10.15pm THURSDAY
The west wing was full of clutter – room upon room, floor upon floor of junk. ‘It’s got worse,’ said Joe, shining his torch into the first room. ‘There’s even more stuff here than last time.’
Rolls of carpet, discarded lampshades, torn umbrellas, dusty tea chests, musty wardrobes, rusty kettles – anything useless or past it, the Steins kept it. And if any of their friends were spring cleaning and wanted to get rid of a broken sewing machine or a battered chest of drawers the Steins would give it houseroom. ‘Oh no,’ they’d say, ‘You can’t chuck it out! You know if you get rid of it you’re bound to need it again. Why not store it in our west wing?’
‘These books weren’t here last time,’ said Gertie, starting to leaf through a pile of paperbacks, torch in hand, for all as if she had dropped into her local library. She was just getting involved in the adventures of twelve princesses and their dancing slippers when Joe interrupted her with a shout.
‘Look what I found!’
Gertie jumped, and her torch clattered to the floor. ‘This better be worth it,’ she muttered, picking her way over to Joe, ‘I think my bulb’s broken.’
It was worth it. Neither Gertie nor Joe had ever had a doll. Their parents had simply never thought to buy them one. They had chemistry sets, periscopes and shelves of encyclopaedias, but never a teddy or a doll. And now they were both too old to even think of wanting one. But here, here was a doll you could never be too old for.
It was an old dummy from a shop window, a plastic mannequin with a black wig and a faded grey suit forty years out of date.
‘How utterly brilliant,’ breathed Gertie, reaching up to straighten the wig. ‘I wonder where he came from….’
‘Look, we can unscrew him at the waist. You take the legs and I’ll take the rest of him.’ Joe jammed his torch between his teeth and set to work. ‘We can take him to the turret.’
There were four turrets, one at each corner of the house, and they were all exactly the same with long spiral staircases and a small circular room at the top. Well, three were the same and one was special, because Gertie and Joe had turned it into a den. They had raided the best rugs and cushions from the west wing and built themselves a wonderful hidey-hole for midnight feasts and early morning card games.
It was a great place to watch the sun rise. That’s why they had picked it, but the unfortunate result was that it stood at the south-east corner of the house, on the far side of the laboratories.
Gertie sighed and gripped the dummy round the ankles. It wasn’t easy making their way right from one end of that enormous house to the other with a six-foot plastic mannequin and one torch between them. To make things worse, a storm was raging by the time they reached the labs. They could hear the wind buffeting the windows and the distant roar of thunder.
‘Can’t we go the other way?’ asked Joe.
‘No, it would take far too long,’ snapped Gertie, who was having difficulty manoeuvring the legs. She pushed open the door to the main laboratory and stepped inside. The plastic legs, which she had jammed under her arm, swung wildly.
There was a terrible crash and then silence.
After a minute or two, Joe started: ‘You are the most clumsy person I’ve ever met,’ he hissed out of the darkness above his torch. ‘Why is it that whenever something can be dropped, you…’
‘Shut up!’ whispered Gertie, her courage returning. ‘Here, give me your torch. I want to see if I’ve broken anything.’
‘Why don’t you just switch on the light. You’ve woken the whole house up already.’
‘OK, I will then.’ Gertie fumbled for the light switch, flicked it on then promptly switched it off again.
‘A whole rack of test-tubes, Gertie. You smashed a whole rack of test-tubes. Mum and Dad will kill you!’ Joe whispered in horror.
Gertie was silent for a moment, then: ‘They’ll think it was the mice,’ she said slowly. ‘They’re always complaining they chew their notes for nests.’
‘Hadn’t you better sweep the glass up?’ said Joe.
‘Since when did mice learn to sweep, idiot!’ Gertie was fuming. She felt like kicking herself but knew she’d probably miss. Instead, she swung the torch beam over the mess.
‘Oh no! The dummy’s covered! It was blood in the test-tubes. What are we going to do?’ she wailed.
‘Ssshh!’ hissed Joe. ‘It’s only blood, throwing itself about again.’ Then he relented. ‘Don’t panic, Gertie, it just got his feet. Pity he’s got no shoes. There, hold him by the knees and you’ll be all right. And don’t worry. You can’t catch anything, you know. The blood’s all cleaned long before Mum and Dad get their hands on it. Now, please can we get out of here?’
He shifted his end of the dummy so that its arm was round his neck and its head rested against his shoulder. ‘Get your wig out my eyes,’ said Joe and led the way across the lab as quickly as he could. There were two more labs; the first was crammed with chemicals and the second with computers. They were half-way across this last room, when ‘Yikes!’ squawked Joe. A small furry thing shot over the floor, through the torch beam and into a dark corner.
‘That,’ observed Gertie, brightening up a bit, ‘was a mouse. A naughty, note nibbling, test-tube toppling mouse.’ Suddenly she felt less guilty. ‘Let me take his top half,’ she offered as Joe fumbled with the handle of the door to the turret. She grasped the mannequin under the arms, Joe opened the door and they stepped through. There was a crash of thunder and a sudden gust of wind slammed the door shut behind them.
‘Phew,’ whispered Joe. ‘Almost there.’
The spiral staircase was narrow and the poor dummy had his head banged mercilessly against the walls on the way up. ‘Can’t you be careful, Gertie? You’re chipping his paintwork.’
‘Stop whingeing and open the door,’ said Gertie. She watched her brother jam his torch between his teeth and ransack his pockets for the key. ‘Hurry up!’ Her arms were aching.
‘Got it.’
The thunder clap was so close that it shook the turret and made their teeth rattle. Then at last the key clattered in the lock and the door swung open.
