Fairground Friday

Hamish and Alice’s plan was simple.

There were two more Pauses to come.

They’d use one Pause to prepare.

And the other to strike.

They knew what they needed to do. They had to get all the Terribles and their WorldStopper masters in one place at one time.

And that meant they needed to get all the people of Starkley in one place at one time.

The Terribles would think they were having the luckiest day ever.

All the grown-ups? There for the taking? No more running around, slathering about? No more clickety-clacketing on uncomfortable concrete, or fiddling about with locks and windows?

They would have a field day. They would be able to take whomever they wanted. They’d be able to take everyone, at once, and put this awful boring town behind them – ready for the next stage.

Then they could hit London. Paris. Rome. Berlin.

They could move on to New York. Tokyo. Toronto. Moscow. Mumbai.

They would be ready for Total World Domination!

And because this Pause would be the longest Pause yet, they’d have all the time in the world . . .

At least – that’s what they’d think . . . and if it went wrong? If the PDF had miscalculated?

Well – disaster.

‘We know that at least one Terrible has to keep an eye on the town clock,’ said Alice.

The PDF were sitting around the small table in the ice-cream van, pointing at the clock on a map of Starkley.

‘That’s why there was one on the rollercoaster last night. They think it’s the only accurate clock in town. Little do they know, we’ve got Hamish’s Explorer.’

Clover and Venk nodded. Buster patted Hamish on the back.

‘If we can draw them all away from the clock and stop them seeing it, that means they’ll have no idea how long it is until the Pause is over. We just have to keep them occupied for long enough and hope that our theory is right.’

Hamish made a confident face. It was important he looked confident.

‘So we’re going to keep everybody in one place until the Terribles arrive,’ said Hamish. ‘And Buster – that’s when you’ll attend to the clock.’

‘Understood,’ said Buster. ‘But how are we going to get the whole town in one place?’

The Thursday 3 p.m. Pause was on and everybody had been given a job.

Every single Pausewalker needed to move fast and with great efficiency while the town and everyone else in it was at a standstill.

‘Come on!’ said Hamish, leading the charge into the town square. ‘Let’s go!’

The kids started to dash all over the place, ready to get to work.

Except one.

‘What’s wrong, Grenville?’ asked Hamish, confused.

Grenville was staring at something nervously. Hamish followed his eye and understood immediately.

‘Those boys,’ he said. ‘The ones that bully you.’

‘Stig,’ replied Grenville, quietly. ‘Stig and Bash.’

Over there, outside the sweet shop, stood the much bigger boys Hamish had seen picking on Grenville that day. The expressions on their frozen faces made it look as if they’d been up to no good just as the Pause happened.

‘Well,’ said Hamish, wondering if he should say what he was about to say. ‘You of all people know that Pauses can be used in all sorts of ways . . .’

Grenville looked at him, confused.

Meanwhile, round the corner, Scratch and Mole darted into Starkley Library, which was even quieter than usual. They tapped ‘1,000 Copies’ into the keypad on the photocopier. Immediately, the old grey box burst into life, spilling brightly-coloured page after brightly-coloured page onto the floor.

Scratch picked one up and studied it.

Hopefully, the mayor would just assume he’d signed off on this and forgotten.

Outside the library, ten kids sat on their bikes and BMXs, ready to deliver the fliers all over town.

‘Batch one!’ screeched Grenville, who was enjoying life as a minor authority figure. ‘Go, go, go!’

Inside the newsagent’s on the corner, Robin and three other kids were making stickers in the sticker machine. Moments later, they were plastering them on every lapel, lamp post and frozen budgie in Starkley.

Clover and Venk snuck into Starkley FM – the very boring radio station that only ever talked about how few traffic problems there were and how they weren’t expecting any tomorrow either – and changed all the presenters’ scripts to read:

‘And don’t forget – it’s Fairground Friday tomorrow night at the fairground. Get ready for that big announcement! Attendance is mandatory!’

Then they changed all the records from boring old classical stuff to high-energy European dance pop. If that didn’t get people listening – nothing would!

They put up posters, they sent out invites, they blew up balloons, they ticked ‘YES I WILL ATTEND’ on people’s computer calendars, they changed the website of the Starkley Post to read:

FAIRGROUND FRIDAY WILL ROCK!

And when twenty-nine minutes and twenty-nine seconds were up and the sky flashed above them, Starkley was suddenly awash with bunting and colour.

As they stood and watched, all Hamish and Alice could hear was a rising excitement in town. Even from the adults who’d been processed into meanies.

‘Fairground Friday? It’s about time there was a Fairground Friday!’

‘I wonder what the exciting announcement will be.’

‘I heard it’s that the judges changed their mind and think Starkley is the most boring town after all!’

As a car drove by, Hamish could hear its radio blaring.

‘And don’t forget – it’s Fairground Friday tomorrow night at the fairground. Get ready for that big announcement. Here’s “Dance Your Legs Off” by Laser Face . . .’

Hamish smiled.

The word was out.

‘Right,’ said Grenville, suddenly thundering past. ‘I think I’d better run!’

Everyone looked behind him to see what he was escaping from.

Standing right there, in the middle of Starkley town square, were Stig and Bash.

And everyone was laughing at them. Old people, young people, teachers, everyone.

Why?

Because Grenville had used the Pause to swap all the clothes they were wearing . . . for two very, very tight and very, very stretched romper suits.

Yes. Romper suits.

He’d ‘borrowed’ them from the bag of a lady with a pram, along with a couple of dummies and two little nightcaps.

Stig now had a teddy under his arm and Bash had a dolly.

‘WHAT THE . . . ?!’ shouted Stig, spitting out his dummy. ‘WHY ARE YOU DRESSED AS A MASSIVE BABY?’

‘ME?’ shouted Bash, as a crowd began to gather. ‘YOU’RE THE ONE DRESSED AS A MASSIVE BABY!’

‘YOU’RE THE MASSIVE BABY!’ yelled Stig.

‘NO, YOU’RE THE MASSIVE BABY!’ shouted Bash.

Stig threw a rattle at Bash. Bash picked it up and threw it back.

And that was when the fight began.

‘BABY FIGHT!’ shouted Madame Cous Cous, bursting out of her shop and rubbing her hands with glee. ‘I BLINKING LOVE A BABY FIGHT!’

And, as the two giant babies began to wrestle on the ground, the people of Starkley started to chant the words ‘Ba-by Fight! Ba-by Fight!’

Hamish smiled as he walked away. The plan was starting to come together; he just hoped the PDF could pull this off. So many people were relying on them, whether they knew it or not.

But now that everyone was coming to Fairground Friday, there was just one part left.

The scary part.

Which is when Dexter, the silent boy in the stripy top, ran up and tapped Hamish on the shoulder.

‘I think I’ve got something quite important to say,’ he whispered, nervously.