Mystery At Riddle Gully (14 page)

Pollo unwound her scarf from around her neck. She found the last row and bit into it, then plucked at the wool with her fingernails.

Her dad's knitting didn't put up much of a fight. The scarf began unravelling and she soon had a good length. She ripped a page out of her notepad, made a neat tear in from the edge and slipped it onto the yarn. Then she tied the end to a tall bush near the cave entrance. The fluttering white paper would catch even the weakest beam of light.

She felt what was left of the scarf in her hands and did a quick calculation. Her dad had often marvelled at how much wool it took to knit a single row. She should have plenty.

Bit by bit, Pollo retraced the route along which she and Will had blundered through the bush, ignoring the faceless scuttlings around her. As she went, she unravelled her scarf, draping it high over the bushes behind her, every now and then attaching another sheet of paper.

Hansel and Gretel, eat your hearts out!

Will, having switched off the torch to conserve batteries, lay staring into utter can't-see-your-hand-in-front-of-your-face blackness.

Beneath his head was the sleeping Shorn Connery's rising and falling belly. Beneath the rest of him was a spongy carpet of sharp-smelling bat droppings, interspersed with little brittle dead bat bones. With each breath it felt like he was sniffing oven cleaner. With each twitch of his hand a worm or a bug twitched back.

Every now and again he flicked on the torch to reassure himself that he wasn't, in fact, dead. The distinction wasn't easy to make.

It seemed a lifetime ago that he'd tried to make a birthday breakfast for his mum, before everything had spun out of control. How simple that time seemed now. He could comfort himself with one thought though. He couldn't sink any lower.

Just then, from somewhere high above, a large splat of wet, fresh bat poo landed on his face.

Wrong again! He pursed his lips and wiped it off as best he could with the side of his grimy hand. That was
it! If he ever got out of there, the first thing he was going to do was come clean. And he didn't mean take a shower, though that was right up there on the list. He'd break this crazy cycle he'd got himself into! He'd tell Angela and HB about the graffiti and the lies and take the punishment! They had art classes in prison, didn't they?

One thing was for certain. He never, ever again wanted being mad to make him do something he'd be sorry for later.

Will had fallen into a deep, relaxed sleep when excited chatter woke him. He remembered where he was when his pillow suddenly grew legs and struggled to its feet. His head dropped—
splap!
—into his stinking mattress.

Baa-aa-aah!

‘We're coming, Shorn Connery!' Pollo's voice rang down from the cave entrance. ‘Will? Are you still there?'

‘No, I've gone surfing!' shouted Will, flicking on the torch. ‘Of course I'm still here!'

With the sudden noise and movement, more bats were spiralling to the cave exit. Hundreds, maybe thousands! Will could hear Viktor's yelps of delight ... followed by rhythmic thumping on the crumbly rocky roof above.

‘You guys aren't dancing up there, are you?' he yelled. ‘Do you want the cave roof to fall in?'

The noise abruptly stopped. ‘No-no...' It was Sherri. ‘We were just ... just...'

Viktor called down. ‘The happiness, Will! It makes us
forget! So sorry, my friend! We shall turn to the business that is pressing!'

Immediately above Will's head, where the tunnel opened out to the cave itself, the weighted end of a rope soon appeared. Will tied a slipknot and worked it under Shorn Connery's front legs and around his torso. Bellowing all the way, Shorn Connery was hoisted to the top.

Alone on the cave floor, Will waited for the fuss of Shorn Connery's rescue to pass. Eventually, his turn came and, with the torch between his teeth and the other three pulling the other end of the rope, he clambered up the tunnel, through the cave exit and out into the pure night air.

Pollo and Sherri clamped their noses and stepped back sharply as Will appeared, Viktor's bright torch illuminating the dark, grainy mix of damp and dried bat poo that clung to every bit of him.

Viktor, on the other hand, leaned in and breathed deeply, his nostrils quivering like an eager dog's. ‘Aa-aa-ah ... bat guano!' he said, a look of bliss flooding his face. ‘I never thought it could smell so good.'

When Will got home and saw the lights on, his heart sank. He'd pictured sneaking in, cleaning himself up and facing Angela and HB in the morning. The less he looked like a deranged criminal when he confessed, he figured, the better.

He paused in the shadows on the porch. They were both still up, talking. Well, at least he wouldn't have to sweat through the rest of the night wondering what they'd do to him. He opened the front door and stepped into the hallway.

‘Will? Is that you?' Angela sounded edgy.

In the confined space he could smell the sharp pong all over him. He'd have run away from himself, if he could. As he closed the front door he heard movement
on the other side of the wall.

‘Stay where you are!' he yelled.

The footsteps stopped.

‘I've got something to tell you and I don't think I can do it face to face.'

‘Son...' It was HB. ‘We don't want—'

‘Stay away—please!' Will interrupted. He slumped against the wall among the coats hanging on the rack. There was no way to ease into it. He squeezed his eyes shut. Just get it over and done with.

