Jacqueline Wilson's Happy Holidays

by Jacqueline Wilson

  He was going to take him to Battersea Dogs and Cats Home in the morning – but I begged and pleaded and cried and eventually Mum and Simon gave in and said we could try looking after him just for a week. Oh, he was the dearest little boy in the world, with a black and white face and black dots speckling his back and black legs with white paws.

  ‘OMG, he’s a Dalmatian!’ I said, utterly thrilled.

  One Hundred and One Dalmatians is my all-time favourite film. I totally adore it. I’ve watched it at least fifty times. Even Keira liked it too when we were little, though now she makes out she doesn’t like baby cartoons any more.

  ‘Dalmatians are ever such expensive dogs,’ I said. ‘Wow, Simon, you couldn’t have found a better puppy! What shall we call him? What’s black and white? Bull’s Eye sweets? Zebras? Them big birds? Yeah, let’s call him Magpie!’

  ‘Magpies are noisy and they steal things,’ said Mum. ‘If this little puppy does likewise you’re not keeping him, Hayley!’

  But Simon was so chuffed I’d said something nice to him for once that he actually took my side against Mum when the week was up. Unbelievably she wanted to take him to Battersea just because he’d done a few pees and poos on the carpet – all the carpets – and been sick on the cream sofa and chewed all the computer wires and eaten Mum’s cardi and my shoe and Keira’s dressing gown and most of the make-up in her handbag. I mean, he wasn’t doing this on purpose, he was just a little puppy who didn’t know any better.

  ‘If you’re keeping him you have to train him properly, Hayley,’ said Mum.

  ‘How’s she going to do that when she’s like a wild animal herself!’ said Keira.

  ‘I’ll show you,’ I said. ‘I’m going to train Magpie until he’s the most obedient dog in the world. We’ll do an act together. We can be on Britain’s Got Talent!’

  Well, I tried. I even went to puppy training classes but I didn’t really get on with the teacher.

  She was so bossy. She got on my nerves. And she got on Magpie’s nerves too. He didn’t want to mess around walking to heel. He likes jumping about and dashing this way and that. He didn’t want to lie down and wait. He wanted to run and join me and play with all the other puppies. He didn’t want to learn to leave a treat until I said he could have it. He wanted to gobble it up straight away.

  I want Magpie to have fun. And we do, big time. I take him for two walks a day, before and after school, and I charge home at lunchtime to make sure he’s all right too.

  It’s especially magic at the weekend because I don’t have to go to boring old school. Me and Magpie can stay together all day long and do whatever we like. We go for long walks in heaps of different parks and he goes for a swim in the ponds and chases after all the other dogs and we share crisps for lunch, yum yum.

  I have to feed Magpie lots because he’s a growing boy. He’s much bigger now. And his spots have mostly joined up. I don’t think he’s really a Dalmatian any more. The man in the pet shop says he’s a Licorice Allsorts. I don’t care. I love Magpie to bits even if he’s not a pedigree.

  Sooooo I was really looking forward to the summer holidays at first because it meant I could be with Magpie twenty-four seven. I was planning all sorts of crazy expeditions for him and me. But then Mum and Keira ruined everything!

  Keira was going on about how boring it was, just staying home for six weeks, and how it wasn’t fair because all her mates were going abroad and why couldn’t we. She went on and on and on about it, until Mum had a rush of blood to the head and went on the internet when Keira and I went to bed.

  Mum woke us in the morning looking triumphant.

  ‘Guess what, girls! We’re going on holiday after all! I found a brilliant last minute deal – we’re having eight days in Benidorm, how about that? Lots of sun and lots of fun!’

  ‘Oh wow, Mum, thanks a million!’ Keira squealed.

  ‘Cool, eh?’ said S.S.

  ‘No, it’ll be hot. Too hot!’ I said. ‘Dogs don’t like the heat. And the only way they can cool down is to pant. Poor Magpie is going to spend the entire holiday with his tongue hanging out.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Hayley! Magpie can’t come on holiday with us! We’re staying in a fancy hotel. They’d never let Magpie come in a million years. Besides, how on earth would he cope with a plane journey? We’re obviously leaving him at home,’ said Mum.

