He turned away from the mirror and his eyes landed on the towering bronze sculpture in the centre of the hallway: two children atop a round plinth. One of them was crouched over with a pained scowl on her face. Ragged clothes clung to her wiry frame and her hair was wild and matted. Beside her was a boy with a beaming smile, standing triumphantly in a razor-sharp school uniform and bow tie. His back was straight as an arrow, his hair was luxurious and silky and he radiated confidence – an irritating confidence. Grule looked up at him sourly, and the boy smirked back.

  Chiselled into the base of the sculpture was the motto of Madame Strang’s Academy: Tam exterius quam interius. Fix the outside, fix the inside.

  A bell rang somewhere deep in the belly of the building, interrupting the silence. Grule watched as a small furry animal appeared at the top of the huge staircase and tottered down towards him past the scowling paintings on the wall. The sausage dog landed with a plop on the last step and glared at him disapprovingly.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mangler,’ Grule said with a wince.

  Mangler gave a sharp bark and turned to make his way back up the staircase. Grule followed, trying not to catch the eyes of Madame Strang’s sour-looking ancestors sitting rigidly in their paintings with a sausage dog in their lap. As he climbed the stairs, Grule passed a dog with a flowery bandana, a dog in a tiny military uniform, a dog in a powdered wig and ruff, and on and on it went.

  Mangler seemed to have no trouble navigating the maze of hallways, and finally he stopped at a brown door, glancing impatiently at Grule behind him. Nailed on the door was a bronze plaque:

  Madame Sigourney Strang, Owner.

  Mangler gave a bark at the door, and a voice called out, ‘Enter!’

  The sausage dog turned to Grule as if to say, ‘You’re on your own, pal,’ and scurried off back down the corridor. Grule took a deep breath and opened the door.

  Madame Strang watched him with beady eyes as he shut the door, walked meekly to her desk and sat down. The entire wall behind Madame Strang was taken up by an enormous cabinet. Sitting behind the glass were rows of gold-leafed trophies, cups, rosettes and statuettes. Each one told a success story about the woman sitting behind the desk.

  Beautician of the Year 2019, 2020, 2021

  Sharpest Nail Manicure 2022

  World Record Holder for Fastest Eyebrow-Plucking – 9.2 seconds

  Photographs of children sandwiched between beaming parents also caught Grule’s eye. Each set of parents looked overjoyed to have their little monsters transformed into little angels.

  Each child, however, didn’t seem so pleased. Something was off, and it never failed to send a shiver down Grule’s spine. Each child stood as straight as a rake, with a grimacing grin plastered across their face. But the smiles were surface-level. It was their eyes that gave it away. They were completely blank, as if there was nothing behind them at all.

  Grule averted his gaze towards a heap of sausage dogs snoozing in a basket in the corner, while two more perched beside their mistress on the desk. They, like Madame Strang, were peering at him suspiciously through the gloom. He thought he could hear them growling softly… or perhaps that was Madame Strang herself.

  She sat watching him, two mushroom-clouds of black hair exploding on either side of her head, frozen into place with an ozone-puncturing amount of hairspray. Grule had never seen anyone who looked more perfect than Madame Strang. Was ‘perfect’ the right word? Maybe not. She certainly had no wrinkles, her hair was shiny, and her long nails were painted expertly with a blood-red polish. She wore an expensive-looking red suit, and, without even looking, Grule knew her shoes would be red too.

  At the far end of the room, lit by the glow of a crackling fireplace, was an enormous framed poster. Madame Strang’s face grinned smugly under the huge, yellow slogan: STRANG COSMETICS: IF YOU CAN AFFORD IT, WE CAN FIX IT.

  In the photograph, Madame Strang was surrounded by piles of jars, tubes, squeezy-bottles and tubs. Grule’s eyes flickered over them: Follicle-Invigorator, Tongue-Polisher, Nose-Hair-Plucker, Anti-Sag Serum. Madame Strang’s face was on the front of every single item. And then that very same face leant across the desk and spoke.

  ‘I’m extremely disappointed in you, Mr Grule,’ she said softly, pursing her deep-red lips together.

  ‘I can explain, Madame Strang—’ he began.

