Where grown-ups were concerned, Joe had always had an attitude problem. The same attitude that landed them both in the pit at Babel now appeared to be irritating Mr. Smyle.
Nowadays, Alice hardly had a moment to spare; facials, manicures, eyebrow-shaping, leg-waxing, make-up and personal training sessions were essential to maintain her presence on social media. Why, it took at least half a day to produce one selfie! But, she mused, it was worth the effort. Alice Hadwin was now a force to be reckoned with – an influencer with over 30 million followers!
Laurel sometimes joined her in the gym where the personal trainer put them through their paces, but she never showed the same commitment as her younger friend, nor did she have the same interest in celebrities. By now, Alice had collected hundreds of them, all professing to be her new ‘best friends’, and the more sought-after she became, the more the attitudes of spoilt little rich kids began to rub off. She no longer said ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ to people, and she only really smiled when the ultimate Smyle himself was around. Worse than that, whenever slightly irritated, she’d throw a tantrum, ranting and raving and threatening as though the world was going to end if she didn’t get her way. Alice had finally learned to ‘love herself’; but this new, more confident Alice wasn’t very nice.
This much became obvious after Mr. Smyle agreed to host a birthday party for her at the castle, an event she was determined would be bigger, better and more expensive than anyone else’s, thanks to Mr. Smyle’s everlasting pocket and generous disposition. She was responsible for all the arrangements, which she set about with a vengeance.
Odi, grieved at being left out, decided to tackle her about it. “Hey, Bat face! How come you don’t speak to us anymore?”
Alice was floating on a lilo in the outdoor pool, her eyes covered with cucumbers in preparation of the disco she was planning to attend that night. A trained beautician, smiling as everybody on Mr. Smyle’s payroll always did, was painting the teenager’s toe-nails a fetching shade of puce whilst trying not to drown at the same time. “Oh, do go away, you silly, little boy,” she yawned. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“That’s busy?!” replied Odi. “Hey, if that’s busy, my pet snail could win the Grand National! Where are you going tonight, anyway?”
“Not that it’s any of your business,” Alice said “but I’m going to Rome with Mr. Smyle and children aren’t invited.”
“Huh, you can’t stand the competition!” he grunted.
“Actually,” said Alice, smugly “I’m one of those people who just gets noticed wherever I go. It must be my charisma.”
“Charisma!?” cried Odi. “You think you’ve got charisma!? Hey, let me tell you – on a scale of one to ten, your charisma’s nought point nought nought nought nought zero!”
“Other people would disagree with that assessment.” Alice was getting rather bored with this conversation. “Even famous people!”
“Yeah? Like who?”
“Like Ricky Retch for one!” The very mention of that name set her heart quivering. Not only was Ricky Retch THE rock phenomenon of the 21st century, but his smouldering dark eyes and carelessly tousled, black hair had catapulted him to the top of every young girl’s wish list.
“Huh!” replied Odi, for once stuck for a reply. “He coming to your party then?”
“Not only is he coming,” crowed Alice, “but he’s giving a special performance just for me. He’s even written a song for me! So there!”
“What’s that about, then? ‘Bout how you fell out of the ugly tree?”
Alice smiled weakly. It was hard to be offended by this silly child when everyone, but everyone, admired her. Hadn’t she recently appeared on the cover of Vogue, wasn’t hers the Face of the Future? “Yes, very witty, Odi. Now do be a dear and go away. I need my beauty sleep.”
“You can say that again!” Odi waited for the usual hard stare, but even this was a rare occurrence these days. Just how far did a guy have to go to insult somebody? Anyway, he wasn’t prepared to let things lie. “Well, if you have Ricky Retch, I’m going to have Digger Dogger Doo…”
“Hah!” snorted Alice. “And who’s he when he’s at home?”
“It’s not a ‘he’. It’s a ‘them’ – like, only the greatest rappers of the last 2 million centuries, that’s all!”
“Oh, how boring!” groaned Alice.
