7 Get Back

Chapter 7 Get Back As Stanley, the security guard with the white beard, was ushering the last remaining visitors towards the stairs, he turned back to look at Peanut, Rockwell and Little-Bit, who were lingering by the portrait of Mary Shelley. ' LADIES AND GENTLEMAN. PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY TOWARDS THE EXIT. THE GALLERY IS NOW CLOSED.' Again, it seemed to Peanut that he held their gaze for a beat or two longer than seemed normal. And then he disappeared around the corner. The children were completely alone. 'Now's our chance!' said Rockwell. 'Come on!'

The three of them ran across the parquet floor and came skidding to a halt in front of Queen Victoria. The white marble bust sat nobly on a tall wooden plinth, the statue's eye-level meeting Peanut's exactly. 'She doesn't look very happy today,' said Peanut. 'If I were Queen,' said Little-Bit, 'you wouldn't ever be able to get the smile off my face!' 'Rockwell. The door,' said Peanut. He knelt, reached behind the plinth and patted the wall down, feeling for the tiny handle. The portal was very cleverly hidden, the edges of the door virtually invisible unless you looked really closely. The only tell-tale sign that anything was out of the ordinary was the fact that there were

a couple of old, dry oak leaves on the floor. 'Found it!' He pulled the secret door as far open as he could. 'You first, Peanut. See you on the other side... Peanut squeezed into the narrow gap between the plinth and the wall, and dived head first through the portal, closely followed by Little-Bit and, finally, Rockwell, who closed it behind them. Slowly, they made their way along the low, leafy passageway, all three of them bent double at first but walking more and more upright with each step. 'It's like that March of Progress image,' said Rockwell, chuckling. 'You know, the Ascent of Man!'

'Dude, you really need to update your references,' said Peanut, shaking her head. The further they went, the wider and taller the passageway became. After a few minutes, Little-Bit stopped walking and cocked an ear skyward. 'Can you hear that?' 'What?' said Rockwell. 'That music.' Sure enough, a beautiful melody was drifting through the branches above their heads. It swirled around the leaves as it dipped and soared, and sounded as if it were being played by an airborne version of the Royal Philharmonic's woodwind section. When the children reached the end of the passage, all three of them looked up towards the sound. And there, tracing wide circles high above the trees, were three old friends.