Breaking News

by Jacqueline Harvey

  ‘You naughty little toad!’ Esme shouted after the lad.

  When the lights were turned back on, Kensy noticed an envelope on the floor. It hadn’t been there seconds ago and she wondered if the woman in uniform had dropped it. But she was gone now and Esme Brightside was hotfooting it to the nearest exit. In fact, the old woman was looking remarkably sprightly. Kensy scooped up the envelope and was about to go after the woman when Claire ushered the class in a different direction.

  ‘This way, and hurry please,’ she said, an octave higher than before.

  Kensy shoved it into her blazer pocket.

  The alarm was still screaming and people were beginning to panic. There were mothers with young children in pushers, and elderly folks in wheelchairs, as well as loads of tourists, some nonplussed and others nervous. Kensy turned and saw a young fellow trying to assist Esme Brightside, only to receive a solid whack from her walking stick. The old woman almost skipped down the stairs.

  ‘She’s such a fake,’ the girl muttered under her breath.

  As they entered the main foyer, the smell of smoke filled the air and the sound of wailing sirens grew louder. The children jostled out of the side doors onto the street and Mr Frizzle began to count heads. The fact that he had acquired an extra student caused some concern. He checked again to find that he’d managed to pick up a lad from a primary school in Croydon who was also on an excursion. The boy’s poor teacher was beside herself on the forecourt at the front of the gallery.

  Kensy pulled the envelope from her pocket and turned it over. On the front were the initials E. B., so she reasoned that it would belong to Mrs Esme Brightside. The woman must have dropped it in the kerfuffle. Kensy would return it to her after school or, on second thoughts, maybe she’d convince Max to do it.

  ‘What’s that?’ her brother asked, appearing at her side.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Kensy showed him the sealed packet and explained what she’d just witnessed. She resisted the urge to tear it open even though she desperately wanted to know what was inside. ‘I’ll put it through the letterbox this afternoon. I don’t really want to talk to her.’

  By now Mr Frizzle had returned the other boy to his very relieved teacher and rounded up his own students. ‘It looks as if the brigade has things under control,’ the man reported. ‘Fire in a rubbish bin, apparently. Someone must have been having a sneaky cigarette and threw the butt into a bin.’

  Kensy glanced around and spotted a familiar figure. If he hadn’t been dressed in a cheap ill-fitting suit with a dark shock of hair and a fedora hat at an impossible angle, she would have sworn it was Derek Grigsby. She nudged her brother. ‘Is that who I think it is?’

  Max peered across the road. ‘It sort of looks like an older version of Derek. Why would he be here in disguise? Actually, why would he be here at all? This is the last place I would’ve thought he’d hang out.’

  ‘Maybe he’s with Mrs Brightside,’ Kensy said. ‘I saw her inside.’ She pulled the envelope out of her pocket again and felt around it to see if she could work out what was inside. It was really none of her concern, but the entire business was very odd. And why Derek Grigsby would be incognito at the gallery was anyone’s guess. It didn’t make sense at all. Then again, not much about Kensy and Max’s lives did at the moment.

  The children returned to school to find that Chinese whispers about their miraculous escape from the gallery were gathering momentum at every turn. By lunchtime, things had got completely out of hand with rumours of an explosion and a hostage crisis doing the rounds. Mr MacGregor decided to rein it in lest he be confronted with a group of anxious parents that afternoon.

  The dining room thrummed with hungry students as the headmaster stood up from his seat at the teachers’ top table and walked to the microphone.

  ‘Good afternoon, everyone,’ he boomed, silencing the clunking of cutlery and excitable chatter. He looked around at the teachers’ table, where several of his colleagues were still speaking, and cleared his throat, waiting for his staff to fall into line. When the man was confident there was dead silence, he continued. ‘I would like to let you all know that while Mr Frizzle’s Art class –’ He stopped abruptly, taking account of the teacher glaring at him. ‘Sorry, I meant Mr Friz-elle’s Art class. Did I get it right that time, Elliot?’

  The teacher pursed his lips and nodded, wondering for the thousandth time if he might be better off changing the spelling of his name by deed poll. At least then there would be no excuses for mispronunciations.

