Labradoodle on the Loose (11 page)

The woman police officer got out a pad and asked who lived at the address. Only Bee answered. When Louis explained that he didn't live there any more things got worse.

‘I think I'd better make a call. Is there a number I can get your parents on, Bee?'

Bee hesitated, but she had no choice. She told him her dad's mobile number. The police sent the Tribers (plus Lily) to sit in the living room. We waited in complete silence – not a sponsored one, a scared one.

Bee's mum and dad came home in a taxi. We heard the brakes, the car doors open and slam, Bee's dad pay the taxi driver and the key in the door. It made me realise that with the volume up so high the neighbours probably heard as much of
The Italian Job
as we did, as well as the banging, crashing and breaking glass.
What was the breaking glass?

The footsteps went from the front door along the hall to the kitchen. And then there was shouting. It was Bee's mum. And she was livid. It was half Italian, half English so I got the idea, but not the detail. That was probably good. I really wanted to go home. None of us were talking. And the delicious tea seemed like it happened days ago.

There was another knock on the door. We all sat up a bit taller, like mongooses on high alert. I heard a voice that
sounded familiar – it was Copper Pie's dad.

‘Bee's mum must have rung our parents,' whispered Fifty.

Copper Pie's dad came straight into the living room. ‘Time to go home,' he said.

‘Bye,' shouted C.P. His dad nudged him. ‘Thank you, Bee.'

My dad came next. Our departure wasn't quite so quick. Dad did a diversion via the kitchen to talk to Sergeant Farrow. ‘Good evening,' said Dad.

I stood behind him, stared at the floor and tried to work out how many tiles there were altogether. Louis must have told them all that it wasn't the Tribers who were to blame, which was a relief. Dad spent a few minutes murmuring stuff that was meant to help the situation, and then he said the magic words, ‘We'll be off, then.'

Absolutely
, I thought. I said, ‘Thank you for the lovely tea' to Bee's mum and we scarpered. Well, I did. Dad walked normally. I was in such a hurry to get out I didn't even say goodbye to the Tribers.

I woke up, pleased to be in my own bed knowing I could talk all day if I liked, or not speak at all, and, assuming no one lost a dog, or a sister, or had a noisy party, I could avoid any more run-ins with the police. But my next thought was about Bee. About how she had a rubbish party. The thought didn't last long – it wasn't my fault, it was her brothers'. I was soon daydreaming about freshly waxed boards riding massive waves that went on forever. My phone rang – it was Jonno.

‘Keener, I've been thinking about Bee. She didn't have a very good birthday, so I thought we could try again. I thought we could have a surprise Tribe party in the Tribehouse.' I was about to answer but he carried on. ‘I've called Fifty – he's cool. So's Copper Pie.'

‘And so am I,' I said.

‘Good. So, we're meeting at the Tribehouse at twelve o'clock. Ask your mum to donate something for the party. My dad's given me a piñata. It's a star. He brought it back from Mexico. It's real. See you later.' He'd gone. I lay there wondering what a ‘real' piñata was.

Eventually I smelt bacon – that meant Dad had started breakfast duty. It's his Saturday job. I get brought a bacon sarnie that I eat in front of the computer before it's time to go to my swimming lesson. Amy has French toast with Marmite in bed. Flo has fried egg and potato waffles in front of the telly before she goes to ballet. Mum has tea, a big pot, in bed with the magazine from the paper. Dad has bacon, egg and beans and reads the other bits of the paper. We always set off late and get there just in time, thanks to nifty short cuts.

At the pool I remembered I was meant to be bringing something for the party. I asked Dad to call Mum and ask her if she could find some party snacks and drinks for me to pick up later. ‘Will do,' said Dad. ‘After I've dropped Flo.' Dad goes for a large cappuccino while I'm doing 30-second lengths and Flo's messing about in a tutu.

I checked every single locker before and after swimming, looking for forgotten pounds to put towards my mountain-board fund. It was one of my worst mornings – only one measly pound coin. My best is eight.

Dad dropped me at Fifty's early. The Tribehouse was
empty so I went up to the house.

‘Hello, Keener,' shouted Fifty's mum – the radio was on quite loud. She turned it down. I think she'd been dancing because she was panting.

‘Is Fifty here?' I asked.

‘No, but he will be soon. He's gone to get me the paper. His dad's got a wedding today,' (Fifty's dad has two jobs – he does wedding photographs as well as being a postman) ‘and Rose is asleep so I'm stranded.' She smiled. She's always nice. ‘Come and sit down.' I sat on a stool. My legs dangled.

‘Did Fifty tell you about the party?' I asked.

‘He did. And I think it's an excellent way to make up for yesterday's disappointment. In fact, I've got an idea. Let's decorate the hut.'

Whether I thought it was a good idea or not wouldn't have mattered. Fifty's mum was off. She got on her knees and all sorts of stuff came flying out of her cupboards. She bundled it all up, told me to get the Blu-Tack and the Sellotape, grabbed the baby monitor and off we went down the garden.

‘Find the other end of the bunting, will you, Keener?' I gave her a blank look. She pointed at the triangular flags on a string. It took a while to untangle them but by the time Fifty came through the Tribe flap we'd wound a line of flags all the way round the hut and were on to the tinsel.

‘That's for Christmas, Mum,' said Fifty.

‘There are no rules, Fifty.' She tossed him some. ‘Hang it from the string.' He did. It looked like there were shiny caterpillars crawling down the walls. Bee was going to love it.

