visibility jacket and get my bike out and say âPostman! Postman!â and drop the letter into the letter box with lots of junk mail, and then run away from the dog! (Though we donât actually have one, as it would infuriate Peter Mortimer.)â
âThank you very much, but no,â said Professor Philips rudely. âThis is a matter between your mother and me.â
âI really think you should consider Sesameâs offer, itâd save you a stamp,â said Toby.
âWill you leave me alone?â moaned the erudite man. And he was gone.
âWho was that?â questioned Gemma. âHe didnât look like the kind of person youâd usually hang out with.â
âHeâs not,â I said, âheâs just pals with my mum.â
âOh, I see. Why is he all weird about it? Do you think itâs a love letter heâs sending to her?â
âAre you insane? What kind of deranged lunatic would be in love with my mum? No, it must be about all that money sheâs getting from some marketing company. Heâs been helping her rake it in like Scrooge McDuck.â
âHe looks like a right bore,â said Toby. âDid you see how mental he went when my foot connected with his stomach? Oh, no, weâve lost the rest of the class! Run, or weâll get pulped to death by Halitosis.â
As Toby and Gemma sped up to the next room, an alien body crunched under my shoe. I looked down with half-open eyes, dreading to see the corpse of a very small mouse, whichwas what it felt like. But it was, in fact, just a tiny grey key tied to a fluffy pompom, which Professor Philips must have dropped along with the letters.
A part of me said âFinders keepers.â Another part said âRender unto Caesar the things which are Caesarâs,â which is one of those things that Jesus said in funny English. Normally I would have followed Jesusâs advice, since my dad works for his dad, but this time I had reason to believe that Caesar was actually not involved in this affair at all. So I pocketed the key and joined Toby and Gemma and the rest of the class and Mr. Halitosis, who was showing profound ecstasy in the presence of a decorated pot.
The rest of the visit went smoothly, until Mr. Halitosis handed out the packed lunches which Mr. Appleyard had prepared for us. Mr. Appleyard believes that children must eat more milk-based products per day than a cow can make in a year. Consequently, oursandwiches were composed of butter, cream cheese, and a slice of Red Leicester. Following this was yoghurt, and two Babybels per person. For drinks, we got Chocomilk.
Gemma was the first person to be sick, and chose to be so at the top of the marble staircase. Ben, who always copies everyone, was sick six seconds later. Soon the staircase looked like the Niagara Falls, Mr. Halitosis began to tear off what little hair was left on his head, and the museum staff discovered that there was only one mop in the whole building.
âDonât worry,â I said to Mr. Halitosis, âmy stomach is as stable as the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Iâll just run next door to the Anchor and ask for extra mops.â
I donât know if he heard me, but I ran to the pub before he could say no. I know the Anchor very wellâmy cool godfather Liam takes me there when he comes to Cambridge. The boss is called Sam, and his son, Peter, manages the punt-renting company right next to it.
âPeter!â I screamed, tumbling into the pub.âYou must run at once to the Fitzwilliam Museum with at least twenty mops! You will find the entrance flooded by white-looking sick, my teacher moping on the side, and museum staff overwhelmed by the event.â
This didnât seem to spur Peter into action. âThe thing is, Sesame, well, Iâd love to help, but Iâm waiting for a delivery of mini-canoes. It could be here any minute . . .â
âIâll wait
Learning to Kill: Stories