The Sunday Delivery Service, page 1
A MESSAGE FROM CHICKEN HOUSE
I love being back with the charming – and a little odd – Orinthia and her family, along with the evergrowing menagerie of postal delivery animals. This time, they’re embroiled in an ice cream mystery with high stakes! Holly Rivers writes a world of true wonder – funny, endearing, but with a backbone of kindness and mildly unexpected good sense. Come and join in! You’ll love it too!
BARRY CUNNINGHAM
Publisher
Chicken House
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Copyright
For my parents, Toby and Siân.
I love you both with a cherry on top.
And for Courtney, who loved eating ice cream by the sea.
Also by Holly Rivers
Demelza & the Spectre Detectors
The Boy in the Post
Free ice cream! Free ice cream!’
Kipling Brock burst into the Mailbox Menagerie, making Orinthia, Séafra and Taber jump. The three Shalloo siblings had been mucking out the animal enclosures all morning, and were now throwing fistfuls of mackerel to Geronimo and Gungho, the pelicans – their first bucketful of the day.
‘Kipling, what are you talking about?’ said Orinthia, looking up and pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
Kipling, rosy-cheeked and button-nosed, threw down his satchel and ran to his friends’ side. ‘There’s a new ice cream van in the village!’ he exclaimed breathlessly. ‘And they’re giving away free cones today!’ He took a folded paper flyer from his pocket and opened it up. ‘Look . . .!’
Orinthia wiped her fishy hands down the front of her overalls, before taking the paper and reading aloud.
TWO SCOOPS CREAMERY
INVITES YOU TO THE GALA OPENING OF OUR NEW ICE CREAM VAN
Free cones for the first 100 customers
Sunday 1 August from 9 A.M.
Little Penhallow Village Green
‘Sounds good, right?’ enthused Kipling, standing over Orinthia as she read.
Orinthia nodded eagerly. At nearly fourteen, she knew that she probably shouldn’t be feeling quite this excited about ice cream, but the first week of the summer holidays had already been a scorcher, and with the weather set to become increasingly warm this afternoon, a vanilla cone with a chocolate flake would definitely be a very welcome start to the day.
‘What do you think, Tabs?’ she asked, turning to her youngest brother. ‘You fancy an ice cream?’
Taber didn’t need to say a word – the way the scruffy-haired seven-year-old was jumping from foot to foot with a huge grin plastered across his face was answer enough. ‘I’m going to bring Gungho!’ he said, reaching into the pelican enclosure and scooping out the smallest of the two bucket-beaked birds. ‘He can have a fly around over the green!’
‘OK, but we need to leave now,’ said Kipling, pointing urgently to the time on the flyer. ‘We have to get there sharpish if we want to be one of the first hundred customers!’ He flung the back of his hand to his forehead in his usual dramatic way. ‘It would be an utter tragedy to miss out!’
Orinthia nodded, and was just unbuttoning her work overalls when Séafra cut in. At twelve years old he was nearly as tall as her now: lanky and growing by the day. ‘Erm, I hate to spoil your plans,’ he said. ‘But there’s still quite a lot of chores to finish here before we get ready for this afternoon’s deliveries.’ He nodded to the daily work rota pinned to the noticeboard on the far wall. ‘The guinea pigs need brushing. The rats need their claws trimming before any more letters are ripped to shreds. And one of the porcupines’ mailbags needs darning. We don’t want to get in trouble with Grandy Brock.’
Orinthia tutted. She couldn’t believe that despite everything they’d been through last summer, Séafra still insisted on being so sensible, so cautious. The sense of adventure he’d managed to muster while crossing the Atlantic Ocean in a freight crate hadn’t lasted very long at all. And as much as she took her responsibilities at the Mailbox Menagerie very seriously, it was definitely OK to bend the rules occasionally (especially when free ice cream was concerned)!
‘Relax, Séa,’ she said, giving her brother a playful punch on the shoulder. ‘Grandy Brock’s busy doing paperwork in his office. We’ll be there and back before he’s even noticed we’ve gone. And I promise we’ll get everything done before the animails go out on their first delivery.’
