Jane Blonde: Spies Trouble Page 3

  ‘Not at all,’ said Mr Rownigan, shaking Janey’s hand too. ‘Abraham Rownigan. Delighted. Love children.’ He shot a movie-star grin at Janey, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

  ‘Janey, Mr Rownigan called last night. He has a proposition about combining our businesses in some way.’ Jean Brown spoke in a little rush that made her sound rather out of breath, and she refused to catch Janey’s eye as she devoted all her attention to her potential new business partner.

  ‘Please, you must call me Abe,’ said Mr Rownigan. He swept his arm around the yard. ‘So, what do you think, Jean? Can’t you just see it now? A chain of my car washes, attached to teams of your cleaners vacuuming and polishing the insides, doing all the valeting. I’ve even thought of a name for it. How about this?’

  He whipped something out of his pocket. It was the size of a couple of handkerchiefs sewn together – in fact, realized Janey, it was a couple of handkerchiefs sewn together. On it, in marker pen, a few words had been scrawled.

  ‘“Abe ’n’ Jean’s Clean Machines”,’ read Jean. She laughed. ‘Well, it certainly has a ring to it. But it’s not really something I’d ever considered . . .’

  No, thought Janey, but then the Clean Jean Company had really been Janey’s idea, and not only had it made her mum much happier than she’d been in a long time, it had also meant they finally had some money. ‘You should talk to Uncle James about it, Mum,’ she suggested. Her mum’s brother was something boring in a bank and helped her mum to run the business.

  Abe shuffled sheepishly. ‘Well, look, I hope you won’t think it a terrible intrusion, but I did already have a word with your investors. I’m sure you’ll understand that I needed some investigation into a company I might go into partnership with. I only work with the best, and you’ve done so phenomenally well in such a short time.’

  Jean smoothed her overall self-consciously and smiled up at Abe, and Janey felt an odd emotion judder through her. In the embarrassed silence that followed, they all stared at the white car as it edged out of the car wash. There was certainly no rust on it any longer. In fact, the paint sparkled with such a glittering diamond glare that Janey had to shield her eyes a little. The chrome bumper gleamed, the windows were so clean they were practically invisible and the driver put on his sunglasses as bright sunlight bounced off the ice-white bonnet.

  ‘Blimey!’ said Janey. ‘That looks like a different car! Mum, if you got the insides as clean as the outside, you could make a fortune!’

  ‘Well, I can see you know what you’re doing, and I certainly don’t hate the idea, Mr Rownigan. Um . . . Abe,’ said Jean. ‘We’d have to go into it more thoroughly, of course.’

  Abe rubbed his hands together. ‘Right. Well, look, it’s just a suggestion, but how about you and I get together at, say, six tomorrow, and we can thrash through a few martinis. I mean, ideas.’

  Janey waited knowingly for her mother to refuse. Friday night was pizza night. The two of them always enjoyed kicking off their shoes, shoving in a DVD and munching on a Meat Feast with extra cheese. But suddenly . . .

  ‘That’s a great plan,’ said Jean, smiling.

  Janey and her mum climbed back in the van and drove jerkily back out on to the main road while Abe stood and waved them off. ‘Well, that went very well, don’t you think?’ said Jean, looking a bit flushed.

  Janey was silent for a moment. ‘Mum, have you . . . have you just agreed to go out on a date?’

  Jean let out a shrill laugh. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Janey! It’s business, that’s all. Purely business.’

  Let’s hope so, thought Janey. Her stomach seemed to flip. She couldn’t let her mum find a new partner. Apart from anything else, although Jean Brown didn’t know it, her husband – Janey’s dad – was still alive!

  french friends

  Paulette Solay clung to Alfie like bubblegum to the bottom of a desk, and Janey was finding it rather annoying. When she arrived at school she found Paulette and Alfie in close conference over last night’s homework, so she didn’t have any opportunity to tell him what had happened to Trouble. At break-time, Paulette bought chocolate bars for herself and Alfie and just about remembered to snap off a morsel for Janey. She couldn’t get a moment alone with Alfie, so in the end she resorted to puzzles.

  ‘Hey, Alfie, you know scat rhymes with cat?’ Janey said casually as they walked along to the dining hall at lunchtime.

  ‘Huh? Yes, it does. Well done. No, that’s the library, Paulette,’ said Alfie, steering the new girl away.

  ‘You know – scat, cat, rat,’ Janey prompted.

