The Bolds to the Rescue Page 3

  “So,” said Mr. Bold, clearing his throat as if introducing the next act at a cabaret evening. “Very nice to see everyone. Er . . . we’re very pleased to welcome Minty Boy and Gangster’s Moll into our neighhh-borhood! Let’s hear it, please!” There was even a slight smattering of applause, which sounded rather different from human applause due to the fact that fur, claws, and hooves slapping together don’t sound the same as hands.

  “Hello, everyone,” began Gangster’s Moll nervously, hiding her eyes under her heavy mane. “We are just so relieved to be here. We heard about the Bolds’ safe house through the animal grapevine, of course.” She looked gratefully toward Mr. and Mrs. Bold. “Without you, I don’t know what we would have done or where we would have gone—”

  “We’d be horsemeat!” interrupted Minty Boy, his dark eyes flashing with anger at the thought.

  There was a gasp of shock from Miranda and Roger but a rather distasteful slurp of anticipation from Sheila. Mrs. Bold shot the croc a warning glare.

  Gangster’s Moll took a deep breath and continued. “We grew up together. Practically brother and sister. Never been parted. As you may have guessed we are both thoroughbred racehorses, born from a long line of champions on both sides. My mother was ridden by Lester Piggott.”

  “Some folk have all the luck,” muttered Minty Boy.

  “Anyway. We were ‘owned’ by a posh, heartless, nasty man who paid thousands of pounds for us.”

  “More fool him,” snorted Minty Boy, who then took over the story. “Unfortunately we just don’t like racing. We don’t know why. Not cut out for it. Just one of those things.”

  “It is such hard work!” sighed Moll.

  “Our owner—Tarquin Twit-Twot—was furious with us,” continued Minty Boy. “He thought if he was unkind to us and taught his jockeys to use whips on us, we’d win races and earn him lots of money. But no. We didn’t.”

  “Everything came to a head at Cheltenham racecourse this afternoon,” said Gangster’s Moll. “It was the Gold Cup race. We were both entered and Tarquin made it very clear that we were to win first and second place—or else.” She paused to take a few deep breaths. “We came joint last. We strolled over the finishing line about ten minutes after all the other horses, chewing grass without a care in the world. The crowd in the stands roared with laughter.”

  “Hurrah for you!” piped up Miranda.

  “Well, yes,” said Gangster’s Moll, biting her lip. “But Tarquin didn’t see it that way.”

  “He was totally humiliated. Red in the face, in fact,” said Minty Boy, shuddering at the memory. “He stormed into our stable and was about to take his whip to us, but there were other people around so he couldn’t.”

  “So he did something far worse,” continued Gangster’s Moll. “He sold us. Sold us in the Cheltenham parking lot, to a grubby little man, for just a couple hundred pounds!”

  “Quel dommage!” sighed Fifi. “What a shame.”

  “It gets worse,” said Minty Boy. “This man—his name is Dodgy Dean—had only one plan for us. To serve us up with chips and peas in a restaurant in Belgium!”

  There was a yelp of alarm from everyone in the room. Except Sheila, surprisingly enough.

  “I know!” said Gangster’s Moll. “Can you imagine? Belgium! We were being driven down the motorway on our way to the ferry when Dodgy Dean had to stop for gas. We knew it was our only chance. We used all our strength to kick down the door of the horse trailer and we ran all the way here. Faster than we’ve ever wanted to run before. But Dean followed us. We tried to hide, but that isn’t easy when you are a racehorse.”

  “So Dodgy Dean is hunting for you now?” concluded Mr. McNumpty.

  Minty Boy looked faint at the mention of the name. “He will be searching everywhere,” he said, shaking his head. “He paid money for us and won’t be happy until he’s resold us to be made into horsey lasagna.”

  “We managed to give him the slip on Teddington High Street, but he knows we are around here somewhere!” added Gangster’s Moll. “We’d be very tasty served up on plates, apparently,” she said bitterly. “And there are hungry Belgians wanting their dinner.”