  ‘Then I’m staying at home too!’ I declared.

  Then there was an argument. It went on for a long time. Mum said Magpie had to go into kennels for a week.

  ‘No way!’ I insisted. ‘It would be like putting him in prison. He’d absolutely hate it. He’d be so worried without me. He’d think he’d been abandoned again. No, this isn’t going to happen. You lot can all go to Benidorm but Magpie and me are staying at home.’

  There was a LOT of argument then. I won’t bore you writing it all out but it was mega mega mega.

  Mum and S.S. made it clear that they’d snatch Magpie and lock him up in these awful kennels and frog-march me to the airport no matter how I screamed and kicked. I was horribly scared they might be right. So I devised a CUNNING PLAN!!!!!!!

  We were due to leave on an evening flight on Friday, taking my poor Magpie to doggy-jail on the way. So on the Thursday I suddenly stopped protesting bitterly and acted all sorry and goody goody and went and packed a suitcase with my favourite T-shirts and jeans and shorts and my toy teddy that always sleeps with me and don’t you dare laugh. I also packed a carrier bag for Magpie with all his special stuff too: his doggy treats and chewy things and his spare lead and his favourite ball and his squeaky toy and his little red blanket and his totally revolting cow’s ear.

  ‘Good girl, Hayley,’ said Mum. ‘I’m glad you’ve seen sense at last.’

  I wasn’t being good. I was being very bad. I had no intention of going on a poxy holiday and putting my pooch in those rubbish kennels.

  Magpie would be shut up most of the time and he’d soooooo hate that.

  I bet you can’t guess my CUNNING PLAN!

  I was going to run away! I planned to get up ever so early and creep out of the house with Magpie and our luggage and then off we’d trot. I wasn’t exactly sure where we would run to. I had a vague idea that we’d hop on a train and maybe make for our own British seaside so Magpie and I could have a bit of a holiday too. We could play on the beach all day and go swimming and eat fish and chips and ice cream and sleep under the pier at night.

  It was a brilliant plan. There was just one slight problem.

  I didn’t have any spare cash. So when I got up very early in the morning on Friday I borrowed a little bit from S.S.’s wallet.

  It wasn’t much. He’d already changed a lot of it into euros to use as holiday money. I just used the rest. He wouldn’t be needing it, would he, not if he was away in Spain.

  So, Magpie and I had some spare cash so we were all set. We decided to make ourselves scarce as soon as possible. So I helped myself to Mum’s mobile and set the alarm thingy ever so ever so early and hid it under my pillow. I didn’t really need it, actually, because I was so keyed up I hardly slept all night, and I was wide awake by six in the morning. So I whispered in Magpie’s ear that he had to be quiet as a mouse and he licked my face all over and assured me I didn’t need to worry.

  I shoved on some clothes quick, tiptoed to the bathroom and back, picked up our bags, and then we crept to the front door and let ourselves out. Mum and S.S. and Keira stayed sound asleep, snoring their little heads off. It was easy-peasy!

  I wasn’t the slightest bit scared. Magpie and I set off down the road together. Magpie couldn’t believe his luck that he was going for walkies so early in the day. He darted about on the end of his lead, smelling the pavement excitedly and stopping to do a wee on almost every lamp post we passed.

  We called in at the corner shop as we hadn’t had any breakfast yet, so we shared a packet of crisps. I was a bit loaded with our bags and everything so we sat at the edge of the kerb and had a good mun
ch. I wasn’t exactly sure how to get to the railway station but I was sure we’d find it easily enough.

  ‘We’re having a great time, aren’t we, Magpie?’ I said, letting him lick out the crisp bag, and he wagged his tail happily in agreement.

  It was all going so well – but then along comes this dirty great police car, and when the driver saw us he drew up and parked beside us. I felt like scarpering as soon as possible, but I didn’t want to make the police guy suspicious and I knew I wouldn’t be able to make Magpie run with me, not while he had his head in a crisp bag.

  ‘Hi there,’ said the policeman, sticking his head out of the car window. ‘You’re early birds, you and your dog.’

  ‘Yeah, well, we’ve got places to go, trains to catch,’ I said airily, looking him straight in the eye to stop him being suspicious.

