Friday O’Leary looked at the calendar he always wore around his neck. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we’ve been at the seaside for days now. Do you think it’s time to go home yet?’
‘Yeah,’ said Polly. ‘Let’s go homes to good old Lamonic Bibber an’ see what’s been happenin’ while we been away.’
‘Definitely,’ agreed Alan Taylor, who was being chased down the beach by violent apes for some reason. ‘I’ve had enough of the seaside.’
And so it was that the three heroes packed up their bags and set off for home. Soon they had left the seaside far behind and were making their way along the winding country lanes. The day was warm and pleasant and the three friends walked in companionable silence as if no words were needed between them to communicate the things they felt.
‘No words are needed between us to communicate the things we feel,’ said Friday.
The trees twittered and the birds waved gently in the breeze, but as the heroes drew closer to home Polly began to grow uneasy. It was quiet – much too quiet. Something didn’t feel right – much too didn’t feel right.
‘Look,’ Polly said, as they came to Old Granny’s house on the edge of town. ‘Old Granny done pulled her curtains shut. I never seen that before, usually she’s far too drunk to remember an’ everyone can see her jivin’ to her old-fashioned musicals in the lounge.’
All the other houses were just the same. Every one of them stood silent and still. There wasn’t a soul to be seen.
It’s like a ghost town, thought Polly with a shiver.
Where has everyone disappeared to? thought Alan Taylor with a shiver.
Why’s everyone shivering? I’d better shiver too, thought Friday with a shiver.
Suddenly – WHOOIMP! – something sharp and pointy flew through the air. Then – WHOOIMP! – something else sharp and pointy flew through the air. Then – KA-FUUURRRTLE! – something else sharp and pointy flew through the air.
‘I wonder why that last one went “KA-FUUURRRTLE!” instead of “WHOOIMP!”’ said Friday O’Leary. ‘Isn’t life interesting?’
‘I’ll tell you what else is interesting,’ said Alan Taylor, examining the flying things closely with his knowledgeable raisin eyes. ‘These are sheep bones. But what on earth are –’
‘DUCK!’ yelled Polly as a dead duck came soaring towards them. ‘What’s a-goin’ on in our pretty little town? An’ what’s that “CHATTER CHATTER CHEE” sound what’s scramblin’ up my brains like dandelions?’
The frightful noises grew louder as the heroes rounded Boaster’s Hill and approached the high street.
‘Oh,’ said Polly.
‘My,’ said Alan Taylor.
‘Good,’ said Friday.
‘Lord!’ added a helpful passerby to finish the sentence.
Because there it was in all its grisly splendour – the Dinnertime Wars that were tearing the town apart.
‘Take that, Greasy Ian!’ shouted a scrawny figure who stood in the middle of the high street, lobbing meat wildly in all directions. His clothes were tattered and torn. His cap had gone. His face was covered in scraps of bacon. But Polly recognised him instantly.
‘Why, it’s Billy William the Third!’ she gasped. ‘But what in the name of Billy William the Third is he ups to? An’ who in the name of Greasy Ian is Greasy Ian?’
Suddenly a monstrous fellow covered in boils and chip fat jumped out of an alleyway and began issuing commands.
‘Turn the spit, Philip, ma hairy treasure! Turn the spit like ye’ve never turned it afore!’
‘CHATTER CHATTER CHEE!’ shrieked a stinky little monkey at his side. And leaping on top of a huge grey kebab the vile creature began cranking the handle for all he was worth.
SPLIP! Hot fat rained down upon the high street. Billy William yelped and went running for cover back to the butcher’s shop. But when he opened the door who was lying in wait but . . .
‘MR GUM!’ shouted Polly, rushing into the midst of the battle without a care for her own safety. ‘I knowed you’d be mixed up in all this! Jus’ you an’ Billy leave that bloke with the monkey alone, you troublemakers!’
‘What you on about, you stupid little girl?’ laughed Mr Gum as he swigged on a can of beer. ‘Greasy Ian an’ the monkey are on my side. It’s Billy I’m after!’
‘Billy?’ exclaimed Polly in astonishment. ‘But I done thought Billy was your friend, your only friend in the whole wide worlds!’
‘Times change, little girl,’ growled Mr Gum, brushing her aside like a horse flicking a raisin into space. ‘Me an’ Greasy Ian’s gonna mash Billy up good an’ proper.’
‘Say yer prayers, Billy me boy!’ Mr Gum cackled.
Billy gritted his teeth. There had to be a way out of it. Had to be! But no. It was the end of the line.
In front of him: Mr Gum in his hobnail boots.
Behind him: Greasy Ian with a heavy iron saucepan.
To his left: Philip the Horror with a ladle full of chilli sauce.
To his right: a quite scary ant sitting on the pavement.
Escape was impossible.
The sun had disappeared behind the clouds. The Kebab Shop Gang were closing in. The ant waved its front leg menacingly.
‘We have to stop them!’ cried Alan Taylor from Polly’s skirt pocket. But before they could think how, a pair of strong hairy monkey arms grabbed them from behind and pinned them tight.
‘CHATTER! CHATTER! CHATTER!’ shrieked Philip the Horror into Polly’s ear.
‘Friday! Friday! Help!’ shouted Polly, but it was no use. Friday had accidentally fallen asleep in a hedge.
And now Polly and Alan Taylor could only look on as Mr Gum and Greasy Ian advanced on the terrified butcher.
Greasy Ian rolled up his sleeve.
Mr Gum raised his fists.
Philip the Horror bared his yellow teeth.
The ant growled.
‘It’s all over,’ spluttered Alan Taylor, his words muffled beneath the monkey’s paw. ‘It’s the end of society as we know it!’
But no! Hold everything! Stop right there! Because suddenly, every molecule in Polly’s body began to tingle as if some marvellous mystical music was playing deep inside her intestines. And into the fray stepped a small boy, a small boy with a face so honest and true that everyone stopped what they were doing and stood rooted to the spot.
‘It’s the Spirit of the Rainbow!’ cried Polly when at last she could speak. ‘He’s come to end this terrible war onces an’ for all!’