Jane Blonde: Sensational Spylet Read online

  Janey could hear her mother on the landing above but was completely transfixed. She needed to know more. ‘My “spike”?’

  ‘S.P.I.K.E, Janey. Solomon’s Polificational Investigations: Kid Educator. You’re a Spylet now, a SPI-intraining. I’m going to teach you how to be an amazing spy. And I’ll look after you too, as much as I can.’

  ‘But tell me about my uncle Solomon’s secret. Why has he sent me a message? Who is Jane Blonde? Tell me—’

  ‘I’m coming,’ shouted Jean Brown down the stairs in a hide-and-seek voice.

  G-Mamma pinched the sallow cheeks on either side of Janey’s wide-open mouth. ‘No time now, girly. I’ll be back for you soon. Look after your mother.’

  And with surprising grace for a woman of her girth, G-Mamma flitted from the room and out into the darkness.

  That night, after Janey had lain awake for hours, her mind turning over every detail of what had happened that day, she swallowed her pride and crept to her mother’s room. The bedside light was still on and her mum was lying flat on her back, staring at the ceiling. She propped herself up on one elbow.

  ‘You can’t sleep either?’

  ‘I keep thinking about everything G-Mamma said.’

  Mrs Brown sniffed. ‘I keep thinking about your dad too. I wish I could remember him better.’

  Janey nodded. ‘Me too, Mum. And what about Uncle Solomon? Why it is you never got to meet him? Wasn’t he even at your wedding?’

  ‘I honestly don’t remember, Janey.’ With an almighty heave of her shoulders that made the duvet rise and fall, Janey’s mum let out a sigh. ‘The wedding is so blurry. But I think your Uncle Sol was a foreign aid worker in Ethiopia when I married your dad. He couldn’t just drop everything and rush back. And then, when your dad was killed . . . I’ve tried, Janey. Over the years, I really have tried to make contact with Solomon. I just don’t think he’s interested in being tied to the past. He sends you the odd present, yes. But I expect he’s not really used to children and families and doesn’t quite know what to make of it all. I’m so sorry.’

  Janey smiled as her mum dropped a kiss on to her forehead. ‘That’s OK, Mum. I feel better now we’ve talked about it. I’ll go back to my room now.’

  ‘All right, darling.’ Her mother yawned, clearly feeling better too. ‘Goodnight.’

  Janey scampered back to her room. Her mum’s words certainly had made her feel much better, because they’d reminded her of something G-Mamma had said. Ferreting under her bed, Janey hauled out a battered cardboard box which had held her very first school shoes.

  ‘Bingo!’

  As she removed the lid, her eyes fell upon the few precious but pretty ordinary gifts Uncle Solomon had sent her over the years. There was a bottle of perfume that her mother had squirted over the pair of them, before babbling on about how it was much too old for Janey, and howling with laughter at just how silly men like Sol could be. Janey had nearly had to chuck cold water over her mum, she’d gone on and on for so long. The next year Uncle Solomon had done better, sending Janey a set of glittery hairslides shaped like rocketships. Then there was a pencil case, shaped like a very large pencil, which had a fat, slug-shaped pen inside. The most recent present was a short metal ruler. Janey couldn’t imagine how these gifts could be useful for SPI work, but if G-Mamma was for real – and Janey was starting to believe she was – then perhaps the presents were gadgets!

  Janey’s favourite gift from her uncle had arrived when she was very small. It was her first-ever book of dingbats and puzzles. Janey now pulled it out from beneath all the other gifts and spread it open on her lap.

  ‘“Top heavy!”’ she shouted excitedly at a picture of a box with the word ‘heavy’ floating just below the highest line. ‘“Fading away! . . . Get around to it!” What’s this one . . . ? Oh, I know – “It’s a small world”!’

  As she gazed at the tiny word ‘world’ on the page, it dawned on her that it was Uncle Solomon who had sparked off her addiction for solving puzzles. Maybe that made more sense now, if what G-Mamma said was true. Perhaps he’d sort of been training her, without anyone even realizing. Janey looked at the dingbat that Uncle Solomon had created himself on the inside cover of the book. It was written in unusual bronze ink.

