Hamish and the Baby BOOM! Read online

  FIVE REASONS WHY FRINKLEY IS BETTER THAN STARKLEY

  by Horatia Snipe

  It’s not boring.

  It’s not boring.

  It’s not boring.

  Starkley’s boring, though.

  But Frinkley’s not.

  Hamish didn’t understand why Frinkley was always making fun of Starkley these days. It was his home, and, yes, SURE, it had a reputation for being boring, but most people didn’t know the real Starkley. Just imagine if they did!

  The real Starkley – the one Hamish couldn’t talk about – was a magical place, with a past that could turn your hair white. Oh, Hamish wished he could tell these Frinkley dingbats the secrets of his hometown and set them straight.

  He would tell them all about the evil and sinister Axel Scarmarsh, who really seemed to have it in for Starkley.

  He would point out the deep black scratch marks that still lined some of the walls in town – the only remaining evidence of the invasion of the fearsome, clawed Terribles who’d tried to steal all the grown-ups and turn them mean.

  He’d show them the scuffs on his living-room ceiling – and the tomato-sauce stains – caused by the very first GravityBurp that hit Starkley just two months before. What a day that had been, when everyone’s vases and tellies and macaroni pizzas had all shot straight up in the air at once!

  And who had fought off all these threats from Scarmarsh? Or the Terribles? Or the ghastly alien overlords, the Superiors?

  Not people from Frinkley. No way. It was Hamish Ellerby and his pals in the Pause Defence Force (PDF).

  And, now that Hamish thought about it, wasn’t it Horatia Snipe who had written a really mean article, saying that the PDF had made all their adventures up? Yes! She’d said Hamish and his pals were ‘fantasists’, and that they should really be concentrating on their schoolwork instead.

  Why had the newspaper recently turned on them?

  Maybe Frinkley was just jealous. Okay, it had Laser Quest and a super-cool roundabout with a giant hedge shaped like the wrestler Mr Massive in it. But I ask you: had Frinkley ever been overrun by giant, snapping Venus spytraps? Did it have a shop as cool as Madame Cous Cous’s International World of Treats?

  No, it did not!

  Hamish turned to the back page of the paper and found their terrible weekly cartoon, Mr Elbows.

  Mr Elbows gave the elbow to Starkley nearly every week. And it was never funny!

  Hamish rolled his eyes and put the paper down. Horatia Snipe. Mr Elbows. What was their problem? he wondered. Which was when he noticed that someone was staring at him.

  In his cot, little Boffo Quip was sitting bolt upright.

  He was still all wrapped up in his muslin, with his minuscule arms strapped tight across his chest, like he was in some kind of baby straitjacket.

  But his head was turned and his eyes were boring into Hamish.

  Hamish frowned and looked at the grown-ups. They hadn’t noticed. Was this normal? Boffo was a newborn. Sitting up seemed rather advanced. And why was he staring at Hamish? It was a bit eerie.

  ‘Hello,’ Hamish whispered, because it seemed rude not to say something.

  Boffo Quip started to smile. A smile that grew broader and broader.

  A toothless, gummy smile.

  That sprreeeeead and sprrreeeeeead and sprrrrreeeeeeeeeead.

  And then his nostrils flared.

  And there was a low, terrifying grooooowwwwl.

  Hamish narrowed his eyes. He and the baby stared at each other for what seemed an eternity.

  ‘Hamish?’ said Mum, breaking the spell. ‘Is that your tummy, chicken?’

  Chicken is what Mum often called Hamish. She wasn’t asking if he had a tummy chicken. I have to be honest, I don’t even know what a tummy chicken is, but it sounds terrifying. Let’s just hope that one day there won’t be a book called Hamish and the Tummy Chickens.

  ‘That was a highly disgusting growly sound that tells me you must be hungry, love,’ said Mum, picking up the Frinkley Starfish and finding the advert for the local taxi firm, Sharm! Cars. It was called that because they all drove so quickly all you ever heard was shaaaaarm! as they passed. ‘Maybe we can stop at Lord of the Fries on the way home.’

