The Giants and the Joneses (6 page)

Z
AB’S REMOTE-CONTROLLED
car crashed into the bedroom wall.

Stephen managed to slam his hands against the dashboard just in time, but Colette screamed as her head hit the windscreen.

‘Are you all right?’ Stephen asked.

‘I think so. Just another bruise.’

They had been Zab’s playthings for a week. It was like being in a torture chamber, and you never knew what the
next torture would be. Sometimes he juggled with them. Sometimes he swung them about on his lampshade. Sometimes he dangled them out of the window.

The other day he had put them on a high slippery shelf. ‘Glay boff!’ he had said, and they realised he wanted to see if they could work out how to get down. He did clap in admiration when Stephen succeeded in sliding down the flex of the alarm clock, but then offered him a red-hot chilli as a reward, forcing him to bite it and then chortling, ‘Heehuckerly iggly plop!’ when Stephen gasped, his mouth on fire.

Zab didn’t always give them such burningly hot food. Usually he threw down some breadcrumbs on to the floor beside a bowl of water. The rim of the bowl came up to their chins and he would laugh as they stood and scooped the water in their cupped hands.

Colette and Stephen were both now permanently dressed in army uniforms from Zab’s action figures. The clothes were too big and baggy, but Stephen was hugely relieved that he no longer had to wear the hated pink ballet dress.

It wasn’t too bad when Zab played soldiers with them. Usually they were both allowed to be on the winning side, which involved beating up a lot of plastic figures, but once or twice he gave them both swords and tried to make them fight each other.

Back home the pair of them had fought all the time, but now Colette realised that she didn’t want to. In fact, they were getting on much better than they ever had done before. Stephen hadn’t called her any insect names for days.

Sometimes Jumbeelia tried to get them back. ‘Beesh, Zab, beesh! Niffle uth abreg!’ they would hear her clamour. But Zab just held them above his head and laughed.

At night they slept in Zab’s sock drawer. It was very dark, and the socks didn’t smell too clean. Colette found herself missing the doll’s-house bedroom.

Even more, she missed her bed at home. She could hardly bear to think of Mum tucking her up or Dad waking her with one of his funny voices, pretending to be the family butler or a Roman slave-driver. But most of all, she missed Poppy. She hated to think how lonely
and scared her little sister must be feeling, all on her own in the doll’s house.

‘We’ve
got
to get back to Poppy,’ she said to Stephen now, sitting in the passenger seat of the crashed car and feeling her forehead for the new bruise.

Just then, Zab grabbed them, one in each hot sweaty hand. He kicked the car, and strode out of the room.

‘Maybe he’s going to give us back to Jumbeelia?’ said Colette hopefully.

‘I bet he’s going to put us in the bath again,’ said Stephen.

They were both wrong. Zab took them somewhere they had never been before – into the garden.

He put them down on the path and then reached into his pocket and placed something beside them. It was their lawn mower.

‘I bet Dad’s missing that,’ said Stephen.

‘Don’t be stupid! Do you seriously think he’s bothering about a lawn mower when all of us are missing?’

‘Oh shut up – don’t rub it in.’

‘Sorry,’ said Colette. She blinked back the tears
which were pricking her eyes and looked about her. On one side of the path was a forest of giant grass. Some upside-down plastic flowerpots the size of huts sat on the path beside a desert of a sandpit.

Zab was digging two holes in the sand. He popped Colette and Stephen into the holes and scooped some sand back in around them. They were buried up to their necks.

‘It’s another of his experiments,’ said Stephen gloomily. ‘He wants to see if we can get ourselves out.’

The sand was the heavy kind, and they couldn’t. Zab laughed and strode away.

‘Do you think he’s just going to leave us here?’ Colette asked in panic. It was terrifying to be abandoned, trapped in the sand, her arms pinioned to her body, unable even to scratch a tickle on her nose.

‘No, look – he’s coming back.’

Zab squatted on the path beside them. There was something draped over one of his fingers. It was wriggling about like a great pink python.

‘Squerple!’ he said, dangling it in front of Colette’s face.

Colette closed her eyes and turned her head to one side, which was all she could do. She quite liked ordinary worms – in fact, she had once collected them – but this giant one was as thick as her buried arm. It didn’t have a proper face, but she could see its mouth quite clearly, opening and closing slightly as if searching for some earth to swallow. ‘It’s not a snake – it won’t bite me,’ she told herself She didn’t want to give Zab the pleasure of hearing her cry out.

All the same, Zab laughed before tossing the worm away and starting to dig them out.

