How Kirsty Jenkins Stole the Elephant (6 page)

.

Chapter 12

Outside the salon, Dawn marched off ahead. Kirsty ran to catch up. Ben struggled behind, trying to force his arms into his coat and walk at the same time.

‘Dawn!' Kirsty shouted.

Dawn swung away from the road, heading towards the park. Kirsty moved faster. Why was Dawn running away? Had she changed her mind already? What was going on?

‘What's going on?' Kirsty yelled as loudly as she could. Dawn stopped. She turned slowly. Kirsty recognised the look on Dawn's face; if there had been a jumper handy, or a shoe, or a book, Dawn would be throwing it at her right now. What had happened to the Dawn who charged into the salon like a knight on horseback? Kirsty walked towards her warily.

‘Dawn, are you OK?' Kirsty whispered.

‘Yes. No.' Dawn looked angry. ‘I don't know why you want the allotment anyway. It was Grandad who knew about gardens, not you. You just used to play there. The only thing you've ever grown by yourself was cress on cotton wool in playgroup. And that went mouldy.'

Beside the pavement, there was a low wall, marking the edge of someone's garden. Dawn sat down heavily on it. Kirsty stood in front of her, trying to read her face. She looked tired and cross, but she also looked sad. Kirsty leaned in closer. Dawn covered her face with her hands. Then Kirsty's hand did something strange, as if it had taken on a life of its own. It stretched outwards and settled on the back of Dawn's head, stroking her hair. Kirsty held her breath. What would Dawn do? Move away? Shrug her off? Bite her hand? Dawn didn't move at all. They stayed like that, close together, Kirsty's fingers resting on Dawn's soft hair. Then Ben finally caught up with them.

‘Wow,' he said. ‘Is this an Oprah moment?'

‘Shove off,' Dawn muttered into her hands, but Kirsty could tell that she was smiling. She lifted her hand away as Dawn looked up.

‘Are you missing Grandad?' Kirsty whispered gently. Dawn seemed to stiffen again, as though she were growing prickles. ‘Cos I am,' Kirsty said. ‘And I miss Dad too. And I'm worried that we'll never get him back.'

Dawn's prickles disappeared. Her eyes looked strangely watery. ‘Yes,' she sniffed. ‘Me too.'

‘Totally Oprah,' Ben muttered.

‘Shove off,' Kirsty said.

Dawn laughed properly. Ben scowled for a second, then started chuckling himself.

‘Will you help us, then?' Kirsty asked quietly.

‘Oh, I suppose so. As long as none of my friends find out. If anyone sees me, I'll have to pretend I don't know you. What do you want me to do?'

‘Come to the allotment tomorrow. It's too late to go now – Mum'll be wondering where I am. But come tomorrow, after school, and we'll all decide on what we're going to do next.'

Thursday

.

Chapter 13

At the allotment, Kirsty sat on an old sack in front of the shed and told Dawn the whole problem. Ben listened too. ‘Grandad asked me to look after the allotment for him, so I promised I would. But then I came here and Mr Thomas from the council said I couldn't. I was too young and I wasn't on the waiting list. Mum agrees with him. I don't know what Dad thinks, cos he hasn't been around to ask. Mr Thomas said on Monday that it takes two weeks to find new owners. That means we've only got a week left to change everyone's minds.'

‘What have you done so far?' Dawn asked.

‘I spoke to Mr Thomas, but it didn't go very well. I followed him into the museum, see, and I don't think he liked that. So that didn't work. And then we did a demonstration, but the fire brigade came.'

‘What?' Dawn yelped.

‘It's OK. The police haven't come after us,' Kirsty said.

‘What!'

‘Nothing,' Ben said quickly. ‘Then there was Mum's media campaign that you got us out of.'

Dawn shook her head. ‘So you whined at the man from the council, you bothered the emergency services and then you didn't get in the paper. Not much of a campaign, is it?'

Kirsty shuffled uncomfortably on the sack. Why was Dawn always so irritating? ‘Well, what would you have done?'

‘Oh, I don't know. You've started right, I guess. You just have to think a bit bigger now.'

‘That's just what Mum said about the media campaign,' Ben mumbled.

‘I'm not talking bigger like that. I meant more sophisticated, more devious.'

‘What kind of devious?' Kirsty grinned; it sounded like Dawn had an idea!

‘It's time to start getting creative.' Dawn said firmly. ‘This allotment is going to the next person on the waiting list, isn't it? Well then, it's easy. All we have to do is make you the next person on the list.'

‘But how can we do that?' Ben asked.

‘What am I, Cunning Plans R Us? I said I'd help, not do everything. You two need to think here too.'

They sat in silence for a while. The cold was beginning to spread through Kirsty, even though she was wrapped up from head to toe. Her nose felt wet, like a Labrador's; any minute it would start to drip into her lap. She rubbed her nose on her sleeve and thought about what Dawn had said.

‘The waiting list would be in Mr Thomas's office, wouldn't it? On his computer?' Kirsty asked.

‘Yes,' Ben said. ‘He wouldn't take any work home with him, I don't think. He likes to forget about his job as soon as he leaves his office.'

‘So,' Kirsty grinned. ‘All we need to do is get into his office and change the name at the top of the list.'

‘How can we get in without him seeing us?'

‘Don't worry about that,' Dawn smiled. ‘There's always a way.'

‘Wait though.' Kirsty stopped grinning. ‘We can't put my name at the top of the list – he'll recognise it. And he'll recognise me when he comes to tell me that I've got an allotment.'

Ben shook his head. ‘There is no way that Mr Thomas tells people in person when he gives them an allotment. He wouldn't make a big fuss. He just sends them a letter, I bet. So all we need to do is change your name a bit and he'll send you a letter.'