  Mr MacGregor gave the man a nod and continued. ‘Yes, while Mr Friz-elle’s class was visiting the Tate this morning, there was a very small and inconsequential fire in a rubbish bin. All students were immediately evacuated and accounted for and, in fact, I hear that we almost picked up an extra.’

  ‘That’s not what we heard, sir,’ Alfie called out. ‘From the rumours going around school, the whole place was burning to the ground and the kids just made it out by the skin of their teeth.’

  Mr MacGregor looked at the lad pointedly. ‘Yes, Alfie, I’d heard that too and, given we can see the gallery from the front of the school, I’d say that was more than a slight exaggeration. Now, we really must nip nonsense like this in the bud. I can’t abide such silliness and, if I find out who stoked the fire, pardon the pun, they’ll be looking after Kevin for the rest of the term. And I can tell you he seems awfully hungry at the moment.’

  There was a collective gasp. No one wanted that job.

  The headmaster was about to say something else when a loud shout came from the back of the room followed by the clanging of metal.

  Magoo’s shoulders slumped. ‘Oh, good God,’ he muttered, rubbing his forehead.

  The children turned to see two ancient Roman soldiers barrelling into the dining room, swords flailing and shouting at each other in Latin. Max recognised some of the words and giggled at his sister, who was sitting across from him and appeared to have recovered from her earlier bad mood.

  ‘Who is that?’ Kensy whispered to Autumn.

  The girl smiled. ‘Just wait, you’ll see.’

  The pair of soldiers parried and thrust down the centre of the room. One of them spun around, swinging their sword with them, and missed the top of Alfie’s curly hair by a whisker.

  The girl sitting beside the lad pulled a thatch from the top of the boy’s head and held it up. ‘You cut his hair!’ she cried, garnering laughs from the rest of the students.

  Magoo MacGregor was growing more impatient by the second. He was starving and patently aware that his lunch was getting cold. He’d asked Mrs Trimm to give him extra gravy on his bangers and mash too and had been looking forward to it all morning.

  ‘Oh, for goodness sakes, Reffell, you’ve made your point,’ the man barked. ‘I’m sure that the children are as excited about the History excursion as you are. Would you like to stop all this nonsense and come and tell them whatever it is you need to say this time?’

  Monty Reffell and his partner, who turned out to be Lottie Ziegler, removed their helmets, puffing and panting. Mr Reffell went to charge onto the stage but missed the first step, sending himself sprawling, much to the amusement of everyone in the room.

  ‘Monty, you goose!’ Mrs Trimm roared.

  The man dusted himself off and took to the microphone. ‘Oops, didn’t realise Roman soldiers could be so clumsy,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Before I begin, can we have a round of applause for Miss Ziegler? A worthy opponent, indeed.’

  The children whistled and clapped and the woman took a bow.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, man, get on with it,’ Magoo hissed.

  ‘Right, just a quick one,’ Mr Reffell continued. ‘I know lots of you are already booked in, but this is a tiny reminder that we’re going to Rome in the New Year holiday and there are still a few spots left. All are welcome – as long as your parents pay, of course. Ha! Should be lots of fun – loads of history – so come and see me if you’re interested.’

  The man
turned and grinned at the headmaster, then hurried to take his seat at the staff table.

  ‘Well, all that for not very much.’ Mr MacGregor plastered on a smile. ‘Thank you, Mr Reffell. I look forward to the feature-length film announcement you will no doubt bless us with next time.’

  Monty gave him the thumbs up and another big grin.

  ‘Is anyone allowed to go?’ Max asked, as the children turned back to their lunch.

  Carlos nodded. ‘I went to Greece last year – it was amazing. Reff is a bit bonkers, but he’s a really good teacher. My parents can’t wait to get rid of me again. I’m signed up. You should come too – if your parents let you.’

  ‘We’ve never been to Rome, even though we’ve lived in Italy a couple of times,’ Max said.

  He was half-expecting one of the kids to ask him more about their life and was surprised when no one said a word.

