‘I could boogle my bunions!’ Clod said, half giggling, half singing to himself. Neville wasn’t sure, but he thought his dooda might even be skipping as they reached the jam-jar house.
Clod put Neville down among the washing-machine parts and hurried through the green curtain. ‘This way, Nev!’
Neville watched Clod’s grey-green shape through the jam-jar walls as he clomped across the kitchen to another grey-green shape. This one was larger than Clod and had a lot more hair.
Mooma, Neville said to himself and darted through the green curtain in his dooda’s wake.
Neville felt dizzy with excitement. Suddenly seeing the Bulches’ house again and smelling Malaria’s cooking almost knocked him over with happiness. He looked around the kitchen.
There was the table made from stacks of newspapers and a splintered door, the broken plates on the shelves and Rabies the giant troll-mole gnawing on a bone in the corner. Pong, Neville’s troll-brother, was licking a bowl on a barrel seat. He took one look at Neville and cooed loudly. Malaria Bulch was bending over the stove, wrestling what looked like a giant woodlouse into a saucepan.
‘GET BACK IN THERE AND COOK!’ she yelled at the ugly creature. Then she smacked it with the round end of a rusty ladle and slammed the lid shut. ‘AND DON’T COME OUT TILL YOU’RE CRISPY!’
‘Mooma!’ Neville shouted, flinging his arms wide.
Malaria spun round, clasping both spade-sized hands to her chest.
‘Oh, my grumpious little grumplet!’ she cried. ‘You made me jumpy. I wasn’t expectin’ you two back for yonkers.’
‘Ole Nev don’t waste no time,’ said Clod proudly. ‘He’s all prompty.’
Neville ran and hugged his mooma round one of her hefty thighs.
‘I’ve missed you, my brandyburp, but look at you,’ Malaria said, picking him up and planting a wet kiss on the top of his head.
‘You’re scrawnier than a punker’s poker. What is that Margarine feedin’ you?’
‘Last night she made us tofu burgers,’ Neville said, pulling a face.
‘What?’
If she wasn’t grey-green already, Neville could have sworn his mooma just turned greener.
‘That’s just plain old rotsome,’ Malaria said. ‘I’d say it’s time you had a Bulch Family din-dins and we’ll talk about what funly things we’ve got planned. Eh, Clod?’
‘Sounds goodly to me,’ said Clod, plonking himself at the table. ‘Carryin’ overlings is hungry work and that’s no mistakin’.’
‘Down you pop, lump,’ Malaria said, pulling a barrel up to the table for Neville to sit on. ‘Now you rest your bumly bits and I’ll rustle up somethin’ tinkly. I’ll just fetch Rubella.’
Neville felt his stomach tighten into a knot. He knew his troll-sister, Rubella, would be around for his stay in the Underneath, but why did she still make him feel so nervous? He took a deep breath and imagined himself in green pants like Captain Brilliant. That always made him feel much braver.
‘RUBELLA!’ yelled Malaria, as she pounded on the ceiling with a broom handle. ‘OY, BELLY!’
‘What?’ a voice shouted from the floor above. A shiver ran down Neville’s spine at the sound of it.
‘NEV’S HERE,’ Malaria yelled again.
‘So?’ Rubella grunted through the floor.
‘WE’RE ’AVIN’ SOME DIN-DINS!’
CCCCRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSHHHHHHH!
The whole house shook as Rubella burst through the ceiling in a shower of floorboards and bits of jam jar. The first time Neville had ever met the enormous rhinoceros that was his troll-sister, she had punched a hole in the ceiling to get a better look at him. But now she came through the kitchen roof entirely and landed perfectly on a barrel seat at the table in between Pong and Neville, like a hungry boulder.
‘Belly,’ Clod said, scraping a huge lump of ceiling off the table. ‘You could have used the stairs.’
‘Too tired,’ Rubella grunted. Then she turned her huge, ugly head and leered at Neville. ‘’Ello, whelp,’ she said.
Neville smiled a nervous smile and tried not to wet himself.
‘Erm … hello, Rubella …’ he mumbled, then busied himself with picking bits of plaster out of his jumper.
‘Dinner’s ’ere,’ Malaria said, clomping over from the stove with a tray filled with bubbling pots and pans. It was like she hadn’t even noticed the whoppsy great chunker that had just plummeted through the ceiling and landed exactly in her place at the table. ‘Eat up, Nev.’
Before he knew it, Neville was tucking into plates of very crispy woodlouse and hot, steaming mugs of left-sock stew. Even though he knew he should find it disgusting, like he had on his first visit to the Bulches, Neville loved every mouthful of Malaria’s squibbly cooking.
‘Well, Nev!’ Clod said, rubbing his spade-sized hands together. ‘We’ve got lots to do while you’re here.’
‘Absolunkly,’ Malaria joined in. ‘We can go for a stroll round the market, maybe.’
‘And I thought we might go and watch some theatricals,’ said Clod.
‘The market and the theatre?’ huffed Rubella, with a mouthful of rat patty. ‘BORIN’! Tell the little snot what we’re doing in the morrow.’
‘Rubella!’ Clod snapped. ‘That’s meant to be a surprise.’
‘What is?’ asked Neville.
‘It’s nuffin’,’ said Clod. ‘Well … erm …’
‘Why won’t you tell me?’ Neville said. Butterflies started fluttering around inside his belly. ‘Is it something horrible?’
‘Oh, go on, Clod,’ Malaria said. ‘Now you’re scaring the poor lump. He looks all nervish.’
‘Ha ha!’ Clod beamed. ‘All rightsy. Tomorrow, we’re takin’ you to visit the Clunk.’
‘The what?’ Neville said. He didn’t like the sound of it.
‘The Clunk!’ said Clod, scooping another fistful of food into his mouth. ‘We couldn’t keep Lady Jaundice trapped inside the ticker-dinger-thinger, and what with us underlings being usually goodly, honourous types, there didn’t have no prisons strong enough to hold her, she always escaped. So we built the Clunk. Everyone pitched in.’
Neville’s heart started racing.
‘You mean we’re going to visit my grandmooma?’
‘Indeedy!’ Clod yelled happily.
‘My evil gonker grandmooma that hates me?’
‘S’right!’ said Malaria. ‘It’s awful funly. We all go and have a good look and a fun-poke every now and again.’
‘Where is the Clunk?’ said Neville. He could feel little beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
‘That’s the other surprise,’ said Clod, jumping up and waving his arms. ‘It’s on an island in the middle of the Undersea!’
‘The … the Undersea?’ Neville whispered. He hated water. He’d even failed his ‘One width of the pool’ swimming certificate.
‘You’re so adventurable,’ Clod said. ‘I bet you can’t wait to get out across the big wetty ocean.’
Neville opened his mouth … closed it … opened it again and fainted.
Rubella pointed and laughed.