CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Game Decides

When the children’s turn came, Milli rolled a five. She attempted steering the motorcar ineffectually for a moment or two before it took matters into its own hands. The children were thrown back against their seats as it pivoted at a dangerous angle and hurtled down the street before Ernest could work out how to buckle his seatbelt. Various properties whizzed by in a colourful blur before the car delivered its four nauseated passengers outside a place called Squatters’ Swamp. The other properties had equally strange titles, none of which Milli and Ernest recognised from the game they knew so well.

Squatters’ Swamp must have been the lowest-valued property on the board as it was more of a grimy millpond than valuable real estate. But valuable or not, our protagonists knew that business acumen was always rewarded in the game of Monopoly. Besides, judging by the speed with which Miss Pawpaw and Goblin Grouse were netting properties, the children would need to buy everything they landed on in order to keep up.

‘We’ll take it,’ Milli said.

‘That will be fifty pounds,’ said Mr Banker, looking up from reading his newspaper.

‘Fifty pounds for a scummy pond?’ Ernest objected.

‘Worst pond in the best street—think of the capital growth,’ Mr Banker replied with a shrewd grin. ‘Remember the first three rules of real estate: location, location, location.’

Whilst Ernest considered this, Finn and Fennel were already extracting the correct sum of money and depositing it onto the glossy counter.

‘You are the first people to purchase Squatters’ Swamp in over thirty years,’ said Mr Banker. ‘You must be as mad as my Aunt Midge, but congratulations all the same. Swamps are vastly underrated in my opinion.’

As the game progressed, the children quickly came to understand which properties to purchase and how to maintain a plump money bag. They landed on a square labelled Chance, which entitled them to whatever was written behind one of the squirming question marks in the middle of the board, and earned themselves ten pounds for winning a best hair contest. The fact that they had not entered a best hair contest, nor indeed altered their appearance since their arrival, confused them, but they were glad for the money nonetheless.

When they landed on the Community Chest square, they found that the game took this quite literally and presented them with tasks that served the community. The children had to brush Miss Pawpaw’s fur (which, beneath its silky façade, was rife with knots), clean Goblin Grouse’s ears (a job for which they were issued large cotton-tipped spoons) and repair breakages for any of the landlords who requested it. Despite this, it would not be an exaggeration to say that the children were doing rather well and stood a fair chance of reigning unchallenged as Monopoly experts.

Alas, their luck changed when they rolled a six and landed directly on the doorstep of a place called Notables’ Nest.

In contrast to Squatters’ Swamp, Notables’ Nest was one of the most prestigious and expensive parcels of real estate on the entire board. If you are a well-versed Monopoly player you might liken it to such properties as Mayfair or Park Lane, which encourage you to mortgage all your assets in order to call yourself their proprietor. They may hardly ever be landed on by other players, but you feel satisfied simply to have such a place in your investment portfolio. Even if you are beaten miserably, acquisitions like these remain a small triumph and help to soothe your wounded pride. I know this from many a game lost to my ruthless cousin, Thomas, who claims to have infallible strategies and always hotly denies that his control of the bank has anything to do with his success.

Notables’ Nest was nothing like a nest and, despite being constructed from cardboard, was as imposing as if it boasted real marble pillars and a genuine crystal-studded letterbox. Miss Pawpaw clawed at her thimble in dismay when the motorcar skidded to a halt outside it. Grouse, who was less subtle, stomped his stockinged feet in rage.

The rule book informed Ernest that it was exceptionally rare to land on Notables’ Nest so early in the game. It cost a grand total of five hundred pounds to purchase but its proud owner would be the envy of all the neighbours. Ernest, who had become caught up in the game, looked down at their money bags which were still rather full.

‘We can afford it,’ he said excitedly to the others.

The children were counting out their notes and discussing the benefits of owning Notables’ Nest when they heard a howl. They glanced up to see a procession of black-uniformed jail wardens with handkerchiefs covering most of their faces marching across the square. Miss Pawpaw was cowering inside her thimble but the jail wardens plucked her out by her fluffy tail.

