Chapter 4

After scavenging for crumbs under the table at lunch, Useless trots up the stairs to the Folly. As usual, Useless lies down in his favourite spot. Tiny dark specks leap into the air. Once again, the ancient Mite family lands on the windowsill. Ma, the matriarch, jumps closer to the window, using the window like a magnifying glass.

‘Sound,’ Ma mumbles.

‘What sound?’ Max asks, her protector always by her side. Ma never lets on that she needs no protection. He’s a good, boy, if thick.

‘Not sound,’ she says morosely. ‘Vibration.’

‘A vibe?’ Cha-Cha asks excitedly, inching closer, her miniscule body already swaying. ‘Vibes? Like dancing?’ she asks hopefully.

Ma mentally rolls her non-existent eyes. ‘No,’ she says sharply, mentally slapping Cha-Cha into line. Instantly, Cha-Cha stops dancing.

‘Humming.’ Ma says shortly.

Cha-Cha moves closer but more timidly this time. ‘Like singing?’ she asks. She cringes, waiting for another slap.

‘Yes. Could be. Like singing,’ Ma answers softly. Ma’s voice is almost a caress. Cha-Cha breathes a sigh of relief. ‘Cha-Cha, come here.’ Ma mentally pushes Max out of the way, Cha-Cha taking his place. ‘Can you sense that vibration?’

Cha-Cha listens intently, eager to please Ma. ‘Sorry,’ she says crestfallen. ‘Can’t feel or hear it from here.’ She waits for a slap. It doesn’t come.

‘Where is it?’ Ma mentally crawls over the back of Useless, taking Cha-Cha with her. ‘Now can you hear that humming or singing or whatever it is?’

Cha-Cha listens. ‘Only faintly, Ma.’

‘What is it?’ Ma asks.

‘It’s too faint,’ Cha-Cha says after a moment. ‘It’s almost as if …’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s as if something’s been crawling around on Useless but it isn’t now.’

‘Just what I was thinking,’ Ma mumbles. ‘Good work,’ she adds belatedly.

Cha-Cha glows with pride.

‘But now, we have to go and find the real thing: see where it’s moved. That’s enough for now,’ Ma says decisively to her brood. ‘Get ready.’ With that, she shifts her small, black body and jumps. Following her lead, the other mites jump back onto Useless who whimpers slightly, stands up and pads downstairs.

* * *

By the end of the week, three-quarters of Harry’s farm has been harvested. Over a strong cup of tea in the early morning, Harry says to Ted and Jimmy, ‘Listen fellas, I reckon I can knock the rest of this crop over on my own.’ The three of them are standing together outside the big shed, their bright red Harvesters glowing faintly in the rays of the rising sun.

‘Yeah?’ Jimmy asks.

‘Yeah. I reckon things have gone so smoothly that you may as well take the Harvesters and move on to the other farms. I’ll just clean up here and knock the rest of the crop down flat by the end of this week. Then I’ll go help the other farmers.’

‘You sure?’ Ted asks.

‘Yep. No worries.’ Harry stares up into the milky blue, searching for clouds. ‘The weather is holding up really well: no rain for another couple of weeks, they’re saying. And the baling’s coming along too.’ The three of them automatically turn towards the sheds in the distance. Already, the place is buzzing even though it’s just after seven, the locals are so eager to get the job done properly. Harry waves and gets an answering wave from one of the new arrivals. ‘They’ll be baling now that the hemp’s sorted out. And we’ll be sending off the first load by the end of the day, and then more tomorrow.’

‘What a smooth operation,’ Jimmy says pleased. ‘No machinery breaking down for a change.’

‘We’re a long way from finishing,’ Ted reminds him dryly. He drains his mug of tea and puts the mug on Harry’s Harvester.

‘Mind you,’ Harry says, ‘I envy you those cabins on the Harvesters. I’m out in all weathers while you two sit up there as if you’re in your lounge rooms.’

Both Jimmy and Ted give Harry a huge grin: they know how much more comfortable they are.

‘Well, we’ll get going then,’ Ted says, ‘now that we know you’re jealous,’ he grins. ‘I’ll head over to the Davies’s place.’

‘And I’ll head out to Carlton’s,’ Jimmy says.

‘And at the end of all of this,’ Harry states, ‘we’ll have one big party that’ll take forever to end.’

‘You’re on,’ Jimmy and Ted say together as they climb onto their Harvesters and head back out the way they’d come a week ago.

