Olive of Groves and the Great Slurp of Time (18 page)

34

In which we almost read poetry

‘Sleepy bye-byes . . . La-la-la . . . Close your eyes, my precious sweetheart.' Olive sat by the fire, humming, rocking Num-Num back and forth in her arms.

The dinosaur purred and sucked Olive's thumb. Slowly, contentedly, she fell into a deep slumber.

‘Poetry!' sighed Wordsworth. ‘There is nothing better to soothe the soul after a traumatic experience.' He pushed his tiny black book out from beneath the bed and settled down beside Olive. He wriggled his pink nose, cracked his knuckles and turned to the first page.

‘Huh.' He frowned. He licked his paw and thumbed through four more pages.

‘Oh.' He twitched his nose and flicked to the middle of the book.

‘How annoying,' he said. ‘Frustrating, irritating, infuriating and exasperating. Why, this little black book does not contain any poetry at all. Not an ode, nor a sonnet, nor even a limerick!'

‘What is it?' asked Olive.

Wordsworth slammed the book shut and kicked it across the floor. ‘Rubbish,' he snapped. ‘Not only rubbish but
vulgar
rubbish. There's a whole chapter written in garish red print. As if that makes up for the lack of rhyming couplets, alliteration, metaphors and lilting rhythms!'

Olive gave a little start. She laid Num-Num on the bed. She stared at the little black book. She wiped the dust off the cover with her sleeve. ‘Wordsworth! It is the second copy of
The Concise Guide to Time Travel
.'

But Olive might just as well have said, ‘It is a broccoli sandwich with slug-flavoured medicine poured all over the top.' Wordsworth was not interested. He disappeared through the hole in the wall and headed for the school library.

Olive riffled through the pages until she got to the short little chapter in jolly red print: ‘Beware the Time Slurp'.

Her eyes widened. Her heart beat a little faster.

‘Raaaaah! Surprise!' Tiny Tim came crashing through the door in a cloud of splinters and bad smells. His fur
cloak was covered in mud, his helmet battered, his face smeared with sweat and dirt. A bulging sack hung from his shoulder.

‘Tiny Tim!' gasped Olive. ‘Where have you been all this time?'

‘Plundering. Pillaging. Ireland is a grand place for both, although the sea journey is rough and perilous.' He poked a piece of damp hair back under his helmet.

Olive ran to the window. The Viking longboat sat in the grass, dripping wet, a tattered red and white sail flapping from its mast.

Tiny Tim grinned and upended his sack. Metal plates and goblets, giant gemstones, three potatoes and a leprechaun's hat spilled onto the floor. Blimp grabbed a potato and scuttled away beneath the bed.

Chester fossicked through the gemstones. ‘Hmmph,' he sighed. ‘No buttons. I suppose they weren't invented back then.'

‘Back
when
?' asked Olive.

‘Back in the ninth century when the Vikings raided Ireland!' said Tiny Tim. ‘Back when
I
raided Ireland!'

Olive glanced down at the open book on the floor
.
BEWARE!
jumped out in bold red uppercase letters.

She dropped to her knees and seized the little black book. She skimmed through the red print until she got to
BEWARE!
Once the Time Slurp slips into reverse . . .

She read on. Her lips moved, but no sound came from her mouth. Except for the occasional yelp of surprise.

Her brow creased . . . she bit her lip . . . she stared at Tiny Tim.

Tiny Tim who used to be a sweet, gentle lad.

Tiny Tim who was now beating her bookshelf to a pulp with his bommy-knocker, shouting, ‘And this is what I will do to those Saxon dogs if they get in the way of my next raid!'

Olive scrambled to her feet. ‘Basil! Basil!' She tumbled down the spiral staircase, bolted along the corridor and slid down the bannisters of three flights of stairs, waving
The Concise Guide to Time Travel
in the air. ‘Basil! Basil! Basil!' She flew off the end of the grand staircase, arms and legs flailing, and collided with the front door. Falling backwards, she landed with a
thump
on the Persian rug.