  “I’m going out to look for him,” announced Uncle Tony bravely, wincing as he got to his feet. “I’ll show him my teeth, and he won’t come back here in a hurry.”

  “Maybe that isn’t such a good idea,” said Mrs. Bold soothingly. “Your teeth aren’t as scary as they once were . . .”

  “Neither of them!” said Bobby.

  “Cheeky blighter,” muttered poor Tony as he sat back down again.

  Mr. Bold seized the opportunity to cheer everyone up with a joke:

  “Now listen up,” said Mr. McNumpty, once the laughter had died down. “This is serious. Outside of this house, no one must say a word about our new friends. We must all act normally—or as normally as we can. With any luck Dodgy Dean will give up and go home eventually.”

  “I doubt that very much,” said Gangster’s Moll with a sigh that turned into a big horsey yawn. “But maybe there is a chance that you’re right.”

  “Now—on a more practical note,” said Mrs. Bold, realizing how tired the latest housemates were, “where are you going to sleep?”

  “Well, being horses, we don’t need to lie down to sleep,” explained Minty Boy. “We can sleep standing up—so anywhere will do.”

  “Then you can stay here in the lounge,” Mr. Bold decided.

  “Perfect!” said Gangster’s Moll, her eyes beginning to close already.

  Realizing that their new friends were too tired to cope with any more of Mr. Bold’s jokes, everyone crept out of the lounge and left them to sleep.

  Apart from Miranda, who decided to curl up on the windowsill and keep a lookout, just in case the burly horse trader—or anyone else—came sniffing about.

  Chapter 7

  Word must have gotten round the animal kingdom that 41 Fairfield Road (not to mention 39) was full to the brim, for the time being at least, as no more animals seeking refuge arrived over the next few days.

  Everyone got to know one another, and although it was more than a little crowded in the two houses, Mr. Bold made sure everyone kept laughing all day.

  But fun though it all was, life in the two houses in Fairfield Road was terribly messy and noisy.

  “I think, dear,” said Mrs. Bold to her husband as they got into bed after another hectic day, “we need to be a bit more organized.”

  “Oh dear,” said Fred. “That sounds very human.”

  “Well, yes, it does. But after all, we are supposed to be helping all these animals to live like humans eventually, and quite frankly, this place is like a rather badly run zoo. We have responsibilities, you know. We need to get cracking.”

  “Let’s try and be serious for a moment, dear. We can’t carry on like this. We can’t afford to feed everyone, for one thing. Our food bill is ridiculously big now. That Minty eats like a . . . well, he eats like a horse. And everyone needs clothes and shoes if we’re going to teach them how to be humans. We’re forgetting what they all came here for. We need to give them lessons—formal lessons—in how to be human, and then they need to move on!”

  “Ugh! Lessons?” answered her husband, pulling a face.

  Mrs. Bold then took out a pen and paper, and together—between jokes—she and her husband wrote out a timetable of classes and daily events that would help all the different animals achieve their ambition of living in the human world.

  “That’s more like it!” said Mrs. Bold as she stuck a notice on the fridge door for everyone to see the next morning:

  “This is going to be so much better for us all.”

  “And fun?” asked Mr. Bold doubtfully.

  “Of course!” she replied, giving his ear an affectionate stroke. “Everything is always fun when you’re around, dear.”

  Mr. Bold blushed underneath his furry face.

  The next morning at 10 a.m., Mr. Bold called everyone into the kitchen, cle
ared his throat and addressed his audience: “As you know, Amelia and I love having you all here and are flattered that you feel safe in our house and want to live like us. But the truth is that money and space are getting tight, and we’re struggling to feed everyone on our wages. I think we’re all agreed that the sooner you can start living your lives as humans and earning your own money, the better.”

  “Well, I’m sorry if we’re a burden to you,” said Sheila rather grumpily.

  “Now you know that’s not what I’m saying,” said Mr. Bold. “But we need to face facts. Amelia and I can’t afford to feed and clothe you all forever, and there is going to come a point when some of you need to move on. That’s why you came here, after all—we’re just a stop along the way, not your final destination. How long before someone discovers I have two racehorses living in my lounge and doing their business in my garden?”

