CHAPTER 4 THE BIG RED NOSE We raced back upstairs. A big red nose filled the video-phone screen. Uh-oh. It was Mr Big Nose, our publisher. And he was angry. I could tell this because his nose was even bigger—and redder—than usual. ‘WHERE’S MY BOOK?’ he yelled. ‘What book?’ said Terry. ‘The one you chuckle-heads promised me a year ago would be on my desk last Friday!’ ‘Oh,’ said Terry. ‘Is it last Friday already?’ ‘It’s PAST last Friday already!’ shouted Mr Big Nose. ‘WAY past, and your book is STILL not on my desk.’ The truth was we’d kind of forgotten about the book. We were a little behind schedule. Well, when I say ‘a little behind schedule’, I mean a lot behind schedule. And when I say ‘a lot behind schedule’, I mean a LOT LOT LOT behind schedule. Not that I was about to let Mr Big Nose know that. He was already pretty angry and the angrier he gets, the bigger his nose gets. And if his nose got any bigger I was worried that it might explode. And that was not something I wanted to see—especially not in 3D. ABOVE: An artist’s impression of what it would look like if Mr Big Nose’s nose exploded. ‘No problem, Mr Big Nose,’ I lied. ‘It’s under control. We’ll get it to you as soon as we can.’ ‘Well, as soon as you can had better be by five o’clock tomorrow afternoon, or else!’ ‘Don’t worry, Mr Big Nose,’ I said. ‘It will be there, all right. You can count on us!’ ‘But—’ said Terry. I quickly ended the call before Terry could say anything that would make Mr Big Nose any angrier than he already was. ‘You shouldn’t have told him that,’ said Terry. ‘I’m way too busy to get it done by tomorrow. Look at my “To Do” list. I’m flat out!’ ‘And don’t even get me started on my “To Don’t” list.’ ‘Your “To Dos” and “To Don’ts” will just have to wait,’ I said. ‘If we don’t get this book finished it will be back to the monkey house for us.’ ‘The monkey house?’ said Terry, looking terrified. ‘Not the monkey house! Anything but the monkey house!’ For those of you who don’t know, the monkey house is where Terry and I used to work. It was the worst job ever. Cleaning the monkey house was bad enough … grooming the monkeys was even worse … but the worst job of all was having to fill in for the monkeys while they were on a break. ‘I’m not going back to the monkey house,’ said Terry, ‘and that’s final!’ ‘And you won’t have to,’ I said, ‘not if we get our book finished. Come on, let’s get started. We’ve only got until tomorrow!’