  It was the only dingbat that Janey had never been able to work out. Lots of Us? Many of U? And the little pony – what did that mean? Had Uncle Sol been trying to tell her something? Janey wanted more than anything to believe what G-Mamma had told her – that her uncle was trying to get a message to her. That she, Janey Brown, could be about to embark on something truly important.

  ‘The letter!’ Janey cried as she suddenly remembered it. ‘Uncle Sol’s letter!’

  Grabbing her presents, Janey crept downstairs to the kitchen. Her school bag was still under the table, where she’d kicked it when they came in earlier with G-Mamma. Janey flicked on the kitchen light and delved between her homework books. Nothing. She picked the books up and shook each one upside down, like she did with birthday cards in the hope that some money would drop out. This time, though, she was looking something much, much more important than money.

  Hadn’t she, that very morning, received a letter from Uncle Solomon? A message from her uncle, just as G-Mamma had said.

  And now it was gone.

  Janey felt a hot, angry surge of indignation in her veins. The old Janey would have been upset that she’d lost a prized letter from one of her only relatives. After she had sobbed a little and sulked a little more, she would have got over it. But since G-Mamma had turned up at the school gates, Janey Brown was starting to feel a whole lot stronger. She’d seen those Sinerlesse men up on the roof with her very own eyes, and she’d helped her mum escape. Something deadly serious was happening to her and there were two people that Janey had to rely on now: G-Mamma – and herself. ‘I don’t know who’s got that letter, or where it is,’ Janey promised her pencil case as she shoved it into her bag, ‘but I’m getting it back. Tomorrow people are going to see a different side to Janey Brown.’

  binned

  Once she got to school, the conviction and strength Janey had felt the previous night dripped out of her like water from a leaky tap. She had massive plasters on her knees, and her face was a cyclone of colours from socking herself in the eye during the tussle with the postman. The Cool Police would have every right to nee-naw up to her and spirit her away. Head down, she scanned the ground for her letter. Had someone stolen it? No. She must have lost it somewhere. Dejected, she trudged past the crowds of happy schoolchildren and made her way straight into the classroom. The sooner she got those legs under a desk the better.

  Janey was sitting quietly, wondering how she was supposed to contact G-Mamma about the letter from Uncle Sol, when she realized with a shock that someone was in the room with her. She looked up to see her teacher, Miss Rale.

  ‘Oh, Janey! I didn’t think anyone was in here! Why aren’t you out enjoying the sunshine before you get stuck in here all day?’

  ‘I wanted some time to think, miss. It’s all right, isn’t it?’

  The teacher walked to Janey’s desk and bent down beside it. ‘Well, it’s not really allowed, Janey, but seeing as it’s you I won’t say anything. Just don’t make a habit of it. What was it you wanted to think about? Can I help?’

  Hesitating, Janey looked at Miss Rale. The young woman’s eyes were round and expectant. She looked so kind and understanding that Janey suddenly felt like telling her everything.

  ‘It all sounds a bit mad, miss,’ she started.

  ‘Don’t worry. You can tell me anything you like, Janey.’

  Janey felt as though she was bursting with the enormity of her secret. Her mum had been brain-wiped, so she thought it was all invented, and Janey had no friends to talk it through with. Even G-Mamma had disappeared without telling Janey how she could contact her. More than anything, Janey wanted someone to talk to.

  ‘Well, the thing is, yesterday . . .’

  But j
ust as she was about to blurt everything out, the other pupils, led by Alfie, coursed into the classroom, chattering loudly and slamming desks. Sighing, Miss Rale leaned forward and whispered in Janey’s ear, ‘Come and talk to me later, when it’s a bit quieter.’

  She patted Janey’s hand and walked back to the front of the room, calling for the class to calm down. Nearly all of them tucked their bags under the desk or grabbed their pencils or turned to face the front. Only Alfie Halliday seemed to have noticed that Janey and the teacher had been chatting, and he scowled at her with such aggression that Janey blinked in surprise. But soon anything other than school matters was pushed out of the way until lunchtime.

  Janey picked up her lunchbox. Ketchup sarnies, no doubt. As she pushed her way through to claim her normal lonely spot at the back of the dining hall, Janey felt a hand on her arm.

  ‘You and teacher were looking very cosy there, Brown!’ said Alfie casually.

  Janey shrugged. ‘She just wanted to know how I was settling in.’

