beanie,” Skimp said. “Hurry.”

  I looked at Tracy and make sure she could see what I was saying. “Thank you,” I said. Mark pulled me away.

  Then we left her. All alone. She was our rear-guard defence, Rocky said as he made a pointed gesture at her. Ace. Good stuff. Respect.

  In that moment of self-sacrifice Tracy Lewis, a deaf kid who dressed like a charity shop princess, became my heroine.

  We ran down the track towards the gate, and when we got there Mark pulled Malcolm off my back so I could squeeze through. But he made such a noise, because he was so scared, that we had to push him through quickly so he could climb back onto my shoulder. The police car that stood at the gates was empty, the cops had already moved around the back of the house, but we could still hear the dogs barking frantically.

  “I hope Tracy will be okay,” Skimp said.

  “She’ll be fine,” Mark told him. “She’ll have them tied up in knots. Come on, run!”

  Malcolm might have only been the size of a small three or four year old but he was heavy and I could feel the sweat making my shirt stick. My head was baking so I shoved my beanie into my pocket and let the cold air cool me down.

  Rocky was way ahead, making sure the streets and the back alleys that we used to get home were clear. But after about five minutes I was so tired I could have gone to sleep while I was still running.

  “Hang on!” Mark shouted at the others.

  I had to sit down. I was shaking and felt sick. Malcolm was holding on so tightly I could barely breathe. He looked at me and I made the sign that he had shown me when he was tired in the house. That seemed to work and he relaxed a bit and cuddled up to me.

  I had my back against the wall and while Mark loosened my anorak Pete-the-Feet gave me some water. That made me feel a lot better, but I wished I had a banana for some energy.

  “You’ve got to let one of us carry Malcolm,” Mark said.

  “No!” I cried. “You’ll frighten him.”

  Pete-the-Feet was already stroking Malcolm’s head, and Malcolm was holding his hand like he was a frightened child. “I think he’ll be okay with me,” said Pete-the-Feet.

  I looked at Malcolm. He seemed quite confused, and I was worried he would just run away and get lost in the housing estate. Then the dogs would chase him and people would be phoning the police and the next thing he knew he’d be back being experimented on.

  “I’ll be all right in a minute,” I said, catching my breath.

  “No you won’t,” Mark said, “but we’re gonna go a bit slower now, and Pete-the-Feet can take Malcolm, and you can walk next to him and hold his hand. How does that sound?”

  Sometimes you just have to do as you’re told, so I said yes, that would be okay. Pete-the-Feet carefully lifted Malcolm and let him wrap his arms around his chest. I got up and stood next to him. I was too short for Malcolm’s arm to reach down and hold my hand, but his foot came out and gripped it, so that was okay. We could still hang on to each other.

  Rocky did a good job of getting us to Pete-the-Feet’s house without anyone spotting us. We piled into the kitchen and Skimp and Rocky raided the fridge. There were chocolate biscuits and milk and we all sat around the big old pine table and just scoffed. I felt a bit better then. And Malcolm was sitting next to me and he had a milk moustache which we all thought was really funny. And we laughed like broken drains, but I think that was just the release of tension, because we had all been scared. Scared and worried that Malcolm was going to be taken away from us. Because I think everybody loved Malcolm by then.

  “We’ve got to find a place to hide him,” Rocky said.

  “He can’t stay here, because we’ve only got two bedrooms and my mum’s likely to turn him in for the reward money,” Pete-the-Feet said.

  “There’s a reward for Malcolm?” Skimp asked.

  “There’s bound to be, isn’t there? That’s why the cops were out hunting him with the dogs, like an escaped convict,” said Rocky.

  “We don’t know that,” said Mark, “but Rocky’s right. We have to find somewhere safe for Malcolm until we decide what to do with him.”

  “We’re not going to do anything with him!” I said. “He’s going to live with us.”

  “Yeah, right,” Mark said sarcastically.

  “We’ve got to take him somewhere. Everybody’s going to be coming home from work soon, so it’s not gonna be easy walking down the street with him. Someone will see him and then it’s all over,” Rocky said.

  “My dad’s got an old touring caravan in a lockup on the industrial estate.” Skimp said. “He’d be safe in there. I just have to find the keys.”

  “That’s a great idea. But how do we get him out of here without anyone spotting him?” said Mark.

  “My sister’s got an old pushchair in the shed. It’s one of those things with a plastic rain cover. We could strap Malcolm in there. He’s already got Beanie’s T-shirt on and providing nobody looked too closely we could get away with it, don’t you think?” Pete-the-Feet said.

  I think Mark knew that I was getting a bit scared for Malcolm. He turned to me and said, “What do you think, Jez?”

  Which was really very considerate of him, considering he’s my older brother and often says I cause him grief.

  Malcolm had biscuit crumbs all over his face and was still guzzling milk. He was a messy child, as Mum would say. “I don’t want to leave him,” I said. “I don’t want him to be lost and frightened. I want him to come home with me.”

  “Listen, Jez, you’ve got to go for your treatment tomorrow, so he’ll have to be on his own anyway. I think it’s better we get him into the caravan. He’ll be safe there,” Mark told me as he gave Malcolm another chocolate digestive – which was doing a good job of keeping him quiet.

  “I can’t get the keys until tomorrow,” Skimp said.

  Mark thought for a moment. “OK. This is what we’ll do. We’ll take Malcolm to our house and hide him in Jez’s room for tonight. Then, when Jez goes to the hospital, the rest of us will bunk school and get him into the caravan.”

  Everyone was nodding, including me, because at least I had another twelve hours to think of a better way of hiding and looking after Malcolm.

  Pete-the-Feet was right. If you didn’t look too closely you could almost think that Malcolm was a small child. We strapped him into the pushchair and Rocky pulled Pete-the-Feet’s mum’s knitted tea cosy over Malcolm’s head so his ears stuck out each hole. By the time we had zipped him in beneath the plastic and given him a banana to ch
ew on we were all set.

  It was quite nerve-wracking, because we had to pass people carrying their shopping, others getting off buses, some going across traffic lights, and then it started raining and we were worried that the rain splattering on the plastic cover would scare Malcolm.

  But we were almost home. Almost.

  “Oh no,” Pete-the-Feet groaned. “It’s Mrs Blanchard from number eighty-six. She’s the nosiest woman in the street.”

  We saw a woman who had a leather jacket on and clumpy boots and who was as old as Gran. Mum would have said it was mutton dressed up as lamb. That’s called a metaphor.

  She was smoking a soggy-looking cigarette.

  Pete-the-Feet muttered: “She’s really suspicious. She’ll probably think we’re child kidnappers or something. She’s been down the bingo hall and she usually goes for a drink in the pub afterwards – so that might save us. Don’t say anything unless you really have to. Talk about the weather or something if she stops us.”

  “Hello, Peter, where are you off to, then, down this end of town?” Mrs Blanchard said as we all reached the same crack in the pavement.

  We just looked at her as we stood in the drizzle, hoping that one of us would think of something quick to say. We didn’t.

  “Blimey, I’ve never seen lads as quiet as you lot. That usually means you’ve been up to something, eh?”

  We must have looked like a bunch of convicts caught on the run, because then she laughed. “Oh, get you lot! Come on! Give your face a holiday. Smile! I was only kidding.”

  And then without taking a breath she bent down and peered into the pram.

  “Who’s this then?” she said, wiping the rain off the plastic. Thankfully, the old crinkled and yellowed plastic blurred Malcolm. But she kept looking.