  ‘Oh, you like ze rats!’ Paulette sidled up beside them. ‘I don’t know why people have such a problem wiz zem. Zey are very intelligent animals, you know, and—’

  ‘Well, I don’t know much about them really,’ interrupted Janey. ‘It’s just that my friend likes rapping, and I was trying to think of something that rhymes with rat and cat, and maybe . . . um . . . drain.’

  Paulette regarded her with puzzlement, as if Janey had gone completely crazy. Alfie, though, was quick off the mark. ‘Train? Take the strain? Brain? Look, I’m just going in here, see you at lunch. No, Paulette, these are the boys’ toilets . . .’

  Janey shepherded Paulette to a table and got out her sandwiches. She would have much preferred what Paulette was having. First of all the French girl extracted a large croissant from her lunch box. It was filled with ham and melty cheese and some kind of chutney. Next she found a little circle of French bread, smeared with delicious-looking pâté. Finally she added a perfectly round, juicy peach and a couple of squares of nearly black chocolate to the pile.

  Janey drooled. ‘Is that what you have for lunch in France?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Paulette, frowning.

  ‘So did your mum pack your lunch,’ Janey asked, fiddling with her dull beef-paste sandwich, ‘or your dad?’ She was always intrigued to hear about other people’s families, having grown up without her dad around.

  ‘No, no. My mother is an international model, Venus Solay, and she is quite often on . . .’ow you say . . . a job? Non, non, it is, I zink, assignment. And Papa is in the diplomatic service. The cook gets my lunch. Oh look, ’ere is Alfie. Alfie!’ Paulette waved energetically across the hall. ‘You can sit ’ere!’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Alfie, blushing slightly. Everyone had turned to stare at them.

  This was impossible. Janey had to do something to get rid of Paulette for a moment. ‘Oh, look, Paulette,’ she said, ‘Alfie hasn’t got a drink. Would you like to get him some water from the fountain over there?’

  ‘Yes!’ cried Paulette and scampered off eagerly.

  Alfie sighed. ‘Bit much, huh?’

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Janey. ‘I found Trouble in the sewers last night. And while we were down there, someone emptied a swimming pool.’

  ‘Could be from Winton Baths. Or even a private pool? There are some round here.’

  Janey’s eyes widened in amazement as she grabbed her apple. ‘Really? Who would be rich enough to have their own pool?’

  ‘We ’ave a pool!’ beamed Paulette, putting a glass of water down in front of Alfie. She’d also got one for herself, Janey noticed. ‘Don’t you ’ave one?’

  ‘No,’ said Janey.

  ‘Perhaps you would like to see it, Alfie. Come tonight. And bring your mother!’

  ‘Erm . . .’ said Alfie. The lure of a private swimming pool was too much for him. ‘OK.’

  Nice one, Alfie, thought Janey, feeling completely left out. ‘I’ll ask my mum too,’ Janey said, although she seriously doubted that anyone cared whether she was there.

  ‘Oh! Of course,’ said Paulette, turning instantly back to Alfie.

  Janey fiddled with her sandwiches and listened to Paulette’s endless chatter. By the time their lunch hour was over, it was a relief to go back to the classroom and start working again.

  As it turned out, Jean was not able – or willing – to go anyway. ‘I’ve got that meeti
ng with Abe. Don’t want to be late. Sorry, Janey, that means I can’t take you over there, or pick you up. And the babysitter should be arriving any moment.’

  ‘Fine.’ Janey wasn’t even sure she really wanted to go to Paulette’s. At least now she had a good excuse. ‘I’ll be doing my homework in my room.’

  Janey shovelled down her casserole and went upstairs as soon as the babysitter arrived and her mother rushed out of the house in an outfit that was a bit too sparkly for a business meeting. It was time to catch up with G-Mamma. Janey pushed through the fireplace tunnel, but the Spylab seemed unusually quiet. ‘G-Mamma?’

  Her voice echoed off the Spylab walls. ‘Trouble? Here, Trubs.’ The room felt eerily empty without her SPI:KE or her cat. Janey wandered over to the computer bench and stopped short at the sight of G-Mamma’s big clear writing. Janey’s own name had been hastily scrawled in lilac nail varnish, with a big arrow pointing to the computer screen. Janey looked at the winking website, puzzled. ‘Sunny Jim’s Swims. Oh! The water park!’