  ‘Oh?’ muttered Alfie. ‘And what did you tell her?’

  Janey felt a little surge of heat in her chest and for once looked Alfie straight in the face. ‘I . . . I told her the other pupils are awful, and nobody’s friendly like at my last school. I told her about the nasty notes. And . . . and I said I thought it was probably you writing them!’

  Alfie’s jaw dropped. ‘Me? Why would I do that? You’re nuts, Brown.’

  ‘Well, who is it then?’ Janey tried to glare back at him even though she could feel tears gathering behind her eyes.

  Alfie shook his head. ‘I dunno. You should forget it. Why don’t you just chuck the notes in the rubbish if they bother you so much?’

  ‘I’m going to have my lunch,’ said Janey abruptly. She shoved past Alfie and ran out of the hall, her face hot with embarrassment. She needed some fresh air.

  And besides, something Alfie had said had made her think.

  If she’d dropped the letter in the playground yesterday then it might have blown away. But there was a good chance that the cleaners would have swept it up at the end of the day and put it into the rubbish bins.

  Looking round to check that nobody was paying her any attention, Janey made her way furtively around the edge of the school building until she reached the four massive steel bins at the back of the kitchens. She found two old paint tins nearby and stacked them one on top of the other, then stepped gingerly on to the top, clinging to the edge of the nearest bin to steady herself.

  The stench was disgusting: festering school dinners mingled with rotting grass from the recently mown playing field. Reaching out a hand, Janey steeled herself to move aside a small quagmire of disintegrating sprouts. It looked like a cowpat, and smelt even worse.

  ‘Gross. Even my sandwiches are better than that!’ Janey held her nose and was just about to plunge her hand into the revolting bin when a wonderful thought occurred to her. She was looking for a letter, an envelope. Envelopes were made of paper, and paper went into a different bin, ready for recycling. Lucky I go to such a ‘green’ school, thought Janey.

  She moved her paint-can stepladder round to all the other bins until she found the paper one, hoisted herself over the edge and slithered head first into an avalanche of paper. She felt completely ridiculous. Anyone in a helicopter would be able to see her underwear. In fact, that’s all they’d see – a set of knobbly, wriggling knees and her faded pink knickers bearing a motif saying ‘Thanks for Thursdays!’.

  Not even the right day, Janey thought, trying to right herself. Should be my ‘Wonderful Wednesdays!’ ones. Good job there’s nobody here!

  Just then the bin swayed, and her heart crashed. There was somebody there! Janey slithered down to the bottom, trying to find something to hang on to, but the paper came away in her hands as she grabbed at the metal sides. Then the bin tipped and swung back with such violence that the next thing Janey knew, she was lying on the gravel in a landslide of paper, with a small, angry face glowering at her.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing in my bin?’ yelled the face.

  ‘Wh-wha . . .’ Janey sat up and the face came into focus. It was the boy she’d bumped into the day before. The slight, delicate features and the cropped, ice-white hair were instantly recognizable. He was wearing his too-short grey trousers again, with a matching jumper and a St Earl’s school badge.

  ‘You heard! What are you doing in my bin?’ the boy squeaked, shoving his nose closer to Janey’s. He cleared his throat quickly.

  ‘Your bin?’

  ‘Yeah,’ the boy continued gruffly. ‘My family’s in charge of all the cleaning here, and I do the bins in my lunch hour. Nobody messes with my bins, OK?’

  Janey held back a smile. ‘It’s OK, I understand. My mum’s a cleaner too.’

  The boy’s lip curled, displaying small, even, ice-white teeth. ‘Yeah. I worked that out for myself. Your mum works for my sister.’

  ‘I . . . Does she?’ stammered Janey. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Freddie. Freddie Lear. My family owns the company your mum works for – St Earl’s Sanitation and Security Enterprises. Miss Lear – your mum’s boss – she’s my sister.

  ‘Oh right. My mum’s mentioned her. I’m Janey. Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Course it is. So I suppose you’re grovelling around in my bin for a reason. Looking for this?’

  Janey stared in amazement as Freddie held up her letter from Uncle Solomon. ‘That’s mine!’

  ‘That’s what I said.’ Freddie handed Janey the envelope. ‘Found it when I was sorting the bins earlier. Looks like it got a bit slimy in all that muck.’

