by Emma Read
Mr Macey returned his focus to the real world. Well, to the professor at any rate. With a shaky hand, he knelt down on the table and handed her a biscuit.
‘Thank you.’ She turned her attention back to the spiders. ‘In,’ she instructed, giving them the slightest nudge with her hand. Hearing Mr Macey gasp, she said gently, ‘They’re not aggressive. As long as they don’t feel threatened they won’t bite. Don’t worry.’
Slowly and carefully, Professor Parker encouraged a grumbling Mack and Seltey into the box and snapped the lid on. ‘Safe and sound,’ she announced, placing the box on the breakfast bar.
Mr Macey leapt off the table and flung his arms around her. ‘Thank you, Greta.’ They gazed at one another over the packet of Jammie Dodgers, while Zoe studied the now safely contained deadly pair. She had a feeling something strange was going on.
It was dark by the time Professor Parker went home. The biscuits were gone but, despite the drama, the house was full of smiles and laughter. Greta had apologized repeatedly for the behaviour of her spiders and Owen had tried his best to reassure her that she had nothing to worry about. Apparently, squeezing her hand a few times had helped make his point.
Milton, Audrey and Ralph were under the skirting board, snacking on ants. As they heard Mr Macey helping Greta with her coat, Milton made an excuse and popped his head out.
There she goes. The adult human who loves spiders.
Audrey put a leg around his front shoulders. ‘Don’t feel bad, Milton. You meant well. You didn’t know what would happen.’
‘I got carried away, Audrey. I thought this would be an easy way to get the humans on our side, but there are no shortcuts.’ He thought about what she and Seltey had said: Sometimes you’ve got to take a risk. ‘This time I’m going to do it right.’
If only you could speak, Zoe said . . . We could change people’s minds.
The professor and Mr M were still saying goodbye when they heard a third voice at the front door.
‘Oh, hello, Mr Macey. I hope I’m not intruding. I’ve brought those back issues of Spick and Span Cleaning Monthly, like I promised.’
Milton leapt back inside and Audrey gave a tiny yelp.
‘Oh, yes, of course. Come in, Ms Thrubwell, how are you?’
‘Oh, wonderfully well, thank you.’ She picked at a strand of hair that had wriggled out of her hairnet. ‘Business is booming. And squashing and spraying.’ She giggled and handed Professor Parker her card. ‘What’s your line of work, if you don’t mind my asking?’
Greta looked at the card, then over her shoulder at the rucksack containing Mack and Seltey. She raised an eyebrow in Mr Macey’s direction. ‘Curator of Invertebrates. I specialize in spider conservation. Goodnight, Owen. Thank you for a lovely evening.’
Felicity scrunched her nose as the professor left, then hopped daintily into the house. ‘Spider conservation? Whatever next?’ She tutted through her teeth. ‘I hope she’s not changing your mind about our appointment.’ Felicity dropped the stack of magazines on to the breakfast bar. ‘There are some brilliant tips on getting rid of all kinds of pests in here.’ She looked at the two empty teacups and muttered under her breath, ‘Unfortunately not human pests, though.’
Mr Macey made her a drink and apologized for the lack of biscuits.
Milton took up a position beside the cornflakes.
‘Ms Thrubwell, are you sure false widows are as dangerous as you say? Because if not, spraying pesticide in the house might be worse.’
‘Of course I’m sure, Mr Macey . . . Owen.’
Milton observed Mr M’s eyebrow give a little twitch as Felicity used his first name.
Interesting.
‘I’ve been studying these pests for years now.’ She crossed her legs towards him.
‘As a researcher?’ Mr Macey leant back.
‘On Google.’
Felicity stood up, pulling the Bug-Off from her ever-present BugKILL! Belt. She sniffed the air, as if seeking out prey. ‘They’re here, Owen, I can feel them. Can’t you feel your skin crawling?’ She let off the tiniest burst of spray, over the sink, then another over the hob.
‘Er, Ms Thrubwell, I think I’m going to have to say goodnight. I need to help Zoe with some homework.’
Milton (who was holding his breath in the cereal cupboard) watched Mr M closely.
