I Lost My Granny in the Supermarket Page 4

  He was so focused on keeping his tiny granny in his sights that he wasn’t aware of what else was going on around him and, just as he was gaining on her, someone grabbed his chipmunk arm and spun him round.

  ‘Brilliant. Love the costume, that’s so great.’

  Harry looked down. A woman was smiling up at him, surrounded by a crowd of people. Behind them, there was a stand with a big sign saying Happy Rodent Awareness Day. People were shaking collection tins – Raising Money for a Rodent Play Park – and handing out rodent fact sheets, which said things like, ‘Did you know beavers are rodents too?’

  ‘This is totally inspired,’ said the woman. ‘We really need people to see the good in rodents. Dressing up like this will definitely help. It’s just so fun! Great job!’

  Now, other Rodent Awareness Day people came to shake Harry’s one free chipmunk hand (the one not holding a piece of cheese), and congratulate him on his amazing costume.

  ‘I’m just trying to find my granny,’ Harry muttered. ‘Really, I have to go. Sorry.’

  No good. He was surrounded now by excited Rodent Awareness Day folk, patting and hugging him.

  ‘Please, I must catch up with my granny,’ Harry said, but his protests were muffled inside his giant chipmunk head. Nobody heard a word.

  ‘Love the mascot,’ said a photographer from the local paper, pointing at Harry. He asked all the Rodent Awareness Day people to line up, with Harry in the middle, and he began taking photos.

  ‘Can you give me a thumbs up?’ said the photographer. ‘You, the fella in the raccoon suit.’

  Harry raised a thumb reluctantly.

  ‘Maybe do a little dance?’ the photographer suggested.

  ‘Really, I have to go …’

  Again, no one heard. Harry felt a trickle of sweat dribble down his face as he shook his head. Everyone began chanting, ‘Dance, dance, dance, dance.’

  ‘Come on, mate, just give it a little shimmy,’ said the photographer, his massive camera lens pointed right at Harry.

  There was nothing else for it … Harry wiggled his squishy tummy and bobbed his head. The crowd laughed and whooped and began dancing alongside him. The photographer kept shouting ‘lovely’ and ‘nice’ as he took more photos, and passers-by stopped to watch.

  This is so embarrassing, Harry thought, so deeply, deeply embarrassing. Then he remembered: At least no one knows who I am. They can’t see my face.

  With this reassuring thought in his head, Harry continued to dance, and with each step and shimmy, he slowly but purposefully wiggled and waggled his way towards the edge of the group of Rodent Awareness Day folk, until he could finally break into a plodding run, in the direction of the leisure centre.

  When the Rodent Awareness Day people realised that Harry had scarpered, they called out, ‘Hey, come back, don’t you want to stay for the competition later? The rodent who looks most like its owner. You can be judge.’

  But Harry didn’t stop. And he didn’t look back.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Harry pushed open the door to the leisure centre, tripping over his feet as he went. He could feel sweat trickling down his back now, as though his head were actually melting. He cursed the chipmunk suit.

  If I designed a chipmunk suit, I’d use lighter-weight padding, he thought, and add some vents under the arms. An easy-access zip too, so the wearer can take it off without help. And no pouch! Who ever saw a chipmunk with a pouch?

  A little boy choosing chocolate from the vending machine turned and pointed at Harry.

  ‘Meerkat!’ he shouted.

  ‘Not even close, mate,’ Harry muttered, and then walked up to reception, where a woman with a name badge that said ‘Beverly’ was sitting.

  ‘Oh, hello. Good outfit,’ said Beverly. ‘I love hamsters. So cute.’

  ‘It’s a chipmunk, actually,’ said Harry. ‘Hamsters don’t have furry tails. Or pouches. Well, they have pouches in their cheeks, for storing food, but not this kind.’

  He patted his belly.

  ‘Then again, neither do chipmunks. Have pouches, that is.’

  Beverly looked confused, then shrugged and said, ‘How can I help you?’

  Harry remembered again that he had no money. How was he going to get in?

  Then he remembered how he’d lied to get into Fun Valley Adventure Resort. Lying was not something he liked to do. He was usually one hundred per cent honest, but today was not a usual sort of day and so, thinking fast, he said, ‘I’m the mascot for the, er, basketball game. They’re expecting me.’

