Archer’s Goon

On the way to school Howard noticed that someone had chalked the name ARCHER beside Awful’s hopscotch. It was chalked on the wall of the corner shop, too, and when Howard got to school, the name ARCHER stared at him again, done in white spray paint on the wall of the labs. There was a long, boring talk about vandals in Assembly because of it.

Howard was annoyed for a while because it was Dad’s business, not his. But he forgot about it in English because he was busy making a careful, soothing drawing of his articulated spaceship.

Fifi was waiting for him when he came out of school, waving and looking anxious. In a way, it was as bad as the Goon. Howard’s friends all made chortling noises, pretending they thought Fifi was his girlfriend. He went over to her as slowly as he could. But that only made Fifi run to meet him. “What’s up?” he said.

“Don’t look so glad to see me, will you?” Fifi said. “Someone might notice. Miss Maisie Potter’s up, that’s what. She didn’t come near the Poly today, and that’s not like her. I want you to come round to her house with me.”

“Do you think she’s ill?” said Howard.

“I think she’s avoiding me,” said Fifi. “She saw the Goon that night, remember. I think it’s fishy.”

She clung to Howard’s arm, causing a further set of chortles from Howard’s friends. “Be ever so nice and come with me, Howard. I don’t like to face her with stealing on my own.”

“Oh, all right,” Howard said hastily. They walked down the street together, pursued by chortles.

As soon as they were out of hearing, Fifi said, “The Goon’s still there, you know. Sitting. Grinning. Your dad’s just sitting, too – sitting it out. He hasn’t even tried to write his new book. I keep thinking of that knife.”

Howard sighed. He had hoped the Goon would have got tired of waiting by now.

Fifi wrapped her scarf around her neck and flung the end bravely over her shoulder. “Frankly, Howard, I’m wondering if I should go to the police. Your dad won’t. But someone should.”

“It may not do any good,” said Howard. “Dillian runs law and order.”

“Dillian?” said Fifi. “Who’s Dillian?”

“Archer’s brother,” said Howard. “Mr Mountjoy said there were seven of them, and they run—”

He was interrupted by well-known piercing shouts and pounding feet. Awful was racing after them, having seen them crossing the end of the street where her school was. “Where are you two going and not taking me?” she demanded when she caught up. “You’re supposed to look after me.”

Fifi sighed rather. “We’re going to Miss Potter’s to get the words back. It’s a long way.”

“I’m coming, too,” Awful announced, as they had known she would.

“Then be good,” said Howard.

“I’ll be how I want,” Awful retorted. But she was afraid of making them angry enough to send her home, so she skipped along beside them almost quietly and did nothing worse than make a rude sign at two little girls across the street. “Our school was written over last night,” she said. “It says ARCHER on all the walls.”

“So does mine,” said Howard.

“Let’s go and see Archer,” Awful suggested. “You could set me on him.”

“Oh, no!” said Fifi. “He must be worse than the Goon.”

This sobered Awful somewhat. She skipped along without talking, while they went past the Poly and through the shopping centre and on up Shotwick Hill. “Where are we going?” she complained at the top of Shotwick Hill.

“I warned you,” Fifi said. “She lives up Pleasant Hill way. Woodland Terrace.”

“It’s posh up there,” Awful objected. “And a long way. And,” she added, “I wish I hadn’t come now.”

The way was all uphill. Long before they got to Woodland Terrace, Awful was shuffling and dragging and moaning that she was tired. She said she hated the houses here. Even the ordinary houses were beautifully painted and very neat. Most of the houses were more like red-brick castles than ordinary houses, and they got bigger and redder and more castle-like, with bigger gardens and more trees, the higher they went into Pleasant Hill. It was quite a surprise to find Woodland Terrace was a row of small houses. Awful perked up when she found Miss Potter’s house actually had gnomes in its little front garden.

“She would have gnomes!” Fifi said contemptuously as she rang the bell at the little stained-glass front door.

Miss Potter, when she opened the door, had a towel around her head and her glasses hanging from her neck on a chain. She hurriedly put the glasses on in order to stare. For an instant she looked really dismayed. “Oh,” she said, “what a surprise!” and forced a smile to her ribby face.

“That typescript I gave you to drop into the Town Hall…” Fifi began.

“What about it?” Miss Potter said, much too quickly.

“My father needs it urgently,” said Howard.

Miss Potter looked at him and then backed away, in a way that made Howard feel like the Goon. “Oh, but I—” she said, and took hold of the front door to shut it in their faces. And that would have been that, but for Awful. Awful wanted to see what the house was like inside, and she was never shy. She slipped in under Miss Potter’s skinny elbow and walked into the hall. In order not to shut Awful into the house, Miss Potter had to leave the door open. She stood holding it and looking meaningly from Awful to Howard and Fifi. When none of them moved, she said, with cross politeness, “Won’t you all come in?”

They went into the small dark house. It had a sad, damp smell and a lot of clocks ticking. Awful made a face because her curiosity was already satisfied. Miss Potter ran ahead of them into a spotless little living room and cleared two small books and a neat note pad from a shiny table. “You’ll have to excuse everything being so untidy,” she said. “I’ve been working hard all day, and I wasn’t expecting visitors. I’m so nervous about that paper Mr Sykes set me, Fifi! I can’t think of anything else!”

“Think about that typescript,” said Fifi. “Have you still got it?”

“How about some tea and biscuits?” Miss Potter said brightly.

“Yes, please,” said Awful.

But Howard and Fifi both said, “No, thanks,” at the same time, and Fifi added, “Typescript, Maisie.” Awful glowered.

Miss Potter put a hand to the towel around her head distractedly. “Oh, yes. Now let me think…”

Awful was annoyed at not being allowed tea and biscuits. She said loudly and gloomily, “She’s putting you off. She’s stolen it.”

“I have not!” Miss Potter exclaimed indignantly. “I’ve only – that is— Well, if you must know, I lent it to someone.”

“Whatever for?” said Fifi. “When you knew Mr Sykes—”

“I can get it back,” Miss Potter protested. “My friend only lives just up the road. She only wanted a peep at it.” And with a distinct look of relief she added, “I’ll – I’ll get it back and give it to you tomorrow without fail, Fifi.”

It seemed to Howard that Miss Potter was getting more and more shifty. Fifi evidently thought so too, because she said sternly, “No, that won’t do, Maisie. Tell us where your friend lives and we’ll go get it now.”

“Oh, I can’t do that!” Miss Potter cried out. “She doesn’t like strangers. She won’t know who you are. She – she doesn’t care for children. I’ll go and see her myself this evening, I promise!”

Fifi looked frustrated. Howard found he did not believe a word about this friend of Miss Potter’s. He thought of the Goon and the Goon’s techniques. He said, “We’re staying here until you give us that typescript. My father needs it. It’s his property.”

This produced a new flurry of excuses from Miss Potter. “But I can’t bother my friend in the middle of the afternoon like this! And just look at these awful old clothes I’m in!”

“We’ll wait while you change,” said Fifi.

“Besides,” added Miss Potter, becoming truly inspired, “my hair’s wet.”

“Wear a hat,” said Awful. “Doesn’t she tell a lot of lies?”

At this, Miss Potter made a noise of exasperation. “Very well,” she said, tossing her towelled head angrily. “We’ll all go to see my friend. But I insist on going upstairs to change first.” She turned and marched out of the neat living room.