Good job we’ve been studying human behaviour – there’s no mistaking that expression. He’s having second thoughts! It’s now or never.
Milton crept out of the cupboard and found a nice dark corner. He closed his eyes and breathed.
OK, Zoe. We can do this.
Zoe spotted the pink Post-it note the moment she picked up the laptop. She peeled it off the desk, staring at it as if it might bite her. She definitely hadn’t left herself a note and it wasn’t Dad’s handwriting. It was very spidery and difficult to read, and a weird red colour, but eventually she made it out:
Hi Z
I Milton
Then there was a sort of eight-legged red splodge and an arrow which she followed with her gaze.
On the bookshelf Milton waited the longest wait of his tiny life. The waiting was all the harder thanks to his overactive imagination which insisted on showing him how this might end . . . badly.
Screaming, flicking, squashing. Not necessarily in that order.
Got to take a risk. Think happy thoughts:
Like Zoe smiling. Audrey looking proud. The homeless false widows coming home, shaking him by the claw and looking jolly grateful.
But still – screaming, flicking, squashing.
Milton held his breath as Zoe turned to face the bookshelf and peered at him. She double-checked the note. ‘Hello . . . er, Milton?’
Milton’s little heart fluttered, he’d never been this close to her before. He waved a leg. She waved back. A sob rose in Milton’s cephalothorax as emotion almost overwhelmed him.
Zoe clutched the Post-it, her hand shaking ever so slightly, as she leant even closer and said, ‘Did you write this?’
Milton nodded excitedly. She was so close now he could see himself reflected in her eyes.
Zoe sniffed the note. ‘In ketchup?’
Milton nodded again.
‘But . . . you’re a spider.’
Milton blinked. Maybe Ralph was right about their tiny brains.
‘You’re our false widow, aren’t you? And I’m talking to you!’ She read the note again, wide-eyed. ‘And you understand me?’
Milton nodded again.
‘This is incredible!’ She looked at her hands, which were now shaking like autumn leaves.
Then she did what Milton later described as the most wonderful thing he had ever experienced. She held out her hand to him. He’d never been on a human before, but he pushed aside his nervousness and crawled on to her hand. Milton assumed she would be cold and rather rough, but Zoe felt warm and smooth under his claws.
She held him gently and studied him for a moment. ‘I’ve been learning a lot about your species. Hmm, size of a five pence, yes. Stripy legs, like you’re wearing tights, yes. Pale patches on your abdomen that look like a little face, yes. You’re cute.’
In his life, Milton had imagined dying in many ways, but it had never occurred to him that his heart might stop from being called cute.
‘There are terrible things about you online. Dad thinks you’re dangerous. But you’re not dangerous, are you? You’re lovely.’
‘I’m perfectly harmless,’ Milton chuckled to himself. He crawled to the edge of her palm and pointed to the remaining Post-it notes on the table.
‘More messages?’ said Zoe.
Milton was starting to see the appeal of having digits. A simple thumbs up would really save his aching cephalothorax right now. He wasn’t made for so much enthusiastic nodding. A salute did the trick and Zoe lowered him down to the table. After giving her one last stroke with his claw, Milton crawled off her hand and tried to flick up the top note. Zoe helped him and peeled it away to rev
eal more spidery text.
‘Oh, Milton, you’re so smart.’
Milton shuffled his little claws in embarrassment while Zoe read the words. But there was no time for self-congratulation. Lives were at stake.
Z + Prof help us
‘How do you know about Professor Parker?’ asked Zoe.
Milton pointed to his eyes, then to her.
I’ve been watching you.
As soon as Milton thought it, he realized how sinister it sounded. But what could he say? It’s what spiders do. They keep to the dark corners and watch. They watch for insects to eat, good places to spin webs and lay eggs. They watch for flying slippers, cups and birthday cards, feather dusters, vacuum cleaners, brooms, cats, mice and odd neighbours in rubber gloves. And they watch for newspapers, the rolled-up ones and the ones with false headlines. Milton hoped Zoe wouldn’t think he was a creepy creepy-crawly.