Harry strolls back towards the kitchen and through the screen door. Helen, Shirley and the children are still having breakfast. Harry puts the three mugs in the sink. Then he sits down at the table and pours himself another cup of tea.

‘What’ve you done with my husband and Jimmy?’ Shirley asks. ‘Don’t they get another cuppa?’

‘Nope. Saving on tea leaves,’ Harry chuckles. They all laugh, knowing how many litres of tea the men drink all day. ‘We’ve decided they can start on the other farms. I’ll finish up the Folly on my own. It’s only another hundred hectares to do, the ones closest to the house. And closest to the tea supply,’ he winks. ‘Actually,’ he says quietly, ‘that was my plan all along: to do a quick sprint back to the house every hour for a refill.’

‘Dad,’ Tom groans. ‘You never stop, do you?’

‘I thought you liked my sense of humour,’ Harry exclaims pretending to be surprised.

‘You’re so weak, Dad,’ Tom says getting up and giving his father a playful punch on the arm.

‘A bit like this tea,’ Harry grins into his mug. ‘What about a fresh brew while you’re up, Tom?’

Just then, Shirley happens to glance over at Helen: she’s yawning. Thinking quickly in case Harry sees Helen falling asleep, Shirley gets up hurriedly and grabs his thermos. Shirley thinks to herself, Can’t have Harry worrying about Helen’s sleepiness: he’s got enough on his plate, what with the harvest and all the other farmers. I’ll have to keep working this out with the kids.

Shoving the thermos at Harry, she says. ‘Come on, Harry. No lolling about. Ted’s out there working. And you should be too.’

‘But it’s not even eight o’clock yet, Shirley,’ he says surprised at her brusque manner.

‘By the time you get yourself together, it’ll be time for lunch,’ she tells him slapping him on the back.

‘Yeah, she’s right, Dad,’ Lucy says rapidly. ‘Come on, I’ll, er, carry your thermos. And your lunch,’ she says grabbing both as she runs out the door. ‘Come on, Dad,’ she calls back.

‘Women,’ Harry mumbles. ‘I don’t know. Well, better be off, I guess,’ he shrugs as he bends down to kiss Helen on the top of her head. As he walks through the swinging screen door, that same head falls gently onto the kitchen table.

‘Phew!’ exclaims Jake. ‘That was close.’

‘A bit too close if you ask me,’ Tom remarks. ‘We can’t have Dad worrying about Mum as well as everything else: he couldn’t cope.’

Shirley nods vigorously. ‘My thoughts exactly, Tom.’ As usual, Shirley gently shakes Helen awake, leads her into the main bedroom and covers her up with a light quilt.

‘At least there’s nothing medically wrong with her. We whizzed into town to the doctor yesterday when she woke up. And he’s given her a clean bill of health.’

‘How do you know?’ Gull asks looking concerned.

‘He ran some tests through urgently and he sent Helen an SMS while you were all having breakfast.’

‘Well, that’s good news,’ Lucy says very relieved.

‘But what’s wrong with her?’ Tom asks as he sits down with a fresh pot of tea.

Shirley sighs. ‘Well, he says the symptoms are like some sort of sleeping sickness but milder. I told him she sleeps from eight in the morning until four p.m., and then she’s as bright as a button until bedtime.’

About the same hours Harry spends harvesting, Gull thinks.

‘The blood tests were clear,’ Shirley says. ‘The doctor says Helen’s in excellent health so we shouldn’t be alarmed.’

‘Easy for him to say,’ Lucy says as she fills her cup. ‘It’s been a week now. And all Mum does, every day, is fall sleep. If it wasn’t for you, Shirley …’ Lucy can’t finish the sentence. She takes a big gulp of tea.

Shirley gives her a hug. ‘I know it’s difficult for you all. And strange! And a bit frightening,’ she adds quietly.

‘It’s almost as if someone is singing her to sleep,’ Lucy says quietly. Nobody seems to hear her, except for Gull.

‘Now listen,’ Shirley tells them, ‘we’ve got to have a plan. So far, we’ve been able to get Harry out of the house just before Helen falls asleep. But with Ted and Jimmy on other farms, he might start hanging around the kitchen longer.’

‘Mmm,’ Tom says. ‘I think you’re right. But what can we do, Shirley?’ Four faces turn to her hopefully.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ she says shrugging her shoulders. ‘I just don’t know.’