‘Stop that!’ Milli shouted. ‘What do you want with her?’

Mr Banker looked up in surprise.

‘Pawpaw has been declared bankrupt,’ he answered. ‘Bankruptcy is synonymous with extinction. The rules are the rules.’

‘Surely there must be some way she can be helped,’ Milli said.

‘If she pays her debt of five hundred pounds she goes free. But as she has not managed her funds carefully, she can’t. The matter will now be dealt with by the judge.’

‘What happens if she can’t pay?’ Finn asked.

‘She will be shipped immediately to the remote and uninhabited island of Burr Burr where she will live out her days scrounging for food, friendless and ungroomed.’

‘No!’ wailed the cat. ‘Not banishment. Pawpaw will never survive on Burr Burr! Will no one help me?’

The children glanced at one another and then up at Notables’ Nest. It was such a magnificent property and they longed to see their names on the title. But how could they justify such an indulgent purchase when the survival of an innocent (if admittedly conceited) cat hung in the balance? One by one they tore their eyes away from the elegant doorway—all except Ernest. He was gazing at the house with such craving that Milli became quite concerned and shook his shoulder.

‘We’re paying to stop Miss Pawpaw being exiled,’ she said. ‘We’re going to have to leave Notables’ Nest behind. Perhaps next time round.’

‘Would she do the same for us?’ Ernest murmured.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Would Miss Pawpaw make that kind of sacrifice for us?’

‘I don’t know but it doesn’t matter,’ said Milli firmly. ‘We have to help her. Come on, Ernest, we have our swamp.’

Finn and Fennel, accustomed to frugality, agreed wholeheartedly with Milli’s decision, but Ernest’s face twisted into a scowl such as they had never seen on him before.

‘That swamp is the dumpiest place on the entire square,’ he fumed. ‘I want an impressive address like this one. I can hardly be expected to have my friends over at the swamp.’

Ernest himself was surprised to hear such words come out of his mouth. He had never in his life been pretentious, but inside the game he seemed to be a different person. He tried to control himself but, like hiccups, he simply could not stop the words from coming.

‘I want it!’ he insisted, tooting the car horn for emphasis. ‘I don’t care what it costs. In fact, that’s just why I like it. I vote we pay up. It’ll be worth squillions in a few years. I want to eat off silver platters and be the envy of people for miles around. If we help that fluffy nincompoop then we can’t win.’

Milli was taken aback. What on earth had got into her best friend? Was this a reaction to some new allergy? She spoke gently, not wanting to agitate him further.

‘We’re not actually going to live here,’ she said. ‘This is a game, Ernest.’

‘She’s just a stranger,’ he muttered sulkily.

Milli glanced behind her at the crowd of onlookers who were eavesdropping unashamedly. The twins shook their heads in concern and furrowed their freckled brows. Fennel, who was still feeling indebted to Ernest for his performance in the Wood of Tartar, sprang to his defence.

‘This is the game talking,’ she said. ‘It isn’t Ernest.’

‘Remember what the sentinel told us?’ Finn said. ‘The game is the only way to differentiate between friend and foe.’

Milli thought hard. The word ‘Monopoly’ meant domination, power and control. Perhaps this game was not quite as innocent as it seemed.

‘If this is a test,’ she said slowly, ‘then we must be failing.’

The twins nodded grimly.

‘We have to cure Ernest before he costs us the game!’

Milli and the twins tried their best to snap Ernest out of his trance. They pleaded with him, bribed him, and even firmly laid down the law as they had so often seen their parents do. Nothing worked. Ernest was just opening his mouth to instruct the wardens to take Miss Pawpaw away as her howling was beginning to get on his nerves when Milli remembered something Mr Trevor Treble used to say. According to the music master, the best way to cure a spoilt child was to simply tell them what you think of them with no sparing of their feelings. Milli had often seen this method work effectively for Trevor Treble; no one had ever had the audacity to argue with him. Perhaps it was worth a try now.

