“Well! Well! Well! If it isn’t our little lost sheep!” And there, standing on the top step, grinning broadly through brilliant white tombstone teeth was the awesome figure of Alazon Smyle. Quite simply, he was the most extraordinary person that the children had ever seen.
There was a long, long silence as the awful truth sank in. This beautiful cave, which they had so admired just minutes earlier, now seemed dark and hostile. Suddenly, it had changed from being a place of safety into their prison. The children gazed around them, feeling like flies in an upturned jam jar with no way of escape. Would they really have to stay here forever?
“As long as you stay hidden, your parents will be safe,” their uncle explained.
“Do you know where they are?” Joe asked. Jeff shook his head sadly “But, I will find them, I promise you that. And when I do, I’ll tell them what great kids they’ve got.”
“What about MY folks?” said Odi, his normally cheerful voice now dangerously close to trembling.
“Why, you’re a great kid too…” Jeff replied and made to give Odi a reassuring pat but the boy brushed his hand away, “I don’t mean that!” cried Odi, “And don’t patronise me! I just want my folks! These kids – they’ve got each other but I’m on my own here!”
“No, you’re NOT!” said Alice, for once abandoning her superior air and, despite his protestations, giving Odi a fierce hug. “No, you’re not! You’ve got us now.”
“Oh joy!” piped Odi, “Now she’s trying to suffocate me!” Yet the gesture stopped him crying.
Later, while the youngsters slept, Jeff washed the dishes with Laurel by his side holding a towel. They worked in silence, with only the occasional half-chuckled ‘sorry’ when their hands touched – not quite by accident.
“So, what’s your story?” Jeff asked. “How long have you been living in the trees?”
“Oh, since I was 16,” the young woman replied, “about the same age as Alice.”
“And what did your parents think about it?” It was a question he immediately regretted on seeing Laurel’s eyes.
“I never knew my mother,” she said. “As for my father………Elymas had him killed.” For a moment, it seemed she might cry but instead she turned to Jeff with a fierce look on her face. “Don’t let him kill theirs!”
Uncle Jeff left that night, promising to return with fresh supplies in a week or so. Before he set off, he beckoned Laurel and Roots to follow him onto the small deck where they couldn’t be overheard..
“Those kids have everything they need to keep them occupied,” he began, “and what I haven’t thought of, I’ll bring with me next time. But I need your help. If we’re going to keep them safe, it’s vital they have no contact with the outside world. No magazines, no TV, no radio, no Internet, nothing. Will you make sure of that?”
Roots shrugged. “We don’t hold with those things anyway”
“Just a long as you don’t,” repeated Jeff sternly. “Those kids mean a lot to me, and if anything happens to them….”
“We’ll look after them!” snapped Roots, indignantly. “After all, we haven’t done so badly so up to now!”
“Nothing will happen to them,” Laurel said, hastily “I promise.”
Satisfied, Jeff called goodbye to the children before leaping off the barge. Miles, Alice and Odi were far too gone to hear him; only Joe responded by opening the window next to his bunk.
“Where are you going?” he cried..
“I’ve things to do,” replied Jeff. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it.” True to his word, Jeff kept dropping in once or twice a week and, although he never stayed for long, each visit was a welcome distraction from what soon became a tedious way of life. After all, there are only so many times you can listen to the same CDs, play the same games, or watch the same videos. Only Joe and, surprisingly, Roots were happy to watch yet another daily showing of their joint favourite film, The Lion King which, after two or three months, they knew by heart. There they’d sit, the two of them, singing the songs and speaking the dialogue along with the characters.
“How can you, possibly?” said Alice, genuinely amazed at Roots’ fascination with what was, after all, a kiddies’ cartoon. “I thought you disapproved of technology.”
“Ahh, this is different,” Roots replied. “It speaks to my inner soul!” The others groaned wearily.
They also groaned at the nourishing food Laurel prepared. “Not beans and lentil stew again!” Miles protested.
“It’s good for you,” said Laurel, bristling.
“It makes you trump!” said Joe, and everyone fell about laughing, although it wasn’t so funny at bedtime with three boys sharing the same room.
