Elspeth Hart and the School for Show-offs Read online

  She tried to remember the next line, but it was stuck somewhere in the back of her mind. So she kept humming quietly all the way through washing the dishes, and kept on humming while she chopped seventy, eighty, ninety, one hundred manky and oozy courgettes.

  As she finished the last courgette, Elspeth had a horrible sensation of being watched. She turned her head slightly to find Miss Crabb standing right behind her, breathing down the back of her neck with an awful scent of tuna fish.

  “Interesting little tune,” Miss Crabb said, leaning closer. She jabbed Elspeth hard in the ribs. “What’s that you’re singing?”

  Elspeth froze. Miss Crabb was always watching her in a strange way. Sometimes she jumped out from behind doors to frighten Elspeth, as if she wanted to shock her into saying something.

  “I don’t know, Miss Crabb,” Elspeth said. “It’s just a bit of an old song that’s stuck in my head.”

  “Hmmm.” Miss Crabb moved away slowly, still staring at her. “Well it is lovely to hear a young child singing.” She showed her teeth in a horrible grimace that was meant to be a smile. “Do feel free to share your … musical talents … whenever you like.” With that Miss Crabb scuttled off across the kitchen, grabbed an old pencil and started scribbling something in a notebook.

  Elspeth stared at her. Miss Crabb had never said anything nice to her in the whole year she’d been at the school. “Nice” comments from Miss Crabb gave Elspeth the shivers. And suddenly the dream she had that morning flashed back into her head. The supermarket … her parents … and Miss Crabb. Elspeth washed up the knife and chopping board as fast as she could, so she could escape from the smelly kitchen. This wasn’t just mysterious. This was HIGHLY suspicious.

  That afternoon, Elspeth managed to sneak away while Miss Crabb was fixing her spy camera. The spy camera was a tiny device Miss Crabb had used to spy on a handsome teacher called Mr D’Angelo last term. Mr D’Angelo had been so frightened by Miss Crabb that he left the school in a rush one day and never came back. Elspeth reckoned this was the perfect chance to do some detective work. She was determined to find something – anything – to jog her memory.

  Elspeth walked along the corridor of the first floor, pushed open the creaky door to the library and stepped inside. It was completely quiet. None of the show-offs liked reading, so Elspeth knew none of them would be in there.

  Professor Bombast used the library as an office because he thought the books made him look extra-clever and important. Elspeth saw that he wasn’t in there, either. She sighed in relief.

  The library smelled like old leather, polish and books. Hundreds and hundreds of books. Elspeth loved books. They could take her far away from the Pandora Pants School for Show-offs, even if she had to hide behind the curtains and read them very, very fast. She had read about abandoned children and orphans being rescued by mysterious strangers, and she secretly hoped that one day a rich uncle or aunt might turn up and take her away to live with them. Or even a poor uncle or aunt. So long as they were kind people who didn’t make her sleep in a wardrobe and wash mouldy pots.

  Elspeth searched through the messy piles of papers and files on Professor Bombast’s desk, but everything was such a mess that she couldn’t work out where to start. She grabbed a stack of papers and went over to her favourite seat in the window. She started by leafing through a large register, but of course her name was nowhere to be found.

  There must be some information about me somewhere, she thought.

  Elspeth was just rifling through a big address book when the library door flew open and Professor Bombast marched in and picked up the huge phone on his desk, dialling a number in a very snappy way. He didn’t notice Elspeth tucked up on the window seat.

  “HELLO!” he bellowed into the receiver. “LOOK, I’VE BEEN EXPECTING THAT STUFFED BEAR FOR THREE WEEKS. WHERE IS IT?”

  Very slowly, Elspeth slithered behind one of the big velvet curtains so she wouldn’t be seen. It was very dusty so she held her breath and tried not to cough. But unfortunately one of her purple trainers was peeking out.

  Professor Bombast slammed down the phone as soon as he saw it.

  “WHY, YOU SNEAKY LITTLE POT WASHER! HOW DARE YOU!” he hollered.

  Professor Bombast was not a cruel man, but he was not about to let Elspeth Hart get away with listening to his top-secret-stuffed-animal-buying conversations.