‘Can we pick some of them?' I asked, pointing to a load of flowers growing at the bottom of the garden (which is like a wilderness).

‘Poppies? Yes, why not. Let's bunch them up and hang them from the bunting too.' Some grizzling came from the baby monitor. Fifty's mum was having too much fun to bother with Rose. ‘Get your sister for me, darling.'

Fifty went off to get his favourite person in the whole world. We did the poppies. I got a text from Bee, but I didn't know what to tell her so I ignored it.

‘That's brilliant,' said a mass of fluffy hair. It was Jonno, wriggling awkwardly through the flap. He was holding the piñata and a plate. ‘Take this, Keener.' I relieved him of the plate. It was food – little pastry-looking things.

‘That looks nice,' said Fifty's mum.

‘Dad did it,' said Jonno. ‘And he gave me this piñata.' Jonno held up an orange star-shape. ‘It's a proper one from Mexico, made of clay, but there's nothing in it, and I haven't got a stick.'

‘We need to fill it up then,' said Fifty's mum.

‘Dad said they used to fill them with nuts and fruit,' said Jonno.

‘Good idea,' she said.

‘No way,' said Fifty, coming down the garden holding
Rose. ‘It's a party. We need sweets.'

‘Yes,' said Rose. She's just like her brother – sugar-mad. It's because in their house everything's organic and chewy and made from brown rice.

‘I could bring some over later,' I said. ‘What time is the party?'

‘I don't know,' said Jonno. ‘I haven't invited Bee yet. She texted me earlier but I wasn't sure what to tell her.'

‘Same,' said Fifty. ‘You can't invite someone to their own surprise.'

Rose stuck two fingers up Fifty's nose.

‘Don't do that, Rose. You're all sticky.' Fifty put her down on the grass. She stood there for a few seconds and then flopped back onto her fat nappy. She put her arms up – that means
pick me up
. They only reached the top of her head. I'd hate to have arms that short.

‘We don't have to invite her. We'll just tell her we're meeting here.'

‘OK. What time?'

‘You said twelve o'clock,' said the redhead, wriggling awkwardly through the Tribe flap. It was Copper Pie, holding two plastic bags and a Quality Street tin.

‘What time
tonight
,' said Jonno. ‘Not now.'

‘Take the tin,' said Copper Pie. Inside there was a chocolate cake with roses made of white chocolate on the top and
Bee
written in dark chocolate.

‘Your mum never did that,' I said. Copper Pie's mum is
absolutely not the sort of person to spend hours decorating a cake.

‘Same,' said Fifty.

‘She did. She said the least she could do was make an effort for Bee as her party was busted by the cops.' Copper Pie grinned as he said that – I think he liked the idea that we were
busted
.

‘What's in the bags?' asked Jonno.

‘Party stuff from the nursery.' Copper Pie dumped one bag down. ‘And junk food.' Down went the other one. Copper Pie's mum had sent him round with plastic cups, plates, bowls, straws, candles for the cake, party poppers, serviettes and balloons. There were also crisps, two packs of biscuits (party rings and wafers), a bottle of blackcurrant squash and two packs of mini-pork pies (C.P.'s favourites).

We blew up the balloons and tied them round the door. Fifty's mum fetched a rug to put on the Tribehouse floor, but when we laid everything out on it there was no room for bodies. We brought the rug back outside, picnic-style. Keeping Rose away from the biscuits was tricky so Fifty's mum took her up to the house for lunch. I was pretty hungry too.

‘We still haven't decided what time,' I said.

‘What about five o'clock?' said Fifty.

We all said ‘OK,' at the same time. Five o'clock it was. I disappeared off home for lunch, and to see what Mum had got for me to bring to the party. It was going to be good.

It was getting better and better. At lunch (sausages in baguettes) Dad said, ‘I could fix a net to the ceiling of the Tribehouse and fill it with helium balloons, if you like?'
Absolutely, I like!
He did that for Flo's birthday.

‘Thanks,' I said.

‘Is there some helium left?' asked Mum.

‘We've got enough for a dozen balloons or so, I should think.' Dad winked at me. Mum has no idea what Dad buys on the internet. There are three canisters of helium in the cupboard in the attic – it's Dad's private store.

Mum had made a plate of sandwiches for the party, with all my favourite fillings. She'd cut them into shapes like she did when we were little. She'd also made strawberry jelly and sprinkled hundreds and thousands over it.

‘What time's the party?' asked Dad.

‘Five o'clock.'

‘So if I come with you at four that should give us time to set up,' said Dad. I texted Fifty to say we were coming over early. He texted back:
don't forget sweets for pinata
.

I raided the treat box – sorted.

While I'd been at home, lots had happened at Fifty's. There was country-dancing-type music playing in the garden (quite loud – I hoped Sergeant Farrow wasn't doing his rounds), cushions round the rug for seating, and Fifty's mum was
still
decorating. The Tribehouse had a blown-up and photocopied photo of Bee with Doodle on the door, a
Happy Birthday
banner along the side, and apples and oranges all along the ridge where the roof joins the walls. It looked made-up, like a gingerbread house, which reminded me of the Gingerbread Man story that Dad used to tell Flo when she sat on his shoulders.

Dad used the staple gun to attach the balloon net while I began the balloon filling. It's boring so I did about five and then let Fifty have a go. When Jonno arrived he took over and Fifty filled the piñata with the goodies I'd collected. Dad hung it up from a branch. Copper Pie came last. By ten to five we were all ready and waiting – four Tribers, my dad, Fifty's mum and Rose.