Marcus lay on the cellar floor. ‘Aah . . . aah . . . aah,’ he panted. Everything was dark and silent. He could smell only damp earth and mould.
It took him a moment to realise that he’d dropped his torch somewhere inside his hallucination.
10
GETTING HELP
MARCUS DIDN’T DARE OPEN THE CELLAR DOOR AGAIN. Instead he staggered upstairs, looking for Edison. Surely the real Edison hadn’t been left behind in that bright red dodgem car? Surely he was lying unconscious near the gas leak, gripped by hallucinations of his own?
But the caravan was empty. There was no smell of gas. And when Marcus checked outside, he couldn’t see Edison anywhere.
The only familiar face that he could see belonged to the little white dog.
‘Oh, man . . .’ Marcus groaned, as the white dog yipped and grinned and danced about. It followed him all the way back to the beach, never once stopping to lift its leg or sniff at a car tyre. Even though Marcus ran the whole distance, from one end of the park to the other, his little white companion somehow managed to keep up.
By the time Marcus reached the Huckstepps’ place, he was shaking and sweating. ‘Is Edison home?’ he demanded, when Prot answered his knock.
‘You are not authorised to receive that information,’ the robot replied.
‘Edison!’ Marcus shouted. ‘Hey, Edison!’ He was desperate to hear the younger boy’s voice.
‘Please wait here,’ said Prot. But Marcus ignored this request. He lurched past the robot into the vestibule. ‘Edison!’ he cried. ‘Can you hear me?’
‘No dogs,’ the robot warned. ‘No dogs allowed.’ At that very instant, a cat emerged from the living room; there was a volley of angry barks, followed by a feline hiss of outrage.
Marcus grabbed the dog before it could launch itself at the cat.
‘Choo-choo?’ Coco’s high-pitched call drifted into the vestibule. ‘Darling? What’s wrong?’
‘No dogs allowed,’ Prot repeated.
‘I know that! Jeez! I heard you already!’ Marcus grappled with the dog, shoving it back outside just as Coco entered the room. Prot shut the front door so quickly that Marcus nearly lost a hand.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Coco. ‘Was that a dog I heard?’
‘Don’t worry. It’s gone,’ Marcus assured her. His breathing was still ragged. ‘Is Edison here?’
‘Edison?’ she said vaguely, as if she’d never heard of him. Then she addressed the robot. ‘Is Edison here?’
‘Edison left the caravan exactly forty-three minutes ago, using this exit,’ Prot reported. ‘He has not yet returned.’
‘Are you sure?’ Marcus pressed. ‘Are you absolutely positive?’
‘What’s the matter?’ Holly interrupted, from the bathroom doorway. For a split-second Marcus didn’t recognise her, because her face was caked with green goo and her hair was tucked into a shower cap. A pink towel had been draped around her shoulders. ‘Are you all right, Marcus?’
‘Edison didn’t come back.’ Marcus spoke in a strangled whisper. ‘He – he must still be down there.’
‘Down where?’ said Holly.
Marcus swallowed. He sensed that no one would believe what he was about to say.
‘Down in the cellar of our caravan,’ he croaked.
There was a brief, stunned silence. The two women stared at him.
‘I know it sounds crazy, but there’s a cellar under our caravan,’ Marcus continued. ‘We found it. And we went through one of the doors at the bottom of the stairs, and there was this fairground full of talking rides, and the dodgems kidnapped Edison, and I had to get out or I would have been squashed by a runaway ferris wheel . . .’
He trailed off as Coco glanced nervously at his mother. But Holly wasn’t looking frightened, astonished, or even mildly concerned. She just smiled and nodded.
‘That sounds like a nice game, sweetie,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you’re having so much fun.’
‘But—’
‘I’m kind of busy right now, though. When I’m done in the bathroom, you can tell me all about it . . .’
‘Wait! Mum!’
Holly, however, wouldn’t listen. She vanished again, leaving a heavy, herbal scent in the air.
Coco pursued her with many anxious words of advice. ‘Now don’t just peel that off, Holly – you have to soak it first – let me do it, or you’ll ruin your nails . . .’
Defeated, Marcus hurried upstairs.
