Fennymore and the Brumella (4 page)

CHAPTER 8

In which Fennymore and Fizzy set off into the wide blue yonder

‘Which direction should we go in? Should we toss a coin?' Fizzy was standing indecisively at the garden gate, looking along the dirt track. To the left it wound its way to the laneway and to the right it came to a sudden halt at a stone wall. Fennymore was just about to close the front door behind him when he remembered Aunt Elsie's chocolate tin and he went back into the kitchen.

The tin was still on the kitchen table, where it had stood quietly all night. He had this feeling that he shouldn't just leave it lying around. Aunt Elsie must have had a reason for hiding it under the potatoes. But where should he put it? He wrapped the tin in an old tea-towel. Then he looked around the kitchen. There was the big wooden table where his mother used to draw up her invention plans, the three wobbly chairs, the old kitchen cabinet, in which was a whole collection of cups and plates and where Fennymore kept his provisions, the gas stove and the sink in which last week's dirty dishes were piled up. There weren't many hiding places. Then his eyes fell on the big rubbish bin. Nobody would ever think of looking there for Aunt Elsie's most precious things.

Fennymore lifted the lid. It contained a couple of banana skins, an empty ice-cream tub and the squashed packet of an old liver pâté. It didn't smell exactly appetising.
A perfect hiding place
, Fennymore thought happily and pushed the box under the rubbish. He wiped his hands on his jeans and ran outside.

Fizzy was leaning against the gatepost. ‘Right or left, left or right?' she murmured.

Fennymore's gaze fell on the dry-stone wall. Tiny rainbows glittered between the mossy flowers.

Hadn't Monbijou often stood on this very spot looking out over the wall? His bicycle had never much liked cycling to town. If his bike had really taken to its heels to give the silvery gentleman the slip, as Fennymore supposed he had, then he would definitely have gone in this direction.

‘The wide blue yonder starts on the other side of the wall behind the house,' Aunt Elsie had always said, ‘and you have no business going there.'

But he didn't care about that now. They had to go into the wide blue yonder to find Monbijou.

Fennymore took a deep breath to give himself courage. Then he began to climb onto the little stone wall. It wasn't very high, but the area in which Fennymore lived was so flat that the view from the top of it was wonderful all the same. To the left he could see the houses at the edge of town. The Bronx stood, a washed-out blue against the sky, not far behind him. The crooked shutters were open and Fennymore could make out, on the other side of the window, the outline of the kitchen cabinet. He thought wistfully of the safe and cosy sofa with its comfy blanket in the living room.

Comfy blanket, The: The Teabreak family's comfy blanket is an essential object in the Bronx household. It has to remain on the large leather sofa at all times. It is made of soft wool and its multicoloured tartan pattern hinders the visibility of the stains that the careless consumption of red wine, coffee and hot chocolate would otherwise leave on it. Its smell is crucial. Only the regular use of the blanket by various members of the family produces this delicious aroma: the smell of security. And because of this particular circumstance, the comfy blanket may never be washed.

‘I beg your pardon?' A freckled face shoved itself under Fennymore's nose and two blue eyes regarded him curiously. ‘What circumstances exactly must never be washed?'

Fennymore was shocked into silence. He hadn't been aware that he'd been muttering to himself. ‘Em, I just meant …' Fennymore stuttered. ‘Well, what I meant to say was … I think we should go this way.'

He stretched out his arm into the wide blue yonder. By now they were standing side by side on top of the wall, fields stretching before them out as far as the horizon. A long way off they could see hills and a little bit of woodland.

‘Looks good to me,' Fizzy cried with a whoop and hopped down onto the other side of the wall.

Fennymore took one last look round. An enormous rainbow hung over the roof of The Bronx. Then he also hopped down onto the grass on the other side of the wall.

* * *

Fennymore and Fizzy made their way, chatting, through the poppies and cornflowers that grew along the edge of the field. That is to say, Fizzy chatted to Fennymore. She told him all about her family. How her father, a fitter, had lost his job some years ago when Dr Hourgood had made the town the capital of the rain-hat industry and metal workers were no longer needed. She told him how the whole Kobaldini family had moved into the supermarket warehouse and how they had made beds for themselves out of large cardboard boxes. And she told him how her six brothers sometimes got on her nerves.