  “I’m sorry, Professor Bombast!” stammered Elspeth. “I only came in here to read a book while Miss Crabb was … busy. I didn’t know you would come in.”

  Professor Bombast stared at her for a second, scratching his shock of black hair. His face was slightly purple, which meant he was still angry, but his eyes weren’t bulging any more, which meant he was calming down.

  “RIGHT! There’s only one thing for it,” he shouted. “Detention!”

  “But Professor Bombast…” Elspeth hesitated for a second, then decided she had nothing to lose. “I don’t go to lessons here. How can I be put in detention if I’m not technically one of your pupils?”

  As you know, dear reader, Elspeth Hart was small and shy and wearing a pair of dirty old trainers with scribbles all over them, but she was still the smartest person in the school.

  Professor Bombast looked confused.

  “Er … quite,” he said. “Well, you can tidy up my desk and file every bit of paper on it in alphabetical order!”

  Elspeth looked at the desk, piled high with bits of old parchment, receipts, delivery notes from online shops and sweet wrappers.

  “Where would I file this?” she asked, holding up a crumpled Chump wrapper.

  “Under C, obviously!” shouted Professor Bombast, who was clearly losing his patience again. “You can stay here all afternoon. I shall lock you in, and you’ll only get supper if you’ve finished it by the time I come back. Oh, and Elspeth –” Professor Bombast looked very serious – “these are confidential papers. No need to, ahem, tell anyone about what you may see.”

  With that, he marched out.

  Elspeth groaned. Professor Bombast’s desk was a mess most of the time and today it was even worse than usual. But now, at least, she had the perfect excuse to do a bit of snooping. She pulled up a chair and started sorting things into piles.

  Elspeth filed all Professor Bombast’s online shopping receipts in one section.

  “Don’t worry, Professor Bombast, I won’t tell anyone you bought all these stuffed animals on the internet,” she muttered to herself.

  She read Madame Chi-chi’s CV, which showed she had been born in Enfield, not Italy at all. Elspeth laughed until she almost fell off her chair when she found a picture of Madame Chi-chi. How funny! Elspeth thought. Why on earth would Professor Bombast keep a photo of Madame Chi-chi?

  But there was no sign that Elspeth Hart even existed. No papers or pictures or records at all.

  What happened to me on the night of the flood? Elspeth asked herself. She closed her eyes and concentrated as hard as she could. But it was no use. She couldn’t remember a thing between going to bed that night and waking up at the Pandora Pants School for Show-offs. Elspeth frowned and began searching through the drawers of Professor Bombast’s desk. And just as she was about to give up, she found a dusty, musty old file tied up with red ribbon. And what did it say on the front?

  You are correct! It said on the front, in black inky letters:

  If you found a bundle of dusty old papers with your name on the front, dear reader, you might read them immediately. They could contain secrets or stories about you, or your worst school report or embarrassing photos of you on the potty.

  But Elspeth Hart was more patient than that. She stared at the bundle for a long while, turning it over in her hands. She was desperate to know what was in the papers, but she also knew that Professor Bombast could be back at any minute.

  Quickly and quietly, Elspeth untied the ribbon and slipped the papers from the file on to her lap. Then she stuffed a selection of Professor Bombast’s old receipts inside the
file and retied the ribbon.

  If it’s this dusty, nobody’s looked at it for months, she told herself. So no one will notice if the papers inside go missing for a little while. She stuffed the papers in the waistband of her leggings and waited for Professor Bombast to come back.

  Elspeth spent some of the time sneakily trying to guess the password for Professor Bombast’s laptop. She tried this most Saturdays when Professor Bombast was having his weekly hair treatment, in the desperate hope that she could email someone to ask for help, but Elspeth never managed to crack the password.

  When Professor Bombast did finally unlock the door, he was holding a model horse’s head under his arm.

  “Perfect for the school show, eh?” he said. “Off you trot, then. And no more spying!”

  Professor Bombast took a Chump from his drawer and started munching loudly.

  Elspeth raced back up to the attic, expecting Miss Crabb to be angry that she’d been gone so long. But when she got up there, she heard loud cackling.