  Did G-Mamma think the water in the drain had come from there? Perhaps she and Trouble had gone to take another look, although it was unusual for G-Mamma to rush off in such a hurry, or take Trouble on a mission with her. There was no time to waste. She left a quick message for Alfie on his phone, coded in case anyone was listening – ‘Hope you’re having a good swim at Paulette’s. I’m going for one myself at Sunny Jim’s Swims. My godmother’s there, so there’ll probably be trouble! You know how crazy she is. Anyway, see you later.’ She printed a map off the computer screen, then jumped into the Wower and let it work its magic, smoothing out her hair and her pointy elbows and knees and turning her into Sensational Spylet, Jane Blonde.

  As she was about to push open the Wower door, Janey paused. There was a sound – a footstep across the room, at the top of the spiral staircase. Someone had come in downstairs and was headed for the Spylab. It was someone with a light step – so certainly not G-Mamma.

  Thank goodness for Ultra-gogs, thought Janey. She sneaked a hand out of the Wower and flicked the light switch. The room plunged into darkness. Her Ultra-gogs switched instantly to night vision, but the figure continued its approach. Perhaps it was wearing Ultra-gogs too? In which case it had to be . . .

  ‘A spy!’ yelled Janey. ‘Aaaarghh!’ She reached back into the Wower, grabbed the shower head and turned its full pressure on to the approaching body.

  ‘It’s me, Janey! Turn it off! And stop bellowing!’

  With a gasp, Janey turned off the Wower and switched on the lights. Alfie stood before her in very wet jeans and a T-shirt and wearing, to Janey’s surprise, a large boxing glove on one hand. Water dripped off his flattened hair and down his nose.

  ‘Well, so much for me coming over here in my SPI gear, ready to help you. You just de-Wowed me!’

  ‘Sorry!’ Janey slammed the Wower shut and handed Alfie a towel. ‘I thought you must be a baddy.’

  Alfie glared. ‘You do know some good SPIs and Spylets, you know! Anyway. Look, I got your weird phone message on the way home from Paulette’s, so Mum brought me straight round. You’re going swimming tonight?’

  ‘No, listen. G-Mamma’s disappeared, and I think she’s at Sunny Jim’s Swims – that water park in Cranwell. Trouble may be with her. She left a message for me, so she must want me to follow her. I’ve got to hurry,’ said Janey, crossing to the computer. ‘Do you know how to work a Satispy?’

  Alfie paled. ‘Don’t be an idiot, Blonde. You’re not meant to use them yet. Solomon hasn’t given them the all-clear!’

  Janey typed furiously until finally the computer gave a beep and the word Satispy flashed in front of her. ‘Well, I’ve used one already, and it was fine. Look in that drawer, would you, and find the remote control. Ah, here we go. Footprint.’ She tapped in ‘Sunny Jim’s Swims’.

  Alfie was rifling through a drawer, shaking his head like a wet dog. ‘You must be mad. They’re still experimental. Oh, what a shame, there’s no remote control here.’

  Janey quickly finished her typing and peered over his shoulder. ‘Yes, there is. That’s it.’

  She whisked out of the house to the back of G-Mamma’s garden, pulling on her Girl-gauntlet, Alfie hot on her heels. ‘You stay here and sound the alarm if I’m not back by morning,’ she hissed.

  Alfie looked furious. ‘What am I – messenger boy? And anyway, Blonde, you can’t use that thing!’

  ‘I have to get to G-Mamma. Cover for me,’ was all Janey said as she lifted her thumb to press the remote control.

  But Alfie had no intention of standing back and watching his friend take her life in her hands – she could be walking into a trap . . . As Janey pressed the button he lunged forward and tried to wrestle the remote control out of her hand. For a moment he nearly succeeded, but Janey gripped it harder.

  ‘Yowwwwwwww!’ cried Alfie.

  Janey stared at her friend in horrified fascination as his body separated into a million tiny particles and streamed upwards towards the satellite dish that could transport them across the world. Alfie had been zapped into space by the Satispy and was now batting about the galaxy in bits before being reassembled back on Earth, hopefully at their desired destination. What Janey didn’t understand was how she could still see his eyeball so close by, when he’d obviously just been Satispied and his body was zinging through space. Unless . . .

  ‘Aaaaaaagrrhghghgh!’ yelled Janey and Alfie in unison.