“Why can’t we have chips for a change?” demanded Miles.
“You’re perfectly welcome to have chips,” Laurel replied, her mouth now definitely pursing. “All we need is a little vegetable oil and…..”
“No, proper chips!” yelled Joe. “Chips from a chip shop with loads of salt and vinegar…..and ketchup!!”
“Chips…” pronounced Roots solemnly, “are symbols of consumerism at its most cynical and exploitative.”
“Well, they can have some nutritious value,” Laurel argued, “If they’re made properly…..”
“Blow nutrition!” exclaimed Odi. “I need additives; I need my ‘E’s! I need chips!”
Laurel winced at the very idea! “Do be reasonable, please!” she begged. “Where on earth would we find a chip shop round here?”
But the children were in no mood to listen. “We want chips! We want chips! Chips,” they chanted; then all four of them, including Alice who should have known better, started banging their knives and forks on the table in a headache-inducing rhythm. “Chips! Chips! Chips!” was the cry, on and on and on. Roots and Laurel exchanged worried frowns – they obviously had a rebellion on their hands.
“Sack this!” cried Roots, sticking his fingers in his ears. “All this aggression….I just can’t cope with it.”
Laurel was a little more patient, managing to endure another 5 minutes of noise before she too began to crack. “Now look, I’ve already said, you can have chips! I’ll make you some chips! Only please, please, please SHUT UP!” No one had ever heard Laurel raise her voice before, and nobody was more shocked than she was! Still, it seemed to do the trick.
“You’ll be a great Mum one day!” observed Roots, admiringly.
“It’s so unfair!” sobbed Alice. “All my friends will be out having fun. Shopping, parties, sleep-overs……And look at me! Stuck here with nothing to do and no one but two dead-leg dropouts and a bunch of stupid boys! This is the pits! I don’t think I’ve ever been so low in the whole of my life!”
“Hardly surprising,” mused Roots “seeing as we’re two miles below sea level.” Laurel glared at him.
“Have you no sensitivity whatsoever?” she snapped. “Can’t you see, these children are upset!” As if to prove the point, they all set off moaning even louder, much to Roots’ discomfort.
Finally, he could take no more. “Sack this for a sockful of toe-nail clippings!” he railed and virtually flew through the door of the barge. By this time, however, the children were far too busy wallowing in misery to notice.
“We used to go swimming after school,” Miles sniffed “Then when we got home, there’d be pancakes for tea.”
The mention of food prompted similar memories in Odi. “Every Friday, me and my Mum’d go to the market and then be cooking ‘n’ stuff. What I wouldn’t give for a quarter pound of my Auntie Elvira’s fried chicken with spicy dumplings and fruit pickle on the side!”
Laurel sat down by the kitchen table, head in her hands. These kids were proving to be a handful, she thought to herself and was about to yell at them again when her innate tolerance kicked in. “I suppose this is cathartic,” she muttered under her breath.
As for Roots, he was safely out of earshot, scrambling for dear life up one of the narrow potholes leading from the cave. He was already familiar with the route, having crept out most nights when the others were asleep to explore the network of passages, an activity that provided welcome relief. But as he climbed, he began to feel remorse, and the sorrier he felt, the more he wanted to do something to make up for his recent outburst. As he climbed, he thought about it hard, and the effort paid off when he finally came up with a cracking good idea. Such a brilliant idea, he was surprised at his own cleverness and tittered gleefully, deciding not to return until he’d carried it out.
Eventually, he reached the top and clambered out through tangled bracken, as the sun began to set, and a large, black cloud loomed in from the west. Yet Roots was undeterred. He walked for a couple of miles and managed to hitch a lift with a truck driver, arriving at the nearest town as the heavens opened. The streets were deserted and Roots, a cold, solitary figure in the teeming rain, huddled into a doorway where he dozed fitfully until the early morning bustle of commuters began.
It had been a long time since he’d last stepped foot in the town. Even so, he was amazed to see how much it had changed. There were still plenty of people about, scurrying to work as usual and gibbering frantically into their mobiles, but they looked hunched and miserable and unbelievably drab. For one thing, they all had the same haircuts – short back and sides for men, and unflatteringly tight buns for women – and everyone, from business people in sharp, natty suits, to tradesmen in their well-ironed overalls, was dressed in grey or black or various shades of sludge. And everybody’s shoes were shiny.