Fennymore found it all very interesting. He was amazed at what Fizzy told him about what they ate. On Sundays the Kobaldini family ate thick pancakes and sometimes there was fizzy lemonade too if the supermarket manager had given them a few out-of-date bottles.

All of a sudden, he became dreadfully embarrassed about his eating habits, and in particular the contents of his gymbag. Celery, liver pâté and unsplit bananas – who on earth ate things like that? Obviously not Fizzy.

Although I haven't told her that on Sundays I always ate salt-baked dachshund
, Fennymore thought with relief.

‘Let's take a break.' Fizzy's voice interrupted his musings. It was starting to drizzle and they had stopped at an enormous haystack. ‘I can't go another step and I'm hungry.'

She made a lunge for the gym-bag that hung from his shoulder.

Horrified, Fennymore held his breath. If Fizzy unpacked his lunch, she'd finally realise what a weirdo he was.

But Fizzy had snuggled in among the hay and was already examining the contents of his gym-bag. She took everything out, one by one.

‘Let's see. Celery. Hmm. Pâté. Aha. Bananas. Good. And the hay. Interesting selection. But there's plenty of hay here already,' she joked and plumped for a banana.

It was as if a weight lifted from Fennymore's shoulders. It occurred to him how hungry he was too. He squirmed in beside Fizzy in the little hay-cave and bit with a joyful crunch into the celery.

He squinched up his eyes to see if he could make out The Bronx in the distance. Not a thing to be seen. He couldn't even see the tallest building in town. They'd come a long way!

‘So what's the story with your parents?' Fizzy asked, giving him a curious sideways look.

‘Yeah, well,' said Fennymore and hung his head. He said nothing for a while. But then he told Fizzy as much as he knew.

That his parents had disappeared about three years ago. That from that day to this, he had lived all alone in The Bronx and that Aunt Elsie had looked after him. That his birthday had become a forgotten day. It did him good to get it off his chest.

When Fennymore had stopped speaking and was just trying to decide if he should let Fizzy into the salt-baked dachshund story, he realised that she had fallen asleep. The sun was still high in the sky and the hay tickled his chin. Fennymore felt sleepy too. He pulled Aunt Elsie's flowery rain hat down over his eyes and nodded off.

CHAPTER 9

In which Fennymore and Fizzy find Monbijou and fetch up in a weird kind of place

Ting-a-ling!
Fennymore was dreaming about a sky-blue bicycle. It was using a string of liver-pâté sausages as a tightrope that was stretched between two high-rise buildings and it was ringing its bell.
Ting-a-ling!
The tinkling was getting louder, the sausages were swaying dangerously and – no! – the bicycle tottered and fell, fell, fell into the depths. Fennymore jerked awake and opened his eyes.

The sun was lower in the sky and something was sticking into his back. Fennymore pulled a handful of hay out of his shirt and in doing so he touched something soft.

‘Hrmph,' muttered Fizzy in her sleep.

Then Fennymore heard it again.
Ting-a-ling.
This time the sound was softer than in his dream. Muffled, somehow. Fennymore pulled himself together, sat up and pressed his left ear against his head. The ringing sound seemed to come from behind him.

Slowly, he crept around the piled-up hay. Now Fennymore could hear a chomping sound. He poked his head carefully around the corner of the haystack and what he saw brought on the hiccups again. Monbijou was up to his pedals in hay, munching away.

‘Mon –
hic
– bijou!' Fennymore cried out loud.

All at once, his bicycle came leaping backwards out of the haystack, shook hay off himself and gave Fennymore a delighted poke with his handlebars. Fennymore was so thrilled to see Monbijou that he forgot he was angry with him. After all, Fennymore had abandoned him outside the Tristesse Ice-cream Parlour. He swept a few wisps of hay from the saddle of his sky-blue bicycle.

