Charlie and the War Against the Grannies (16 page)

‘That,' said Mr Norma Michaels, ‘is The Us at work.'

‘What else do The Us do?' I said.

‘We write rude words where only small children can see them. We place small plastic fairies on the top of no-parking signs. We pick letters off signs to make them say funny things. We smile and say hello to people who look like they're feeling sad or lonely. We make loud noises to stop people walking into lampposts. We leave shiny objects lying about where children can find them and take them home to put with their other treasures. We keep playground slides slippery. We give you the wrong directions so you end up somewhere much more interesting than where you were going in the first place. We leave pairs of dark blue men's underpants lying around in alleys.'

‘You do that?' I said. ‘Why do you do that?'

‘Because underpants are funny.'

‘That sounds like a really cool job,' I said.

‘It is NOT,' said Mr Norma Michaels. ‘It's an awful job. We used to get paid to deliver council newsletters and political pamphlets. Then those . . . what did you call them?'

‘Stinkly Wrinklys,' I said.

‘Then those Stinkly Wrinklys moved in and stole our jobs. We were forced to move underground. We were forced to steal and beg. The Us hate those Stinkly Wrinklys. WE WILL DO ANYTHING TO STOP THEM.'

‘Will you show us to their headquarters?' I said.

Phyllis escorted Hils and me out of The Us's office into an immense tunnel which led to the Stinkly Wrinklys' secret headquarters. This tunnel was perfectly circular. It looked like it had been made by a colossal carnivorous space-worm.

‘Phyllis,' I said. ‘You're The Us's receptionist, right? What else do you do?'

‘I protect The Us.'

‘Why?' I said.

‘They protected me.'

I really wanted to know how The Us had protected her and I really wanted to know why Phyllis was so big but I decided not to ask her. I thought it might upset her. I didn't want to upset the hugest person I had ever seen.

‘Phyllis, why are you so big?' I said.

Bum. Why couldn't I stop myself asking things I didn't want to ask?

Phyllis laughed. Well, I think she laughed. It sounded less like laughing and more like a whale burping into an erupting volcano.

‘I'm in training.'

That was not the answer I had expected.

‘Training for what?' said Hils. I don't think that was the answer she had expected either.

Though, Hils expects most things.

 

‘A competition called “World's Strongest Diva”.'

‘What's a diva?' I said.

‘A lady singer with a very bad temper,' said Hils.

‘Oh. Phyllis, what do you have to do to win World's Strongest Diva?' I said.

‘Have to lift up aeroplane with bare hands while singing a song.'

‘I would like to see that,' said Hils.

‘So would I,' I said.

‘I stop here.'

I realised that Phyllis
had
to stop. All the time we'd been walking, the tunnel had been getting smaller and smaller. Now it was so small Phyllis couldn't go any further.

‘Not far now. Straight ahead to end of this tunnel. Go down ladder. You will see another tunnel. Straight ahead down new tunnel. Go past retired rats home. Turn left at shop selling books with one important page missing. Climb ladder. Open secret tree trunk trap-door. See old, rusty shack. You are there.'

We went to the end of the tunnel.

We went down a ladder.

We found another tunnel.

We went straight ahead down that tunnel.

‘Hils. I just saw a rat sitting in an armchair smoking a pipe. That must be the retired rats home. We should stop and have a look.'

‘Negative. Our mission is time sensitive.'

That's the army way of saying, ‘We're not going to stop and look.'

We kept on going straight ahead down the other tunnel.

We turned left.

‘Hils. In that shop, there are lots of disappointed-looking people at the front counter complaining. That must be the shop selling books with one important page missing. We should stop. We really should.'

‘Negative.'

‘Awwwww,' I said.

Hils had already come to the ladder that Phyllis had told us to climb and was climbing it.

I followed her.

Hils and I climbed out of the secret tree-trunk trapdoor and were above ground again.

There, at the corner of two dark overgrown alleyways, in a part of town neither of us had ever been to before, was the Stinkly Wrinklys' secret HQ.

It was a tall, rectangular shack, covered in all different sized pieces of rusty corrugated iron. It looked like it would fall down any minute. Actually, it looked like it had already fallen down.

I tried the door.

‘It won't open,' I said.

Hils tried the door.

It opened.

I wished it hadn't.

‘I've got a very bad feeling about this, Hils.'

I did have a very bad feeling about this. I had a feeling like there was a bunch of concrete butterflies in my stomach that were trying to fly up into my throat.

Hils opened the door right up.

Inside the Stinkly Wrinklys' HQ it was pitch-black.

‘We can't go in.'

‘Why not?' said Hils.

‘Have you never watched any TV?'

‘I don't watch TV. It's useless.'

‘It is not useless. In fact, in situations like this it is very useful. If you watched TV you would know that if we walk into this pitch-black secret HQ, as soon as we are inside, the Stinkly Wrinklys will come back and we will be trapped.'

Hils walked straight into the pitch-black secret HQ.

I followed her.

‘Hils, why am I following you?'

‘Because we're brothers-in-arms.'

That's the army way of saying, ‘Because you want to be captured and tortured by the Stinkly Wrinklys.'

‘I've found the light switch,' said Hils.

‘Don't turn on the lights.'

Hils turned on the lights.

‘This doesn't look anything like the inside of a secret HQ should look,' I said to Hils. ‘It's cosy. Secret headquarters are never cosy. They're intimidating. They're shiny. They're full of robot soldiers who are willing to die for you. They are not cosy.'

‘Maintain radio silence,' said Hils. ‘Proceed with intelligence gathering.'

That's the army way of saying, ‘Be quiet, Charlie, and look around.'

I looked around.

It was even cosier than I thought.

There was a super-comfy-looking couch. The sort that you sink right into when you sit on it. The couch had hand-knitted blankets spread over the back and was covered in a tonne of cushions. Every single one of the tonne of cushions had a picture of a kitten embroidered on it.

 

Behind the couch was a wooden, Narnia-sized wardrobe which was probably full of dusty, smelly old fur coats.

Across from the couch were two recliner chairs. Next to each chair was a small table covered in all the things that Stinkly Wrinklys loved: unfinished knitting, a tissue box with a kitten on it, spectacles, hand cream, a glass of water, one of those tube things that you stick up your nose and sniff on really hard to get rid of snot, a photo of a grumpy-looking old man, a small radio and a magazine filled with stories about pregnant princesses. On the walls were paintings of fishing villages and lots of paintings of strange old-fashioned ladies wearing hats and holding ferrets. (In my secret HQ I will have only one painting: a vampire tiger holding a nuclear-powered guinea pig.)