Mr Gum and the Biscuit Billionaire (7 page)

Friday's motorbike was parked outside on the high street.

‘Hop on, Polly!' he shouted, starting the bike up with a roar.

‘Don't roar like that,' said Polly. ‘It scares me.'

‘Sorry,' said Friday and stopped roaring. He
revved the engine and off they zoomed. Before too long they came across another banknote blowing on the wind. Soon after that they saw one stuck in a hedge and soon after that they saw one stuck in a pop star's haircut.

‘We's on the right track!' cried Polly. On, on they went, and all the while they saw money. Money, money, money, flapping on the wind or stuck in bushes or being eaten by magpies and tramps.

Soon they had left the town far behind and Polly began to get a little worried. They were riding through strange fields with twisted up trees and scarecrows with no heads. Sinister sounds like
‘
YIM!
'
,
‘
KOOBLES!
'
and
‘
BEEF!
'
rang out from the undergrowth and who knew what creatures lurked therein? Storm clouds were gathering and the day had grown dark and threatening.

‘Where is we, Frides?' Polly whispered.

‘I'm not sure, little miss,' replied Friday.
‘But have faith. The Universe is a mysterious place, and everything happens for a reason. Except for stinging nettles. They're just a nuisance. But not to worry, there's none 'round here!'

Now, Friday had barely said these knowledgeable words when the motorbike broke down in the middle of a great big patch of stinging nettles. Huge ones they were, towering higher than Polly's head and full of bad pains for anyone who tried to mess with them.

‘Brummigans!'
exclaimed Friday. ‘We'll have to walk from here.'

‘Look at all them nettlers,' trembled Polly. ‘Just a-waitin' to sting us to bits though we done nothin' to them!'

‘Fear not, little miss,' said Friday, heaving her on to his shoulders. ‘Though I am old, my legs are as strong as – OUCH! OOH! OW!'

‘You brave, brave man,' said Polly from her position of safety above the treacherous plants. It was a bit unlucky that Friday had chosen to wear shorts that day and no shoes or socks, but there you go. That's life.

‘OUCH! OOH! BLIMEY! FLAN! EEK! MOOO! FLURTLE!' grimaced Friday as he picked his way through the nettles. They seemed to go on forever but he kept at it, because he was a force for good and his heart was true and his feet were bare. At last they reached the edge of the field and there Friday collapsed like a broken gypsy in the scrubby grass.

‘Go on without me,' he gasped, his legs covered in painful white blisters. ‘I'll . . . be . . . all right . . .'

‘I won't leaves you, Friday!' said Polly, cradling his head in her arms. ‘I'll stay with you forev–'

Just then they heard a voice coming from somewhere below.

‘Oi! Caterpillar Joe! I can't wait to escape to France with all that money what we stole,' someone cackled.

‘It's the robbers!' whispered Friday urgently. ‘Now go, Polly. Go and save the day with your Pollyness!'

W
ith one last glance back at Friday, Polly pushed through the long tall grass and found herself on a windswept cliff top. It was Hangman's Leap and, lordy, it was a more wretched place than ever.
Remember those rocks that looked a bit like nasty faces? Well, they were still there. In fact, there were even more of them than before, don't ask me how, but there were. And those manky seagulls with one eye and stuff? There were more of them too, because they'd been up all night breeding new and even more disgusting ones. Some of the new seagulls smoked cigarettes and had tattoos on their wings.

Altogether it was a frightful scene, made even worse by the rain and the dark thundery skies above but Polly had work to do. She peered over the cliff edge and could just make out two tiny figures on the beach below, striking evil poses.

‘Those flippin' roo-de-lallies!' she muttered and without further thought she started down the cliff.

Down on the rocks Mr Gum was looking out to sea with a powerful telescope he'd made from
a jar of mustard, a rolled-up magazine and a powerful telescope.

‘There he is!' he shouted gleefully as a small wooden fishing boat appeared on the horizon. ‘It's Monsieur Bellybutton!'

‘Are you sure?' asked Billy William, but at that moment the wind changed direction and the most horrendous stench came to their noses. It smelt like a zoo had married a gigantic fart. Only it was even worse than that.

‘Oh, yes,' said Mr Gum, his eyebrows curling up and turning crispy with the pong. ‘It's him all right!'

‘Bonjour Monsieur Gum, bonjour Monsieur Billy!' shouted Bellybutton as he rowed into Smuggler's Cove.

You know in cartoons when they do wavy lines to show that something smells bad? Like there'll be a rotten fish head or something and they'll do wavy lines coming off of it? Well, I'm not lying but Monsieur Bellybutton actually had those wavy lines coming off of him IN REAL LIFE. He had never once taken a bath and he was quite an old man so just think about it.

‘Bonjour,' the two villains cried in pleasure. You see, incredible as it was, they actually
liked
the smell of Monsieur Bellybutton.

‘Mmm,' said Mr Gum, inhaling long and hard. ‘He's smellin' even riper than last year. Lovely!'

Polly was nearly at the bottom of the cliff when the smell of Bellybutton hit her like invisible boxing gloves filled with gorgonzola. She fell to her knees, clutching her nose in agony, but even so the smell found a way in, bringing tears to her eyes and clouding her thoughts.

‘I dunno what that's about,' said Polly through gritted teeth. ‘But them robbers needs sortin' out!'

Determinedly she stuffed a bunch of daisies up her nostrils and continued on. The further down she climbed, the stronger the smell became. The daisies shrivelled up and went brown. Seagulls fell out of the sky, landing with thumps all around her, but still she did not falter. And that's what Pollyness is all about.

Finally she reached the bottom of the cliff. The wind changed direction once more and she could breathe again, which is very helpful for living.

And now she saw where the stink was coming from. A smellster Frenchman with wavy lines coming off of him IN REAL LIFE was
helping Mr Gum into a mucky fishing boat encrusted with barnacles. Billy William was already on board, the biscuit tin clutched to his scrawny chest.

‘Hey! Robbers!' shouted Polly. ‘I'm arrestin' you in the name of the Laws!'

‘
You!
' spat Mr Gum, spinning round in fury. ‘How'd you find us, you meddler? We never left no tracks to follow!'

But even as he spoke, a tenner flew into the air and Mr Gum knew the truth of Billy William's laziness at putting lids on biscuit tins properly.

‘You MUNCHER!' shouted Mr Gum,
slapping the careless butcher round the chops. ‘I TOLD you to sort out that lid!'

‘Robbers, your games is up,' said Polly
sternly. ‘An' don't you think you can float off to France and muck everything up over there too. I'm not havin' it!'

‘Oh, yeah?' sneered Mr Gum. ‘What you gonna do? You're just a stupid little girl an' you can't do nothin' against powerful kings like me an' Billy.'

Like lightning Mr Gum reached down and grabbed a heavy fishing net dripping with slime and dead lobsters. Running up the beach, he
chucked it at Polly and before she knew what was happening she was down on the sands, buried under its filthy weight. Struggling against it was no good. It was just one of those nets you can't beat with struggling.

‘Au revoir!' shouted Mr Gum as Monsieur Bellybutton started to row away.

‘Au revoir,' replied Polly politely. ‘I mean – Hey! Come back here, you crimers!'

But the boat was soon just a tiny speck on the horizon and the day was lost.