I don’t want you to think I was spying on you. I’m not like other spiders, I can’t help being interested in the world. So I watch other things too. Like you. Your world is so amazing, I want to be part of it, but I’m so small and insignificant and sometimes I think I’m just being silly.
Milton sighed. There was not enough ketchup, or ladybird juice, or that sticky chocolate spread in the cupboard that tasted sooo good, for what he wanted to say to Zoe.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Zoe. ‘Your notes are amazing, but it’s no way to have a conversation. I have so much I want to say to you. Come over here.’
She opened the laptop and clicked a few buttons.
‘You’re too light to press the keys, but you can run on the keyboard. Stop at the letter you want and I’ll press it. Once you’ve got off, of course – I wouldn’t want to squash you!’
Zoe’s idea worked perfectly. Well, almost. Milton’s spelling was a bit wobbly and there was a minor panic when he got a leg caught under the caps lock, but otherwise spider and human made an excellent team.
Me and BFFs need u 2 tell dad we not dedly.
Zoe sighed. ‘I’ve tried. And I think he’ll come around eventually, especially if Greta Parker has anything to do with it! But that awful BugKILL! woman will be here on Monday. She’s basically told the entire world that you’re all killers and Dad believes her.’
Plees. I am 2 small and insignificant to do it miself.
‘Oh, Milton. You are pretty small, there’s no denying that, but you are not insignificant. I mean, you can spell insignificant, for starters. Did you know your species first arrived in this country in Victorian times? You were brought over on ships carrying bananas from the Canary Islands, near Africa. You’re international travellers – hardly insignificant. And I know that you and your friends control the pests in this house, and in other countries, spiders control dangerous pests like mosquitoes. So thank you.’
You welcome. I’d like to travel. need help tho – save us from F T
This was the point where Milton got trapped and Zoe was terrified he’d lose a leg and it would be stuck in her laptop for ever, which would be gross. Fortunately Zoe averted the crisis by lifting the caps lock key up with a safety pin and everything was fine. In fact, everything was better than fine. As Zoe struggled to save Milton from the keyboard and he was staring into her beautiful, colourful eyes, he had a brilliant idea (if he did say so himself).
F T used human web to convince Dad?
Zoe nodded, then, slowly, a smile spread across her face. ‘Felicity used the web to spread her lies. We can do the same with the truth!’
Yor web is big. Tell them all. We are not dangerus.
‘What are you working so furiously on?’ asked Dad as he brushed his hair for the second time in ten minutes. Zoe looked at him suspiciously, then all became clear as the doorbell rang and Professor Parker arrived. Looking like a jungle explorer, she peered out from behind a large pot plant wrapped in a bow, which she handed to Dad.
‘Wow, thanks, Greta.’ He blushed a little. ‘You didn’t need to do that.’
‘It’s the least I could do, after the fright I put you both through.’
‘Hello, Professor,’ Zoe called from the dining room.
‘Please, Zoe, call me Greta.’ She popped an apology-sized box of chocolates on the breakfast bar for Owen and handed Zoe a squashy parcel wrapped in shiny paper.
Zoe tore off the paper. ‘Aw! Thank you, it’s sooo cute.’ She gave the cuddly toy Mexican red-kneed tarantula a hug. ‘I’ll call her Smith.’
‘That looks interesting.’ Greta nodded towards Zoe’s work.
This was Zoe’s big chance to impress the professor. She took a deep breath and thought about the pitch she’d prepared. ‘I’m setting up an internet campaign to raise the profile of spiders, especially the false widows, which a lot of people STILL believe are dangerous.’ She gave her dad a frosty glare. He returned it with a familiar zip-it look. They’d agreed to discuss the issue of Felicity Thrubwell later. Which Zoe was pretty sure meant never.
‘A worthy cause. What sort of campaign?’
‘We . . . I mean, um, I . . .’ Zoe looked around, wondering if Milton was watching from a dark corner somewhere.
‘I thought something like a social media “challenge” – like the ones you see that raise money for charities. Selfies with spiders, and you share and tag eight friends.’
She hoped Milton understood that she couldn’t exactly tell them it wasn’t entirely her idea.
‘I’m using the hashtag: #PerfectlyHarmless. What do you think?’
