Olive of Groves and the Great Slurp of Time (8 page)

12

In which Olive learns that there is always room for improvement

The entrance hall at Groves was buzzing with busyness. Flick the goanna was pressed against the front door, howling with fear as Jabber threw knives around him. Splash Gordon was running around with a fishbowl stuck on his head after a successful dive from the first-floor landing. Diana the lion tamer wielded her whip and stomped her feet in a fruitless attempt to control Num-Num. Carlos, Sparky Burns and Bullet Barnes were lying on the floor by the window with crayons and large sheets of paper, designing a new cannon. But the acrobats, Eduardo, Alfonzo and Anastasia, were nowhere to be seen.

Olive skipped over to Carlos, Sparky and Bullet. ‘That looks good,' she said, pointing her toe at their drawing.

Carlos smiled up at her. ‘It's a mega-cannon. One which can pack enough explosives to launch Bullet into outer space.'

Carlos and Sparky were looking far more enthusiastic about the project than Bullet. As gunpowder pourer and fuse lighter, they did have a lot less to lose than Bullet, the human cannonball, if things went wrong.

‘Where are all the acrobats?' asked Olive.

Carlos pointed with his crayon. ‘Out in the back garden. They're trying something new.'

Olive smiled her thanks, skipped across the entrance hall, bunny-hopped along the corridor, somersaulted out the back door and cartwheeled across the lawn, where she collided with a tree trunk and fell flat on her back.

When orange swirls and yellow canaries had stopped clouding her vision, she found herself looking into a long, scornful face. It was Star, the chestnut horse with the white patch on her forehead.

‘Did you see that, Beauty?' Star whinnied over her shoulder to the black horse. ‘She can't even make it past the fish pond without tripping over her own arms and legs.'

‘It was the tree,' said Olive, sitting up and rubbing her forehead. ‘I didn't expect a tree trunk so close to the back door.'

The horses glanced towards the school. The back door was a good ten metres away. They looked down their noses at Olive, then trotted off, tossing their manes and making disparaging ‘Hmmmph!' noises.

‘Roll up! Roll up! The circus is in town!' The Ringmaster paced across the grass, a megaphone in one hand, a riding crop in the other. His red jacket looked brilliant amongst the greenery. His black satin top hat and waxed moustache shone in the morning light.

Anastasia, Eduardo, Alfonzo and Olive lined up side by side and stood to attention. Star and Beauty trotted around behind them, blowing hot air from their nostrils.

‘Equine acrobatics!' roared the Ringmaster. ‘The speed and beauty of horses combined with the skill and precision of acrobats. A flashy, daring, treacherous act that will thrill, delight and terrify an audience to the point where they will be begging us to stop and crying for more at one and the same time!'

Olive jumped up and down, clapping her hands. ‘Oh, goody! I
love
horse riding.'

This was not strictly true, dear reader. What Olive should have said was, ‘Oh, goody! I love the
idea
of horse riding.'

For while all little girls dream of owning a pony, Olive had never actually had any real-life experience of one. She had not cantered across verdant meadows on a white stallion. She had not been led around the park on a chubby grey pony named Pudding. She had not even bobbed up and down to pipe-organ music on a wooden merry-go-round horse.

Alfonzo and Anastasia frowned.

Olive stopped clapping, giggled, then stood to attention once more.

‘Today,' the Ringmaster announced, ‘we shall start with a simple standing gallop. If all goes well, we may even proceed to a handstand gallop.' He slapped his riding crop against his boot and Beauty trotted forward.

Alfonzo grabbed Anastasia by the ankles and launched her high into the air. She did a tucked flip and landed, on her feet, on Beauty's back. Beauty shifted a little with the impact, but Anastasia remained steady.

Alfonzo clicked his tongue and Beauty began to trot. Anastasia bent her knees to absorb the up-and-down motion of the horse without losing her balance.

Alfonzo clicked again and Beauty broke into a gallop, moving in a large circle around the garden. Anastasia wobbled a little and bit her lip at several near slips, but
after the third lap, she straightened her legs, put her hands on her hips and looked as relaxed as if she were standing on the front porch of Groves, waiting for the mail to be delivered.

Olive clapped and bunny-hopped from side to side. ‘Well done, Anastasia!' she cheered. ‘You look spectacular!'

‘Olive!' snapped the Ringmaster. ‘Your enthusiasm is commendable, but there is a horse standing idle. Let's not waste our precious lesson time.'

Olive smiled and nodded. She grinned at Eduardo. She looked over towards Star and clicked her tongue.

Nothing happened.

‘Star!' she hissed in a stage whisper and clicked her tongue again.

Star dropped her head and started to nibble at the grass.

Eduardo looked at Olive and shrugged.

‘Star!' yelled Olive. ‘Come here!'