‘What if he's already sent a letter to the new owners?' Dawn asked.

Kirsty shook her head. ‘No, he hasn't. He told me at the museum that he was going to write his report this week and get new tenants next week.'

‘So we still have time!' Ben said. ‘It's brilliant. So simple, so . . . devious.' He smiled at Dawn.

Kirsty felt her heart swell with excitement. It was a great idea, but would it work? ‘How can we get into his office when he isn't there?' she asked.

Dawn grinned. ‘I go and see him, and cause a diversion. You change the list. Easy. Like stealing sweets from a baby.'

‘Stealing sweets from a baby is hard,' Ben said. ‘They cry and throw tantrums.'

‘Shut up,' Dawn said. ‘It's easy. I'll make an appointment.' She pulled out her mobile phone. She sounded confident, but Kirsty noticed that her hands were shaking; she had to dial directory enquiries twice before she got the number right.

Kirsty and Ben stayed absolutely quiet while Dawn called the council.

‘Hello, er, Mr Thomas? Hi. I'm Dawn, er, Jennings. I'm calling because I'm doing a project at school. On, er, green cities. I was hoping I could come and interview you. It would really help. Please, just five minutes.' There was a long pause. ‘That would be perfect!' Dawn said. ‘Thank you.' She hung up the phone.

‘Well?' Ben asked.

‘I'm meeting him tomorrow after school. In his office at 3.40.'

Kirsty shivered with excitement. They were getting close.

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Chapter 14

Kirsty said goodbye to Ben and Dawn and cycled home. She let herself into the house. She stood in the hall and let the door close gently behind her. The soft click of the latch was the only sound she could hear. It was strange – way too quiet. Before, when Dad was well, this would have been the noisiest time of day – everyone coming home and shouting hellos, telling stories about their day, and Dad, right in the middle of it all, laughing. Instead, it was just silent.

‘Hello?' she said softly. Were Mum and Dad even in?

She heard a sound from upstairs. Burglars? Was she alone in the house with burglars? Her heartbeat speeded up as she crept to the bottom of the staircase.

‘Shh!' It was Mum, hissing down from the landing. ‘Your dad's sleeping.'

Kirsty felt her fear turn into something else. Anger. Dad was always sleeping! Why wouldn't he get up? What was going on? And all Mum would say was ‘shh'. She was like a broken record. Well, Kirsty wasn't going to shush.

She stomped into the front room. Her DVDs were arranged on the bottom shelf. There were lots of them, but her collection was nothing compared to Dad's records. He had hundreds and hundreds of them stacked along the top shelves. The records hadn't been touched in a long time though. Before he got so tired, Dad liked to rearrange his collection. He'd change it every week, sometimes putting it in alphabetical order, sometimes in date order, sometimes even according to the colour of the cover, so that the records looked like a rainbow stretching along the wall. Kirsty liked to copy him. Just now, both collections were arranged in order of favourites. Her favourite film,
The Wizard of Oz
, was first and Dad's favourite album was first in his collection.

Kirsty took the record down from the shelf. There was dust on the cover. Each letter in the band's name, Sex Pistols, was written in a different size, as though each letter had been torn from a newspaper. There had been a row once about that album. It had a rude title and Mum had said that Dad shouldn't let Kirsty see it. Dad had said that Kirsty was his daughter too and she should know about the things he cared about. Dad had won.

No one had played it for a long time. Kirsty looked up at the ceiling. Dad's bed was directly above her. Kirsty slid the record from its sleeve. It was sleek and black, the music printed on it in bumps and grooves that you could touch. She held it by the rim and looked at it. Dad knew all the lyrics to each song. He used to yell them as loud as he could, not caring that the neighbours would bang on the wall. He used to jump up and down to the music, not dancing, just throwing himself about like a mad thing.

Kirsty lifted the glass lid of the record player, then moved the stylus gently. The speakers hissed and crackled for a minute, then roared into life with the first tune. Drums thumped, a wild guitar joined in and then the singer, shouting each line until his voice seemed to be breaking. The speakers shuddered with the noise. Kirsty put down the sleeve and started dancing the way that Dad did, bounding into the air, shaking her hands and head, slamming back down to the floor. The whole room juddered with movement and music. Could Dad hear this? She didn't know the words like Dad did, but she started yelling the ones she knew anyway. Was he listening? Would he come down and join in?

‘Kirsty!' The door opened. Kirsty stopped dancing. Mum crossed the room and lifted the stylus off the record. The silence was shocking.

‘What are you doing?' Mum hissed.

‘I was just listening to music.'

‘On full volume? When your dad's trying to rest upstairs?'

Kirsty didn't answer.

Mum frowned. ‘What were you thinking?'

‘I thought, I thought Dad might like it. He hasn't listened to it in ages.' Kirsty hung her head.

Mum sighed. A moment passed. Mum sat down on the sofa and patted the seat beside her. She wanted Kirsty to sit. So Kirsty sat. ‘Kirsty, it's hard for your dad just now. You know that, don't you? Your grandad was
his
dad.'

‘I know. But he's been in his room for ever.'

Mum smiled, but it was a sad smile. ‘It does feel a bit like that, doesn't it? But we have to give him time.'

‘How
much
time?'

‘Oh, Kirsty. You just have to be patient. I'm sure he'll be right as rain soon. He just needs some peace and quiet. Give him space, OK?'

Kirsty nodded slowly. She stood up and lifted the record off the deck. She slipped it back in its cover. ‘Can I at least dust them?' she asked.

Mum nodded. ‘OK. Dad would like that. I'll get you a cloth.'

Kirsty put the album back on the shelf, in first place. In the horrible quiet, it felt as though she was hiding it away.