Really Weird Removals.com (5 page)

Another time, she stole my dad’s aftershave and poured it all over the doorsteps and windows because strong smells keep out poisonous snakes. That tip came from
Reptiles of the Americas
, apparently. There are
no
poisonous snakes in the Hebrides, but then you can never be too careful, she argued.

And that’s not all. Last year she skipped her dance class and dragged her friend Rachel down the beach in the middle of winter, hoping to spot the migration of northern mermaids towards Iceland. (Apparently they meet there for a yearly festival. I’m not sure which book she got this from.) Rachel got home blue with cold, her teeth chattering, shaking all over. She
caught a terrible flu, and her mum didn’t speak to us for weeks.

So yes, when Valentina comes out with something unexpected, my mum worries.

“Do you have any hairspray at all?” Valentina asks now, her eyes wide with innocence.

“What for?”

“My
hair
, of course!”

“How dare we doubt her, Isabella,” laughs Aunt Shuna.

“Well, whatever you need it for,” Mum says, “I don’t have any.”

“I have some. I use it in school to seal chalk pictures so they don’t smudge.” Fixing chalk pictures, stunning stone fairies – you can’t go wrong with a can of hairspray. “If you really think you need hairspray on this camping trip, I’ll be happy to provide it,” says Aunt Shuna, smiling. 

By the end of the week, everything is ready. The canisters of hairspray take pride of place in our backpacks, together with waterproofs, and there’s about twenty plastic containers of food my mum prepared (chicken with almonds and raisins – a camping staple – together with walnut brownies, smoked salmon terrine and cranberry cheesecake – I’m
not
making this up).

I’m so excited, I can’t sleep. I decide to write my diary for a bit. I’ve been keeping it since I was eight. I like writing – and also I always hope that one day I’ll be able to show it to my dad and he’ll be pleased with my work. You know, be impressed by my writing.
I record everything important: what happens in school, what I do with my friends, my thoughts and opinions about things. And since Uncle Alistair arrived, I have a lot to write about!

After a while, faint music seeps into my room. Maybe it’s from some car in the street, or maybe Aunt Shuna has her radio on. It’s not fiddle practice, so it can’t be Dad, or Valentina. We sometimes hear Dad playing in his study; he says it’s good for inspiration. And Valentina has been learning the fiddle since she was seven.

Whatever it is, I can’t concentrate on my writing. I sneak into my sister’s room. She’s playing her Nintendo DS with Camilla, snuggled up under the duvet. Petsnake is snoring (loudly) in his cage.

“Hi… It’s a bit noisy in my room.”

“Noisy?”

“Someone must have the radio on.”

“Come in, we’re playing ‘Julia, Passion for Fashion’.” Valentina lifts the duvet to make room for me and hands me a wee bag of Maltesers, her favourite.

“Thanks.” I throw a couple of them into my mouth. “Camilla, just to make sure, are you still up for getting Gary off my case?”

“I can’t wait. This is what I’m planning…” She starts floating upwards.

I can’t bear it. “NO! No, seriously, don’t, it freaks me out. Don’t. Just stay… normal, please.”

Camilla comes to rest on the bed again. “Next Thursday, after shinty practice, make up an excuse for him to go back to the playing field after everybody leaves.”

“Like, that there’s a brand new phone abandoned on the grass, maybe? He so greedy, he’ll go back to get his hands on it, I bet.”

“Super cool!” says Camilla. “And then I can freak him out!”

It sounds strange to hear these expressions from her. I mean, she’s hundreds of years old and now she speaks like someone on TV.

“I just wish I could be there to see it!” sighs Valentina.

“You can! Come and meet me from shinty practice. We can sneak round the back and enjoy the moment.”

“Awesome!”

“Awesome!” echoes Camilla. “It’s all sorted.”

The girls turn their attention again to Valentina’s DS.

I lie back, munching on Maltesers, cosy under the duvet as the wind howls outside our window. It feels good to be home with Valentina and Camilla, and Dad in his study, and Mum and Aunt Shuna watching TV downstairs. All is as it should be.

By the time I’m back in my room, the music has gone and I drift away into sleep. Tomorrow we’re on our first mission.

