“Honestly, Grumbo!” said Rhodri. “Anyone would think you were afraid of Tingle!”
“Me! Afraid! Don’t be ridiculous!” asserted Grumbo, affronted at the suggestion. He seized the bike and jumping on it, set off at a furious pace down the room. He’d managed about ten metres when the bike began to shake from side to side.
Rhodri watched with horror. “You’re only supposed to ride it on the special track!” he explained to Percy. “It’s padded for when you fall off.”
Grumbo was clinging on, pedalling as fast as he could, but the bike didn’t seem to be moving forwards as it should. The faster he pedalled, the more it shook. Grumbo was desperately trying to balance himself to avoid falling. Then the front wheel rose into the air. Grumbo lurched forwards, trying to avoid sliding off the back of the seat. As he did so, the bike reversed and the front wheel came down, only for the back one to rise up. Hastily Grumbo leaned back. Immediately the front wheel rose again and the whole bike somersaulted into the air, depositing Grumbo heavily on the floor.
“Aaghh!” came a noise from the red heap on the floor. “Aaagh!”
“Oh dear!” said Rhodri anxiously. “Perhaps I’d better get Nanny or Father Edmund?”
“He’s alive, anyway,” said Percy, practically.
Grumbo glared at him balefully through one eye from his position on the floor. Then he slowly got to his feet. “I do NOT need Nanny,” he stated.
Rhodri looked at his watch: “I think its time for a hot chocolate and lemonade tea break,” he said diplomatically. “You must be thirsty, Percy?”
“Not really,” began Percy, who was itching for a go on the Wobble Bike himself. . “-Chocolate would be great though!” he amended hastily as Rhodri winked at him and looked in Grumbo’s direction.
“No lemonade in it?” asked Rhodri watching as Grumbo inspected the bike for signs of Tingle. “Don’t you like lemonade?”
“You mean you put lemonade in the hot chocolate?” queried Percy in surprise.
“Well, it’s not as simple as that,” explained Rhodri. “There’s a special manufacturing process they use, but it tastes a bit like a sort of fizzy lemon sweet with a chocolate middle, only you drink it and it’s hot. It’s quite delicious.”
“Wow!” said Percy. Grumbo grinned.
“We’ll get you an extra large one with a marshmallow in,” he promised, “but you have to ride the Wobble Bike all the way down the track without falling off first!”
“OK!” said Percy. He wheeled the bike to the start of the track and climbed on, eying the track, which circled half way around the top end of the room, very carefully. It looked simple enough. He began to pedal, very gingerly, feeling for any strange movement the bike might make. The bike moved forward. Then quite suddenly it decided to go backwards. Grumbo and Rhodri hastily moved out of the way. Not deterred, Percy began to pedal backwards. The bike jumped forwards. Then he stopped pedalling and let it free wheel, holding on very tightly. It was as well he did, because the seat suddenly tipped up. Percy hung on and pedalled a few yards forward. Then, just as he felt the bike change to reverse, he changed to reverse pedalling again. The bike carried on forward. After that it was fairly simple. Percy realised that the bike always waited until you had done something for a bit and then it did the opposite. If you pedalled forwards, after a moment it would go backwards, but if you pedalled backwards instead, it would start to go forwards; if you leaned forward in the seat, it would tip backwards and vice versa. If you pedalled fast, it would go so slowly you would probably fall off like Grumbo, so Percy pedalled rather slowly and carefully. If he leaned even a tiny bit to the left, the bike tilted to the right, and if he moved to the right it jerked over to the left which was a bit confusing.
Percy concentrated hard. It felt a bit like trying to write backwards using the wrong hand. He was trying so hard to ignore the shouts of advice from Grumbo and Rhodri that he almost fell off as he rounded the corner, but he righted himself just in time, but the bike had one final trick up its sleeve. Just as Percy was almost at the end of the track, it began to jump. Percy couldn’t quite work out what the reverse of jumping might be, but he held tight, stood on the pedals and jumped too. With one final leap, the bike took him over the end of the track! A spontaneous burst of clapping spread out across the room from all the Father Christmases as Percy, rather shakily, dismounted.
