‘We get it, Amy,’ said Betty. ‘Can you see Uncle Quagmire at all?’
‘Oooh, yes! He’s just come into the restaurant! With that stunt nun Clarissa,’ Amy gasped. ‘He hasn’t seen Old Hag and Bartle yet. We ought to have an on-site meeting so that we can agree a good plan.’
‘Hang on a moment! I’m the one who is supposed to call meetings,’ said Betty, rather irritably.
‘Why can’t I?’ asked Amy, even more rather irritably. She so yearned to be assertive again. ‘Why is it always you?’
‘Why me?’ said Betty. ‘I’ll tell you why me! Because I’m the one who’s been on the distance-learning training courses all about meetings! You must take into account that I have the necessary skill base that allows me to call meetings, cancel meetings, take meetings, facilitate meetings . . . end meetings . . . erm, order the meeting’s biscuits . . . and instantly recognise every species of wetland plant native to Britain.’
‘It’d be good if you could add to that list remind Ricky about meetings,’ Ricky muttered. ‘Girls Aloud! Girls Aloud!’
‘You didn’t hear about the Holiday With Kylie privilege,’ Amy whispered.
‘Kylie?’ Ricky groaned. ‘ The Kylie? Holiday? When? How?’
‘Thanks Amy,’ Betty said through heavily-gritted teeth. ‘Thank you very much.’
‘My pleasure,’ said Amy brightly. That had done her confidence no harm at all. ‘Now, about Uncle Quagmire and Clarissa. If we’re not going to have an on-site meeting, I think it’s safe for you all to look at them now.’
Betty, Daniel and an even grumpier Ricky immediately stopped all the crouching and edged up cautiously to take a look inside the restaurant. Uncle Quagmire glanced at them and waved. Clarissa the stunt nun turned and waved at them as well. The children waved back.
‘This covert surveillance is working well, but maybe one of us could go in,’ suggested Betty. ‘We should warn Uncle Quagmire that Old Hag is mysteriously being a danger to his secret mission.’
‘What if we send in Whatshisname with a note on his collar,’ said Ricky. He’d decided to prove to the others that he was faithful to the cause, whatever that was.
‘Good idea, Ricky!’ said Betty. ‘Anyone got any paper?’
‘No,’ the others said.
‘Anyone got a pencil?’ Betty asked.
‘No,’ the others said.
‘Whatshisname hasn’t got a collar,’ observed Amy.
They were all quiet for a while.
‘Anyone got any other ideas?’ asked Betty, eventually.
‘No,’ the others said.
‘Woof woof woof woof woof woof,’ said Whatshisname, which meant ‘Please Miss, I have a plan! If only I had the physical arrangement of the human glottis and larynx, and could therefore master the vocal abilities of homo sapiens, I could tell you all about it!’
‘So, nobody has a plan,’ said Betty.
‘Woof! Woof! Woof!’ said Whatshisname.
They all crouched down under the window again and started to sulk, a bit like spoiled children. Exactly like spoiled children, in fact. But just then, without any significant warning, they heard a voice. ‘Hello, children!’ it said. They looked up and there was Uncle Quagmire following his voice out of the restaurant. ‘I must have overheard you asking about paper and pencil,’ he said, ‘so I’ve brought you some.’
‘Gosh!’ said Amy, taking the paper and pencil from Uncle Quagmire. ‘Thanks!’
‘No problem,’ said Uncle Quagmire as he went back inside the restaurant.
‘That was lucky!’ said Betty. ‘Right, what shall we write on the note?’
They chatted about what to write, and eventually decided on Thank you very much for the paper and pencil, Uncle Quagmire. Beware Old Hag because . . .
They would have liked to write more, but the piece of paper was only one-sided and quite small, and the pencil was quite long. To make matters worse, it was an HB pencil.
‘Now, we could have put it under Whatshisname’s collar but he hasn’t got one,’ said Betty. ‘What shall we do? Any ideas? Anyone? Will our adventure stop here, for the want of a dog collar?’
Just then, luckily for the children’s adventure, an Austrian street trader suddenly appeared in the story, carrying a big tray full of dog collars of various colours and sizes.
‘Look!’ said Ricky, pointing. ‘An Austrian street trader with a big tray full of dog collars of various colours and sizes! Let’s go and buy one.’
