In which we learn the difference between garden gnomes and dahlias
‘How unusual,’ Olive mumbled as she awoke at dawn to the sound of rattling and rumbling.
‘How peculiar,’ she mused as she threw open the shutters and saw an extremely tall, extendable A-frame ladder being wheeled through the backyard of Groves.
‘How suspicious!’ she cried as Pig McKenzie looked up at her from the base of the ladder, smirking as he pushed it away down the lane at the bottom of the garden.
‘How dreadful!’ she gasped as she poked her head out the window and saw the indisputable evidence that the pig had been Up to No Good.
Pig McKenzie had used the extendable ladder to peg Tiny Tim to the power line by his pyjama sleeves . . . the hideously high power line that stretched from the terrifyingly tall power pole in the lane to the vastly vertiginous rooftop at Groves.
‘Help! Help!’ yelled Tiny Tim. The little lad flapped and flopped, then became quite still. He looked down to the ground far, far below and whimpered.
Wordsworth, Blimp and Chester scuttled to the windowsill.
‘What is it?’ asked Blimp, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
‘Tiny Tim is in a treacherous situation,’ said Olive.
‘Treacherous?’ asked Blimp.
Chester shrugged.
Wordsworth scampered under the bed and reappeared pushing the dictionary. He licked his paw and flicked through the pages, mumbling. ‘Prickly pear . . . ravioli . . . sauerkraut . . . sausage dog . . .’
‘I’m hungry,’ said Blimp. He peeled a strip of wallpaper from the wall and began to chew on it.
Wordsworth rolled his eyes, then continued his search. ‘Tarantula . . . tiddlywinks . . . tonsillectomy . . . treacherous!’ He cleared his throat and made sure that everyone was listening. ‘Treacherous: full of peril, hazardous, extremely terribly horribly dangerous.’
Wordsworth scampered back onto the windowsill and peered at the power line. A magpie flew out of a nearby tree and swooped at Tiny Tim’s head.
‘Ouchy!’ whimpered Tiny Tim, his little hands curling into fists, his bottom lip protruding and wobbling.
‘Treacherous,’ Wordsworth agreed.
‘Do you think all that dangling might have caused any buttons to fall off his pyjamas?’ asked Chester.
‘I don’t know,’ said Olive. ‘But I do think that Tiny Tim needs our help, and quick smart!’
‘Quick smart, lickety-split and on the double!’ cried Wordsworth, leaping to the floor.
Chester and Blimp followed . . . although not before Blimp had grabbed one of Olive’s pencils from the windowsill to nibble on the way. It was cherry red and looked quite delicious.
Olive slipped into her rabbit-shaped slippers, then dashed through the doorway, down the spiral staircase, along the corridor, out the window, onto the fire escape, up the ladder and onto the roof.
‘If I run really fast,’ she had told herself, ‘I will not have time to think about how dreadfully high the rooftop is.’
‘This rooftop is dreadfully high!’ said Blimp.
Bother!
Olive’s head spun and her tummy squelched and squirmed. She considered fainting, but before the blood had time to drain from her head, Tiny Tim shouted, ‘Help! Help!’ with even greater urgency than before.
‘Uh-oh!’ cried Wordsworth. ‘That magpie just pecked off one of the pegs holding Tiny Tim’s sleeves to the line.’
‘You’d better do something, Olive,’ said Chester.
The magpie swooped and plucked another peg. Tiny Tim was now dangling by one sleeve.
One sleeve with just two pegs holding him to the power line.
The hideously high power line.
‘Ple-e-e-ease, Olive!’ he cried. ‘Do something!’
Olive stared at Tiny Tim. She stared at the ground ever so far below. She stared at the three rats, who were waiting for her to act.
‘We need an acrobat,’ said Olive. ‘Someone who can walk a tightrope. Eduardo, Alfonzo or Anastasia. An acrobat could walk out on the power line, grab Tiny Tim and carry him back.’
‘We have an acrobat!’ cried Chester.
‘That’s right,’ said Wordsworth. ‘You’re an acrobat, Olive. You can help.’
Now, Olive’s first instinct was to say, ‘I am not an acrobat. I am a big fat liar, just like Frank.’ But the three dear rats were looking at her with such faith, and Tiny Tim needed help right now, before he fell and splattered all over the garden of Groves.
