Previously: An unusual stranger has shaken up the neighbourhood. Gladys, Elsie, Minnie, Daphne and schoolboy, Cyril, have all witnessed the exotic man. Now Mr Johnson’s niece, Sally, wonders what the stranger had been doing in her uncle’s garden.
Sally O’Connor didn’t like visiting Uncle Trevor’s house. It was boring, except when he read stories to her. He had a collection of World War Two spy stories that Sally was sure her mum wouldn’t approve of, and that made them even more exciting. But, of course, he never read those to her when Mum was there.
Uncle Trevor was Mum’s brother, and the two were nothing alike. He was secretive and sometimes vague, although Sally suspected he was smarter than he looked – a bit like a spy, really. Sally’s dad had described him as a schemer and chancer, but Sally wasn’t sure what he meant, although it was plain Dad didn’t like him.
‘Nonsense,’ Mum had said when she’d heard Dad’s description of Uncle Trevor. But then Mum saw the best in everyone.
And now, a reluctant Sally had been left at Uncle Trevor’s house while Mum had gone to the local college to teach her IT evening class. It was Sally’s fault. The previous week, she’d gone to the college with Mum, and had been waiting in a classroom with Mum’s friend while she was marking students’ work. Instead of waiting in the classroom as she’d been told, Sally had claimed she needed the Ladies and had set off, looking for the room where Mum was teaching. She’d intended to catch her mother’s eye through the window in the door and ask for some money so she could buy a snack in the canteen.
However, after twenty minutes of searching, Sally had begun to despair of finding Mum before her lesson ended, and worse, after wandering up and down corridors, she’d feared she’d never retrace her steps to the classroom where Mum’s friend would be waiting.
Finally, at the end of a long corridor, she found a windowless door and wondering if her mother was in that room, she’d opened it a crack and peeped. That had been a mistake. She’d accidentally blundered into the life drawing class and when she saw the enormous, elderly, nude gentleman on the chair in the middle of the room, she hadn’t been able to help herself. She’d laughed and laughed. The man had reminded her of a white chocolate Walnut Whip with stubby arms and legs.
On the way home, Mum had told her she’d been so embarrassed at Sally’s poor behaviour, in future, when she taught her class, Sally would have to stay at her uncle’s house. The word ‘babysitting’ hadn’t been mentioned, but that’s what it amounted to. It was humiliating.
Unfortunately, Uncle Trevor had recently become interested in gardening and had stopped reading spy stories to her. Sally stifled yawn. What was interesting about gardening? Plants grew all on their own. They didn’t need any help.
Even worse, a short while ago, Uncle Trevor had told her he was expecting a phone call, and that she should go into the garden and play.
Play? She was eleven years old. What could she possibly play on her own? Even Horatio had deserted her. Not that she liked cats, but if he’d been there, he might have amused her for a while. She sighed and checked her watch. Another hour to go till Mum picked her up.
Something rustled in the next-door garden, and she wondered if it was Horatio returning. However, a voice filtered through the fence. A young voice. It could only be the boy next-door. She’d never met him, but she’d seen him from her uncle’s upstairs window, creeping about in the garden, while looking over his shoulder as if he thought someone was there. He looked weird, but even so, she’d ignore that if he’d hang out with her and make the time pass faster.
She hesitated. If the boy was talking, perhaps he had a friend over, although she couldn’t hear another voice. Maybe he was talking to Horatio. That gave her a good excuse to find out. She stealthily fetched a chair from the patio and placing it next to the fence she climbed on it and looked over – just like a spy.
Below, the boy was sitting on his heels behind a bush. He was holding a garden gnome around the waist with one hand and jabbing it towards a small paper bag that lay on the earth in front of him. With his other hand, he took what looked like sweets from the bag and crammed them into his mouth, between keeping up a commentary – all the while looking at the bush.
‘Look at that, ladies and gents. Our pointy-hatted hero, Gnomey McGnomeface makes another bold move, throwing a punch at a bunch of Star Destroyer Space Frisbees. How brave is that? But the fleet of Space Frisbees hasn’t flown all the way across the universe to back down now…’ The boy thrust his fist into the bag and grabbed a handful of sweets. He stabbed at the air around the gnome with them, making whooshing noises, then crammed those into his mouth. The commentary stopped while he chewed, although he still appeared to take an unusual interest in the bush.
