The Paradise Trap (6 page)
Authors: Catherine Jinks
‘This is weird. It doesn’t make sense. You’d better be careful.’
Newt, however, wasn’t the least bit concerned. She barged through the door that Marcus had indicated, threatening her brother with every terrible fate she could think of. But her fierce harangue was cut short by the blast of noise that greeted her as she stepped across the threshold.
She froze so abruptly that Marcus ran into the back of her.
‘Oh my God!’ a girl’s voice cried, from somewhere in the heaving crowd that confronted them. ‘Newton Huckstepp! You
came!
’
O
OOMPA-OOMPA-OOOMPA
.
T
HE THROB OF A HEAVY BASS
note was audible under the roar of voices and the tinkle of glass. Strobe lights flashed. Bodies writhed.
Marcus spotted a revolving mirror-ball and said faintly, ‘This isn’t an amusement park . . .’
But Newt wasn’t listening. ‘Oh my God!’ she squealed. ‘Is that
you
, Hayley?’
She was addressing a blonde girl in a very short, very shiny red dress, who was pushing through a crowd of tightly packed dancers. ‘Of course it’s me!’ the girl bellowed, straining to be heard above the noise. ‘Ben’s here too! And Seamus! And Jess!’
‘You’re kidding!’ Newt peered around. ‘Where are they?’
‘Over there!’ The girl pointed, then staggered as someone slammed into her. She laughed. ‘Come and join us!’ she exclaimed. ‘This is the world’s best party!’
She flung out her arm, gesturing at the entire cavernous space in which they all stood. A haze of sweat and smoke hung so thickly in the air that Marcus couldn’t make out how high the room was, though he
could
see balcony after balcony, rising in tiers above him. The balconies were packed with people and hung with coloured lanterns. A giant chandelier sparkled. More people were surging up and down two sweeping flights of stairs.
A curved wall nearby was lined with jewel-coloured bottles; Marcus kept catching glimpses of a bar through the press of gleaming, gyrating bodies.
Ooompa-ooompa-ooompa
went the music.
‘Something’s wrong!’ he shouted, plucking at Newt’s lycra sleeve. ‘This shouldn’t be here! We ought to leave
right now
!’
But Newt wasn’t listening. ‘Isn’t that the drummer from Strep Throat?’ she yelled at Hayley. ‘God, I
love
that band!’
‘Oh, you mean Zeke?’ the blonde girl replied. ‘Yeah, he’s here – and so is Vance Vigor!’
‘You’re
kidding
!’ Newt was so excited that she squeezed the little white dog just a bit too hard.
It whined in protest, then growled as Hayley reached for Newt’s wrist.
‘Is that your dog?’ Hayley demanded. ‘Or is it part of your outfit?’
‘Uh . . .’ Newt glanced down at the dog vacantly, as if she didn’t know how she’d ended up with it. Marcus tried to catch her eye.
‘Newt,’ he said. ‘Hey, Newt!’
‘Oh my God, I don’t believe it!’ There was an undertone of scorn in Hayley’s voice. ‘You actually brought your
little brother
with you?’
‘I’m not her brother—’ Marcus began, but was shouted down.
‘He is
so
underage, Newton!’ the blonde girl continued. ‘He’ll have to leave!’
‘Yeah, I know.’ Newt shoved the white dog at Marcus. ‘Here. Take this. I’m going to hang around for a few minutes.’
‘No!’ Marcus protested. The dog wriggled in his arms, yapping at Hayley. ‘Newt, don’t be stupid!’ he cried. ‘These people aren’t real! Vance Vigor’s a famous singer – what would he be doing under our caravan?’
Newt, however, was already being dragged away. And when Marcus tried to follow her, the crowd closed in on her retreating back, swallowing her up and barring his progress.
‘
Newt! Hey, Newt!
’ he bawled. ‘
These aren’t your real
friends! They can’t be!
’
‘Okay, son.’ A giant hand closed around his arm. ‘Let’s go.’
Marcus looked up to see a hulking, tattooed bouncer looming over him. This bouncer had a shaved head and wore a tie but no shirt. His muscles were the biggest that Marcus had ever laid eyes on (outside of a computer game).
‘No kids in this club,’ said the bouncer. ‘You’re not old enough. There’s alcohol being served.’ His gaze shifted to the little white dog. ‘No animals allowed either,’ he added.
‘But my friend!’ Marcus wailed. ‘I need to talk to her! She’s just over there!’
‘Sorry.’
Hustled towards the exit, Marcus craned around to scream at Newt. ‘
Newt! Look! I’ve still got your phone!