Star wandered away to the vegetable patch. Pulling up a carrot, she proceeded to chomp . . . slowly and ever so defiantly.

At this point, dear reader,
I
probably would have called Star a rude name or thrown a large cabbage at her head. Olive, however, was of a finer mettle than I. She remembered that, less than two weeks ago, Star and Beauty had been prisoners of a wicked sea captain. She knew that mistreated animals must be given time to learn to trust and love again. Furthermore, she believed that rudeness and bad temper could
never
achieve anything of worth.

Olive simply walked over to the vegetable patch, put her hand on the horse's mane and said, ‘Come on, Star. Let's be friends. I'm sure we can have a jolly time working together, if only you will give me a chance.'

And although the horse did not exactly smile with repentant tears in her eyes, she
did
walk out of the vegetable patch and wait for Olive to mount.

Eduardo grabbed Olive's ankles and launched her into the air. She screamed and splattered onto Star's back, her arms and head dangling down one side of the horse's body, her legs down the other.

Star shifted uneasily, rolled her eyes and grumbled.

‘I'm okay!' cried Olive, ever optimistic. ‘Nearly there!' She wriggled and squirmed, huffed and puffed and heaved herself up until she was sitting astride the horse. ‘Ta-da!' Throwing her hands in the air, Olive flashed her best performer's smile, then realised that she was facing Star's rump!

‘Humiliating!' mumbled Star. She stomped her hooves and Olive fell off, landing face-first in a pile of compost.

Eduardo beckoned to Alfonzo. Together, the boys lifted Olive onto Star, this time the
right
way around. She took a deep breath, dug her feet into the horse's sides and fell off backwards as Star bolted through the middle of a hedge.

Anastasia and Beauty threw their heads back and laughed. Olive, good-natured as she was, did not mind. Although she did wonder whether they needed to laugh quite so hard . . . or for quite so long.

Star now refused to cooperate. She wandered off to the orchard, where she plucked one apple after another, chomping to her heart's content. Olive, determined and practical, crept across the garden, climbed up into the
branches of the apple tree, dropped softly down onto Star's back and grabbed her mane.

Star did not move.

Olive relaxed, just a little, and Star sprang to life. Rearing up on her hind legs, she let out a fiendish whinny, then shot off, galloping between the trees, cantering around the garden gnomes, jumping over the flowerbeds, swiping along the hedges and splashing
through
the fish pond!

‘Look at me!' cried Olive, laughing with the rush and fury of it all. ‘I'm riding a horse! I'm staying on! It's amazing! Thrilling! Nothing,
absolutely nothing
, that this naughty horse can do will make me fall off!'

Nothing, except for running under the low-hanging branch of an elm tree.

Long story short, the equine acrobatics lesson came to an abrupt ending and Olive spent a quiet afternoon in the infirmary with Wordsworth reading her poems about cheese, Num-Num chewing on her elbow and Reginald buttering the soles of her feet.

Fumble came in after dinner to plump the pillows and stroke her head, but found it difficult to see in the dimly lit room and accidentally plumped her head and stroked the pillows.

And just before lights out, Basil called in and offered to read her his favourite bedtime story.

‘Oh yes please!' said Olive.

He had failed to inform her, however, that the book was in his house . . . in the Black Forest . . . back in 1857 . . .

13

In which we rest our weary heads upon a cowpat

‘Goodness gracious me, Basil! Where have you been all this time? It is half past ten by the chiming of the cuckoos and you still have not been out to the barn to clean up for Papa after the milking! He will never get that giant cuckoo clock for Herr Gunther finished at this rate!'

Of course, Mama said all of this in German, but by some astonishing trick of time travel, Olive could understand every single word as though it was her own language.

‘Sorry, Mama,' said Basil, without a hint of remorse. ‘I have been travelling through time . . . and I forgot to take my little brass clock with the backwards-moving hands . . . and
then
I went on a journey to see the dinosaurs . . . and
then
I was having such a wonderful time at my new school that I did not want to come home.'

Olive cowered behind Basil, a little scared. Mama was a tall, blocky woman with a downturned mouth and devastatingly deep frown lines. Her blonde hair was coiled in a tight orderly braid over each ear. Her blouse sleeves were rolled up to the elbows to reveal forearms made large and muscular from churning butter, kneading great quantities of pumpernickel dough and wrestling cows. But, most disturbing of all, she clutched a rolling pin in one hand and a sturdy wooden spoon in the other.

‘And who might these children be?' asked Frau Heffenhüffenheimer, pointing the wooden spoon at Olive then beyond.

‘
Children?
' thought Olive. She looked around and was surprised to see Carlos and Hamish crammed side by side into a rocking chair. Three frogs were trying to escape from Hamish's pockets. Carlos was stuffing a stick of dynamite up the sleeve of his jumper. Pigg McKenzie was standing behind them, smirking.