  Elspeth breathed a sigh of relief. It sounded like Miss Crabb and Gladys Goulash were having one of their poker evenings. Miss Crabb was not the sort of person who needed friends, dear reader, but she did like having someone to show off to and boss about. She had been showing off to Gladys Goulash and bossing her about for years. In fact, it was the only reason she kept her around.

  Elspeth listened at the door. Gladys Goulash was telling a long story about how a sailor on a cruise had fallen for her and had jumped overboard when she refused to marry him.

  Elspeth didn’t believe a word of it. Gladys Goulash was shaped like a potato and had a moustache. Elspeth had seen a picture of her as a young woman, and even then she had been shaped like a potato and had a moustache.

  “I’m going for a bath now, Miss Crabb,” Elspeth said, sticking her head into the room.

  Miss Crabb flicked a hand at her, not bothering to turn around. “Don’t use the hot water, you little varmint!” she cackled.

  Elspeth locked the bathroom door. Her heart was hammering. She ran the taps on full power and took the papers out from her waistband. With shaking hands, she started going through them. There were some forms signed by Professor Bombast, giving the date that Elspeth had arrived at the school. And then there was a letter.

  Elspeth stared at the letter, her mind racing. The water kept pouring into the bath, until it was almost overflowing, but Elspeth didn’t notice.

  Hang on a minute! Elspeth thought. This letter says my parents were washed away two weeks ago. Not the day before I arrived here, like Miss Crabb told me. She’s been lying to me!

  Elspeth wondered why Miss Crabb would lie to her about when the flood happened. And then it dawned on her – maybe there never was a flood. Perhaps her parents were alive after all!

  And if the stuff about the flood is a lie, what else is? she wondered. Elspeth’s eyes widened. “Allergic to fresh air” had always sounded like the stupidest thing ever, but now she came to think of it, she could remember being in a big garden, jumping up and down on a bouncy castle. Outside! she thought. I’m sure I remember being outside!

  Elspeth thought about that last night at home until her brain started to hurt. The memories weren’t clear at all, but it hadn’t seemed like the weather for a flood. It hadn’t even been raining. She had simply gone to bed as normal and when she woke up, she was in the Pandora Pants School for Show-offs.

  Miss Crabb had always been very vague about how Elspeth got to the school. Now, Elspeth was convinced that she was up to no good.

  The next day, when Elspeth got to the kitchen to help with lunch, she found Miss Crabb and Gladys Goulash stirring a massive pot and whispering to each other. They were being unusually secretive, and the fact that Gladys wasn’t plucking her chin hairs over the pot was very suspicious. Elspeth kept as quiet as she could and listened very carefully.

  “I’m sick of this,” Miss Crabb was muttering. “I’ve tried all the stupid stinking recipes I can find. But it’s no good. I need that Extra-special Sticky Toffee Sauce recipe BEFORE THE SCHOOL SHOW!”

  “S’pose we could chuck a few more rats’ tails in it,” wheezed Gladys, giving the mixture a prod with one of her filthy fingers.

  Miss Crabb drew herself up to her full height and glared at Gladys with a look that would have shrivelled a stoat.

  “When,” she demanded in an icy voice, “when did you put rats’ tails in my toffee sauce?”

  Gladys shrugged. “Thought it might bulk it up a bit,” she said. “Seems to work with all the other meals we cook.”

  Miss Crabb flared her nostrils, then picked up a sieve full of sludgy spinach and dumped it over Gladys Goulash’s head.

  “This is NOT JUST ANY RECIPE!” she hissed. “I’m trying to make an extra-special sticky toffee sauce that’s as good as Elspeth Hart’s secret family recipe.”

  Miss Crabb took a deep breath. “That little creep knows the ingredients, but she’s just too stupid to remember them. If only I’d known how much trouble it would cause to whack her over the head with a baking tray when I was stealing her. It seems to have affected her teeny-tiny brain. But she will remember… I heard her humming something very interesting the other day. And when I get my hands on that recipe, I am going to take over the world!”

  Gladys scratched her head. A few flakes of dandruff and some bits of spinach fell into the toffee sauce.

  “How are you going to take over the world with toffee sauce?” she asked.