’ he told her. To the bouncer he said hoarsely, ‘My friend’s underage! She’s older than me but she’s still too young! You should make
her
leave, as well!’
‘Don’t worry about your friend,’ the bouncer rejoined. ‘She’ll be fine. You worry about yourself.’
‘But—’
‘Kids like you don’t belong in here. So I don’t want to see you again.’ The bouncer suddenly leaned down and thrust his massive, raw-boned, scarred and tattooed face at Marcus. ‘Get out and stay out,’ the bouncer rumbled, ‘or I’ll take you round the back and teach you a lesson you won’t forget. Understand?’
Marcus nodded dumbly. The white dog barked.
Ooompa-ooompa-ooompa
went the music.
‘Right.’ The bouncer straightened. Then he yanked open a heavy steel fire door. ‘Off you go. And don’t come back,’ he snarled, giving Marcus a mighty shove.
Whomp!
The door banged shut behind Marcus, who tripped and nearly fell. The music stopped. Darkness descended. Newt’s phone bounced off a familiar stone floor.
Once again, Marcus found himself in the cellar of his caravan. And Newton Huckstepp was nowhere to be seen.
‘W
ELL
,
THAT
’
S JUST AWFUL
,’ C
OCO WAS SAYING
. ‘I
F YOU
ask me, you’re better off without him.’
‘I know,’ Holly agreed. ‘I am. Only I worry about Marcus, sometimes.’ She reached for a chocolate, but had trouble picking it up because her new fake fingernails were so long. ‘He must feel rejected, even though he doesn’t talk about his father much.’
Coco gave a nod. ‘It
is
very difficult,’ she observed, peering up at the sky with a puckered forehead. She was lying on an inflatable pool lounge, holding a tall, icy drink in one hand and a remote control in the other. Holly lay beside her on a matching lounge; both women had retired to the Huckstepps’ back veranda, where they were basking in the sun as they gazed across Diamond Beach.
But there was a bit too much sun. As Holly ineptly tried to peel the wrapper off her chocolate, Coco waved her remote control at some well-disguised piece of electronic gadgetry overhead.
A striped canvas awning immediately began to unfold above them.
‘Men are hopeless,’ Coco went on. ‘What
I
always say is that they’re just children at heart.’ The words had barely left her mouth when a strange object suddenly writhed into view. It was Prot’s disembodied left arm, which had somehow dropped to the floor and wriggled its way onto the veranda like a snake or a worm. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Coco snapped, then raised her voice. ‘
Sterling! I thought I told you to fix that damn robot?
’
‘I am fixing it.’ Her husband popped his head around the side of one French door, screwdriver in hand. ‘That’s why I had to take its arm off.’
‘Well, don’t just leave the horrible thing scuttling around,’ Coco said crossly. ‘We have
guests
here.’
‘Sorry, my love.’
‘If it’s not fixed by dinner, I’m hiring a proper maid,’ Coco finished. ‘And don’t for God’s sake let the cats anywhere near it!’
‘I won’t,’ Sterling promised, snatching up the runaway arm. As he shuffled out of sight, Coco pursed her lips at his receding figure, her expression formidable. But when she turned back to Holly, she looked smug.
‘It’s for his own good,’ Coco declared. ‘If I wasn’t firm, he’d never finish anything. He’s always getting distracted.’ She sipped at her drink. ‘Now. Where was I?’
‘You were saying that all men are children.’
‘Yes. Exactly. I rest my case.’
Holly heaved a sorrowful sigh. She was still fumbling with her chocolate wrapper. ‘I don’t think Marcus is very childish,’ she lamented. ‘He spends all his time hunched in a chair like a little old man. He never talks, he never runs around, he never gets excited about
anything
except his wretched computer games . . .’
‘
Mum!
’ It was Marcus. He burst into view, panting and red-faced and clutching the little white dog. His glasses were so warm and sweaty that they’d misted up. ‘I couldn’t . . . call you . . .’ he rasped. ‘No signal . . . dropped the phone . . .’
‘Marcus?’ Holly exclaimed, stiffening with alarm. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Newt . . .’ he groaned. ‘Edison . . .’
‘What about them?’ Coco said sharply.
‘They’re both . . . stuck in . . . the cellar . . .’
‘What cellar?’ Holly rose from her inflatable lounge, which made squeaky, rubbery, fart-like noises. ‘Sit down, sweetie, you look terrible. What happened to you?’
‘Nothing,’ said Marcus. Suddenly he noticed his mother’s glossy nails, false eyelashes and caramel-coloured fake tan. Her hair was the usual sandy shade and her eyes were still green, but . . . ‘What happened to
you
?’
