Monkey and Me

by David Gilman

  Mum and Dad would be really worried by now, I was sure of that, but if I went home with Malcolm the police would be waiting and the RSPCA inspectors, and Malcolm would be back in the laboratory with someone hurting him.

  It would have been nice to phone them so they could know I was safe. Though I wouldn’t mention the cut on my leg because that kind of thing gives Mum a whole new set of worries.

  I would even send them a postcard if I could, probably one of those that showed the Albert Docks, which would probably be a great idea because then they would think that I was hiding down there at the smart waterside development. But I couldn’t do that either.

  That’s what’s called being incommunicado.

  So I spoke to them both in my head. “Dear Mum and Dad, I’m sorry you are worried about me, and I am sure Mum is even a bit frantic, and by now Mark will have spilled the beans and told you everything about Malcolm. As soon as I can find a way of him being safe, I’ll come home. Lots of love, Beanie. PS: It’s only a scratch on my leg and nothing serious.”

  I thought I’d better mention the scratch.

  Dad always says you never know where your thoughts can take you; well, perhaps we never know where our thoughts go. Maybe Dad would be dozing in front of the telly and my message would pop into his head.

  I brushed some of the crumbs from Malcolm’s fur.

  “The way I see it, Malcolm, they’re going to be looking out for us riding around on Dad’s bike. After all, it is a bit obvious and no one would believe we’re delivering letters at this time of night. So I think we should hide it here and move on to find a warm place to sleep. And, as I am a member of a democratically elected gang, I think we should have a vote on it. All those in favour?” I raised my hand and, after scraping soggy bits of crisps from under his gums with his finger and sucking it, Malcolm raised his hand.

  I felt it important that he shared in the decision-making process. I wouldn’t like him to think I was a tyrant. Now the crisps were finished I took his hand and we climbed under the wire fence and up across the railway embankment. There wouldn’t be any trains because all the factories on this estate had closed.

  Malcolm seemed very tired to me, perhaps it was because he’d had an exciting day. My leg was hurting something awful but I picked him up and carried him. I’d just realised where I was and an idea had popped into my head.

  I had a plan. In my mind’s eye was a picture of long motorways and yellow lights. There was a small television at the foot of my bunk and I’d lie tucked up in Dad’s duvet. By morning Dad would wake me and say, “We’re here.”

  Where was here going to be tomorrow?

  I didn’t care as long as it was far away from the people who wanted to capture Malcolm.

  Suddenly the pain in my leg didn’t hurt as much, even though I was carrying Malcolm. Twenty minutes later we were at the haulage yard where a dozen lorries were parked up for the night.

  McKinley’s Transport Company Limited.

  There was a huge fence around the yard and floodlights coloured the trucks in a sickly yellow glare. They looked like prisoner-of-war-camp huts and the deep shadows between them made me think of soldiers escaping as they ran from hut to hut. On the other side of the fence from the haulage yard was a warehouse which had a refrigeration unit and down the side of the building was a big grid where the hot air came out. We stumbled, and my leg ached as if there was a hot piece of metal in it. Malcolm was also struggling. I didn’t know whether it was the glare from the lights, but his eyes looked a different colour and his skin felt very hot. I knew he had a lot of fur to keep him warm – but he was shivering. I gave him the Snickers – he needed it more than me.

  We crept down by the side of the warehouse and I propped him against the wall. There was plenty of rubbish that had been blown by the wind onto the mesh fence so I pulled bits of dried paper and cardboard to make us a bed over the hot air grill. It was the best I could do and it was getting really cold. I snuggled down into the paper and held him close to me, pulling my fleece over both of us like a small blanket.

  I wasn’t sure what to do because if he was sick like me, he might need treatment. Maybe he was infected with something? I knew being scared would make him feel worse, I always felt worse when I was scared. Maybe he’d feel better when we got a long way away from our pursuers and he stopped being frightened. He lay on my arm and made it ache, but I didn’t mind because he was quiet and asleep. His face was close to mine and I smelt his bad breath, which was a bit fruity, but that’s all right because he’s a chimpanzee and doesn’t know about dental hygiene. We’d both finally stopped shivering and lay like two monkeys clinging to each other, frightened that we might lose one another. I breathed in the pungent smell of his fur. It was wonderful.

