Just Annoying! (15 page)

Smoke.

Thick, white, eye-watering smoke.

My eyes are streaming.

A loud thrumming noise breaks the silence.

I look up and realise that I'm blasting the hose directly against Mr Broadbent's office window.

Big mistake.

And the rainforest tape is starting to sound really weird. It's not only distorted, it's speeding up and slowing down as well.

Sooty is standing at the door of his kennel, barking.

Danny's still yelling. I can't make out what he's saying.

There's smoke and distorted music and yelling and barking and the next thing I see is Mr Broadbent's head—his eyes wide and bloodshot, his teeth bared—and his enormous hands reaching for me through the smoke.

I don't think he wants to hug me, either.

‘Do you want to talk?' I offer. ‘Talking through your problems can really help . . .'

He doesn't respond.

I point the hose at him and let him have it. No use. It's like firing a water pistol at Godzilla. Mr Broadbent just keeps coming—arms outstretched.

I want to run but I can't move. I'm too scared.

Just as Mr Broadbent's hands are about to close around my neck I see Danny charging up behind him.

He lets out a blood-curdling yell and leaps onto Mr Broadbent's back.

Mr Broadbent roars. He knocks Danny off with one swipe and turns his attention back to me. Danny falls to the ground. He gets straight back up and runs at Mr Broadbent. Mr Broadbent is unfazed. He simultaneously grabs Danny by the throat with his right hand and me by the throat with his left.

I look at Danny. Danny looks at me.

We nod.

We know exactly what to do.

We've practised it many times.

We each take a deep breath and give it everything we've got.

‘MURDER!' we yell. ‘MURDER, BLOODY MURDER!'

'm spewing.

James Bond is just about to be eaten by a shark and I'm going to miss it because I can't see past the hair of the woman in front of me.

It doesn't matter where I sit in a movie theatre, a person with a really big pile of hair on their head will always sit right in front of me. And if they don't, then the tallest person in the world will.

It's not fair. Nobody else has got a big-hair person in front of them. Why me?

‘Hey, Danny,' I say, ‘wanna swap seats?'

Danny is stuffing his mouth full of popcorn.

‘Are you kidding?' he says, spitting little bits of popcorn all over me.

I'm glad I don't have popcorn. Popcorn is for kids. I've got a box of Jaffas. Well, to be more accurate, a box of
Jaffa
because there's only one left.

‘Forget it,' I say. ‘Dad? Want to change seats?'

‘Shush,' he says. ‘James Bond is about to be eaten by a shark.'

‘I know,' I say. ‘I'd really like to see it.'

I know he's not really going to be eaten because he's James Bond and James Bond always escapes, but it's fun to watch how he does it. Well, it would be fun if I could see the screen.

I'd go and sit somewhere else, but the theatre is packed.

‘Who's that, Mummy?' says a little boy with a loud voice a couple of rows in front of us.

‘A bad man.'

‘What's he doing, Mummy?'

‘He's going to feed James Bond to the sharks.'

‘Why?'

‘Because he's a bad man.'

‘Why?'

‘Shhh,' she says. ‘Just watch.'

What kind of person would bring a little kid to a James Bond movie? I have enough trouble understanding all the double-crossings and plot twists myself, and I'm quite intelligent. Well, compared to Danny that is.

I can hardly see anything through all the hair. I lean over towards Danny.

This is one nasty bad man. He's got this trapdoor that falls open onto a pool with a shark in it. If there's somebody he doesn't like he just chains them up, hoists them above the pool and dunks them in. James Bond's toes are only centimetres from the water.

The lady with the big hair tilts her head to the side.

I lean a little further over towards Danny.

She tilts again.

I lean further.

Danny elbows me in the ribs. He does it so hard that my Jaffa is knocked out of my fingers and falls to the floor.

‘Keep on your side of the seat,' he says.

‘You idiot!' I hiss. ‘You made me drop my Jaffa.'

‘Have some popcorn,' says Danny.

He shoves the box under my nose. I brush it away.

‘No, you don't understand,' I say. ‘That was my
last
Jaffa!'

The lady with the big hair turns around.

‘Shhh!' she says. ‘I'm trying to watch the movie.'

‘Tell me about it,' I say under my breath.

‘I beg your pardon?' she says.

‘Nothing,' I mumble.

I bend over and pat the carpet all around me. No luck. It must have rolled into one of the rows in front.

This is terrible. Trapped behind a woman with big hair
and
I've lost my last Jaffa. And, to make things even worse, I missed seeing how James Bond got out of having his toes chomped by the sharks.

I slump down in my seat.

Life can be very cruel.

It's not like I can just go looking for the Jaffa.

The cinema is packed. I'm in the middle of the centre row. I would have to disturb nine people to get to the aisle. Besides, I can't just crawl down the centre. It would attract too much attention. People might guess what I'm looking for. It might start a Jaffa-rush.

Safer just to sit here and sulk.

But then I think of how James Bond would react in this situation. He wouldn't just sit here. How did he put it?
A field operative must use every means at his disposal to achieve his objective.
He would go after the Jaffa and do whatever necessary to retrieve it—no matter how great the odds against him—no matter how dangerous.

I'm going to find that Jaffa.

Before I know it, I'm on my belly crawling commando-style underneath a row of movie theatre seats. The darkness makes it hard to see and the danger of accidentally touching somebody's leg is high. But I have to do it.

I have a mission.