She thought back to all the scoldings she had received from teachers and parents over the years and tried to emulate their tone.

‘That’s quite enough!’ she projected her voice above the others and gave Ernest a slap she hoped would sting him to his senses. ‘Can’t you see you’re letting the game take over? You’re talking about gold and riches as if they are the best things in the world. Keep this up and you’ll lose every friend you ever had. Don’t you dare let me hear you say the words “I want” again. This is not just about you, Ernest Perriclof. We’re not here to buy expensive houses. We’re here to find a way home, but you’ve already gone and forgotten that. Fancy valuing bricks and mortar over someone’s life. You’re embarrassing us all!’

That made an impact on Ernest all right. He was speechless for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it. He looked at Miss Pawpaw and his usual expression of worry and soft-heartedness crept back onto his face.

‘I don’t know what came over me,’ he said truthfully. ‘Of course we must help Pawpaw.’

Ernest personally delivered the money bags to the distraught cat, who had begun chasing her tail in an effort to keep from thinking about the prospect of exile. Pawpaw’s eyes filled with tears at the unexpected show of solidarity, whilst the jailers seemed disappointed to be denied a prisoner. They brightened up when Grouse was spotted trying to steal from the bank while everyone was distracted.

The goblin was led away to the birdcage shaking his fists.

Rattled, but rather pleased at having resisted the first temptation, the children continued with the game. I am sorry to say they did not get much further. When they had completed an entire lap of the square and were back to starting position, Finn waved the rule book at Mr Banker.

‘According to this, we are entitled to two hundred pounds every time we pass Go,’ he said. ‘Goodness knows we need it!’

‘I expect you do,’ Mr Banker replied ‘but I am a firm believer that children must work for their keep. You’re going to have to earn it!’

He removed one shiny shoe to reveal a patched sock (perhaps he wasn’t as wealthy as he appeared to be) and waggled his toes in front of the children. ‘I am quite partial to foot massages.’

The children’s decision to forfeit their two hundred pounds, much as they needed it, was unanimous. The result of this was that Mr Banker began demanding taxes for all kinds of bizarre things and soon they could barely purchase a hamburger without their funds drying up completely.

Things got progressively worse as Miss Pawpaw did everything she could think of to ingratiate herself with Mr Banker. She massaged the balls of his feet, trimmed his toenails and praised his alluring eyes, his smart outfit and his trim figure (which was an outright lie). This earned her two hundred pounds plus a little extra just to tide her over every time she passed Go. Very soon, Miss Pawpaw was buying up sites and erecting tawdry hotels all around the square.

The children had rolled a ten and the motorcar was hurtling along when they rounded a corner and caught sight of something quite terrifying. The flashy red walls of the Hotel de Pawpaw were drawing closer and the car was beginning to slow. They hoped, prayed and even attempted fiddling with the brakes in an effort to stop before they reached it, but their destination was decided. With a screech, the car pulled up directly in front of the lobby of Pawpaw’s hotel.

A porter with his jacket buttoned up to his chin strode out to greet them, but before he could get very far a figure burst through the hotel’s rotating door. It was Pawpaw herself, in pink stiletto heels and a shawl made of glossy mouse fur. Given the generous donation the children had made to save her hide, they thought she might have the magnanimity to waive the rent. But cats are known for their gluttonous ways and gold was the only thing on Miss Pawpaw’s mind.

‘I own this corner!’ she cried. ‘That means you owe me one thousand pounds.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Milli snorted. ‘We haven’t got that kind of money.’

Mr Banker took this as his cue to intervene. Puffing out his chest, he unrolled a scroll of parchment from his waistcoat pocket.

‘Players Klompet, Perriclof and Twins, it gives me great pleasure to announce that you have been declared officially bankrupt!’

The children had no time to wonder where or how Mr Banker had learned their names. They did not even have time to ask what would become of them now. Miss Pawpaw’s victorious yowl of delight rang in their ears as handcuffs were snapped shut around their wrists and the announcement rang out: ‘Go directly to jail. Do not pass Go.’