Jane Blonde: Sensational Spylet Read online

  Grabbing the remains of her frog picture, Janey crawled into her own bedroom. As the panel closed behind her, she didn’t see G-Mamma’s eyebrows and mouth curve into a satisfied grin of approval.

  fleet-feet defeat

  Ever since the previous night, the feeling that she was missing something important had been thumping around Janey’s brain like a sock in a tumble dryer. It was impossible to concentrate, and Miss Rale noticed that Janey was unusually distracted. The teacher made her way over to Janey’s desk.

  ‘Janey, I can see something is on your mind. Why don’t you come and see me this lunchtime?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, Miss Rale, but thanks.’

  The teacher smiled, pointing at Janey’s blank exercise book. ‘OK. Well then, you’d better start your essay.’

  Janey grinned back guiltily, then reached for something to write with. Her fingers brushed against something unfamiliar in her bag. It was the pencil case Uncle Solomon had sent.

  Alfie Halliday leaned across the aisle between their desks. ‘Boring topic, huh? What I want to be when I grow up. Dull, dull, dull.’

  ‘Oh, and I suppose you think it should suit me down to the ground then?’ said Janey, glaring at him. ‘Boring old Janey Brown! Well, I’m not like that. OK?’

  For a long moment Alfie stared at her. ‘Chill out, Brown. You’d better learn how to keep your cool, you know. And I told you, I didn’t write those notes.’

  Pulling the chubby pen out of the pencil case, Janey shrugged. Alfie was right, it was a boring essay. And anyway, who would believe her if she wrote that she was going to be a spy? Like her parents. The class would die of laughter! She would have to make up something ordinary.

  Pen poised, Janey tried to copy the title neatly on to the page. It remained blank. Sighing, she tried again, but no matter how hard she pressed down, no ink came out of Uncle Solomon’s pen. Great. A present that didn’t even work. Janey was just about to throw it back in the pencil case when she noticed another, narrower nib at the other end of the pen. Turning the pen upside down, she pressed the new nib on to the paper, ready to start.

  Liquid, clear as tears, spilled out of the narrow nib and across the paper. Janey watched as the words she had tried to write appeared, illuminated one by one as the watery substance touched them. There was the title, bright as daylight: ‘What I’m going to be’.

  Janey’s mouth fell open. The pen held invisible ink and its antidote! It was probably a really common gadget, but Janey couldn’t wait to get home and try it out on the frog picture. Maybe there was a hidden message written on it.

  When the bell rang at noon, Janey did something she would never have considered before, because it wasn’t allowed – she went home for lunch. Feeling naughty, but more than a little excited, she picked the lock of the front door with a hairgrip, just as G-Mamma had shown her. Once inside, she fetched the now dry frog picture from under her mattress and sat at the kitchen table, grabbing the pencil case from her bag. She pointed the smaller nib at the drawing, took a deep breath and pressed down hard.

  The same clear liquid appeared, flowing from the pen across the page. Janey could hardly stop herself from shouting out – words were appearing, scribbled at an angle across the top of the page.

  Hi Brenda, cld you put this in ENVELOPE & send to Janey? Thx, Sol.

  Janey felt sick with disappointment. A hastily scrawled instruction from her uncle to his secretary was all she’d revealed. It was so innocent that Janey wondered why her uncle had bothered to write it in invisible ink. Perhaps he just liked to keep his secretary on her toes. She pressed and squirted all over the paper, but no other words appeared.

  ‘That can’t be it!’ she said.

  Just then Janey heard footsteps outside on the path. She dashed to the front door and peeked through the letter box. Her mum’s shoes were approaching, followed by another pair of sensible brown pumps. Janey squeaked – if her mum found her here she would be grounded forever, and no amount of SPI-buys or G-Mammas could ever save her.

  Janey pelted up the stairs just as the front door opened. She took the last few steps two at a time and managed to roll on to the landing just as her mother and her guest started taking their coats off.

  ‘Nice of you to pop round, Miss Lear. Can I get you some tea?’ asked Mrs Brown.

