The Bolds Go Green Page 8

  ‘Be careful with it,’ said Annika. ‘Precious cargo inside.’

  Mr McNumpty gave Annika a knowing wink.

  Grateful as they were to Twig and Swig and the other climate change protestors, it was clear that Fergie and Charlie were happy to be moving on. Fergie, with her super-sensitive hearing, had an almost permanent headache from the enthusiastic singing and drumming, not to mention the chimes of Big Ben. And Charlie couldn’t spend all his time hidden in tents and duffle bags – he’d get cramp. So everyone was happy when they all got back to 41 Fairfield Road. A big supper was spread out on the kitchen table and Fifi carried her puppies down one by one to a new basket by the radiator. They were trying to climb over each other and tentatively sniffing everyone’s feet.

  The Bolds were always happiest when the house was full of visitors, and everyone got along splendidly, chatting, asking questions, playing with the pups and laughing at Mr Bold’s jokes.

  What did the beaver

  say to the tree?

  Been nice gnawing you!

  What do you get when you

  cross a phone with a dog?

  A golden receiver!

  What do puppies eat

  for breakfast?

  Pooched eggs!

  It had been a busy day, and eventually Mr McNumpty and Uncle Tony said goodnight, the twins went upstairs for their bath, Annika headed to her cupboard under the stairs and Fifi curled up in the basket with her five contented puppies.

  ‘I’ll clear the table,’ said Mr Bold. ‘Which reminds me—’

  Where does the Devil do his washing-up?

  In Helsinki!

  ‘Let me think,’ said Mrs Bold. ‘Where will Fergie and Charlie sleep?’

  ‘No bed needed for a fruit bat,’ said Fergie cheerfully. ‘I’ll just hang upside down from the curtain rail. Without Big Ben chiming every fifteen minutes, it will be bliss!’

  ‘As for me,’ said Charlie, ‘I’d be quite content to slip into the basket with Fifi and the pups. Nice and cosy.’

  Fifi raised her head and glared at the skunk with her lip curled. ‘Certainement not!’ she spat. ‘That is une suggestion inappropriate! I am not sharing my bed with a skunk!’

  ‘Er, I think I’ll make you up a bed in the lounge, Charlie,’ said Mrs Bold hurriedly.

  ‘And lock the door!’ muttered a horrified Fifi.

  An hour later the washing-up had all been done, 41 Fairfield Road was in darkness and everyone was sleeping soundly. Everyone except Fifi, that is. As a mum to hungry pups, she woke every few hours to feed and groom her litter. It was just before four in the morning when she heard a scratching at the back door and a gentle whimpering sound. She listened attentively for a moment and then her heart began to race.

  ‘Oh, mon dieu!’ she said and got out of the basket. ‘Un moment, s’il vous plaît!’ she said. She quickly licked her lips and fluffed up her ears with her paw, then unlocked the back door.

  ‘Ma chérie, it’s you!’ she cried,as a handsome, dark-furred German shepherd leaped into the room, tail wagging furiously, kissing her all over.

  ‘Samir! Is it really you?’

  ‘It is me, your Samir, of course! I could not stay away, my darling.’

  Fifi led Samir to the basket. ‘And look. You are a father. Meet our beautiful children.’ Awoken by the disturbance, the puppies all squeaked excitedly at their father, their little tails quivering.

  ‘Ah, they are perfect. Five pups! I am so proud!’ said Samir, shaking his head, then gently sniffing and licking each one.

  He turned to Fifi and gazed lovingly at her. ‘You have made me the happiest dog in the world.’

  ‘But ’owever did you get ’ere?’ asked Fifi.

  ‘A stroke of good luck, dearest. My handler has been posted to London on a special, top-secret mission,’ said Samir. ‘We are staying at the Embassy in Belgravia. Our kennels are guarded by an old friend of mine. He let me out but I had to promise to return before daylight. I just had to see you.’

  ‘You cannot stay?’ wailed Fifi, crestfallen.

  Samir shook his head. ‘No, I can’t. But to see you again and meet the pups – however briefly – is better than nothing. We must be happy.’

