‘Hooray,’ said Polly. ‘The nightmare is over an’ the world can dream happy dreamers again.’
‘I could not have put it better, child,’ said a familiar voice and Polly spun around – but the Spirit of the Rainbow was already gone, leaving behind only the tinkling of his laughter and a handful of fruit chews lying ’pon the roadside.
‘Amazing,’ said Alan Taylor, shaking his head in awe.
‘Will we ever sees him again?’ wondered Polly.
‘Who knows, little miss, who knows?’ said Friday, gazing into the distance. And the sun warmed their faces and the fresh wind cheered their souls and together the heroes stood there for some time, thinking about how mysterious and wonderful and good life could be. Except for Friday, who was mostly thinking he quite fancied a yogurt.
‘But what ’bouts all them townsfolk who deserted Lamonic Bibber in its greatest hour of need?’ said Polly at length.
‘I don’t think we need worry about that,’ laughed Alan Taylor. ‘Look behind you, Polly, look!’
So Polly did, and how overjoyed was she to see all the townsfolk walking back to town, their suitcases forgotten? Very overjoyed.
‘You comed back!’ she exclaimed in her perfect English. ‘You never done left us after all!’
‘How could we get on that train after your inspiring words, Polly?’ beamed big-hearted, big-stomached Jonathan Ripples. ‘You talked sense into our traitorous heads and reminded us of the town we truly love.’
And with that they all joined their arms together and sang a cheerful song called ‘Can Someone Please Untangle Our Arms? They’ve Got Stuck’.
‘Oh, what a friendly town this is,’ laughed Thora Gruntwinkle. ‘It’s just as I hoped.’
‘Chatter chatter chee,’ agreed Philip the Horror politely, taking hold of Thora’s pretty hand.
‘Look, all he needed was a mother,’ smiled Friday. ‘Now he’s the nicest monkey in the world. Or at least in the top twenty.’
‘An’ that’s it,’ said Polly contentedly. ‘All’s well that ends good. The story’s over.’
‘No, my friend,’ said Greasy Ian and already Polly could see how love was making him a kinder man and slightly taller. ‘The story has just begun. Me an’ Thora’s gettin’ married in ten minutes an’ you’re all invited. There’ll be roses an’ music an’ the fattest feast money can buy. But I promise – no kebabs shall there be. Those days are over!’
‘THE TRUTH IS A LEMON MERINGUE!’ cried Friday O’Leary. ‘To the Wedding Gardens, everyone! To the Wedding Gardens! ‘
And so, laughing and singing and cavorting, everyone headed off to the Wedding Gardens to see Thora Gruntwinkle and Greasy Ian married in the sunshine. Polly, Alan Taylor, Old Granny, big-hearted Jonathan Ripples, Martin Launderette – everyone!
Well, almost everyone.
‘I ain’t going to no stupid flippin’ weddin’ business,’ scowled Mr Gum as the townsfolk skipped off. ‘Shabba me whiskers! What a dirty rotten bother the whole thing is!’
‘I ain’t goin’ neither,’ said Billy William the Third, spitting into a molehill to annoy whatever might be down there, most likely a mole.
‘Love – who needs it? No one, that’s who.’
‘Well, then,’ said Mr Gum. ‘Seems like we been left all on our own again, don’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ said Billy, avoiding Mr Gum’s eye.
‘Yeah,’ said Mr Gum, examining a passing cloud as if it interested him greatly.
‘OK, then,’ said Billy. ‘Well, I’ll see ya around, Mr Gum.’
‘Yeah,’ said Mr Gum. ‘OK. See ya around, Billy.’
‘Bye then.’
‘Bye.’
The two men turned and began walking, Billy back to his half-ruined butcher’s shop and Mr Gum to his lonesome old house where the only company he had was the mice and the insects and the black and white TV with the dodgy homemade aerial. But before they’d gone very far Mr Gum suddenly spun around.
‘Um, Billy me boy,’ said Mr Gum awkwardly.
‘What is it, Mr Gum, me old letterbox?’ said Billy, stopping in his tracks.
‘You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?’ said Mr Gum.
‘Maybe,’ said Billy William. ‘I’m thinkin’ ’bout goin’ down to the Old Meadow to find some new pet flies.’
‘Nah, you can do that anytime,’ said Mr Gum. ‘What I was thinkin’ was this: how ’bout you an’ me go to that weddin’ after all an’ sit in the back ruinin’ it for everyone by makin’ loud fartin’ noises?’
‘Now yer talkin’,’ grinned Billy.
‘Come on, Billy me old best friend,’ said Mr Gum, affectionately punching Billy William in the belly as hard as he possibly could.
‘We got scoundrel plans to make an’ people to annoy!’
‘Let’s start with Philip the Horror,’ said Billy as they walked on up the road.
‘Yeah,’ scowled Mr Gum. ‘CHATTER CHATTER CHEE! CHATTER CHATTER CHEE! all day long. Between you an’ me, Billy – I never could stand that monkey.’