by Dyan Sheldon
God might be on my mother’s side, but He certainly didn’t seem to be on mine.
“But Mr Palfry—”
Mr Palfry peered at me over his glasses. “But what?”
Kuba was standing there, innocent as a cherub, smiling at Mr Palfry as though she was trying very hard to understand what he was saying.
Eddie Kilgour started shaking his arm in the air.
“Mr Palfry! Mr Palfry! I’ll be her guide!” He leaned over to his best mate, Bryan Ludlow, and gave him a poke. “If I play my cards right, I’ll be riding round town in a silver Porsche!” he hissed. The two of them laughed.
“Well, Eddie, that’s very kind of you…” Mr Palfry hesitated. You could tell he knew that Eddie would never volunteer to do anything unless he was going to benefit personally.
If I’d thought about it rationally, I would have realized that Kuba Bamber needed my help against Eddie Kilgour about as much as a polar bear needs a winter coat, but I wasn’t thinking rationally. This feeling just sort of came over me. I felt protective. Kuba was my neighbour, after all. And very foreign.
I sat up straighter. “It’s all right, Mr Palfry,” I called. “I’d be happy to show her round.”
It wasn’t too bad when we were in lessons or going to lessons, because there were so many people around. Kuba kept her hat on, smiled politely, and spoke stiffly and softly. She acted all shy and demure, just as she had with the Bambers the night before.
Neither Kuba nor I said anything about her being in my room or turning up in the high street as we trudged through the corridors together. We talked about lessons, and teachers, and stuff like that. Well, I talked about those things, and she nodded and smiled and said “Oh” and “Yes” and “No” and “Really” in her robot voice. After a while I began to think that she wasn’t going to say anything about her visits. Ever. I even began to hope that the thousand signatures my mother and I’d got on Sunday meant that her mission was completed.
I should have known better than that.
Ariel Moordock and Poppy Shaw came up to us after the last lesson of the morning.
“Elmo’s had you all to himself for long enough,” Ariel said to Kuba. “We’d like you to eat lunch with us.”
I reacted faster than an electron.
“Hey, that’s a great idea. You do that. I’ll meet you after lunch.”
Kuba smiled and shook her head.
“Yes,” she told them. “I am eating my lunch with Elmo.”
“No, you don’t understand,” put in Poppy. “We–want–you–to–have–lunch–with–us.” She sounded like my mother’s cassette player just before it eats your tape.
Kuba smiled and nodded some more. “Thank you,” she said. “Yes, Elmo and I are eating lunch.”
Ariel and Poppy didn’t have the stamina for this. They exchanged glances and shuffled about for a second or two.
“Yeah, right,” they said. “Well, we’ll see you around.”
I watched them walk off with a heart that wasn’t so much sinking as dropping like a rock.
“Why didn’t you go with them?” I urged. “I thought Mrs Bamber wanted you to make friends.”
The smile Kuba gave me was different to the one she gave everybody else. It was more like lemon than sugar.
“What did you think of dinner with the Bambers? Was it boring, or was it boring?”
“It wasn’t that boring,” I heard myself say. “There were a couple of pretty interesting bits.”
The lemon content of her smile increased, but all she said was, “Let’s find somewhere quiet to have our lunch. You and I need to talk.”
“Can’t you talk to someone else?” I pleaded. “I’m feeling very stressed out at the moment.”
“You?” hooted Kuba. “How do you think I feel? I’m the one being fed dead cow.”
She turned on her heel and started walking towards the cafeteria, as if she were showing me round.
I was more like my mother than I cared to admit. I had instincts, too. My instincts were telling me that it was no use trying to sneak away. I was doomed.
Feeling like the condemned prisoner being led to the electric chair, I followed Kuba to an empty corner of the cafeteria.
“So, how many signatures did you get yesterday?” Kuba asked me as soon as we sat down.
“A thousand.” I didn’t tell her that my mother thought it was a miracle.
“Is that enough?” Mrs Bamber had given Kuba money for a hot dinner, but she’d got a couple of apples and a salad instead. She bit into an apple. “You only have three days left to make up for the missing signatures. The Council meets on Thursday.”
As if I didn’t know. I was the one who was being forced to pound the streets for the next three days. My mother was so encouraged by how well we did yesterday – especially by how well I did – that she had almost taken me out of school for a couple of days so I could put more time in. I’d had to make up an important science test to stop her.
I unwrapped my sandwich. “I know when the Council meets,” I said sourly.
Kuba acted as if I hadn’t said anything.
“Well?” she persisted. “Do you have enough?”
I sniffed at my sandwich. I was sure I could smell seaweed.
“I have no idea,” I lied. I didn’t want her helping any more.
“You’re lying,” said Kuba. She didn’t say it like an accusation, but just as a statement of fact. There was no point arguing.
“I don’t think so,” I admitted grudgingly. “But we have got three days.”
“I think I can help,” said Kuba.
I gave her a look out of the corner of my eye.
“You’re not meant to interfere, remember?”
“It’s not really interfering,” said Kuba. “I just want to show you something.”