  Janey’s voice sounded very far away. She’d been Satispied too. In fact, they’d been Satispied together. Both Janey and Alfie were whizzing through the atmosphere in a rivulet of cells. Zap! They hit the satellite, and Janey felt the crushing headache that meant they’d finished their upward journey and were now descending. She watched, fascinated, as Alfie started to reappear like a jigsaw before her eyes.

  They smacked into the ground and lay there, not daring to move until the shock of their journey subsided. After a while Janey lifted her head to check the Satispy had sent them to the right place. It certainly seemed to have done. The air was thick with the smell of chlorine, and they had narrowly avoided being set down on top of the viciously barbed golden gates. Janey stood and brushed herself off. At least they weren’t in a pool. They had touched down on the wrong side of the gates, next to the Coach-Stop Cafe, and a flagpole pointing out where the various water slides were.

  Alfie got to his feet, looking a bit green but grinning as if he’d just come off the best fairground ride ever. ‘Blonde, that was awesome!’ he said, then stopped in horror.

  Janey stared back at him. ‘Say something else,’ she said quietly; then she too clapped a hand over her mouth in shock.

  ‘Crikey, Alfie! Does this mean what I think it means?’

  Slowly, as if he could hardly bear to hear the noise coming out of his mouth, Alfie nodded. ‘I think we’ve swapped voices. Oh yuck. Oh yuck yuck yuck. I sound like a girl!’

  ‘That’s not the worst of it,’ said Janey in Alfie’s voice. It almost made her laugh, it sounded so peculiar. ‘Look at your right hand.’

  Alfie lifted the hand to his face and went white. ‘Girl-gauntlet?’ he squeaked. ‘I’m wearing your Girl-gauntlet! We’ve swapped hands too! Look, you’ve got my Boy-battler.’

  ‘I knew there was something funny going on when I just biffed myself in the face.’

  ‘I told you it was too early to use the Satispy, Blonde,’ piped Alfie furiously. ‘You’ve turned us into freaks!’

  It was true. Janey inspected her left hand. It was much bigger than normal, with thick, stubby fingers. She felt as if she had frying pans at the ends of her arms, and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t get the fingers to work. Her right hand was encased in a huge boxing glove, which just wobbled around on the end of Janey’s bony arm. Alfie looked equally ridiculous with a slender little hand protruding from one sleeve and a Girl-gauntlet sticking out of the other.

  ‘There’s not much we can do about it now,’ said Janey in her new, de
eper, sarcastic voice. ‘We’ve got to find G-Mamma. Let’s get over the gates.’

  Janey looked at the sign she could see gleaming above their heads – a vast, improbably golden sun beaming down from the top of a water slide on to some joyous children, with the slogan ‘Sunny Jim’s Swims – where Sun is King!’ ‘We’ll bounce over the top.’

  ‘I haven’t got my Fleet-feet on.’ They both looked at his dripping trainers, relieved to see that they hadn’t swapped feet as well as hands and voices.

  ‘Oh,’ said Janey gruffly. ‘Well, what do you suggest?’

  ‘Just give the gate a whack with my Boy-battler,’ said Alfie, crossing his arms sulkily. ‘I’d do it myself only you’ve got my hand.’

  Janey stared at the boxing glove. ‘OK,’ she said and swung her arm back. It felt weird, and she would far rather have been lasering a neat hole through the metal with her Girl-gauntlet, but the Boy-battler did the trick. As it made contact with the gates the glove quadrupled in size and stuck like glue to the metal surface. When Janey wriggled her hand around it stayed stuck, but on the second wriggle a disc of metal the size of a dustbin lid detached itself from the glove and dropped on to the concrete at her feet in a soggy mass. The glove immediately shrank back to its regular size.

  ‘Acid sacs,’ said Alfie in his odd high voice. ‘Works every time.’

  Janey had already jumped through the hole in a neat forward roll. Alfie clambered through after her, and together they looked around cautiously at the selection of toddler pools, spa baths and rippling water slides that winked inkily in the moonlight.

  ‘Anything?’ whispered Alfie.

  Janey shook her head. An odd silence, heavy with anticipation, mingled eerily with the gentle lap and hiss of the water.

  ‘There’s nobody here,’ Alfie said, splashing through the paddling pool. His words, in Janey’s voice, echoed around them. ‘We’ll have to think again.’

  Janey waded across the pool to join him. ‘It does seem pretty empty. Let’s check the offices.’

  But just then Janey heard a series of blood-curdling snarls behind her and realized her mistake.