“And…and…and what’s more, I’m going to be up on stage singing right along with them!” yelled Odi. “With my own composition! I don’t need anyone writing songs for me, ‘cos I’m a genius in my own right, Right?”
This did the trick. Alice sat bolt upright on her lilo. “You’re NOT singing at my party!”
“Oh yes, I am! Mr. Smyle said we could all have exactly what we wanted. And if I want to sing with Digger Dogger Doo, that’s what I’m going to Do Do Doo, and there ain’t nothing you can do about it, even if it IS your party!”
“Read my lips!” Alice began, but Odi was now enjoying himself.
“No, ‘cos that’d mean looking at your goofy teeth!” he yelled.
“You are not ruining my party!” screamed Alice, her face flushed with rage.
“You know it’s going to happen!” Odi crowed, pleased at having found a chink in Alice’s armour and, to emphasise the point, he started hip-hopping to a particularly merciless rhyme he’d made up, involving Alice, spots and orthodontic applications and stirring his victim into a frenzy. Growling with rage, Alice snatched the nail polish from her manicurist and flung it at her tormentor, who leapt nimbly out of the way. The force of this action unbalanced her and the lilo started to wobble. “Oh no!” she shrieked and tried to stay afloat, but, losing its battle with gravity, the lilo tipped over, flinging Alice into the water. Hair, nails and spray-on tan were completely ruined.
“Haha!” Odi gloated, as Alice dragged herself out of the pool and moved towards him. Seeing Alice’s menacing expression, he decided to make himself scarce. In that mood, Alice was capable of anything.
Humming to himself, he wandered back towards the ballroom, idly strumming his fingers along the walls to an imaginary beat. “Might as well get in a bit of practice for my gig,” he thought. Working on my rhythm!”
Mrs. Bennett once asked him, very nicely, if he’d mind very much not doing that, as he always left smudges. Her pleas fell upon deaf ears, however, so rather than risk causing offence, a footman was assigned to follow Master Odi from a discreet distance with a spray cleaner and sponge to remove any fingerprints, especially if he’d been eating chocolate. Once in a while, Odi pondered on the dim view his father would have of this behaviour but then, hey, neither of his parents were there to complain, and Mr. Smyle wouldn’t have let them if they had been.
“Nothing to do, Master Odi?” chirped Mrs. Bennett with just a trace of irritation as she passed by with a tray. “Why don’t you go and play with Master Joe?” This idea was met with a dismissive shrug. Sure, Joe was okay in small doses, but he tended to be in a sulk the whole time and was only really happy exploring the woods with Roots. “You’re welcome to join us,” said Roots, and, for want of anything better to do, Odi would shuffle around for a bit watching Joe and Roots dig for mushrooms and collect leaves and conkers and stuff before shuffling off again. After all, he didn’t spend hours each morning getting the right ‘look’ together just to scratch about in soil. Miles was no better. Since he’d started dabbling in finance and stuff, he’d become almost as boring as his sister, all high and mighty with everyone, yelling and shouting for no good reason. His latest thing was to stomp around with a mobile phone glued to his ear, barking instructions to whoever was unfortunate enough to be on the other end of it, acting like a mini tycoon who’d overdosed on caffeine! And Miles at play was even worse! On one occasion, when he reverted to being a 13-year old, he slid down the stairs on a tray, overshot and skidded into the front door, ending up with bruises as big as ostrich eggs and a foul temper to match.
“You idiots!” he screamed at the staff, “look what you made me do! I’ve a massive bump on my head all because you didn’t stop me! Just you wait ’til Mr. Smyle gets back – he’ll teach you!” Mrs. Bennett and Soames merely smiled in their gratingly cheerful way. “As you wish, Master Miles,” they said and carried on with their tasks.
Odi sighed. Now he stopped to think about it, he found all three Hadwins distinctly unpleasant these days, and no fun at all. Little did he realise, of course, that weeks of aimless indulgence and doing whatever he wanted had had the same effect on him. The grown-ups were no better; Roots, of course, was usually up a tree somewhere, while Laurel made herself scarce whenever Mr. Smyle was around, only appearing if one of the kids needed a shoulder to cry on. Odi reckoned Mr. Smyle quite fancied Laurel. Every time he saw her, he’d start spouting poetry and singing pukey songs. No wonder she kept out of the way!