  Beverly squinted at her computer screen.

  ‘There’s a netball game starting at three, but no basketball …’

  ‘Netball! Yes, netball! That’s it,’ said Harry. He glanced at the clock – 1.10 p.m.

  ‘I’m early,’ he said. ‘It’s good to be early, isn’t it?’

  Beverly shrugged again and waved Harry through.

  ‘Before I go, would you help me take my head off, please?’ Harry asked. ‘My chipmunk head, I mean.’

  Beverly undid the Velcro fastening at the back and pulled the chipmunk head off. Harry took a huge breath, like he’d been held under water for ages.

  ‘Oh wow, that feels good,’ he said. ‘Thanks, Beverly. Here, have a Chipmunk Chunk.’

  Harry handed Beverly a sweetie and then lumbered off to find his granny. He still couldn’t move very fast, but with the chipmunk head off, he could at least see and breathe easily and he didn’t feel as though his cheeks were going to burst into flames.

  Harry checked the leisure centre cafe first, but Mini wasn’t there. She wasn’t in the gym, on the badminton courts, playing ping-pong or doing a jazz yoga class. Harry half expected her to be in the boxing ring, thumping a huge punchbag, but she wasn’t there either.

  That panicky feeling, by now quite familiar, fluttered in his belly again like moths round a street light as Harry, finally, checked the swimming pool. He stood at the spectators’ window and peered down. An old man was doing the breaststroke, like a slow-motion turtle. The only other person around was the lifeguard, sitting on a high chair overlooking the water. He glanced at her. Then did a double take. The lifeguard was small, with curly white hair.

  ‘Mini!’ he gasped.

  Harry rubbed his eyes. Yes, he had seen right. Yes, it was Mini, wearing the yellow-and-red leisure centre shorts and T-shirt, and with the whistle that had been in her bag now around her neck.

  Thousands of questions crowded into Harry’s brain. How long had his gran been a lifeguard?

  Could she do the backstroke? And the front crawl? Did the chlorine in the pool make her hair feel dry? Could she swim with trainers on? Could she hold her breath for as long as a sea otter (five minutes)?

  Harry was about to clatter down to the pool and confront her when he caught sight of himself in the glass of the window. He looked ridiculous. His hair was slick with sweat, his face bright red like furious ketchup, and he was still dressed as a chipmunk from the neck down. There was no way he wanted to go to the awards ceremony looking like this. Perhaps he didn’t have to.

  ‘How long do lifeguard shifts last?’ he asked Beverly, back at reception.

  ‘At least an hour,’ she replied.

  ‘Fantastic, thank you,’ said Harry, heading for the changing rooms. Mini could only be a little way through her shift, which meant he had time.

  Time to change out of this stupid furry costume.

  Time to run home and put on some clean clothes.

  Time to get back and grab his granny just as she finished lifeguarding.

  She wouldn’t get away again!

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Harry waddled into the changing rooms, squeezed himself into a cubicle and put the chipmunk head down on the bench. He began fumbling for the zip at the back of the costume with his one free hand (the one not holding a piece of cheese), but because it was a fat foam chipmunk hand, he could hardly feel anything through it. It was like trying to pick up a raisin while wearing boxing gloves.

  Harry wriggled and stretched, reaching over his shoulder, round his ribs, up his spine, trying to get at the zip. He looked like he was doing a one-armed exercise class, or an ancient rain dance, or performing an airport security pat-down on himself. He strained and lunged, his fat chipmunk body banging and thumping against the sides of the cubicle, making it shake, but nothing worked.

  Next, Harry tried jumping up and down, hoping that might jiggle the zip open. It didn’t. Then he searched all over the suit – between his legs, under his arms – for some kind of emergency exit, escape hatch or ejector seat. Had the designer not installed one? No. There was nothing. He was totally and utterly trapped inside a giant foam-and-fur chipmunk.

  He began to feel desperate. He wanted the suit off – now! Right now! He couldn’t stand to wear it a moment longer. Still wriggling to reach the zip, Harry felt his breathing speed up, his eyes narrow and then, suddenly, the quiet, gentle Harry snapped like a matchstick and his nickname – Harry the Hulk – burst out.

