Attack of the Cupids Page 6

  ‘Hit? Like with a hammer?’

  ‘I’ve known it. Cupids – they use arrows mostly. But hammers – yep, I’ve known it. Also harpoons. Knew someone who got done with a wrecking ball once. Anything’ll work, as long as it’s gold.’

  ‘So – what should I do?’

  ‘Depends. You winning in there?’

  Scattletail was a sideways kind of person. He looked sideways, spoke sideways, walked sideways, and he could spit to any angle from about 45° to 120°. He was looking sideways now, with his great nose curving off into the night like a toucan’s bill. And his dark little eyes were very, very direct.

  Muddlespot shifted a little. ‘Of course,’ he said.

  ‘Hm?’

  ‘Underneath it all,’ Muddlespot insisted. ‘In a subtle way.’

  ‘Hm.’

  ‘Oh, I know how it looks,’ said Muddlespot. ‘But that’s all part of my plan.’

  Muddlespot knew he couldn’t keep the true state of affairs quiet for ever. Sooner or later Low Command was going to have to notice what was going on with Sally, and then he’d be replaced and hauled off for that career interview and everything that came with it. His best chance of survival was to get himself transferred to another human first. The recognized way of achieving this was to sneak up on a colleague, disembowel and dismember him in a suitably collegiate fashion and then to take his place. Low Command didn’t usually mind if you did that. Most of them had done it themselves at some time or other.

  He had already eyed Scattletail’s neck and wondered about his chances of getting his talons around it. But Scattletail wasn’t just a colleague. He was . . .

  . . . Well, not a friend, because the sort of people Muddlespot and Scattletail were did not make friends, and anyone trying to make friends with them would be being most unwise . . .

  But it was reassuring, sometimes, to see him, and to compare notes on cards with pink hearts on them and other things like that. Scattletail had been playing this game for a long time.

  Which was probably why he hadn’t once turned his back on Muddlespot. Nor had he taken his hands out of his pockets. Scattletail’s coat looked as if it had really quite deep pockets. There could be a lot of nasty things down there. Muddlespot wondered what they were.

  On the whole, he thought, he’d rather not find out.

  ‘See,’ said Scattletail. ‘If you’re winning, you probably don’t want ‘em. They just make it more difficult. But if things are running against you somehow, and you need that break, then maybe a quick hit with a golden arrow might do it for you. ‘Mazing what can follow from one of those. Lies, tears, battle and murder – you can get the lot.’

  ‘But . . .’ said Muddlespot.

  ‘But?’

  Muddlespot wriggled a little. ‘I’ve, er, also got a deal, you see. With my opposite number. We keep it local. Just him and me. No interference from outside. We don’t let anyone in from Down Below. Not after the, er, Muffin Incident, you remember?’

  Scattletail nodded slowly. He remembered all right.

  ‘. . . So, er, if he thinks he’s winning, and he doesn’t want the lies and tears and battle and murder, then he’ll say the same applies to people from Above. We shouldn’t be letting them in. And he’ll expect me to back him up on that.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So . . .’ Muddlespot shrugged helplessly. ‘Well, a deal’s a deal.’

  Scattletail’s eyes were on him. They were black and bright and cold. And very, very deep.

  ‘Sure,’ he said. And added slowly, ‘But a devil’s a devil, isn’t he?’

  ‘I guess you’re right.’ Muddlespot sighed. ‘I never get used to that bit.’

  He looked at his toes. He was more nervous than he dared to admit. Windleberry was strong. During the ‘Muffin Incident’ he had gone thirteen rounds with Muddlespot’s boss – a very formidable person – and had come out on top. It was definitely in Muddlespot’s interest that there should be a few rules about how things were done inside Sally’s head. He would have felt a lot happier about binning the ‘Keep It Local’ rule if he could have known which other rules were going to get binned with it. He particularly wanted to keep the one about ‘No Smiting’. The ‘No Eye-Gouging’, ‘No Knee-capping’ and ‘No Wedgies’ rules were also important, he thought.