‘Listen,’ said Stephen urgently. ‘I’ve thought of a plan. You try and distract him, and I’ll hide the lawn mower.’

‘What for?’

‘Because then when we
do
manage to rescue Poppy and escape, we’ll have a getaway car.’

Zab put them down on the path. They exchanged a look, and then Colette started to run.

‘Zabbadabbadee! You can’t catch me!’ she taunted the boy giant.

But Zab didn’t seem to want to. He was fiddling about with a jam jar.

‘Get his attention! Do a little dance or something!’ Stephen egged her on.

Colette hopped about and made faces, but still Zab showed no interest in her. Instead, he lifted Stephen up and put him into the jar.

‘Let him out!’ Colette cried, suddenly fearful. She ran back up the path.

Stephen was in the circular glass tank, looking white. He wasn’t alone. A black-and-yellow stripy creature was crawling up the side of the huge jam jar.

It was a giant wasp, and it was nearly half Stephen’s size.

Zab reached in and prodded the wasp with a pin. It buzzed angrily, and Zab handed the pin to Stephen. He took it with a shaking hand.

‘Kraggle! Kraggle! Kraggle!’ shouted Zab.

The wasp tried to fly out of the jam jar but Zab was too quick for it, and screwed the lid on.

‘Don’t do that! They need air!’ Colette shouted, as if Zab could understand.

Then she watched in horror as the wasp flew round the jar. She could see something sharp sticking out
of its tail end. It was the tip of a sting.

Still buzzing, the maddened creature bumped into the side of the jar, and then it bumped into Stephen.

Stephen fell on to his back, dropping the pin and letting out a cry.

Colette stood helplessly outside the glass and saw the wasp land on his face. She knew that the whole sting would be as long and sharp as a dagger. If the wasp pierced him with it he would surely die.

‘The pin, Stephen! Get the pin!’ she urged him. It was lying on the floor of the jar. Keeping his body as still as he could, Stephen reached out and grabbed it.

The wasp raised its tail end. The sting was poised to plunge into Stephen’s chest. He gasped and his eyelids closed.

‘Don’t give up now!’ cried Colette.

Stephen opened his eyes. Gritting his teeth, he lunged out with the pin. The tip of it speared the underside of the wasp and bore the creature into the air above him. As the sting shot out of it, he hurled the pin away from him and scrambled to his feet.

The wasp writhed on the floor of the jar, still skewered by the pin.

Stephen backed away and sat down against the glass wall. He was panting and he looked even whiter than before.

The wasp stopped writhing. It was dead.

Zab clapped. He unscrewed the lid of the jar and seemed about to remove Stephen, but then changed his mind. ‘Tweeko!’ he cried, and he was off again.

‘Stephen, are you all right?’ asked Colette, pressing herself against the outside of the jar. She was trembling. How she wished she could climb the steep glass and reach him.

‘Yes, but you’ll have to see to the lawn mower,’ said Stephen faintly. ‘Hide it under a flower pot.’

‘I don’t want to leave you,’ she said.

‘You must. Think about Poppy. She won’t be able to walk all the way to the beanstalk.’

Zab was over by the garden wall. He didn’t notice Colette dragging the plastic flower pot towards the lawn mower. It wasn’t as heavy as she’d feared. Her hands were still shaking as she lifted a section of the
flower pot as high as she could, positioned it over the lawn mower and let it fall.

She was afraid that the clatter would alert Zab, but he had returned to the jam jar and seemed intent on whatever was going on inside it.

Gripped by dread, Colette tiptoed back and saw what Zab found so enthralling.

Stephen and the dead wasp were still in the jar. So was a giant spider. The spider was enormous, and its jointed hairy legs splayed out in all directions, leaving very little space for Stephen, who was holding a new pin.

‘Kraggle! Kraggle! Kraggle!’ Zab was shouting again.

‘He’s saying
Kill! Kill! Kill!
,’ Colette realised, feeling sick. But this time Stephen would not oblige.

Colette could see that the spider wasn’t interested in Stephen; it seemed much keener on the dead wasp.

‘Kraggle! Flisterflay, iggly plop –
kraggle
!’ Zab commanded angrily, but Stephen held the pin behind his back.

‘Why should I?’ he said. ‘It hasn’t done anything to me.’

Zab was furious now. He unscrewed the lid of the jam jar and turned it upside down, shaking Stephen, the dead wasp and the live spider out on to the path.

The spider scuttled away. Stephen picked himself up and waved the pin angrily at Zab. ‘You’re evil!’ he shouted.