  ‘GET! THIS! THING! OFF! ME!’ he bellowed and, with one giant heave, he ripped Cheesehead the Chipmunk in two. There was a loud tearing sound. Stuffing rose up into the air like clouds. Chipmunk Chunks tumbled to the floor. Then, panting, Harry stepped clean of the suit, feeling the cool air on his body for the first time in hours. He kicked the stupid huge shoes off his feet – and then froze.

  Staring up at him from the floor was a small, furry animal, with long ears, long back legs and tiny arms. Harry gasped.

  ‘A wallaby!’ he whispered. ‘What in the name of croissants … ? Hang about.

  Did you crawl into my pouch when I fell over in your enclosure at the theme park?’

  Harry bent down and tickled the baby wallaby on its furry cheek. I
t nuzzled into Harry’s hand. He scooped it up and cuddled it. It licked his chin.

  ‘You’re very gorgeous,’ cooed Harry, immediately transported to that warm, happy place he always went to when he was around animals. ‘What lovely ears, and you’ve got a proper pouch, haven’t you?’

  Then he remembered – he had a job to do.

  He checked his watch: 1.20 p.m. Just over three hours to go until the awards started, and still so much to do.

  ‘You’ll have to come with me, little one,’ Harry said, and he opened the changing-room door. A little boy was standing outside.

  ‘Is that a kangaroo?’ he asked.

  ‘No, it’s a wallaby,’ Harry said.

  ‘Are you its dad?’

  ‘No, I’m only eleven,’ said Harry.

  The boy shrugged.

  Harry hid the baby wallaby inside his T-shirt and made for the exit, feeling the wet changing-room-floor tiles against his bare feet. Then he remembered that he had taken his trainers off when he’d changed into Cheesehead at the theme park. He had no shoes.

  Luckily, just outside were shoes in abundance, neatly lined up under benches, where people sat to take them off before going into the changing rooms.

  Harry hurriedly looked for something his size, and found a pair of big blue flip-flops. He put them on and made for the exit. The flip-flops slapped against the tiled floor, sounding like a seal clapping at a fireworks display, but Harry hardly noticed. He was too delighted with how light and fast he felt, now that he was finally free of the chipmunk costume. It was amazing, incredible! He felt like a unicorn with wings, or a cheetah on an electric scooter. He could probably run across water or up the side of a skyscraper, he decided. That’s how light and fast he felt.

  With a gleeful ‘whoop!’, Harry vaulted the turnstile at reception (Beverly was too busy chewing a Chipmunk Chunk to say anything), and then, cradling the wallaby against his belly, he ran down the road.

  Harry was home in no time. He tiptoed round the side of his house and peeped into the kitchen window. His mum was there, still mopping up the flood. He glanced at his watch: 1.30 p.m. If Mini’s shift had started around 1 p.m. and lasted an hour, then she’d finish at 2 p.m. He had half an hour to get inside, get changed and get back to the leisure centre.

  The only problem was, he wasn’t supposed to be at home. This was not included on the day’s schedule. If his mum saw him she’d explode like a stick of dynamite. Those puppy points would be toast. Could he creep inside without her spotting him, like a ninja burglar, or a very quiet spy? No, he decided, he was too big and clumsy to pull that off. He would have to create a distraction instead. But what?

  A bleating noise came from next door’s garden.

  ‘Of course,’ Harry murmured. ‘Primrose and Daisy.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Harry crept quietly into the garden and crawled towards the fence. Mr Hoof, the neighbour, had nailed a plank over the hole the goats had squeezed through that morning, but there was a small gap. Harry peeped through.

  ‘Primrose! Daisy!’ he whispered. ‘Come over here. Quick!’

  They ignored him. Then Harry spotted some pants on the washing line. He poked them through the fence.

  ‘Delicious pants, yum, yum, yum.’

  Primrose trotted over and tugged at them.

  ‘If you want them, come and get them,’ he said.

  Harry yanked the pants through the gap and scooted back to the side of the house, then waited. It didn’t take long.

  There was a loud cracking sound. Primrose had butted the fence. A few more thumps and then – wallop! – she arrived with a triumphant bleat in Harry’s garden. Daisy squeezed through the hole after her.

