by Emma Read
‘My, you are a ticklish one,’ said Shelly as she stood up. ‘OK, you’re all done. Have a great holiday.’
Zoe leant forward with her hands on her knees, and breathed out, as Dad and Greta began the frantic exercise of putting everything back in the bags. As they reattached brooches and belts and debated which pocket the passports were supposed to go in, Zoe grabbed her bag.
‘Well done, guys. That was a close one,’ she said, helping Milton, Audrey and Ralph back into the box. Then she gave her head a good scratch. ‘Well, this holiday can’t get any worse than that.’
Getting on the plane was like entering a new world. Zoe was allowed the window seat, and she got to watch an in-flight movie (while the spiders argued over whose turn it was to watch through the box lid). Then she had a snooze while listening to music on the plane radio until human food arrived in a little tray.
In the box, the spiders tucked into their travel snacks and chattered excitedly about the holiday.
They were actually flying to Hawaii!
And then it hit Milton. He was flying to find his dad.
His stomach churned in his cephalothorax and he gripped the side of the box.
What is wrong with me?
‘You OK, Milt?’ asked Ralph.
‘Sure, don’t think I’m a natural flyer is all.’
‘It doesn’t feel like when I flew. But then I was tied to a toy soldier. Good job he knew what to do with that parachute, I was terrified!’
Milton gave a small smile but he wasn’t feeling right at all. He was weirdly worried about seeing his dad.
‘Get some rest, Milton. You’ll be fine.’
My inner voice is sounding squeaky. And rather optimistic. Perhaps I’m coming down with something.
‘Mini?’ cried Audrey and Ralph.
‘Hello!’ Mini grinned as though suddenly appearing nine thousand metres above the Atlantic Ocean was the most normal thing in the world.
‘What are you doing here?’ said Ralph, giving her the most delicate squeeze he could.
She pointed to her tiny T-shirt, which Ralph had to squint with all his eyes to see. It had ‘I Milton’ on the front. ‘I’m his number-one fan, remember?’
‘Sure, but . . . how did you get here?’ said Audrey. ‘We had a nightmare getting through security.’
‘Oh, you know me, I’m so small that literally no one notices.’
‘You’re a stowaway on top of stowaways?’ Milton gasped. ‘But I’m glad you’re here. Come on, you can sleep by me. It sounds like you’ve had a busy day.’
It was a long flight, with a stopover in Los Angeles, USA, which meant they had to get off the big plane, wait in a different airport (that weirdly looked exactly like the last one) and get on another smaller plane before they finally reached Hilo International Airport.
The excitement of travelling had definitely worn off and everyone was tired and grumbling about the weight of the suitcases and where they would get a taxi.
‘Doesn’t someone wait at the exit holding a sign with our names on?’ said Zoe wearily.
Greta and Dad scanned the airport signs. ‘I think that’s only for tour buses and celebrities,’ Dad said distractedly. Zoe checked out all the signs anyway.
The Porters
Mr Horvath
Kau Wela Vacations
The Maceys
‘Dad!’ Zoe grabbed her dad’s sleeve. ‘We’ve got one! Are we famous here too? We are celebrities!’
Dad looked at Greta as if she might know what was going on, but she shook her head. ‘Maybe there are other Maceys?’
The man with the sign waved his mobile phone at them. ‘Hey there, you Owen and Greta Macey?’
That was the second time someone had mistaken Greta for her mum, but Zoe decided to ignore it. He was there for them! She leapt with delight, suddenly wide awake again. Then she remembered her precious cargo. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered to her bag.
As the man approached he finished his call, wincing as he hit ‘speaker’ instead of the hangup button and a loud, mechanical sawing noise screamed from the phone. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said as Dad walked over to him.
‘Hi, yes, I’m Owen Macey.’ He looked confused. ‘Did someone send you?’
‘Sure did, buddy. Me! The name’s Bradley O’Hair. Owner of the Big Bradley Beach Hotel. Pleasure to meet you, folks.’ He held out his hand and Zoe’s dad shook it.
‘Owen Macey. And this is Greta, my fiancée and Zoe, my daughter.’
‘This is the world-famous Zoe Macey, who likes spiders so much.’