The only colour he noticed came from bright yellow posters that adorned every available space. Each carried a picture of three people who looked remarkably familiar to Roots, so he screwed up his eyes in order to focus more clearly and tried to read what the posters said. Unfortunately, he suffered from dyslexia and, having spent most of his school years playing truant, really couldn’t make sense of the words. Only the biggest word managed to convey anything: “WANTED”, mouthed Roots. “I wonder what for?”
Nervously, he glanced up and down the now busy main street. As far as he could see, there were no peddlers, traders or buskers with whom he could enjoy a bit of friendly banter. Instead, his neck tingled as he sensed a thousand hostile eyes upon him. Everyway he turned, from every lamp-post, every building, every shop, there was a camera poised to mark his every movement, while passers-by didn’t even glance at him, just hurried by with heads held low and mouths set grimly downwards.
“Well, this lot could do with cheering up a bit!” thought Roots, and he pulled out his mouth organ, pressed it to his lips and broke into a lilting melody. During the next few hours, he completed his entire repertoire at least ten times over with very little to show for it, except a few brown coins and the odd bit of encouragement such as “Get yourself a job!” Nevertheless, he kept on playing, throwing in some fancy footwork into the bargain, until his efforts began to bear fruit. At last, through sheer exuberance, he began to raise a pile of coins, including some silver ones, and even a smile or two, and was actually quite enjoying himself…. when the policeman arrived.
“Hello, hello, hello, what’s all this then?” boomed the Constable.
“Just giving in to some high spirits,” said Roots, amiably.
“Well, if I were you Sonny, I’d give up the ghost,” the policeman replied. “You don’t want to hang around here where they can see you. You stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Who are they?” asked Roots, but the policeman was in no mood for chit chat. He gazed down at Roots and said, not unkindly, “Just be off with you, Lad – and think yourself lucky I got to you first.”
Fortunately, Roots had collected enough money to buy what he’d come for, so he didn’t complain and meekly made his way to the nearest chippie.
“Fish and chips and mushy peas seven times please!” he ordered. Then he caught sight of the price list. “Stone me, that’s a bit steep, isn’t it?”
The chip shop owner eyed him contemptuously. “You’ll not find cheaper anywhere else – or better!” he growled.
“Well then, can I have SIX fish, five chips and four mushy peas…. No, wait a mo….I want FIVE fish, FOUR chips and three mushy peas…. NO. Just a second. “FOUR fish, FIVE chips and…..” Roots’ arithmetic being little better than his reading skills, he could have been there all day.
“Come on, hurry up!” snapped the chip shop man, “We don’t want your sort round here, it’s bad for business. If you haven’t got the money, get gone!”
“I HAVE got money,” said Roots, “and I’ve earned every single penny of it, so give me FOUR fish, FIVE chips, THREE mushy peas and none of your polystyrene neither – you can wrap them up in newspaper and save an ocean, thank you!”
Not long afterwards, Roots hopped on a train with the piping hot food stuffed down his faded old fleece, where it steamed visibly, causing other passengers to keep their distance. Still, it was nice to have a carriage all to himself and he returned to the cave feeling almost rested.
“Here! Pop these in the microwave!” he crowed as he bounded onto the barge. Of course, the chips had long since gone cold, but a few spins in the oven sorted that out, and Roots grinned triumphantly, like a hunter who’d bagged a dinosaur, watching the children devour the feast.
“This must be the best food I’ve tasted in centuries!” hailed Odi, only slightly exaggerating.
“Mmm, it’s delicious!” agreed Joe. “Thank you Roots, you’re amazing!”
“We don’t deserve you!” Alice burst out, overcome with remorse for her previous behaviour. “We don’t deserve either of you! I’m so sorry, Laurel, can you ever, ever forgive us?” This heartfelt apology was somewhat undermined by Odi and Miles who started mimicking her.
“I’m so sooooo sooooorrrry!” they kept saying playing imaginary violins. Joe laughed until he almost choked on his crispy beer batter.