  Janey crawled, quiet as a mouse, into her bedroom and over to the fireplace. She tapped the wall, and the entrance to G-Mamma’s place began to open. Janey hurled herself into G-Mamma’s SPI-lab, calling out to her SPI:KE, ‘G-Mamma! Are you here? G-Mamma!’

  The only answer was a loud miaow from G-Mamma’s kitten, who was hiding somewhere, nowhere to be seen. Janey was just about to make her way to the spiral staircase in the far corner of the lab when she spotted something on the countertop. It was a pair of foot-shaped pads with thick treads, like the soles of trainers. Fleet-feet! Glancing at her watch, Janey could see that she had only a couple of minutes to get back to her classroom before afternoon registration. School was a good ten minutes away, even if she ran. She paused for just a moment before reaching a decision. Surely G-Mamma wouldn’t mind if she used the Fleet-feet for such a good cause? Holding the Fleet-feet against the soles of her black patent school shoes, left first and then right, Janey watched with amazement as the pads moulded themselves to the right size and shape, then swiftly became invisible. Her shoes looked no different from the way they had a moment ago, but Janey could feel a buzzing pins-and-needles sensation fizzing up through her feet and into her ankles. She skipped down the stairs, located G-Mamma’s front door and let herself out into the street.

  From the end of the road, Janey started to run. The feeling was incredible. Her tingling feet flew across the pavement, making her leap along in powerful, smooth strides that took her over three or four paving stones at a time. Realizing that she would draw attention to herself if she ran along the main road to school, Janey switched course and pelted along the quieter streets. Almost laughing aloud with the delight of being able to bound, gazelle-like, at the same speed as her mum’s car, Janey rushed past familiar landmarks until, in the wink of an eye, she found herself approaching the school gates. To slow herself down she grabbed at a railing, and then at another.

  But the Fleet-feet didn’t stop. Instead Janey ploughed through the gates, sprinting along at high speed. Fortunately the last children were already filtering back into the school building and didn’t notice her. Swerving hard, trying all the time to stop herself by digging her heels in and grabbing at bushes, Janey stumbled to the right and took off along the edge of the school grounds.

  Within a few moments she was belting through the little copse of trees in the furthest corner of the school grounds. Janey had the feeling her feet were controlling her rather than the other way round. Any minute now she’d be driven at full tilt into a tree trunk. Heart pounding, Janey realized that if she was squashed flat against some huge oak, like a bug on a windscreen, she probably wouldn’t even be found for days. Veering round tree trunks as best she could, Janey saw that the trees were getting closer and closer together.

  Then, with a shout of relief, Janey suddenly remembered what G-Mamma had said. On the next step she launched herself as high as possible into the air and, bringing both feet together, she drove them as hard as she could down on to the ground. There was a small thud like an exploding firework and Janey found herself sailing up through the air, straight into a tangle of branches overhead. She clung on miserably, looking down at the distant ground.

  ‘Help! Somebody help me!’ she cried pitifully. ‘I’m stuck!’

  There were so many twigs and branches sticking into her that she felt like a voodoo doll and, below, the long, long drop to the ground loomed endlessly. Just then, to Janey’s complete amazement, someone did appear: Freddie Lear. Again. Where on earth did he come from? thought Janey.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said breathlessly, as Freddie helped her down.

  Freddie looked at the smooth trunk of the tree, and then at t
he smooth soles of Janey’s shoes. ‘How did you get up there?’

  ‘Climbed up one tree, then jumped across and couldn’t get down.’ Janey didn’t know if this sounded plausible, but as there was no other explanation she hoped that he’d swallow it.

  Freddie looked down his small nose at her. ‘Good job I was nearby.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Janey. ‘Why aren’t you in school?’

  ‘I like it out here. And anyway, I don’t need school,’ he answered as fiercely as he could in his light voice. ‘I’m clever enough already.’

  There was no answer to that. ‘Hey, I think your sister was just having tea with my mum. Maybe they’re going to be friends.’

  Freddie grunted. ‘How would I know? I’ll give you some advice though, Janey, seeing as we’re getting so pally. I wouldn’t do any more tree-climbing, if you can’t even get down. I won’t always be around to help out, you know.’

  And with that Freddie pulled a nail file from his pocket and sawed at a snagged fingernail as he walked away. Janey grinned and ran back to school.