‘We’ll have to come up with something, and before tomorrow morning too. Our luck’s bound to give out eventually,’ Jack says

‘There’s a challenge,’ Gull quips, trying to smile. ‘Ah, Tom, what was that you said about being bored?’ The others turn and stare at him.

‘Oh, he’s always bored,’ Jake laughs.

‘Think I’d rather be bored,’ Tom grumbles.

‘Well, you’re about to be,’ Shirley says.

‘What do you mean?’ Tom asks suspiciously.

Shirley gives a half smile. ‘As you know, Helen’s quite psychic. And I think she’s picking up on something going on. But because she’s falling asleep, which is most unusual for her, she can’t give us any clues as to what’s going on.’

‘Is that what she does? Gives us clues?’ Gull asks intrigued.

‘Usually,’ Shirley says. ‘She either gets the same words running around in her head. Or she gets a feeling. Or she has a dream. However, if she’s asleep, she can’t tell us what she thinks or feels. So,’ she says slowly, ‘I think the best idea is to take turns keeping an eye on her.’

‘What? When she’s sleeping? But she’ll be, er, asleep,’ Tom says confused. ‘What could be more boring than watching someone sleeping?’ Everybody looks at Tom and then they burst out laughing.

‘What?’ he asks.

‘You come out with the funniest things sometimes, little brother,’ Lucy teases. ‘You can’t bear to be bored. And now, you’re going to be sharing in one of the most boring jobs on earth.’

Shirley waits for the laughter to die down. ‘The reason for this boring job,’ she says, ‘is that Helen might say something in her sleep that will lead us to a solution. Or maybe she’ll wake up and tell us one of her insightful dreams and solve the mystery of her sleeping herself.’

‘Are you serious?’ Tom asks doubtfully.

‘Do you think it might help?’ Jake adds.

‘We can only try,’ Shirley says, and holds up her crossed fingers. ‘And so that Tom doesn’t get too bored, why don’t you work out a roster? That way, you’ll only have a few hours at a time watching over Helen.’

‘Great idea,’ Lucy says, running into the study, grabbing a large piece of her endless supply of butcher’s paper and some pens. In no time, she’s drawn up four columns with their names at the top: Lucy, Tom, Jake and Gull. ‘Now,’ Lucy says, ‘Mum’s sleeping for an extra eight hours a day. So, if we make it two hours each per day, that’s not much. And as Shirley says, seeing Mum’s psychic, she might say something that can help us find out why she keeps falling asleep.’

‘But what am I going to do for two hours?’ Tom asks restlessly.

‘I don’t know about you,’ Lucy says, ‘but I’m going to draw.’

‘And I can write out some new recipes I’ve been thinking about,’ Jake says.

‘And I can start designing Lucy’s web page,’ Gull adds.

‘But what can I do?’ Tom repeats plaintively, ‘Besides being bored to tears?’

‘That’s the trouble with you,’ Lucy grins. ‘You don’t have any hobbies or interests.’

‘I’ve got millions of interests,’ Tom says indignantly. ‘It’s just that, whatever they are, you have to keep moving to enjoy them.’

Shirley laughs and takes a sip of tea. ‘Sounds like your very own special challenge,’ she says putting her mug down.

‘Thanks, Shirley,’ Tom pouts as he looks at the roster. ‘Oh, I’m on first tomorrow morning. Well, that’s good. At least my shift’ll be over and done with.’

‘That’s not why you’re first little brother,’ Lucy says.

‘Really? Why?’

‘This way, we make sure you don’t escape,’ Jake points out. ‘Or forget.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ Tom sighs.

Shirley smiles and shakes her head. ‘Look, I’ve got a job in town coming up in a few weeks. However, in the meantime, I could pop over for breakfast each morning and stay around until lunchtime. That way, I might be able to help you when Helen falls asleep.’

‘Thanks Shirley,’ the four say together.

‘And maybe I can find something Tom can do?’

‘Good luck,’ Lucy grins.

‘I think we’re all going to need some of that,’ Shirley says.

* * *

For days, Ma scours the farm groping for the answer to the threat. She listens intently as Useless lopes along from one shed to another. Finally, with gentle bites in tender places, Ma and her mites manage to guide Useless back into the big shed where he leaps into the puppy pen. It’s got to be in here, Ma thinks to herself. ‘Cha-Cha, try again,’ Ma commands. ‘Find that, er, vibe.’

Useless lies down in the centre of his twenty-one offspring. Just then, the two puppies Gull and Tom had taken out into the hemp wander over and start crawling over their father. Ma is suddenly alert. She commands, ‘Now jump.’