‘
Guten Tag
, Olive!' Basil clicked his heels and bowed at her from the first-floor landing.

‘Basil!' she cried. ‘The Time Slurp is in reverse and there is no time to lose!'

Still on her back, she waved the little black book in the air and bellowed out her newly found knowledge in bold red uppercase letters. ‘
THE TIME SLURP IS IN REVERSE! IT IS NO LONGER BRINGING CREATURES FROM THE PAST FORWARD TO GROVES, BUT IS DRAWING GROVIANS BACK TO THE PAST. IT HAS ALREADY SUCKED TINY TIM BACK TO THE VIKING AGE AND SOON IT WILL TAKE HIM BACK
FOREVER
. WE WON'T KNOW EXACTLY WHERE, AND WE WON'T BE ABLE TO FIND HIM, AND WE WILL NEVER EVER SEE HIM AGAIN!
' Olive dropped the book to the floor and wailed.

‘Oh my goodness!' gasped Basil.

‘Oh my goodness!' cried Anastasia, dashing by in a pink ball gown and tiara. ‘I have been dancing with Sir Anthony all this time with a spot on my glove!'

‘Oh my goodness!' gasped Basil again.

‘Oh my goodness!' honked Glenda the goose, flapping by with a half-knitted scarf tangled around her neck. ‘I really must hurry. The Ice Age is on its way. That first blizzard nearly froze my tail feathers off! Imagine what the second will do!'

‘Oh my goodness!' shrieked Olive, springing to her feet and running up the stairs. ‘Tiny Tim, Anastasia
and
Glenda! What are we to do?'

But Olive already knew what to do. She had just read it.

And Basil, our absent-minded time traveller, knew too.

‘I think,' he said, ‘that it is time to fill the holes in history that we have created.'

‘Yes!' Olive agreed. ‘Mend the memorial muddles. Scrape up the prehistoric poo-poos.'

‘We must return our visitors to the past, or history will fill the holes with Tiny Tim, Anastasia, Glenda and maybe other friends from Groves.'

‘Yes! Yes!' Olive babbled. ‘Return our visitors.'

‘
All
the visitors,' said Basil. He cast a nervous sideways glance at Olive. ‘Including Num-Num.'

Olive's head flew back as though Basil had punched her in the face.

Her cheeks went red.

Her eyes filled with tears.

‘
Ja
, Olive. I remember now what the books say. If we want to stop the reverse Time Slurp from sucking our friends away forever, we must make right the mess we have
made. That is to say, we must return
everyone
to their proper place in the past.'

‘No,' whispered Olive.

‘
Ja
.' Basil placed his hand on Olive's arm. ‘Everyone.'

35

A short chapter that will make you cry

It was not the bravest thing that Olive had ever done. Or the smartest. But our heroine was not perfect and an aching heart can drive us to do wild and silly things.

Olive hid herself and Num-Num in a laundry basket in the basement. Num-Num had a sock on her tail and a pair of undies pulled over her head.

‘Camouflage,' explained Olive.

Num-Num smiled.

They burrowed down beneath a week's worth of dirty linen.

‘Num-num-num-num-num-num-num!'

‘We will be safe here,' said Olive. ‘No-one will ever find us.'

Basil leaned over the edge of the basket. ‘It's time to say goodbye, Olive.'

‘Goodbye,' said Olive, her voice muffled beneath the sheets. ‘Now go away!'

Basil pulled the dirty linen aside. ‘
Nein
,' he said. ‘I must take Num-Num back to her place in history. The others are gathered – Clara, Samuel, the pirate, the dragon . . . even the scary crocodile.'

‘Num-Num's not here,' said Olive.

Num-Num poked her head out from beneath a soggy towel, smiled and growled, ‘Num-Num gone.'

‘See?' said Olive.