  But even the promise of chips and battered sausage with mushy peas and curry sauce could not pull Hamish’s gaze from this strange, growling baby.

  And that was when Hamish Ellerby first suspected that another adventure might be coming.

  Hamish Was No Fool!

  Hamish Ellerby was no fool. Not on your nelly!

  As he arrived home with his battered sausage, he had to consider the evidence that something out of the ordinary was happening.

  Babies don’t growl.

  He’d trained himself to look for anything out of the ordinary these days, just the way a spy spots a lie, a police officer spots a crime or a butcher spots a dodgy sausage.

  Mind you, that didn’t mean he was never wrong about stuff. He’d seen a cat carrying a deflated balloon in its mouth the other day and convinced himself that the feline world was working on basic flight technology.

  ‘Takeaway again?’ asked his brother Jimmy, delighted, nicking one of Hamish’s chips. ‘You’ve got to admit, that’s the one good thing about Dad being away!’

  Hamish’s dad worked for a company called Belasko. It was a company with one of those names that didn’t really give away very much about what it did. Mainly because what it did was super-top-secret.

  Or at least it used to be.

  The fact was, these days everybody in Starkley knew precisely what Belasko was. They knew it was Earth’s best hope against whatever evil might come knocking. But they also knew it was no good having a secret organisation if it wasn’t secret. Some people from Belasko might have been worried that everyone would start talking. They would have gone to the stock cupboard and brought out a Hypnobit. But Hamish’s dad didn’t want to use that little chirruping robot to wipe people’s memories. He didn’t think that was fair any more. So instead he’d called the whole town together outside the town clock one night and made them take the Starkley Oath. Everyone had to put their hands on their hearts and promise to keep quiet and just carry on and whatnot.

  And, now that Hamish was a junior Belasko member, he was in the loop; right now, he knew his dad was leading a team of agents out on a mission into SPACE – yes, SPACE! to make sure that their old enemy Axel Scarmarsh and the Superiors really had gone away. Dad had found some clues that led him to believe the evil Superiors were leaving Earth alone for a while.

  The question was: why? And where exactly in the universe was Scarmarsh now?

  Still, Dad being away on a mission had two distinct advantages:

  1. Mum said they could get takeaway from Lord of the Fries, Lord of the Wings or the new place, Thai Robot, whenever they fancied it. Even if that was five times a day and all anyone wanted was a pickled onion.

  2. Hamish’s dad had given him and his friends a very special job . . .

  ‘You’re in charge of Starkley while I’m away,’ he’d said, right before he left. ‘Keep your eyes peeled. If anything strange occurs, you let me know – but only if you’re absolutely certain! We can’t risk any more false alarms!’

  And there had been quite a few ‘false alarms’ lately, Hamish would be too embarrassed to tell you. Because of everything that had happened in Starkley, he knew it was his vital duty to keep his eyes peeled for suspicious activity.

  The problem is, sometimes that meant he saw it everywhere.

  Just this month, Hamish had mistaken a smaller boy at school for an alien shapeshifter (it turned out he’d just changed into his PE kit).

  Plus, he’d called out an entire Belasko SWAT team when he became convinced that someone had made all the grown-ups disappear suddenly, but he hadn’t realised it was Free Pie Night at the Queen’s Leg. Everyone was queuing up for beef and onion, and the landlord really didn’t appreciate Belasko special ops suddenly crashing through his
roof.

  Dad putting his faith in Hamish now was a big deal. Not just because of the false alarms, but because he was always so protective of his son.

  ‘He just loves you to the moon and back,’ his mum always told Hamish. ‘He couldn’t bear anything happening to you.’

  Hamish loved Dad the same way. But this need to always protect Hamish could be frustrating too, because it meant sometimes his dad wouldn’t let him take the risks that a real Belasko agent had to take. How was he supposed to save the world in a hurry if he had to ask permission first?

  Hamish’s mum always knew when this was playing on his mind. She’d been rather shocked to find out that her husband was a super-top-secret agent instead of a salesman, but something about it just seemed to make sense. He always wore black, for one thing. He was forever buying the latest gadgets. And every time he watched a James Bond film he’d write down the little jokes that James made, just in case he ever found himself in a similar situation.