Sally wondered if Horatio was behind the shrub, but if he was, he remained remarkably still, which was strange with the battle sounds the boy was making because Horatio wasn’t very brave.
Anyway, what was the boy doing? There was only one way to find out.
‘Hello,’ she said.
The result was explosive. The boy yelped, jumped backwards, dropped the gnome and several sweets. He looked up, blinking. ‘Wh…who are you?’
‘Sally O’Connor. And who are you?’
The boy picked up the gnome and scowled at her. ‘Well, Sallio, why don’t you clear off? I’m Cyril Stibthorpe and this is my garden. You’re trespassing.’
‘I’m not trespassing. I’m not in your garden. And my name’s Sally not Sallio.’
‘No, you definitely said, your name’s Sallio. I heard you.’
‘It’s Sally O’Connor. Not Sallio Connor.’
‘That’s what I said.’ Cyril shrugged and looked at her pityingly, as if she didn’t know her own name. ‘Anyway, why were you spying on me?’
‘I wasn’t spying. If I’d been spying, I wouldn’t have said anything, because that’s the idea of spying. You don’t tell people you’re there. I know that because my uncle reads me spy stories.’
‘All right, chill out, Sallio.’ Cyril glowered at her. ‘So, what are you doing there?’
‘Looking for Horatio.’
‘Sorry, he’s not here,’ Cyril said as if dismissing her. Then he turned to the bush. ‘I haven’t seen him, have you, Roger?’
Sally glared at Cyril. ‘If I’d seen him, I wouldn’t be asking you, would I? And my name’s Sally, not Roger. Can’t you remember people’s names?’
‘I wasn’t talking to you.’ Cyril slapped a hand over his mouth.
‘Who were you talking to? Is there someone hiding behind that bush?’
Cyril’s cheeks flushed crimson. ‘No. Now, why don’t you mind your own business?’
‘You were talking to the bush, weren’t you?’
‘No, I wasn’t.’ Cyril blushed again.
‘I’ve been watching you for a while, and that’s definitely what you were doing. I’ve never met a boy who talks to bushes.’
‘I don’t talk to bushes.’ Cyril’s voice rose in pitch. ‘If you must know, I’m talking to Roger.’
‘Who’s Roger?’
‘No one.’ Cyril mumbled.
Sally suddenly realised. ‘Oh, I see. You’ve got an imaginary friend. That’s it, isn’t it?’
‘Yes… No… None of your business.’
‘I had an imaginary friend,’ Sally said.
‘Did you?’ Cyril looked up with interest.
‘Yes, but I grew out of her by the time I was four. I’m eleven now. How old are you?’
‘Almost eleven,’ Cyril said. ‘And I don’t have an imaginary friend.’ He looked apologetically towards the bush.
‘So, what does Roger look like?’ Sally was familiar with interrogation tactics from her uncle’s espionage books.
‘Well, he’s about my height with blonde hair…’ Cyril paused realising he’d been tricked. ‘That is, he would be, if I had an imaginary friend. Which I don’t. What do you want anyway?’
‘I told you. I’m looking for Horatio.’
‘He’s not here, so push off,’ Cyril said.
What a rude boy.
‘But I’m bored,’ Sally said. ‘I’m looking for something to do.’
‘Well, go and be bored somewhere else. I’m busy.’
‘What are you doing anyway?’
‘If you must know, I’m having a battle. Gnomey McGnomeface against the fleet of Star Destroyer Space Frisbees.’
‘What are Space Frisbees?’
Cyril held out the bag to show her. They looked like chocolate buttons with sprinkles on the top. ‘If you must know, they’re chocolate Jazzies.’
‘So, you’re having a play battle?’
Cyril’s eyes narrowed. ‘No, I’m having a real battle.’
‘Right,’ said Sally slowly. ‘So, who d’you think is going to win?’
‘Gnomey McGnomeface, obviously,’ Cyril said. ‘Roger thought… I mean a friend of mine thought the Space Frisbees would win, but what would he know? He usually backs the wrong side.’
‘And do you always eat the loser?’
Cyril shrugged.
‘Would you have eaten Gnomey McGnomeface if he’d lost?’
Cyril snorted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t eat garden gnomes.’
‘So, if you always eat the loser, why doesn’t Roger work out who’s going to win?’