‘Hey, Newt!’ he yelled. ‘You’ve got to help me!’ Knowing that Edison’s sister wouldn’t want to be pestered – and that she would scoff at the very idea of a talking dodgem car – he didn’t mention fairgrounds at all. ‘Edison’s stuck!’ he exclaimed, bursting into her room. ‘He’s trapped under our caravan! You’ve got to come quick!’
Newt was still lying on her beanbag. When Marcus appeared, she simply rolled over to face the wall.
‘It’s nothing,’ she muttered into her phone. ‘It’s just one of Edison’s stupid friends . . .’
‘Hey!’ Marcus didn’t have time for diplomacy. ‘Your mum won’t listen! We’ve got to help your brother!’
‘Go away,’ she said crossly. ‘I’m on the phone.’
Marcus stood for a moment, gazing helplessly at the back of her head. He didn’t want to be a nuisance. He could sympathise with her point of view. But something was very wrong and he couldn’t fix it by himself.
So he snatched the phone from her ear.
‘Oi!’ She whipped around. ‘Give that back!’
‘You’ve got to come,’ he replied. ‘Edison needs you.’
‘Give that back right now!’ she roared, throwing herself at him. He retreated. She lunged again.
Then he turned on his heel and ran, heading downstairs and out the front door.
11
BACK TO THE CELLAR
NEWT GAVE CHASE. AS MARCUS BURST OUT OF THE Huckstepps’ caravan, she was close on his heels. But her bare feet slowed her down; despite the fact that Marcus was growing tired, the distance between them gradually lengthened.
He didn’t want it to lengthen too much. By staying just ahead of her, he was hoping to lure her all the way back to his own caravan – where he would show her the fairground in the cellar. Maybe she would know what to do about Edison. Because Marcus was stumped.
‘You drop that now!’ Newt screamed. Marcus, however, kept running. He soon left behind all the astroturflawns and expensive European cars. The caravans grew smaller as the crowds grew bigger, until clots of sunburned tourists started getting in his way. To avoid them, he dodged down a side street, narrowly missing the washing lines and volleyball nets that were stretched across his path. He skidded on a spilled slushie. He jumped over an inflatable pool. He passed a makeshift playground where some kids had constructed a slide out of a surfboard and a swing out of a hammock.
Behind him, Newt and the white dog jostled for position.
‘I’m going to kill you!’ Newt warned Marcus, her voice cracking. By this time she was red-faced and pouring sweat; with her pale skin and layers of black lycra, she looked grossly out of place, like a bat in a dovecote. ‘You are so going to pay for this!’
In the end, though, Marcus didn’t pay for anything. Because when Newt finally stumbled into his caravan, she was so exhausted that she could only collapse onto the nearest bench, gasping and moaning.
Marcus checked the other bench, which he’d slammed shut earlier. Sure enough, when he lifted its seat, he saw that the cellar was still there.
‘Hey, Newt,’ he piped up. ‘Do you want to see this? You’ll freak, I promise.’
‘It stinks in here,’ was her unexpected rejoinder. After gulping down a few more lungfuls of air, she added, ‘It smells like cat pee.’
‘Cat pee?’ Marcus was puzzled. ‘I think it smells like sweaty gym clothes.’
But Newt ignored him. ‘And what the hell is that for?’ she continued, staring at the little white dog. ‘Did you do that?’
‘No,??
? said Marcus.
‘You shouldn’t put goggles on a dog! It’s cruel!’
‘I know,’ said Marcus. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Poor thing . . .’ Newt reached for the dog, which didn’t try to run away. When she picked it up, it licked her face enthusiastically. ‘What a cute little fella,’ she said, as she peeled off its goggles.
‘Uh . . . yeah,’ Marcus agreed. ‘But you should probably take a look at this.’
‘I’m more of a dog person than a cat person. Not like Mum.’ Having removed the dog’s waterwings, Newt glared at Marcus. ‘Now – are you going to gimme that phone?’ she challenged. ‘Or do you want me to punch your head in?’
Marcus wasn’t about to put up a fight. He raised his sweaty hands in a gesture of submission. ‘You can have it! You can have the phone!’ he promised shrilly, waving it at her. ‘Just as soon as you check out the cellar!’
‘Huh?’
‘There’s a cellar under this seat.’ Marcus pointed.
‘Really?’ Newt seemed surprised, though not stunned. ‘You should tell my dad,’ she remarked. ‘He’s trying to build a wine cellar underneath our caravan.’