“Well!” said Grumbo, “that was impressive!”
“You’re the first person to get to the end,” added Rhodri, admiringly. Percy beamed.
“Right,” said Grumbo, “time for chocolate lemonade!”
Chapter 11 - What is a Chief Father Christmas Like?
Percy was sitting in Upper Teatime finishing a second delicious chocolate lemonade with Grumbo and Rhodri, when Smithers appeared panting at his side.
“Message for Percy,” he gasped. “The CFC wants to see him.” He sat down heavily beside them and eyed their drinks enviously. “It took me ages to find you! Is that chocolate lemonade?”
“Yes,” said Grumbo, “-want some?”
“But aren’t you on a diet?” asked Rhodri. “Are you sure you ought to have any? It’s very fattening.”
“Yes,” said Smithers, sadly. “I’m not allowed until I can get up the purple chimney without getting stuck.”
“Exercise! That’s what you need,” announced Grumbo, heartily, slurping the last of his drink and using his finger to spoon up the remains of a melted marshmallow from the side of his mug before licking it. “Come on, you can help us show Percy the way to the CFC’s office.”
“OK, but I need to sit down for a bit first to catch my breath,” said Smithers, defensively.
“We shall take the scenic route around Munchit Green, Little Snacking, Lower Luncheon and Supperton,” stated Grumbo, firmly.
“But it’s miles and miles that way!” complained Smithers.
“Exactly!” declared Grumbo, “-and we don’t want to keep the CFC waiting, do we, so we’re going to run – all the way!”
“Don’t worry,” added Rhodri, reassuringly “-we won’t go too fast.” Grumbo looked at him witheringly.
“Percy will be able to see some of the bits he missed before if we go that way. – You wouldn’t want him to miss out, would you Smithers?” Grumbo added cheerfully. “Besides, its for your own good!”
“Why does the CFC want to see me?” asked Percy, anxiously. It sounded alarmingly like being summoned to see the headmaster. “I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?”
Grumbo glanced at him: “Nothing to worry about, Percy. He always makes sure he has a chat to any visitors before they leave. That’s all it is. You’ll like him. Everyone does.”
In spite of Grumbo’s reassuring words, Percy’s heart was thumping as they set off down the long corridors, Grumbo jogging ahead and Smithers bringing up the rear, breathing noisily as he struggled along. Those words ‘before they leave’ seemed to be hanging in the pit of his stomach. Of course it couldn’t go on for ever. He knew that, really he did. It was only a tour. Only the thought of going back to his little dark room and worse, back to school, was dreadful! If only he could stay! If only he could train to be a Father Christmas! He wasn’t old enough though. He knew he wasn’t old enough. He’d have to finish school first.
He thought uncomfortably of what his father might say if he said he wanted to become a Father Christmas when he was grown up. Percy wasn’t sure what his parents would like him to be, but he was fairly certain that Father Christmas was not on their list. He decided not to think about it. He’d just enjoy what was left of his tour. It was no use hoping for something impossible.
Despite the two chocolate lemonades that seemed to be still fizzing in his stomach, he found he was easily able to keep up. Up and down, corridor after corridor, village after village, they went, until at last they reached another of the arched wooden doors and Grumbo drew to a halt. ‘CFC up’ was pa
inted on the door in simple plain gold letters.
“Well, here we are Percy,” announced Grumbo, as Smithers finally caught up with them and collapsed into a panting heap on the stone floor, red in the face and gasping like an overworked coffee machine. “This is where we leave you. Just go through the door and the lift will take you up automatically. We’ll see you later.” And with that he and Rhodri bent to haul the still speechless Smithers to his feet, and Percy cautiously opened the arched door. He suddenly felt very alone.
*****
As the door closed behind him, Percy found he was standing in a tiny hexagonal room with pictures painted on each of its six sides. It didn’t look like any lift Percy had ever seen before. He was just wondering if there were any buttons he had to press, when he felt the floor rising. Moments later it stopped and one of the pictures slid back to allow him to step out.