Zoe was sure Bradley sneered as he spoke, but then he gave a little bow and his baseball cap fell off and she figured she was mistaken. ‘Nice to meet you, Mr O’Hair. Have you got a limousine?’
‘Zoe!’ scolded Dad. Then, ‘Have you?’
‘Sorry, friends, the limo is being restocked today – topping up the curly straws and cocktail umbrella supplies. I do love a little umbrella in my drink, don’t you?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable in my little car.’
Zoe handed Bradley his cap back, raising a swift eyebrow at the picture of Bradley’s face on the front, surrounded by colourful hibiscus flowers and hearts. Across the middle of the logo were the words: BOB – Bradley O’Hair (Billionaire).
The ‘little car’ was an enormous four-by-four, bright red with BOB logos on all the doors and the bonnet. Bradley’s driver took their luggage and they all piled into the vehicle. Bradley got in last, grinning broadly at them all.
Zoe could barely take her eyes off the man – he looked like a cartoon character, with a permanent smile, and he was wearing the most alarming colour combinations. His shorts were salmon-pink and his blindingly bright Hawaiian shirt was purple, orange and green. Teamed with the red cap, it threatened to give Zoe a headache. And it all looked very out of place with his mud-caked work boots.
‘I can’t tell you how thrilled we are to have you here, you guys. When my assistant mentioned your name had come up in the bookings I just knew I had to meet y’all.’ He handed them some tickets from his pocket. ‘Complimentary passes for the cinema I own in town, and free coffees, and surfing lessons. Your family are going to have the best time at my place. You won’t need to go anywhere else. We have the best spa facilities in the US, best pools, best cocktails, best beds – the comfiest beds you’ll ever find. That flight from England is a long one, for sure – and, well, we are going to look after you and then some. Mr Macey, you play golf?’
‘Er, no. Sorry.’
Bradley’s face fell. Zoe thought for a millisecond that he might cry, or hit an ejector button and fling them all into the sea. But he fixed his smile back on and said, ‘I’m sure that’s because you’ve not been to the best golf course yet. I’m gonna take you golfing just as soon as you’ve unpacked.’ He slapped Mr Macey on the back, and Zoe smirked as her dad’s mouth gave a little twitch of horror.
Bradley talked pretty much all the way to the hotel. Mostly about his businesses – it turned out he owned a lot of things on the island and they were all the best. Best surfing, best coffee, best real estate (which Dad explained meant ‘best houses’) and, as they pulled into the hotel car park, she realized that what Bradley might actually be best at was exaggerating.
Everything Is Awesome
It would take a while to get used to the new time zone, the heat and the hotel itself, which Mr M had taken to describing as ‘full of character’.
Ralph eventually got his cephalothorax around the fact that although they were supposed to be lying low, it was fine for them to sunbathe on the fifth-floor window ledge. Zoe had even made them a tiny pool out of a soap dish, so they could have a proper holiday experience.
‘The only thing missing is room service,’ said Ralph, groaning as he got to his claws to grab a beetle from the snack box.
‘This is certainly the life,’ said Milton. ‘I’ve not thought about promotions, publicity or portrait photos for ages.’ He paused
. ‘Well, except just then. I wonder what’s happening to all the fan mail.’
Audrey propped herself up on her long front legs. ‘Don’t you dare.’
‘I’m just thinking of all the fans who won’t be getting replies, and how it’ll all be waiting for me when I get back . . .’ He stopped. Audrey was giving him that look again. ‘We’re on holiday. You need to relax, remember? That was the whole point of coming here.’
‘And to see Dad,’ said Milton. A shadow fell across his face, but it was just a butterfly.
‘What’s the plan there, then? Web-swing to the forest, find the old fella, then back in time for a damselfly dinner?’ Ralph rubbed his front claws together in anticipation.
Audrey looked out of the window to the horizon. ‘It’s an awfully long way. I can only just see the edge of the rainforest from here.’ Milton nodded in vigorous agreement. ‘Waaay too far. I’ve not been keeping up my web-swinging either. And you wouldn’t be able to come, Ralph.’
‘Don’t use me as an excuse – I can zip wire on your web.’
