Monkey and Me (12 page)

I wasn't, but I nodded anyway. Anything to stop them coming inside the house. I just hoped Mark and the sweets kept Malcolm quiet for the next couple of minutes. I could see the policemen felt a bit awkward. One of them looked at me, not really at me but at my bald head – I'd forgotten to put my beanie back on.

“You were at the Black Gate, weren't you, son?”

“Yes, I just wanted to use it as a den. I didn't break anything, did I?” I said as innocently as I could.

“No, you didn't, don't worry about that. Did you see anything unusual in there?”

“No, but two men asked me the same question,” I told them, because I thought if Malcolm was on the run then those other men might be after him as well. If I could get the police looking for them instead that might take their attention away from Malcolm.

“You were talking to strangers?” Mum said. “I've
told you before, Jez, don't talk to strangers in the street.”

“They just asked me the same question and I told them the same answer. Which was that I didn't see anything.”

“And what did these two men look like?” one of the policeman asked me with his notebook in his hand.

So I described Potato Face and Comb Head.

This seemed to interest them because they were very careful to write down everything I told them.

I couldn't resist asking: “Does the monkey have a name?”

“It's only a monkey, son. They don't have names.”

Mum was looking a bit worried by this stage, and put her hand on my forehead. “I think that's enough now,” she said to the policemen.

“If we could just ask a few more questions,” one of them said.

I knew if they carried on they might trick me into saying something, and in that moment I felt quite grateful for having been to hospital that day.

I vomited all over the front step and their shiny black shoes.

That got rid of them.

There's one good thing about being sick – I mean really sick, not just pretend-stomach-ache sick so you don't have to go to school that day – and that's being fussed over the rest of the day. You can have anything you want, provided you don't get sick again, and watch DVDs all day.

And that means that Mum can usually get a day off work. Once she knew I was OK, she left me lying in front of the TV and went out to the local shops, and that gave me time to go back upstairs and see how Malcolm was. It was a crucial time and I knew we'd never get away with having Malcolm in my room for another night. We had to think of something.

“They're going to shoot Malcolm,” Mark said. “Because if they've infected him already with a deadly virus then what else are they going to do? One thing is for sure – you shouldn't be anywhere near him,” he insisted.

I sat down next to the wardrobe door. A crunching and slurping sound came from inside.

“There's nothing wrong with Malcolm, I'm sure of it. And even if there is it can't be infectious because none of us have come out in any spots or rashes and your flesh hasn't turned to jelly and we haven't got any blood coming out our eyes and ears.”

“You had that nosebleed!” Mark said.

“I always have nosebleeds, you know that.”

“I just don't see how we're going to smuggle him out the house,” Mark said. We could hear sucking noises from inside the wardrobe, but the lollipops weren't going to last for ever. Mark looked out the window. “There's a cop car parked around the corner. They're watching us. They must suspect something.”

“We have to ask Tracy what happened,” I said.

“Well, we can't phone her because she can't use a phone, can she?” said Mark.

“She's deaf, not blind! Text her.” How was he ever going to run the country if he couldn't think of that?

“I don't have her number,” he said.

Neither did I. Well, you can't get everything right all the time.

“Phone Skimp and tell him to get Tracy and
meet us down at the caravan,” I told him.

“How are we going to get Malcolm there?”

“I don't know yet. Can you drive Mum's car?”

“Dad showed me reverse and first gear,” he said.

“That might look a bit suspicious going backwards and crawling at five miles an hour,” I told him. There was a fluttering of butterflies in my chest that just would not settle. They migrated to my stomach and then came back again. I think this is what Dad might have been talking about when he said we shouldn't be scared. I was scared all right because we were very close to Malcolm being discovered.

“Always look on the bright side of life,” Dad would often say. That's probably what made him a popular postie. Or he'd sing:
When you walk through a storm hold your head up high
– all of that stuff; or he'd say: “Every cloud has a silver lining”; and “You never know what's round the next corner”; and his classic line was always: “Remember these four words when you're feeling down – This Too Will Pass.” He had tons of things to say about being cheerful as long as we didn't mention Michael Owen.

And then just when I couldn't keep my head up high while I was looking for a silver lining, and
knowing exactly what was round the next corner – the police – Dad, as always, arrived just in the nick of time.