“Stop it boys!” said Laurel “you should try to be more supportive.”
“Alice doesn’t mind,” replied Miles cheerfully, “do you Alice?” But Alice didn’t answer. She was too busy staring open-mouthed at the tatty piece of newspaper in front of her, the chip in her hand, which had been heading for oblivion, frozen in mid-air.
“Look!” she cried, and everyone huddled round her. There, at the top of the page, only slightly smeared by batter, was a picture of their mother, her tear-streaked face gazing mournfully at them. Above the picture, in giant capitals, was the headline: “HELP ME FIND MY CHILDREN!”
They all gasped. “It’s Mum!” cried Joe and reached out to touch her image. “Read it Alice!” urged Miles.
“Jennifer Hadwin, whose three children went missing 4 months ago, sent out a plea yesterday for their safe return. Alice (15), Miles (13) and Joe (11) disappeared when Richard and Jennifer Hadwin were out shopping. On returning home, the children had gone, and a desperate search was launched…..”
“Look, there’s us!” Joe yelled. Sure enough, further down the page, they saw their last group photograph, all three of them side by side and smiling happily. The caption read: “WANTED! HAVE YOU SEEN THESE CHILDREN?”
“Hey!” cried Roots “That’s the picture I saw in the town!”
There was also a picture of a man.
“Who’s he?” said Odi. The article explained he was the billionaire philanthropist, Alazon Smyle. “What’s a philanthropist?” Joe asked.
“Someone kind who helps other people,” replied Laurel. “It seems he’s helping your parents.”
Alice took up the account. “…..Billionaire entrepreneur, Alazon Smyle has offered a staggering 20 million pounds for any information leading to the children’s whereabouts…”
“20 million pounds! Whoa!” cried Odi “That’s a lotta takeaways! Hey folks, get me to a telephone right now!”
“Yes, there’s a number here to ring!” said Alice “write it down, someone…it’s 333 333 3333.”
“I think we can remember that!” Miles said sarcastically.
“We’ve found our Mum, we’ve found our Mum!” Joe began jumping up and down with excitement, almost rocking the barge.
“Come on! What are we waiting for!” cried Alice. “Let’s get to a phone!”
Laurel, however, was more cautious. “Just a minute! Let’s not be too hasty about this…..”
“What’s the problem?” said Odi, “The woman wants her kids, the kids want their Mum, we all want out of here! So, come on, let’s go!”
“But it’s not a simple as that!” Laurel insisted.
“Of course, it is!” said Alice, impatiently “Roots knows the way out, don’t you, Roots?”
“We promised your uncle we’d all stay here!” replied Laurel “And the least we could do is wait for him to come back.”
“But we can’t wait!” whined Joe “We miss our parents”!
“Besides, there’s something else we need to consider.” Roots who had been silent so far, had his own view of the situation.
“I know it’s none of my business, but just how far can we trust your Uncle Jeff?”
Everyone was taken aback, especially Miles. If he’d been slapped in the face with a cold banana, he couldn’t have been more shocked. “Not trust Uncle Jeff?!” he said. “Uncle Jeff’s the most brilliant person in the whole world! He helped us!”
“Or maybe, just maybe, he helped keep you prisoners down here,” Roots suggested. “In fact, to be perfectly honest with you, I felt there was something decidedly fishy about him from the start.”
“My Uncle Jeff is NOT fishy!” insisted Miles. “You’re the one smelling of cod!”
“He DID say he worked with those men,” Alice said. “And what was he doing on the canal that day? Come to that, what has he been doing all his life?”
“But he helped us!” Miles repeated. “And he told us what he was doing – he’s a double agent!”
“That’s what he TOLD you.” Roots murmured. “Anyway, if he IS a double agent, then he’s obviously lied to somebody, hasn’t he? How do we know he’s not double-crossing you? And why did he tell me and Laurel to stop any contact with the outside if he knew your mother was looking for you? He lied about her, too, didn’t he? She’s not being held a prisoner, she’s out there somewhere, looking for you!”
This seemed so logical, no one could really argue with it, not even Miles.
“He never tells us anything,” said Joe. “And everything’s got to be a secret! I hate secrets!”