‘Edison’s down there,’ Marcus continued doggedly, ‘and he won’t come out. Not for me, anyway. So I figured he might listen to you.’
Newt sniffed. ‘Oh, he’ll listen to me, all right,’ she growled. Then she stood up and approached Marcus, still nursing the little white dog.
He stepped aside so she could peer downstairs.
‘Mmph.’ After a moment’s pause, she cleared her throat. ‘Hey, Edison!’ she shouted. ‘If you’re waiting to jump out and scare me, don’t! Or Dad’s going to know what you did to his portable wind turbine!’
No one answered.
‘He probably can’t hear you,’ Marcus offered at last, in a very small voice. ‘He’s behind a closed door . . .’
Newt snorted impatiently. ‘You guys are such jerks,’ she snapped, before scrambling over the side of the bench and stomping down into the cellar. Marcus followed her, using the pale glow of her illuminated phone screen to light his way. He was worried that she might hurt herself in the dimness. He was concerned about the little white dog, which remained tucked under her arm. And he wanted to warn her about the ferris wheel.
‘Uh . . . Newt?’ he began, then caught his breath.
There were now three doors at the foot of the stairs – not two – and one of them was a catflap.
Or was it a doggie door?
‘Okay,’ Newt said to him. ‘So where’s Edison?’
‘Um . . .’ Marcus hesitated. ‘Well, he was through there, but—’
‘Edison!’ Newt yelled, interrupting Marcus. ‘You’d better come out!’
‘—but last time I was down here, there was no catflap,’ Marcus finished anxiously. ‘So I don’t know if he’s still behind the same door or not.’
‘Edison!’
‘This is weird. It doesn’t make sense. You’d better be careful.’
Newt, however, wasn’t the least bit concerned. She barged through the door that Marcus had indicated, threatening her brother with every terrible fate she could think of. But her fierce harangue was cut short by the blast of noise that greeted her as she stepped across the threshold.
She froze so abruptly that Marcus ran into the back of her.
‘Oh my God!’ a girl’s voice cried, from somewhere in the heaving crowd that confronted them. ‘Newton Huckstepp! You came!’
12
THE WORLD’S BEST PARTY
OOOMPA-OOMPA-OOOMPA. THE THROB OF A HEAVY BASS note was audible under the roar of voices and the tinkle of glass. Strobe lights flashed. Bodies writhed.
Marcus spotted a revolving mirror-ball and said faintly, ‘This isn’t an amusement park . . .’
But Newt wasn’t listening. ‘Oh my God!’ she squealed. ‘Is that you, Hayley?’
She was addressing a blonde girl in a very short, very shiny red dress, who was pushing through a crowd of tightly packed dancers. ‘Of course it’s me!’ the girl bellowed, straining to be heard above the noise. ‘Ben’s here too! And Seamus! And Jess!’
‘You’re kidding!’ Newt peered around. ‘Where are they?’
‘Over there!’ The girl pointed, then staggered as someone slammed into her. She laughed. ‘Come and join us!’ she exclaimed. ‘This is the world’s best party!’
She flung out her arm, gesturing at the entire cavernous space in which they all stood. A haze of sweat and smoke hung so thickly in the air that Marcus couldn’t make out how high the room was, though he could see balcony after balcony, rising in tiers above him. The balconies were packed with people and hung with coloured lanterns. A giant chandelier sparkled. More people were surging up and down two sweeping flights of stairs.
A curved wall nearby was lined with jewel-coloured bottles; Marcus kept catching glimpses of a bar through the press of gleaming, gyrating bodies.
Ooompa-ooompa-ooompa went the music.
‘Something’s wrong!’ he shouted, plucking at Newt’s lycra sleeve. ‘This shouldn’t be here! We ought to leave right now!’
But Newt wasn’t listening. ‘Isn’t that the drummer from Strep Throat?’ she yelled at Hayley. ‘God, I love that band!’
‘Oh, you mean Zeke?’ the blonde girl replied. ‘Yeah, he’s here – and so is Vance Vigor!’
‘You’re kidding!’ Newt was so excited that she squeezed the little white dog just a bit too hard.
It whined in protest, then growled as Hayley reached for Newt’s wrist.
‘Is that your dog?’ Hayley demanded. ‘Or is it part of your outfit?’
