World's Greatest Liar Read online

  For Moira – for all the babysitting and Boxing

  Day dinners … and for not shouting at me

  when I made your lights explode ~ BH

  For The Guy with the Hat and our furry son,

  Baron Francis Squiggleface (the third) ~ Katie Abey

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 - Meet Beaky

  Chapter 2 - Aunt Jas

  Chapter 3 - The Castle Trip

  Chapter 4 - Leaving the Castle

  Chapter 5 - Driving Home

  Chapter 6 - The Truth-Telling Machine

  Chapter 7 - The Journey Home

  Chapter 8 - A Novel Argument

  Chapter 9 - The Paperboy

  Chapter 10 - The High Wire

  Chapter 11 - Revelations

  Chapter 12 - The Chase

  Beaky Malone Book 2 - Sneak Peek

  Copyright

  Theo heaved his bag higher on his shoulder and shot me a doubting look.

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” I said.

  He shook his head. “That you’ve been asked to go on an expedition to the North Pole?” he snorted. “No, Beaky, not really.”

  I pulled a wounded face. “That hurts, Theo,” I said. “Considering you’re meant to be my best friend, that really hurts.” I took a deep breath. “But you’re right. I haven’t been asked to go on an expedition to the North Pole.”

  “Knew it,” Theo said.

  “I’ve been asked to lead the expedition.”

  “Oh, right,” Theo replied. “Well, that’s much more believable.”

  “Apology accepted,” I said, as we rounded the corner leading on to our street. Theo lived three doors down from me, and we’d walked to and from school together since Reception class. We’d been the same height when we’d started, but these days he towered above me like a beanpole.

  “I didn’t apologize!” Theo grumbled.

  “You apologized in your mind,” I said. “Trust me. I’m moderately psychic.”

  “Course you are,”

  Theo laughed. “What number am I thinking of?”

  I tapped the side of my head with a finger. “Four.”

  Theo’s eyes widened a little, then he shook his head. “Lucky guess.”

  “I knew you were going to say that,” I told him. He grinned. “You’re such a liar, Beaky.”

  “How dare you, sir!” I said, raising my fists. “Do you know what happened to the last person who called me a liar?”

  “Yeah, nothing,” Theo said. “It was me earlier this morning when you said that eating jam made dogs explode.”

  “It does!” I protested.

  “I read it in a book.”

  We stopped outside Theo’s house. “Anyway, what about you?” I asked. “What are you up to this weekend?”

  “Well, I can’t compete with visiting the North Pole,” Theo admitted. “So I’ll probably just play Xbox and eat crisps.”

  I nodded. “Usual, then.”

  He vaulted over his gate and into his garden. “Pretty much. Enjoy the snow, Beaky. Watch out for polar bears.”

  “Oh, I’m not doing it,” I said. “They wanted me to wear a jacket, so I said no. I never wear jackets.”

  “You’re wearing one now,” Theo pointed out.

  “This is a waterproof coat,” I said. “They’re two very different things, Theo. Everyone knows that.”

  Theo laughed. “I stand corrected. See you tomorrow, then?”

  “You provide the Xbox, I’ll bring the crisps,” I said. We did our complicated farewell handshake, which neither of us really knew how to do properly, then said our goodbyes. I grinned the rest of the way home. Xbox and crisps. This was going to be a brilliant weekend.

  Or so I thought.

  “So,” said Mum, looking round the dinner table. “How did everyone’s day go?”

  Mum was smiling at us far more enthusiastically than usual. That, combined with the fact she’d made us a massive fry-up – which she only did on special occasions – told me something was up. I watched her closely, trying to figure out what it might be, but Mum could be pretty cagey when she wanted to be.

  Dad smiled. “Today, I wrote a song about…” He did a drumroll on the table with his fingers. “Toilet paper,” he announced. He dipped a chip in his fried egg and sat back. “I know, I know, I can tell you’re very impressed, but please … no autographs.”