Without hesitating, Cha-Cha jumps onto one of the two puppies. Crawling quickly over the small, fat puppy, she gathers the information and jumps back onto Useless, just before the puppy starts scratching.

‘Well?’ Ma demands.

‘Whatever it is, was on that puppy too, Ma. They’ve left fresh tracks on him.’

‘Easier to see on puppies than on older dogs,’ Ma says thoughtfully. ‘What about the vibe?’

‘It’s a bit louder,’ Cha-Cha replies. She starts dancing.

‘Stop that,’ Ma says sharply. ‘It’s irritating.’

‘It’s just that,’ Cha-Cha answers bravely, ‘whatever the sound is, it makes me want to dance.’

‘I thought we were talking about singing, not dancing.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Cha-Cha replies deflated. ‘I just feel like dancing.’

Ma is silent. All the mites stop moving: they know she’s thinking. And they don’t want to draw attention to themselves. Eventually, she focuses on Cha-Cha again. ‘What sort of dancing do you feel like dancing?’

Is this a trick question? Cha-Cha thinks to herself.

‘No, it’s not,’ Ma shouts. Cha-Cha jumps: she keeps forgetting Ma can read their thoughts. ‘Now, tell me, what do you want to dance?’

‘Er,’ Cha-Cha says hurriedly. She feels rattled. She tries to remember the vibes on the puppy. Humming, she thinks. Happy! As she thinks, she turns this way and that, from side to side, moving her mental shoulders. One, two. One, two, she counts.

‘Well?’ Ma demands loudly.

Cha-Cha jumps: she’s still in the middle of swaying to the music. ‘A Rumba! Or a Tango: I think it’s Latin.’

‘Good grief,’ Ma shouts. Cha-Cha jumps higher. ‘Latin is a dead language. Everybody knows that. How can they be singing in Latin? You can’t dance to Latin.’ She throws her little legs in the air and somersaults, something she only does when she’s very, very irritated. ‘Why did I ever listen to you?’ she says sharply. ‘All you’re ever interested in is dancing around the place and listening to some mindless beat. Get out of my sight.’ With a hangdog expression on her young face, Cha-Cha jumps listlessly on to the end of Useless’ tail and stays there, as far away from Ma as she can get. Latin isn’t dead, she thinks very quietly to herself. After all, there is such a thing as a Latin beat. So, there!

* * *

For the next week, Shirley and the “gang”, as she calls them, are very busy. Rising early at five each morning, Gull and her cousins do as many chores as they can before breakfast: feed and water the horses; clean out the stables; put in fresh straw; feed Useless and Jam and the puppies; change the straw in the puppy pen; weed and water the vegie patch; pick the vegetables for the day and collect the eggs. By six, Jake is in the kitchen, cooking up a storm for breakfast.

‘I always feel I’ve done a full day’s work even before breakfast,’ Gull remarks to Helen as she plonks herself down exhausted and ready for breakfast. Already, Helen has the toast and tea on the table. Harry and the children quickly join her. Taking a grilled sausage, bacon, a poached egg and a cooked tomato each, the four children hoe into breakfast.

‘Another day, another dollar off the overdraft,’ Harry says happily as he snags another sausage.

‘I don’t eat nearly as much at home,’ Gull confides as she grabs some toast.

‘I bet you don’t work nearly as hard at home either,’ Lucy says. ‘You won’t put on any weight here,’ she laughs.

Gull takes a look at her cousins: there’s not an ounce of fat on any of them. Not even on Jake, Gull thinks. And he spends half his time cooking and tasting. As if reading her mind, Jake says, ‘It’s all those chores, Gull: I don’t have time to put on weight.’ The others laugh, including Helen and Harry.

Surreptitiously, Lucy glances at the kitchen clock above the stove. Only twenty past seven. She breathes a sigh of relief.

‘Not another time watcher,’ Harry says facetiously, catching her. ‘You’d think we were working in an office the way one of you is always looking at the clock.’

‘Lots to do Dad,’ Lucy says breezily.

‘Yeah,’ Tom agrees. ‘Got to make sure everything runs like um, clockwork.’

‘Oh, Tom,’ Harry groans, ‘your jokes are getting to be nearly as bad as mine.’

‘You don’t think I’ve caught your sense of humour?’ Tom asks in mock alarm.

‘Could be genetic,’ Jake nods sympathetically.

