With one last glance back at Friday, Polly pushed through the long tall grass and found herself on a windswept cliff top. It was Hangman’s Leap and, lordy, it was a more wretched place than ever. Remember those rocks that looked a bit like nasty faces? Well, they were still there. In fact, there were even more of them than before, don’t ask me how, but there were. And those manky seagulls with one eye and stuff? There were more of them too, because they’d been up all night breeding new and even more disgusting ones. Some of the new seagulls smoked cigarettes and had tattoos on their wings.
Altogether it was a frightful scene, made even worse by the rain and the dark thundery skies above but Polly had work to do. She peered over the cliff edge and could just make out two tiny figures on the beach below, striking evil poses.
‘Those flippin’ roo-de-lallies!’ she muttered and without further thought she started down the cliff.
Down on the rocks Mr Gum was looking out to sea with a powerful telescope he’d made from a jar of mustard, a rolled-up magazine and a powerful telescope.
‘There he is!’ he shouted gleefully as a small wooden fishing boat appeared on the horizon. ‘It’s Monsieur Bellybutton!’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Billy William, but at that moment the wind changed direction and the most horrendous stench came to their noses. It smelt like a zoo had married a gigantic fart. Only it was even worse than that.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Mr Gum, his eyebrows curling up and turning crispy with the pong. ‘It’s him all right!’
‘Bonjour Monsieur Gum, bonjour Monsieur Billy!’ shouted Bellybutton as he rowed into Smuggler’s Cove.
You know in cartoons when they do wavy lines to show that something smells bad? Like there’ll be a rotten fish head or something and they’ll do wavy lines coming off of it? Well, I’m not lying but Monsieur Bellybutton actually had those wavy lines coming off of him IN REAL LIFE. He had never once taken a bath and he was quite an old man so just think about it.
‘Bonjour,’ the two villains cried in pleasure. You see, incredible as it was, they actually liked the smell of Monsieur Bellybutton.
‘Mmm,’ said Mr Gum, inhaling long and hard. ‘He’s smellin’ even riper than last year. Lovely!’
Polly was nearly at the bottom of the cliff when the smell of Bellybutton hit her like invisible boxing gloves filled with gorgonzola. She fell to her knees, clutching her nose in agony, but even so the smell found a way in, bringing tears to her eyes and clouding her thoughts.
‘I dunno what that’s about,’ said Polly through gritted teeth. ‘But them robbers needs sortin’ out!’
Determinedly she stuffed a bunch of daisies up her nostrils and continued on. The further down she climbed, the stronger the smell became. The daisies shrivelled up and went brown. Seagulls fell out of the sky, landing with thumps all around her, but still she did not falter. And that’s what Pollyness is all about.
Finally she reached the bottom of the cliff. The wind changed direction once more and she could breathe again, which is very helpful for living.
And now she saw where the stink was coming from. A smellster Frenchman with wavy lines coming off of him IN REAL LIFE was helping Mr Gum into a mucky fishing boat encrusted with barnacles. Billy William was already on board, the biscuit tin clutched to his scrawny chest.
‘Hey! Robbers!’ shouted Polly. ‘I’m arrestin’ you in the name of the Laws!’
‘You!’ spat Mr Gum, spinning round in fury. ‘How’d you find us, you meddler? We never left no tracks to follow!’
But even as he spoke, a tenner flew into the air and Mr Gum knew the truth of Billy William’s laziness at putting lids on biscuit tins properly.
‘You MUNCHER!’ shouted Mr Gum, slapping the careless butcher round the chops. ‘I TOLD you to sort out that lid!’
‘Robbers, your games is up,’ said Polly sternly. ‘An’ don’t you think you can float off to France and muck everything up over there too. I’m not havin’ it!’
‘Oh, yeah?’ sneered Mr Gum. ‘What you gonna do? You’re just a stupid little girl an’ you can’t do nothin’ against powerful kings like me an’ Billy.’
Like lightning Mr Gum reached down and grabbed a heavy fishing net dripping with slime and dead lobsters. Running up the beach, he chucked it at Polly and before she knew what was happening she was down on the sands, buried under its filthy weight. Struggling against it was no good. It was just one of those nets you can’t beat with struggling.
‘Au revoir!’ shouted Mr Gum as Monsieur Bellybutton started to row away.
‘Au revoir,’ replied Polly politely. ‘I mean – Hey! Come back here, you crimers!’
But the boat was soon just a tiny speck on the horizon and the day was lost.
How long Polly lay under that net she didn’t know. Was it minutes? Hours? Years? Probably not years. Anyway, there she lay – helpless and crying with rage.
‘Friday could be dead up on that cliff an’ them robbers has escaped an’ I hates it!’ she sobbed. ‘It ain’t fair an’ the world’s rubbish an’ I don’t care ’bout nothin’ no more so shut up!’
Eventually she had no more tears left to shed. She lay there, exhausted, and her eyes they did close, and soon she was dreaming the strangest dream . . .
Alan Taylor was there and he was nibbling away at the net with his little sharp teeth, nibbling, nibbling, nibbling.
A dead lobster fell on his head but he just pushed it off and went on nibbling. Polly could hear his electric muscles whirring away and she could see his kind brave face full of concentration and raisins . . .
Nibble, nibble, nibble. Whirr, whirr, whirr.
Nibble, nibble, nibble. Whirr, whirr, whirr.
Nibble! Whirr!
Nibble! Whirr!
Nibble, nibble, nibble. Whirr, whirr, whirr . . .
Polly opened one eye and there was the Biscuit Billionaire himself. It wasn’t no dream after all! He was standing proudly on the sands with bits of net in his teeth, his doughy body protected from the rain by a miniature Superman cape which made him look like Batman.
‘A.T.!’ gasped Polly, climbing out of the net. ‘Is it really you?’
‘It’s me, all right,’ said he. ‘I’ve come to my senses and got out of bed. And now to catch those robbers!’
‘But how we gonna gets ’em?’ asked Polly. ‘For we haven’t no boat an’ we can’t just swim out there, you insaner!’
‘No,’ said Alan Taylor. ‘But I know someone who can.’
He gave a high-pitched whistle and suddenly a face Polly knew well appeared from behind a rock. Not just a face on its own though, that would be horrible. It was attached to a body Polly knew well too.
‘I can’t believes it!’ she cried, running up to hug her fat golden friend. For it was Jake, that massive whopper of a dog, come to the rescue at last.