  ‘Don’t interrupt me.’ She held up a spindly finger, her syrupy voice hardening. ‘I gave you a simple task. To ensure that no child escapes from my academy. Am I wrong?’

  Grule wasn’t sure if he should answer her question. His mouth fell open stupidly. ‘You’re not wrong, Madame Strang,’ he stammered. ‘If I could explain…’

  ‘Explain this!’ She pulled a battered-looking newspaper from her desk and tossed it at him. It struck him square in the face and he glanced down at the front-page headline: CHILD MISSING FROM MADAME STRANG’S ACADAMY FOR INCREDIBLY IRRITATING CHILDREN! By Chief Investigative Reporter, Moonyoung Choi.

  ‘That so-called journalist!’ Madame Strang muttered, making a face as if she’d just caught a whiff of dog poo on her shoe. ‘She’s obsessed with writing the…’ Her brow furrowed with concentration, searching for the right word.

  ‘The truth?’ suggested Grule.

  ‘Yes!’ she snapped. ‘The truth. Irritating woman.’ The sausage dogs on her desk nodded their heads in vigorous agreement. ‘Read the first paragraph, Grule,’ commanded Madame Strang, inspecting her fingernails.

  Grule squinted at the paper, his lips twitching as he read to himself.

  ‘Aloud!’ barked Madame Strang. ‘Read it aloud!’

  ‘Oh,’ he stammered. ‘Police in Snoops Bay have launched a huge search after a ten-year-old child escaped from Madame Strang’s Acadamy for Incredibly Irritating Children, the highly secretive institution…’ His voice trailed off and he felt his face beginning to burn as red as Madame Strang’s lipstick. ‘The academy, which transforms troublesome children into angelic darlings, has won numerous awards for performing complete makeovers both inside and out. The owner, prize-winning beautician Sigourney Strang—’

  ‘Madame Sigourney Strang!’ she muttered to herself.

  ‘… has brought her cosmetic talents to the world of childcare, charging parents a fortune to remodel a single child. But the results are undeniable. Strang is renowned for transforming even the most repulsively behaved child into a model of good behaviour, impeccable manners and excellent personal hygiene. News of the missing child comes just days before Strang launches her long-awaited new product, formulated in absolute secrecy.’ Grule felt her eyes burning into his skull.

  ‘I have egg on my face!’ snarled Madame Strang.

  Grule peered over at her. ‘It looks fine to me…’

  ‘You imbecile! I mean, I look like a fool! How will I be trusted to transform these brats if I can’t even keep them in the building? We’re a laughing stock!’

  With a sudden movement that made Grule twitch with fright, she snapped her fingers together. The two sausage dogs on her desk were suddenly just centimetres away from him, leaning across the desk towards his nose. They bared their teeth, dripping stringy globs of saliva onto his lap, and he began to tremble.

  ‘Drew Hill could pose a very big problem for us. If he ever told people what we’re doing here at the academy…’ Madame Strang stiffened and glanced towards the window. ‘We’re so close, Grule. Years of work and preparation. They laughed at me when I told them my dream. They all laughed at me.’

  ‘Which dream was that, Madame Strang? When you were in school in your underwear?’ Grule asked.

  ‘No!’ she screeched. ‘My dreams of the future – what we’re trying to achieve here. What we’re already achieving.’ Madame Strang suddenly looked shifty. ‘And don’t tell anyone about that other dream.’

  Her voice fell to a raspy whisper as she gazed out of the window again into the murky afternoon light. ‘I don’t need to tell you how important it is that we get him back, Grule,’ Strang continued. ‘If the police or any of the parents ever learn about the new product, we’ll be finished. I intend for this academy to be the best-known and most respected institution for child transformation on the planet. All while making bags of money!’

  She zeroed in on Grule and he shrank back in his seat. ‘I won’t have a little twerp like Drew Hill make a mockery of me and my sausage dogs. You will go to Snoops Bay, you will find him and you will bring him back here. The first batch of the product will be ready tonight, and we’ll have it on the supermarket shelves by the end of the week. Everyone will be breaking down the doors to get their hands on it. And I want the press reporting on how incredible I am, not about some snotty-nosed brat giving me the slip!’

  ‘Of course, Madame Strang.’