That just left Mr. Smyle, who could actually be surprisingly good company at times. Odi smiled, remembering their last encounter.
“Like my new suit, Odi?” Mr. Smyle asked, showing off his tailor’s latest feat of engineering. Surprisingly, for a man with such exquisite taste in furnishings, he wore some truly dreadful clothes. Odi responded by shielding his eyes. “Last time I saw anything that bright, it was through a kaleidoscope!” he cracked, much to Mr. Smyle’s merriment. Then, as was his custom, Odi said something else, then something else, then something else, then something else, until his host’s good humour started to wane.
“Tell me, young man, is it a matter of principle with you that every time you open your mouth something has to come OUT of it? Maybe we should use it to catch flies, then there’d be rubbish going INTO it for a change.”
On the whole, however, Odi’s continuous prattling never seemed to bother Mr. Smyle. The only person who DID offend him, quite unintentionally as it happened, was Joe. But then, Odi mused, where grown-ups were concerned, Joe had always had an attitude problem. The same attitude that landed them both in the pit at Babel now appeared to be irritating Mr. Smyle. That morning at breakfast, Odi and the Hadwins were sitting at table with Mr. Smyle, who watched each of them in turn, the benevolent gaze fading a little as it rested upon Joe.
“Enjoying your breakfast, Joe?” asked Mr. Smyle.
Joe didn’t answer, just sat there moodily sloshing his cornflakes round the bowl.
“You know, Joe, it’s simple good manners to answer when someone addresses you, especially when questioned as to your own well-being by the person who is providing it. I must confess to being somewhat hurt by your attitude, young man, and, though far be it from me to look for gratitude, I do believe I am entitled to a little courtesy. So, in future, when I ask you a question, I expect you to say, “Yes, Mr. Smyle” or “No, Mr. Smyle” or, what would be truly miraculous, “Thank you, Mr. Smyle”. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mr. Smyle,” replied Joe flatly.
“Good.” And, for the next few minutes, Mr. Smyle started talking to Miles about their next takeover deal. Inevitably, though, he soon came back to Joe.
“For heavens’ sake, boy, why don’t you smile occasionally?! Don’t I give you everything you could possibly want?”
“Yes, Mr. Smyle,” Joe replied, only adding to Mr. Smyle annoyance.
“So, what’s the matter with you? Why can’t you converse with me in a civilised manner? Well? Perhaps you’d like to comment on the weather, hmm?”
Joe said nothing.
“Well, if you’ve nothing to bring to the breakfast table, maybe you should leave it,” said Mr. Smyle. You’ll not be eating any more Choco Hoops, that’s for sure!” He picked up Joe’s dish of cereal and passed it to Mrs. Bennett. “Into the incinerator with this, Mrs. B….”
“Wha…!” To Odi this was sacrilege! “There are kids starving in the world and you’re throwing away good FOOD?!?
“Whether you’d call a bowl of sugar with a teaspoonful of rice in it ‘Good food’ is open to debate, young man!” Mr. Smyle countered. “But Joe is having no more of this, nor pudding nor sweets nor anything else until he shows some manners!”
Joe didn’t respond, forcing Alice into making excuses.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Smyle,” said Alice. “Joe’s like that with everyone at first. He’s really very shy, especially with grown-ups.”
“He’s all right with Roots,” added Miles unhelpfully.
Mr. Smyle chuckled. “I hardly think Roots qualifies as a grown-up. On the contrary, I sometimes wonder if he’s actually human. And, while we’re on the subject, I feel Joe spends far too much time with him.”
“And Laurel,” Odi chipped in, determined to have his say and earning himself another hard ‘stare’ from Alice – not her most chilling effort admittedly, but effective nonetheless.
“Laurel’s a girl!” she snapped.
