Monster Mission

Tears sprang to Minette’s eyes and Fabio drew in a hissing breath. Now, just when they had a chance of reaching the kraken, they had been found and would be dragged back.

Frantically they looked about for somewhere to hide. But it was too late. A policeman was climbing out of the machine and hurrying towards the house; a policewoman followed.

The adventure was over.

Chapter Twenty

King’s Cross Station had not looked so smart since the Queen had arrived there at the time of her silver jubilee.

There were streamers all over the station saying Welcome Back!

and on Platform One where the train bringing the kidnapped children was due to arrive, was a party of schoolchildren carrying banners. The banners said things like You are safe now and Your troubles are ended, and the children who carried them had learnt a welcoming song which they would sing as soon as the snatched children stepped out of the train.

A chocolate firm had sent a bumper pack of sweets, and their prettiest salesgirl, dressed like a chocolate bar, was waiting to present it. A famous clothes shop had made up parcels of T-shirts, and a bicycle manufacturer had brought two mountain bikes to present to the children who had been snatched so cruelly by the kidnapping aunts. Everyone knew about the miracle which had made it possible for the police helicopter to swoop down and gather up the missing boy and girl in a single daring raid.

Mrs Danby, Minette’s mother, was in the place of honour, standing on the strip of red carpet which had been put out for the children to walk on when they stepped out of their First Class Carriage. She wore a dazzling new outfit which she had bought with the money from the Daily Screech:

a shocking pink suit and a little pillbox hat with a veil. When she ran forward to hug Minette she would push the veil up so that people could see her tears. Professor Danby stood beside her, looking solemn. Whenever his wife took a step forward so as to be nearer to where the train would stop, he took one too. He wasn’t going to be upstaged by that show-off he’d been fool enough to marry!

The old Mountjoys had been given special chairs so that they could wait for their grandson in comfort. They were of course very pleased that Fabio had been found, but they couldn’t help wondering if all the work they had put into making him into an English gentleman had been wasted. The children had been discovered on some rough island in the middle of the Atlantic ocean and that could hardly be a good thing. Maybe they would come off the train with straw in their hair and mud on their shoes—if they wore shoes at all.

And of course as well as the schoolchildren and the relatives and the Lady Mayoress with her golden chain, the platform was full of cameramen and journalists and television crews with all their gear. The moment when the poor, snatched, little children got down from the train and ran into the arms of their loved ones would be shown not just all over England but all over the world. Even now the commentators were setting the scene, babbling excitedly into their microphones.

‘Only five minutes to go, before the train bringing those frightened, wretched youngsters to safety will draw up just twenty metres from where I stand,’ said the lady from ITV. ‘Mrs Danby can hardly hold back her excitement—she has just run forward so as to get even closer to her missing daughter …’

This was true—Mrs Danby had

run forward, but this was because her husband was up to his tricks again, trying to upstage her so that the camera picked him up as well as her and she wasn’t having that.

‘And the grandparents of the wild little boy who found shelter and kindliness in their home—what a touching couple they make, in the autumn of their years, waiting with joy for this great moment,’ the commentator went on.

Up in Edinburgh, Professor Danby’s housekeeper was glued to the telly. There’d be a row about which of the parents was to have the girl first, she thought, and hoped it would be the professor because she’d put flowers in Minette’s room and polished her new writing desk.

Minette’s mother’s boyfriend was watching too, lying as usual with a can of lager on the sofa. He too hoped Minette would go to her father first. Not that he had anything against the kid but the flat was cramped and he’d got the sack again and needed somewhere to flake out in the day.

And in the hospital in Newcastle upon Tyne, Betty sat in the dayroom and watched, surrounded by other patients and those nurses who could spare a moment. She needed the treat because her hip was mending very slowly; she should have been out of hospital a week ago and there she still was.

‘Only three more minutes now,’ said one of the newscasters looking at the station clock, which was a silly thing to say. Since when have trains coming down from the North been on time, even trains full of police officers bringing kidnapped children back to safety?