The glazier did his best with the window next morning, but it totally didn’t match the others, and when he handed the bill to Mum her face dropped.
‘So much for the free holiday,’ she said.
‘I told you not to bring Thimble,’ said Dad.
‘Thimble didn’t break the window,’ said Mum.
‘Or the vase,’ I added helpfully.
‘This place is chock full of valuables,’ said Dad. ‘It’s going to be a nightmare keeping Thimble away from them.’
‘Maybe we should make another list,’ I suggested.
‘Good idea,’ said Dad.
I opened my notebook and wrote:
THINGS THIMBLE MUST NOT GET HIS HANDS ON IN THE HOLIDAY HOME.
We progressed round the house, noting the ornaments, the tablecloths, the rugs, the stereos, the lamps, the lead crystal wine glasses and the framed photographs. There was one wall which was covered in pictures of speedboats, except on closer inspection it turned out to be just one boat, Le Superb. The boat sure lived up to its name.
‘Do you think that’s their boat?’ I asked.
‘Who cares,’ said Dad.
‘Maybe we could go on it!’
‘It’s a house swap,’ said Dad. ‘Not a boat swap.’
‘Just imagine though!’ I said.
‘What, Thimble getting his hands on it?’ said Dad. ‘I’d rather not.’
We moved on. There was one door we hadn’t tried yet, a locked door in the kitchen. The door was painted bright red, which I thought might be a warning, but no, it was just an enormous garage, full of tellies and stereos and enough tinned food to keep an army. There was also a workbench on which we found a saw, a box of matches, an electric drill and a tube of superglue.
‘Wow!’ I said. ‘This would be Thimble’s idea of heaven!’
Dad picked up the superglue and winced. ‘Thimble,’ he said, ‘must never get into this room.’
‘What’s that under the bench?’ I asked. I could see the edge of a large chest, like a pirate’s treasure chest.
‘I think we’ve seen enough.’
‘Let’s just look inside, Dad!’ I replied.
‘No, let’s go,’ said Dad. ‘This place is making me nervous.’
Dad locked the red door, checked the locked door three times, then placed the key under a tray of cutlery in a kitchen drawer. Just as he closed the drawer, however, he became aware that someone, besides me, was watching him.
‘Thimble!’ he cried. ‘What are you doing here?’
It was a rather stupid question. As usual, Thimble wanted to join in with whatever we were doing, which always looked like some kind of game to him.
‘It’s OK, Dad,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t know what the key is for.’
‘Don’t mention the key!’ said Dad.
‘He probably saw it,’ I replied. ‘Did you see the key, Thimble?’
Thimble nodded eagerly.
‘And did you see Dad lock the garage with it?’
‘Don’t say that!’ said Dad.
Thimble looked from Dad to me and back again several times. This was starting to look like a particularly good game.
Dad gave a great sigh. ‘Well done, Jams!’ he said, retrieving the key. ‘Now you can find somewhere to hide it!’
I took the key and set off. Thimble bounded after me.
‘Not you, Thimble!’ cried Dad.
‘Distract him, Dad,’ I said.
Dad mimed hitting himself in the face with a cricket bat. This may not mean much to you if you have not read Thimble Monkey Superstar, but it meant an awful lot to Thimble, who could not relive this memory often enough.
I took my chance and hurried upstairs. I was immediately drawn to the room with the photos of Le Superb. There was an antique desk in this room with a set of drawers above it, higher than Thimble could reach. I opened the first drawer, only to find another set of keys already there. Beneath these was a book: Le Superb: Manuel D’instruction.
If only I could read French!
I flicked through the pages. Hang on a minute … could this maybe be the superboat’s instruction manual? And this being the case, could that set of keys be the keys to the boat?
‘Dad!’ I cried, racing downstairs.
‘Ssh,’ said Dad. ‘I’m teaching Thimble
something.’
‘But Dad,’ I said. ‘I’ve found…’
‘RED MEANS STOP’, said Dad. ‘Do you understand, Thimble?’ Dad pointed at the red door.
‘I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, Dad’, I said.
‘Just like a RED TRAFFIC LIGHT.’ continued Dad. ‘RED MEANS STOP. Now show you understand.’
Thimble did the hand signals for Red Means Stop.
‘Does he understand?’ said Dad.
‘Yes, Dad,’ I said, ‘but don’t forget he always does the opposite of everything you say.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Dad. ‘Now what on earth is your mother doing?’
I glanced through the window to see Mum standing on a chair, trying to look over the garden fence. Thinking I might get more sense out of her than Dad, I went outside with the boat keys.
‘What are you doing, Mum?’ I asked.
‘Trying to see the neighbours.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Because, unlike your dad,’ said Mum, ‘I like to meet people. And besides, what if there’s an emergency?’
‘We’ll be alright,’ I said.
‘They’re not there anyway,’ said Mum. ‘No signs of life at all. We’ll just have to be very careful not to do anything risky.’
‘Right, Mum,’ I replied. ‘Guess what, Mum – they’ve got a speedboat, and I’ve just found the keys!’