Billy Angel (7 page)

‘Let's go and look in the window,' whispered Gaby.

But before we could move, Thelma shut the curtains.

‘Bother!' snapped Gaby. ‘How are we going to find out what she's doing now?'

‘Maybe we should just go home?' I said hopefully.

Gaby scowled at me. ‘You're such a wimp.'

‘Me?' I was taken aback – I thought I'd been pretty brave, all things considered. I suddenly felt cross. ‘Oh, shut up! Why don't you get back on your broomstick and buzz off.'

‘No, you buzz off,' snapped Gaby.

‘All right then, I will,' I hadn't meant to say it, but now I had, I sort of had to carry it through. So I stood up, wiped the mud off my jeans and stalked off. Really, Gaby was the most infuriating girl I'd ever had the misfortune
to meet. And if she wanted to spend her evening spying on Thelma Potts then that was her lookout. Personally, I was quite glad to be rid of them both. And my heart lifted at the thought that yes, I could actually just go home…

I was halfway over the wall when I suddenly felt a hand on my ankle.

‘Get off, Gaby!' I growled.

But it wasn't Gaby.

‘Hey, plumber boy. Where do you think you're going?'

I looked back, and was immediately blinded by the bright, white light.

‘I… er… well…' Actually, I didn't have an answer.

The hoodie-angel hauled me back into the garden. And I landed with a bump in a particularly nasty bramble bush.

‘That hurt!' I howled.

‘It was meant to,' the hoodie-angel sneered. ‘Now, what do you think you're doing legging it when Thelma is on the edge of oblivion?'

What a drama queen! I plucked a thorn out of my thigh and tried not to get cross.

‘Look,' I said, smiling as politely as I could. ‘Whatever Thelma's up to, there's nothing I can
do to stop her.' I shrugged. ‘It may have escaped your notice, but I am not Spiderman. Or Superman. Or any other bloke in silly tights you might have muddled me up with. I'm an eleven-year-old schoolboy…'

The hoodie-angel scowled. ‘Well, if you want to stay being an eleven-year-old schoolboy, you'd better start following orders – otherwise you'll be looking at a trip upstairs, permanently!' He pointed skywards and had an exceedingly menacing look on his face.

‘What?' I gasped. ‘But I don't want to go to Heaven. Not yet. I've got sinks to unblock, toilets to fix…' (
What
? What was I blethering about? I was completely losing it. I definitely had to ditch the tool bag at the earliest opportunity.)

The hoodie-angel was unmoved. ‘Well, you should have thought about that before you signed the contract…' He fished inside his pocket and withdrew a crumbled bit of white paper. ‘Look, it says here quite clearly: “Failure to comply with direct Heavenly orders will result in an Earthbound angel being reassigned to other duties, elsewhere, permanently”.'

‘But you didn't tell me that,' I squeaked.

‘You should always read the small print,' he chuckled. ‘Now, are you going to get in that shed and sort out Thelma Potts, or do I need to get heavy?'

I didn't really have much choice. I was caught between the wrath of Heaven and a zombie-making pie slasher. What would you have done?

I gathered up my tool bag and legged it to the other side of the garden, where Gaby was still hiding behind the compost heap totally oblivious to the menacing I'd just received from the feathered freak.

And that's when Thelma spotted me.

‘WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?'

I had almost reached the compost heap when she appeared at the shed door with a bucket and shovel in her hands.

I froze.

She looked like she was about to dig my grave.

‘YOU'RE TRESPASSING!' she yelled, and then suddenly she realised who I was. ‘YOU!' she gasped. ‘IT'S YOU AGAIN!'

And then she flew at me, swinging the shovel wildly around her head. She looked like a runaway helicopter with lethal chopper blades and a mad pilot. I shut my eyes and prepared for the end.

‘Don't touch him!' yelled Gaby, emerging from behind the compost heap. ‘He can't help it if he's madly in love with you.'

‘What?' Even in my state of abject terror, I still couldn't miss what she'd said.