  And yet – it all started from Sally. In a way, Windleberry was strong because Sally wanted him to be strong. And for some reason Muddlespot could not fathom, Sally also wanted Muddlespot to be Muddlespot. There was a place for him in her mind. It just wasn’t a very big one. At the moment.

  But if things were to change . . .

  Into his mind stole the idea of Sally – the maddeningly perfect Sally – caught in the grip of emotions that she could neither control nor understand. And then – the sly word here, the quick trip there . . . His power growing. His enemy floundering, overwhelmed . . .

  Without being aware of it, he had begun to rub his hands.

  ‘Battle and murder, you say?’

  ‘Trust me. An’ that’s not the worst of it.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘You get some dam’ repetitive singing as well.’

  They did the party in the rec, which was a sloping patch of threadbare grass surrounded by bushes on the edge of the Bullwater Housing Estate. It boasted some swings, some kids’ climbing frames and the world’s shortest football pitch, but it also had a couple of barbecues that you could book and some tables where you could eat your picnic. Greg brought the meats up in a cool-basket and started to make smoke. Mum must have had a word with him, because although it was sunny and hot he was wearing a shirt and did not try to talk to anybody. He did not have a sign hung around his neck saying ‘I am Embarrassing’ but he looked as though there might have been one there invisibly.

  The friends came. Cassie and Viola didn’t come, because of course they were never going to, and Freda and Lauren, who probably would have done, happened to be going to the beach with Freda’s family that day. So Billie had invited Holly after all and everybody else in the house had carefully Not Said Anything.

  So who was there, wearing what, and what did they bring?

  Kaz came wearing a T-shirt and shorts, and she brought Billie a water pistol and Sally a book.

  Annie came wearing a party dress and a sparkly feather boa, and she brought both twins pink spangly birthday cards with gift vouchers inside them.

  Eva came in jeans and a plain white top, and she brought Billie a pendant with a pale blue plastic stone in it and Sally a book.

  Ellen also came in jeans and a plain white top, and since her hair was dark and short like Eva’s poor Greg got them mixed up and everybody yelled at him. Ellen brought both girls chocolates, which just HAD to be eaten there and then because they were melting in the sun.

  Lolo had come straight from her riding lesson, and she was wearing a striped T-shirt and jodhpurs. She brought Billie a framed picture (of a horse) and Sally a book (about horses).

  Imogen came in skin-tight jeans and a blouse knotted at the waist. She gave Billie some quality paint-brushes and Sally a copy of Madame Bovary by the French writer Flaubert, which was a good try even though Sally had in fact already read it. Imogen wasn’t really a friend of either twin. She was good at music with super-pushy musical parents, but apart from that the one thing she wanted in all the world was to be in with Cassie and Viola. This was a tough one because she had frizzy hair and slightly pop eyes and the first thing you had to do if you wanted to be one of Cassie’s set was to look perfect in every way. But Imogen’s uncle had an Aston Martin and was happy to give rides, so they sort of allowed her as a hanger-on.

  Of course, by the time Billie had asked her, it had already been clear that Cassie and Viola would not be coming. But Billie had wanted the one-person-extra that she had won in the argument so she had said ‘and I’ve asked Cassie and Viola’ in a way that made it sound as though they definitely were. Now Imogen had got to the rec bearing presents and found they weren’t. T
his made everyone feel awkward from the start (except Billie).

  Holly came in a dark blue top with white jeans and she bought the best presents of all, i.e. two ten-pound notes.

  Out in the street by the gate Charlie B and Rich and David were doing wheelies on their bicycles. Charlie was round in face and body. Rich and David were lean and dark and shaggy. They were all in Sally’s and Billie’s class, and they hooted and rang their bells at the girls as they came bowling over the speed bumps, but they didn’t ask why they hadn’t been invited. It never occurred to them that they might have been.

  ‘Cover your arc,’ said Windleberry tersely. ‘Left eye, left ear. I’ll take the right. Got that?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Muddlespot. He said it with a grunt because he thought it made him sound tough.

  (Windleberry had caught him in one of the corridors of Sally’s mind and – with a friendly grip on his elbow – had told him that there might be some callers from another part of Heaven. Muddlespot had said, ‘Oh.’