  ‘You beauties,’ Harry said. He loved those goats. He loved them even more when they trotted over to the washing line and began plucking pants off it, like they were picking raspberries.

  Seconds later, the back door opened and Harry saw his mum (aka Pan Woman–Goat Nemesis) rush outside, shrieking, ‘Get off my knickers, you horrible creatures!’

  Harry felt sorry for Primrose and Daisy. They were going to get yelled at again by his mum, just so that he could creep into the house unnoticed, but then he saw Daisy kicking over a garden chair and Primrose tossing a pair of pink pants into the air with her tiny goat horns, and realised they could take care of themselves.

  Harry sped round to the front door, snuck inside and took the stairs three at a time with his long legs. He dashed into his bedroom, put the wallaby on his bed, then zoomed into the bathroom for a quick wash.

  Back in his room, Harry changed into a bright white top with a bold ‘H’ for Harry on the front. The dark colours that he usually wore to help his tallness blend in didn’t seem that necessary any more. He had just spent several hours dressed as a giant chipmunk, for goodness sake. Wearing colourful clothes would be nothing compared to that. He pulled on some trainers and looked at the wallaby on his bed.

  ‘What can I carry you in?’ Harry said. A pillowcase would be pouch-like, but he needed something with handles. His backpack looked too rigid. He snuck into Kerry’s room to see if she had something and …

  ‘What the heck are you doing here?’ she yelled at him.

  Harry jumped with shock. Kerry was lying on her bed, eating biscuits.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. ‘You’re supposed to be in town with friends.’

  ‘They cancelled,’ Kerry said.

  ‘Cancelled?’ Harry said. ‘When do your friends ever cancel going into town? That’s all they ever do.’

  Kerry shrugged.

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ said Harry. ‘They didn’t cancel because you never had a plan to go into town with them at all. That was just a handy lie to get you out of taking care of Mini for the day.’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t matter,’ said Kerry. ‘You wanted the puppy points. Anyway, where is Mini and why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with her?’

  Harry rubbed his head with his knuckles, feeling tiredness break over him like a wave. He sat down heavily on Kerry’s bed.

  ‘Taking care of Mini is really difficult,’ said Harry. ‘She keeps running off. I lost her in the supermarket and then again at the theme park.’

  ‘She was never meant to be at the supermarket or the theme park, was she?’ Kerry asked.

  ‘No, she wasn’t,’ said Harry. ‘Now she’s at the leisure centre. Did you know she works as a lifeguard? And loves spicy food? And keeps a lasso in her bag?’

  Suddenly, Kerry leaped up and stood on her pillows.

  ‘What is that?’ she gasped, pointing at the floor. ‘Is it a kangaroo?’

  The wallaby had lolloped into the room.

  ‘It’s a wallaby,’ said Harry. ‘And it’s a she. Male wallabies don’t have pouches. Probably about three months old, I’d say, judging by her paw size. That reminds me. Have you got a bag I can keep her in?’

  ‘Back of the door,’ Kerry said, not taking her eyes off the wallaby.

  Harry selected a simple cloth bag, plopped the wallaby in and looped the handles around his neck. Instantly, the wallaby curled up and settled.

  ‘Can I have a biscuit? I’m starving,’ he asked.

  Kerry handed him the packet and Harry stuffed two into his mouth, munched them quickly and then rushed back to the top of the stairs.

  ‘Wait, Harry,’ said Kerry, running after him. ‘Why have you got a wallaby? What’s going on?’

  ‘I’ll explain later,’ said Harry. ‘Gotta run. Time’s ticking. I must get Mini to the awards. Do me a favour, will you? Check Mum’s still outside.’

  Kerry ran downstairs and spotted Mum, still battling the goats in the garden. ‘All clear,’ she called up.

  Harry bounded down the stairs.

  ‘Please don’t tell Mum anything about this,’ he said. ‘Definitely don’t tell her that I lost Mini. Promise?’

  Kerry nodded.

  ‘Headbutt promise?’ Harry said.

  Harry and Kerry had invented the headbutt promise for serious, important situations just like this. It was the strongest kind of promise of all.

  Kerry stood on her tiptoes and gently butted her forehead against Harry’s.