‘
What
?' Even Thelma was shocked. ‘And who are you, anyway?'

‘Gaby,' said Gaby. ‘A friend of Billy's.' (What a liar!) ‘He's too shy to tell you himself, so he asked me to come along and speak for him. Look, he's even bought you a present.'

Gaby fished inside my coat pocket and pulled out the love-heart pencil sharpener she'd made me buy from her aunt's shop. (She'd obviously seen me stash it away before I left the shop. I could have kicked myself for keeping it.)

I tried to explain, but my mouth wouldn't work.

Thelma's eyes narrowed, as though she suspected a setup. ‘But he's just a kid,' she growled.

‘He may be a kid, but he'd do anything for you,' said Gaby. ‘Truly,
anything
.'

I didn't like the sound of that. Gradually I seemed to be regaining the power of speech – like a frozen leg of lamb that's started to thaw – but my tongue still didn't seem to fit in my mouth properly. I tried to deny all Gaby's rubbish, but my words just sort of came out in a slur.

‘See?' said Gaby. ‘That's the effect you have on him.'

Thelma put down her shovel, and suddenly clocked my tool bag.

‘Have you got any screwdrivers in there?'

I nodded dumbly. I had 28 screwdrivers – enough screwdrivers to fit any head, anywhere.

This news seemed to soften her slightly.

‘Well, I need to borrow one. But neither of you can breathe a word of this. If you do, I'll flatten you!'

And with that, we entered Thelma's world.

Thelma closed the door and – my heart sank – locked it.

‘Now, listen,' she growled, standing in front of the door with her arms folded. ‘I'm involved in a bit of an… um… experiment. It's a science project for school.'

I was happy to play along with the ‘science project' story, but Gaby wasn't.

She immediately pointed at a big book propped up on the table. ‘If I'm not very much mistaken, that's Macaverty and Lawson – a first edition, and I believe you're about to do some practical magic.'

I could have kicked her. As approaches go, that was even less subtle than my hoodie-angel's.

‘What?' Thelma gasped. ‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

Gaby smiled, a smug smile…

‘Don't worry, we won't tell, I'm a bit of a dabbler myself, if I'm honest.'

I knew it! I knew it! All that black eyeliner. And those silly, pointy boots. She probably has a broom down her back and a black cat in her handbag. Witches, I hate 'em!

Thelma was flummoxed, which was actually quite satisfying to see.

‘If you want, I can help you,' said Gaby. ‘I suspect you were on your way out to the compost heap to find worms.'

Thelma nodded uncertainly.

‘Well, how about I get the worms while Billy here wires up the skeleton – because I'm guessing that's what you had in mind for his screwdrivers.'

‘Yes,' whispered Thelma. ‘It needs to be put back together – it's in a bit of a mess…'

I gulped. I was pretty sure this wasn't what the hoodie-angel had in mind when he'd told me I had to help Thelma.

‘Only a couple of other things we need,' said Gaby cheerfully. ‘Have you got the base stock?'

The what
?

Gaby glanced at me and saw the bewilderment on my face. ‘Every spell needs a base. For this one, I think I'm right in saying that you squish 600 fish eyes through a strainer, then
simmer the liquid with newts' feet, and finally wrap it all up in pigs' hair, and roast for three hours.

Thelma's mouth opened, but no words came out. Instead, she reached into a basket on the table and took out a plastic tub.

Gaby smiled. ‘Good. The only other thing you need for a zombie spell is a tempter.'

‘A what?' Again I was lost.

‘Something to tempt the dead back to life.'

Thelma rummaged in the basket again, and produced a huge pie.

‘Perfect.' said Gabby. ‘I'm sure our zombie won't be able to resist.'

It was completely bonkers. But suddenly we were all very busy.

Thelma upended the trolley and Stan Spooner tumbled to the floor. I picked up his skull. Strangely, I didn't feel funny. It was like I was part of a play, and I was just acting the role of wizardy odd-job man.