This was his big chance for heroism! Ricky stood up and went over to the street trader, who looked remarkably like the postman from chapter one. With the money Ricky had mysteriously gained as a short-term high-interest loan from a passing impoverished author, he bought a size extra-large and brought it back to where their faithful dog was faithfully cowering. He fastened it around Whatshisname’s neck.
‘Gosh! Doesn’t he look good with a collar?’ Amy said.
‘Yes,’ agreed Betty. ‘It’s a shame it’s very pink and very fluffy with lots of sequins, but look, this note fits under it very well. Well done Ricky.’
‘Woooooof,’ said Whatshisname, now quite gloomy because, yet again, events had conspired against his mission to establish his true doggy sexuality to the world.
Betty pulled at Whatshisname’s collar and urged, ‘Go find Uncle Quagmire! Go find, boy!’
‘Woof woof woof,’ barked Whatshisname, quickly translating gofe hind into Classic Doggish, and slightly happier now that someone in authority had again recognised his true gender. He trotted bravely into the restaurant. The children watched as he trotted equally bravely up to Uncle Quagmire’s table, at which point he stopped all the brave trotting. They saw Uncle Quagmire smile and kick out at Whatshisname, who backed away to a safe distance. Then the children saw Old Hag, from where she sat at the other side of the restaurant, wave a piece of peanut butter sandwich in the air! Whatshisname padded over to her and snatched it from her hand. Old Hag whipped away the note from his collar! They watched as she opened it up and read it. Quite slowly and quite deliberately, she ripped it up there and then in front of their very eyes and their very noses. She glared at the children’s eyes and noses, then smiled an Old Hag smile.
‘Oh no!’ said Daniel. ‘If I’m not mistaken, this looks very much like a plot reversal!’
The children watched in horror as Old Hag and Bartle talked a bit, then they both stood up and went over to Uncle Quagmire and Clarissa’s table.
‘Oh no!’ said Daniel. ‘And now a threat to the resolution!’
Uncle Quagmire looked quite aghast that Bartle was about to talk to Clarissa, but not as aghast as Whatshisname, who had just realised what he had done through his liking for peanut butter sandwiches! Because of him the world would be threatened! He hung his head. This was dreadful! Whatshisname’s Peanut Butter Sandwiches would surely go down in history alongside Hitler’s Savoury Pancakes, Stalin’s Spaghetti Hoops, Saddam Hussein’s Pot Noodles and Napoleon’s Spicy Bean Burgers! Maybe he could bluff it out. Maybe he couldn’t. Bluffing wasn’t one of his strengths. Indeed, come to think of it, he didn’t know exactly what his strengths were. Maybe he didn’t have any! Other than knowing his weaknesses, that is. That was a strength, for sure. Or was it? Maybe knowing your weaknesses was not actually a strength but another weakness? The fluffy pink collar could be classed as a major weakness, that’s for sure. Ho hum. Maybe Jean-Paul Sartre was right after all, we are each in charge of defining our own lives. I like peanut butter, therefore I am, Whatshisname thought. And what about an empirical worldview? Then again, what about it? Oh, this was all so depressing. Was canine depression curable? Probably not. It was even more depressing, knowing that his depression had no known cure. Peanut butter sandwiches had a lot to answer for. Or was it a lot to answer to? Oh, it was all so much more depressing, all this not knowing. All dogs, by nature, desire to know. Maybe he should have been Pavlov’s dog. He fancied a psychic secretion now and again. Preferably peanut butter flavoured. He sighed and
scratched his ear, dislodging a squadron of fleas, each of which had been happily defining their own lives up to that point, and were now condemned to be free to have an empirical worldview of their very own. Until the next unsuspecting host came trotting along, that is.
Whatshisname looked up. The others were staring at him. Maybe it was the collar. Best make a move. Ears dragging on the ground, he skulked out of the restaurant to join them, putting on his extra-special apologetic and depressed look, thinking Sartre thoughts, not yet realising the imminent danger he was in from a vengeful backlash. But just then, thankfully, before they could do any permanent damage to their faithful dog (such as ripping out his heart and liver and feeding it to him as an extra-special treat), Daniel had a great idea.
‘Oh, yes, right, well, here’s my great idea,’ Daniel said. ‘Erm, what if we just walk in and ask Bartle to step outside for a moment and then kidnap him?’
‘And that’s your great idea?’ Betty asked, rather nastily.