I’m jumping with excitement as I hear Uncle Alistair calling us from the street on Saturday morning. His voice is like the foghorn we often hear on winter nights. Valentina and I run out with our backpacks and a huge insulated cool-bag full of food. Each. My mum couldn’t help herself. My diary is tucked safely
into my backpack, of course. I have to record our first adventure as members of the RWR
as it happens
. Valentina has slipped a few books about strange creatures that she borrowed from Uncle Alistair into her backpack, to do a spot of reading in the woods.

“SURPRISE!” booms Uncle Alistair as he steps aside to reveal a bright blue van. Camilla is inside already, waving at us.

We stop in our tracks. “Wow!” and “Great!” we cheer politely. Alistair seems so happy about it, and we don’t want to hurt his feelings. But the truth is, it’s a
sorry-looking
thing: faded paintwork, a few bumps, rusty bits all over and a zigzagged radio antenna.

On the side, though, there’s a beautiful, shiny, thoroughly stunning sign:

“
Will it get us there
?” whispers Valentina apprehensively, while Uncle Alistair loads the boot.

“Hopefully,” I reply.

It’s an amazing spring day: the sky is so blue, the sea calm and silky, and everything’s in bloom. The perfect morning. Alistair puts the radio on. Paolo Nutini, great!

“
Nothing’s gonna bring me down
…” Valentina and I hum cheerily.

“
NOTHING’S GONNA BRING ME DOWN, YEAH!
” shouts Uncle Alistair at the top of his voice.

“Uncle Alistair?” asks Valentina tentatively when it’s safe to speak.

“Yes Vally. Fire away.” Only Uncle Alistair would dare call my sister “Vally”. I brace for an explosion but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“Why do you always shout?”

“OH YES. Sorry! Sorry about that.” He laughs cheerily. “There’s a story behind it…” Of course. With Alistair, there’s always a story behind it. “Do you know what a mandrake is?”

“Yes!” we say at once. Valentina is a crazy fan of Harry Potter. “It’s that plant that if you pull it up, it screams and makes you faint unless you’re wearing earmuffs,” she says.

“Exactly. More mature mandrakes can also kill you, actually. However, I survived the encounter. Just. Only thing is, when I woke up, I had lost most of my hearing. They were LOUD, I’m telling you. I haven’t even played the fiddle since then. I just can’t hear myself playing.”

So he plays – well, he
played
the fiddle. Like my dad and Valentina.

“You can’t play anymore! That’s terrible!” Valentina shudders. She loves music, while I can take it or leave it. I’m more into books.

“
Can you hear this
?” I whisper.

“I don’t know what you’re saying, because I’m driving
and I can’t look at you. If I could look into your face, I’d read your lips. I can lip-read people a hundred yards away. An old Hecton I know taught me that.”

“What’s a Hecton?” asks Valentina.

Uncle Alistair swerves madly. “Look, Vally! Highland cows! Look how hairy they are!” he points frantically.

My sister shakes her head. “Uncle Alistair, I’m not three years old. What’s a Hecton?”

“I can’t say. So don’t ask.”

Something in his voice convinces Valentina that it’s best to leave it.

We’ve been driving for about forty minutes, and here we are, at the outskirts of Hag, on the other side of the island. That’s how small Eilean is.

Hag is not right on the sea, it’s a wee bit back, on the top of a small hill. Just beside it there’s a pinewood sheltered in the fold of the hill, the only place on the whole of the island with trees. We drive along the edge of the wood until we find Kenny McMillan’s house: it’s black and thickset and quite forbidding.

“Here we are, and there’s where we’ll be camping,” says Uncle Alistair, pulling on the handbrake.

Kenny is standing in the doorway: he’s very tall, with grey hair and a kind face.

“Come in, come in! Libby has lunch on the table for you. I made a cake. It’s a dairy-free chocolate cake. We can’t keep any milk fresh, as you know… Oh, hello.” He’s completely unfazed when Camilla follows us indoors.

Valentina and I exchange a meaningful look. So Kenny McMillan has the Sight…

“You can
see
me!” Camilla is delighted.

“Of course he can, and so can I. Hello, welcome to you all, I’m Libby,” says a friendly looking woman with very thick glasses. She holds out her hand. “Alistair, good to meet you. Good heavens, this can’t be Luca Grant, can it? Luca, is that you? I remember you when you were this tall, or should I say this
short
! And who would this be?”

“I’m Valentina.”

