CHAPTER 20

BONKERS AS A CONKER

‘You see, Brian, I understand you.’ Quincy took a little white bottle from his pencil case. ‘Because we’re just the same.’ He unscrewed the bottle and stood it on the desk. ‘Peas in a pod, two flies on a pie.’

Brian’s stomach shrank. How on earth could he resemble this freak?

As if he’d spoken out loud, Quincy smiled. His teeth were the colour of custard. ‘Not so good at our books. But we notice things. Little things. Creepers and crawlers, scuttlers and squirmers, ants and fleas, beetles and bees. And we love them, don’t we? Because we know what it’s like to be crushed and downtrodden. We know how a slug feels under a shoe.’ He yanked Florrie’s ear. ‘Remember when you called me Bug Brain for getting three out of fifty in Maths? Or that time you told Pandora Crudge to give me some of her head lice because they’d boost my brain power?’

The teacher stared fiercely ahead.

‘Course you don’t – because what was it to you?’ He frowned at her thoughtfully. ‘Hmm. That nose of yours really doesn’t work. Shall we try again?’ He lifted the lid from the little bottle. With the brush attached to it, he painted her nose white. He tutted. ‘Never let us use Tipp-Ex, did you? Said we couldn’t hide our failures. Well, you were right. You still look terrible.’

Florrie pressed her lips together.

Quincy danced round to the front of the desk and hoisted himself neatly on top. ‘Well, Brian.’ He crossed one leg over the other and placed his hands delicately on his knee, like an actress on a chat show. ‘All that talk of insects got me wondering.’ He changed to thoughtful professor, frowning and scratching his head. ‘Are woodlice really so stupid? Are nits truly twits? Tiny, yes, and timid too … but did you know that there are more than a million species of insect in the world?’ He smacked his knee like a cowboy at a hoe-down. ‘That there are ten times more termites than humans?’ He leapt off the desk. ‘There are more kinds of beetles than plants,’ he sang. ‘Butterflies taste with their feet.’ He pranced round the room. ‘A cockroach can live nine days without its head. Ants can carry fifty times their own body weight. Did you know –’ he skipped back to the desk, ‘that insects have lived on this planet two thousand times longer than us? Now that,’ he bent towards Florrie as if to kiss her cheek, ‘is what I call success.’ He blew a gigantic raspberry. ‘You may rule the classroom, but bugs rule the world.’

Her face was a fist. ‘You’re mad,’ she muttered.

‘As a moth!’ He fluttered his arms. ‘Which, did you know, use the moon and stars to find their way? Which can sniff each other seven miles away and disguise themselves as –’ he leaned over and whispered in her ear, ‘poo.’ Then he cupped his hands and yelled, ‘Pretty smart, HUH?!!’ As she jerked her head away, he twirled round the desk. ‘So.’ He stopped in front of it and beamed at Brian. ‘I decided to learn from them. I watched them whenever I could: ants carrying crumbs, greenfly on cabbages. I listened to them, talked to them, played Catch the Caterpillar and Hunt the Weevil. They became my closest friends.’ He leaned his elbow on the desk. ‘Because, Lord knows, I had no others.’

Panic skittered round Brian’s chest. You’re right, he thought. We are alike. He stared with horror at his fellow school-hater and insect-lover. Will I grow up to be like you?

Quincy grinned. ‘And what fine friends they are, Brian. They never insult you, never argue. If you’re sad, they listen. If you’re angry, you squash ’em. If you’re bored, just pull ’em apart.’

Brian felt his earlobe shudder.

‘Best of all, they make the perfect snack.’ Quincy ran his tongue over his top lip. ‘Mmm. Ladybird wings, crisp and spicy. Butterfly heads, chewy as chocolate.’

The shudder spread right through Brian. He pulled his hair forward to protect Dulcie’s ears from this Jack the Bug-Ripper.

‘You’re revolting,’ said Florrie.