Séafra huffed in the way he always did when feeling under pressure. ‘Fine. But we can’t stay out too long.’
Kipling nodded and, cupping his hands around his mouth, wasted no time in shouting out to his siblings. ‘Hey! You lot! Who wants free ice cream?’
His words rang through the verdant glass domes of the menagerie, echoing around the vivariums and fish tanks, aviaries and pens. Obviously intrigued by the sudden clamour, Petunia the octopus propelled herself through the waters of her tank, before suckering herself to its glass frontage like a puckered orange star. Soon enough more of the animails looked up to see what was going on – raccoons scampered from their straw beds, monkeys swung through overhanging plants, and toucans swooped down from their perches. Even Zeno and Zelda, the Sphynx cats, took a moment to extend their long necks in observation, before returning to their saucers of milk.
‘Did you just say what I thought you said?’ shouted Peggy from up in the rafters. She was feeding chunks of ripe banana to Titus the fruit bat, who had just returned from his night shift and was now hanging upside down from his perch. ‘Free ice cream?’
Kipling looked upwards. ‘Yes! But only for the first hundred customers! We need to head to the village green NOW!’
Peggy nodded eagerly, and within a flash she’d hooked a leg around a nearby vine and was sliding down at breakneck speed. Titus the bat let out a loud click-click sound in protest. ‘Sorry boy!’ she shouted back as her feet hit the ground. ‘But you’re going to have to finish eating your breakfast alone today!’
By that point the rest of the Brock children, who had obviously overheard the exuberant commotion, had joined the huddle. Suki, the eldest of the brood, was half-drenched with water, having just given Bettina the pygmy hippo her monthly bath – always a soggy affair. Bramwell had a metre-long python hanging over his shoulders and was grappling with the tiny tree frog that was nesting amongst his tight black curls.
The smallest of the siblings, who had until recently gone by the nickname Milky, was now called Caspian – a moniker which Grandy Brock thought really suited the adventurous toddler (and one that would be much less a source of embarrassment for him in the future!). The toddler was naked apart from a cloth nappy secured with a large safety pin and came scooting forth on his bottom with a tiny white kitten on his lap. ‘Ice cweeeam,’ he garbled, wiggling his podgy fingers with glee. ‘Me want ice cweeeeeam!’
‘Yes, we’re going to go and get some,’ said Kipling, shooing away the kitten before hauling his little brother up on to his hip. ‘Everyone else up for it?’
The rest of the Brocks nodded enthusiastically, wide-eyed. ‘YEEEEES!’
‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ Kipling replied, looking as if he were about to explode with excitement. ‘Let’s go!’
In a flurry of enthusiasm, the children tugged off their wellington boots and unbuttoned their overalls, all the while chatting eagerly about what flavour cones they were going to order.
‘I’m definitely going to have strawberry!’ said Bramwell, licking his lips.
‘Lemon sorbet for me,’ said Suki.
‘I wonder if they’ll have knickerbocker glories?’
‘With strawberry sauce!’
‘And chopped nuts!’
‘And hot chocolate fudge!’
Having made sure that all of the animal enclosures were securely shut, the gang made their way through the menagerie. But just as they were about to make their escape, the office door burst open. ‘What’s all of this caterwauling? Doesn’t sound like there’s much work being done in here.’
The children wheeled round to find Grandy Brock on the threshold, with Mr Malagasy, his ring-tailed lemur, perched atop his shoulder. Despite the heat the old man was wearing his usual three-piece suit, and had his favourite hunting hat pulled down over his head of rapidly whitening hair.
‘We were . . . erm . . . just discussing what animals still needed feeding,’ improvised Peggy.
‘Well, that’s funny,’ said Grandy Brock, raising one of his bushy grey eyebrows. ‘Because I’m sure I heard someone mention knickerbocker glories. And I don’t recall any of my animals being fed on a diet of desserts!’