Sorry. That was a bit harsh.
I should have said, before he fell and squashed Mrs Groves’ dahlias.
But the truth of the matter is that falling a long way to the ground from a very high power line is bound to do nasty things to one’s anatomy . . . and Tiny Tim was such a sweet, soft little boy . . . and he was not dangling above the spongy bed of dahlias at all, but rather above a large collection of concrete garden gnomes arranged upon solid granite pavers . . .
Ouch!
Yes, Tiny Tim needed her help.
Right now!
So Olive did the only thing a brave and determined girl could do.
‘That’s correct!’ she said. ‘I am an acrobat. I will save Tiny Tim.’
And her words, although foolishly cavalier, jolted her into action. That, and the fact that the magpie had just swooped again, leaving Tiny Tim dangling from one remaining peg.
‘Olive! Help me!’ yelled Tiny Tim. ‘I’m going to fall!’
Olive stepped towards the edge of the roof and put her slipper onto the power line. ‘I am brave and clever and precious,’ she said out loud.
‘And far too slow!’ added Wordsworth. ‘That magpie is eyeballing the last peg!’
Olive nodded. She looked down. The ground seemed further away than ever.
Her head began to swim.
Her tummy began to squirm.
Her foot began to tickle.
Blimp, you see, was tugging at her slipper.
‘Come on, Olive,’ he said, smiling up at her. ‘I’ll go with you . . . in case you need a cuddle . . . or a clock repair . . .’ He scampered ahead of her and beckoned with his front paw. ‘One foot in front of the other,’ he sang.
‘One foot in front of the other,’ repeated Olive through gritted teeth and followed nervously behind, her arms stretched out sideways for balance. She slipped, faltered, wobbled dangerously from side to side, then regained her composure.
‘Imagine you are a rat,’ Blimp called over his shoulder. ‘Swift and light of foot.’
‘Swift and light of foot,’ Olive repeated and moved a little faster.
‘Swift and light of foot with a robust butt,’ said Blimp, wiggling his fat white bottom as he scuttled ahead.
Olive began to giggle.
Now, one might think giggling a dangerous, wonky kind of thing to do on a tightrope. But as Olive giggled and walked and imagined herself as a rat, swift and light of foot with a robust butt, an astonishing thing happened.
Her fear melted away.
Olive giggled and walked, without a wibble or a wobble, all the way along the power line.
Just like a real acrobat.
All the way to Tiny Tim.
‘I made it!’ she cried.
Clackety-clack! The malevolent magpie snatched the final peg.
‘Mmmph berfle snerf thrumble tonkenheimer mmmph!’ yelled Blimp, which is what it sounds like when a rat’s mouth is full of pyjama sleeve and he shouts, ‘Quickly! Grab Tiny Tim because I can’t hold him with my teeth forever and he will fall and then he will splatter onto the garden gnomes and those solid granite pavers like a watermelon being dropped from an aeroplane without a parachute!’
Olive grabbed Tiny Tim by the hand, heaved him up, tossed him across her shoulders and walked back towards the rooftop. Placing one rabbit slipper gracefully in front of the other, she sang, ‘I am swift and light of foot with a robust butt.’
She ventured a quick peek down at the garden, taking in the fish pond, the vegetable patch and the enormous hole excavated by Doug overnight. She even did a little skip and two jumps before landing back on the rooftop. Olive flopped down onto the shingles and laughed.
Tiny Tim slid off her shoulders and snuggled into her side. ‘Thank you, Olive,’ he whispered. ‘You are ever so sweet and kind and courageous!’
‘And hexagonal!’ added Blimp.
Wordsworth slapped his forehead and rolled his eyes.
Chester nibbled a button off Tiny Tim’s pyjamas and ran downstairs to add it to his collection.
Olive laughed again. She had quelled her fear of heights, transformed herself into a proper acrobat and rescued her friend, all before breakfast. This was, perhaps, the most spectacular moment of her life.
Perhaps.
Except for that niggling thought in the back of her mind . . .
The thought that Tiny Tim’s treacherous situation might somehow be Olive’s fault.