  “Because this is a recipe that Elspeth’s drippy parents were working on for ages,” said Miss Crabb crossly. “It’s supposed to be the most delicious toffee sauce in the ENTIRE WORLD. Once we’ve figured out how to make it, everyone will want some and we’ll be millionaires! I spotted Elspeth’s parents when I was on holiday at the coast last year. Every night I’d nick my dinner from the CheapAsChips supermarket, and they were always popping in to buy more and more sugar. ‘Dodgy,’ I told myself. ‘These folk are up to something.’ So I followed them home one day and saw what they were doing.”

  “Ooh,” Gladys Goulash said. “What was they up to?”

  “Making an extra-special sticky toffee sauce, you idiot!” Miss Crabb said. “Why do you think I stole Elspeth? I heard them saying they’d finally cracked the recipe, and it would be safe with Elspeth. She’s got that recipe in her head, I’m sure of it!”

  Gladys Goulash prodded at the sauce with a sausagey finger and snorted. “Wot was you doing shoplifting in CheapAsChips?”

  “You greasy gibbon,” Miss Crabb hissed. “The wages here ain’t exactly generous, are they?” Miss Crabb gazed into the distance and a creepy smile appeared on her face. “I’ve been short of cash for a long time, Gladys Goulash. Remember after I got out of prison? I was a lollipop lady and a fake dentist, but I kept getting the sack. I ain’t cut out for the working life. We’ll be millionaires once I get that recipe, though! We can sell this stuff to Horrads, the fancy department store! I’ve got a boyfriend who knows people there.”

  “Boyfriend?” Gladys looked confused.

  “He’s called Ivan Firensky,” Miss Crabb replied, “and he’s ever so handsome. He’s going to help me sell the sauce. We’ll never have to wash another pot again, Gladys Goulash!” Miss Crabb wiped a streak of sauce from her chin. “He’s in a hurry, though. Says we need the recipe in time for the Look at Us! show. He’s got a plan.”

  Elspeth felt sick. Miss Crabb isn’t my aunt, she thought. She STOLE me! And Tatiana’s dad is mixed up in all this, too… Elspeth carefully snuck back out of the door and hurried down the corridor to find Rory. As she walked, the song appeared again, running through her head… “Four is for vanilla … five is for treacle…” Elspeth paused and let the tune take over.

  It couldn’t be… she thought. Could it? And then, in a flash, it came to her. Yes! I know what that strange song means!

  Elspeth grabbed Rory’s arm as soon as he came out of the classroom, pulling him into an alcove on the stairs.


  “Elspeth! What’s going on?” Rory asked. He looked around to see if anyone had spotted them.

  “I found out something big,” Elspeth said quickly, before she could lose Rory’s attention. He always worried that the other show-offs might see him talking to Elspeth, and make his life even more miserable.

  “I mean really BIG!” she hurried on. She filled him in on the letter she’d found in the library, and the conversation she’d just heard. “Miss Crabb isn’t my aunt after all!” she said breathlessly. “She stole me because she thinks I have a secret recipe that can make her rich. And I think the weird tune I’ve had stuck in my head contains the ingredients for that recipe. Rory, I need your help. I know Tatiana’s got it in for me – but it turns out Miss Crabb is even more dangerous than her!”

  Rory paused, trying to take it all in. “Elspeth,” he said, “what are you going on about? How could a song have ingredients for a recipe?”

  “Oh, it’s simple!” Elspeth couldn’t get the words out fast enough. She sang the first few lines. “One is for sugar, two is for butter… Do you see? I can’t remember the whole recipe – but those HAVE to be the ingredients!”

  “OK, OK.” Rory nodded. Then he frowned. “But if Miss Crabb isn’t your aunt, how would she know about the recipe?”

  “She was spying on us!” said Elspeth. She paused, thinking how to explain everything to Rory without sounding crazy. “The other night I had this dream that I was with Mum and Dad, and Miss Crabb was spying on us. In a supermarket. But it must have actually happened… I heard Miss Crabb tell Gladys Goulash she was spying on my parents, trying to get their recipe! I think everything Miss Crabb has told me is a lie. I bet I’m not even allergic to fresh air!”

  Rory was looking troubled. “Spying on you? In a supermarket? Are you sure you’ve got this right? I mean, if we go accusing Miss Crabb of stuff like that, we could end up in real trouble.”