Читать книгу Mr Gum and the Secret Hideout - Andy Stanton - Страница 9

Later that day, a nine-year-old girl and an oldish fellow in a nice friendly hat were sitting in the town square watching something very peculiar. It was the clouds. Every now and then one would just fall out of the sky – FLOOOOOB! – and land on the ground – BUFFSH! See? Very peculiar indeed.

Now, the nine-year-old girl was Polly and the oldish fellow was Friday O’Leary. And if you’re thinking, ‘Who even cares about them, not me, I like stories with heroes in, not stories with some idiotic little girl and a bloke who’s named after a day of the week,’ then I’m afraid you’ve just made an astonishing fool of yourself. Because Polly and Friday were heroes. They were two of the best heroes the town of Lamonic Bibber had ever seen. They were as brave as bees, as true as trees, as cheerful as cheese and as knowledgeable as knees. Not so clever now, are you?

FLOOOOOB!

BUFFFSH!

Another cloud flopped out of the sky and landed on a hen, startling it so much that it accidentally laid an egg out of its mouth.

‘Hmm,’ said Polly. She had a worried expression on her face and Friday had a bit of strawberry yogurt on his. Friday loved yogurts.

‘Frides,’ said Polly at length. ‘Do you know what I’m a-thinkin’?’

‘Maybe,’ said Friday hopefully ‘Are you thinking, “I ought to go and buy Friday an enormous yogurt, he deserves it?’”

‘No,’ replied Polly. ‘I’m a-thinkin’ there’s somethin’ well strange goin’ on with them clouds up there. I never done seen ’em fallin’ out the sky before. It can’t be no good, that’s what I says.’

‘Yes,’ said Friday thoughtfully. ‘Well, that was interesting,’ he continued. ‘Now let’s go and get some delicious yogurts and not think about it ever again.’

‘But, Frides, if we jus’ ignore them clouds who knows what might happen?’ frowned Polly. ‘Jus’ imagine. Without no clouds, there won’t be no rain. Without no rain, the grass won’t grow. Without no grass, the cows’ll die. Without no cows there won’t be no milk. An’ without no milk –’

‘There won’t be any yogurts!’ cried Friday in alarm as another cloud fell down with a soft furry bang somewhere in the distance. ‘We’ve got to do something, Polly! We’ve got to! We’ve got to! We’ve simply GOT to!’

‘’Xactly,’ said Polly. ‘So I was thinkin’, why don’t we starts up an office an’ do some ’vestigations?’

‘THE TRUTH IS A LEMON MERINGUE!’ yelled Friday, as he sometimes liked to do. ‘I’ve always wanted to work in an office!’

It was true. Friday O’Leary had done all sorts of jobs in his time. He had been an inventor, a travelling musician, a sailor, another sailor, an American footballer, a fashion model, a Lego model, the King of Sweden, the Queen of Sweden, the first man never to have walked on the moon, a jet pilot, a detective, a mountaineer who explored mountains, a fountaineer who explored fountains, a ninja, a stunt-car racer, a film star, an earthworm-tamer, a famous French chef called Monsieur Canard, a TV presenter and a professional apple.

‘But all those jobs were completely boring!’ said Friday, jumping up so high he almost hit the sun with his face, narrowly missing it by only 149.599 million kilometres. ‘What I’ve always wanted is to work in an office. That’s the life for me!’

So Friday went home and got some planks and nails, and after a few hours of hammering and saying, ‘Ouch, I just hit my thumb with a hammer,’ there they were, sitting in their brand-new office in the town square. It was so cool. There was a big desk with some pens and a stapler on it. And there was a clock on the wall so you could see what time it was and a broken clock next to it so you could see what time it wasn’t. And there were some chairs to spin around on and a photocopier so you could copy words and a photocopier so you could copy words and a photocopier so you could copy words and a photocopier so you could copy words and a photocopier so you could copy words and a photocopier so you could copy words and a photocopier so you could copy words and a photocopier so you could copy words –

‘Stop playin’ with that photocopier, Frides,’ said Polly, ‘an’ help me think up a brilliant name for our new office. Then we can get started on our ’vestigations.’

‘OK,’ said Friday. ‘How about “THE DEPARTMENT OF CLOUDS AND YOGURTS”?’

It was a brilliant name, apart from the yogurt bit. But Friday would not give in, so that’s what they called it.

Polly went home and got some paint, and together she and Friday made a wonderful sign to hang above the office door:

After it was painted, Polly added some glitter and stickers of hearts and ponies around the words and Friday hung some broccoli from it ‘for good luck’. It looked excellent. And if you looked at it twice, it looked twice as excellent. But if you looked at it three times, it still only looked twice as excellent, which just goes to show things can get a bit boring if you look at them too much.

Then Friday went and bought suits and ties for them both. And then they sat at the desk with their hands folded in front of them, looking extremely serious.

‘Now, Mr Friday,’ said Polly. ‘I done some ’vestigations in my head an’ I reckons all the clouds probbly bein’ mucked up cos of bad pollutions in the air.’

‘Exactly, Mr Polly,’ said Friday, who was busy sharpening his tie in the electric pencil-sharpener.

‘So we gots to work out where all them pollutions is comin’ from,’ said Polly. ‘That’s our first job.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Friday. ‘That’s our first job.’

‘Yes,’ said a voice in the corner. ‘That’s our first job.’

‘Who said that?’ said Polly.

‘It was I!’ cried a man, jumping out of the wastepaper basket. ‘I’m Surprising Ben! I pop up here, I pop up there! Surprise! Surprise! I’m everywhere!’

And away he ran, giggling like a tortoise.

‘That was quite surprising,’ said Friday. ‘But now it’s time to get to work. I have here a map of Lamonic Bibber,’ he said, unrolling a huge map from his sock. ‘Now, look carefully, Mr Polly. I drew this map myself, many years ago. See, there’s my signature in the corner.’

DRAWN BY FRIDAY ‘LEONARDO’ O’LEARY, NOVEMBER 14TH 1973

‘I don’t want to sound boastful or anything,’ said Friday modestly, ‘but this is probably the most incredible map anyone’s ever drawn in the history of all human existence. Look, every street, every house, every hill in Lamonic Bibber – it’s all there.

‘Now,’ he continued. ‘We will go looking for the pollution. We will investigate a little of the town each day. Then we will come back and colour in bits of the map to show we’ve investigated them. And also because we like colouring things in.’

‘Hurrah!’ laughed Polly, clapping her hands.

FLOOOOOB!

BUFFSH-SH-!!

A big wheezy cloud flopped out of the sky and landed right outside the office.

‘There’s no time to wastes, Mr Friday,’ said Polly as the poor bit of weather was licked up by a stray baby. ‘We better start doin’ our ’vestigations.’