All three had been under Olive's bed in the infirmary when Basil had inadvertently drawn them back in time. Carlos and Hamish had been booby-trapping Olive's bedpan. The pig had been eavesdropping, hoping to learn a little more about time travel so that he could further refine his Dark and Devious Plan.

Olive giggled nervously. She really wanted to cry, but sometimes when we are overwhelmed, our bodies react in mysterious ways. Why, just the other day, I saw a lemon meringue pie that filled me so deeply with joy that I burst into loud, mucus-filled sobs.

‘Well?' growled Mama.

‘This is Olive, Carlos, Hamish and Pigg McKenzie,' said Basil. ‘They are my friends from Mrs Groves' Boarding School for Naughty Boys, Talking Animals, Circus Performers and Time Travellers. They live in the twenty-first century.'

‘What a load of strudel!' snapped Mama. ‘Why you need to go gallivanting across the centuries to find school friends, I do not know.' She whacked the wooden spoon down on the kitchen table and glared at Olive. ‘We sent Basil to Frau Schillings' Boarding School for Mountain-Climbing Girls, Talking Goats and Cuckoo Clockmakers on the other side of the Black Forest, but he would not stay!'

‘I am
not
a clockmaker, Mama,' Basil whined. ‘Just because Papa is a clockmaker does not mean that I should be one too.'

Mama slammed the rolling pin down on the kitchen table and glared at Olive once more. ‘He thinks we sent him there because we believe him to be a clockmaker!' she huffed. ‘But it is, in fact, because he is a silly goat!' She laughed and laughed until she snorted and had to drink three glasses of milk to stop herself from choking.

Basil took the opportunity to escape. Grabbing Olive's hand, he dashed through the wooden door, into the next room. Carlos and Hamish followed.

Olive gasped. Hanging off every spare piece of wall, dangling from every beam, were cuckoo clocks. Cuckoo clocks large and small, ornate and simple, coloured and natural. Cuckoo clocks carved with acorns, draped with rabbits, topped with stag heads. Cuckoo clocks alive with dancing milkmaids, drumming drummers and tiny woodcutters sawing logs. The air was sweet with the smell of fresh sap, the floor soft with a carpet of sawdust. Chisels, mallets, pieces of timber, pots of paint and bottles of oil were scattered across benches, shelves and windowsills. The sound of ticking and tocking went on and on forever. They were, of course, in Herr Heffenhüffenheimer's workshop.

A giant of a man with blond hair and blue eyes stood behind the workbench. He wore lederhosen just like Basil's . . . only bigger . . . otherwise they would be dreadfully uncomfortable! The chisel he was using almost disappeared in his large, calloused hands.

‘Papa!' cried Basil.

‘My boy!' He swept Basil into his arms, swung him around and tossed him into the air. Then placing him back on the ground, Papa took a tiny brass clock from his workbench, held it out and shook his head. ‘Tut-tut! You must be more careful, Basil. Did you forget? I still have not fixed your little clock with the hands that move backwards. You could have been stuck in the future.'

Basil blushed. ‘I was fine, Papa. I found
another
clock on which the hands move backwards. And see? Here I am, home where I belong.'

‘Such a forgetful boy! You know what the books say. Or you
would
if you did your study! There is much to understand about time travel. Rules and regulations that must be learned back to front . . . and then front to back! Otherwise mysterious and troublesome . . .'

Papa's voice trailed off as he noticed Olive, Hamish and Carlos. His frown vanished and a broad smile spread across his face. ‘
Guten Tag, Kinder!
' He was obviously
used to strange guests coming to his home from other times and places, for he did not look twice at Olive's pink pyjamas, rabbit-shaped slippers and bandaged head. Nor did he question the croaking noises coming from Hamish's pockets.

‘I am very busy today,' explained Papa. ‘I have this giant cuckoo clock I am making for Herr Gunther that needs urgent attention, but the other cuckoo clocks must be wound and oiled and dusted. Can anyone help me?'

Carlos and Hamish slipped and skidded in the sawdust as they rushed forward to volunteer.

‘Wonderful!' cried Papa.

‘Oh no,' moaned Olive, but it did not seem polite to tell Basil's papa that he was as nutty as a bucket full of almonds if he thought it a good idea to let Hamish and Carlos loose on his cuckoo clocks.

Basil, mistaking concern for concussion, said, ‘Come, Olive. You need to rest. We shall have a quiet little story time.'

And so Olive spent a delightful hour outside, lying on the hillside while Basil read aloud from his favourite book,
The Elves and the Clockmaker
. The bracing fresh air was her medicine, the green grass and edelweiss her mattress, the sunshine her blanket, a cowpat her pillow.