  Windleberry had said that there had been a serious mistake and that these callers had not been authorized and that their presence in Sally’s mind or anywhere near Sally’s vicinity would be a very bad thing. Muddlespot had said, ‘I see.’

  Windleberry had asked whether Muddlespot remembered their agreement about no interference from outside. Muddlespot had said, ‘I do.’

  Windleberry had then said it might be necessary to discourage the presence of these callers in very strong terms and asked if, bearing in mind their agreement, Muddlespot was willing to help do some discouraging. Muddlespot had said ‘I am,’ and had added a specially innocent smile which he had been practising ever since his talk with Scattletail.

  Windleberry had looked at him very hard. But he could not decide whether Muddlespot was actually lying, or whether his misgivings were simply because Muddlespot was a devil and therefore not to be trusted about 99% of the time whatever. In the end he had decided that for Sally to get hit by the cupids was no more in Muddlespot’s interest than it was in his, and therefore this might really be the 1% of the time when Muddlespot could be expected to help.

  Bad bet.)

  Muddlespot fully intended to look as though he was helping. To prove his good intentions he had dressed himself like a bouncer. He had put on a black dinner jacket, black tie and dark sunglasses. He had also added several rolls of cloth under his dinner jacket to make his shoulders look big. There would be no unwanted gate-crashers here, thank you, his pose said. No cupids. Certainly not without wearing a tie.

  Then he looked at what Windleberry was wearing. And he wondered if maybe he had not got the full picture of what these cupids were about.

  Windleberry was in full military combat dress and webbing. His cheeks were daubed with fierce camouflage stripes. His battle helmet was covered with netting, which was was stuffed with sticks and straw. He clanked with knuckle-dusters and tripwires and ninja darts and handcuffs and stun-guns and blowpipes and man-traps and radio beacons and night scopes and arrest warrants and electronic tags. He’d wanted to arm himself with a fiery sword, a lance of lightning and a Mark III Holy Rocket-Propelled Grenade Launcher, but Sally didn’t like loud noises and wouldn’t allow anything that might make one. If it came to close quarters he was trusting in his lead-lined baseball bat.

  He also had a whole bundle of forms already filled out so that he could report instantly and in triplicate all the things that he reckoned he was going to have to do here. Whatever happened next, there would be a row about it in Heaven. There might well be a visit from the Celestial Inspection Angels (CIA) to whom all parties would have to explain themselves. Windleberry knew about Celestial Inspections. They were conducted on the basis that everybody was an angel and angels must at all times tell the Truth, the Whole Truth and Nothing But The Truth. Therefore if, as an angel, you find yourself being inspected, the one thing you’ve got to do is to get your Truth in First.

  ‘Remember,’ hissed Windleberry to Muddlespot. ‘We work together, got that?’

  ‘Right,’ said Muddlespot, and grunted.

  ‘I’m counting on you,’ said Windleberry.

  ‘Right,’ said Muddlespot, and grunted again.

  ‘You seem a bit tense, you guys,’ said the Inner Sally. ‘What’s up?’

  Windleberry could not lie, so he said nothing.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ said Muddlespot, who could.

  ‘This lot will keep me going for a bit,’ said Sally, looking quickly through the pile of books that her guests had given her.

  ‘And look out for the nose,’ whispered Windleberry.

  ‘The nose?’ said Muddlespot.

  ‘It can start with a scent,’ said Windleberry darkly. ‘Rose petals, usually.’

  ‘I think I’m going to learn a few things I didn’t know about horses,’ said Sally.

  Smoke drifted across the rec, bearing with it mouth-watering smells. The girls were all sitting on the grass in the sun, listening to music playing on some speakers someone had brought along.

  ‘I can’t believe he got us mixed up,’ said Eva to Ellen. ‘We don’t even look the same!’

  ‘He’s so embarrassing,’ grumbled Billie.

  ‘He’s cooking for me,’ said Ellen happily. ‘I can live with it.’

  ‘I think Mum’s going to ditch him soon,’ said Billie.

  Imogen was sitting a little to one side, sulking because Cassie and Viola were not going to appear. Down in the road the riders whooped as they rode full tilt over the speed bumps. There were more of them now.

