Archer’s Goon

Fifi was waiting for him when he came out of school, waving and looking anxious. In a way, it was as bad as the Goon. Howard’s friends all made chortling noises, pretending they thought Fifi was his girlfriend. He went over to her as slowly as he could. But that only made Fifi run to meet him. “What’s up?” he said.

“Don’t look so glad to see me, will you?” Fifi said. “Someone might notice. Miss Maisie Potter’s up, that’s what. She didn’t come near the Poly today, and that’s not like her. I want you to come round to her house with me.”

“Do you think she’s ill?” said Howard.

“I think she’s avoiding me,” said Fifi. “She saw the Goon that night, remember. I think it’s fishy.”

She clung to Howard’s arm, causing a further set of chortles from Howard’s friends. “Be ever so nice and come with me, Howard. I don’t like to face her with stealing on my own.”

“Oh, all right,” Howard said hastily. They walked down the street together, pursued by chortles.

As soon as they were out of hearing, Fifi said, “The Goon’s still there, you know. Sitting. Grinning. Your dad’s just sitting, too – sitting it out. He hasn’t even tried to write his new book. I keep thinking of that knife.”

Howard sighed. He had hoped the Goon would have got tired of waiting by now.

Fifi wrapped her scarf around her neck and flung the end bravely over her shoulder. “Frankly, Howard, I’m wondering if I should go to the police. Your dad won’t. But someone should.”

“It may not do any good,” said Howard. “Dillian runs law and order.”

“Dillian?” said Fifi. “Who’s Dillian?”

“Archer’s brother,” said Howard. “Mr Mountjoy said there were seven of them, and they run—”

He was interrupted by well-known piercing shouts and pounding feet. Awful was racing after them, having seen them crossing the end of the street where her school was. “Where are you two going and not taking me?” she demanded when she caught up. “You’re supposed to look after me.”

Fifi sighed rather. “We’re going to Miss Potter’s to get the words back. It’s a long way.”

“I’m coming, too,” Awful announced, as they had known she would.

“Then be good,” said Howard.

“I’ll be how I want,” Awful retorted. But she was afraid of making them angry enough to send her home, so she skipped along beside them almost quietly and did nothing worse than make a rude sign at two little girls across the street. “Our school was written over last night,” she said. “It says ARCHER on all the walls.”

“So does mine,” said Howard.

“Let’s go and see Archer,” Awful suggested. “You could set me on him.”

“Oh, no!” said Fifi. “He must be worse than the Goon.”

This sobered Awful somewhat. She skipped along without talking, while they went past the Poly and through the shopping centre and on up Shotwick Hill. “Where are we going?” she complained at the top of Shotwick Hill.

“I warned you,” Fifi said. “She lives up Pleasant Hill way. Woodland Terrace.”

“It’s posh up there,” Awful objected. “And a long way. And,” she added, “I wish I hadn’t come now.”

The way was all uphill. Long before they got to Woodland Terrace, Awful was shuffling and dragging and moaning that she was tired. She said she hated the houses here. Even the ordinary houses were beautifully painted and very neat. Most of the houses were more like red-brick castles than ordinary houses, and they got bigger and redder and more castle-like, with bigger gardens and more trees, the higher they went into Pleasant Hill. It was quite a surprise to find Woodland Terrace was a row of small houses. Awful perked up when she found Miss Potter’s house actually had gnomes in its little front garden.

“She would have gnomes!” Fifi said contemptuously as she rang the bell at the little stained-glass front door.

Miss Potter, when she opened the door, had a towel around her head and her glasses hanging from her neck on a chain. She hurriedly put the glasses on in order to stare. For an instant she looked really dismayed. “Oh,” she said, “what a surprise!” and forced a smile to her ribby face.

“That typescript I gave you to drop into the Town Hall…” Fifi began.

“What about it?” Miss Potter said, much too quickly.

“My father needs it urgently,” said Howard.

Miss Potter looked at him and then backed away, in a way that made Howard feel like the Goon. “Oh, but I—” she said, and took hold of the front door to shut it in their faces. And that would have been that, but for Awful. Awful wanted to see what the house was like inside, and she was never shy. She slipped in under Miss Potter’s skinny elbow and walked into the hall. In order not to shut Awful into the house, Miss Potter had to leave the door open. She stood holding it and looking meaningly from Awful to Howard and Fifi. When none of them moved, she said, with cross politeness, “Won’t you all come in?”

They went into the small dark house. It had a sad, damp smell and a lot of clocks ticking. Awful made a face because her curiosity was already satisfied. Miss Potter ran ahead of them into a spotless little living room and cleared two small books and a neat note pad from a shiny table. “You’ll have to excuse everything being so untidy,” she said. “I’ve been working hard all day, and I wasn’t expecting visitors. I’m so nervous about that paper Mr Sykes set me, Fifi! I can’t think of anything else!”

“Think about that typescript,” said Fifi. “Have you still got it?”

“How about some tea and biscuits?” Miss Potter said brightly.

“Yes, please,” said Awful.

But Howard and Fifi both said, “No, thanks,” at the same time, and Fifi added, “Typescript, Maisie.” Awful glowered.

Miss Potter put a hand to the towel around her head distractedly. “Oh, yes. Now let me think…”

Awful was annoyed at not being allowed tea and biscuits. She said loudly and gloomily, “She’s putting you off. She’s stolen it.”

