by Dyan Sheldon
“What are you doing here?” I hissed. “You’re not supposed to—”
The rest of my sentence never reached my lips because I suddenly noticed the men. They were staring past us, their eyes wide with horror. They looked sort of green and they were walking backwards.
I turned round to see what they were staring at.
Hundreds of people were walking towards us from the top of the field. I thought at first that they were the armies of the Greeners. I searched the crowd for my mother. She should have been right at the front.
She wasn’t at the front, though. Which wasn’t the only thing that made me think they weren’t the Greeners after all.
The people coming through the field were all dressed up, but not one of them was wearing a coat. The women were in long skirts and big hats, and the men were all in suits. There were tons of children with them. That surprised me, because of the time of day. If they weren’t Greeners, the adults could have been on their way home from a very big costume party, but it was a bit early for children’s parties. The girls were in starched yellow-white dresses and most of the boys wore whitish suits. There were a few cats and dogs walking with them. One woman even had a budgie. It was strange because, although they were a crowd, you could tell that they weren’t together. I’d been on a couple of demonstrations with my mother and everybody always chatted as they walked along. But although some of these people were talking, they weren’t talking to each other, they were talking to themselves. And they were laughing and crying to themselves, too. None of them looked like they’d seen daylight for a while.
“What’s this, then?” demanded the first security guard. His voice wobbled. You could hear the fear.
I turned back to him. He wasn’t so tough any more. His face was the white of ashes, and so were the faces of the other men.
“Tell them to stop!” ordered one of the guards. He was moving backwards towards the car door. “Tell them to stop!”
“Stop,” said Kuba.
The people kept coming, their eyes on the car and the men who were now pushing each other to get inside it first.
“They won’t stop!” called Kuba as doors slammed shut and the mob of men, women, children and animals passed us like a cloud. “I’ve tried, but they won’t stop.”
The car backed up so fast it hit the first lorry.
I turned to Kuba.
“Who are all these people?” I whispered.
Kuba’s smile was like a fire on a stormy night.
“I can’t interfere,” said Kuba, “but I am allowed to raise the dead.”
Mrs Bamber and my mother arrived next. They were in the silver Porsche. My mother was clutching the petitions and Mrs Bamber was leaning on the horn. They were both wearing their dressing-gowns – in my mother’s case an old pink terry-towelling bathrobe with baby vomit stains all down the front, in Mrs Bamber’s something shining and silver.
The last of the dead were just melting into the air, mingling with the dust and fumes of the car, lorries and bulldozers as they made their escape. It reminded me of the earlier mist.
The driver of the first bulldozer had forced himself into the car with the guards, leaving the bulldozer sitting in the road. Mrs Bamber drove around it as if it were a piece of tyre on the motorway.
My mother and Mrs Bamber were out of the Porsche faster than you could say, “Keep our planet green”.
“Kuba!” Mrs Bamber was practically in tears. “Kuba, I’ve been worried sick. Are you all right?”
My mother was not practically in tears, she’s a tougher sort than Mrs Bamber, but she did scoop me up in her arms with a, “What a brave boy.”
I was glad none of the men were there to see it, even though I hugged her back.
In answer to Mrs Bamber’s question, Kuba said, “Yes, I’m fine. I went for a walk with Elmo.”
Mrs Bamber was still sobbing and telling Kuba never to do a thing like that again when my father and Mr Bamber showed up. My father had Gertie in a kind of rucksack on his back and was riding his bicycle. Mr Bamber was in the BMW. He was talking on his mobile and he looked pretty annoyed. Gregory was beside him.
My father threw his bike down. Gertie waved.
“Thank God you’re all right,” gasped my father.
I didn’t look at Kuba.
Gregory wouldn’t get out of the car, but Mr Bamber charged out like a wild animal whose cage door was suddenly opened.
He stopped when he saw Mrs Bamber. He wasn’t expecting her.
“Arabella! What on earth are you doing here?”
Not that he gave her a chance to answer.
“I had a call from my guards. Some nonsense about zombies—” He broke off as if he’d only just noticed the rest of us. Especially my mother. He used quite a few words I’m not allowed to use myself, but basically what he wanted to know was what was going on.
My mother told him. She said Mrs Bamber had woken up early and gone into Kuba’s room to check on her. Kuba hadn’t been there, but she’d found Kuba’s note saying that she was with me. Mrs Bamber had raced across the road and banged on the kitchen door. My mother had been up and just finishing reading the note I’d left her.
“Apparently Elmo thought you might try something like this,” my mother finished, “so he came to stop you.”
Mr Bamber looked like he had plenty left to say himself, but before he could get over his surprise that it was I who’d turned back the bulldozers, two police cars, a Range Rover and a red Ford all screeched to a halt behind the BMW, which was behind the bulldozer.
My father looked at my mother.
“I rang the police and the papers before we set off,” said my mother.
Mr Bamber said a few words about what he thought about that.
A flash went off as my mother stuck the petitions into his arms.
