Neville sprinted to the stage area and along behind the painted backcloth. He could hear from the band’s playing and Gruntilda’s awful singing that they were near the end of the show.
He had to find Rubella.
Dashing round a group of troll-ballerinas, Neville found Dunk on the other side of the stage, getting ready to push on a big piece of scenery. He looked up at Neville and shook his head.
‘Where you been, Nev?’ Dunk asked, looking disappointed. ‘I’ve been lookin’ for you.’
‘There’s no time to explain, Dunk,’ Neville wheezed. ‘Abominatia’s gone mad, she’s going to kill me … I have to find Rubella.’
‘Rubella?’ Dunk puzzled, scratching his head as if nothing Neville had just said was shocking. ‘Is she the parsnip?’
‘The turnip, yes. Where is she?’
Dunk pointed upwards, winked at Neville and then lumbered off with the scenery in tow.
Neville looked up and saw a large pair of grey-green feet dangling over the edge of one of the walkways that arched high above the stage.
‘Oh, what next?’ Neville mumbled to himself and followed the walkway with his eyes until he spotted a ladder at the far end. He ran over to it and started climbing, rung by rung, ignoring his terrible fear of heights. This was turning out to be the strangest day of his life.
Neville climbed higher and higher, but his hands were sweaty and his legs felt wobbly. He hated heights so much.
‘Rubella!’ Neville shouted up to his troll-sister, but she couldn’t hear him. If he wanted to tell her about Abominatia’s secret, he’d have to climb all the way up. ‘Come on, Neville, you can do this … Come on,’ he muttered to himself.
Keeping his eyes on the top of the ladder, Neville climbed the last few rungs and clambered on to the wooden walkway.
‘RUBELLA!’ Neville shouted again.
Rubella looked glumly at him, then looked back at the scene below. ‘What?’ she said.
‘You have to see something,’ urged Neville.
‘Go away, Nev, I’m not in the moodsie.’
‘No, really,’ Neville pleaded. He made himself cross the narrow bridge and grabbed Rubella’s arm. ‘You’re the grumptious stepsister.’
‘Stop makin’ fun of me, snot,’ Rubella growled at him. ‘You know I’m not.’
‘No … no … you don’t understand,’ Neville said, pulling the pieces of scorecard out of his back pocket. ‘Look!’
Rubella snatched the pieces and stared at them.
‘What?’
‘Look what’s written on them,’ Neville said.
Rubella held the bits of card together in the light from the scrawnet jars and read the scribbled writing.
‘“Rubella Bulch – fifty-three points …” RUBELLA BULCH – FIFTY-THREE POINTS?’ Rubella almost flopped head first off the wooden walkway with surprise. ‘WHERE DID YOU FIND THIS?’
‘In the old storeroom,’ Neville whispered. ‘Abominatia knows I’ve seen it … and she’s after me.’
‘THAT HUMPER!’ Rubella barked, puffing out her cheeks. She stood up, slipped off her turnip costume and rolled up the sleeves of her dress beneath it. ‘THAT POODLY, PLOPPISH OLD POOK … WE’LL SHOW HER NOT TO MESS WITH THE BULCHES … AND HER TWIGLING OF A DAUGHTER.’
A smile crept into the corner of Neville’s mouth. He looked at Rubella, who winked, picked up a disused sandbag and hurled it down at the stage below.