“Of course! You were a baby when I saw you last. And you, my dear, are…”

“Camilla!”

“You’re very welcome. Come and have something to eat, you must be starving.”

We shouldn’t be, after the enormous breakfast Mum made us eat an hour ago. But we don’t complain as we tuck into ham sandwiches, crisps and delicious
dairy-free
chocolate cake.

“Will it be safe for the wee ones, Alistair?” asks Libby, concerned.

“Probably,” he says flippantly.

They don’t seem reassured.

“I didn’t want to take them! They forced me.” Uncle Alistair shrugs.

Kenny and Libby are obviously not sure whether he’s joking or in earnest.

“That’s right, yes. We forced him,” says Valentina seriously. “We’re his new staff.”

Alistair looks rather pleased at that.

“By the way, I must ask you to swear to total secrecy. Nobody,
nobody
around here must know what the RWR really is and what we do.”

“Fair enough,” says Kenny. “We won’t tell. We have quite a secret ourselves.”

Pause for dramatic effect. We wait for more.

Nothing comes.

“And what would that be?” cajoles Alistair.

“You’d better come and see.”

We follow Kenny and Libby upstairs into a wee bedroom with a white cot in the corner. The curtains are drawn.

“Here’s our secret,” Kenny says in a low voice.

We all tiptoe into the room, which suddenly gets very crowded, and look into the cot. There’s a baby asleep in it, wearing a pink babygro and a wee pink hat. No surprises there.

But then Libby gently turns the baby on her side, and we can all see something that other people can’t see. A little pair of translucent wings.

Short intake of breath from me and Valentina.

“Can you all See?” whispers Libby.

“Yes,” says Alistair.

Libby carefully removes the baby’s pink hat, and there they are, two little pointed ears.

Another intake of breath.

“This is Ella, our granddaughter.”

“Amazing…” I whisper. I look at Alistair, who’s smiling mysteriously.

“Can I touch her?” asks Valentina.

“Of course. Just be careful you don’t wake her up.”

Valentina strokes Ella’s little cheek gently. “She’s so sweet!”

Once we’re out of the room and downstairs again,
Alistair stands in front of Libby. He lifts his hands towards her face and, ever so gently, takes her glasses off. We all freeze. What is he doing?

Without the thick lenses, Libby’s eyes shine incredibly. They’re bright green, emerald-like. No human could have eyes that colour. Then Alistair tucks a lock of her white hair away from her face, to reveal a pointed ear.

“I thought you might figure that out,” says Libby, smiling. “I’ve always known
you
could See, even when you were a wee boy.”

“You’re a fairy!” I exclaim, before I can stop myself.

“I’ve been living as a human since I was sixteen, since I met Kenny…”

“I’ve always loved going into the woods, picking mushrooms. One day, I went out looking for mushrooms and I found… her.” Kenny smiles fondly at his wife.

“Kenny and his family pretended I was a friend from America. I had to fake an American accent for a while!” she laughs. “I’ve never looked back. All our children are half-fairies. Our son lives as a human, and our daughters as fairies, in the woods behind the cottage. But a few months ago one of my daughters brought us baby Ella. The stone fairies want to kidnap her, they want her as one of their own…”

“The same way that they steal human children?” interrupts Alistair. “I see.”

“My daughter thought that maybe we could protect her. But ever since we took the wee one in, the stone fairies have given us so much trouble. We just can’t take any more.” Libby’s beautiful eyes fill with tears.

“I fear they’ll come for Ella, and we won’t be able
to stop them,” says Kenny, his face full of apprehension. “They’ll bring her up wild, like one of them. Stone fairies don’t speak, they grunt. They’re always up to no good. And our poor daughter, she’s beside herself, missing Ella…”

“I get the picture. I’ll make them stop,” says Alistair.

I swallow. He sounds very confident.

“Come on, children, let’s go. We need to do some exploring before we set up camp.” He hustles us into the hallway. “Kenny, Libby, lock all the doors and windows. There’ll be fireworks tonight.”

“Wouldn’t it be safer if the children stayed in the cottage with us?” asks Kenny.

“Sorry, no, I need them. I’ll offer them in exchange for Ella.”

“WHAT?” we exclaim in unison. I feel a bit sick.

“Come on now!” Uncle Alistair’s voice is matter-of-fact.