‘I had a makeover,’ Holly admitted. Meanwhile, Coco was struggling out of her own inflatable lounge.
‘Now listen, Marcus.’ She sounded impatient. ‘What
exactly
is going on?’
‘I told you,’ Marcus replied. ‘Newt and Edison are stuck under our caravan.’
Coco gasped. Her eyes widened with horror as she clapped a hand over her mouth.
‘They’re
what
?’ Holly shrieked. Glancing from face to face, Marcus suddenly realised that he hadn’t been clear enough.
‘Oh – I don’t mean they’re
squashed
, or anything,’ he added quickly. ‘I don’t mean the caravan’s
fallen
on them. They’re in the cellar, that’s all. And they won’t come out.’
‘But Marcus—’ Holly began. Marcus, however, wouldn’t let her continue.
‘There’s a cellar, Mum! I swear to God!’ he insisted. ‘If you don’t believe me, come and have a look!’
‘Marcus—’
‘I thought I was hallucinating, only I wasn’t! Because Newt saw the same thing I saw! And so did Edison!’ Marcus blinked back tears, cleared his throat and fixed his pleading gaze on Coco. ‘You’ve got to come,’ he begged. ‘They won’t listen to me. The whole thing’s so weird – I didn’t know what to do.’
‘It’s all right, Marcus. I’ll come.’ Coco shoved her manicured feet into her high-heeled sandals. ‘I’ll come and I’ll give them both a piece of my mind. Since they’ve obviously played some dreadful trick on you.’
Marcus considered this theory for a moment, then dismissed it. ‘I don’t think so . . .’ he mumbled.
‘I’ll come too,’ said Holly. ‘If there’s anything wrong with our caravan, the buck stops with me.’
‘How far is it? A long way?’ asked Coco.
Holly hesitated. Her son bent his gaze to Coco’s high heels.
‘I don’t think you’ll be able to walk there,’ was his conclusion.
‘Then we’ll take the golf cart.’ Coco teetered towards the living room. ‘
Sterling!
’ she called. ‘
Where
are you? I need the keys to the golf cart!
’ Over her shoulder, she added, ‘No dogs in the house, Marcus. Meet me out front . . .’
M
ARCUS WAS TIRED
. H
E
’
D BEEN RUSHING AROUND SO MUCH
that he sank into Coco’s pink golf cart with a sigh of relief. But the golf cart was painfully slow. And Coco refused to accelerate when he asked her to.
‘How can we go any faster?’ she rejoined. ‘This place is crawling with people – we’ll crash into someone if I go any faster than this.’
‘Yes, we have to be careful, Marcus,’ Holly concurred. ‘There’s a speed limit around here, you know.’
So they chugged along at a leisurely pace, carefully avoiding old men, mooching seagulls, and toddlers on tricycles. At one point the little white dog jumped down from Marcus’s lap, sniffed at a discarded sandwich wrapper, peed on a car tyre, and jumped back into the golf cart again – all without having to rush.
‘We would have got there quicker if we’d walked,’ Marcus complained.
At last they reached the Bradshaws’ caravan, which looked dirty and battered and surprisingly small. Even next to the golf cart it looked small. And when Marcus squatted down to check for evidence of a cellar staircase, he saw nothing beneath the caravan except dirt, shade, spiders and a squashed styrofoam cup.
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Coco. She was sitting behind the wheel of her golf cart, staring in amazement at the grubby little caravan. ‘Isn’t this where Miss Molpe used to live?’
‘What?’ Holly frowned at her. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Your caravan,’ Coco replied. ‘It looks
exactly
like Miss Molpe’s.’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ Holly said quickly. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she added, ‘Who’s Miss Molpe?’
‘You
know
. The old lady who used to play us those gramophone records!’
‘Oh! That’s right.’ Holly turned to study the caravan. ‘You really think so?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Cocking her head, Coco appeared to be ticking off a mental checklist. ‘Hers was spotless, of course, but it was the same shape . . . with the same blue stripe . . .’
‘Come on!’ Marcus urged. He was already hovering on the doorstep. ‘What are you waiting for? We’ve got to hurry!’
‘The curtains are different,’ Coco went on, ignoring him. She began to climb out of her golf cart. ‘I remember Miss Molpe’s curtains. They had red flowers on them.’
‘Really?’ Startled, Holly raised her eyebrows. ‘I had to replace the old curtains,’ she revealed. ‘They certainly had flowers on them, but the flowers were pink, not red.’
‘They could have faded,’ said Coco, teetering towards Marcus. ‘Is it the same layout inside?’