I had a good look at the screws that had been drilled into the bottom of the skull. ‘I think I have a screwdriver that'll do the job,' I muttered.

Of course I did. My tool bag could probably have done the job for me.

‘Well, make sure you wire him up properly,' snapped Thelma, who was swiftly getting back to her old self. ‘I don't want any mess ups.'

‘What exactly are you planning to do with Mr Spooner?' asked Gaby, who'd returned with her bucket of worms.

‘How do you know who he is?' said Thelma, all suspicious again.

‘My cousin is a medical student,' said Gaby confidently. ‘And a few months ago, he gave me a tour of the anatomy library. I remember Mr Spooner's distinctively large jaw bone.'

It was clearly a total fib. But Thelma bought it.

‘Also,' went on Gaby, ‘when you produced that pie there, as the “tempter”, I knew I was right. A pie for Mr Pie,' she giggled.

Gaby was the oddest girl I'd ever met. After a bit, she stopped giggling and cocked her head to one side. ‘But one thing I'm intrigued to know is how you managed to get into the anatomy library to steal Stan. As I remember, it's usually locked up.'

Thelma smirked. ‘The hospital janitor is one of our best customers. You'd be amazed at how helpful people can be when you offer them
free pies. I just told him I wanted to become a doctor, and he was happy to give me a spare set of keys to the library so I could swat up for the medical-school entrance exams.'

Thelma looked at us closely for a moment, and then seemed to make a decision.

‘I suppose I should tell you what I'm planning, but I meant what I said earlier; if either of you breathe a word, I'll mince you!'

‘Cross my heart,' said Gaby smiling.

‘Er… me, too,' I muttered, as I scrabbled about in my tool bag (secretly wishing it would swallow me up).

Thelma sighed. ‘I need Stan Spooner to teach someone a lesson.'

Here we go, I thought. You need Stan Spooner to stick a pie cleaver into your exboyfriend's head.

‘There's a man I know called Charlie Pittam.' Thelma's lips tightened and she puffed up her enormous chest. ‘He made a fool out of me. Told me he loved me, when all along he just wanted free pies so he could get in training for tonight's pie-eating competition.'

Gaby nodded sympathetically, as though she'd had similar experiences.

‘Well, I decided that the only way to really get back at Charlie was to stop him from winning the competition.'

‘What?' I looked up. ‘You mean you're not planning to kill him?'

Thelma frowned, and then ignored me. ‘Charlie's a dead cert to win tonight. He's going to go for the pie record. Sixteen pies in ten minutes. And he'll do it – I've seen him eat 17 in a practice session. But there's one man who can match him.' She pointed at the pile of bones.

‘But he's dead,' I said. ‘Dead men don't win pie-eating competitions.'

‘They will tonight,' snapped Thelma. ‘He has to!'

Just then there was a crack of thunder from outside, and suddenly the sky opened up. Rain lashed against the window pane.

‘How appropriate,' I sighed.

Wiring a skeleton is not easy. Have you ever tried? Honestly, it's impossible. There are so many fiddly bits. But I was doing my best while Thelma and Gaby poured over their recipe book.

You know that old phrase about ‘too many cooks', well, I was starting to see the point. There they were, both squabbling over everything: who should say what; who should hold the pie… I was quite glad to be left alone with Stan. Though I was becoming increasingly worried that I seemed to have too many screws left over. I decided they must just be spares.

‘Are you done yet?' growled Thelma. (That was her being friendly.)

Seeing as Thelma wasn't actually planning to kill her ex-boyfriend, I'd decided it was probably OK for me to help her make her zombie. ‘All ready,' I said proudly.

‘He looks a bit odd,' said Thelma.

‘Yeah, sort of not quite right,' added Gaby.

I frowned. ‘Well, he has been dead for 60 odd years.'

I kicked the spare screws out of view.

‘Maybe he'll look better in his clothes?' said Gaby, hopefully.