Iggy and Me on Holiday

by Jenny Valentine

  “Awww,” Iggy said. “Is your beard all sandy?”

  Spencer had a green ball. He dropped it in the water at Iggy’s feet and then he jumped and barked for her to throw it.

  “OK,” said Iggy, “Fetch!” and she threw the ball into the water. The little dog hopped and bounced over the shallow waves to get it. He brought the ball back to Iggy again. He dropped it and barked.

  “Good boy, Spencer,” Iggy said. “Fetch it, Spence.”

  She threw the ball the other way this time, to trick him. Spencer darted into the water and then spun around and darted out towards where it rolled, green and covered in sand. He picked the ball up with his mouth and all the sand went in his nose and made him sneeze.

  “Bless you,” Iggy said, tucking Barnaby into her armpit and rubbing Spencer’s sandy wet ears and talking into his neck.

  Spencer sneezed again twice.

  “Bless you, bless you,” Iggy said.

  Spencer shook the sand and the water off himself. He started at his face and he twisted and wiggled all the way from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail. Last of all he shook his bottom. Specks of sand and drops of salty water flew off him in all directions. Iggy thought it was the funniest thing she had ever seen.

  “Do it again, Spence!” she squealed, and she held Barnaby up to see.

  Spencer put the side of his head on the sand and then his shoulder and then he lay down and rolled onto his back so we could see his scruffy, tufty fur and the pink skin on his belly. He stuck his legs in the air and he rolled about, like he was having a good back scratch. I could see all of his teeth. He looked like he was laughing.

  “What’s funny, Spencer?’ Iggy said, lying down on her back in the sand next to him. “What’s so funny boy, eh?”

  Iggy picked up the ball and threw it again, further away from the sea. Spencer scrambled up and chased off after it. I turned to look at the sky and at all the people bobbing up and down in the water and when I turned back, Iggy was gone.

  “Iggy?” I said. I looked for her pink and blue and yellow swimsuit. I looked for her red and white striped hat. I looked for Barnaby’s flowery shirt. I looked for Spencer and his green ball. I couldn’t see any of them. All I could see was other people. Big people and little people, fat people and thin people, brown people and white people and sore pink people. All I could see was legs and arms and tummies and faces and none of them belonged to my little sister and her teddy bear or a little dog.

  “Iggy?” I said again, louder. “Where are you?”

  Iggy didn’t answer.

  I stood completely still for a minute and I watched very carefully to see if she was coming back.

  She wasn’t.

  I was a bit scared.

  I wanted to go and get Mum and Dad but I didn’t know if I should move.

  What if Iggy came back and I had gone? What would happen then?

  I was rooted to the spot.

  “IGGY!!” I shouted one more time, at the top of my voice.

  Still no answer.

  Just when I was about to give up hope, I saw Mum and Dad, walking down the sand towards me. I jumped up and down and waved. I ran a bit towards them and then back to the water, just in case.

  “Hello,” Dad said. “Are you OK?” and Mum said, “Where is Iggy?”

  I told them what happened. I said, “I turned away for a second and Iggy and Spencer disappeared.”

  “Who is Spencer?” asked Dad.

  “He’s a little dog,” I said. “With a green ball. He and Iggy were playing.”

  Mum and Dad stood by the water and looked just like I did. They shouted for Iggy just like I had. All they could see was people, just like me.

  “What are we going to do?” I said.

  I was worried about my sister. Iggy wouldn’t like being lost.

  “Don’t worry,” said Dad. “Keep looking. We’ll find her.”

  I kept looking but I couldn’t see her. I didn’t know if we would find her or not.

  “Which way did she go?” said Mum.

  “She threw the ball that way,” I showed her, pointing.

  “Right,” she said.

  Dad said to Mum, “You go that way and I’ll check the shoreline.”

  He said to me, “You stay there, Flo. Don’t move a muscle.”

  I stood with my feet in the water and I didn’t move. I kept my eyes peeled for a little brown and grey and white dog with a green ball and a little girl with blonde hair wearing pink and blue and yellow and red and white. I just couldn’t see them.