Hadn’t she shown me enough? I gave her another look. “Show me what?”
She smiled down at me. “Oh, just something.”
“I don’t have time for your tricks,” I informed her coldly. “I’ve got to go to the library before our next lesson. My mother’s collecting me straight after school.” And parking the milk float two blocks away. “We’re doing that new super supermarket today.”
Kuba put down her apple.
“I know,” she said. “But this won’t take a minute.”
“I just want to eat my lunch and then go to the library,” I protested.
“Less than one minute,” said Kuba, and she thrust an open notebook in front of me.
It was just an ordinary, spiral-bound notebook. It was open at a blank page.
“What’s this?”
“Look,” ordered Kuba. “You’re not looking.”
I looked at the notebook.
What had been a blank page a nanosecond ago was now a photograph of Mr Bamber, driving along in his car. Except, of course, that it wasn’t exactly a photograph, it was more like a video, because Mr Bamber really was driving. He pulled into the car park by the new super supermarket. He didn’t park, though; he drove round the back.
I tried not to let my jaw drop as I watched Mr Bamber stop his car and get out. He had his mobile phone in his coat pocket and his briefcase in his hand. He kept looking over his shoulder.
“What is this?” I whispered.
“Just look,” said Kuba.
Mr Bamber strolled over to the row of enormous metal bins where the supermarket rubbish was put. He looked over his shoulder a couple more times, and then he opened his briefcase and took out a large brown envelope. There was a green and white Keep Our Planet Green label on the front and the word “Petition” printed across it. Mr Bamber stood on his toes and chucked the envelope into the air. It fell into the nearest bin. Mr Bamber smiled, snapped his briefcase shut, and strolled back to his car.
I turned to Kuba.
Aghast is another of my grandmother’s words. I was definitely feeling aghast.
“But that’s the envelope Mrs Ludgate lost!”
“I know.
” Kuba shut the notebook and stuck it back in her schoolbag.
For somebody who was determined to help whether I wanted her to or not, she could be incredibly unhelpful when she put her mind to it.
“Well, what am I supposed to do now?”
Kuba shrugged. “That’s up to you.” She jabbed her fork in her salad. “I’m afraid that I can’t interfere.”
All the way to the new super supermarket, I thought about what I’d seen in Kuba’s notebook. The only thing I felt really sure about at the moment was the fact that whenever Kuba even vaguely suggested something, I ended up doing it.
But not this time. There was no way I was crawling into some disgusting dustbin to see if the Greeners’ envelope was really in it. Not if an army of angels moved into my road.
We must have had a tail wind behind us or something, because before I knew it my mother was parking the milk float in a space near the shops.
She turned off the ignition and looked at her watch. She gave it a shake.
“Maybe it’s not as far as I thought…” she mumbled. Then she looked over at me. “We’ve made such good time. Maybe it’s a sign that God is smiling down on us again.”
“Yeah,” I said. Or laughing.
My mother was going to station herself in front of the super supermarket itself. I was to take up my post by the garden centre. She gave me a bright smile and handed me my clipboard. She wished me luck. I wished her luck, too. I reckoned we would both need it.
It was a beautiful September afternoon, sunny and warm. Not only had about half the county picked that afternoon as their day to do their shopping or buy some new plants, but most of them seemed eager to sign my petition. A woman with lots of little kids all screaming around her even said I was a “fine young man”.
“What a fine young man,” she said, “doing something worthwhile instead of sitting at home watching television.”
I forced myself to smile. With Kuba living across the road, I might never watch telly again.
After a couple of hours the crowds began to thin out. It was getting near the time we’d have to leave if we wanted to get home for supper, and I found myself wondering if maybe I shouldn’t just have a look behind the shop. You know, to see if it looked in real life like it did in Kuba’s notebook.
I looked over at my mother. A bus full of women with shopping bags was unloading in front of the supermarket, and my mother was at the door, grabbing people as they tried to get off.
I glanced around at the garden centre. No one coming out or going in. I did another check on my mother. Her back was to me now. Why not? I decided. Taking one quick look couldn’t hurt.
I stuck my clipboard behind a tree and ran around the corner.
It didn’t really come as any great surprise that the back of the super supermarket looked just like it did in Kuba’s notebook. Except, of course, that Mr Bamber’s BMW wasn’t parked there any more.
There were four bins in a row. I stood where I thought the car had been, trying to work out which bin Mr Bamber had chucked the envelope in.
It’s that one, I decided. The second from the left.
And then I gave myself a shake. What was I thinking of? The bins weren’t the kind you put out at the front of the house; they were gigantic. Mr Bamber had stood on his toes to reach the bin; I’d have to be on stilts.
“This is ridiculous,” I scolded myself. “Kuba’s playing games, and you know it. Go back to your post.”
But even while I was saying that stuff to myself I was looking round for a ladder. Not that there was one.
“That’s it,” I said. “I’m going back to the garden centre.”
And then I saw some largish wooden crates, stacked beside a door.