SOMEDAY THE TRUE
STORY MAY BE TOLD
There wasn’t a newspaper in the country that didn’t have at least one article about the Battle of Campton. Not so much because they agreed that might didn’t mean right, but because of the interesting twist in the story. In their interviews, the security guards and bulldozer drivers all mentioned the hordes of people who came towards them across the field. Some of the papers called the hordes people, but others called them “apparitions” or “zombies” or “the living dead”. Some of the papers suggested that the people were just Greeners, dressed up to shock.
My mother was happy to let them think that.
“If you ask me,” said my mother, “those idiots made up the zombies so they wouldn’t look even more foolish, being frightened away by a small boy.”
Personally, I didn’t think she had to say “small”.
The photo they ran in the papers of Mr Bamber showed him smiling good-naturedly. The caption underneath quoted him as saying that the Greeners had won “fair and square”. “A good businessman listens to the voice of the people,” said Mr David Bamber.
Because of all the publicity, the Council gave in to public opinion. Not only did they refuse Mr Bamber his permission, they declared the woods, the churchyard and the lake a historic area.
“Better late than never,” said my father.
Mrs Bamber and Kuba were not only invited to the Greeners’ victory party, they actually came. Mrs Bamber brought champagne from her husband’s wine cellar.
“He’ll be furious when he finds out,” she said cheerfully. “But since he’s already furious…”
Across the road, I could see Mr Bamber and Gregory looking out of the living-room window. Gregory almost looked as if he wanted to come to the party. Mr Bamber was glaring.
He may have been publicly defeated, but privately he vowed that he wasn’t going to give up just because of one minor setback. “There’s plenty more land where that came from,” is what he said at home.
“He says I’m not allowed to play with Elmo any more,” said Kuba. “He doesn’t even want me to talk to him.”
“I can live with that,”
I said.
Everybody thought I was joking.
“David wanted me to keep the curtains permanently closed in the front room,” Mrs Bamber told my mother. “So he wouldn’t have to be reminded all the time.”
My mother had obviously forgotten that she had once wanted to board up our front window so she wouldn’t see Mr Bamber. She laughed.
“How childish,” said my mother. “What did you say?”
“I sent the curtains to the cleaners,” said Mrs Bamber. “I only stopped him from putting the house up for sale by threatening to leave him.”
“He is a stubborn man, isn’t he?” said Grace Blue.
“Well, he met his Waterloo this time,” said my father.
“Actually, it’s the Alamo,” said Mrs Bamber, Kuba and I all at once.
Nobody noticed. My mother had wrenched the cork from a bottle of champagne and was spilling it into glasses, although most of it went on the floor.
“I think this calls for a toast,” said my mother when everyone but Kuba, me and Gertie had a glass. “To Elmo Eugene Sheriff Blue!” she cried.
Beside me, Kuba snorted.
“And Ku—” My mother smiled at Kuba. “That can’t be your full name…”
“It isn’t my name at all,” said Kuba, but she didn’t sound bothered. “My full name is Kulliana Nieves Isabella Verde.”
“It was as close as we could get,” murmured Mrs Bamber.
“Doesn’t ‘Verde’ mean green?” asked my mother.
“Yes,” said Kuba, “yes, it does.”
“Well, what a coincidence,” said my mother. She looked at the rest of us. “Isn’t that quite a coincidence? We’re the Blues, and I belong to the Greeners…”
I was the only one who didn’t say what an amazing coincidence it was.
I looked over at Kuba. She was smiling and nodding as if she’d never come across a coincidence like that before.
“So what happens now?” I whispered. “Do you just disappear?”
“Disappear?” She took a sip of her drink. We had fresh apple juice, of course. “Why would I do that?”
I didn’t like her tone.
“Because you’ve accomplished your mission,” I said calmly. “Your job here is done.”
“To Elmo Blue and Kuba Green!” my mother was shouting.
Kuba clinked her glass against mine.
“My job’s not done,” said Kuba. “My job here has only just begun.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dyan Sheldon is the author of many books for young people, including Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen; And Baby Makes Two; The Crazy Things Girls Do for Love; and My Worst Best Friend, as well as a number of stories for younger readers. American by birth, Dyan lives in North London.
Books by the same author
The Difficult Job of Keeping Time
Elena the Frog
He’s Not My Dog
Leon Loves Bugs
Lizzie and Charley Go Shopping
Lizzie and Charley Go to the Movies
Lizzie and Charley Go Away for the Weekend
Ride On, Sister Vincent
Undercover Angel Strikes Again
Vampire Across the Way
What Mona Wants, Mona Gets
For older readers
And Baby Makes Two
The Boy of My Dreams
Confessions of a Hollywood Star
Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen
I Conquer Britain
My Perfect Life
Planet Janet
Planet Janet in Orbit
Sophie Pitt-Turnbull Discovers America
Tall, Thin and Blonde
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information and material of any other kind contained herein are included for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for accuracy or replicated as they may result in injury.
First published 2000 by Walker Books Ltd
87 Vauxhall Walk, London SE11 5HJ
This edition published 2011
Text © 2000 Dyan Sheldon
Cover illustrations © 2004 Nick Sharratt
The right of Dyan Sheldon to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data:
a catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
ISBN 978-1-4063-3945-1 (ePub)
www.walker.co.uk