  ‘Boys at eleven o’clock,’ said Windleberry. ‘Coming in for another pass.’

  ‘She shouldn’t have said that,’ said Sally.

  ‘Roger out,’ said Muddlespot, because it seemed to be the right sort of thing to say.

  ‘Anything your side?’

  ‘Er – a rose bush?’

  ‘Keep your eye on it.’

  ‘I am.’

  It was about three metres away, a mix of yellow and orange and peach-coloured heads, nodding easily in the sun. Muddlespot thought he had seen a movement there – a suspicious twitch of a petal that surely should not have twitched. He watched it very closely in case it twitched again. His skin prickled. If it was what he thought it was, then he was going to look very carefully somewhere else. But first he wanted to know if this was the right place not to look.

  ‘It’s not like it’s any of their business,’ said Sally. ‘Poor Greg.’

  Billie was in a good mood. Ismael knew that because his cards were strong. There were aces when he needed them, nines when he needed them, and when he went for the five-card hand he got the obliging fours and threes.

  Even so, he did not drop his guard. Billie could change like the weather in April – all sunny one minute and storms the next. She was drifting around the central chamber of her mind, humming the music and laughing from time to time. But she was also restless. She couldn’t keep still. He would look up at her and find that she mentally changed the colour of her party dress, or was wearing a different scrunchy in her hair. Big spangly bracelets appeared on her arms. The next minute they were gone.

  Opposite him sat Scattletail, hunkered over his cards. He was betting small – bidding for a yawn or a snarky comment but nothing more than that. He was waiting for his luck to turn. His eyes never changed, whatever the run of play.

  ‘Do you think this party needs livening up?’ said the Inner Billie wistfully.

  ‘Hey, honey – take a hand if you’re bored.’

  Ismael had to say that, though he knew it was a risk. It was how things worked in Billie’s mind. Billie made a show of thinking about it. Then she said, ‘OK – deal me in.’

  ‘Blackjack?’ Ismael wanted to keep the game as it was. The less change now, the better.

  ‘Texas Holdem,’ said Billie firmly, sitting down and putting on a cowboy hat. ‘Deal me in, pardner.’

  Flick, flick, flick went the cards. Scattletail sat up. He drew his seat closer to the
table.

  ‘Immy, are you OK?’ asked Annie.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Imogen. Her voice was muffled because she was lying with her head pillowed on her arms. But her tone made it absolutely clear that she wasn’t. It had been dumb to invite her, and dumber still to have tried to invite Cassie and Viola. Everyone knew that. Except Billie.

  ‘Let her be,’ whispered Holly.

  The best hope for Imogen, Sally decided, was that she should get a boyfriend. That would cure her of wanting to be with Cassie and Viola. But – see (a) frizzy hair et ceteror and (b) the generally low standard of available boys – it might take some doing. Someone might have to play cupid.

  I love you love you love you love you sang the speakers. The warm air stirred the leaves in the bushes and set the rose heads nodding.

  Right in Muddlespot’s line of vision, something moved.

  It looked like a head, peeping cautiously out of a crown of rose petals. It was round and seemed to be attached to a pair of shoulders. But it was black and blind and . . .

  No, it was a head. It was a head wearing a balaclava.

  The rest of the body – as far as Muddlespot could see – wasn’t wearing anything. There was a shoulder, a gleam of a fat little chest and a pudgy forearm. The hand of the arm held a bow.

  ‘Anything your side?’ said Windleberry.

  Muddlespot licked his lips. Then, very determinedly, he looked away from the rose. He fastened his eyes on the plant beside it. It was a gladiolus, with straight green leaves and dark red flowers.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Nothing at—’

  There was one in the gladiolus too. This one also had a bow. And a balaclava.

  There were three in the cypress beyond.

  Muddlespot backed a bit. He couldn’t help it. The sight of them unnerved him. The way they moved – quickly, ruthlessly, flitting from one patch of cover to the next, so fast that by the time his head turned to follow the movement they were in cover again, and while he was still trying to pick them out another had moved – and each time nearer to him.