‘How come you didn’t get it then, twinny?’

‘Just lucky, I guess.’ The whole table laughs.

A lone sausage lies on the serving plate in front of the six people. Then a hand reaches down from above and grabs it.

‘Gotcha!’ Shirley says as she pounces, the screen door belatedly swinging closed behind her and Useless.

‘Oh, I didn’t even see you come in,’ Helen gasps.

‘I know,’ Shirley says grinning and holding up the captured sausage. ‘You don’t have to be a mind reader to see you were all picturing that sausage on your own plates. Mmm, yum,’ she says taking a bite.

Helen gets up and finds another mug and hands it to Shirley. ‘Thanks, Helen,’ Shirley says glancing at the clock above the stove.

‘Not you too,’ Harry says, staring at the clock. ‘It’s only a quarter to eight. Do you all have a train to catch or something?’

Four pairs of eyes involuntarily turn towards Helen. No, Lucy thinks, we just have to catch Mum before she falls asleep.

‘Oh, Harry,’ Shirley teases coming to their rescue as she sits down. ‘It’s just that we all know how lazy you are. And if it weren’t for the “gang” shoving you out the door with a good breakfast in your belly, the crop would never be finished. It’s not going to harvest itself, you know,’ she says wagging her finger at him like a strict schoolteacher.

He shakes his head. ‘Well, have I got enough time for another cuppa, Miss?’

Shirley glances openly at the clock: ten minutes to eight. ‘If you’re quick,’ she says grinning, her fingers crossed under the table.

Right on the stroke of eight, Helen begins to yawn, Harry puts down his empty mug, picks up his old, worn hat and hurries towards the screen door. ‘I know, I know,’ he says with a cheeky grin as he disappears towards the big shed. ‘You don’t have to tell me twice,’ he yells back. Soon after, the others hear the sound of the Harvester revving up and rolling out towards the rise. Helen’s head is already resting on the kitchen table.

‘Boy, that was close,’ Tom says.

‘Poor Dad,’ Lucy frowns. ‘I feel bad about hounding him out of the kitchen every time.’

‘It’s for his own good,’ Shirley says continuing like a strict schoolteacher, wagging her finger. Setting down her mug, she comes over to Helen and coaxes her out of the kitchen to lie down on her bed. Lucy picks up her mug, charcoal pencils and an art pad, and goes to sit by her mother in the bedroom. Useless is lying under the kitchen table searching for more crumbs.

The others finish off their tea and get ready to help Jake. With one of them always sitting beside Helen as she sleeps, the others are busy keeping up a supply of morning tea, lunch and afternoon tea for their father and the other workers in the sheds. To lift their spirits, Shirley tells them weird and wonderful stories about the characters around the district while she works, passing on stories her parents told her.

When the baskets of food are ready, Useless accompanies whoever is taking the food over to the workers. They all know this is not for their protection or because he’s being friendly. As always, Useless stays behind with the baskets, scrounging for scraps.

In the meantime, Lucy is sitting in an old comfy, cream armchair by the picture window in her parents’ bedroom. Her mother is lying quite still under a pale green, satin quilt. In Lucy’s lap is a charcoal drawing of Helen asleep. Lucy looks at it and smiles. Not bad. Although a little colour might be good, she thinks as she reaches for her pastels.

‘No colour,’ a voice calls out.

Lucy jumps. ‘Mum?’ she asks tentatively as she rises out of her chair. However, Helen looks fast asleep. After waiting a moment more, Lucy tiptoes back to her armchair. Was she talking about my sketch? Lucy wonders. But she couldn’t be, she thinks scratching her head with the charcoal. She doesn’t even know I’m here. She shrugs and opening the old exercise book beside her, writes in “no colour” on a sheet of paper. For the rest of Lucy’s shift, Helen sleeps wordlessly.

Jake walks into the room. ‘Anything?’ he whispers to Lucy as he takes out a grubby notebook for new recipes from his jeans pocket.

‘No colour,’ Lucy whispers back.

‘What’s that mean?’

‘Beats me,’ Lucy shrugs as she picks up her sketchbook, vacates the comfy armchair and hands Jake the old exercise book and a pen. Then, she walks out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Gull is sitting at the table looking expectant. ‘No colour,’ Lucy sighs as she runs water from the tap into a glass.

‘What have we got so far?’ Tom asks as Gull adds “no colour” to her list of phrases entitled, ‘Helen’s Clues’.