“So was Sister Prism!” replied Odi “and Joe hated her as well.”
“Oh?” There was a pause. Alice and Miles squirmed in embarrassment. “As well as whom, Odi? I do hope you’re not inferring that Joe hates me?”
Now Odi was getting hard stares from everyone. “Hey, I was just making conversation!” he complained, “You can always count on me for an in-depth debate; any subject you care to name, any time, any place….”
“Yes, I’m aware of that, Odi, as are we all, as always. But just for the moment, I’d be obliged if you’d allow someone else to get a word in edgeways. And why do you keep fidgeting?”
“I’m just dancing in my head,” replied Odi. He’d always had a problem sitting down for long. “Straight up, I can’t help it. I’ve got ADHD.”
“ADHD?” said Mr. Smyle, bemused. “What’s that?”
“Attention Deficiency Hyperactivity Disorder,” Odi explained patiently. “ADHD. That means I can’t concentrate and that’s why I can’t keep still.”
“Fascinating!” said Mr. Smyle and reached for the marmalade. His hand was only halfway to its destination when, without any warning at all, he rammed his sharp elbow into Odi’s left ear. “Ohh, I can’t help it!” he cried and, arms twitching and jerking, he managed to poke the poor lad again in the ribs. “I’ve got Attention Deficiency Hyperactivity Disorder and I simply can’t keep still!” Then he nudged Odi once more and used his other elbow to whack Joe at the same time. For several minutes, Mr. Smyle howled with laughter, tears rolling down his cheek. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!” he snorted. “You two make quite a pair!” “One never talks, the other never stops! Whatever am I to do with you?”
“You could let us go out once in a while,” Odi grumbled. “Me and Joe never get to go anywhere!” It rankled him to see Miles and Alice swanning off with their benefactor to so many swanky places.
“Well, that’s easily rectified,” replied Mr. Smyle, chewing greedily, “Would you like to go out, Joe? All you have to do is ask, and who knows, I might even take you there myself – providing you become a little more sociable. Where would you like to go?”
For the first time since he’d arrived at the Castle of Smyle’s, Joe’s eyes lit up. “Australia!” he cried.
“Oh really?” Mr. Smyle was delighted to see such enthusiasm. “And why do you want to go to there?” Joe blinked. Surely it was obvious why he wanted to go to Australia. “To see Mum and Dad.”
“Ah, of course,” said Mr. Smyle, “how thoughtless of me, and how very, very touching.” As if to press the point, he picked up his napkin and started dabbing his eyes with it.
Miles and Alice looked at each other, ashamed to realise how little they’d thought about their parents over the past weeks. There’d been so much happening. Now Joe had brought the matter up, all kinds of emotions began swirling in their hearts. Fortunately, a discreet knock on the door dispelled the mood. Soames the butler entered the dining room.
“Here comes the cavalry,” Odi muttered under his breath. The mention of parents had caused a lump in his throat, and the last thing he wanted to do was cry.
“The delegates have arrived, Sir.” Soames announced.
Chapter 19
“Back, back, you hell hags!” cried Mr. Smyle. “Get back to the devil where you belong!”
Joe wasn’t there for lunch. After his brush with Mr. Smyle, he headed for his room and met Roots tiptoeing towards the back stairs.
“Where are you going?” Joe cried. Startled, Roots swiveled round and placed one forefinger to his lips. “Shhhhh! I don’t want anyone knowing about it!” said Roots. “About what?” Joe whispered. “It’s a secret,” Roots replied.
“Wait! I’m coming with you!” said Joe, defiantly. Roots sighed; when Joe was in this mood, there was really no choice. “Okay, but you mustn’t tell anybody,” he stressed. “What not even Odi? Or Miles or Alice?” “Especially not Odi or Miles or Alice!” said Roots.
Minutes later, two figures scurried through the gardens, over the spacious lawns and into the orchard until Roots finally came to a stop at the foot of a large pear tree. “Here we are,” he said and removed a thick clump of grass, exposing a hole just big enough for them to climb into.