  She leant back and plucked up one of her dogs, placing it gently into her lap. Her eyes never left Grule’s. ‘You won’t fail me this time, Mr Grule. Am I wrong?’

  His shoulders slumped. ‘You’re not wrong, Madame Strang,’ he muttered. He rose to his feet, gave a quick nod and scurried out of the room as fast as his legs could carry him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Riz felt ‘bleurgh’. That was the best word she could think of to describe it. Absolutely, overwhelmingly, categorically and undeniably ‘bleurgh’.

  It was a Monday, the beginning of the last week of the summer holidays, and it felt as though the whole town was beginning to slump, pulling creased uniforms from cupboards, searching for lunchboxes and discovering long-forgotten bananas at the bottom of schoolbags they’d thrown under beds weeks previously.

  But Riz wasn’t winding down just yet. She’d been contacted out of the blue that morning by Lesley Leslie, an unfortunately named girl from the year above her. Lesley needed an urgent alibi to convince her mum that she most certainly hadn’t flushed her little sister’s favourite doll down the toilet, blocking the entire street’s sewage system in the process. Riz agreed, and innocently told Lesley’s mum that they’d been cleaning out Riz’s garden shed at the time. Mrs Leslie believed her tale, Lesley was in the clear, and Riz had a handful of lemon sweets (her payment) stuffed into her trouser pocket for the walk home.

  As she turned off the main street leading away from Snoops Bay town centre, she was met by a five-metre face leering down at her from a billboard – the face of Madame Strang. The mouth was sliding open and closed in a mechanical loop, a blood-red pair of lips opening to reveal two rows of sparkling, sharp teeth. Clenched between Madame Strang’s fingers was a small glass bottle filled to the brim with a bright-pink liquid and stoppered with a stout cork. Emblazoned across the billboard in a sickly pink font were the words Madame Strang’s latest creation! The hair you’ve always dreamed of made possible in one little bottle. Hitting shelves this week. First purchase absolutely FREE!

  The launch of a new Strang product never failed to send Snoops Bay into a frenzy, almost like the town was counting down to a second Christmas Day. An announcement would come from the academy, announcing the imminent release of some new lotion or potion, and the town would go wild. Riz knew that her mum would be one of the people queuing at midnight outside the local supermarket, straining at the metal barriers to get a first glimpse of Madame Strang’s ‘latest creation’.

  Riz shivered and scurried down the street towards the park, which bled into the dense trees of Snoops Forest. Plastered across the park were ‘Missing’ posters with a photograph of the boy who had escaped from the academy. Drew Hill had dark hair that tumbled in front of piercing, green eyes. His mouth was unsmiling under a crooked nose. He doesn’t look particularly friendly, Riz thought. But then again, the children up at the academy had been sent there to be transformed, so Drew Hill probably wasn’t a particularly pleasant person to be around.

  Another day had passed and the police were still no closer to finding him. A hotline had been set up, ready to receive reported sightings, but Riz had heard they’d only received one call so far – a confused pensioner trying to call Moscardini’s Chippie and order a chicken burger (extra onions) and a portion of chips.

  Riz tramped round the perimeter of the park, then turned into the woods towards home. This was her private short cut. The woods were still and peaceful, the sound of the traffic from the main street and the commotion of the park hushed by the lush green trees.

  The peace was suddenly broken by a noise. A rustling behind Riz stopped her dead in her tracks and she whipped round, staring into the woods.

  Silence.

  A squirrel, maybe? Or a bird? Riz turned and picked up her pace slightly.

  Snap!

  Riz whirled round again.

  Snap! Snap! Footsteps on twigs. Someone was following her!

  Riz ran. She hurtled through the trees and across a stream, then nimbly hopped over two enormous flat boulders that meant she was almost home. As she ran, she could hear the sound of twigs and branches snapping behind her; whoever was after her was keeping up. In fact, it sounded like they were getting closer.

  She saw the tree root a moment too late. As if in slow motion, she watched as her foot snagged and gave way. Her bag flew from her shoulders as she stumbled and landed with a yell on the damp earth. Stars swam in front of her eyes for a moment, and she twisted onto her back.

  A pair of bright green eyes were looking down at her.