  By the time she finally reached the classroom, Janey was late. She was already stammering her apologies as she tumbled through the door.

  ‘Sorry, miss. I . . . I tried climbing a tree and I got stuck.’

  The whole class shouted with laughter, pointing past her at the teacher. Janey turned to look at Miss Rale, only to find an amused male teacher staring at her in mock disgust.

  ‘Well, I don’t have a problem with tree-climbing. I was a kid once, you know. But I do object to being called “miss”!’

  The class erupted again. Janey felt as though her regular nightmare was just about to happen for real: any minute now she’d look down to find she was wearing her pink tutu and she’d hear a piano limbering up for the national anthem. ‘I’m sorry, um, sir. I thought you were Miss . . . I mean, Miss Rale usually . . . I’m sorry.’

  The teacher took pity on her. ‘Miss Rale should be back in a day or two. Take your seat, please. And you lot, stop laughing. Let’s turn to page thirty-two, shall we?’

  the slippery slope

  As she walked out of the school gates that afternoon Janey was stopped in her tracks by a large hand on her shoulder. It was the headmistress. ‘Janey Brown, isn’t it?’

  Janey looked round, wide-eyed. ‘Yes, Mrs Halliday.’

  The headmistress smiled kindly, but Janey was horrified to see that, close up, her teeth were as sharp as knitting needles, gurning down at her like a craggy mountain range. Other than that, Mrs Halliday was like an older, female version of Alfie – tall, athletic, with thick chestnut hair and eyes like a spaniel. Janey hoped Alfie was going to take better care of his teeth than his mother evidently had. ‘I’ve just been checking up on a few things, Janey, and realized that you are new to Winton, just like Alfie and me. How are you settling in?’

  ‘Oh. Fine.’ Janey hoped that saying as little as possible would help her to avoid saying the wrong thing.

  Mrs Halliday put her hand back on Janey’s shoulder. ‘Oh, good. I was a little worried: Alfie seems to think you spend a lot of time on your own. Anyway, we “newies” need to stick together, don’t you think? Perhaps you and your mother would like to join us for tea sometime? Tomorrow, perhaps?’

  Janey couldn’t think of anything worse, but it seemed unwise to refuse the headmistress. ‘Oh. Thank you. I’ll ask my mum.’

  Beaming her scary smile, Mrs Halliday nodded. ‘Marvellous! Just let Alfie know if there’s a problem.’

  Janey nodded with a nervous grin and then ran out of the grounds. To her great relief her mother was leaning against her cheerful yellow car, waiting for her. Seeing Janey’s expression, she frowned. ‘What on earth is wrong? You look like you’re going to be sick!’

  ‘We’ve been invited to tea with the headmistress.’

  Her mother was amazed. ‘What? Is that usual?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. It’s because I . . . we’re new to the area. Like they are.’

  ‘Oh!’ replied Mrs Brown, strapping herself into the car and starting the engine. ‘How nice of them! Maybe you could make friends with the son – Alfie, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t want to! I don’t want to be his friend!’ yelled Janey, staring with wild eyes across the car from the passenger seat.

  Her mother stared back, stunned at Janey’s outburst. ‘All right, all right! You can choose your own friends, of course. Just thought he looked like a nice boy, that’s all.’

  Janey suspected he was more like the kind of boy who would put dead flies in scones instead of raisins, but she kept the thought to herself.

  Once at home, Janey considered knocking on G-Mamma’s door, but thought better of it when she saw how her mother scowled across the fence at their new neighbour’s house. Instead she dropped her school bag in the hall, planning to go through the fireplace. ‘Just going upstairs, Mum,’ she shouted.

  Glad that the Fleet-feet had stopped slamming her straight into large, stationary objects, Janey bounded up the stairs two at a time. But just as she reached the top, disaster struck. The grip on the Fleet-feet seemed to have disappeared completely, leaving the soles of Janey’s shoes like newly polished mirrors. As her right foot stretched out to connect with the carpet on the landing, her toes slid away from her, and shot so high into the air she almost kicked the lampshade. Wheeling over her head, Janey’s leg drove her body round in a clumsy somersault, and with a wallop she crunched on to the back of her neck and tumbled, curled like a hedgehog, all the way back down to the bottom of the stairs. She lay there in a bundle, too stunned even to cry.

