Chapter 1
It was raining so hard at number
thirty-three, Matthew had to declare the fourth 'Raindrop Derby' a none
starter. Phoebe was cheating as usual, banging the window pane with her tiny
fists and saying "come on old nag!'' as the trickles of water ran sideways
off the glass, and not across the finish line, drawn with mums best lipstick.
It had started off ok, with Matthew
shouting "Place your bets, place your bets!'' wearing dad's brown velvet
cap and chewing on Granddad's old pipe. But the soft summer rain had decided to
stir things up a little by changing into a flash flood, so the race had to be
called off.
"Where's Gro and Nana? Said Phoebe,
climbing down from the big green cushion that filled the bay window. ''Are they
downstairs?''
"Dunno,’’ replied Mat, licking
his tongue out to see the black goo he'd sucked from the old burnt pipe. ‘‘Tastes like that cough stuff mum gives us.''
"Yee-uck'', said Phoebe, shaking
her head. ''Mines nice and pink, look!'' With that she produced her own
stain-free model and waggled it at Mat. "Don't forget to wipe off the
lipstick, or mum will find out what we've been doing.''
Mat spat on the window and rubbed at
the greasy streak with the cuff of dad's sports coat.
"No probs Phee, it's all gone.
See?'' pointing at the bottom of the window, now smeared with brown and pink
swirls. Phoebe stopped shuffling towards the bedroom door in the great blue shoe
boats, borrowed from Granny and glanced over her shoulder.
"Looks like sick,'' she said,
throwing the pink feather boa round her neck and sniffing the air like a proper
snob. Mat blew out his cheeks and frowned, writing MAT WOZ ERE underneath his
masterpiece.
"Race you downstairs'' he said,
diving off the window ledge and onto the double bed, like a midget stunt man.
He was
already through the door and half way across the landing when he heard
Phoebe scream "Cheat'', tucking the boa into her knickers, like braces,
and kicking off her shoes. At the top of
the stairs she leaned over and threw one at Mat who was already on the second
flight. It missed him by inches, bouncing off Kes the sleeping Labrador, who
made a funny grunting noise, raising his snout to sniff the blue missile.
"I wasn't ready!'' she yelled,
poking her blonde head through the banisters, while Tigger the Ginger Tom
peered up at her from the ground floor.
"Tough!” said Mat, bursting into
the lounge and skating along the polished wooden floor until the sheepskin rug
in front of the gas fire finally stopped him.
"Gra...'' his voice was cut
short, as he noticed both Gran and Granddad were dozing on the sofa. They lay
together like two sunbathing sea lions; Granny's face squashed up against
granddad's brown woollen shoulder so that her cheek moved like an accordion
when she breathed.
Dropping onto all fours, he padded
over to the leather settee that creaked and squeaked as he got nearer. Just
then, Phoebe hurtled into the room, pin balling off the wall by the door, and
flopped into an empty armchair.
"Shh,'' said Mat, dividing his
mouth with a finger. ''I think they're asleep.''
"Why are they grinning like that
if they're asleep?'' she whispered, rocking the red tasselled pillow in her
arms like a new-born baby.
"Must be sharing' the same
dream,'' said Mat. ''Dad says old people do that sometimes, to save energy. I
think they're putting' in some practice for upstairs.'' As he spoke he raised
his eyes roof-wards.
"What, in mum and dad's
bedroom?'' said Phoebe, following Mats' gaze and looking slightly puzzled.
"No numpty, heaven. Dad says old people slow down as they get
older, like motor cars. He says Granddad's bin round the clock at least two or
three times. That's why Granny knits tea
cosies and Grandpa falls asleep in front of the telly. They're winding down.''
"How d'you know they aren't dead?”
Asked Phoebe, scowling. "On our sofa!''
"Get real!'' said Mat, pushing
his nose up close to smell a grey trousered leg. He turned to Phoebe, his mouth
wide open, a button nose wrinkled up.
"You look like Tigger when he
sniffs the Turkey’s bum”, giggled Phoebe, crossing both hands over her mouth to
muffle the laughter.
Mats face cracked a smile, and he
promptly scampered around the carpet making soft snuffling and grunting sounds.
"What's that noise?'' said
Phoebe, letting go of the pillow and twisting her body round to hear.
''Something scratching ,or tapping. I think it's the front door. Shall I wake
up Granddad?''