  ‘Enjoy your trip?’ said Drew Hill, panting and reaching his hand down to Riz. She swatted it away.

  ‘Not funny!’ she snapped. Then she remembered who she was speaking to.

  ‘You’re Drew Hill!’ She scrambled to her feet. ‘The whole town is looking for you.’

  He looked nowhere near as unpleasant as in the photograph on the posters. His eyes were a startling shade of green, but his hair was short and choppy, as if someone had taken a lawnmower to it. And he was dressed as if he’d just come from a car-boot sale, with a faded T-shirt that said: I’M NOT WEIRD, I’M LIMITED EDITION!

  Riz pulled a pencil from her pocket and brandished it at him. ‘Why were you chasing me, Drew Hill? I’m armed and very dangerous!’

  His face was caked with dirt and he was smirking at her now. She wanted to punch him.

  ‘Your pencil is broken.’

  Riz looked down – he was right. Her fall had snapped it, and now one half dangled pathetically from the other. She pulled the two pieces apart.

  ‘Well, now I have two pencils!’ she warned.

  ‘You’re Riz, aren’t you?’ he said, taking a step towards her.

  She raised the pencils higher. ‘How do you know my name? Tell me why you were chasing me or I’ll get my parents!’

  ‘You can if you like.’ He shrugged, not looking too bothered. ‘But aren’t you forgetting something?’ He picked up her bag. ‘Want it back?’

  Riz shot him daggers. ‘Give it here!’

  ‘Sure.’ He beamed. ‘Come over here and take it.’

  Riz’s blood began to boil with rage – he reminded her of some of the older boys at her school. ‘Give. It. Here!’

  Drew swung the bag around like a cowboy about to lasso a stallion. ‘Come and get it!’

  Riz roared like a bull and dived forward, clamping her arms round his waist and throwing her full weight into him. He gasped as they hit the ground hard.

  Riz snatched her bag from his grasp and jumped to her feet. As she began to march away, she heard a croak.

  ‘I have a job for you.’

  Riz paused, and turned back. Drew had struggled to his feet, his face beetroot-red, and was now waggling something at her. She took a step closer and recognized it as one of her business cards.

  ‘I found this in a clothes bin last week,’ he said, before proceeding to read it aloud.

  He paused. ‘You look a little different from the picture though…’ He held the card up. A photograph of Riz was printed on one side, a wide and confident smile on her face. Her black hair shone from a recent shampooing, the tips of her fringe singed with an electric-pink dye.

  ‘In real life you look…’ He thought for the right word. ‘Muddier?’

  Riz glowered at him. ‘So you staked out the water tank and followed me here?’

  He shrugged. ‘I would have left a note, but I wanted to meet you in person to make sure you’re up to the job!’

  ‘I don’t work with strangers,’ she said firmly and turned to walk away again.

  ‘Even when those strangers have three hundred pounds to pay you?’

  Riz whirled round so fast her head spun. ‘What did you just say?’

  Drew was grinning again, but she didn’t want to punch him so badly this time. ‘Three hundred pounds, cold hard cash.’

  ‘Let’s see it,’ Riz said, trying not to get too excited.

  Drew’s smile dropped a little. ‘I don’t have it on me.’

  ‘Well, where is it?’

  ‘I need help getting it,’ he answered meekly.

  ‘So you’re robbing a bank?’ Riz was starting to wish she’d continued walking home.

  ‘I left it in Madame Strang’s Academy when I escaped.’

  She chortled, in spite of herself. ‘That was extremely careless of you.’

  He didn’t laugh. ‘It couldn’t be helped. An hour’s work, I promise. Help me get back into the academy and the money is yours. I left something behind that I have to return for. And I’m not from around here, so…’

  ‘So what?’

  He shrugged. ‘So I don’t have any friends. I need a fake one.’

  Riz hesitated. She didn’t know whether she could trust him. But his green eyes were locked on hers and he wasn’t looking away.

  ‘Three hundred smackeroos?’

  ‘Three hundred smackeroos,’ he agreed.

  For three hundred pounds, she didn’t have to trust him. She just had to help him. ‘Okay, Drew Hill, you’ve got yourself a deal.’

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10