  ‘Thanks!’ Janey stared at the slightly gooey envelope and then back at Freddie, who had thrust his hands into his pockets. He shrugged.

  ‘S’all right. See ya.’

  Freddie leaped on to a small silver bike leaning against one of the other bins and rode away without a backwards glance. Getting to her feet, Janey discovered that she was now covered in glue and clumps of old glitter. There was also a nasty aroma of damp paper clinging to her, but she couldn’t care less. She’d found what she was looking for! Pushing her uncle’s letter inside her jumper, Janey scudded around the building back towards the main doors of the school.

  Unfortunately the Class Superstar and his crew were just inside. Wrinkling his nose, Alfie cocked his head to one side. ‘Why were you meeting that weirdo at the bins, Brown? Boyfriend, is he?’

  ‘I . . . I had to get something. Freddie was helping me. He works in the bins.’

  ‘Hmm. Freddie Lear – Bin Boy. His family must be so proud of him,’ said Alfie. ‘I hope whatever you wanted was worth smelling like a tramp for the rest of the day.’

  Alfie looked with interest at her empty hands. Quickly Janey slapped her hand against her stomach, but she was not fast enough. With lightning reactions, Alfie stepped across, pulled up the bottom of her jumper and yanked the envelope out of its hiding place.

  ‘Oh, a love letter. From Lear? No wonder you had to get it back. Let’s see, shall we?’

  Alfie ripped across the top of the envelope, twitching it out of the way as Janey tried to grab it back. His fingers pulled out a single sheet of paper, and he gazed at it for a moment before letting out a short laugh.

  ‘Well, that’s great. A picture of a frog.’

  Alfie handed the piece of paper back to Janey. She looked down at it, her heart beating heavily. Janey turned it over and scanned the edges, holding it up to the light, searching for some writing. But Alfie was right. It was just a plain, dumb picture – a simple line drawing of a rather bored and insignificant-looking frog.

  Just then Miss Rale called to them to start making their way back to the classroom. Janey put the frog picture back in her bag and walked slowly along behind Alfie and his gang. She wondered how she would get through the afternoon, reeking of bins and aching with disappointment.

  becoming blonde

  ‘I did tell you, Janey,’ said her mother
gently. ‘I don’t think Solomon knows very much about girls. Not that a boy would find a bad drawing of a frog interesting . . . I bet Uncle Solomon’s never even heard of most of the things you’re into.’

  After showing her mum the picture, Janey had hidden the gooey envelope under her mattress so she could study the frog later. Now she was in her dressing gown, while her school clothes flipped over and over in the washing machine being purged of their smelly, slimy bits.

  Janey sighed. ‘He sent me good presents before!’

  ‘Well, yes, but maybe that was just luck,’ her mother continued. ‘Can we just agree that Uncle Solomon is likely to be a huge disappointment, and leave it at that?’

  ‘I was very disappointed today,’ admitted Janey. ‘I don’t know what I expected,’ she went on, ‘but I thought he might at least have something to say. I mean—’

  Janey was interrupted by the doorbell. On the way to the front door, her mother hugged her. ‘Let me just get this and we can sit and have a natter.’

  Janey took a sip of her hot chocolate, but almost spat it out again when she heard her mother’s sharp voice.

  ‘You can’t seriously want more!’

  Footsteps clattered down the hallway into the kitchen, and Janey looked up to see her mother standing there with G-Mamma.

  ‘Hi, honey-child!’ beamed G-Mamma. ‘I just popped round to ask your lovely – well, formerly lovely – mother if I could borrow some sugar.’

  With a decided air of discontent Mrs Brown foraged in a cupboard. Finally, she thrust an unopened bag of granulated at G-Mamma.

  ‘There. Even you should be able to keep going on that for a few days. Though why you had to come all the way over here just to get sugar, I do not know.’

  G-Mamma’s thin, arched eyebrows rose towards her curls. ‘But I thought that’s what neighbours did?’

  ‘Neighbours?’ shouted Janey and her mother at the same time.

  Beaming, G-Mamma stretched out her hand to Janey. ‘Yes indeedy, Blonde-girl. I am your new next-door neighbour. Bought the house from the lovely Mr Harris just last night.’