"No, don't bother. It's only Tigger wanting to go outside. I'll
go and let her out. You stay here and stand guard. Give us a whistle if they
wake up''
"I can't whistle,'' She said,
demonstrating with a tuneless puff for Mats benefit. ''How about if I clap my
hands together, like this”… Mat interrupted just in time.
"I get the message Pheebs, but
next time only do it if they wake up, ok?''
She nodded, and continued patting and
stroking the cushion. Mat sprang to his feet and went to discover the source of
the mysterious noise.
As he approached the front door he saw
Tigger curled up like a young fern on the stairs. Kes had woken up and was
whining, giving the door that look he
normally gave the T.V when dog food commercials were on.
"Kes, d' you want to go out?''
said Mat, flicking up the door catch.
Normally this would be enough to
make the dog sit up and wag its tail, but today he simply let out a short yap
before bounding up the stairs. By craning his neck, Mat could just see the tip
of a black muzzle poking through the
white rails on the landing.
"Tap,tap, tap'' There it was
again, only louder this time.
He wished Pheebs would clap her hands and stop the plague of butterflies
flying round his tummy. After about a
twenty seconds of listening to his heart beating out a speedy SOS on his chest
he took a deep breath and opened the front door.
Sunlight spilling through the top half
of the door dazzled him, so he shaded his eyes.
"Tap, tap,tap. Come on, open up
Mat I know you're in there!''
Mat
took a short breath, and squinted through the porch window. He still
couldn't see anything.
"Who's there?'' he said in his
best grown up voice. ''We've got a big black dog you know!''
"Woof, woof.'' came the reply, in a deep gruff voice. ''Please open the door Mat, I'm wet through.
Lousy flash floods! And I was just starting to think of the sewer as home.
Still, I'll know where to chalk the water line now, won't I ?
"How do you know my name?'' said
Mat, nervously.
"I observe, and I listen,'' came
the reply, in a high-pitched scratchy voice. ''I wanted to come in half an hour ago, but I had to wait until
your grandparents were asleep. You see it's far too risky with grown ups about,
they always spoil things''
"How do I know you're not a mad
axe murderer, or a cannibal or worse?''
said Mat, swallowing noisily.
"Do you know of any two foot tall
feathered axe murderers with a liking
for brown ale, cus I don't. Anyway, aren't you just a teeny weenie bit curious
as to my identity?''
"A little'', said Mat, standing
on tip toe to try and see over the wooden partition.
"I bet Phoebe'd let me in without
a fuss. Phoebe!''
"Be quiet!'' said Mat, you'll
wake my grandparents. ''How do you know...? Oh all right then, wait a minute''
He slid the chain across and turned the key in the lock until he heard it
click. Then, before Mat had chance to open the door it swung open, pushing him
off balance. He fell backwards into the large brass umbrella stand under the
coats, wedged like an egg in an egg cup, his knees hanging over the polished
sides.
Parting the thick curtain of waxed
jackets and synthetic furs he opened his eyes and gasped in disbelief.
There, on the linoleum stood a most
peculiar sight. To Mat it looked a little like a big duck, but ducks didn't
have claws, or for that matter curved black beaks. And, if it was a duck it
desperately needed to diet. It's black wings were short and stubby, more like flippers or feathered stumps.
"That's right, I’m a Dodo. The
names Hugh,'' he said, politely, extending a stunted wing towards Mat who
merely shook his head and dribbled down his fathers' jacket. ''Now, where's the
bathroom? I want to freshen up a bit, and get rid of this blasted loo roll.''
Mat was gob smacked, following the Dodo's
movements with his head as it unwound a long scarf of pink toilet tissue from around it's neck.
"Ah, that's better,'' he said,
stamping it to a pulp and hurling the soggy lump at the wall. ''Bathroom? ''
Mat pointed in the direction of the
stairs, his head still shaking.
"First on the right'', he
squeaked, clearing his throat.
"A real Dodo,'' he sighed. ''In
my house. And he wants to use my bathroom''
By rocking the large pot first left
then right it finally toppled over, spilling him out onto the floor. Inside he
could hear someone speaking softly.
"Stairs. Hmm,'' said Hugh,
patting the first step with a clawed
foot. ''Do you have a downstairs loo? Only I find stairs a bit of a
problem you see. Can't quite stretch my legs that far.''
"Is that your Duck?'' whispered Phoebe, standing in the hallway, clutching
the brown pillow to her chest. ''Is it a prezzy for me?''
"A prezzy, indeed!'' said Hugh,
puffing out his black chest. ''Young lady, do you have such a thing as a
washing up bowl that I could use?''