‘Monbijou!' he said. ‘What a –
hic
– piece of luck! But of course you don't know what has been going on. Aunt Elsie has died and –
hic
–'

But Monbijou interrupted Fennymore's excited chatter and hiccupping with another tinkle.

Fennymore looked up and saw Fizzy coming around the haystack, yawning.

‘May I introduce you?' Fennymore said. ‘Fizzy Kobaldini, Monbijou. Monbijou, Fizzy Kobaldini.'

Monbijou gave a little bow and Fizzy giggled. ‘You're a great bike – eh – horse,' she corrected herself, stroking Monbijou's saddle.

He gave a little leap into the air so that the rest of the hay fell out of his spokes.

Fennymore was so relieved and delighted that he almost forgot that Aunt Elsie had just died and his life was in tatters. Here he was with Fizzy Kobaldini and Monbijou somewhere in the wide blue yonder but he didn't feel at all lonely.

‘Well, gentlemen,' said Fizzy. ‘Let's get back. I have no intention of staying here overnight. If you have eggs, milk, sugar and flour, I'll make pancakes for us as soon as we get home.'

‘Fine,' said Fennymore. ‘Sit up there on the carrier and hold on tight because the ground is pretty bumpy here, isn't it, Monbijou?'

He gave his old bicycle a loving look. Monbijou snorted his agreement and let Fennymore and Fizzy climb on.

Fennymore stroked the handlebars and said softly to Fizzy, ‘It must be down to you. He's not normally so co-operative.'

Fizzy giggled.

Monbijou waited politely until Fizzy had got a good hold on Fennymore and then he took off. But not towards The Bronx. Monbijou was going in the opposite direction. His wheels turned faster and faster. He jolted heedlessly over stones and stubble in the field so that Fennymore and Fizzy were jostled around and found it difficult to hang on.

‘Stop!' Fennymore yelled. ‘You're going the wrong way.'

‘Slow down!' yelled Fizzy. ‘You're going far too fast.'

But Monbijou ignored his flailing, screeching passengers and cycled further and further into the wide blue yonder.

* * *

It was almost night by the time the crazy journey came to an end. The sky-blue bicycle jerked to a halt. Fizzy was tossed onto the grass with a cry of surprise.

‘Ouch!' she shouted. ‘Take it easy, Monbijou.'

Fennymore dismounted stiffly, his legs wobbling. He gave Fizzy a hand and helped her to her feet.

‘Ouch, my back!' Fizzy groaned, which made Fennymore realise also that every bone in his body hurt.

Monbijou nuzzled and snuffled apologetically in Fennymore's direction.

‘Oh, give over,' Fennymore retorted crankily. ‘Where on earth are we?'

It was only then that he noticed how dark it was all around them, almost black. This was not the dark grey night he was used to. They really must have come a long way.

‘It's a bit spooky around here,' Fizzy whispered.

‘Monbijou, what are we doing here?' Fennymore hissed to his bicycle. ‘I don't like this place.'

Their eyes gradually adapted to the dark. They were standing under a giant elm tree. The wind tossed the branches so that the leaves rustled and from time to time a twig was torn off and whirled away. A gust of wind tugged at Fizzy's ponytail and made Fennymore's hair more tossed than ever.

Now they could see that behind the elm was a house. It was a very tiny house, more like a hut, made of wood and pretty shabby. The shutters were closed, but a little light showed through a crack.

Monbijou cycled up to the front door and gave three loud rings. The wind suddenly stopped howling and everything went very quiet. A leaf tumbled from the elm tree and landed on the ground with a dry crackle. Fennymore and Fizzzy held their breath.

Something was blundering around inside the hut. A chair was being dragged along. Slow steps came shuffling towards the door. A dry cough could be heard through the wooden walls.

And then the door creaked open. The light from the hut lit up the elm tree. The silvery grey man was watching Monbijou angrily from the doorway.

‘Impertinent bicycle!' he said crossly. ‘What do you want now? I've told you …'

Then his gaze fell on Fennymore. He fell silent and widened his ice-green-grey eyes. And Fennymore got that feeling again, as if someone had stuffed a scoop of vanilla ice-cream down his collar, and the ice-cream was running slowly down his back.