Percy looked around. He was in the centre of a large and very strangely shaped open space. Above him was a large dome shaped roof, and surrounding him were six long alcoves spreading out from the centre like the petals of a flower. The alcoves all seemed to be quite different from one another. Percy wondered what he should do as there didn’t seem to be anybody about. He wandered towards the alcove directly in front. It had dust sheets with blobs of paint all over the floor. Mixed with a smell of wet paint there was a sort of spicy smell that reminded him of Mrs Doggett’s fruit cake. As he entered it a small elderly man in paint spattered overalls came down from a step ladder carrying a brush.
Nick the Painter
“What do you think?” he asked, gesturing at the ceiling. “I wasn’t sure about that metallic paint myself.”
Percy looked up. The roof of the alcove was a deep midnight blue and on it twinkled small stars in gold and silver. “It’s just like the sky!” he exclaimed. “Did you paint those?”
The small man nodded almost shyly. “I like painting,” he said. “Do you really think it’s good? You don’t think there’re too many stars?”
“I think it’s wonderful!” declared Percy truthfully.
“This one’s Winter,” explained the small painter. “Each alcove is decorated to match their names, Autumn, Spring, Summer, May and that one’s Tuesday. I’m very partial to Tuesday. Such a satisfactory sort of day, neither at the beginning nor at the end, so it’s all middle. You could do anything on a Tuesday.”
“I suppose you could on a Wednesday too,” said Percy, thoughtfully, “- or even a Thursday.”
“Yes,” responded the small man, “but they don’t sound as nice. They’re not the beginning of the middle, like Tuesday is. It’s like the first good bite into the centre of a delicious sandwich when you’re really hungry. By the time you reach Thursday the flavour is never quite so good. Monday, I always think is the corner of the crust, the bit that the butter and filling has missed.”
“Why is one alcove called ‘May’,” asked Percy, who felt that this question might be simpler than asking any more about Tuesday.
“Why not? It’s Nanny’s first name and even Grumbo can spell it! May’ is such a glorious green sort of month – I painted it full of trees in new leaf - come and take a look.”
Percy followed him into a space full of soft green light where the walls seemed alive with young trees and new grass and the ceiling was a sky of the lightest clear blue. It was like finding yourself suddenly enjoying the most beautiful warm Spring day. He could have sworn the leaves were moving in a light breeze, except that he knew it wasn’t possible.
You don’t fancy playing a computer game while the paint dries, do you?” asked the decorator. “There’s a new one on the PC in Tuesday.”
“I’m supposed to be waiting for the Chief Father Christmas,” said Percy hesitantly, “so I’m not sure I should. He sent for me you see. You don’t know where he is, do you?”
“Oh he’s not far away,” said the small man cheerfully, wiping paint from his hands onto a dirty rag and dropping the brush into a jar of paint cleaner. “He won’t mind. Come on! – I’m Nick, by the way.”
“Percy,” said Percy, shaking Nick’s hand politely and hoping that any paint he picked up wouldn’t show when he met the CFC.
“Each of us is a detective,” Nick explained, switching on the computer, “-and we have to solve a major crime using the clues. There are various things to help you, like a magnifying glass, a fingerprint kit and some disguises for under cover work, and so on. You can have up to 3 assistants too, but you have to win them first, and you can lose them again if you fall foul of the Chief Constable by not solving minor crimes as you go. The one to get the right villains first wins.”
It was nearly as good as playing with Will in the old days, thought Percy, notching up two forgers and a jewel thief. Nick the painter really threw himself into the game. He’d picked up the drug smuggler before Percy even had time to work out who he was, but then he lost points by not stopping to book Percy for a parking offence. He was hard to beat, thought Percy.
It was several games later that Percy suddenly remembered with a start about seeing the CFC. He jumped up.
“I nearly forgot!” he said alarmed. I’m supposed to see the CFC. He sent for me!”
The small man smiled: “So he did and so you have,” he said.
Percy stared at him. “But…,” he said, “- you mean…?”
“Yes,” said the small man simply. “I’m the CFC.”
“But, I thought you were the decorator!” said Percy in horror. “You said your name was Nick!”
“It is,” said the CFC,” smiling. “It seemed a pity to explain as you were so anxious about meeting me. Besides, I am the decorator, so you were quite right!” Percy sat down again, slowly:
“I thought, well, I thought you’d be, sort of, very important, with robes and things - you know.”