  Kensy looked across at her brother, then she saw Amelie sitting at the next table. At the mention of parents, the girl swiftly turned her head. Kensy made a mental note to tell Max what Amelie had said earlier – she was sure there was more to it than the girl was prepared to let on.

  The children hopped out of the taxi, which was parked against the kerb at number thirteen. True to his word, Song had been waiting outside their school to whisk them straight home. Kensy had managed to grab a minute with her brother on their way to the front gate and had told him about Amelie’s peculiar behaviour and what the girl had said about their parents. Max thought it odd too, especially as he confirmed that neither of them had told anyone what was going on.

  ‘Are you going to Mrs Brightside’s?’ Max asked as he followed Kensy upstairs.

  ‘I suppose. Do you want to come with me?’ she asked.

  Max nodded. ‘Sure. I’ll just get changed.’

  The boy walked into his immaculate room and quickly got out of his uniform, hanging it up in the wardrobe. He selected a pair of dark jeans and a red checked shirt with a light blue sweater over the top and boat shoes.

  Kensy hurried to get changed as well, although her school tunic only made it as far as being flung over her chair. She chose a light blue pair of jeans and a purple striped sweater, then tied another pink top around her waist and donned a pair of red sneakers. The rest of her clothes had miraculously returned to the wardrobe. She’d have to remember to thank Song later.

  ‘What do you think it is?’ Max asked from the doorway, startling Kensy, who was holding the envelope. She dropped it onto the floor. As she bent down to pick it up, she realised that it had a small tear in the corner. ‘Oh great, if we give it back to her now, she’ll think we’ve been snooping. So we might as well.’

  Before Max could protest, Kensy ripped open the envelope and emptied its contents onto her desk. There was a round disc and another small black rectangular object with unmarked buttons on it.

  ‘Well, that’s not worth the ire of Mrs Brightside, is it?’ Max said. ‘I’ll get another envelope.’ He opened the top drawer of Kensy’s desk and located one the right size. He wrote ‘E. B.’ to match the original.

  ‘What do you think they’re for?’ the girl mused.

  ‘Looks like a fob to get into a building.’

  ‘She probably has a gymnastics studio somewhere.’ The girl grinned, imagining Mrs Brightside leaping about in her leopard-print leotard. She dropped the items into the new envelope and sealed it. ‘Come on, let’s head over. I’d hate for her to miss her classes.’

  ‘We’d better let Song know or he’ll have a heart attack when he can’t find us,’ Max said. ‘I’ll tell him.’

  The boy ran ahead of his sister, making his way downstairs to the entrance hall then down again to the basement kitchen, where the butler was chop ping carrots and zucchini at a hand-blurring speed while singing along to an upbeat country melody.

  Max marvelled at the man’s skills. ‘Whoa, how do you do that?’

  Song looked up and waved the knife in the air. ‘A great deal of practice,’ he said, raising his left eyebrow. ‘Would you like afternoon tea, Master Maxim? I have made a hummingbird cake and it is delicious, even if I do say so myself.’

  ‘Sounds great, but I’ll have some when we come back. Kensy and I are going over to see Mrs Brightside for a minute,’ the boy said. ‘Kensy saw her drop an envelope and we need to give it back to her.’

  ‘Oh, I will come with you then,’ Song said. He slid the vegetables from the chopping board into a saucepan full of water on the unlit stovetop.

  ‘You really don’t need to,’ Max protested. ‘How much trouble can we get into walking from one side of the street to the other? Okay, don’t answer that. But, seriously, we’ll be fine.’

  Song pondered for a moment and rubbed his chin. ‘I do need to get the leg of lamb into the oven or we will be eating at midnight … How about I just watch you cross the road?’

  He removed his apron and hung it on a hook near the door, then followed Max upstairs, where Kensy was waiting.

  ‘You don’t need to come,’ she said, eyeing Song. ‘You said that Mrs Brightside was lovely, so now we’re going to see whether you were telling the truth.’

  Song opened the front door and walked into the middle of the street like a traffic warden, ready to stop any cars that came along. Kensy and her brother grinned and rolled their eyes at one another.

  ‘You know you’re being ridiculous,’ Max said, glancing left and right. There wasn’t a moving vehicle in sight.