  Wherever Iggy was, I hoped she wasn’t as sad and as scared and as worried as me.

  “Any luck?” said Dad when he walked back to where I was waiting. “Have you seen anything?”

  I shook my head and I felt like crying. But just then, I spotted a flash of grey and brown and white dog, hurtling across the sand.

  “That’s Spencer!” I said to Dad.

  I called him, “Come here, Spencer, come here boy.”

  The little dog ran towards us. I could see even from a distance that he didn’t have a green ball in his mouth anymore. He had Barnaby.

  Dad got him by the collar and pulled the bear out of his jaws. Barnaby was a bit soggy and sandy and crumpled, but he was all right.

  I hoped Iggy was all right.

  I ruffled Spencer’s wiry head.

  “Where’s Iggy, Spencer?” I said. “What have you done with her?”

  Spencer barked and jumped and snapped at Barnaby’s paws.

  “Where is she, boy?” I said. At that moment, I wished dogs could talk more than I’d wished for anything else in my life. I wished Spencer could say, “She’s over there behind those rocks and she’s been looking for you but she’s all right.”

  But all Spencer did was bark and jump and snap. He got to his feet, and he scratched his tummy with his back leg, and then he ran off.

  I watched him go, and through the crowds I caught sight of someone I knew.

  “Clyde!” I called and I waved at him with both my arms.

  Clyde was wearing blue shorts and a blue cap and he had on his red amphibious shoes.

  “Hello,” he said to me and Dad. “Iggy’s looking for you.”

  “Where is Iggy?” I said, and Dad said, “Have you seen her?”

  Clyde nodded. “She got lost,” he said. “She’s with my Mum and Dad. They sent me to find you.”

  “Well, what a relief,” said Dad.

  Mum came back pretty soon, looking worried, but when she saw Clyde, and the smiles on all our faces, she started smiling too.

  Clyde took us to where Iggy was. She was a bit sniffly and she was pleased to see us. She was very pleased to see Barnaby, too. We all had a big hug.

  “We were a bit worried,” Mum said.

  “I followed Spencer,” Iggy said. “And then he stole Barnaby. And I got lost. And then I found Clyde.”

  “That was very lucky,” Mum said.

  “Yes,” I said. “You wanted to find Clyde today, didn’t you?”

  “And we’re glad you did,” Dad said, and he said thank you to Clyde’s mum and dad as well, for helping.

  “Clyde rescued me,” Iggy said. She put her head on Clyde’s shoulder and she sighed.

  “You’re a hero, Clyde,” Dad said. “You rescued a damsel in distress.”

  “A what?” said Clyde and Iggy said, “What did you call me?”

  “A damsel in distress,” said Dad. “A lady in a pickle. A girl who needed help.”

  “Oh,” said Iggy, “OK.”

  “Oh,” said Clyde. “Cool.”

  A rainy day

  One morning when we woke up in the van, it wasn’t all warm and cosy and yellow. It was cold and dark and it sounded like someone was dropping wet marbles onto our roof.

  It was raining.

  “Oh, joy,” said Dad.

  Mum hoped it was just a shower, but when we opened the curtains for a look, the sky was very low and angry and grey. There wasn’t a glimpse of
blue. There wasn’t a peep of sunshine. All the tents and cars and vans looked sad and huddled in the wind and the rain. There weren’t any people. Everything was dripping.

  “What will happen to the beach?” Iggy asked.

  “Nothing,” said Dad. “It will be empty. It will just get wet.”

  “It already is wet,” Iggy said.

  “Good point,” said Dad.

  “What will we do all day?” she said, and she stretched her arms and pointed her toes. That’s what Iggy does when she is bored, and being bored was what Iggy was worried about.

  “Nothing,” said Dad. “Not a thing.”

  Iggy stretched and pointed even harder.

  “That’s not true,” Mum said. “There are lots of things we can do.”

  “Like what?” Iggy said.

  “We can read,” Mum said. “And we can draw and listen to music. We can have a walk.”

  “Out there?” Iggy said, and she pointed at the fat lines of rain slithering down the windows.