  “We do have lovely roses now, though, thanks to them,” Roger pointed out.

  “Indeed, indeed. But you all need to learn how to live like humans, and then you need to, er, go and do it somewhere bigger.”

  “You’re right, Mr. Bold,” said Roger. “I want to work with children, I don’t want to sit around here all day making a mess and hiding away.”

  “And I want to be a star,” said Fifi. “I won’t be young and beautiful for ever. I need to make the most of my talents now.”

  “Well, we’ve devised a timetable,” said Mrs. Bold. “From now on we’re going to have formal lessons every day.”

  “What about Bobby and me?” asked Betty.

  “No, dear. You two will be in school, but your father and I are going to arrange our jobs so that we can run this place like a school too.”

  “Great,” said Bobby miserably. “I’m going to live in a school and then spend all day at school.”

  Mrs. Bold gave Bobby a sympathetic glance, then looked over at the assorted animals. “Now for those of you who can’t read yet, Mr. Bold is going to read out the new timetable,” she said. “But copies will be posted up around the house.”

  And so the timetable was read out:

  8 a.m. Table Manners

  • How to master knives, forks, and spoons.

  • Napkins—these are for wiping your mouth, please note, and not to put on your head or wipe your bottoms with!

  9 a.m. Walking on Hind Legs

  • All about balance. Tricky to begin with, but essential if you are to appear in public.

  • (Humans are rarely seen on all fours, unless very young or doing yoga classes.)

  10 a.m. Toilet Training

  • Unlike us animals, humans don’t just go to the toilet anywhere they feel the need. In this lesson we will teach you bladder and bowel control, how to use the toilet facility, sit on the toilet seat, use toilet paper, and flush when you’ve finished.

  • Humans are also very keen on washing their hands afterward, please note.

  • (A bucket and shovel will be available for those who haven’t quite gotten the hang of things yet.)

  11 a.m. Break

  • Much-needed downtime! Feel free to revert to your natural animal ways and follow your instincts. (Although, Sheila, this doesn’t mean eating any of the smaller houseguests!)

  • Snacks of bones, fruit, and hay will be available.

  11:30 a.m. Speech Therapy and Reading

  • Almost as important as walking convincingly like a human is talking like one. Our animal snouts, extra teeth, or long tongues make this difficult sometimes, but not impossible. Persevere!

  • Try some of these fun tongue twisters:

  Eleven owls licked eleven little liquorice lollipops!

  The big bug bit the little beetle, but the little beetle bit the big bug back.

  12:30 p.m. Lunch

  • Lunch will be eaten “human style” using all the things we have learned in the morning.

  • We will sit round the table, using silverware like people do, and chatting politely about the weather. Then we’ll use the lavatory if necessary.

  1:30 p.m. Playtime

  • You may be an animal again for the next hour. Enjoy yourself!

  • (No biting or scratching, please. Loud animal noises should be made in the closet to avoid disturbing the neighborhood.)

  2:30 p.m. Career Advice

  • Sooner or later you’re going to have to get a job. Housemates’ abilities and preferences will be assessed to see what careers might best suit them.

  • We will also practice interview techniques.

  • If we think you’re ready for it, a trip to the Teddington Job Center will be arranged to check out local vacancies in your field.

  3:30 p.m. Dressing Up

  • This is one of the more peculiar aspects of human behavior: they like to wear trousers, shirts, dresses, skirts, shoes, hats, coats, etc., almost all the time. Not to mention underwear. It’s all very odd, but if we are to blend in, then it is essential we look the part.

  • (Also, clothes are handy for hiding naughty tails, ears, hairy backs, scaly skin, and so on.)

  • We have bought a large collection of clothes from local charity shops, and we are bound to have something to fit you, whatever your size or shape. We will teach you how to “zip,” “button,” and “belt up” and help you decide which colors and styles best suit you . . . No good wearing a miniskirt if you’re a big muscly stallion, for example!