  Jimmy hadn’t been all that bothered either, but that was because he was fifteen and fifteen-year-olds are too ‘mature’ to be fussed about their mum or dad’s job.

  But, one night a little while ago, Mum had decided to explain to Hamish why his dad was so protective of him.

  ‘Look at this photo,’ she’d said, opening up a dusty old album and immediately spilling Mustn’t grumble biscuit crumbs on it. ‘Doesn’t Dad look like you in this one?’

  Hamish’s dad was about ten in the photo. He was standing in a loch with a fishing rod, next to another slightly older boy. A thin boy with wavy hair.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Hamish had asked.

  ‘Dad always says you remind him of him,’ Mum replied, with a small smile. ‘That’s dad’s brother. It’s a sad story.’

  ‘A sad story?’ Hamish had said. ‘Why? What happened?’

  But Dad had overheard from the next room.

  ‘No time for sad stories!’ he’d said, bounding in and scooping away the album. ‘Not when we can watch Star Wars instead!’

  Dad had given Mum a look just then. Hamish remembered it as a sort of sad shake of the head.

  ‘Hey, H?’ said Jimmy, suddenly appearing in front of Hamish and interrupting the memory. ‘I’ve just completed my latest epic poem?’

  Jimmy said everything as if he was asking a question. He wasn’t someone you’d ask for advice or directions, because he never sounded quite sure of anything.

  ‘But don’t ask me to read it to you?’ continued Jimmy. ‘Because a great artist does not write poems just because he wants to read them out?’

  ‘Okay, Jimmy,’ said Hamish, scoffing a chip. ‘I will definitely not ask you to do that.’

  ‘Oh . . . but because you seem so interested I’ll do it just this once?’ said Jimmy, whipping out his pad. ‘This piece is called ONCE I WAS A BABY? And it’s all about how once I was a baby?’

  He cleared his throat and began.

  ONCE I WAS A BABY?

  by Jimmy Ellerby?

  Once i was a baby?

  That came out of a lady?

  That lady was my mother?

  She also had my brother?

  But now i am my own man?

  With facial hair and suntan?

  And one day i’ll be older?

  Like a really mouldy boulder?

  He looked especially pleased with himself about the mouldy boulder line, even though it didn’t make sense.

  ‘It’s imagery?’ he said. ‘Like the moss on an old stone? But that wouldn’t rhyme, so I said “really mouldy boulder”?’

  ‘It’s genius,’ lied Hamish, and Jimmy looked really proud. ‘Also, all that stuff about being a baby once and then having a brother, that’s all true, which makes it very powerful.’

  ‘Thank you, Hamish?’ said Jimmy.

  Hamish knew the best thing to do with Jimmy was be encouraging and use words like ‘genius’. And not to point out that Jimmy didn’t have a suntan at all and barely any facial hair.

  ‘Right, I’d better not be late!’ said Hamish, checking his watch, The Explorer. ‘Back in a bit!’

  As Hamish walked through the town square, he was excited to be going somewhere very special for a 6 p.m. meeting. But he couldn’t get the weirdness of the hospital visit out of his mind.

  And it was funny, but he’d never really noticed how many babies there actually were in the world. Now Boffo had given him the heebie-jeebies, he noticed they were EVERYWHERE.

  He remembered from his school project that something like four babies are born every second.

  So I suppose it makes sense that they were all over the place. I mean, where else would you put them?

  But, here in Starkley, Hamish had never really looked at the town’s babies. He shrugged and decided that you only really see them when you look for them. Babies blend in. Buggies are just part of the scenery. Mums and dads must almost feel invisible when they’re standing behind one.

  And, if you do spot a baby, man . . . those parents look so droopy. Clutching their paper cups of coffees and nodding at other parents, or splayed out on park benches, staring at their phones with their baggy eyes while their babies drift off to sleep.

  Except how do you know if they’re sleeping if you’re chatting to other parents, or staring at your phone? Those babies could be up to almost anything. They could be knitting. Or using a soldering iron. Or drawing pictures of bottoms.