  ‘Always,’ said Fifi, snuggling into Samir’s luxurious dark mane of fur and closing her eyes. ‘These few moments with you will last me a lifetime.’

  ‘I must go,’ said Samir. ‘I will come and see you again when I can get away.’

  ‘Je t’adore for ever,’ whispered Fifi.

  A few minutes later, Samir left.

  In the morning Fifi tearfully told Mrs Bold all about her romantic night-time visitation.

  ‘How lovely, dear!’ said Mrs Bold, sweeping the tufts of dark German shepherd fur from the kitchen floor. ‘Looks as if Samir is moulting too. This is just what I’m looking for to decorate the brim of my latest hat.’ She picked up the small ball of fur and placed it on the windowsill. ‘I do hope he comes again soon. I’m not sure I have enough here.’

  ‘He hopes to,’ said Fergie helpfully, from the curtain rail. With her excellent hearing she had heard the whole conversation. ‘If he can get away from his duties at the Embassy. My fur is a bit more gingery than Samir’s, but if you’d like to give me a comb, I’m sure it will mix in rather well?’

  ‘Excellent!’ declared Mrs Bold. ‘Thank you, Fergie. A little touch of ginger never did anyone any harm.’

  The next few weeks passed very pleasantly, and everyone rubbed along together well. The twins were back at school, enjoying their roles as Green Monitors. They raced home every night to see Fifi’s puppies, who were growing fast and becoming more adventurous by the day. Samir made several more night-time visits and was suitably proud of their progress. If it was a dry day, Fifi allowed them to play rough and tumble in the garden. Several holes were dug in the lawn. Fortunately Mr Bold wasn’t as fussy as Mr Bingham at Number 10, so he didn’t mind – he was no stranger to digging himself, of course. As it happened, the digging unearthed several ant colonies, which was very handy for Annika.

  Charlie liked to go out and about on a lead with Mr McNumpty and Uncle Tony. People would stare at him with his unusual stripes and give him a stroke, but he only let off his pungent scent once when an old lady accidentally trod on his tail as they crossed Teddington Broad Street. She almost fainted from the smell, but Uncle Tony apologised and blamed it on his ‘trouble downstairs’ and they moved swiftly on.

  Fergie took long flights during the night, stretching her wings and finding fruit and flowers to feast on. She discovered a fine selection of bedding plants at Number 10 Fairfield Road, which she devoured. The Binghams weren’t best pleased when they discovered their crop had gone. They were a particularly anxious couple who did not like wildlife of any kind and Mr Bingham blamed the birds and took to throwing stones at them.

  Unfortunately Mr and Mrs Bingham were also still very distressed about seeing a young boy urinating in their garden a few weeks ago. They had been keeping a close eye out for the culprit and one day they recognised Bobby Bold going into Number 41.

  ‘Oh, I should have known,’ said Mrs Bingham to her husband. ‘It was that awful Bolds boy. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before. They’re a dreadful family and they really let the side down. There’s always so much noise and mess coming from their house. And they never stop laughing. I can’t stand people who laugh.’

  ‘I’ve a good mind to go and speak to the boy’s parents,’ said Mr Bingham. ‘The child behaves like an animal. This is a respectable street – not a zoo.’

  So one Saturday morning there was a knock at the Bolds’ front door. Mrs Bold had just finished clearing away the breakfast things and was rummaging around in her hat-making box for some inspiration. The twins were outside playing with Charlie, and Fifi’s puppies were resting in a basket near the stove whilst their mother took a n
ap upstairs. Mr Bold put down his newspaper and went to answer the knock.

  ‘Ah, Mr Bingham. Good morning.’

  ‘Now listen—’ began Mr Bingham crossly.

  But Mr Bold interrupted him. ‘I’m glad you called. Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Er, well, yes, I suppose so.’

  Why did the rubber chicken cross the road?

  To stretch his legs!

  Mr Bold laughed loudly at his own joke.

  ‘Mr Bold,’ said Mr Bingham. ‘This is no laughing matter. I wish to discuss your son’s feral behaviour.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Mr Bold. ‘Then you’d better come inside. He’s just playing in the garden.’