‘Swing on someone else’s web? That sounds very wrong. You’re not swinging on mine.’ Milton grimaced. ‘I don’t think we should rush into things until we know exactly where Dad is. I was chatting to Zoe yesterday and she thinks Greta and Mr M are up to something. That there’s more to this holiday than meets her two eyes. Like a surprise about my dad?’
‘Milton, your dad is an international explorer – he’s fine. Stop trying to find things to worry about.’ Audrey’s expression was bordering on cross.
‘Well Zoe is going to keep her ear to the ground.’
‘That’ll make walking tricky for her. That Zoe, she’d do anything for you, Milt.’ Ralph stretched out on the ledge again, looking down at the humans below. ‘Funny place, this. Look at them all, lying there like larvae.’
Ralph was fascinated by the hotel, and Milton had to explain to him on more than one occasion that they didn’t live here now, they were just borrowing the room and that Bradley owned the whole place. Milton was only beginning to understand money, but he was sure there must be something better to do with it than buy a great big house and put your face all over the soft furnishings. Then Zoe had started unpacking her things, arranging her tablet, books and her beloved fluffy tarantula on the desk, explaining that she was ‘making herself at home’. At this point Ralph had given up trying to make sense of it and got on with finding the best corner for eating, sleeping and taking it easy in general. Which, for Ralph, was pretty much anywhere.
‘Anyone for a bit of para-leaf-gliding later this afternoon?’ Milton said, feeling the direction of the wind with his claw.
‘I will,’ said a voice from out of nowhere.
Ralph clutched his abdomen. ‘Honestly, Mini, you’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days. Where did you appear from this time?’
‘I just floated in on the breeze,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’m glad you’re starting to relax, Milton. This is a holiday, remember? No drama, no danger, just a lovely family reunion.’
The next morning at breakfast, silence weighed heavily at the Maceys’ table. No one spoke. An occasional look was exchanged, but otherwise nothing.
Except chewing.
Eventually, Zoe’s dad broke the spell. ‘You two are absolute animals!’
Zoe and Greta responded by nodding enthusiastically and making disgusting grunting noises, their mouths stuffed full of the local cuisine. ‘I mean, what even is that, Zoe?’
‘It’s loco moco,’ she replied, in a tone that said, Duh, you heard me order it.
‘Right . . . but what is it?’
Zoe pointed to the collapsing mountain of food. ‘Egg, burger, rice, gravy.’ Then shovelled in some more. ‘It’s del-ish-us.’ A bit of rice flew on to the table.
Dad looked at his toast and jam for comfort.
‘I’m having that tomorrow,’ said Greta. ‘It looks amazing – Hawaiian food is the best! Do you want to try my bacon and pineapple bake?’ She offered a forkful of what looked like pizza topping to Dad, who hid behind his BOB-branded coffee cup.
‘I’ll pass, I think, sweetheart.’
‘Well, at least the food is good.’ Greta gazed around the dining room. ‘It’s not quite what I was expecting.’
Owen sniggered. The hotel was certainly different – seemingly decorated to match Bradley’s fashion sense. There was more colour on the wall than a DIY store after an explosion, and almost everything that could be was made of pink plastic – the cutlery, the chairs and the staff ’s shoes. The option to Go Large was available on everything, and on the walls were photos and blueprints of what Bradley had described as his ‘moments of entrepreneurial genius’.
There was a drawing of a petrol-powered wave machine to improve the surf, a plan for drilling into the volcano to fuel lava-powered barbeques and, most ridiculous of all, a giant magnet to attract all of Bradley’s lost golf balls – he’d had them custom-made with metal centres, and it was a miracle only a flock of nene geese got hit.
But whatever the surroundings, it was a fun family breakfast. Everything was calm. Everyone was happy. No one was fretting about work, or exams, or whatever else Dad and Greta had going on. Life was good.
Which is why, of course, everything was about to go wrong.
Shaken and Stirred
‘What’s the plan for finding Milton’s dad, then?’ asked Zoe as she finished off a second peanut butter smoothie. ‘Is he in trouble?’ She made an unnecessarily loud noise as she hoovered up milk and ice cream with her straw. ‘And if so, how do we find a tiny false widow in a vast leafy rainforest?’
Owen squirmed, umming and ahhing, but was saved from not having a good answer by one of the waiting staff.