  “Toilet paper? I bet it stinks,” I said, grinning proudly at what was clearly an excellent joke. No one else seemed to get it, though.

  “You take that back, Dylan,” said Mum, using my real name as always. “Your dad works very hard writing his silly little tunes to put food on this table.”

  “Silly little tunes?” said Dad, gasping and clutching at his chest. “I’ve never been so insulted!”

  Mum waved a hand dismissively. “You know what I mean.”

  Dad shrugged. “Yeah, fair enough.”

  She had a point, I suppose. Still, I wasn’t convinced Dad worked that hard. The last jingle he’d written had been for a dog-food advert, and just went “Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof,” over and over again.

  “Sorry, Dad,” I said. “I’m sure your song’s great.”

  Dad shook his head. “Oh, it isn’t. It’s terrible. But thanks, anyway.”

  “What about you, Jodie?” said Mum.

  All eyes went to my sister who was slowly shoving beans around her plate with her fork. She looked up and tugged an earphone out of her ear. “What?”

  “How was your day?” said Mum.

  “All right,” she shrugged, then she put the earphone back in.

  Mum kept smiling at her, expecting more. It didn’t come.

  “OK, then!” she said, turning to me. “Dylan?”

  “I fought a swan.”

  Mum blinked. Clearly, she hadn’t been expecting that. She glanced across to Dad, who rolled his eyes in response.

  “Right, well. A productive day all round then,” Mum said. She cleared her throat nervously, then reached over and tugged Jodie’s earphones out.

  “Hey!” Jodie protested.

  “I got a bit of good news today,” Mum announced, smiling far too broadly for it to be natural now. “Aunt Jas is coming to visit!”

  Dad gasped.

  Jodie groaned.

  I spluttered into my glass, spraying orange juice up both nostrils. It was surprisingly refreshing.

  “What?” asked Dad. “What do you mean, ”Aunt Jas is coming to visit’?”

  Aunt Jas is my aunt. The clue’s in the name, really. She’s Mum’s sister, and a bit like Mum, only younger, darker-haired and much, much louder. The last time she’d visited had been over a year ago, and we were only now starting to recover from the ordeal.

  Aunt Jas is a little bit … full on. She speaks at 100% volume all the time, and has a way of screaming when she laughs that sounds like fingernails being dragged down a blackboard. She and Mum always manage to rub each other up the wrong way, and are constantly trying to outdo one another. Her last visit had ended in them having a full-scale screaming match in the cinema. In front of 200 people. During the film.

  I doubted Mum was looking forward to the visit, but she was doing her best to put a brave face on it. She popped a chip in her mouth and gave a shrug as she chewed. “I mean Jas is coming. For the weekend. Her and Steve and—”

  “Not the kids,” said Dad, his eyes widening in horror. “Please, not the kids.”

  “Of course she’s bringing the kids,” Mum tutted. “What else would she do with them?”

  “Sell them to the zoo?” muttered Jodie.

  “That’s no way to talk about your cousins,” Mum snapped. She
was getting annoyed. Any minute now she’d start tapping her foot. Any minute after that, she’d explode. The tension needed to be defused and fast. Time to deploy some Beaky charm.

  I blew the juice out of my nostrils and set my glass down on the table. “Well, I think it’ll be nice having them here.”

  Dad and Jodie stared at me in disbelief. Even Mum blinked in surprise. “You’ve told some whoppers in your time, Beaky,” said Jodie. “But that’s got to be the biggest yet.”

  “Stop calling your brother ‘Beaky’,” said Mum.

  “Everyone calls him Beaky.”

  “Well, they shouldn’t,” Mum said, leaning over and giving my hand a comforting squeeze. “It’s not his fault he’s got a massive nose.”

  “I wouldn’t say it’s massive,” I protested.

  Jodie nodded. “It is. It’s proper massive.”

  “It’s statuesque,” I said.

  “It’s elephantesque, more like.”