‘Shut up. It’s none of your business.’
Cyril looked away as if he’d dismissed her. She still had ages until Mum came, so how could she keep the boy talking? Then she had it. ‘How d’you feel about Walnut Whips?’
Cyril tilted his head to one side, surveying her. ‘In what way?’ His eyebrows shot up. ‘You haven’t got any, have you?’
Sally shook her head. ‘No, but I got into trouble the other day because of a Walnut Whip, and I wouldn’t mind seeing one come off second best.’
‘D’you want me to set up a fight?’ Cyril’s eyes lit up. ‘Gnomey McGnomeface versus Walnut Whip, playing the part of the Beehive of Doom filled with assassin bees.’
Sally considered. ‘That depends on who gets to eat the Walnut Whip.’
‘As the fight organiser, that’ll be me. You can have the walnut off the top if you want. I don’t like them.’
‘No, don’t worry, I can fight my own battles. And anyway, I prefer the idea of secret missions and sabotage rather than all-out warfare. Uncle Trevor says it was the spies, secret agents and saboteurs who helped win the Second World War.’
Cyril narrowed his eyes as he contemplated her. ‘I like your style, Sallio.’ He turned to the bush. ‘What d’you think, Roger?’ he whispered.
After pausing, he nodded and grunted. ‘Spying and sabotage is okay, but it’s a long game. Me and Rog prefer… I mean, I prefer a fair fight, no holds barred and a clear winner.’
‘Is that so you can eat the loser?’
Cyril shrugged. ‘How did a Walnut Whip get you in trouble anyway?’
Sally explained about the enormous, ancient, nude male model and Cyril laughed.
‘There was a nude man in your uncle’s garden a little while ago.’ Cyril turned to the bush and appeared to be listening to it, then said, ‘No, he didn’t look like a Walnut Whip, you’re right, Rog… More like a creepy witch doctor.’
Sally’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Really? What was he doing?’
‘Dancing, wailing. You know, the usual witch doctor stuff.’
‘Why was he doing that?’
‘How should I know? He was in your uncle’s garden. I thought you’d know. Anyway, me and Rog… I mean I’ve got a fight to finish. Bye, Sallio.’ He turned back to Gnomey McGnomeface and the Space Frisbees.
Sally sniffed her disapproval and climbed down off the chair. She supposed she could have stayed to watch the fight – Cyril couldn’t have stopped her – but she’d seen enough. And more importantly, she was burning to know why a naked man had been in her uncle’s garden. As far as she knew, her uncle wasn’t interested in drawing, so the naked person couldn’t have been a model. Uncle Trevor was interested in spies, though. Could the man have been a real-life spy? But if so, wouldn’t he have drawn attention to himself if he wasn’t wearing any clothes? She glanced around with fresh eyes. Had the man left a clue? The garden looked like it usually did. Boring.
As she approached the kitchen door, she heard her uncle using his telephone voice. She crept closer. Who was he talking to?
Uncle Trevor was speaking. ‘See here, Alfie, this is too important to muck up. I know you like to keep up your tan, but just think about sunning yourself on some tropical nudist beach. You won’t be able to afford that unless our business takes off.’
There was a pause then he continued, ‘Yes, I know you don’t have a garden, but that’s too bad. You’re not coming around here to practise again. Consider the bigger picture. Your recent naked farce in my garden caused quite a stir. Already I’ve had several neighbours ask about you, and not for the right reasons. We’re supposed to be generating interest in the business not in your nakedness. I haven’t controlled the damage yet. My lady friend next door is easing off a bit on her questions, but her fluffy-brained friend also saw you, and she’s really nosy. Daphne from two doors along has also been enquiring and the next-door neighbour on the other side, Susan, keeps snooping. I understand you also went over the fence into the Pegwells’ garden. For such an outspoken woman, Minnie’s been remarkably quiet about you, so I assume she didn’t see you. It was lucky you found some clothes in their shed and could get back to your van without anyone else noticing you.’
Uncle Trevor paused briefly again. ‘Expenses? For a new spade? What happened to the last one? All right, all right, I’ll get you a new spade. But you need to start taking this more seriously. We’ve only got another year and there’s a lot riding on this. Basilwade must win, and I’ve already booked my cruise for next year. I need enough money to enjoy it.