The children looked to the floor sheepishly.
‘Well? Is someone going to tell me what’s really going on?’ pressed Grandy Brock.
Suki, caving under her father’s glare, stepped forward. ‘There’s a new
‘I see,’ said Grandy Brock, crossing his arms. ‘And you were going to abandon your duties to go and get one, I presume?’
‘We weren’t going to be long,’ insisted Bramwell. ‘We promise!’
‘Please can we go, Grandy?’ pleaded Peggy, clasping her hands together as if in prayer. ‘Pleeeeease?’
The old man paused for a moment before smiling wryly. ‘Of course you can! You’d be fools to miss out! But come straight back, OK?’
There was a huge cheer from the children, and having reached for their sun hats, they were out of the front door in a flash.
The sun was dazzling as the children crested St Sylvester’s Mount ten minutes later, and they took a moment to catch their breaths as they looked down over Little Penhallow. Orinthia was so thankful to be out of her heavy work overalls, and was relishing the cool, cottony crispness of her summer dress, and the new open-toed sandals that Mum had bought her as an end-of-term treat. Nonetheless, an ice cream was definitely going to make the heat even more bearable!
Gungho, who had been circling overhead, suddenly came to rest on Taber’s shoulder, cawing loudly with his white wings flapping erratically.
‘Hey, what is it, boy?’ Taber asked, trying to calm him.
The bird nodded towards the village green, and let out another loud squawk. Shielding their eyes from the sun, the children edged forward to see what he had spotted.
Their faces crumpled in an instant.
‘Oh no, look at the queue!’ said Bramwell, pointing to the ice cream van parked up on the village green. ‘It’s huge! We’re never going to be one of the first hundred customers!’
Bramwell was right. Word of Two Scoops’ gala opening had obviously spread fast and it seemed as though half of the village had turned up for a free cone. A long line of customers was already snaking its way from the van, around the duck pond, over the bandstand and down past the bowling lawn.
‘Does that mean we don’t get ice cream, Rinthi?’ asked Taber, pulling at his sister’s sleeve and looking up at her with disappointment.
‘I’m afraid so, Tabs,’ said Orinthia. ‘Oh well, we’ll just have to come back another day with our pocket money. Let’s head back to work. And then I’m sure Mrs Gastaldini will be making something nice for lunch.’
‘Yes, but spaghetti doesn’t come with strawberry sauce and a chocolate flake, does it?’ keened Kipling, running a hand through his hair in despair. ‘This is awful! Ghastly! The worst day of my life!’
‘Well, you’ll just have to channel this raw emotion into your next recital of “To be or not to be”,’ joked Séafra. ‘Come on, let’s go. We’re going to melt if we stay up here much longer . . .’
The children were just about to turn back the way they’d come when a young girl in pale-blue dungarees came bounding up the hill towards them. She was a bundle of energy, probably around eleven or twelve, with two blonde plaits and a little turned-up nose. ‘Hey!’ she called out, breathlessly. ‘Wait up! Wait up!’ Orinthia felt her hackles rise. With everything that had happened with Mrs Pauncefoot and DI Snodgrass last year, she’d become rather wary of strangers. As much as she wanted to trust people, there was still a little voice inside that warned her to not assume that everyone was a friend. ‘Erm . . . can we help you?’ she replied tentatively.
‘I just wanted to say hello,’ said the girl, sweeping back her plaits as she came to a standstill. She looked up to Gungho and pointed. ‘You’re that lot with the post animals, aren’t you?’
‘Who’s asking?’ said Kipling curtly, obviously still in a mood, having not had his free ice cream.
‘Kip, don’t be so rude!’ Suki huffed, giving him a nudge in the ribs. She turned to the girl and offered an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry about him. He’s just being a grumpy-pants because the queue for the ice cream van is so big.’
The girl looked back over the green and nodded knowingly. ‘You came to get a free cone, huh?’