  I flicked my fork, firing a ketchup-coated chip in Jodie’s direction. She ducked at the last moment, and our Great Dane, Destructo, leaped up from the floor and snatched it out of the air. It was a bit like a scene from Jurassic Park, but with a dog instead of a dinosaur, and a chip instead of a screaming tourist. While Destructo isn’t quite as big as a T-rex, his appetite is pretty similar.

  “Hey!” yelled Jodie, snatching up a wobbly fistful of egg.

  Dad held his hands up for calm. “Cut it out, you two,” he cried. “Everyone just calm down. Stop throwing food. Stop going on about Beaky’s massive great nose and let’s deal with the problem at hand.”

  He waited for Jodie to put her egg back on her plate (which she did, much to Destructo’s disappointment), then took a bite of sausage. “Now,” he said, chewing thoughtfully. “When are they coming?”

  “Tonight,” said Mum.

  Now it was Dad’s turn to choke. He seemed to inhale the sausage in one sharp breath. His eyes went wide and he frantically thudded at his chest, coughing and spluttering in panic.

  “Stand back, I know the Heimlich manoeuvre,” I announced, leaping up from the table. I didn’t really know the Heimlich, obviously, but I’d seen someone do it on telly once and it didn’t look all that difficult.

  Wrapping my arms round him from behind, I heaved my dad to his feet. It turns out he’s heavier than he looks, though, and I immediately toppled backwards, pulling him down with me. We hit the ground with a thud and an oof. The sudden impact launched the lump of sausage high into the air, where it was immediately caught by a delighted Destructo, who had no trouble swallowing it at all.

  Jodie leaned over the table and peered down at us. “So, that was the Heimlich, was it?”

  “Advanced Heimlich,” I wheezed as Dad rolled off me. “Just something I invented.”

  “Tonight?” Dad yelped, finally finding his voice. “Why are they coming tonight?”

  “Wasps,” said Mum.

  Jodie, Dad and I all looked at one another.

  “Everyone else heard her say ‘wasps’ there, right?” I asked.

  “They’ve got a wasps’ nest,” Mum explained.

  “They’re not bringing it, are they?” I asked.

  Mum tutted. “Don’t be silly, Dylan. It’s in their house. They can’t get anyone to deal with it until Monday.”

  Dad’s face went a funny shade of purple. “Monday? They’re not staying until Monday, are they?”

  “Of course not,” said Mum. Dad seemed to relax a little, but it didn’t last long. “They’re staying till Tuesday.”

  “WHAT?!” cried Dad.

  Mum smirked. “Not really. They’re going home on Sunday.”

  Dad sat down in his seat and shifted uncomfortably. He looked at the rest of his sausage, then pushed the plate away. I knew how he felt. Aunt Jas’s visit meant I could kiss goodbye to Xbox and crisps with Theo.

  “I suppose it might not be that bad,” Dad said. “It’s only a couple of days.”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Mum, but she looked just as ashen-faced as Dad did. “And who knows? It might even be fun,” she added.

  “Fun?” Dad spluttered. He forced a smile. “I mean … fun. Yeah. Fun. You might be right.”

  As it turned out, though, she wasn’t.

  We had cleared away the dinner plates and were all chipping away at slabs of a Wall’s Viennetta (the minty one) when the doorbell rang. Destructo sprang to his feet and began barking his head off.

  Dad looked across at Mum and managed a thin smile.

  “Here goes, then.”

  “Here goes,” said Mum. She reached over and squeezed his hand.

  The doorbell rang again. Destructo barked louder. “Better let them in, I suppose,” Mum said.

  No one moved.

  “Yep,” agreed Dad.

  Still no one moved.

  The doorbell rang for a third time. Destructo kept barking, but now he was shooting us a sideways glance, like he was concerned we’d all gone deaf. The tension was killing me, so before the bell could ring yet again, I jumped to my feet. “I’ll get it, then, shall I?” I said.

  The moment I turned the lock, Aunt Jas threw the door wide open, almost knocking me off my feet.

  She cried, like a magician who’d just done a really impressive trick. “We’re heeeere!”