‘It was me who did the graffiti at the school!' he blurted. ‘Mum, I know you think I'm a good son but I'm not. I don't know why I did it but I just did! I suppose that makes me criminally insane or something. Maybe even evil! I don't know. But, HB, I'm really, really sorry. I don't think you're a pig's you-know-what at all. In fact, I think you're a really good stepdad, even if sometimes you're a bit ... well ... anyway,' he hastily moved on, his eyes still shut tight, ‘I'll totally understand if you want to throw me out or send me to reform school or prison or whatever. And Mum, I'm really, really sorry that I'm not who you think I am. That I'm just a delinquent. That I've let you down.'

The blood was rushing so hard through his head that he couldn't hear another thing in the world. Suddenly a hand gripped his shoulder. He jerked, ramming his head into a hook of the coat rack behind him.

Grimacing with pain, he became aware of Angela and
HB standing in front of him and, despite his filth and his stench, his mum was trying to hug him.

‘But ... but...' he stammered.

‘That'll do, son,' said HB.

Even though every centimetre of him had been rolled or dipped in bat poo, Angela insisted on pulling him down next to her onto the couch and putting her arm around him. They wouldn't hear another word about his criminal activities. They were much keener to know why he was covered in scratches and stank worse than old kitty litter.

Will filled them in as best he could, to a string of gollies and goshes and by-jiminies.

When he was done, Angela put her hand on his. ‘Your father called while you were out,' she said. ‘He asked me to tell you that he hadn't forgotten you. Apparently your baby brother dropped Clive's mobile down the toilet, so he lost all his contacts. And the police station wouldn't give out our home number, of course.'

Will smiled. It figured.

‘He got the number from Nan eventually.' Angela sighed. ‘I guess this week's been harder on you than I realised. You could probably have used a chat with your dad. I'm so happy here I just assumed that settling in for you would be a breeze.'

She suddenly looked Will in the eye. ‘You can ring Clive whenever you want to. You know that, don't you, love?'

‘Yeah, I s'pose so,' said Will. ‘But it feels funny now in the new set-up. Wouldn't it make things awkward for you and HB? Let's face it, Mum, you don't want to know about Clive at the best of times.'

Angela pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. ‘I'm sorry, love. You're right—I don't always behave as I should. But it will always be okay for you to love your father—to show it, I mean. When we split up, I never thought for a second that
you
would stop loving him ... more than anyone else who came into our lives.' She gave HB a crooked smile and turned back to Will. ‘And I know for a fact that Clive will never stop loving you, no matter where you are—or what you smell like!'

They laughed and hugged.

‘Why don't you give him a ring now?' said Angela. ‘He wanted to talk to you as soon as he could. He won't mind that it's late.'

Will jumped off the couch and had reached the doorway when HB spoke. ‘Before you do that, son...'

Will paused.

HB cleared his throat. ‘Clive mentioned something that was worrying you and I'd like to clear it up.' He began tugging his left earlobe and then switched to his right. ‘I want to reassure you, lad, that even though your mum and I are married now, I'd never ask you to change your surname to mine. I had a shocker of a time with it when I was a youngster. Hell's bells! Half the reason I joined the force was to stop people having a go at me!'

Will grinned at HB then dashed for the kitchen.

A phone call and a warm shower later, he reappeared feeling happier than he had in a long, long time. He was about to say goodnight and sink into the comfort of clean sheets and an inner-spring mattress when HB patted the empty space on the couch between himself and Angela.

‘So now, son,' he said. ‘Let's have a quick chat about this artistic streak of yours.'

This was one pupil-free day they wouldn't spend kicking back, swatting flies. They all met at Sherri's shop at seven-thirty. Viktor had been dashing around all night collecting and sorting data on the bats, and Will and Pollo had got up before dawn, Will to paint his poster and Pollo to put together what she could of her final edition of the
Riddle Gully Gazette.

There was no time to wait for the town council office to open to use their copier. Soon Sherri's old machine was running hot, churning out Will's poster by the dozen, to Bublé's excited twittering. Beneath beautiful sketches of the bats was a push, in big bold letters, for the whole town to come to the council meeting that night. Pollo, Sherri and Viktor agreed that the poster was a
masterpiece that would make everyone seeing it want to devote the rest of their lives to protecting
Miniopterus schreibersii bassanii
—the Southern Bent-wing Bat.

Pollo worked on her laptop at Sherri's desk, incorporating Viktor's photos and data into her
Riddle Gully Gazette
Special Edition, then it too was printed. No sizzling vampire story leapt from the front page, nor apology to Mayor Bullock. And it was a lot slimmer than usual, containing, as it did, only the one article—Riddle Gully's endangered bats and the mayor's reckless development. But there was no doubt about it—it was her best work ever.

By eight-thirty, the gazettes and the posters were in neat bundles on Sherri's desk, ready to hit the streets. Sherri brought out a plate of honeyed crumpets and they all dug in.

Will licked his fingers and tapped the pile of gazettes. ‘I like the way you didn't put in anything about the graffiti, Pollo,' he said.

Sherri and Viktor looked at him oddly and Will reddened. ‘I mean, with it being my stepdad and ... you know...' He trailed off. Would he ever learn to keep his big mouth shut?

‘I thought about it,' said Pollo. ‘But I decided it would be unprofessional to jump to any conclusions—in print at least.' She flicked Will a wink.

So Pollo
did
know! And was keeping quiet! Will stuffed the rest of his crumpet into his mouth to camouflage his smile.