Sally yelped with shock as something brushed against her legs. She leapt backwards and looked down. It was Horatio. He sauntered past her to the kitchen.
‘Got to go.’ Uncle Trevor’s voice was tense and urgent, as Horatio nosed open the door and swaggered in. Sally waited a few seconds and then followed as if she’d been pursuing Horatio.
‘There you are, dear,’ Uncle Trevor said, his voice now calm. There was no sign of his phone, and he was sipping from a mug as if he’d merely been enjoying a cuppa and not talking to anyone. So cool, Sally thought, just like a spy.
‘Did you have fun in the garden?’ Uncle Trevor asked.
‘Oh yes,’ said Sally. ‘I learned quite a lot.’
After dinner, Uncle Trevor parked Sally in front of the television. Gladys, the lady from next-door, had come in and Uncle was in the kitchen with her. Sally wondered whether it would be wrong to go on a spying mission around Uncle’s house and try to learn the identity of the naked man, who apparently was called Alfie. She certainly didn’t want to come to her uncle’s house while her mother was teaching and find another Walnut Whip in Uncle Trevor’s garden. Although Cyril had said the man was young and fit. Not that she trusted Cyril’s word – he believed in Space Frisbees. But perhaps Alfie didn’t resemble a Walnut Whip at all, perhaps he was more of a normal chocolate bar. Cyril had made him sound a bit exotic and Uncle had said he was keen on his suntan so perhaps he was more like a dark chocolate Bounty bar. Sally grimaced. This likening of strange people and aliens to chocolate bars was making her queasy. Chocolate should be eaten and enjoyed, but now, she’d never eat another Walnut Whip, Bounty or Chocolate Jazzy.
But, back to the spying. What would Uncle say if he found her snooping? Well, he could hardly complain. It had been Uncle Trevor who’d read her stories about World War Two spies and taught her various secret agent techniques, like recognising a few words in Morse Code and how to roll when you landed after a parachute jump. Morse Code was quite interesting, and she and Uncle had sent each other a few messages, but she never expected to drop out of an aeroplane. Perhaps when she grew up, she might, and then she’d know what to do. And she also knew she had to bury her parachute immediately on landing, to stop the enemy finding it. Sally gasped. Was that why Alfie had wanted a new spade? Was he part of a sabotage raid?
Yes, Sally would set out on a reconnaissance mission. It couldn’t do any harm. It would be Uncle Trevor’s fault anyway, even though she suspected he’d merely been reading to her and not teaching her how to be a spy, but she could claim it amounted to the same thing.
Sally crept up the stairs followed by Horatio. She halted on the landing, listening, but Uncle and Gladys were giggling, and it sounded as though they were absorbed in whatever they were doing in the kitchen.
She made for her uncle’s tiny office, which was next to the bathroom, and if he came upstairs, she’d claim she was lost. Horatio beat her to it and nosed his way into the study. Well, the room couldn’t be top-secret; Uncle hadn’t even shut the door, although to be fair he hadn’t expected her to be spying either. Horatio had provided her with a better alibi than losing herself on the way to the toilet which might not be a convincing story. If her uncle came upstairs now, she’d say she’d been looking for the cat, who was now picking his way around the desk, his tail upright and bent at the tip.
On the desk was a leaflet, advertising a neighbourhood best-kept garden competition. The date was June, the following year, and it would take place between the local village of Creaping Bottom and nearby Upper Chortle versus Basilwade. Boring.
Her heart was thudding as she reached out to see what was underneath the leaflets. Was there something more exiting? A clue to Alfie’s identity?
No, nothing. Just bills for gardening tools and other boring things.
In the top drawer of the desk were other leaflets. One read:
The Plant Enchanter
The multicultural wisdom of the Ancients combined with cutting edge AI.
Enchant your Plants,
We use ancient shamanic secrets combined with the latest AI technology.
Turn your garden into Paradise.
Telephone Alfie Inskip for a free quote.
Another read:
Weed it and Reap
For All Your Gardening Needs
Cultivating Plants and Nurturing Nature One Garden at a Time
Telephone Alfie Inskip for a free quote.
The mysterious Alfie Inskip was a busy man and appeared to have two businesses.
But there was nothing exciting in any of the other drawers and after folding one of each of the leaflets and putting them in her jeans’ pocket for further investigation, Sally gave up. At the same time, Horatio tired of walking around the desk and as he made for the door, she followed him out of the study.