Zab lifted a foot to stamp on Stephen.

‘Stop!’ shouted Colette, grabbing Zab’s undone shoelace.

Zab wobbled, missed Stephen and kicked Colette instead. She fell to the ground.

‘Leave my sister alone!’ Stephen climbed on to Zab’s trainer and dug the pin into his ankle.

‘Askorp! Askorp, oy frikely plop!’ Zab yelped with pain as Stephen jumped off his trainer and ran down the path.

Colette picked herself up and watched Zab catch up with Stephen and step over him. Stephen dodged sideways, and ran towards an enormous wooden building. ‘It must be the giants’ garden shed,’ thought Colette.

The floor of the building was propped up by bricks. She saw Stephen run under it.

‘Pecky iggly plop!’ shouted Zab. He found a stick and started poking it under the shed.

‘Come on, Colette!’ shouted Stephen. ‘It’s safe under here!’

Colette ran down the path towards the shed. But Zab spotted her. He snatched her up. Then he looked around. Colette guessed he was looking for the lawn mower.

‘Queesh ez o strimpchogger?’ he said, and squeezed her angrily. It hurt.

‘Zab!’ came a voice from the house. It was the giant mother, calling him.

Without letting go of Colette, Zab poked the stick under the shed one last time. Colette kicked and struggled, desperate to escape his grip, but it only tightened. Then, in his nastiest voice, Zab shouted at Stephen:

‘Ootle rootle, iggly plop! Yahaw!’

He turned on his heel and strode towards the house, with Colette still in his hand.

Z
AB STOMPED UP
the stairs, clutching the girl iggly plop. He was angry with her, almost as angry as he was with the boy iggly plop. It would serve him right to be left out in the garden. Zab hoped that an owl or a fox would get him.

As for the girl, she was turning out to be pretty useless. She was a rotten fighter, and she had a cunning streak too: Zab was convinced that she had hidden the precious strimpchogger that he had sweefswoofed with
Jumbeelia for the iggliest plop. Now he wouldn’t be able to take it on holiday with him.

Zab wasn’t specially looking forward to staying with his grandfather. There wasn’t much to do there, and it would have been fun to have the strimpchogger to play with. Still, he thought, at least he would get more sweets, chocolates and crisps at Grishpij’s house than he did at home. And at least Jumbeelia wouldn’t be there. Also, Grishpij had a dog. It was a silly yappy thing, but to the iggly plop it would be bigger than an elephant. She would probably be terrified – especially now that the nasty iggly boy was no longer around to protect her.

Zab smiled at this thought. This miniature girl was the perfect victim for the experiments and tortures which he could only dream of inflicting on his life-size sister. He squeezed her more tightly as he carried her into his room. Still smiling, he zipped her up in his sponge bag, which he then put into his hold-all. Her muffled squawks and protests stopped when Mij came into the room. Zab had noticed before that the iggly plops seemed to be nervous of his mother.

He was glad to see Mij because he had been
wondering how many poddums spending money she would be giving him.

‘Heek munchly poddums?’ he asked.

‘Thrink,’ she replied.

Only thrink poddums! That was hardly anything!

Zab grumbled, then yelled, then threatened not to go away at all, but Mij refused to increase the amount. She told him to get washed, comb his hair and bring his hold-all downstairs.

Well, thought Zab, when she had gone, if she wouldn’t help him he would have to help himself. He knew that Jumbeelia often left money lying around. He slunk into her room.

To his annoyance, she was in there, sitting on the floor with her back turned to him. She hadn’t heard him come in, so he crept up on her and pulled her hair.

‘Ow!’ she yelled. ‘Glay awook, Zab!’

But Zab didn’t go away. He was too interested in what Jumbeelia was doing.

She was posting coins – a lot of coins – into a money box he had never seen before. It was bright red, and the slot looked as if it were designed to receive iggly letters rather than coins; in fact, the whole thing looked just like an iggly pobo. It was a wonderful money box, and Zab knew that he had to have it.

He made a grab but he wasn’t fast enough. Jumbeelia, who had just posted the last coin into the slot, jumped up and ran towards the door, the iggly pobo in her hand. Zab heard the coins rattle inside it. It sounded almost full.

‘Askorp!’ he called. Jumbeelia stopped in the doorway but looked ready to take off again.

Zab eyed the beely red object and thought about all the coins inside it. He thought about his measly amount of spending money. Then he thought about the girl iggly plop inside his sponge bag.

‘Sweefswoof?’ he suggested.