‘Well, to be honest,’ Daniel said, ‘I didn’t think it was that great, but, well, you know.’ He pointed his finger up at the sky.
‘Ah, I know what you mean,’ said Betty, rather less nastily.
Just then, yet another featureless one-dimensional character appeared on the scene, to ruin what, apparently, was a less-than-great idea.
‘Hi again, Ricky!’ said the yet another featureless one-dimensional character as he approached. ‘I’m the kindly man who is making a movie, but probably known to you Limeys as a film. Bor-ing! Anyway, the moo-vie is about nuns – gee, kid, that outfit does suit you.’
Ricky greeted the man cheerily. ‘Why, hello again,’ he said politely. ‘At this stage, I should really ask if we can be of any help. Can we?’
‘Well,’ said the man, taking a big breath for what would be quite a long sentence, ‘if you remember, when we last met I said to you that you’d be perfect for a little part as an extra in the sentimental yet artful crowd-pleaser of a magical movie that we’re making here in Salzburg so I came to find you to ask you if you are ready to start filming right now not far from here.’
‘Gosh, yes!’ said Ricky, quite eagerly for a boy of his extremely common blood group.
The others were intrigued. ‘I’m intrigued,’ Betty confirmed. ‘And so are the others. Tell us, please do, sir!’
‘Sir? Well, for a start,’ the man said, ‘you can call me Bob.’
‘Sir Bob?’ said Amy.
‘No, just Bob,’ said the man. ‘It’s short for . . . hmmm, I’ve forgotten. Never mind.’ He stood looking at them one by one. ‘Ricky’s job will be as a stunt double for one of the children in the film, but I’ve just had an idea! Would you all be interested in being stunt doubles? You’ll have to hang from some trees for a minute. We can’t risk the nice actor children getting hurt, you see. They’re too precious. Whereas you . . .’
‘No way!’ said Betty. ‘We are on a very important mission, and the future well-being of mankind relies on us! We are too busy adventuring, sorry.’
‘It’s good rates of pay,’ said Ricky.
‘We’ll do it!’ yelled Daniel, eager to garnish his funds for a Ninstation Y-Box Pii 4, which, of course, hadn’t even been invented in 1964.
‘Woof woof woof,’ said Whatshisname, hardly pausing in his frantic effort to scratch off his fluffy pink collar.
‘Daniel!’ scolded Betty. ‘Shush. Be still.’ Then she turned to Bob. ‘Don’t listen to him, Mr Bob. It’s his spectacles, they’re having an effect on his judgment. Our secret mission is far too important to appear in a film. And there’s still three hundred and thirty five . . . no, three hundred and thirty seven exclamation marks to go!! So, there’s no way we can do it. For one thing, I suppose that we would all have to wear clothes made from that rather interesting curtain material, just like Ricky is wearing?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Bob.
‘Then we’ll do it,’ said Betty. ‘Where do you want us? This is my best side.’ She tapped her left cheek.
‘Excuse me, can I respectfully suggest,’ Amy respectfully suggested to Betty, ‘that you propose a Secret Five meeting about all this?’
‘Hey!’ said Bob. ‘Now you mention it, can I join The Secret Five? I spoke to several of your affiliated members of your provisional European wing about it and they’re all quite excited about all the privileges, despite looking very foreign and swarthy. And I have heard all about your very secret mission. Do you know, one day I’m gonna have to make a movie about you all.’
‘That’ll be nice,’ said Amy.
‘Yeah,’ said Bob. ‘The Secret Five is one of the known unknowns, greatly respected worldwide.’
‘Known unknowns?’ Betty said, frowning quite a big frown for someone with her taste in cheeses.
Bob nodded. ‘Yeah, as opposed to unknown knowns which, frankly, we know little about compared to the known knowns.’
‘Erm, do you all talk like this in America?’ Betty asked.
‘I reckon so,’ Bob said, ‘as far as I know, anyway. Who knows. That’s one of the unknown unknowns. Now, about this membership.’
Ricky was about to start a serious discussion on the subject of membership privileges, but Betty interrupted him before he could speak, so it hardly counts as an interruption, does it now?
‘Here’s a great idea,’ she whispered to the others. ‘Gather round in a huddle so that I can tell you all about it.’
‘Is this a meeting?’ asked Bob. ‘Hey, I could be the guest speaker!’