  “Yes, out there,” Mum said. “With our waterproof coats and wellies on.”

  “We can take more pictures of Barnaby,” I said, “in all his holiday outfits. We can take pictures of him making lunch and doing the washing up and reading a book.”

  “Mmmm,” Iggy said, thinking. “We could do that.”

  “We can do lots of things,” Mum said. “You’ll see.”

  We ate our breakfast at the table in the van instead of outside on a rug. There wasn’t much room. Everybody was all elbows.

  Dad told Iggy to move her teddies before he moved them for her.

  He said, “I don’t want to sit on two penguins while I’m eating my cornflakes.”

  Iggy said, “Gloria and Mumble don’t want to be sat on by you,” and she put them on her lap. She couldn’t reach her cereal with them in the way. The milk splashed off her spoon and onto her pyjamas.

  “Watch it, cheeky,” said Dad.

  Mum took Gloria and Mumble and Polly and Ranger and Barnaby out of our way and put them on Dad’s driver’s seat.

  “Now they can pretend they are going on an adventure,” I said.

  “Good idea,” said Iggy. “I’m going to do that with them after breakfast.”

  It was a bit of a squish getting dressed as well. Dad banged his head on the ceiling twice.

  “Ooof,” he said, and Iggy giggled.

  “Ouch!” he said, and she sniggered.

  “Not funny,” he said, and she rubbed his head better for him and kissed it.

  “A bit funny,” she said.

  Mum and Dad washed up at the sink and Iggy dried and I put things away. We whistled while we worked. Dad whistled and Mum hummed and Iggy tra-la-laad and I tapped my foot.

  “Now what?” Mum said.

  “I’m going to Butterfly World,” said Iggy.

  “What?” Dad said, and “How?”

  “I’m driving there,” Iggy said, getting into Dad’s driver’s seat and putting on his seat belt, “with my Teddies.”

  “Oh, yes,” Dad said, “Of course.”

  “What is Butterfly World?” asked Mum.

  Iggy told her it was a magic place filled with all the trees and plants that butterflies especially love.

  Dad said, “In real life it would be a clump of buddleia and a café and a gift shop.”

  “What’s buddleia?” I said.

  Mum said, “It’s a plant that butterflies especially love.”

  Iggy said, “We will walk around in there and all the butterflies will come and land on our hands and our heads and our shoulders.

  They will fly about our faces.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “Sounds nice and tickly.”

  “Do you want to come?” asked Iggy. “Hop in.”

  I climbed into Mum’s seat and Iggy said, “Put your seat belt on,” just like Mum does, every time we get in the car. Then she pretended to drive with all the teddies on her lap. She made engine noises and she turned the steering wheel about.

  “You’re a very good driver,” I said.

  “Thanks.”

  “How long till we get there?” Dad shouted from the back, and Iggy turned and grinned at him.

  “A hundred and forty-two hours,” she said.

  “Good,” Dad said. “I can read my book for a bit then.”

  Iggy pretended to drive for ages. I breathed on my window and wrote my name and drew some hearts and butterflies and stars.

  Suddenly I had an idea.

  “I know, Iggy,” I said. “Let’s make Butterfly World for real.”

  Iggy didn’t take her eyes off the road. She frowned. “How?”

  I leaned over and whispered into her ear.

  “Oooh,” she said, and then she made the sound of screeching brakes.

  “Are we there?” Mum said.

  “Not yet,” Iggy said.

  “Not quite,” I told them.

  “Mum,” I said. “We need your help.”

  “What for?”

  “It’s a secret,” Iggy told her.

  “Right,” said Dad. “I’ll take my book upstairs to bed then.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “It’s my pleasure,” he grinned.

  Dad climbed up into his bed. He moved about a bit getting comfy. There wasn’t much room between him and the roof.

  “Are you all right up there?” Mum said. “Can you see?”

  “Never been better,” Dad called down. “And I can see perfectly well if I remember to keep my eyes open.”

  Mum smiled. She whispered to me and to Iggy, “He’ll be asleep in a minute.”

  Mum helped us to get our pens and paper out of our bags in the cupboard. She found some scissors and she even had some glitter and ribbon and stickers and glue that she had brought with her.