  ‘Oh my life! Janey! What happened? Are you OK? Oh, say something, say something! Please don’t have broken your neck! Please don’t!’ Her mother fell to her knees, slapping Janey’s cheeks and waggling her head to and fro as she watched for signs of concussion in her daughter’s eyes.

  ‘Mum,’ croaked Janey, starting to cough. ‘Mum, stop it! I’m OK, I think. Anyway, I don’t think you’re meant to shake people’s heads if they’ve broken their necks.’

  ‘Oh, of course not! What am I doing? Sorry, darling, I just panicked when I heard all that crashing.’

  Janey checked her body mentally. Everything hurt, but nothing felt broken. Wincing, she pushed off her shoes.

  ‘It was probably those old school shoes,’ said her mother. ‘They’re so worn, the soles must be useless. I’ll get you a new pair soon. Miss Lear offered me some more cleaning at St Earl’s school today, so I should be able to afford it before too long. Let’s have a look at the culprits, shall we?’

  Mrs Brown grabbed at Janey’s feet. Janey tried to pull them away, but her mother’s grip was surprisingly steely. As her mum turned the shoes over, Janey held her breath and closed her eyes. What if the Fleet-feet pads came off in her mum’s hands?

  There was only silence. Janey opened one eye and looked down at her shoes, and was amazed to see that now they looked just like her normal, scuffed, dull-soled school sandals. She clambered to her feet and went carefully up the stairs before her mother could stop her. Sure enough, the Fleet-feet pads were lying side-by-side on the landing. Quickly picking them up and stuffing them in her pocket, Janey glanced round at her mum and noticed something else. But Mrs Brown had followed, and got to it first.

  ‘Oh, Janey! A wet bar of soap! I must have I’m so sorry! I nearly killed you. Imagine that, killing your own daughter with cleanliness!’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Mum. I’m all right.’

  And she was. Janey hadn’t even felt that familiar burning-nose sensation that told her tears were on the way. Right now, she just felt angry. How had G-Mamma managed to supply her with gadgets that had put her, twice in one day, into mortal danger?

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘Make you some hot, sweet tea. Sugar’s good for shock. If that whacko next door hasn’t taken it all, of course.’

  ‘I’d rather just go and have a sleep, Mum,’ said Janey.

  ‘Sleep?’ s
hrieked her mum. ‘You must be concussed!

  ‘No, I’m OK. Just a bit shaken. I’ll come down later though.’

  It took a few minutes to convince her mum that it really was all right for her to go and have a quick nap. As soon as she reached her bedroom, Janey stepped up to the fireplace, tapped sharply on the patch of wall – which she’d identified as being at two o’clock from the right-hand edge of the mantelpiece – and wriggled through the tunnel into G-Mamma’s. From her position at her makeup bench, G-Mamma looked at her with an air of surprised amusement.

  ‘So, Blonde-girl,’ beamed G-Mamma, stroking shocking-pink eye-dazzle on to her right eyelid, ‘managed to track down Solomon?’

  Janey paused, then spoke slowly, ignoring G-Mamma’s question. ‘G-Mamma, why, if you are who and what you say you are, would you try to KILL ME?’

  G-Mamma toppled from her tall stool and stumbled against the central lab bench. ‘Kill you? KILL YOU? Blonde, I am here to save your sorry behind, not kill you! What are you talking about?’ Her chins were wobbling furiously, and Janey realized with a shock that G-Mamma might be about to cry.

  ‘The Fleet-feet – I borrowed them earlier. First they tried to run me into a tree, and then they threw me from the landing all the way down the stairs. I could have broken my neck. Twice!’

  G-Mamma rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, the Fleet-feet! They were faulty, Janey. Faulty. I’d left them out to get them repaired or replaced. I’m always breaking the SPI-buys. Gets me into terrible diddly doo-doo. And they did it twice?’

  Janey nodded and threw the Fleet-feet pads on to the bench.

  ‘I’m a super-sized Solomon sausage. I shouldn’t have left them out. Sorry, Blonde-girl.’ G-Mamma pulled a soppy face.