  This only made Destructo worse. He began racing in circles, barking and howling at nobody in particular. Aunt Jas glanced at him warily as she reached for my face. “Oh, look how big you’re getting!” she said, her glossy red lips puckering up for a kiss.

  “I wouldn’t,” I warned. “I’ve got the Brown Death.”

  Jas faltered. “What’s the Brown Death?”

  “It’s like the Black Death, only not quite as bad,” I explained. “I’d keep my distance if I were you.”

  Frowning, Jas looked over at Mum. “Is he being serious?”

  Mum shook her head. “No.”

  Jas’s face lit up. “Aah! You almost got me! Come here, you.” I was suddenly surrounded by a cloud of perfume as Jas caught me in a bear hug and planted a big wet kiss on my forehead.

  Over her shoulder, three more shapes shambled in through the door – two little ones followed by one big one.

  How can I describe my cousins, Sophie and Max? Well, one’s called Sophie and one’s called Max, obviously. Sophie’s a couple of years younger than me, and is OK in a doesn’t-actually-do-anything-interesting sort of way. Mum would never admit it, but Sophie creeps us all out because she hardly ever says anything, and just sort of stares all the time.

  Max, on the other hand, isn’t creepy so much as plain horrible. He’s seven, likes loud noises and spectacular violence, and is probably part demon. When he’s not hitting people for no reason, he’s pulling the legs off insects, chasing cats or breaking anything that takes his fancy. He loves causing trouble, but Jas and Steve never seem to tell him off for anything. Last time they were here he poured orange juice into the stereo, completely destroying it. Jas and Steve laughed it off as “a bit of fun”.

  Max is also completely selfish, which was why he now made a beeline for my mum’s dessert and started tucking into it without even saying hello.

  “Don’t mind him,” said Jas. “He’s a growing lad. He’s just hungry.”

  “He doesn’t look hungry,” I heard Dad mutter, but the sound of Destructo’s barking covered for him. He was right, though. While Sophie was small and skinny for her age, Max looked about three burgers away from becoming a perfect sphere.

  Steve stumbled in, staggering beneath the weight of the luggage he was carrying. He and Aunt Jas have been together for nearly fifteen years, but Steve has always refused to get married, claiming it’s “totally uncool”. Mum says he’s just scared of commitment, but Dad reckons he’s probably more scared of Aunt Jas.

  Whatever the reason, I’d overheard Mum say Jas was getting fed up of him trying to weasel out of marriage, and that they’d been arguing about it a lot lately. So that was something to loo
k forward to…

  I saw Dad’s face go tight when he spotted how many bags Steve was carrying, but he bit his lip and didn’t say anything about it.

  “Where do you want these, cutie-smoosh?” Steve asked. He was wearing sunglasses, despite the fact it was raining outside. Then again, from what I remembered of Steve, he always wore sunglasses, even in the house.

  Jodie and I looked at one another. “Cutiesmoosh?” we mouthed, silently.

  “Anywhere,” said Jas, without turning round. Her voice was clipped, and I guessed Steve must be in the doghouse for something.

  Speaking of dogs…

  “Destructo! Shut up!” Jodie bellowed.

  Destructo immediately stopped barking and rolled over on to his back. Jodie’s the only person in the family he ever listens to, probably because she’s the scariest. “Hi, Aunt Jas,” Jodie said, having a bash at something resembling a smile.

  She stood up and gave Jas the briefest of brief hugs, then sat back down again. By the time she’d done that, Max was halfway through her ice cream and already eyeing up mine. I put my arms round my bowl.

  “I’ve sneezed on it,” I told him, meeting his gaze. “Twice. On purpose.”

  The next few minutes went by in a flurry of “hello’s” and “so good to see you’s” and “you’re looking well’s.” Max finished all the available puddings, kicked the table as he left the dining area, then threw himself down on the sofa and turned on the TV. Jas hugged us all several more times, while still giving Steve the cold shoulder, and Sophie hung about at the edge of the room, quietly freaking everyone out.