PUFFIN BOOKS
BAD BECKY IN TROUBLE
Gervase Phinn is a teacher, freelance lecturer, author, poet, educational consultant, school inspector, visiting professor of education and last, but by no means least, father of four. Most of his time is spent in schools with teachers and children. Gervase lives in Doncaster with his family.
Books by Gervase Phinn
BAD BECKY
THE DAY OUR TEACHER WENT BATTY
DOMINIC'S DISCOVERY
FAMILY PHANTOMS
IT TAKES ONE TO KNOW ONE
For older readers
HEAD OVER HEELS IN THE
DALES THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DALE
OVER HILL AND DALE
UP AND DOWN IN THE DALES
Illustrated by Lindsey Gardiner
PUFFIN
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
www.penguin.com
First published 2005
3
Text copyright © Gervase Phinn, 2005
Illustrations copyright © Lindsey Gardiner, 2005
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-0-14-192595-0
For my daughter, Elizabeth
Contents
Becky Goes Fishing
Becky and the school Inspector
Becky the Hero
Becky Goes Fishing
‘Well, I want to go!’ shrieked Becky, stamping her foot so hard on the hall carpet that little puffs of dust rose into the air. Dad and her two brothers, Bernard and Ben, were going fishing and they were not taking her with them. She thought it was very, very unfair. ‘I want to! I want to! I want to go fishing!’
Becky's twin brothers scowled at her. The thought of their impossible little sister tagging along on their fishing trip filled them with dread. Taking Becky would mean only one thing – trouble.
‘Fishing is for boys,’ said Bernard firmly.
‘Girls play with dolls; they don't fish,’ added Ben.
‘I don't want to play with soppy old dolls,’ Becky told them, sticking out her tongue and pulling the most awful face. ‘I want to go fishing.’
Becky liked playing football, climbing up trees, looking for creepy-crawlies in the garden, walking along the tops of walls, having water fights and stomping in the mud. She definitely did not like sitting in her room with a doll on her knee.
‘Well, you are not coming!’ shouted Bernard.
‘There's no way!’ agreed Ben.
‘I am!’ Becky yelled back, thumping her hands on her hips. ‘I am! I am! I am!’
‘What is all this noise about?’ asked Dad, coming into the hall.
‘I want to go fishing with you and the twins,’ Becky told him, frowning.
‘Don't let her, Dad,’ begged Bernard. ‘She'll spoil it. She always does.’
‘She'll throw stones in the water and frighten all the fish away,’ added Ben angrily.
‘I won't,’ said Becky. ‘I'll be really, really good.’
‘Huh!’ cried Ben. ‘You are never really, really good.’
‘You wouldn't know how to be good,’ added Bernard.
‘Wouldn't you rather stay at home,’ said Dad, putting his arm round Becky's shoulders, ‘and help Mum bake that big chocolate cake for tomorrow's tea?’
‘No, I wouldn't,’ said Becky, sticking out her bottom lip. ‘I don't like soppy baking. I want to go fishing.’
‘Or you could go into town with Mum,’ coaxed Dad. ‘She's going shopping and she might buy you a pretty new dress. You'd like that, wouldn't you?’
‘No, I would not! I hate shopping and I hate pretty dresses!’ Becky exclaimed. She much preferred wearing jeans and trainers. ‘I told you, I want to go fishing. It's not fair that you're taking the twins and leaving me at home.’
Becky then thought of something very clever to say. She looked up at Dad with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes and said quietly, ‘I could get up to all sorts of trouble at home while Mum's cooking and if I go into town I might get lost…’
Dad sighed. He knew when he was beaten. ‘Oh, very well,’ he said, ‘but you have to be very, very good.’
‘Yes! Yes! Yes! Becky punched the air and jumped up and down, causing puffs of dust to rise up out of the carpet for the second time that morning. ‘I’m going fishing!’
‘Oh no,’ moaned Bernard.
‘Oh, Dad,’ groaned Ben.
Becky sat on the back seat, sandwiched between her two scowling brothers.
It was a hot day and the sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky. Dad and the twins were wearing T-shirts and shorts. Becky, on the other hand, was wrapped up like an Arctic explorer. She had on her bright-yellow anorak with the fur-edged hood, her thick orange jumper, some old jeans, her long green scarf with matching gloves and a pair of big black rubber boots. This was exactly what Becky had seen fishermen on the television wearing and she wanted to be just like them.
‘You will be far too hot and sticky in all that,’ Dad warned.
‘No, I won't,’ replied Becky stubbornly.
‘But it's a lovely bright sunny day,’ he
told her. ‘Why don't you go and put on a nice cool sundress and some sandals instead?’
‘Eeeek!’ squealed Becky. ‘I hate sundresses and I hate sandals.’
‘Can we get going, please?’ pleaded Bernard.