Miles looked at Laurel, desperate for support. “You don’t think Uncle Jeff’s a liar, do you?”
After a pause, Laurel sighed and shook her head. “I’m not sure of anything anymore….”
“Uncle Jeff wouldn’t lie to me,” he whispered sadly. “Not to me.”
“You say that because he’s your hero,” suggested Alice. “We all like him, but if it’s a choice between Mum and Dad and Uncle Jeff, I know who I’d choose.”
“Well, let’s put it to the vote,” said Roots. “All those in favour of finding their parents, raise your hands….” And, of course, everyone shot their hands up, except Miles.
“That’s not fair!” he protested, “You’re trying to rig it!”
“Motion carried!” Roots declared. “We’ll set off first thing in the morning.”
“No!” Alice yelled, “Uncle Jeff might arrive before then. He usually comes on a Friday.”
“I vote we get going right now!” said Odi. “All we have to do is ring that Smyle dude and we’re grooving!”
“Right! It’s decided then!” Roots bit into one last chip before preparing for action. “I’ll get some rope and pack a few provisions. Laurel – pack some blankets, and you others – get some warm clothes on. It’s damn chilly in those pot-holes.”
“Hey, just how big are these pot-holes anyway?” Odi wanted to know.
“Oooh, not very big,” replied Roots “Big enough if you suck your tummy in, but I wouldn’t breathe out again if I were you.”
Although the passages were not as small as Odi feared, they were a lot more difficult to scale with five of them in tow.
“How much further do we have to go?” asked Odi, beginning to feel panicky.
“Until we see the light,” replied Roots, forgetting it was nighttime. Yet the sky was clear, and the moon was full, bathing the surrounding hills in its luminous glow.
“That is definitely the last time I’ll neighbour with moles!” Said Odi. “Everyone should know their place and mine’s up here, yes Sir!”
“You know, you remind me of a canary, Odi,” Alice mused. “When you put a cover on its cage it goes quiet, and when you take it off, it starts singing.”
She was rewarded with a throaty chuckle. “Cool!” said Odi. “And you remind me of a turkey. When you cover its plate with food, hey, guess what? it starts gobbling!”
Alice tutted with annoyance. “Honestly, you are a brat. I chose a nice bird for you.”
“Just so long as I don’t have to fly,” he answered. “I don’t want to fly, swim, shoot any rapids, or wriggle through a tunnel for the rest of my life!”
“Come on, Odi, where’s your sense of adventure?” Roots chided. “Is there nothing you enjoy?”
“All I ask is to walk on my own two feet, preferably upright!”
“Well,” said Roots, cheerily, “now’s your chance.” And the little group tramped through the heather to find a telephone.
“What’s that number again?” asked Roots.
“333 333 3333 – and maybe another couple of 3’s.” Miles said.
“Just keep dialling 3 ’til you hear it ring.” suggested Odi.
All five of them were squashed into the red telephone box on the edge of Twitscum, a tiny hamlet with a pub, a post office and a handful of quaint little cottages. Since they’d arrived, the noise levels in the district had increased by 100%, setting curtains aflutter from every direction. No one stopped in Twitscum. It was the sort of place when driving through you’d miss if you blinked, and strangers were such a rare event, they were always viewed with suspicion.
Much like any other little hamlet, in fact, except for the bright yellow posters hung on every tree. “Maybe they’re promoting the school fair,” thought Miles. “That’s if there IS a school.” He was wrong on both counts. On closer inspection, Miles realised the posters carried a picture of three blond-haired children….the very same picture which they’d seen in the newspaper. WANTED, THE HADWINS. IF YOU SEE THEM, RING 333 333 3333 IMMEDIATELY.
“Hey! That’s us again!” Miles cried.
“They’re all over the place!” said Roots. Shops, pubs, lamp posts, but I never thought to read one.”
“Good grief!” remarked Laurel “You kids are famous! This Smyle geezer has really pulled out the stops.”
Frustrated, Roots jammed down the phone. “It’s not working!” he said, “All I’m getting is the engaged tone.”
“Must be all those people hoping to get a slice of the 20 million”, said Odi.
