The Dyslexic Detective

Chapter 9

I biked over to Big Mel's house after tea. I told my Mum I was off to do some homework with Josh. It was the second lie I'd told her in two days. On the way to Mel's I stopped off and bought a bar of chocolate as big as a brick.

Hudson Road was three hundred metres of small semi-detached houses covered in grey plaster. I chained my bike up outside number 68, walked to the door and rang the bell. Laughter and applause echoed from a TV somewhere inside. I waited.

Big Mel's Mum opened the door. She was just like Big Mel, only bigger. She looked at me through a mass of bottle-blonde curls and a wreath of cigarette smoke. She looked amused to see me.

'A bar of chocolate! For me? How sweet of you!' she said, smiling and holding out a hand.

'Actually, Mrs Banks, it's for Mel,' I replied hastily.

'Don't worry. I'll make sure she gets a square or two,' she said, her smile widening.

I handed over the bar of chocolate.

'Well, come on in,' she said, stepping back into the hallway.

The hall was covered in framed photographs and pastel drawings, all of them of greyhounds. Most showed dogs racing around a track or having rosettes stuck to their collars.

'My little darlings. I train them to race, you know. I'm good at it too,' said Mrs Banks with matter-of-fact pride. 'Treat your dogs well, work them hard, respect their intelligence and their courage and they'll run for you.'

I murmured agreement.

'Same with children,' she said.

It was difficult to imagine Big Mel being made to run. She certainly didn't run at school. Nevertheless I murmured agreement again and looked admiringly at the pictures. After hanging my anorak and bike helmet up on a hook, Mrs Banks yelled up the stairs.

'Mel, your visitor's here.'

Big Mel appeared on the landing, barefoot. She'd changed into a white sweat-top and blue jeans. Her curly hair had been released from the ties she wore at school. It tumbled freely onto her broad shoulders. She looked down at me. I stood there feeling awkward, still in my school uniform.

'He's not as skinny as you said he was,' said Mrs Banks.

'Ignore her,' Mel said to me. 'I always do.'

Mrs Banks gave a tar-throated chuckle and moved away. Mel signalled for me to come upstairs. I walked up to the landing and followed her into her bedroom.

I didn't know what sort of decoration I was expecting but I was certainly surprised by what I found. The room was a riot of pink. The carpet, the wallpaper, the curtains and bedspread were all either pink or white. Posters of half-naked boy-bands and male film stars stared out from the walls. The bed was covered with cuddly toys. On the bedside table there was an ashtray, a packet of cigarettes, a lighter, a box of chocolates and a pile of empty sweet wrappers. The floor by the bed was strewn with glossy magazines. The room had a strong, rather delicious smell: perfume and talcum powder, sugar and milk.

The CD player was belting out a pop song. Mel picked up the remote and turned the volume down. She sat down on the bed and selected a cuddly toy from the pile that covered the pillows. It was a long purple snake with shiny black eyes and a red tongue.

'This is Mr Coily,' she said, fixing me with that penetrating look of hers.

I reckoned she was setting me a test. If I giggled or showed disrespect, I failed.

'Hello, Mr Coily,' I said.

She put down Mr Coily and picked up a pink rabbit with floppy white ears.