  He’s semi-skimmed and I’m full cream – otherwise there’s not much difference.

  I’m running my socks off up and down the pitch. The floodlights cast criss-cross shadows from all the players. I see the ball spinning through the air – I take it on my chest, trap it with my foot and turn away from the tackle. I can see Steven Gerrard with his arm in the air. He’s in the perfect position if I can get the ball to him. Almost in slow motion I balance myself and bring back my foot to strike the ball in a long curving loop. But I’ve waited too long. There’s an enormous crunch and I go down onto the grass. There’s a terrible pain in my leg.

  Suddenly it’s all gone quiet and I turn in on myself with the pain. I can’t believe it but the player who tackled me – Gobby Rogers again! – is kicking me while I’m down. That’s got to be a red card. Ref! REF!

  “Get up! You! Get up!” Rogers is shouting.

  I jerked awake from the dream. There was a huge shadow standing over me, outlined by the yellow lamps of the haulage yard. It was a hunchback monster with wild straggly hair and a beard. I pushed back against the wall, and Malcolm screamed. Then it was the monster’s turn to get a fright. It staggered back a couple of paces and fell flat on its back. It gave out a big groan and the plumes of breath coming from its jaws looked like smoke.

  I’m fairly sure that anyone with superhero status would have leapt forward and throttled the monster, then thrown it over the barbed-wire-topped fence into the haulage yard.

  Me, I just hugged Malcolm and let out this sort of wailing scream. Between the two of us we probably could have woken every vampire in the neighbourhood. Though of course that was a stupid thought, because everyone knows vampires are awake at night anyway.

  The hunchback monster rolled on to its knees and looked at us. The light caught its face. It wasn’t a monster, it was a man with a big rucksack on his back. He wore layers of clothes and a baggy raincoat. His beard was matted and stained with cigarette smoke and it looked as though he hadn’t combed his hair or washed for years.

  “All right, all right, shut up, will you, shut up! You’ll have every security guard on the industrial estate coming to see what the racket is.”

  The hairy man dropped his huge rucksack, and put a finger to his lips, “Shhhh, shhhh,” he said.

  Malcolm copied him and put a finger to his lips. Then I stopped screaming. Malcolm and I didn’t move. When we did Oliver Twist at school, Mr Penfold played Fagin. He was very good. He even got a standing ovation because he was so scary. So I wondered for a moment if this wasn’t Mr Penfold who had tracked me down and come to scare me to death. But then the man put a finger to each nostril and blew hard, clearing his nose of snot. Mr Penfold certainly wouldn’t do that, not even when he was dressed up as Fagin.

  The hairy monster sat down on his rucksack and gawped at Malcom. “What in the name of all that’s holy is that thing?”

  I actually know lots of things that are holy. I can sometimes surprise people by telling them all that’s holy. I’ve been to Westminster Abbey on a school tour, I did a project at school about the Vatican, I also did a photomontage of the Taj Mahal, though strictly speaking that’s not really holy. And when Shazad, who’s a great midfield player, by the wa
y, did his school project on the Niujie Mosque in Beijing, we were all blown away. None of us knew there was even a mosque in China. If it was anywhere near the relocated Sweet Dreams Sweet Factory, that could be heaven.

  I held Malcolm closer and thought that if he couldn’t see that he was a chimpanzee wearing a tea cosy then I wasn’t going to tell him.

  The hairy monster sighed. “You was in my place, see? I didn’t know you was a kid and I certainly didn’t know you had a monkey with you. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

  He was keeping his distance so I knew he wasn’t going to make a grab at us. I was still ready to run if I had to, even though my leg was throbbing.

  The hairy monster nodded. “I won’t hurt you, lad. It looks to me as though you’re a runner.”

  “You’re wrong,” I said, “I play football.”