  Mr Bingham marched right into the kitchen, glancing with disgust at Mrs Bold’s new hat. ‘Madam, I suggest you recycle your rubbish like the rest of us, rather than wearing it,’ he said, rather rudely, sneering at his own joke.

  There was a growl from one of Fifi’s puppies.

  ‘Ahhhh,’ continued Mr Bingham, spying Bobby outside in the garden. ‘There’s the little scoundrel. I’d like a word with him. His behaviour has been quite shocking.’ And he opened the back door and marched out towards the twins, who were teaching Charlie how to catch a ball.

  ‘Come here, young man,’ bellowed Mr Bingham so loudly that he made everyone jump. Including Mr McNumpty, who was next door, checking his hives for honey.

  ‘Who? Me?’ asked Bobby, clearly rather nervous.

  ‘Yes, you!’ snarled Mr Bingham, and he made a grab for the young pup, but tripped over Charlie in the process.

  Poor Charlie clearly felt under attack by the neighbour’s aggressive manner and was rather anxious for his friend’s safety too, so he began to hiss wildly and stamp his feet. Mr Bingham was not a fan of wild animals, having had his garden attacked by a wild boar once, so he instantly backed away.

  ‘What the hell is that?’ he demanded. ‘That’s not a dog, is it? It’s a wild animal. You can’t keep wild animals in Fairfield Road. It should be locked up in a zoo.’

  That was the final straw for Charlie. He only used his best weapon in emergencies, but this obviously felt like an emergency. Lifting his tail, he proceeded to squirt the most foul-smelling liquid at a horrified Mr Bingham.

  ‘What the...?’ screamed Mr Bingham in alarm. ‘Oh my goodness, that is disgusting. That’s worse than disgusting, I’m going to be sick!’

  To be fair, the smell was particularly awful and the twins quickly went inside out of the way. But the stink continued to drift, over the fence now, to Mr McNumpty, who was just putting the racks back in his beehive. Despite his bee-keeping suit, the smell permeated towards him and when it reached his large nostrils, he too ran into his house in disgust – without putting the beehive back together properly.

  Can you imagine what happened next? That’s right, those bees made a beeline for Mr Bingham, stinging him vengefully for disturbing their peace with all his screaming.

  Opening the back door, he ran through the kitchen of Number 41, down the hall and into the street, with the bees following close behind and the dreadful smell wafting from him.

  ‘Going so soon?’ Mr Bold called after him. ‘Do come again. But please don’t make so much noise next time. Your behaviour has been quite shocking.’

  The residents of Number 41 laughed and laughed, and continued their lives in peace once more.

  As time passed cheerily by, one thing became clear: Annika, Charlie and Fergie were friends for ever. Maybe it was their past that bound them together so firmly? They never wanted to go their separate ways and neither did they express any desire to live disguised as humans.

  ‘Sooner or later,’ observed Mrs Bold, as she and Mr Bold were strolling through Bushy Park one day, ‘I sense they will want to form their own little family.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mr Bold, nodding in agreement. ‘But it’s difficult to imagine how.’

  ‘Of course, they are welcome to stay with us as long as they wish. I love having them.’

  ‘No trouble at all. Never had such delightful guests.’

  ‘But they’re never going to disguise themselves as humans.’

  ‘Or get jobs and earn money,’ said Mr Bold.

  ‘So how will it work?’ wondered Mrs Bold. ‘They can’t live on fresh air.’

  ‘The trouble is they aren’t naturally wild animals – they’ve been living in a zoo for too long. But they don’t want to live in the human world either, particularly.’

  They walked in contemplative silence for a few minutes.

  ‘I know!’ said Mr Bold.

  ‘You do?’ asked Mrs Bold.

  ‘Well, no, I don’t actually know.’

  ‘But you said you did know!’

  ‘I know I did. But I don’t.’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Now I’m confused!’ The hyenas stopped for a long chuckle.

  ‘I’ll start again,’ said Mr Bold.

  ‘Please do,’ said Mrs Bold.

  Mr Bold took a deep breath. ‘Sometimes you know there is an answer to a problem, but you just don’t know what it is yet.’

  ‘The problem?’

  ‘No, the answer!’