Because he had been up since four that morning and was working a double shift, which is called Bike Route Two, it meant he usually came home between shifts. He's supposed to go back to the sorting office, but because of ‘circumstances at home' they usually let him stop off and have a cup of tea and see everything is all right. What he usually does is have an hour's sleep.

I heard his bicycle bell. And then the key in the front door. “Anybody home?” He always says that even though he knows we're there. He shouted: “What do we want? Each other! When do we want it? Now! Jez! Where're you, son?”

Mark wasn't supposed to be at home, of course, so he couldn't go downstairs. “Listen,” I told him, “do as I said, get hold of Skimp. We'll get down to the caravan somehow. I've got an idea.”

I went downstairs as he was giving Mum a hug.

“Hey, Jez, how are you feeling?”

He picked me up and hugged me too.

“I'm all right, I thought I might carry on with
my project because Mark is letting me use his computer again.”

“What a cracking brother you have,” he said, putting me down again. “You're all right though, are you?”

I nodded.

“He threw up,” Mum said from the kitchen. “The police were here.”

“Oh yeah? I bet they weren't selling double glazing, were they?”

“No, I don't think they have time for second jobs,” I told him.

“I should hope not, with all the burglaries around here.”

Mum told him everything as he tried to rescue the biscuit he had just dunked. He gave up.

“Ah, well. No harm done then. But you shouldn't go in that old place. They're quite right, it is dangerous. Don't go in there any more. Yeah?”

I nodded.

“Good lad.” And he kissed my forehead. “Pity about their shoes, hey?” And he rolled his eyes, making that face.

“Right, I'm gonna grab an hour or so kip. So, if
you don't feel very well come and climb in with me. Mum has got a check-up at the dentist. Okay?”

What you need when you have a major escape plan in mind is not to have grown-ups around. They get in the way. I told Mark my idea and once he'd told me I was a lunatic, he phoned Pete-the-Feet and Rocky as well as Skimp. This will be a combined gang effort. So I waited until I saw Mum reversing down the drive and their bedroom was in darkness. Dad had closed the curtains, which meant he wouldn't see what I was going to do.

Mark and I each took one of Malcolm's hands and guided him down the stairs. He made those little chirping noises, which soon quietened when I held him. I stroked his head and whispered to him. “You mustn't be scared, I am going to look after you, but you have got to be very brave.”

I felt sure that Malcolm was learning more and more English every day. He nodded his head and touched my face, then grinned. His lips came out and made that funny shape and then he kissed me. I had given him Mark's teddy bear, which he hugged. I knew one day we would find someone to love it again.

Mark came in the kitchen door. “We're ready,” he said.

He'd brought Dad's bike round to the back of the house and I eased Malcolm into one of the big red bags and tucked teddy in with him. We used the straps from the pram to tie him in. I signed for him to be quiet and that I loved him. Then I zipped the bag around him and left just enough room for his nose and mouth to peep out for air.

“I'll go first,” Mark said. “Are you sure you feel strong enough to do this?”

I'd given Malcolm a couple of bananas, and eaten one myself, washed down with a high energy drink. I was sure I could get as far as the industrial estate. It was Mark who had the difficult job of drawing the police away. That's called a diversionary tactic.

“I'll see you in Piccadilly,” he said.

“Scott's Bar,” I replied. Which is what two prisoners on the run say to each other in
The Great Escape
, a classic war film that Rocky knows back to front and which we have to watch at least once a month. I've been to London, but have no idea where Scott's Bar is – but it means that we'll escape and be reunited. That's called being hopeful.

I waited. Mark was on the street, rattling along on his skateboard. Mrs Tomkinson was already in her front garden waiting to give the bin men a piece of her mind because they always drop bits of her rubbish on the pavement. Mark did a very fancy turn, the police car was right there on the corner, and he flipped her wheelie bins open as he went past.

“Hey! You! Mark Matthews! I'll speak to your mother! You lout!”

Mark tormented her a few moments longer, doing that really annoying heel flip action, which makes the board clank every time. Grown-ups hate that noise.

One of the policemen got out the car and shouted: “All right you, clear off!”