Mrs Groves stuck her head over the side of the basket. ‘Oh, Olive,' she cried, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a lace handkerchief. ‘Goodbyes are such dreadful affairs and not something we like to encourage at Groves. But Basil has explained everything and I do believe he must make matters right. He did a prehistoric poo-poo when he brought Num-Num back to Groves. Then he had an historical hiccup with Clara, followed by a memorial muddle with Samuel, the pirate and the dragon. The crocodile was the final chronological cough.'

Olive's bottom lip wobbled.

‘
Ja!
You are sad, my friend,' whispered Basil. ‘I am so very, very sorry. But Num-Num
must
go home now.'

Num-Num pulled the underpants off her head, stood up on her legs and folded her arms across her chest. ‘Num-Num stay here!'

Basil shook his head. ‘
Nein
. We have to fill
all
the historical holes we have created to stop the Time Slurp. You have to go home, the same as everyone else.'

Num-Num threw pegs and handfuls of washing powder at Basil. ‘Num-Num
are
home!' she shrieked. ‘
Here
are home!'

Olive sniffed.

Num-Num became silent. She sat down, patted Olive on the head and put pegs in her hair.

Olive sobbed.

Num-Num grabbed her by the arm and chewed on her elbow. ‘Num-num-num-num-num-num-num!'

Olive wailed, a deep, gut-wrenching sound drawn from the depths of her soul. She pulled her arm from Num-Num's mouth, dived beneath the dirty linen once more and shoved socks into her ears.

‘Num-Num stay! Num-Num want Olib!'

Olive rammed the socks deeper into her ears. She pulled a pillowslip over her head. But nothing could block the baby dinosaur's howls of despair as she was dragged
from the basket and up the stairs. ‘But Num-Num lub Olib! Lub lub
lub
Olib!'

The laundry door closed.

Silence filled the basement.

Except for one quiet, little sound, barely audible.

It was our heroine's heart.

Breaking.

36

In which our hearts heal

You might have heard it said that time heals all.

It's a big fat lie.

Life at Groves returned to normal. There were no more strange and terrifying guests barging in from the past, and the old mansion settled and groaned as though relieved. Tiny Tim reverted to being a gentle little lad who liked nothing more than to play with Reuben the rabbit and wear dirty socks. Anastasia hung up her ball gowns and returned to equine acrobatics and other unladylike activities. Glenda the goose started knitting tea cosies instead of scarves and fretted about glaciers and blizzards no more. She still fretted about cherries, carpet fluff, blobs of toothpaste in the bathroom sink and the nine times tables, but I did say that life returned to normal. I did not say that miracles happened.

But Olive . . . well, Olive's heart was broken.

Our heroine was a kind and determined child and made every effort to enjoy the company of her remaining friends, but anyone could see that there was a spring missing from her step, a squareness missing from her shoulders, a sparkle missing from her smile. Furthermore, the old homesickness had returned.

There was, you see, a crack in her heart.

A Num-Num-shaped hole in her life.

And so it was, three weeks later, that Olive moved lethargically through her equine acrobatics lesson. She completed her horseback manoeuvres as instructed – handstands, flips and pirouettes. She leapt from Star to Beauty, stood atop Eduardo's shoulders, then jumped back to Star once more.

‘Bravo, bravo,' said the Ringmaster with little enthusiasm. For although Olive was doing exactly what she had been asked to do, there was no joy in her performance. She lacked pizazz. And an acrobat without pizazz is as entertaining as a remote-controlled car without a battery.

Fumble trotted by, eating soap, blowing jolly bubbles through his nostrils, but Olive did not even notice.

Wordsworth, Chester and Blimp somersaulted across the grass and formed a tiny pyramid on Scruffy the dog's back. Chester stood at the top, juggling Steve, George and his three favourite buttons, but Olive barely looked their way.

She didn't even crack a smile when Carlos shot Bullet Barnes, Hamish, two dozen frogs and five chocolate self-saucing puddings out of the cannon and through the roof of the glasshouse, and that really
was
funny . . . although a little disappointing if one considered dinner time when there would be nothing more than bread and butter for dessert.