Quincy reached for the pencil case. He brought out a permanent marker. Grabbing her chin, he drew a droopy black moustache beneath her white nose. ‘Look who’s talking,’ he said sweetly.

The triumph Brian had felt at her humiliation drained away, leaving a scum of disgust and fear. Quincy Queaze was proving madder by the minute.

‘So that’s why …’ Quincy drew curly ends on the moustache, ‘I became a gardener. Chums and yums on tap.’ He put down the pen. ‘And the prettiest ornaments too.’ He pointed to the ceiling. ‘Did you see them brightening up my lampshade and rug, Brian? And when they stop moving, I just collect new ones.’

‘Monster!’

Brian’s left hand flew to his ear. Of all the moments for Dulcie to shriek! And now Quincy was striding towards him. He backed against the door and waited for him to rip out the earring and pop it in his mouth like a butterscotch.

But instead he grasped Brian’s shoulders. ‘Imagine it.’ His blue eyes shone. ‘All those suckers under your thumb. You can do what you like and they can’t answer back.’

Brian sagged against the door. Dulcie was safe – for now.

‘It makes you feel …’ Quincy’s fingers dug in like tent pegs, ‘so powerful. Like – ooh – like a teacher!’

He scuttled back to the desk. His right hand closed round Florrie’s neck. ‘Just as you had fun with me, I have fun with them.’ Her eyes bulged like marbles. ‘And just like you,’ her face was turning purple, ‘I have my favourites.’ He let go, leaving her spluttering for air. ‘Bees.’

Dulcie shrieked again. Brian drowned it in a cough.

Quincy beat a rhythm with his knuckles on the desk. ‘Bees are the brightest, bees are the best. Bees knock spots off a ladybird’s vest. Clean their bedrooms, nurse their brood, feed their queen on God’s own food.’

‘Food,’ groaned Tracy.

‘Yes, yes.’ Quincy waved a dismissive hand. ‘Coming soon.’

Brian pressed his hands against the door. Focus, he told himself. Florrie was fighting from her chair. Dulcie was losing it in his ear. Someone had to keep calm round here. What do they do in the movies? His head filled with Batman, Sherlock, James Bond. Keep the bad guy talking. Easier said than done when his mouth was dry as toast, his palms were wet with sweat and his head was buzzing with …

Buzzing with? He caught his breath. ‘Those bees,’ he said carefully. ‘The ones outside. Did you, um … create them?’ He swallowed. Quincy was friendly enough now, but any rash word might pop the matey bubble.

Quincy put his palms together and smiled kindly, like a vicar about to preach. ‘Brian,’ he said softly, ‘you are too kind. Create is a word we normally reserve for God.’ His eyes rose to the ceiling. ‘But, yes, in all modesty I confess they are mine, bred for one single purpose. My beautiful, dutiful,’ he turned and roared at the teacher, ‘FLORRIBEES.’

Dulcie squealed. Brian fingered his left ear, hoping she’d heed the warning and keep quiet.

‘What purpose?’ Florrie whimpered. The defiance in her eyes was melting to fear, as if she finally saw the true madness of her captor.

‘To teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.’ Quincy snatched the pen from the desk and wagged it at her threateningly.

‘Now!’ Dulcie whispered. ‘Grab the cactus from the desk, shove it in his face and get the keys from his pocket.’

‘No way,’ Brian hissed. ‘He’s too quick for me. And shut up if you don’t want to be eaten.’ He tried, and failed, to think of a better plan. Wrestle him to the ground? Impossible – he looked far too strong. Get the others to pin him down? Dream on. Their brains were as doughy as doughnuts and, besides, they seemed more on Quincy’s side than his.

Why? What’s he done to them? Brian sensed that the answer held the key to all this craziness. Their craving for scones, those hideous bees and their horrible flowers … what was the link?