  ‘When you don’t know what a solution to a problem is, you just need to put it out there. Ask the universe. Then the answer presents itself to you, as if by magic!’

  ‘Oh, I see. How clever.’

  ‘The other day I was hungry. “What am I going to eat?” I wondered. Then I put my hand in my pocket and there was an apple!’

  ‘Amazing!’

  ‘I know,’ said Mr Bold. He tilted his head up towards the sky, closed his eyes and raised his voice a little. ‘Hello? What is the answer to where our three lovely friends are going to live, please?’

  ‘An aardvark, a skunk and a fruit bat. In Teddington,’ said Mrs Bold, filling in some detail for the mysterious, ethereal listener. ‘Can you help us? We don’t know the answer! How’s it going to work, please?’

  They opened their eyes, blinked and walked along.

  ‘Nothing has happened,’ observed Mrs Bold after a few minutes, sounding disappointed.

  ‘You don’t get the answer straight away, silly,’ said Mr Bold.

  ‘You got your apple straight away, apparently,’ retorted Mrs Bold.

  ‘Ah, that was unusual. Most often you have to wait a while.’

  A few moments later, Betty and Bobby came scampering out of the ferns, waving excitedly at their parents.

  ‘Mum! Dad! Guess who we’ve just met?’ called Betty.

  ‘Father Christmas?’ suggested Mrs Bold.

  Why does Santa always go down the chimney?

  Because it soots him!

  ‘No, it was—’ Bobby started to explain.

  What does Santa have for breakfast?

  Mistle toast!

  ‘That’s enough, Fred,’ said Mrs Bold. ‘Bobby is trying to tell us who they met in the ferns.’

  But just then the identity of the creature became apparent as a slim, slightly nervous red fox ran up to them and began rubbing her head against Mrs Bold.

  ‘Sylvie!’ cried Mrs Bold. ‘How lovely to see you!’

  Sylvie was a vixen who had lived with the Bolds for some time with her troublesome partner Mossie. (You’ll know all about her if you have read The Bolds in Trouble, of course.) She now lives happily as a wild fox in Bushy Park, together with Bert, her much nicer fellow fox. (It was a happy ending, which is often the way in the Bolds books, you’ll find. But also a true reflection of the author’s life experience, as it happens.)

  After some affectionate greetings, Mr Bold asked: ‘But you are a long way from your den. Don’t you live on the other side of the park?’

  ‘We moved,’ explained Sylvie. ‘An old badger sett became vacant an
d we fancied a change. Our new home is a few metres away, just over there.’

  ‘How lovely. I’m very happy for you,’ said Mrs Bold.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Sylvie. ‘So lovely to see you all. I’d better be off, though. Bert might wake up and wonder where I’ve wandered off to.’

  ‘We’ll come and see you again soon,’ said Betty.

  ‘Er, before you go, Sylvie,’ said Mr Bold hurriedly. ‘Your old den... is it unoccupied?’

  ‘Yes. We only moved a few days ago. Why?’ asked Sylvie.

  ‘Well... I think we may know of some new occupants for it.’

  ‘Oh, well, please help yourselves. You know where it is? Under the ancient oak tree, not too far from the park gates near your house.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Mr Bold excitedly.

  ‘Bye for now!’

  Sylvie disappeared into the ferns again and the Bold family set off in the direction of home.

  ‘Well!’ declared Mrs Bold. ‘Are you thinking that Annika, Charlie and Fergie might like to live in the old den, dear?’

  ‘I think it might be perfect. What do you think?’

  ‘We’d better go and have a look at it first. But it may be the solution we were looking for.’

  ‘You see?’ said Mr Bold. ‘Just like I told you!’

  ‘Ask and you shall receive!’ said Mrs Bold in wonder. She gave him a squeeze.

  The Bolds thought the disused den under the old oak was an ideal residence. The entrance was hidden between some gnarled roots and inside were three fairly large chambers, dry and quiet. It was a bit musty, with a distinct smell of fox, but that couldn’t be helped and would surely fade away in time.

  ‘I think it’s very cosy,’ said Mrs Bold. ‘But let’s bring Annika, Charlie and Fergie to see for themselves.’