Kiss!

by Alan MacDonald

  “Very well,” she said. “But I am trusting you, Bertie. I’ve had Snuffles a long time and if anything happened to him I’d be very upset. Very upset.”

  “I’ll guard him with my life, Miss,” promised Bertie.

  “Mind you do,” said Miss Boot.

  Bertie hurried out, before his teacher changed her mind. At last! Snuffles was his – for a whole week!

  CHAPTER 2

  CREAK, CREAK, CREAK!

  Bertie crept up the stairs, carrying the hamster cage. Now that he’d got Snuffles home, he was beginning to worry. What if Miss Boot was right? What if his mum said no?

  “Bertie?” called Mum. “Is that you?”

  Uh oh. Bertie turned round, hiding the cage behind his back. Mum was at the bottom of the stairs.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “Nothing. Just going to my room.”

  Mum narrowed her eyes. “What’s that you’ve got?”

  “Where?”

  “Behind your back. I’m not blind, Bertie.”

  “Just … school stuff.”

  “Show me,” said Mum.

  Bertie swallowed hard. There was no escape. He brought out the cage and removed the jumper covering it.

  Mum groaned. “Bertie! Is that a HAMSTER?”

  “No!” said Bertie. “Well, only a little one.”

  “Where on earth did you get it?”

  “From school,” Bertie replied. “I was specially chosen to look after him.”

  Mum folded her arms. “I told you no more pets,” she said. “Whiffer’s quite enough trouble.”

  “But a hamster’s different,” argued Bertie. “He won’t be any trouble.”

  “No, because we’re not keeping him,” said Mum.

  “Please! It’s only for a week.”

  “No! He’ll have to go back.”

  “He can’t! School’s closed. If I don’t keep him, he’s got nowhere to go.”

  Snuffles gazed up at them with large, sad eyes.

  Mum sighed heavily. “All right! But just for a week!”

  “Yesssssss!” cried Bertie.

  “But he stays in your bedroom,” said Mum. “And it’s your job to look after him.”

  “I will!” promised Bertie.

  “And don’t let him out of his cage.”

  Bertie gaped. “He’ll have to come out sometimes. He needs exercise!”

  “We’ve got a dog!” said Mum. “What happens if Whiffer gets hold of him? I’m not phoning Miss Boot to say her hamster’s been eaten!”

  Bertie sighed. “Okay, I’ll be careful.”

  He carried the cage up to his room, shutting the door on Whiffer, who was eager to see what was inside.

  He’d keep Snuffles in his cage … at least most of the time. He would only let him out for something important – like learning tricks for instance.

  CHAPTER 3

  Bertie was eager to get started, but he soon found out that hamsters weren’t as much fun as he’d expected.

  He began by drawing up a list of tricks to work on. Next he made an obstacle course out of toilet roll tubes and biscuit tins. But Snuffles slept all day and showed no interest. Bertie tried to tempt him out with bits of carrot.

  Next day he tried to train Snuffles to balance on top of a ball. Snuffles fell off.

  Suzy said he was wasting his time. “Hamsters are nocturnal,” she said, “they only come out at night.”

  Bertie soon discovered this for himself. Snuffles kept him awake every night running round in his wheel. On top of that, Bertie had to keep his door closed, because Whiffer was always whining and trying to get in. By Sunday evening, he was exhausted. Hamsters were so much work!

  “Have you cleaned out Snuffles’ cage today?” asked Mum, over supper.

  “Yes!” groaned Bertie.

  “Well, it’s dirty again! He does his business in there!”

  “EWW! GROSS!” cried Suzy, pulling a face.

  “It’s only poo,” said Bertie. “You can see them in the cage, they’re like tiny black sausages…”

  “MUM, tell him!” cried Suzy, putting down her fork.

  Mum rolled her eyes. “Bertie, please! We’re trying to eat!”

  “I was only saying,” grumbled Bertie.

  “Well, never mind the details,” said Dad. “Just clean out his cage.”

  “Can’t I do it in the morning?”

  “No,” said Mum, firmly. “I want that cage spotless tonight.”