An image burned into his brain. A clumsy old gardener in a crowded room. ‘The prize-giving!’ He gasped. ‘You gave Alec and Tracy and Pete those scones. Then you dropped the tray so that no one else would eat any. You drugged them with honey from those bees! That’s why they’re here and haven’t left.’ He pressed a fist to his mouth. Idiot! So much for speaking carefully. He cowered against the door as Quincy turned to him.

But there was hurt, not anger, in his eyes. ‘Oh, Brian, how on earth could you think that?’

Brian swallowed. What was he supposed to think about this nutter who redesigned nature?

‘I’d never drug these dear children.’ Quincy’s eyes were bright and warm. ‘No, no, I invited them. One little taste and they wanted more. So after a while it was only polite to invite them back for tea. And they came, one by one.’ He turned to the children. ‘Only too gladly, didn’t you, guys?’

Alec shifted restlessly in his chair. Tracy licked her lips. Pete bit his cheek. The mere thought seemed to get them drooling.

‘And I did nothing to the honey – not me. But it was a good guess, Brian.’ Quincy rubbed his hands. ‘Ooh, I love a juicy puzzle, don’t you? As long as I know the answer.’ He turned and punched Florrie’s arm. ‘And you don’t!’

Brian stared at the man he’d once pitied, now drawing spots on her nose. The man who’d once shuffled from the school hall, shamed and scorned. Who’d now turned the tables, trapping them all like butterflies on a lampshade or spiders on a rug.

Not all. He felt a rush in his chest: a wind that picked up speed, fuelling his fear into action. As Quincy bent over Florrie, Brian took a step towards him. If I can just … another step … creep up behind him … and another … and reach into his pock–

‘Hello?’ Quincy spun round. Quick as a flame, he darted round the desk and snatched Brian’s wrist. ‘After my keys, are you?’

Brian’s throat filled with sand. Now what? Will he tie me to a chair? Tipp-Ex my eyeballs?

He did something far more shocking. Reaching inside his anorak, Quincy brought out the bunch of keys. ‘Allow me,’ he said, walking to the door and unlocking it.

Brian blinked at Florrie. She shook her head in bewilderment. The others were too busy dozing to notice.

Quincy opened the door. ‘Thanks for coming, Brian. Do pop in again. We’ll miss you but never mind. Say hi to your schoolmates and give that crabby old cleaner a kick in the Muttocks from me.’

‘Brian!’ shrieked Florrie. ‘Don’t leave me!’

Backing into the doorway, Brian’s eyebrows wriggled in code. I’ll get the gardaí and be back in a jiffy.

Her wail suggested that she didn’t speak eyebrow.

And Quincy’s grin suggested that he did. ‘Oh, and I wouldn’t bother coming back. By the time you get here we’ll be long gone. It’s been lovely to see you, Brian, really it has. But your visit has rather changed my plans. I can’t have you fetching the guards and pooping the party I’ve planned for so long. So I’ll just have to take her elsewhere.’ Quincy cleaned his fingernail with the key. ‘But no worries. Have a great life, Brian.’ He waved the key at Pete, Tracy and Alec. ‘You too guys. Feel free to leave.’

Tracy lifted her head from the desk. ‘After tea.’

‘Yeah.’ Pete stretched his legs out on the floor. Alec nodded.

‘Suit yourselves.’ Quincy shrugged in a what can you do? kind of way. ‘Now,’ he said, clapping his hands, ‘let’s get going.’ He unzipped his anorak and threw it on the floor. Then he slipped out of his trousers.

Brian gasped. Florrie yelped. Beneath his gardening gear, Quincy Queaze wore a white shirt, a dark blue tie, grey trousers and a light-blue jersey. He slipped the bunch of keys into the breast pocket, on which were embroidered the words, ‘Don’t You Know That?’

Brian stared at the overgrown Tullybun Primary School pupil. He was crazy as a cucumber, bonkers as a conker – and brilliant. Because what choice had Quincy offered him? To abandon Mrs Florris and save his own skin … or stay here and try to save hers?

Taking a deep breath, he stepped back into the room. ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he said softly.