‘The fish will have all been caught by the time we get there,’ grumbled Ben.
‘Oh, very well,’ said Dad, and started the car.
At the riverbank, Becky stood and stared at the rippling water to see if she could see any fish. Bernard got out the rods, Ben sorted out the fishing lines with hooks and Dad opened a big round metal tin. Inside were hundreds of wriggling maggots.
‘Uuuurrrrgghh!’ cried Bernard, shuddering in disgust.
‘Uuuurrrrgghh!’ squealed Ben, backing away.
‘Don't worry,’ said Dad, smiling. ‘I'll put them on your hooks.’
‘I like maggots,’ said Becky, coming over and picking up a few of the white wriggling creatures and cupping them in her hands. ‘They're cute and they tickle. I'm not going to put them on my hook. I'm going to use a big fat squiggly squelchy worm instead.’
‘But fish li
ke maggots,’ Bernard told her.
‘They don't like worms,’ said Ben.
‘Well, I'm using a worm,’ Becky informed them. ‘I can if I want.’
‘Very well,’ said Dad, shaking his head and smiling, ‘but you'll not catch anything.’
We'll see about that, Becky thought to herself.
While Dad and the twins cast in their lines, Becky dug with a stick in the soft earth by the riverbank until she found a long pink worm. She put it on her hook, made herself comfortable at the edge of the river and dangled her fishing line into the water.
‘Not there, Becky,’ said Dad. ‘It's much too bright in the middle of the river. Fish like it in the shade, where it's dark and cool, under the branches of the trees.’
‘Well, I like it here,’ said Becky obstinately, staying exactly where she was.
‘Very well,’ sighed Dad. ‘But as I said, you won't catch anything like that.’
They all sat in silence for a while, concentrating on their lines and looking for a tremble on the rod that would tell them there was a fish on the end of the hook. But then the weather suddenly changed. The sun disappeared behind a large dark cloud and lost all of its heat and the river became quite choppy.
‘Brrrrr,’ said Dad, rubbing his arms.
‘It's freezing,’ said Bernard, shivering.
‘I wish I'd brought a coat,’ said Ben.
Becky felt as snug as a bug in a rug in her anorak, jeans, thick jumper, scarf and gloves. ‘I'm lovely and warm,’ she told everyone smugly.
Her brothers pulled gruesome faces. Dad smiled to himself.
Just then Becky's line gave a jerk.
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed in surprise. She pulled on her rod and it bent. She tugged and heaved and the rod bent some more. There was something heavy on the end of her line.
‘I've caught a fish!’ she cried. ‘I've caught a fish!’
‘Looks like a whopper,’ shouted Dad, forgetting about being cold and running along the riverbank to where Becky was sitting. ‘Here, let me land it for you.’
‘I want to land it myself,’ Becky told him with a determined look on her face.
‘You're not strong enough,’ said Bernard. ‘You'll lose it.’
‘You're pulling too hard,’ said Ben. ‘You'll snap the line.’
But Becky ignored their advice and she tugged and heaved some more until suddenly the rod flew towards her and out of the river came a big black boot dangling on the end of her line. It was dripping with muddy water and full of slimy green weeds.
‘It's a boot,’ chortled Bernard, stabbing the air with his finger.
‘She's caught a boot,’ cackled Ben.
The twins put down their rods and ran up and down the bank chanting, ‘Becky's caught a boot! Becky's caught a boot!’
Becky scowled at them.
‘Take no notice, Becky,’ said Dad, winking. ‘It's more than your brothers have caught.’
They settled themselves back down by the riverbank and waited for the fish to bite. Becky stayed perfectly still and watched her line like a hungry cat watching a tank of goldfish. She didn't move a muscle. She was determined to catch a big fat fish this time. Her dad had never seen her so quiet before and decided that he would definitely bring her along again.
After a while the weather got worse. The wind picked up and it began to spit with rain.
‘I think we had better call it a day,’ said Dad, looking up gloomily at the dark clouds in the sky.
‘Yes,’ agreed Bernard, stamping his feet against the cold.
‘We've not had a bite all morning,’ said Ben, blowing on his hands to warm them up.
‘Shall we go, then?’ asked Dad.
‘No!’ cried Becky, crossing her arms defiantly. ‘I like it here. Fishing's fun. I'm staying.’ And, just then, there was a sudden jerk on her rod and the line went taut. Becky jumped to her feet and tugged and heaved. There was something heavy on the end of her line. ‘I've caught something!’ she cried.
‘Probably another boot,’ laughed Bernard.
‘Now you'll have a matching pair,’ sniggered Ben.
Becky gripped the rod tightly and pulled with all her might. The rod curved and quivered and then bent so much it looked as if it would snap in two. But Becky gave one mighty heave and out of the river leapt a great silver fish. It splashed and thrashed on the top of the water.