“I have not!” Miss Potter exclaimed indignantly. “I’ve only – that is— Well, if you must know, I lent it to someone.”

“Whatever for?” said Fifi. “When you knew Mr Sykes—”

“I can get it back,” Miss Potter protested. “My friend only lives just up the road. She only wanted a peep at it.” And with a distinct look of relief she added, “I’ll – I’ll get it back and give it to you tomorrow without fail, Fifi.”

It seemed to Howard that Miss Potter was getting more and more shifty. Fifi evidently thought so too, because she said sternly, “No, that won’t do, Maisie. Tell us where your friend lives and we’ll go get it now.”

“Oh, I can’t do that!” Miss Potter cried out. “She doesn’t like strangers. She won’t know who you are. She – she doesn’t care for children. I’ll go and see her myself this evening, I promise!”

Fifi looked frustrated. Howard found he did not believe a word about this friend of Miss Potter’s. He thought of the Goon and the Goon’s techniques. He said, “We’re staying here until you give us that typescript. My father needs it. It’s his property.”

This produced a new flurry of excuses from Miss Potter. “But I can’t bother my friend in the middle of the afternoon like this! And just look at these awful old clothes I’m in!”

“We’ll wait while you change,” said Fifi.

“Besides,” added Miss Potter, becoming truly inspired, “my hair’s wet.”

“Wear a hat,” said Awful. “Doesn’t she tell a lot of lies?”

At this, Miss Potter made a noise of exasperation. “Very well,” she said, tossing her towelled head angrily. “We’ll all go to see my friend. But I insist on going upstairs to change first.” She turned and marched out of the neat living room.

Howard hastily nudged Awful and gave her the look which meant she could be as awful as she liked. It did not seem to him that Awful needed much encouraging just then. Nor did she. She grinned fiendishly and scampered after Miss Potter. He heard her following Miss Potter upstairs, saying, “I want to see your bedroom. I like seeing bedrooms.”

“Oh, Howard,” Fifi whispered. “She’ll never forgive me!”

Howard comforted his conscience by telling it that Miss Potter probably deserved it for stealing the words and telling lies about friends. “Quick,” he whispered back. “I bet the words are here somewhere.”

Quietly and hastily he and Fifi tiptoed about, searching the neat little room. They opened drawers and cupboards, looked in the empty wastepaper basket, and ended lifting up clocks and shaking out empty vases. There was nothing. Miss Potter did not seem to keep even old letters.

They tiptoed to the only other room, which proved to be Miss Potter’s kitchen, and searched cupboards there, too. Fifi looked in the oven and the fridge, while Howard sorted through the two plastic bags and the cabbage stalk, which was all that was in Miss Potter’s waste bin. Again nothing. All the while, they could hear footsteps moving about upstairs and Awful’s voice loudly saying things like, “Why do you have so many kinds of make-up? They don’t make you any prettier.” Or, “Why do you keep your nightie in this silly teddy bear?” It made Fifi giggle.

Howard thought Miss Potter must have the words upstairs, probably in the teddy with her nightdress, and he was just hoping that Awful would have the sense to look when he heard Awful saying, in a very loud, warning way, “You did change quickly! Don’t you like little girls watching you?” Fifi was giggling helplessly. Howard took her arm and towed her back to the living room just in time.

Miss Potter came bouncing tightly down the stairs in a neat pleated skirt, with a neat scarf over her head, and her lips were tightly pressed together. She looked furious. “Fifi, you should teach that child some manners!” she said. “Do you think you could wait outside while I find my keys?”

Awful stuck her head over the banisters, grinning wider than the Goon. She whispered, in a great loud gust, “Miss Potter wants to telephone. She’s got a telephone upstairs, too.”

Miss Potter shot Awful a venomous look and followed that up with an artificial-looking jump. “Oh, silly me! I have my keys here all the time! Shall we go?”

They went out of the house. While Miss Potter was locking it with much fussy jangling of keys, Howard tried to decide whether there really was a friend or Miss Potter had just decided on this way to get rid of them. Either way there was nothing they could do but follow Miss Potter uphill and into Pleasant Hill Road itself.

“My friend is such an admirer of your father’s books,” Miss Potter explained to Howard as they climbed. “She’s been asking me for months now if I couldn’t get her just a peep at some of his newest writing. She says she simply must read every word he’s ever written. She says it’s his style that’s so marvellous, but I think the important thing is that he’s so sympathetic to the woman’s point of view. Don’t you agree?”

“I don’t know,” Howard panted. Miss Potter set quite a fast pace. “I’ve never read any of Dad’s books.”

“He says we mustn’t till we’re old enough,” Awful explained.

Miss Potter struck back smartly at this. “You poor child! Can’t you read yet? How sad!”

“You do make catty remarks,” Awful said. “Is it because you’re an old maid?”

Miss Potter pressed her lips together and walked on up the hill in seething silence. Howard gave Awful the look that was meant to call her off, but he was not sure it worked. They came in silence to the very top of the hill, to the driveway of the largest and reddest house yet. The brick gatepost said 28. Number 28 was like several castles melted together, with brick battlements and towers sprouting off its many corners. The way into it seemed to be through a big glass porch in front. Miss Potter went through the porch door and then undid the mighty studded front door beyond enough to put her head around it.

“Cooee!” she called. “Anyone at home? Dillian, dear, it’s me!”

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