“A tunnel!” cried Joe. “You’ve made a tunnel!” Roots hushed him quickly. “You never know who’s listening in this place!” he said. “Just keep quiet and follow me.”
The tunnel sloped downwards quite dramatically. “I feel like the white rabbit!” Joe exclaimed, only to be shushed again by his guide. Slowly and silently, they crawled through the tunnel, which seemed even longer than the one they’d used to escape the bailiffs in Fernilee Forest, but Joe managed to control his urge to moan, having every faith in Roots’ ability to lead them both to safety. Sure enough, they eventually emerged into a small cove on a desolate, windswept beach, just in time to see the sunrise in all its glory.
“Ahhh freedom!” Roots cried. “We can walk for miles along this beach and not see a soul!”
Joe looked up at the sheer cliff through which they’d tunnelled. There was no way anyway could scale down the side of it and, for the first time in weeks, the boy felt he could truly relax, away from the unceasing, suffocating smiles of Mr. Smyle and his aides. “Look!” he yelled, his voice drowning against the crashing of the waves. “There’s some rocks, can we go climbing!”
Roots grinned. “That’s the best idea you’ve had all day, Joe. Come on, I’ll race you there!”
Once they reached the rocky outcrop, they clambered over them like stags, relishing the salt spray as it lashed against their cheeks. On each level of rock were tiny pools with limpets, mussels and miniature crabs which Joe and his companion watched with joyful fascination. “Let’s see what’s on the other side,” suggested Roots, so they climbed down onto the beach again, taking off their shoes to feel the sand beneath their toes. “I know – we could build a sandcastle!” said Joe.
“I’ve not done that in years,” said Roots, and his face lit up with distant memories. “Better yet, let’s make a whole country! We’ll have rivers and channels and tunnels and islands and hills….it’ll be the best place in the world!”
Eagerly, they set about their task and before long were lost in their own private kingdom, dug out with their own bare hands. Joe had just put the finishing touches to a particularly grand turret when he heard the noise again……faint but unmistakable.
“Did you hear that?” he asked. Roots strained his ears. “No, nothing,” he replied. “You must have imagined it, Joe.” But half a minute later, Joe stopped again. This time, the noise was unmistakable. “You must have heard it that time!” yelled Joe, and he ran to the next mound of rocks. The sight that met him made him gasp with shock. “What is it Joe?” asked Roots as he hauled himself to the top of the mound. “It can’t be,” he cried, “it’s just not possible!” But impossible or not, the shore that stretched for miles ahead of them was like no other he had ever seen. Instead of sand with softly undulating dunes, shells and ribbons of seaweed, it was completely covered in tarmac, alternating red and black tarmac in a dizzying diamond pattern. Instead of gentle ripples kissing the shore line, there was a 9ft wall fringed with razor wire.
“That’s horrible!” said Roots, “the most horrible thing ever!”
“Not as horrible as that!” Joe replied. He was gazing beyond the tarmac, beyond the red brick wall that kept the waves at bay. Silently he pointed towards a swarm of figures in purple robes, scurrying towards them. Leaping, shrieking and yelling, they rushed along the tarmac with staffs in hand, followed by a pack of enormous baying beasts. Numbed with terror, Joe tried to speak but the only sound he could make was a pathetic croak. Eventually, it was Roots who barked the order:
“RUN!”
By this time, the alarm had been raised at the castle. Excusing himself from his guests, Mr. Smyle sent Soames to fetch his rifle and elite members of his security team.
“What is it Mr. Smyle?” Miles asked.
“Nunjas!” Mr. Smyle exclaimed. “They’ve found out where you are…..”
Alice shrieked, Miles choked on his Choco Hoops and Odi shivered with dread.
“….and this time, they’re brought their dogs!”
As he spoke, Roots and Joe were pelting along the beach, back towards the cove with the nunjas and a pack of vicious, snarling animals in hot pursuit, gaining on them by the second.
“Sack this for a kennelful of doggy treats!” yelled Roots. “There must be hundreds of them! Keep running, Joe, or we’ll be mincemeat!”