“I’ll just see if there’s anything right on the top,” I told myself as I lugged a crate over to the nearest bin. “If I don’t I’ll be thinking about it all night.”
Standing on the crate, my eyebrows reached the top of the bin. I stood on my toes. Now I could see over the bin, but I still couldn’t see in.
I reckoned there was nothing more I could do. I’m not an athlete. When we play rounders and stuff like that at school, I’m always the last one picked because no one wants me on their team. There was no way I was going to even try to heave myself over the rim.
The door where the crates were stacked groaned open.
I looked over. A shoe, a hand and a newspaper appeared in the crack. I could hear men’s voices.
I stopped thinking completely then. Terror can make you stronger than you usually are, I’ve seen it in films. And I was definitely terrified. The last thing I wanted was to be caught hanging off a dustbin at the back of the supermarket. Not by those men at the door, and not by Grace Blue. My instincts took over again. Endowed for a moment with superhuman strength, I pulled myself up and over, landing flat on my face on top of the rubbish.
I nearly cried out loud. I was lying on a pile of rotten fruit that smelled like Gertie after she pukes.
The men were having a break. I could hear them talking about the coffee machine and what time the football was on that night. They dragged out a couple of crates to sit on.
I got to my feet and cautiously peered over the edge of the bin.
Two men were sitting against the building, drinking soft drinks. One of them had a newspaper and the other one was reading it with him over his shoulder. They had no idea I was there.
Trying not to make a sound, and almost gagging, I climbed into the next bin. I should have looked first.
You know that bit in Alice in Wonderland when she falls down the rabbit hole?
Well that’s what it felt like. The first bin was full to the top, but the second bin wasn’t. It was hardly full at all.
I stood up. By standing on my toes, I could just touch the top edge of the bin. But I didn’t have enough grip to even pretend to pull myself up.
Suddenly, I was really angry with Kuba. What was the use of being friends with someone who said she was an angel if she was never around when you really needed her?
“Elmo? Elmo?”
I froze. It was my mother. She was looking for me.
“Elmo? Elmo, where are you?”
One of the men asked her what was wrong.
My mother told him about the petition and that she’d seen me running towards the back of the shop. She said she thought I must be looking for a toilet.
“Well, there’s no loo back here,” said the second man.
“He must have gone into the garden centre,” my mother decided. I heard her start to walk away.
I had two choices: stay where I was till everyone had gone or shout for help.
If I waited till everyone had gone I might not get out of the bin until the dustmen came. By then my mother would have discovered that I wasn’t in the garden centre, or in the super supermarket, and she would have called the police.
If I shouted for help the men and my mother could get me out straight away and I could go home and forget the whole thing had happened.
It was the thought of being driven home in a police car that made up my mind. I shouted. Loud and clear.
“Mum? Mum, I’m in here!”
My mother’s footsteps stopped.
“Elmo?”
I started jumping up and down. “In here, Mum! In here!”
The man who had asked my mother what was wrong said, “He’s in the dustbin!”
They decided to tip the bin gently on to its side.
“All right!” called the men. “On the count of three.”
My mother did the counting. “One … two … three…”
The bin banged on the ground and I tumbled out with a whole load of rubbish.
The men reached down and helped me to my feet.
“Are you all right?” asked one.
“How on earth did you get in there?” asked the other.
My mother started to say something comforting but she stopped after, “Oh, Elmo…” She furrowed her brow and stooped to
pick something up. “What’s this?”
The men and I looked at what she was holding in her hands. The men didn’t say anything because they didn’t know what it was. I didn’t say anything because I did.
She was holding the Greeners’ envelope with the word “Petition” written on the front.
MR BAMBER
SNATCHES VICTORY
FROM THE JAWS OF
DEFEAT
My mother called an emergency meeting of the Greeners on Tuesday to tell them about finding the missing petitions.
“I don’t know why you need a meeting,” grumbled my father. A meeting meant that Gertie would be helping him in his studio until she was ready for bed. “They all know already.”
My mother had been on the phone most of Monday night telling them.
“We have our strategy to plan, as well,” said my mother. “We don’t want to lose the petitions again.”
My father took two home-made biscuits from the plate on the table. It was still a little early for a victory celebration, but my mother was in a party mood.
“Just don’t let Caroline Ludgate near them,” was my father’s advice. “She’d forget her head if it wasn’t firmly attached.”
“I’m not so sure it was Caroline’s fault,” said my mother.
“Really?” said my father. “Are you forgetting the time she left Barry at the shopping centre?”
Barry was Mrs Ludgate’s son. He was a plumber now, but at the time he’d been a little boy. She didn’t even realize he was missing until he phoned for her to come back and get him.
“It’s easy enough to misplace a child,” said my mother. “This is different. I’m beginning to think that someone deliberately took them.”
My father choked on his biscuit. “I don’t think petty thievery is Mr Bamber’s style, Grace.” He winked. “It might mess up his suit.”
“But he could get someone else to do it,” argued my mother.
My father shook his head.
“I don’t think so, love. Even Old Building Breath wouldn’t stoop that low.”