On the landing, Sally shrugged. That had been a waste of time, but even World War Two spies must have experienced times when their undercover operations had revealed nothing.
Sally crept downstairs and went into the living room, where the television was still blaring. She checked her watch. What was she going to do until Mum came to pick her up? She idly wondered if she ought to go back into the garden and see what Cyril and Roger were doing, but it would mean walking through the kitchen and alerting the adults to her existence. That was never a good idea. While you remained undercover, adults forgot about you and left you alone.
Sally wandered to her uncle’s bookshelves. She’d find a book and look at that. Ten Ways to Kill and Maim Without a Weapon, she read on the spine of the first book she saw, and with one finger, she slipped the book off the shelf. How could you kill someone without a weapon? Unless of course you were Cyril next door who ate the losers in his fights. But his battles weren’t real.
Perhaps it was a cartoon book. Sally began to read, pausing after the first page. Wait, what? Who’d have guessed that was possible? She still wasn’t convinced it wasn’t a jokebook and decided she’d ask Uncle when he’d finished with Gladys, although that didn’t sound like it would be any time soon, judging by the hysterical laughter coming from the kitchen.
Sally read on. Exploding rats, booby-trapped chocolate bars, cyanide capsules? It was unbelievable.
When the doorbell rang, she was first at the door to let Mum in. Thank goodness at last she could go home.
‘What are you reading, love? Mum peered at the book. When she’d seen the title, her hands flew to her cheeks. ‘Where did you get that awful thing?’
‘Off the bookshelf,’ Sally said, aware that she ought to have asked permission first. ‘I’m sure Uncle won’t mind. He often reads stories about war spies to me.’
‘He does?’ Mum’s voice was more of a squeak.
‘Hello, Mavis.’ Uncle Trevor sounded breathless as he appeared behind Sally. ‘Have you had a good evening?’
‘No,’ said Mum, snatching the book from Sally’s hands and handing it to her brother. ‘What are you thinking, allowing my eleven-year-old daughter to read books like this?’
Uncle Trevor frowned. ‘I wasn’t aware she was reading it. Where were you?’ he asked Sally, at the same time as Gladys came out of the kitchen, her cheeks flushed and her hair sticking out at various angles.
Mum’s eyes narrowed as she took in the flustered woman, and she glared at Uncle Trevor. Grabbing Sally’s wrist, Mum drew her outside with one last angry glance at her brother.
‘Well, Trevor, I can’t believe you’d entertain your fancy woman while you were supposed to be looking after your niece. I won’t need your babysitting services again, thank you. Fancy teaching my daughter how to kill and maim people… It’s quite barbaric.’
Adults were strange, Sally reflected on the way home. She’d been silent during the drive, unsure whether she was in trouble with Mum or not, but at least she wouldn’t have to go back to Uncle Trevor’s for a while. Strangely, she had a sinking feeling of disappointment in her stomach – it might have been nice to talk to Cyril and Roger again. Perhaps she’d buy some Walnut Whips and go round to visit them. They might be interested in what she’d learnt about killing someone without a weapon.
When she got home, she’d write down all the ways she could remember. And anyway, it might come in handy in the future when she was grown up, the adult world was such a strange place. Although first, she might have to find out where you could buy nitro-glycerine.
To read the previous stories:
Glady’s Story is here - https://www.cafelitmagazine.uk/2024/03/gladyss-neighbourhood-watch-by-dawn.html
Minnie’s Story is here - https://www.cafelitmagazine.uk/2024/04/minnies-story-by-dawn-knox-milk-shake.html
Cyril’s Story is here - https://www.cafelitmagazine.uk/2024/05/cyrils-story-by-dawn-knox-lashings-of.html
Daphne’s Story is here - https://www.cafelitmagazine.uk/2024/06/daphnes-story-by-dawn-knox-green.html
Elsie’s Story is here - https://www.cafelitmagazine.uk/2024/07/elsies-story-by-dawn-knox-tea-and-buns.html
About the author
Dawn’s four previous books in the ‘Chronicles Chronicles’ series are ‘The Basilwade Chronicles’, ‘The Macaroon Chronicles’, 'The Crispin Chronicles' and 'The Post Box Topper Chronicles', published by Chapeltown Publishing.
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