“But which way?” Joe cried. “Look! There’s more of them!”
Sure enough, another pack of dogs appeared ahead of them, tearing towards them with slavering jaws and upraised hackles.
“We’ll never make it!” Joe felt his knees wobbling uncontrollably.
“Head for the cliffs!” Roots yelled. “The only way is up!”
Roots grabbed Joe by the hand and half-carried, half-dragged him towards the cliff as the dogs closed in, both packs now running as one, with over fifty sets of jagged teeth bared ready for their prey.
Ten metres, eight metres, six, five, four…..the hounds from hell were snapping at Joe’s heels as, with one enormous spurt of energy, Roots leapt upwards onto an overhanging rock, hauling Joe after him. There he hung, two fingers clinging to the rock, his other hand clinging onto Joe, praying his strength would last. The dogs gathered at the base, jumping up to grab Joe’s foot, foul-smelling breath merely inches away. Roots jerked Joe upwards once again, cheating the fangs of one determined dog. But his arms were tiring….fingernails scraping, Joe kicking and adding to his weight, all the time slipping, slipping from Roots’ grasp.
“I…can’t….hold you!” Roots screamed with frustration, but there was nothing he could do. The boy was helpless, and all the savage mastiffs had to do was wait…..”I can’t hold you!”
Summoning what remained of his strength, Joe let out a desperate cry to the only other friend he had: “Save us, Mr. Big! Please, please, Mr. Big….please save us!”
The cry resounded round the bay and, for a second, the dogs fell silent. Then, slowly, the leader backed away, backed at least ten metres from the cliff. Joe sighed with relief, thinking the dogs had given up but, to his horror, the first dog started running again towards the cliff, gathering speed with every bound. Finally, with one triumphant growl, it hurled its massive frame at Joe and grabbed the boy’s ankle.
“Please Mr. Big….” This time the plea was just a whisper, for the sharp pain had shocked him into letting go of Roots’ hand and he fell heavily to the ground. As soon as he hit the sand, he felt the dog’s hot breath on his neck and lay there helplessly, convinced he was a goner, for sure.
Bang! The mastiff yelped, released Joe’s leg and fell to the ground where it lay twitching. The rest of the pack cringed as yet another loud bang was heard. A third bang sent them scattering and finally they all fled, loping along the shore, back to where the nunjas had been waiting for their prey.
“Back, back, you hell hags!” cried Mr. Smyle. “Get back to the devil where you belong!” The women didn’t need telling twice. One more blast from Mr. Smyle’s shotgun saw to that. He fired above their heads, ripping a hole in one of their wimples, sending the women and their savage companions flying back over the rocks from which they’d appeared.
“Well, that’s the end of them!” said Mr. Smyle with an air of self-congratulation. “Just as well I haven’t lost my touch!” He was closely followed by Miles, Alice, Odi and Soames.
“Joe!” cried Alice. “Are you all right?”
“Of course, he’s all right,” said Mr. Smyle, cocking his gun. “I’m a first-class marksman, don’t you know.”
“Well, you sure killed the dog!” said Odi, admiringly.
“Dear me no, Master Odi.” Soames chipped in. “Mr. Smyle doesn’t believe in killing. I think you’ll find the animal is merely tranquillised, although he’ll no doubt have quite a headache when he comes to.” And to prove it, he nudged the dog with his foot. “As I thought, still breathing.”
“Which is more than can say for me, young Joe!” exclaimed Mr. Smyle, shaking his head. “You nearly gave us all a heart attack running off like that. How did you get here, anyway?”
Joe turned around quickly and was relieved to see that Roots had vanished. How, he didn’t know, but like all tree people, Roots was very good at making himself scarce when necessary.
“Never mind, we’ll talk about it later,” said Mr. Smyle. “In the meantime, Joe, let this be a lesson to you. Don’t you know these nunjas are everywhere?” Joe shook his head. “Never, ever disappear like that again.”
“Now, let’s get back to the castle. I must see to my guests.”