‘It is a fish!’ cried Dad in surprise. ‘It's a whopper! Here, Becky, let me help you.’
‘I'm going to land it myself,’ Becky declared, puffing and panting as the fish pulled on the line.
‘You're too small,’ said Bernard. ‘You'll lose it.’
‘You're pulling too hard,’ said Ben, just like the last time. ‘You'll snap the line.’
But Becky carried on reeling it in, all the time watching the great silver fish leaping and splashing in the murky water.
‘Well done!’ said Dad. ‘It looks like fish for supper tonight.’
The fish was close to the bank now and Becky was feeling very pleased with herself. She looked at the fish twisting and thrashing on the end of the line and thought about Mum's startled expression when Becky appeared at the door holding her catch. She would probably take a photograph and Becky could take it to school to show her teacher, Miss Drear.
When Becky had reeled in all of the line, Dad unhooked the fish and held it out to Becky. ‘What a catch,’ he said.
‘Wow!’ exclaimed the twins.
The fish writhed in Dad's hand, gasping for air. Becky looked at it carefully. It was beautiful – with shiny silver scales, small button eyes, delicate pale-green fins and a great curve of tail. Becky made a sudden decision.
‘I'm putting him back in the river,’ she told Dad.
‘Putting it back!’ cried the twins together.
‘He's my fish,’ Becky told them. ‘I caught him and I can do what I want with him, can't I, Dad?’
‘You certainly can,’ Dad reluctantly agreed. He had been looking forward to fish with parsley sauce for supper. But he smiled and gently placed the great silver creature in Becky's hands. ‘Hold him tightly; he's very slippery.’
Becky held the cold slimy body firmly. She felt the fish panting and saw its gills moving in and out. She bent down and placed it carefully in the water. It stayed still for a moment just beneath the surface and then, with a great swish of its tail, it was gone, deep, deep down into the murky depths.
A few bubbles came to the surface.
‘He was saying thank you,’ said Becky. She felt really pleased that she had let it go and not taken it home. After all, she thought, they could go to the fish and chip shop any time.
The huge drops of rain that had been steadily plopping on to the water started hammering down now. Within seconds of the heavens opening, Dad and the twins were soaked to the skin and shivering with cold.
Becky put up her hood. She was nice and warm, and dry as a bone.
There was a mad scramble as Dad and the twins packed up the fishing gear and headed towards the car. Down the riverbank they ran, squelching in the mud and clutching their rods and fishing tackle, with Becky calmly following behind.
Just as they were about to reach the car, Dad leapt over the stump of a dead tree and lost his footing. ‘Aaaaah!’ he cried and fell on his face with a SPLAT!
Then Bernard's sandals slipped in the mud and his legs shot from under him, causing him to land on his bottom with a thump. Ben, who didn't have time to slow down, tumbled over his brother and slithered in the mud next to him.
Becky smiled and then she giggled and then she laughed until the tears rolled down her cheeks. She had never seen
anything quite as funny as Dad and the twins in a big muddy heap on the ground. She was very glad she had put her boots on.
Mum laid big sheets of newspaper on the kitchen floor before they were allowed into the house.
‘Just look at the state of you!’ she said, shaking her head at the twins and Dad. Then she caught sight of
Becky, smirking. ‘Well, at least someone has managed to stay clean.’
Dad looked grumpy. The twins glowered.
‘Did you all have a nice time?’ Mum asked them.
‘Dreadful,’ grumbled Dad.
‘Awful!’ moaned Bernard.
‘Terrible,’ groaned Ben.
‘Fantastic!’ cried Becky. ‘Can we go again next Saturday, Dad?’
Becky and the School Inspector
At a quarter past eight each morning, Bernard and Ben would leave home with Becky and take her to school – out of the gate, down the street, through the park, across the busy main road and up the little path that led to the school gates.
Becky knew her way to school perfectly well and hated being escorted by her brothers, especially having to hold both their hands when they got to the main road. However, no matter how many times she complained, Mum and Dad would not take no for an answer. And for once, Becky knew it was no use arguing with them.
One bright autumn morning, the three of them, as usual, were walking through the park on their way to school. Becky loved this time of year. She liked to run through the piles of dead leaves and kick them in the air. She liked jumping on the acorns that littered the ground, crunching them noisily under her feet. And she loved searching for conkers to throw in the duck pond. Of course, that was only if the park keeper wasn't around.
On this particular morning, as she was looking around for the next pile of leaves to run through, Becky noticed a man with a very wrinkly face approaching them. He had snow-white hair, small green eyes, a sharp nose, large red ears and a narrow slit of a mouth. He wore a long raincoat and carried a big black bag and stood in front of them in the middle of the path.
‘Excuse me,’ said the man pleasantly, when the children came to a standstill, ‘I wonder if one of you young people could tell me where Parksview School is?’
Bad Becky in Trouble Page 1