‘Mr Macey? Someone just left this at the desk for you.’ Zoe’s dad took the piece of folded paper, read it, looked shifty, then pushed out his chair and stood up.
And sat back down immediately, a startled expression on his face.
The pink chandelier tinkled above them, shaking gently at first, then violently. Zoe and Greta got up too, and realized why Owen had taken his seat again so suddenly. The floor was moving.
Cutlery rattled, the ketchup bottles fell over and an elaborately framed picture of a boy with scruffy hair crashed to the floor.
Bradley himself staggered into the room. ‘It’s all fine, folks,’ he said, making calming gestures with his hands. ‘Just a small one. The hotel is built for this kinda thing.’
‘Is it an earthquake?’ asked Greta.
‘Yup, because of the volcano. We get ’em every now and again. Nothing to worry about.’ He grinned, showing all his teeth, which he seemed to think was reassuring. And then the shaking stopped. ‘There we go, everyone, drinks on the house. No problem, it’s all good.’
‘That’s very kind, Mr O’Hair,’ said Owen, getting up again. ‘Especially on top of all the free vouchers you’ve given us. It’s almost as if you want us to enjoy ourselves here!’
‘You Brits, so funny.’ Bradley shook Owen’s hand vigorously.
‘Is the volcano going to erupt?’ asked Zoe, a little too loudly.
Bradley’s face went from sunset orange to faded peach. ‘Not at all, this happens all the time. All the time. Anyway, I’d like to offer your parents an afternoon in our spa. On the house. The whole afternoon, then dinner in the restaurant.’
Zoe opened her mouth to inform Bradley once and for all that Greta was not her parent, but she couldn’t get a word in edgeways.
‘We were going out to eat tonight,’ said Greta.
‘No need,’ said Bradley. ‘The best food on the island is right here, you don’t have to set foot outside the hotel. This one agrees, am I right?’ He pointed at Zoe’s plate, which she had practically licked clean.
‘Well, the spa does sound nice. We did come here to relax. We can do the other stuff tomorrow.’ That look again between Greta and Dad – the one that was only for them.
‘And for the littl
e one, free movies on the Billionaire Channel all week. Especially for you.’
Little one.
Before Zoe could argue the point about being eleven, and nearly twelve, actually, Bradley gave them a cheesy grin, two thumbs up, and galumphed over to the next table, retrieving the fallen photo as he went.
Owen had another, more successful go at standing. ‘Just popping out for a sec.’ And he walked into the foyer.
Zoe and Greta eyed the note he’d left behind on the table. They both made a grab for it, but Zoe was faster.
Red Badger, Island Fox is outside
O . . . K . . .
Greta conveniently had to use the loo all of a sudden, leaving Zoe to consider this highly suspicious turn of events.
She leant back on her chair as far as she dared without tipping over and could just make out her dad in the foyer. He seemed to be whispering to a bearded Hawaiian man hiding behind a fake palm tree. This was too interesting to miss. Zoe casually strolled to the cutlery bench in order to get a better look. As she pretended to rate the teaspoons, she saw a teenage girl join Palm-Tree Man and her dad. The girl had long dark hair, plaited down the back, a short khaki skirt and seriously cool high-tops. Her hands were glued to her hips and even at a distance Zoe could see she was directing an impressive eyebrow raise towards the foliage.
Just then, two of the staff came running over to the palm tree. There was a lot of shaking of plastic leaves, then the man and the teenage girl were escorted roughly out of Zoe’s view and presumably out of the hotel. The staff were frowning as they spoke to Dad, then Greta appeared and led him away and back to their table.
‘Ah, the perfect teaspoon,’ said Zoe smiling innocently as they walked past, although once back at the table, she couldn’t hide the fact that she didn’t even need a spoon.
‘What was that all about, Red Badger?’ Zoe passed him the note as Greta sat down again too.
Owen made a caught-singing-into-a-hairbrush expression and stuffed the note in his pocket. ‘Ah. I have a confession. Before you hit the gold-and-purple-carpeted ceiling, I want you to know that we are on holiday. But Greta and I have been trying to kill two birds with one stone, make hay while the sun shines, and all that . . . ’ Owen looked as if he’d lost his own thread.