  “Running away is what I mean,” he said, undoing his rucksack.

  I realised this could be a really tricky moment. This man who slept rough could tell the police where we were. I immediately thought of a story. We were actually part of the circus and our van had broken down when it left town and the monkey had run away and I had gone after him and now we were lost. I have to admit it didn’t sound that convincing. But before I could say anything he looked at me and shook his head.

  “Never mind,” he said, “it’s none of my business.” He pulled out some cellophane-wrapped food which looked like cheese and tomato sandwiches and tossed me one. “Here, try one of these, they’re only a few days past their sell-by date. I get them at the bins at the back of Sainsbury’s.”

  I almost blurted out that that was where Mum worked, but I managed to swallow the words. By then he had his mouth full of food, chewing away with what looked like ravioli and tomato sauce. The juices sneaked out the corner of his mouth and got soaked up by his thick beard.

  I tore open the sandwich wrapper and gave half to Malcolm, who picked the sandwich apart and ate the bits separately. I just ate.

  “So, here you are, looking for a warm place to sleep. Tired and hungry, cold and away from home. I bet your mum and dad are worried about you.”

  I bet they were too, but I had to get Malcolm away first. I almost told him that I was on a mission, but I stopped myself. Rocky once told us that when you get interrogated they always try and appear friendly to start with so that you tell them things about yourself. The best thing to do is to say as little as possible. So I kept chewing.

  “How old are you, boy?”

  “Nine years, eleven months and thirteen days,” I said. I doubted if that was valuable information.

  “That’s a bit young for going on the road. I didn’t run away from home until I was eighteen.”

  “‘I’m not running away from home,” I told him.

  His eyes were all watery as he gazed at me. “I’ve got a pay-as-you-go phone. You sure you don’t want to phone your mum and dad?”

  It was a huge temptation. I could phone home and tell them not to worry, that I’d be back just as soon as I had found a safe place for Malcolm, wherever that might be. But then the hairy monster would have their telephone number. I bet he’d phone them back and get a reward or something for finding us.

  I shook my head.

  “Fair enough. So why is the monkey wearing a tea cosy? Did he use to work in a café?” He chuckled and bits of food came out of his mouth. I wasn’t sure what to say because I don’t think chimpanzees have worked in a café anywhere in the world.

  “His head was cold,” I said.

  “And what about your tea cosy? Is that something your mother knitted for you?” He cleared his gums of food, just like Malcolm. There’s definitely a strong link between humans and monkeys. Except monkeys mind their own business.

  “It’s a beanie,” I told him, “Skimp’s mum bought it for me at the market.”

  “You’re a strange one,” the hairy monster said. “In all my days I’ve never seen such a scrawny kid running around loose with a monkey on his arm.”

  He tossed a carton of orange juice at our feet and I tore off its tab and guzzled. I hadn’t realised I was so thirsty. Then I quickly gave it to Malcolm, who managed to spill it all over his Number 8 shirt.

  “All right,” said the monster, pulling the straps tight on his rucksack. “You can have my pitch tonight, but you’d best be gone tomorrow. I’m getting old and I need a warm place to kip. Y’understand, lad?”

  I nodded because I wouldn’t be there tomorrow. “I promise,” I told him.

  He hauled the rucksack onto his back. “Does the monkey have a name?”

  That had to be another trick question. I remembered the policeman at the house. “Don’t be daft. He’s a monkey. Monkeys don’t have names,” I said.

  “I don’t see why not,” he said, staggering to his feet under the weight of the rucksack, “they’re not much different from us.”

  He knew! Here was someone who understood.

  “Two per cent,” I happily told him.

  “Oh yeah… right… well, that’s a strange name for a monkey, but then like I said, you’re a strange lad.”

  He wagged a finger at me. “Tomorrow. Don’t forget. Be gone.”

  Malcolm wagged a finger back at him.

  And then the hairy monster disappeared into the shadows. It just goes to show, you can’t judge people by how they look. There he was, looking quite terrifying but he’d given us something to eat and drink and his bed for the night. Mum always says we should never talk to strangers, that they might be serial killers. Every stranger is a serial killer as far as Mum is concerned.