Peace.

Tranquillity.

Bliss.

Only hunger (and the suspicion that Clara the cow was about to produce a second pillow, right near Olive's head) finally lured them back indoors.

‘And then,' grunted Pigg McKenzie, ‘they said if I insisted on doing all of the wonderful acts of community service that the Girl Guides did, I really should be awarded the Grand Community Service Badge . . .
and
be made an honorary Girl Guide!' He laughed and banged his trotters on the kitchen table, causing milk to spill, crumbs to dance and the last chocolate-coated marzipan ball to tumble to the floor.

Basil's mama threw back her head and guffawed until tears ran down her large, ruddy cheeks. ‘And you do not feel embarrassed to be called a little Girl Guide?' she asked.

‘No, no, no, no, no,' sang the pig. ‘I am a great believer in equality. Girl Guide, pig, president, genius – I'd feel happy being called any of them. Besides, the badge is so darned pretty, I didn't want to say no!' He flicked his jacket and something shiny caught the light streaming in through the window.

‘That's my school-captain badge!' cried Olive. ‘You went into my room and stole it while I was in the infirmary!'

Pigg McKenzie leered at Olive. ‘It's
my
badge, Oxford,' he snorted. ‘A reward for being an exemplary Girl Guide.'

‘It is very true!' declared Mama. ‘Pigg McKenzie has knitted beanies for the homeless, read books to the blind and sung songs for the deaf. He is a very caring pig.'

‘It
does
sound impressive,' agreed Basil.

Olive sighed and sat down at the table. ‘My name is
Olive
, not Oxford.'

Hunger gnawed at her tummy, but most of the plates before her held nothing more than the
trace
of something delicious – biscuit crumbs, smears of stewed fruit, flakes of pastry. A tray of gingerbread men sat by Olive's elbow, but all of the heads had been bitten off, and
nobody
likes eating gingerbread men without heads. There was also an entire Black Forest cherry cake, but as she watched, Pigg McKenzie began to eat it with a spoon, straight from the serving plate.

‘Wonderful!' cooed Mama. ‘This pig has such a healthy appetite. He has eaten almost everything in the house and drunk all of today's milk.'

‘And the cream!' bragged the pig through a mouthful of cake. ‘Don't forget the jug of cream I sculled.'

Mama threw her head back and guffawed once more.

‘So, Baz,' snorted Pigg McKenzie. ‘Tell me about this time-travel caper. If we were to leave someone behind when we returned to Groves, would they be gone forever?' He spooned the last of the cake into his mouth and stared at Olive. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

‘Ha!' laughed Mama. ‘Leave someone behind in time. What a funny idea!'

But Olive did not see anything funny about it at all.

‘Good question,' said Basil, sitting down beside the pig. ‘If I were to leave someone behind in the Black Forest, in
my
time, I would always be able to come back and rescue them. This is where I belong and I can always,
always
find my way back to the very same place on the very same day as when I departed. I might have left at nine o'clock and then return at a quarter past eleven, but that is not so bad.'

‘Oh,' said the pig, his voice flat with disappointment.

‘And when I return one of my travelling companions to their
own
time, it is also easy. Their time
wants
them back. It is where they belong, so I can always find my way to the very same place on the very same day whence they departed.'

‘Oh,' said the pig, his shoulders slumping.

‘But,' Basil continued, ‘if I were to leave someone behind in a
completely different
place and time – Carlos and Hamish at the Great Wall of China in 200 BC, for instance – it might prove difficult to rescue them. I am still learning the tricks of the trade and I cannot always get back to
exactly
the same time, or
exactly
the same place. It could be rather awkward and even quite hazardous for the person left behind.'

Pigg McKenzie seemed enormously cheered by this information. He picked up the cake plate and licked it clean, leaned back in his chair and patted his rotund belly.

‘It is almost midday!' Papa announced, charging into the kitchen. ‘You must come and watch all the cuckoos chime. It is spectacular in the extreme.'

‘Oh, goody!' cried Olive, eager to see the clocks, but also glad to be free of a conversation that had, she felt, taken a rather nasty turn.

As they moved into the workshop, Papa pressed something into Olive's hand. ‘For you, because you are Basil's special little friend.'

Olive opened her fingers. There in her palm, no bigger than a pea, sat a carved wooden bird. It was painted yellow, pink and white, and despite being so very, very tiny, its wings could be moved up and down, its beak opened and closed.

‘Thank you,' whispered Olive, and she hugged the giant man around the waist, breathing in the smell of sawdust, paint and apple strudel.

Dong-cuckoo! Dong-cuckoo!

In an instant, the air was thick with the chiming of eighty-seven cuckoo clocks announcing midday. Olive clapped with glee.