  4:30 p.m. Emergency Drill—TOP SECRET!

  • We have to be mindful of the fact that we are animals living in secret here. Although we are doing nothing wrong, humans are a funny lot, and if they find out they might interfere—or even worse, make us all go back to our previous way of life. Or worse still, send us away to live in a zoo.

  • Behind these closed doors we are safe, but what if some humans come in one day? The gas man to read the meter, for example? Or a Jehovah’s Witness might knock on the door . . . We must be prepared.

  • In this class we will prepare for human interference or invasion and make a plan so that nothing and no one looks out of place to prying eyes . . .

  5:30 p.m. Group Therapy

  • Some animals take to the human style of living very easily, but for others, leaving their old lives behind proves difficult sometimes, even upsetting.

  • This daily session gives us all a chance to share our worries, hopes, and fears. We can support one another. After all, we are all in this together, remember. Have strength, brothers and sisters!

  After the notice was read out, everyone cheered and clapped. This was going to be fun, and a brighter, exciting future for everyone was beginning to take shape!

  Chapter 8

  With the new timetable in place, soon the Bolds’ house was a busy but happy one. Just like lessons in school, not everyone could be good at everything, of course—apart from Fifi, who was top of the class in all subjects. She had fabulous conversation skills even before she arrived at Fairfield Road and had been walking on her hind legs since she was a puppy. She not only used the toilet daintily but insisted on locking the door while she did so. (“This is a moment privé!”)

  She could speak fluently in several languages (including Dog, obviously) and liked nothing more than to curl up and read a good book in the evenings. (She was halfway through 101 Dalmatians by Dodie Smith.)

  “But of course. I am a French poodle—the most intelligent breed of dog!” she shrugged in her thick, French accent.

  And as you can imagine, Fifi loved the Dressing Up lesson, picking out anything sparkly or made of silk before anyone else could get their paws on it.

  “I cannot wear the manmade fibers, malheureusement. They give me the itch!” she said.

  As for the Group Therapy sessions—after Fifi stood up and expressed her feelings by singing a medley of three very sad French songs, Mrs. Bold had no choice but to interfere.

  “Thank you, Fifi dear. I think we catch the drift. Lovely as your singing is, perhaps we could open the discussion up to everyone else now?” Fifi s
at down in a huff. There wasn’t an awful lot more the Bolds could teach her—they just needed to help her have her talent “discovered.”

  Sheila the crocodile managed very well in the Walking-on-Hind-Legs lesson, but only with the help of her big, strong tail, which inevitably stretched out on the ground behind her. If she tried to hide her tail she keeled over immediately and once broke a tooth in the process. Mrs. Bold solved this balance problem by finding a long, velvet maxi skirt in the dressing-up box, which covered Sheila’s tail completely.

  “You’ll just have to present yourself as a bit of a hippie, dear. Try this big floppy hat to go with it . . . Excellent! Distracts from your rather, er, generous jawline too.”

  Table Manners was a harder lesson for Sheila:“I keep eating the silverware—just can’t help myself. That’s the third fork I’ve chomped my way through this morning! If only I could nibble rather than snap!”

  Mr. Bold interrupted:

  Roger the sheep, it has to be said, was a little dozy and had trouble concentrating. He wasn’t always sure which lesson was which. So he often ate the clothes during Dressing Up, thinking it was Table Manners, during which he once did a poo on a plate because he thought it was Toilet Training.

  The two nervous racehorses, Gangster’s Moll and Minty Boy, took a while to settle in, and would jump and shriek at any loud noises and then gallop around, banging into things, trying to find somewhere to hide. The TV was smashed on day two of their arrival, and three of Mrs. Bold’s favorite ornaments were knocked off the mantelpiece by a swishing tail. They could both be easily spooked and suffered from daily panic attacks. But there was no denying their determination to succeed, and they announced during Career Advice that they wished to work as beauty therapists and dreamed one day of starting their own salon.