Mr Macey handed the professor a tea. ‘That’s amazing, darling. Is this more homework?’ He looked worried.
‘No. I was so upset about that project but I’ve decided not to let other people’s childish opinions bother me any more. I have to do this because . . . spiders need my help.’ She looked at the professor for back-up, but Greta was frowning and tapping the rim of her mug.
‘It is a brilliant idea, Zoe, and it comes from a wonderful place. I’m so pleased and proud that you want to help . . .’
‘But?’ asked Zoe, feeling sure something was coming, and not just an offer of a caramel truffle.
‘But the thing about social media – well, the internet in general – is that it’s global. Once you’ve put something on Facebook, or Twitter, or Instagram, for example, it can be seen by anyone, anywhere in the world.’ She paused, waiting for Zoe to see her point.
Zoe’s shoulders slumped. ‘So I can’t tell people in other countries that spiders are #PerfectlyHarmless. That’s what you mean?’
The professor nodded. ‘And maybe encouraging people to take selfies with spiders isn’t the best idea.’
‘Oh.’ Zoe felt a familiar knot tightening in her stomach. With the Curator of Invertebrates and Dad standing over her, she shrank into her chair, feeling small and powerless. Was this how Milton felt?
‘I guess I’ll need to rethink it,’ she said, closing her laptop and trying to look cool and not at all like she was squashed, which she totally was.
‘That’s all it needs,’ agreed the professor. ‘A different angle. You can do it – I can help, if you like. We’ll put our heads together and come up with something.’
Zoe swallowed her disappointment and stretched her arms out casually. ‘Sure. I was about to call it a day anyway. I’ll leave you guys to it.’ She grabbed the cuddly tarantula and her battered copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and waggled it at them. ‘I’m just getting to the really “Sirius” bit.’ She laughed as convincingly as she could manage, which wasn’t very convincing at all, and scurried off upstairs before she crumpled.
It took Milton an age to creep unseen from the dining-room bookshelf, along the hall, past the cupboard, up the stairs, along the landing and under Zoe’s door – thankfully free from socks.
He found her up on her cabin bed, reading. Except she wasn’t actually reading, she was staring through watery eyes at the same page in her Harry Potter book.
He webbed himself above the Lego Star Wars poster beside
her bed and abseiled down until he was at her head height. Then he swung like a pendulum until she spotted him.
She gave a faint smile. ‘Hey, Milton. Did you hear what the prof said? I’m sorry I’ve let you down.’
Milton swung on to her book and pointed at the letters on the page. Zoe grabbed a notebook and wrote down as Milton spelt out:
No
I Sorry
Dedly relatives a problem
We thInk of something
She put the book down on the bed carefully. ‘I hope you didn’t think I was trying to pretend it was all my idea. I didn’t want to say to Dad that we’d been chatting.’
Milton mimed Zoe’s dad fainting, and they both gave a half-hearted laugh, then sighed.
‘I don’t know what else we can do,’ said Zoe. ‘Sorry.’
Milton shook his head and stamped a leg in defiance.
‘You heard the professor, and my dad. They’re just humouring me. I’m only a kid – I should stick to . . .’
Dark corners.
‘. . . playing games, doing my homework, being a normal girl. I thought we could take on the whole internet, but we can’t. Look, when BugKILL! come, I promise I’ll find somewhere safe for you to hide.’
Milton tried really, really hard to look cross, and pointed at her.
‘I can’t do it, Milton. What have I got that the Curator of Invertebrates hasn’t? Greta’s the expert. I ought to leave it up to her.’
From the ceiling Milton heard the sound of someone small and dainty clearing her throat. ‘Ahem. If I may interrupt . . .’
Zoe watched as Audrey lowered herself on to the bed.
Milton put a leg around her and pointed furiously from himself to Audrey, trying to express that they were friends.
‘You’re a cellar spider?’ said Zoe.
Audrey curtsied, then straightened up, took a deep breath and began performing a series of elaborate movements with her legs. Zoe eventually realized she was trying to spell her name but it looked more like she was doing the moves to the ‘Y.M.C.A’.