“And now you don’t think I’m ‘very important’,” asked the CFC, smiling.
“Oh, I don’t mean you’re not important!” added Percy hastily. “Only you’re quite ordinary. – At least, I don’t mean that you’re ordinary, but…you seem ordinary.”
“I am ordinary,” said the CFC. “I couldn’t be good at my job if I wasn’t, because you see, all those people out there and all those children waiting for Christmas, they’re ordinary too. I have to understand them, and I couldn’t do that if I wasn’t like them.”
“I suppose so,” said Percy, thoughtfully. “But all this!”He waved his hand around the amazing room with its fantastic paintings. “You must be extraordinary, too!”
The CFC laughed. “All Father Christmases are a bit extraordinary. But, Percy, I have a very important question to ask you.” Percy looked at him, puzzled. “It’s a very ordinary question,” the CFC assured him: “-what do you want for Christmas?”
Thoughts crowded into Percy’s head all at once: he wanted some chocolate; he wanted a huge bar of toffee; he wanted to go back to his old school; he wanted to make Damien and his gang really grovel; he wanted to climb trees with Will; he wanted to give his mother something she’d like for Christmas; he wanted things to be right again -how they used to be; he wanted Mrs Doggett to come and do the cooking; he wanted to be a Father Christmas and live here for ever; he wanted to show Miss Carbuncle that he wasn’t useless; he wanted to give his father a room to shout in; he wanted never to feel lonely again; he wanted a friend. Only he knew most of it wasn’t possible. You can never go back, he thought, sadly.
“I think I got all that,” the CFC declared, scribbling busily on the sleeve of his overalls with a stump of pencil.
“But I didn’t say anything!” protested Percy, coming out of his reverie in surprise.
“Your mouth didn’t,” remarked the CFC, “-but your face said a great deal.”
“I think I was going to say that I’d like a surprise,” Percy said, lamely.
“Oh, I think I can promise you that!” chuckled the CFC as a grinding groaning noise came from the centr
e of the room. “Listen - there’s the lift struggling with Grumbo – or is it Grumbo struggling with the lift? I never quite know.”
The sound of someone singing ‘Good King Wenceslas’ vigorously but erratically drifted from the little hexagon, accompanied by the noise of grinding gears. Percy thought the words didn’t seem quite right, and the tune seemed to be turning into ‘I Saw Three Ships’ at intervals. After a second, Grumbo emerged from the lift, with a final enthusiastic ‘gathering winter fu..,u…el’. He winked at Percy and looked across at the computer: “Who won?” he enquired.
“Percy did,” said the CFC.
“Nick did,” said Percy, simultaneously and rather shyly.
The CFC laughed : “Three all, Grumbo. I got the drug smuggler, though! You’d better take him away before he learns to beat me every time.” He sniffed the air: “Grumbo, you’ve been pinching chocolate mints out of the stockings again!” Grumbo looked a little shamefaced.
“What did you put in instead this time?” asked the CFC. “Not sprouts again?”
“It was only one stocking!” protested Grumbo. “I put in an exercise DVD. It’ll be much better for her,” he added hopefully.
The CFC looked at Percy. “I think there’s only one thing to be done!” he declared. “Hand them over, Grumbo!”
Grumbo rummaged deeply in his pockets and after unloading a battered spinning top, three juggling balls, a sock with a large hole, a rather crumbled piece of ginger biscuit, a length of string with two knots in, a small remote controlled car, a catapult and a hibernating tortoise, reluctantly produced a brown and green box smelling strongly of mint, and maybe a little of tortoise. “Ah,” said the CFC, counting the contents. “Twelve left – that’s six for me and six for Percy.
“But it’s not fair!” said Percy, “-what about the person who was going to get the stocking?”
“I see what you mean,” said Grumbo, earnestly. “Mrs Parsons is losing out. He’s quite right, CFC. I’ve already eaten quite a few, so if there’s twelve left, that makes four for you, four for Percy and four for Mrs Parsons.”
The Wrong Night Page 10