‘So far,’ Shirley says reading over Gull’s shoulder, ‘we’ve got “bland bombshell”, “infinitesimal”, “tick, tick, tick” and “no colour”.’

‘Great,’ Lucy sighs. ‘None of this makes any sense.’

‘What I don’t understand,’ Tom says, ‘is why she didn’t say small or tiny or something. Why infin… infin…’

‘Infinitesimal?’ Gull asks.

‘Yep, that’s the one,’ Tom grins.

‘Let’s think about it,’ Shirley says. For some time, the room is completely silent. At last, Gull says quietly, ‘Smaller than small. Tinier than tiny?’ She looks around expectantly.

‘Well, what’s tinier than tiny?’ Tom asks. ‘Breadcrumbs? Hundreds and thousands?’

‘Smaller,’ Shirley says.

‘Commas? Full-stops?’

Just then, Useless lopes in and wags his tail happily. ‘Welcome to your favourite room,’ Shirley smiles. ‘After the Folly, of course! Just don’t know why you like that room so much. There’s nothing up there, not even food. But all your ancestors liked it. Must be in the genes.’

Useless sits down suddenly and begins to scratch.

‘Oh, Useless,’ Lucy complains. ‘Do you always have to scratch? Especially when we’ve got company.’

‘Fleas!’ Gull yells suddenly.

‘We know he’s got fleas,’ Lucy says sighing. ‘It’s so embarrassing. You’d think he was a flea hotel the way he scratches.’

‘No, Lucy,’ Gull says shaking her head. She looks up at Shirley desperately. ‘Fleas! Fleas!’

‘Oh,’ Shirley says suddenly realizing what Gull is getting at. ‘Of course! Fleas are very small. I think you’re on the right track, Gull. But I wonder, is there something even smaller?’

Jake bends down and looks at the spot Useless is scratching. ‘Poor old Useless,’ he says solicitously. ‘I think you’ve got mange.’

‘Mange? Where?’ Lucy asks, kneeling beside Tom. ‘We need to get some flea powder.’

‘Fleas don’t give dogs mange,’ Shirley says, bending over both of them. ‘At least I don’t think so. I wonder what it is?’

‘Oh,’ Gull says jumping up. ‘Let’s look up “mange” on the Internet.’

‘Good idea,’ Lucy agrees. With that, they move into the lounge room where Helen keeps all the paperwork. Quickly, Gull turns on the computer and clicks on the Internet. She searches for “mange” and sits back to wait. Soon, a full page of websites appear: “Mange and its Description”; “Mange: Cause of’”; ‘”Mange and Dogs”; “Managing Mange”; “Mange and Humans”.

‘This list goes on to eternity,’ Gull groans.

‘Let’s try ‘Mange and Dogs’, Lucy says.

Gull accesses it. She reads, ‘Mange is found on dogs but not humans. Mange is caused by a tiny, microscopic mite…’

‘Tiny,’ Tom repeats. ‘Tinier than tiny.’ The others nod and murmur.

Gull continues, ‘… a microscopic mite that is called ‘scabies’ in humans but is a different kind of scabies from the one dogs get. The scabies mite can’t go from human to dog or dog to human: the mites are completely different.’

‘Let’s look up “Mange and Humans” then. This says the mite can’t go from one to another. So, I wonder what’s under that heading?’ Gull asks curious.

Hitting the heading, “Mange and Humans”, they wait impatiently.

Gull reads and laughs. ‘Very funny,’ she says laughing out loud.

‘What?’ Lucy asks, bending down to search Useless’ hair.

“Mange and Humans”? No such thing! Gotcha! See scabies. See microscopic spiders and ticks.” ’

‘Er, yuk,’ Lucy shivers. ‘I really don’t think I want to know any more. It makes me itch just thinking about it.’

‘Well,’ Shirley says, biting her lip, ‘what have we got now?’

Lucy recites, ‘Bland bombshell, tick, tick, tick, no colour and really, really tiny.’ She stands up and pats Useless’ head.

Shirley says suddenly, ‘Maybe Helen’s been bitten by a tick, and that’s why she’s falling asleep. But it doesn’t fit in with “bland bombshell”. Oh, I don’t know.’

‘Does any of this make sense yet?’ Tom asks hopefully.

‘Nope,’ Shirley answers as she straightens up. ‘Then again, we’ll probably find the solution was right under our fingertips all the time,’ she adds as she gives Useless’ head another absentminded pat.