  “For a rainy day,” she said, and Iggy said, “Well, that’s lucky.”

  “Do we have any cotton?” I said.

  “Cotton?” said Iggy.

  “Thread,” I said. “For hanging.”

  Mum said she didn’t think so, but that when we were finished we could put our coats and wellies on and go the camp site shop.

  “That can be our walk,” Iggy said. “To the shop.”

  “They’ll have some thread there,” Mum said.

  “And ice lollies,” Iggy said. “They’ll have ice lollies too.”

  “Will they?” said Mum and Iggy nodded.

  “Well then maybe we’ll get some,” Mum said, and Iggy smiled.

  We sat at the table together and we made butterflies. This is how we did it.

  Mum tore the paper into all different sizes. I folded each piece exactly in half and drew half a butterfly on one side. Iggy kept the paper folded and did the cutting. Iggy loves scissors. She cut the half butterflies out very, very carefully and when she unfolded the paper there was a whole butterfly, every time. Then we drew and cut and stuck and glittered them until we had loads and loads of butterflies, all landed on our table.

  “Listen,” Mum said, when we were busy in the middle of doing it. Iggy stopped cutting and Mum stopped tearing and I stopped colouring.

  We listened.

  Dad was snoring, ever so gently.

  “Like a baby piglet,” said Iggy.

  We put our waterproof things on as quietly as we could, which was not very.

  “Sssh,” said Mum, and Iggy said she couldn’t. It was impossible.

  “Waterproof clothes make too much noise all by themselves,” she whispered.

  We put our boots on and we climbed out of the front door instead of the side one because it was quieter. Then we trumped and traipsed through the wet puddly grass to the camp site shop. Our boots made a sucking noise and the grass went all flat and squashed where we trod. The rain pitter-pattered on our waterproof clothes and landed all cold on our faces.

  The shop was tiny and full of all the things you might forget to bring on holiday. Like batteries and teabags and orange juice and dog food, and thread. Mum bou
ght some and she told us we could have an ice lolly too, if we wanted.

  “It’s too cold,” we said, and Iggy said, “I’d rather have a hot chocolate.”

  So mum bought some hot chocolate as well, to make on the tiny stove, with the tiny kettle.

  We trumped and traipsed back through the rain to the van.

  Dad was still snoring.

  “He’s still fast asleep,” Mum said.

  “Yep,” I said. “And when he wakes up, he will be in Butterfly World.”

  We gave each butterfly a little piece of thread and we tied them all around the van, on the door handles and the ceiling and the driving mirror and the steering wheel. On the cupboards and the window catches and the seats and the tap. Iggy tied one to each of Barnaby’s ears. She tied one to Gloria and Mumble and Polly and Ranger. We tied them into our hair. We tied them everywhere.

  Soon the whole van was alive with fluttering, dancing butterflies. Every time we moved, they moved too. If you blew on them or waved at them their little wings shivered and shook.

  Mum made hot chocolate for us, and tea for her and Dad. The butterflies trembled in the steam from the tiny kettle.

  She climbed up to where Dad was sleeping.

  “Wakeywakey,” she said. “Rise and shine.”

  Dad came down with his face all creased and his hair all sticking out and his eyes all puffy. As he moved through the van, the butterflies flipped and dived and cartwheeled. He looked around and his face woke up with wonder.

  “Am I still dreaming?” he said.

  “Nope,” said Iggy, and she did a little dance with just her hands.

  “Then where am I?” Dad asked.

  “Butterfly World,” said Iggy. “We made it especially for you.”

  Iggy and Barnaby

  On our first day back at school after the holidays, Iggy got up and dressed and ate her breakfast much slower than normal.

  When Mum woke her up, Iggy said, “Not finished,” and she rolled over for a bit more sleep.

  Our school uniform was folded on our beds and our hairbrushes were where we could see them, but Iggy came down to breakfast in her pyjamas with her hair facing in all directions.

  “Good afternoon,” Mum said. “You look very smart.”

  Iggy growled.

  “Not ready,” she said.