  For the first time, Hamish saw a whole world of babies: quietly there. Lying down out of sight in their own little vehicles.

  The thought made his heart quicken.

  He tried to put babies out of his mind and upped his pace.

  The others would be waiting in their brand-new, super-exciting headquarters.

  Garage 5

  The PDF’s new HQ was a masterpiece of engineering.

  Oh, it was a real step up, all right. It was ridiculously cool.

  In the old days, they’d had to make do with an old shed in the woods.

  Then Elliot – the gang’s resident genius – had installed a sophisticated WAR ROOM at the end of his garden, complete with drawing board and mini-fridge.

  But, since they’d proved themselves not once, not twice, but an incredible three times, Belasko had decided these were kids with a bright future in the organisation. Kids they should look after.

  And so Garage 5 of Slackjaw’s Motors had been assigned to the PDF.

  Slackjaw’s Motors, of course, had a secret. The whole town did. If you knew the right people with the right keys, and you knew where to put those keys, you could turn the whole town upside down . . . almost literally!

  But that’s a story for another day (and another book). For now, all you need to know is that right here, at this simple car lot, strange flashing lights had been spotted night after night. Some people thought it must have been due to an illegal disco. Others said UFOs. No one had known it was two welders called Barry kitting the place out for the kids.

  From the outside, it looked just like a normal garage, with a door painted British Racing Green.

  But inside . . . ?

  Well . . .

  At the meeting table, chewing an apple, Venk was uncertain.

  ‘Hamish, you know I’d follow you into any battle,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think we should be too concerned just because you’ve seen a growling baby.’

  ‘Not just a growling baby,’ said Hamish, who hadn’t been able to stop himself from telling his friends exactly what he thought he’d seen at the hospital. ‘A whole load of very weird babies.’

  ‘All babies are weird,’ said Buster, the PDF’s tech-head. ‘I mean, have you seen them? They look weird, they sound weird, they speak in this weird language and they have a very weird approach to personal hygiene.’

  ‘What?’ said Clover, confused, twiddling one of the fake moustaches she kept in her disguise box.

  ‘Let’s just say babies are never in a hurry to get to the toilet,’ added Buster, making a wise face. ‘Let’s just say
it’s not something they’d consider getting up for.’

  Alice put her hand on her chin and frowned.

  ‘Hamish might be onto something,’ said Elliot, importantly. ‘Let us consider the world of the baby. There are indeed plenty of reasons to fear them.’

  ‘Fear them?’ said Venk.

  ‘What if I told you there was a being that from its very first moment on Earth had a grip so POWERFUL that it could HANG IN MID-AIR from a tree like a BAT if it wanted?’

  Buster looked a little concerned as Elliot put on his most important voice.

  ‘An entity that possessed the immediate ability to SWIM without ever even setting foot inside a leisure centre?’ he said, placing one hand on Clover’s shoulder and making her jump. ‘That had a history of breathing underwater? Born with more bones than us? Ten thousand taste buds! And . . .’ – he paused – ‘NO KNEECAPS!’

  ‘Ew!’ yelled Venk. ‘Like a bony, hungry jellyfish!’

  ‘But wait!’ said Elliot. ‘An enemy that could move among us undetected! And that pees, according to the most recent national statistics, once every twenty minutes!’

  ‘Enough!’ said Buster. ‘I can’t hear any more about these fearsome beasts!’

  Elliot pressed a button and a screen lowered from the ceiling.

  On it was a photograph of a lovely, smiling baby holding a flower.

  ‘Behold the beast!’ Elliot announced.

  ‘Babies?!’ said Alice. ‘It just doesn’t seem very likely that they’d be a threat.’

  Buster nodded.

  ‘I mean, I’m totally on your side, Hamish,’ he said, ‘but does the phrase “false alarm” mean anything to you? They still haven’t repaired the roof of the Queen’s Leg yet!’

  Hamish blushed.

  ‘Look,’ he replied. ‘I know that I’ve got a few things wrong recently, but maybe we can just keep an eye on the babies? We’ve been put in charge of Starkley while the older agents are away. It’s up to us to protect the town . . . to protect the world, even. What if Scarmarsh strikes again?’