"Wow, and it talks'', said Phoebe,
dropping the cushion and skipping towards Hugh.
"Stay there Pheebs!'' ordered
Mat, his right arm stretched out as though he were a policeman stopping
traffic. Phoebe paused in mid skip and sucked her thumb.
"What's wrong Mat? Shall I wake
Grandpa?'' she said, anxiously.
"No, not yet. Go and sit in the
lounge will you''
"She's only trying to be of
assistance, Mat.'' said Hugh. ''Why don't you let her fill me a bowl so I can
get this sewer stench off me. Then I'll be on my way.''
"What's that stink?'' said
Phoebe, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"See Mat, even she can smell it,
from there!'' piped Hugh. ''Fetch us a
bowl with some soapy water in will you dear, please?''
Mat gave her permission and off she
trotted into the kitchen.
"Anyway, I thought you were
extinct,'' said Mat, plonking himself down on a small seat by the telephone.
''Eaten by sailors hundreds of years ago, on that tropical island. What was it
called?''
"Mauritius,'' said Hugh. ''Well,
you know the Natural History Museum in London.
"Yes, I've bin there with mum and
dad, it's great, they've got dinosaurs and ...''
"Spare me the details Mat.
Anyway, in a certain glass case, stuffed and mounted with glues, sits a
relation of mine. Well Sat actually, past tense. Some idiot cleaner left him
propped up on the toilet while she dusted the inside of the cabinet. Only when
she came to put him back he'd gone. Vamoose, history, get my drift?''
"I still don't get it. How..?''
"Does that explain me being here.
Well, he was stolen by some guy that
works in the archaeology dept, Watkins or Waddington, the names not important.
Anyway, this man whisks him off to the lab in the basement where he's got an
exact double stashed away. He puts the new one on the toilet cistern and no
ones any the wiser.''
"Is this one ok?'' interrupted
Phoebe, waving a red plastic bowl from
the kitchen doorway.
"Yes, that's fine. Fill it with
warm water. And use the steps,'' said Mat, impatiently. ''Go on Hugh''
''Where was I, oh yes. The Dodo he
nicked had been stuffed, but the stuffer had forgotten to do one thing. Inside
the carcass was an egg, that had been frozen along with the bird years ago to
keep it from going rotten. When he'd finished stuffing it he forgot to take it
out and their it stayed, preserved by the chemicals inside. Watkins found this out from the
mother of the taxidermist. So he
extracted the egg and did a few tests on it. To cut along story short he
somehow managed to fertilise it, or clone it, and hey presto here I am! I escaped
from his seedy little squat in Peckham and slipped into the sewers to hide.
I've bin down there for months living on rats and left overs''
"Matthew, are you there?''
"Oh no, its Granddad. He's woken
up. What'll I do?'' said Mat, standing up and sitting down, repeatedly. ''If he
finds you here.''
''Hey, calm down. Go into the lounge
and speak to him. Tell Phoebe to put the bowl outside the backdoor, that way he
won't suspect anything,'' said Hugh
"Matthew, come in here a minute,
I want a word'' said the gravelly voice.
"Go on, shoo'', said Hugh,
already waddling off in the direction of the Kitchen. ''I'll be fine, Phoebe
won't blab.''
Mat obeyed, running into the lounge to
see Grandpa. He was yawning and stretching on the sofa when Mat came in.
Grandma was still fast asleep so he
spoke quietly.
"Where's your sister Mat, is she
playing hide and seek?''
"She, she's in the loo I think,''
said Mat, fidgeting with his fingers.
''That's your fathers best sports
jacket isn't it? said the old man, fingering the stained cuffs. ''Fancy dress again, I see. Go and get
Phoebe, I want a word with both of you.''
"But''
"No buts, off you go'' He tapped
the boy on the head, swivelling him round like a clockwork toy.
Mat trundled out of the room, muttering
as he went. Once in the kitchen he saw that Phoebe wasn't there. He ran to the
back door and opened it. Still nothing. Back in the Kitchen he noticed the
upturned red washbasin was lying on the tiled floor, empty.
"Phoebe!'' yelled Mat, flinging
open the cupboard doors in blind panic. Then, something caught his eye. The cat
flap in the backdoor was creaking and banging in the strong wind. Mat raced over
to it and saw a something silver glinting on the doormat. He reached down and
picked it up. It was one of mums clip on pearl earrings, one of a pair that
Phoebe had worn that morning. Hanging from it was a single strand of blonde
hair.
"Granddad!'