Olive simply sat on Star, slumped her shoulders and sighed.

Star had had enough.

‘I've had enough!' she whinnied. ‘This droopy blubbery moping must stop!' She rolled her eyes and stamped her hooves. Her ears swivelled outwards then inwards. She whickered like a demon, reared up on her hind legs and bolted across the garden. Skittering from side to side, she swooped beneath low-hanging branches, splashed through the middle of the fish pond, leapt over the hedge and bucked Olive off!

Olive tumbled across the grass, colliding with a tree trunk. ‘Ooomph!' Stars and little yellow canaries darted before her eyes. Her left leg felt wet and tingly with sharp
stabbing pains. ‘Uh-oh,' she moaned. ‘I think I have broken my leg!'

The sharp stabbing pains moved up and down her calf.

‘Num-num-num-num-num-num-num!'

‘Noooo!' gasped Olive. ‘It couldn't be!' She swiped the yellow canaries away and sat upright. ‘Num-num-num-num-num-num-num!'

‘Num-Num!' she cried. ‘My beautiful, darling Num-Num!'

Num-Num stopped chewing Olive's leg. She gurgled with delight, clapped, then threw herself at Olive, knocking her backwards once more. ‘Num-num-num-num-num-num-num!'

‘You're here!' cried Olive. ‘You're back! And you're
ever
so big!'

For in the last three weeks the baby dinosaur had grown at least two metres in height.

‘
Guten Tag
, Olive.' Basil stepped over Num-Num's tail, clicked his heels and bowed. His smile beamed like the morning sun.

‘Oh, Basil! How
did
you get here? You had no-one from Groves to bring you to the right place in time.'

‘It was Num-Num,' he explained. ‘I tried and tried to return her to prehistoric times, but we just could not get there. We kept popping out of the time vortex at the wrong spot – during the Olympic Games in ancient Greece, in the middle of King Richard the Third's wedding, at the start of a buffalo hunt with the Sioux Indians . . . It was as though Num-Num did not belong in prehistoric times.'

Olive grinned. She sprang to her feet, threw her arms in the air and cheered. ‘I know why! I know why! Because Num-Num belongs
here
!'

Num-Num shrieked and leapt to her feet. She lifted Olive off the ground, squeezed her tightly and chewed on the top of her head. ‘Num-Num lub Olib! Num-Num lub Olib bery, bery much!'

Olive giggled. ‘That's why you could not take her back to prehistoric times. It's how you managed to find your way back here. Num-Num belongs at Groves!
She belongs here, with me!
'

‘
Ja!
' cried Basil. ‘Precisely.'

The rats crept out from behind a garden gnome.

‘So Num-Num's here to stay?' asked Wordsworth.

‘Yes,' said Olive. ‘This is where she belongs.'

‘And Basil?' asked Blimp.

‘
Nein
,' he sighed. ‘I am afraid I must go home to Mama and Papa after lunch. But I am determined to study my books and become the best time traveller the Black Forest
has ever seen. Then I will be able to find my way to any place at any time . . . give or take a week or two . . . or three . . .'

‘Which means that you can come back to Groves!' shouted Olive. ‘Soon!'

‘
Ja!
' cried Basil. He threw back his head and laughed with a German accent.

‘
Ja!
' shrieked Num-Num. She threw back her head and ate an unfortunate sparrow who just happened to be flying by.

‘
Ja!
' cheered Olive. She bunny-hopped around the back garden, Num-Num, Basil, Eduardo, Fumble, the rats and Star in her wake, until they all grew tired and hungry and went inside for lunch.

There, Num-Num delighted everyone by rubbing mashed potato in Tiny Tim's hair, throwing corncobs at Anastasia's head and lining the three rats up side by side on her plate and dousing them with tomato sauce.

‘Num-num-num-num-num-num-num!'