  ‘One cannot be too careful,’ the butler replied. His eyes darted all over the place as he made sure nothing was out of the ordinary.

  ‘The only person acting suspiciously around here, Song, is you,’ Kensy said. She walked up the gutter to the footpath opposite while the butler headed back to the townhouse. ‘We’re just going to push the envelope through the slot.’

  ‘We should at least see if she’s home,’ Max said. ‘Otherwise she won’t know you were the good Samaritan who found it.’

  Kensy groaned, but gave in and knocked tentatively on the door.

  ‘Well, no one’s going to hear that,’ Max said. He grasped the doorknocker in the shape of a lion’s head and gave it a firm belt.

  The children waited for a full minute. Kensy was about to drop the envelope through the letterbox in the door when a voice echoed from inside. The girl’s stomach dropped.

  ‘Hold your horses, I’m comin’!’ Esme Brightside howled, shortly before opening the front door.

  ‘Hello Mrs B,’ Song called from the doorway of number thirteen. ‘The children found something that belongs to you. Could you please see to it they return home safely as I must attend to my lamb?’

  The old woman flashed him a smile. ‘Are you doin’ a roast for dinner?’

  Song nodded.

  The old woman licked her lips. ‘Oh, that sounds delicious. I can’t remember the last time I ’ad a roast. When it’s just me, it’s ’ardly worth the effort.’ She looked downcast and sighed.

  ‘I am sure that we will have more than enough for one extra. I will bring you a plate,’ Song promised.

  ‘Oh, Song darlin’, you are too kind. Thank you, my lovely.’ Mrs Brightside gave the man a wave before he hurried inside, then turned to Kensy and Max. She scrunched up her nose and narrowed her eyes. ‘Now, what ’ave you possibly got that belongs to me?’

  Kensy and Max gulped in unison. Mrs Brightside didn’t seem quite as lovely right now.

  The telephone rang inside. The woman danced around for a few seconds, as if deciding whether or not to answer it. ‘Come in then,’ she ordered, indicating for the children to follow her. ‘And shut the door behind you.’

  Esme appeared to forget she used a cane when she scurried into the sitting room and picked up the telephone that was sitting on the arm of a tatty lounge chair.

  ‘No,’ she barked. ‘Garnet, you never listen. I’ve already told you. LAX on Saturday. Call me back in ’alf an ’our when I might feel more inclined to speak to you.’ She hung up the phone
and exhaled loudly before turning back to the children. ‘Sorry about that. Just my idiot ’usband. So, where is it, this thing of mine?’

  Kensy wondered if the woman’s husband was always the subject of such abuse. She took a deep breath and began to explain. ‘We were at the Graff Exhibition this morning with our class when the fire alarm went off. I think you must have dropped this,’ Kensy said, pulling the envelope from her jeans pocket.

  Esme Brightside’s eyes lit up and she rushed towards Kensy, grabbing it from her hands and clutching it to her chest. She held it out again and stared at it, as if it were the most precious jewel in the world. ‘I … I didn’t realise. I thought it was in me bag. That’ll teach me for using it as a filin’ cabinet. Oh, you clever girl. I’d have been in a bit of bother if you ’adn’t found that.’ She hugged Kensy tightly.

  Max cowered, hoping he wasn’t about to meet a similar fate.

  ‘Angel child.’ Esme beamed as little flecks of white spittle gathered in the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth.

  Max looked around the sitting room. It was not nearly as glamorous as Dame Spencer’s townhouse across the road. The decor was comprised of old net curtains and a garish floral carpet. The mismatched and somewhat thread-bare velvet lounge chairs had seen better days too. Unlike Dame Spencer’s open-plan layout, this house was divided into much smaller rooms and there was a horrible smell – mildew coupled with sardines, perhaps.

  The boy noticed a stack of travel brochures on the coffee table with pictures of beautiful crystal-clear waters and sandy beaches. The one on top advertised the splendours of the Dominican Republic.

  ‘Come through to the kitchen – I’ve got somefin’ for you,’ the woman said. Mrs Brightside picked up her cane that was leaning against the wall and shuffled into the grimy hallway.