  There was no time left to think of what else might come out of the night. Some of the big lorries were starting up. Diesel fumes blew from their exhausts, blue puffs like dragon’s breath.

  The long haul drivers were heading out.

  Once I was sure the hairy monster stranger had gone, I lifted Malcolm and headed for the corner of the fence.

  Old Barry wasn’t really that old, but I remember Dad telling me he was fairly useless as a security guard on the main gate at McKinley’s. He hated the cold and would sit hunched up in his tiny gate house with a small telly, flask and sandwiches.

  A couple of the early-start drivers were getting ready to leave, and Old Barry was opening the gates. That was good for us, because it meant he was at the far end of the yard and wouldn’t have a chance of seeing me and Malcolm climb under the mesh fence in the corner – even if he wasn’t fairly useless.

  One of the drivers had already started up his lorry, probably to get the cab’s heater going. He walked around its trailer checking that all the lights and everything were working, that the tyres looked all right and that the big doors at the back were still security sealed with their little tag.

  And that was when I climbed up into the cab on the opposite side with Malcolm. For a horrible moment I nearly panicked, because I’d forgotten about the extremely comfortable air-assisted seats – the most comfy you can get. They hiss when you sit on them! It seemed so loud I was sure the driver would run back, thinking one of the tyres had gone down. But he didn’t. I think being so scared made the noise seem louder than it actually was. Being scared can do that.

  I pulled Malcolm up into the bunk behind the driver’s seat and tugged the half-curtain closed. This is where drivers keep all their stuff, and they always have the curtain closed for security so no one can look inside the cab and see if there’s anything worth nicking. There was a duvet, pillows, a small telly and a couple of books. I pushed Malcolm up into the overhead bunk.

  The driver would only be allowed to be behind the wheel for a few hours and then he’d stop and probably go and have a cup of tea in a motorway café. Until then we should be okay – provided Malcolm stayed quiet.

  I tucked him in behind me and nuzzled his face, stroking it, signing for him to be quiet. He watched me. Trusting me. Then he hid behind his hand again. The driver climbed back in the cab and slammed the door. The big engine started up, rumbling, waiting for him
to engage the clutch and push the gear stick into first. The lorry creaked forward.

  “All right then, Barry, see you on Wednesday!” he called to the fairly useless security guard.

  Then the air brakes hissed and the lorry rolled into the street. I could hear the indicator light clicking then felt the heavy sway of the lorry as it swung around the corner.

  I peeped through the curtain and saw the back of the man’s head. The dashboard lights glowed warmly and in the distance I could see our road to freedom. The motorway.

  Then as we pulled out of the haulage yard I glimpsed a blue light flashing. They had tracked us! Maybe they used dogs to follow our scent. How did they find us so quickly? Two policemen climbed out of their car near the place where the hairy monster found us. The lorry swung away, but I could see in the big wing mirrors a figure come out of the darkness and point down the side of the building where we had been.

  The kind-hearted hairy monster had turned us in and we had escaped just in time. So much for trusting people no matter how they look. But they couldn’t catch us now. The driver moved up a couple of gears and the cops soon disappeared from the wing mirrors.

  The heater blew warm air into the cab, the driver pressed a button and classical music came out of the speakers. It was very slow and gentle, like a lullaby. I made sure I was wedged in when I snuggled down and felt Malcolm put his arm around me. This was the safest place we could be and the lorry’s gentle movement began to rock me asleep.

  But as I closed my eyes I was thinking of those policemen. How long would it be before they told Dad we’d been sighted? The first thing he’d say would be: “Where? McKinley’s? That’s where I used to work.”

  Time was running out. My leg hurt and I felt sick. I couldn’t let myself fall asleep. I had to stay awake long enough to think of another plan. When kids went missing the police did everything they could as quickly as they could – and when a child went missing with a monkey that had escaped from a research laboratory they probably moved twice as quick.