  ‘Are you all on your ownio?’ asked the policeman.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m with Magpie here.’

  ‘Ah! Hello there, Magpie.’ The policeman got out of his car. ‘He’s a fine looking fellow, isn’t he?’

  I warmed to him then, even if he was a nosy old copper.

  ‘He looks like he’s finished his crisps now. Do you think he might fancy a sausage sandwich? My missus always gives me a packed lunch when I’m on early turn.’ He rummaged back inside the car and unpeeled some tinfoil. Magpie’s head jerked upwards and he started drooling. Sausages are his all time favourite food, but my mum won’t cook us bangers and mash any more because Magpie goes berserk and wants to scoff the lot.

  He leaped up at the policeman now. He chuckled and gave him half a sandwich. Magpie wolfed it down and whined hopefully for the other half. I couldn’t blame him. It did look very tempting. The crisps had acted as an appetizer and now I was starving.

  ‘Come on, kid, get in the car and you can stuff yourselves all you want,’ he said, opening the door for me.

  ‘I wasn’t born yesterday,’ I said. ‘As if I’d get in a car with a strange man!’

  ‘Yep, very wise,’ he said. ‘So I’ll introduce myself. I’m P.C. Hargreaves. Look. Here’s my warrant card. And if you’d like to radio in to the station they’ll confirm I’m a genuine copper.’

  I’d always fancied trying out a police radio and talking in all that delta foxtrot lingo – but I didn’t dare risk it. Mum might have phoned the police already after searching the house high and low. They’d keep me talking and give P.C. Hargreaves some secret tip off and then he’d arrest me and Magpie.

  ‘I’ll believe you,’ I said. I picked up Magpie and our bags and we slid into the car. ‘Bring on the breakfast!’

  But quick as a wink he’d locked the doors, trapping us.

  ‘You pig! You tricked us!’ I said furiously.

  ‘Yes. Afraid I have,’ said P.C. Hargreaves. ‘I’m going to take you back to your home, wherever it is, because it’s clear to me that you two are runaways.’

  ‘You mean fibbing whatsit!’ I said.

  ‘I might be mean but I’m not fibbing about the sausage sandwiches. Tuck in while you tell me all about it.’

  He offered me the packet of sandwiches. I wasn’t going to have any but Magpie snuffled one up straight away, so I helped myself too.

  ‘Have you had a row with Mum?’ he asked.

  ‘Yep,’ I said with my mouth full. ‘And my stupid stepdad.’

  ‘So what was it about? Did they tell you off about something?’ He paused. ‘Are they really mean to you, kid?’

  ‘Yes!’ I said. ‘They’re trying to make me go to Benidorm!’

  He burst out laughing.

  ‘Ooh, very very mean of them!’ he said. ‘I think we’d better take you into care straight away!’

  ‘I don’t mind. That would be fine, so long as I can take Magpie too,’ I said, though I knew he was joking.

  ‘So what’s so terrible about Benidorm?’ he said. ‘My mum and dad go there every summer. They love it there. Sand, sun, lovely swimming pools.’

  ‘But they won’t let me take Magpie! They say he’s got to go into kennels and he’d hate hate hate it there, all locked up. It would be just like prison for him,’ I wailed, getting so worked up my sandwich went down the wrong way and I choked.

  ‘There, there,’ said P.C. Hargreaves, patting me on the back. ‘Choke up, chicken. Kennels aren’t all bad, you know.’

  ‘I bet you tell all the criminals you arrest that prisons aren’t all bad,’ I said.

  This made him laugh again.

  ‘You’re a caution, you are – you and your cute mutt,’ he said, patting Magpie.

  Magpie felt flattered and jumped off my lap onto P.C. Hargreaves’ knee and did his big-brown-eyes-please-love-me expression.

  ‘Oh, yes, you’re a great little guy,’ said P.C. Hargreaves.

  Magpie nodded in agreement and tucked himself under his arm.

  ‘How does he get on with other dogs?’ he asked.

  ‘He loves them.’

  ‘And little kids?’

  ‘He loves them too. He loves everyone.’

  ‘And when are you supposed to go to Benidorm?’

  ‘This evening.’