Mark ignored him. He was very casual. He leaned his body back on his board and kicked over the kerb, slamming her lid down again. I could have stood there all day and watched him torment Mrs Tomkinson. “You flaming hooligan!” she shouted.

And the more Mrs Tomkinson shouted the more it attracted other interested parties in the street. Peacock's Feather couldn't contain herself any longer. She was yapping and barking.

“Shut that flaming dog up!” Mrs Tomkinson yelled.

By now the policeman was halfway across the street. That's when Peacock's Feather got over the gate and went for Mark. He spun around, crouched and zoomed past the policeman, who was then between Mark and the demented dog-from-hell. The policeman was, to be kind, a tad overweight. Dad always says police officers seem to be getting younger all the time. I think they're getting fatter. The policeman saw the insane dog and ran. He couldn't get into his car so he lumbered across the road and climbed over Mr Brumley's fence, almost skewering himself on the posts. His trousers definitely couldn't take the strain and there was a long rip down his leg. And then the dog cornered him. The other policemen got out the car and bravely tried to call off Peacock's Feather. She turned on him. He ran back to the car.

You can't say you don't get value for money from our local police.

Once he was back in the car, the policeman tried to drive it between the dog and the other cop. And that's when I launched Operation Free Malcolm. I pedalled out into the street and turned away from
the crazy scene outside Mrs Tomkinson's. We were on our way to freedom!

I used every back alley and back street I knew. Some of them were cobbled and the bike rattled as we shuddered across them. A small face with a tea cosy on it looked out the zip bag. His teeth chattered as we went over every bump and cobble.

My eyeballs bounced up and down in their sockets. I started to feel giddy. This probably wasn't the best day in the world in which to escape. I pulled up the bike and leant against the wall and threw up again. We'd have to get onto a better road, otherwise I'd keep puking for the rest of the day and Malcolm would have no teeth left.

I was sweating and had the shakes but I had to keep going, it wasn't that far to the industrial estate. Then, as I turned the corner into Smith's Lane, I saw Mark scorching along the pavement like the Silver Surfer. I suddenly felt very proud of my older brother. As I clattered down the alley I could see he was parallel to us on the other street. I pedalled faster, keeping pace with him.

And then I heard the siren.

There was a flash of blue and yellow and a police
car overtook him. The same two policemen who had been keeping watch on us jumped out the car and cornered Mark. Exertion and fear made me breathless. I didn't know what to do. Malcolm chattered and hid behind the fingers of his hand as he cringed back into the darkness of the bag. He was probably picking up on my nervousness. I saw the cops questioning Mark. What could they be saying to him? He hadn't done anything wrong except irritate Mrs Tomkinson and the whole street does that on a daily basis.

Jet Fuel For Your Body
said the label on the bottle I pulled out my pocket. I glugged the purple liquid down as fast as I could. A small hand snaked out the bag. Malcolm was thirsty. I left him a third of the bottle and passed it inside to him. Suddenly the bag was bouncing almost out of the rack. Malcolm was screeching like he'd swallowed some of Dad's home-brewed wine, which everyone thinks is wonderful for cleaning the kitchen floor. Dad thinks they like it and no one has the heart to tell him otherwise. Dad! It must have been Dad who'd set the police on us. Mrs Tomkinson and Peacock's Feather must have made such a racket that Dad would have woken up,
seen that his bike was missing, that I was missing – and then he'd have gone running out the house looking for me. Then the police would have seen him. “What's wrong, postie?” (he'd have dozed in his uniform) they would have asked. “Someone's nicked your bike?” they'd have said, gobsmacked.

I suddenly realised that this could be a major criminal offence, stealing the property of the Royal Mail. Not only that, but if they zoomed off before questioning Dad properly they might think that the Royal Mail's letters and parcels had been stolen.

The bike was bouncing because Malcolm was going ballistic. I felt panic surging up like gunge from an unblocked drain. I couldn't leave him zipped up in there any longer. I wrapped my fleece around the crossbar, making a saddle for him to sit on. Then I eased him out the bag. That seemed to help in calming him down a bit and he clung to me. I held him close for a moment and I couldn't tell whose heart was beating faster, his or mine. I carefully sat him on the crossbar and secured him with the pram straps. He gripped the handlebars in the middle and rocked backwards and forwards. Then I started pedalling like crazy.