‘Uh . . .’ Newt glanced down at the dog vacantly, as if she didn’t know how she’d ended up with it. Marcus tried to catch her eye.
‘Newt,’ he said. ‘Hey, Newt!’
‘Oh my God, I don’t believe it!’ There was an undertone of scorn in Hayley’s voice. ‘You actually brought your little brother with you?’
‘I’m not her brother—’ Marcus began, but was shouted down.
‘He is so underage, Newton!’ the blonde girl continued. ‘He’ll have to leave!’
‘Yeah, I know.’ Newt shoved the white dog at Marcus. ‘Here. Take this. I’m going to hang around for a few minutes.’
‘No!’ Marcus protested. The dog wriggled in his arms, yapping at Hayley. ‘Newt, don’t be stupid!’ he cried. ‘These people aren’t real! Vance Vigor’s a famous singer – what would he be doing under our caravan?’
Newt, however, was already being dragged away. And when Marcus tried to follow her, the crowd closed in on her retreating back, swallowing her up and barring his progress.
‘Newt! Hey, Newt!’ he bawled. ‘These aren’t your real friends! They can’t be!’
‘Okay, son.’ A giant hand closed around his arm. ‘Let’s go.’
Marcus looked up to see a hulking, tattooed bouncer looming over him. This bouncer had a shaved head and wore a tie but no shirt. His muscles were the biggest that Marcus had ever laid eyes on (outside of a computer game).
‘No kids in this club,’ said the bouncer. ‘You’re not old enough. There’s alcohol being served.’ His gaze shifted to the little white dog. ‘No animals allowed either,’ he added.
‘But my friend!’ Marcus wailed. ‘I need to talk to her! She’s just over there!’
‘Sorry.’
Hustled towards the exit, Marcus craned around to scream at Newt. ‘Newt! Look! I’ve still got your phone!’ he told her. To the bouncer he said hoarsely, ‘My friend’s underage! She’s older than me but she’s still too young! You should make her leave, as well!’
‘Don’t worry about your friend,’ the bouncer rejoined. ‘She’ll be fine. You worry about yourself.’
‘But—’
‘Kids like you don’t belong in here. So I don’t want to see you again.’ The bouncer suddenly leaned down and thrust his massive, raw-boned, scarred and tattooed face at Marcus. ‘Get out and stay out,’ the bouncer rumbl
ed, ‘or I’ll take you round the back and teach you a lesson you won’t forget. Understand?’
Marcus nodded dumbly. The white dog barked. Ooompa-ooompa-ooompa went the music.
‘Right.’ The bouncer straightened. Then he yanked open a heavy steel fire door. ‘Off you go. And don’t come back,’ he snarled, giving Marcus a mighty shove.
Whomp! The door banged shut behind Marcus, who tripped and nearly fell. The music stopped. Darkness descended. Newt’s phone bounced off a familiar stone floor.
Once again, Marcus found himself in the cellar of his caravan. And Newton Huckstepp was nowhere to be seen.
13
MUMS TO THE RESCUE
‘WELL, THAT’S JUST AWFUL,’ COCO WAS SAYING. ‘IF YOU ask me, you’re better off without him.’
‘I know,’ Holly agreed. ‘I am. Only I worry about Marcus, sometimes.’ She reached for a chocolate, but had trouble picking it up because her new fake fingernails were so long. ‘He must feel rejected, even though he doesn’t talk about his father much.’
Coco gave a nod. ‘It is very difficult,’ she observed, peering up at the sky with a puckered forehead. She was lying on an inflatable pool lounge, holding a tall, icy drink in one hand and a remote control in the other. Holly lay beside her on a matching lounge; both women had retired to the Huckstepps’ back veranda, where they were basking in the sun as they gazed across Diamond Beach.
But there was a bit too much sun. As Holly ineptly tried to peel the wrapper off her chocolate, Coco waved her remote control at some well-disguised piece of electronic gadgetry overhead.
A striped canvas awning immediately began to unfold above them.
‘Men are hopeless,’ Coco went on. ‘What I always say is that they’re just children at heart.’ The words had barely left her mouth when a strange object suddenly writhed into view. It was Prot’s disembodied left arm, which had somehow dropped to the floor and wriggled its way onto the veranda like a snake or a worm. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Coco snapped, then raised her voice. ‘Sterling! I thought I told you to fix that damn robot?’