“Keep trying, Roots. Please!” Joe urged. Quarter of an hour went by, then another, until everyone began to feel cold and hungry and it seemed they’d have to give up when at last…..
“It’s ringing!” cried Roots. “Quick, Laurel, take over!”
“Hello? Hello, my name’s Laurel,” she said. “Could I speak to Mr. Smyle please? Yes, it’s about the children, they’re here with me now. What?” she put her hand over the receiver. “They don’t believe me. They want to hear one of the children.”
As the eldest, Alice took the phone. “Hello,” she said “my name’s Alice Hadwin and….
‘That’s odd! I’ve been cut off!” But no sooner had she replaced the receiver than it started to ring. “Hello,” she said, after picking it up again. “Okay, all right. Yes, we’ll be here. Bye.”
“What did they say?” Miles demanded. “Are they coming to get us? Were Mum and Dad there? How long do we have to wait?”
“Yes, no and I don’t know,” replied Alice. “We’re to stay here and someone will collect us as soon as they can.”
“That could be forever!” Joe groaned.
But it wasn’t. Within minutes, they could hear a faint whirring in the distance, which grew louder and louder until a large black shape appeared directly above them from the sky, sending a beam of light that dazzled their eyes.
“A helicopter!” cried Miles. And Odi said “Cool!” as it landed in a nearby field, the blades spinning fiercely enough to flatten the daisies. They all huddled together and held their breath as the door opened and a flight of steps was lowered to the ground.
“Well! Well! Well! If it isn’t our little lost sheep!” And there, standing on the top step, grinning broadly through brilliant white tombstone teeth was the awesome figure of Alazon Smyle. Quite simply, he was the most extraordinary person that the children had ever seen, and one by one their jaws gaped open with amazement.
Dressed head to toe in various shades of turquoise and yellow, he carried a solid-gold walking stick with what looked like an enormous diamond door knob on the top. His hair was a reddish colour, but so bright it just couldn’t have been natural. He posed briefly with his arms outstretched in an extravagant gesture of welcome before swooping down the helicopter steps and making a beeline for the Hadwins, closely followed by a retinue of younger men in designer suits. There were some glamorous women too, all carrying clipboards and smiling determinedly despite the cold.
“Hello children!” he boomed. ““Let me introduce myself. Alazon Smyle to the rescue – that’s Smyle with a ’Y’ and why not? Smyle by name, Smyle by nature. ‘Face the world with A Smyle’ I always say! And who have we here? No, let me guess.” He looked intently at Alice and kissed her hand gallantly. “What a beautiful girl! Alicimo bellissimo!” Alice blushed and simpered.
“And who is this sturdy young man? Miles, right? Of course, who else could it be? Your mother’s told me so much about you, I feel I know you already – like my own son.”
Then it was Joe’s turn. “So that just leaves…. Master Joe!” Mr. Smyle bent down to look him squarely in the eye. Joe looked back at him, unsure how to behave towards this overwhelming presence. “Haven’t you got a smile for me, hmmm?” coaxed Mr. Smyle, pinching the boy’s cheek. “My, you are a glum little boy! We’ll have to see what we can do about that, won’t we?”
“So would you be glum if you’d been through the things he has!” Roots said, belligerently.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve been introduced!” replied Mr. Smyle and Miles took it upon himself to do the honours. “This is our friend Roots, and this is Laurel who’s been helping us. And this is Odi Rogers.” At the mention of his name, Odi looked up startled, having been mesmerised by the shiny gold buttons of Mr. Smyle’s waistcoat.
“Odi Rogers,” Mr. Smyle pondered, “I know that name from somewhere. Is your father called Stewart, by any chance?”
“You know him?” cried Odi, hardly able to contain his excitement. “You know my Dad!”
“Errr…now you come to mention it….” Mr. Smyle paused and frowned with concentration. “No. No, it was just a guess, but then that’s me! I’m almost always right about everything! But, there I go again – I’m sure you don’t want to hear about a boring old man like me. Let’s get you home where you can have a good hot meal and a soak in the Jacuzzi! Come on, everyone!” With that, he took Alice by the hand and led the way to his helicopter.