‘Sorry, Mr Bob,’ Betty said. ‘Rules dictate that this has to be a very private meeting.’
Bob nodded his head and stepped back respectfully so that the very private meeting could take place. The children and Whatshisname gathered round in a huddle.
‘This had better be a proper great idea and worth a huddle,’ whispered Amy. ‘To be honest, I was rather disappointed with the last great idea.’
‘This one is guaranteed to be great,’ Betty whispered. ‘It’s this – what if we agree to do this stunting for Bob, but first ask him to go and get Clarissa the stunt nun from the restaurant, so she can come with us, on her own! Then we’d be taking her away from Bartle!’
‘Wow! That is one great idea!’ said Daniel. ‘Simple. But great.’
‘Thank you, Daniel,’ said Betty. ‘Ricky, you go and ask him.’
‘Why me?’ moaned Ricky.
‘Again, why must we always have this why me argument?’ chided Betty. ‘Other children’s secret clubs don’t continually argue about who does what and when, do they? Now, go and sidle over to him and ask!’
Ricky was aghast and, to be brutally frank, slightly agog. He’d never been chided before. ‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘Chiding I can take, but the last time I sidled – accidentally, it must be said – you all jolly well lampooned me for it! So why should I sidle now? Hmmm?’
‘He’s right,’ said Amy. ‘We were a bit harsh on his involuntary sidling.’
‘I don’t recall any lampooning, though,’ added Daniel.
‘Okay,’ said Betty. ‘No sidling. Just edge up to him and ask.’
Edging seemed to be perfectly acceptable to Ricky, so he did. ‘Please, Mr Bob,’ Ricky said, after he had edged just far enough. ‘In that restaurant is a lady called Clarissa. She’s a stunt nun in your film. If you persuade her to come with us, and away from danger, then we’ll all do this job for you.’
The man smiled quite a big smile for his size of mouth, then nodded his head. ‘Of course. Anything to assist your pathetic little adventure. And then she can help you do your stunting. Just wait here.’
They resumed their crouching position outside the restaurant and watched through the window as Bob went inside. Within barely the amount of time that light takes to cross a rather busy road during rush hour in Cheadle, Bob and Clarissa were heading out of the restaurant, but not before Clarissa had kissed Uncle Quagmire full on the lips for a full three and a half seconds.
‘Did you see that?�
�� gasped Amy, unable to believe what she had seen with her very own eyes.
‘I did,’ said Ricky. ‘I’ve never seen Aunt Trinny kiss him like that! Have you?’
‘Well,’ said Amy, ‘I did catch them holding hands once. Remember?’
‘Yes, of course!’ said Ricky. ‘That was when she fell down that unexpected well in that field and Uncle Quagmire rescued her. That was so exciting!’
Amy nodded her head knowingly, yet unknowingly. Before they could enter into a discussion about the finer detail of inter-parental fondness, Bob and Clarissa approached the children at regular walking pace.
‘This is Clarissa,’ said Bob. ‘She’s stunting for me in scenes which are considered too dangerous for many highly paid actresses.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Clarissa the stunt nun, shaking their hands one by one. She even shook Whatshisname’s paw! The dog’s tail wagged and wagged just over eighteen to the dozen. ‘Nice pink collar, doggy! Good girl,’ she said to Whatshisname. She turned to the children, leaving Whatshisname to growl quietly and frantically tear again at his fluffy pink collar.
‘I’ve heard such a lot about you from your Uncle Quagmire,’ Clarissa said. ‘What a lovely handsome fellow he is.’ She sighed a big sigh and the children frowned a big frown. ‘And that Bartle de Lylow! Such a nice man. Very handsome indeed, for an American.’ She glanced back into the restaurant, where Uncle Quagmire was busy arguing with Old Hag. Bartle looked very perplexed by all these comings and goings, especially the goings. Clarissa caught his eye and waved. She was really good at all the waving.
The children panicked! They had to fend off a plot reversal, and fast!
‘Please,’ urged Betty, grabbing Clarissa’s arm. ‘Quickly! We all need to go with Bob to do our stunting!’
‘Yes,’ Bob said, beckoning them with a free arm. ‘Let’s go, and get these children filmed hanging from trees, and then they can get on with their adventure. I’m so excited at being a member of The Secret Five! I’m so happy! The only thing that might upset me now is a chapt . . .’
The Secret Five and the Stunt Nun Legacy Page 13