  ‘My goodness! Well, we’d better get you home, pronto. And I’ll meet your mum and stepdad, right? And then maybe – just maybe, mind – I could look after Magpie here while you’re on your hols. My missus and I have got two dogs of our own, Labradors called Sunny and Bingo. She works part time to fit in with taking the kids to school, and I collect them and look after the whole caboodle in the afternoon. So I daresay we could look after Magpie too. In our home, which is definitely not like a kennel.’

  ‘Oh, P.C. Hargreaves!’ I threw myself at him and gave him such a grateful hug that I knocked his police hat off, which is probably a serious offence but he didn’t charge me, thank goodness.

  He took me home and DO YOU KNOW WHAT?????

  When we got home the curtains were still drawn and Mum and S.S. and Keira were all still fast asleep in bed! Shows how much they cared about me! I’d been gone for ages and ages and ages and yet there they were, snoring away. Mum just about died when she came to the front door in her nightie, her hair all over the place, and saw me and Magpie and P.C. Hargreaves.

  There was a lot of telling off. ‘Hayley, how could you!’ Blah-blah-blah – but after P.C. Hargreaves had come inside and had a cup of tea it was all decided. He really was happy to look after Magpie until we got back from Benidorm. I knew Magpie would still miss me dreadfully but I was certain he’d get on fine with P.C. Hargreaves and his missus and his kids and he’d especially like to be with Sunny and Bingo.

  So that was that. And I went to Benidorm with Mum and S.S. and Keira. And it was OK. Sunny and sandy, like he said. And our hotel had an ace swimming pool. I was still worried about Magpie missing me, but P.C. Hargreaves texted to Mum’s mobile nearly every day, and he sent photos of Magpie romping with Sunny and Bingo to put my mind at rest.

  All sorts happened on holiday (like Keira got her first boyfriend and stayed out late and for once she was the one in big trouble, not me!) but I’ve done you hundreds of pages already, Mrs Spencer, and Mum says I have to go to bed now and Magpie needs one last walk or he’ll do a wee on the carpet. Sooooooo – that was my summer holiday. I bet I’ve written more than anyone else.

  DID YOU KNOW . . .?

  • The first day of summer is called the summer solstice. Solstice is Latin for ‘sun stand still’. The sun is higher in the sky throughout the day, and its rays beam on the Earth at a more direct angle, causing hotter temperatures.

  • The names of the summer months come from the Ancient Romans! June is named after Juno, the wife of Jupiter, the king of the Roman gods. July is named after the famous Roman Emperor Julius Caesar, and August after his nephew, Augustus.

  • In the summer, the Eiffel Tower in Paris grows by around six inches. The heat makes the metal expand!

  • Ice lollies were invented by accident! On a very cold night in 1905, 11-year-old Frank Epperson mixed soda and
water, and left the mixture out with the stirring spoon still in it. The mixture froze, creating the first ice lolly – and the spoon became the stick! Ice lollies are called popsicles in America, and icy poles in New Zealand.

  • While the summer months in the northern hemisphere are June, July and August, this time of year is actually winter in the southern hemisphere. This means that in Australia, their summer happens while we’re celebrating Christmas!

  • The term ‘the dog days of summer’ means the hottest, stickiest days of the year, between the start of July and the middle of August. The name comes from the Dog Star, Sirius, in the constellation of Canis Minor.

  • In America, July is National Ice Cream Month!

  • One of our most popular fruity summer snacks – watermelon – is actually a vegetable! It belongs to the same family as cucumbers and pumpkins.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I’D BEEN LOOKING forward to my holiday for ages and ages. We were going to this seaside place in Wales called Llanpistyll. It is a funny name. It’s spelled funny too. It’s in Wales and lots of Welsh words are peculiar. Dad says it’s a super place though. He went there when he was a boy.

  ‘We had such fun, me and my brothers,’ said Dad. ‘We swam every day and we made a camp and we played French cricket on the beach and we went for long clifftop walks.’

  ‘I don’t want to go on any clifftop walks,’ said Mum. ‘I hate it when people go too near the edge.’

  ‘I won’t go too near the edge, Mum,’ I said.

  I hate heights too. I went abseiling once. I had to. It was an adventure holiday. It was s-o-o-o-o scary.