‘We were hoping to,’ said Suki glumly. ‘But so many other people have turned up with the same idea. We’re never going to be one of the first hundred customers.’
A mischievous grin spread across the girl’s face. ‘Oh really? Well, we’ll see about that.’
Orinthia’s nose crinkled. ‘What do you mean?’
The girl crossed her arms. ‘Well, it just so happens that I can get you right to the front of the queue.’
‘Really?’ said Kipling, suddenly revived. ‘How?’
‘Because it’s my family’s ice cream van!’ the girl replied with a giggle. ‘My mums own Two Scoops Creamery. We moved here from South Wales last week.’
The Brocks and the Shalloos all gasped with delight and Orinthia couldn’t believe their luck. What a well-timed encounter!
‘My name’s Dotty, by the way,’ said the girl, holding out a hand. ‘Dotty Ambrose. Nice to meet you all.’
‘You too,’ said Orinthia, before introducing herself and the seven others.
‘So are you all related?’ Dotty asked.
Suki nodded. ‘Peggy, Bramwell, Kipling, Caspian and I are brothers and sisters. And the other three . . . well . . . they’re pretty much our siblings now too!’
On hearing what Suki had just said, Orinthia felt a warm glow in her chest. The Brocks definitely felt like family to her and she was so happy to hear that they felt the same. She looked to Suki and smiled, her heart full.
Kipling, whose mood had now turned a complete one-eighty, was eager to turn the conversation back to the ice cream. ‘So you really think you can get us to the front of the queue?’ he asked, jostling from foot to foot.
‘Of course I can,’ Dotty replied. ‘I’m meant to be giving out flyers to passers-by, but we’re hardly short on customers! Come on, I’ll take you down to meet Penny.’
‘Is that one of your mums?’ asked Séafra.
Dotty giggled. ‘No, Penny’s our van! Short for the Penny Lick. Back in the olden days before cones were invented, vendors served scoops of ice cream in little glass cups, which everyone called penny licks.’
Kipling wrung his hands together in delight. ‘Ooooh! They sound yummy!’
Dotty laughed. ‘They were . . . until you caught cholera from eating out of one.’
The children looked at their new friend, mystified.
‘The shape of the penny licks meant they were hard to clean,’ Dotty clarified. ‘So germs would get passed from one customer to the next.’
‘Urghhhh, that’s revolting!’ exclaimed Bramwell. ‘Vanilla with a side helping of disease!’
‘Don’t worry, you won’t get ill from our ice cream,’ said Dotty, before adding, ‘Well, unless you eat it by the gallon!’ She doubled over and mimicked being sick.
Orinthia chuckled. ‘Sounds like you might be speaking from experience?’
‘Erm . . . no comment!’ Dotty replied. ‘Now come on, let’s go before my mums sell out!’
Dotty led the children down the hill, and as the Penny Lick slowly came into view there were shrill gasps of excitement. With its pale, mint-green paintwork and windows festooned with polka-dot bunting, it was a real beauty of an ice cream van. Its name had been hand-painted in gold across its side and the twinkling chimes of ‘My Lady Greensleeves’ came drifting from the brass horn on its roof. It had so much character, so much personality, and Orinthia couldn’t help thinking that its headlights were a pair of twinkling eyes, and the painted grille between them, a smiling mouth.
As the children approached, Orinthia expected to be ushered right to the front of the queue, but instead, Dotty pulled them behind a nearby tree and brought her voice down to a whisper. ‘OK, we’ll just wait here for a minute,’ she said, keeping her eye on the van.
‘Hang on, I thought you said that we could go straight to the front?’ said Kipling, looking slightly bemused.
‘You can,’ replied Dotty, crouching down into the shadows. ‘But only when my mums’ backs are turned. I don’t want them catching you pushing in!’
She pointed to the van’s large serving hatch, where two women in powder-pink aprons were busy fixing cones for the waiting customers. ‘That’s Pandora . . . or Mum,’ she said, nodding to the taller of the two, who was svelte, with sun-kissed skin and a strong jaw.