  After supper, Bertie stomped upstairs. It’s not fair, he thought. People have to clean up their own poo, so why can’t hamsters? He opened the cage door. Snuffles was awake. He darted around, getting in the way. Bertie took him out and carried him over to his beanbag.

  Snuffles crawled around, glad to be free at last.

  “You stay there,” Bertie told him. “This won’t take long.”

  Ten minutes later, the cage was done. Bertie turned round to get Snuffles.

  Yikes! Where did he go?

  Bertie grabbed the beanbag but there were no hamsters underneath. He looked around, starting to panic. Keep calm, he thought. He can’t have gone far. He looked under the bed. Nothing. Nothing behind the curtains or the bookcase, either. Bertie turned round.

  ARGHHHHH! The bedroom door was open! Snuffles could have wandered out. He could be anywhere!

  “Bertie!” called Mum. “Have you finished doing that cage?”

  “Um … almost!” Bertie shouted.

  “Well, as soon as you have, can you bring me your dirty washing?”

  “Okay!” Bertie slumped on to his beanbag. What on earth was he going to do? Mum would go bananas if she found out. He wouldn’t tell her – not yet. He just needed time to find Snuffles and get him back in his cage. A search party – that was it. He hurried to the phone.

  Soon after, Darren arrived. The two of them searched the house from top to bottom. But there was no sign of Snuffles. Not even a tiny trail of hamster poo.

  “Boy, you are in big trouble!” said Darren, as they went out into the garden. “Miss Boot will go up the wall. She’ll murder you!”

  Darren’s right, thought Bertie. Miss Boot was fonder of Snuffles than she was of most of her class. Bertie had heard her talking to him in a soppy, baby voice.

  “He must be somewhere. Keep looking!” he said.

  “And what about us?” Darren went on. “He was our hamster too. I’m going to miss him!”

  “Then help me find him!” said Bertie.

  Whiffer was dozing under the garden bench. He yawned contentedly.

  “Darren,” said Bertie. “You don’t think…?”

  Darren looked at Whiffer. “Naaa! Don’t be stupid! He wouldn’t!”

  “No,” agreed Bertie. All the same, Whiffer would chase anything – squirrels especially. And to a dog, a fluffy hamster looked much like a squirrel. What if Whiffer had chased Snuffles? What if he had caught him and… Bertie couldn’t bear to think about it. Everyone at school would blame him!

  “What are we going to do?” he moaned.

  Darren shrugged. “Don’t ask me! You’re the one who lost him!”

  “But what if we can’t find him?”

  “You’ll just have to face Miss Boot. Or else buy another one.”

  Another hamster! thought Bertie. That’s not such a bad idea. He could look in the pet shop for one like Snuffles. There was just one problem.

  “I don’t have any money,” he said.

  They were silent for a while, lost in thought. Suddenly Bertie leaped to his feet.

  “We could make one!” he cried.

  “What?”

  “A hamster – out of fur ’n’ stuff. You know, like a teddy bear.”

  Darren snorted. “Miss Boot won’t fall for that. It’ll just sit there like a blob.”

  “That won’t matter!” said Bertie. “We’ll just say he’s asleep. Snuffles is always asleep!”

  Darren considered it. “But what about him eating?”

&
nbsp; “We’ll feed him,” said Bertie. “The two of us. We’ll just pretend and stuff the food in our pockets.”

  “It’ll never work,” said Darren. “Miss Boot will find out.”

  “Not if we’re careful. Anyway, it’s only till I can save up for a new one.”

  Darren still looked doubtful. It sounded potty to him. Trying to pass off some stuffed bit of fur as Snuffles? But Bertie was convinced it would work – and besides, they didn’t have a better idea.

  CHAPTER 4

  Monday morning arrived – the first day back at school. Class 3 trooped into their room under the stern eye of Miss Boot. Bertie tried to sneak past, carrying Snuffles’ cage.

  “BERTIE!” barked Miss Boot.

  Uh oh. Bertie stopped in his tracks.

  “I’ll just, er, put Snuffles back,” he said.

  “Come here!” said Miss Boot. “I want to check that he’s all right.”

  Bertie plodded over miserably.

  “I hope you looked after him properly,” said Miss Boot. “Did you feed him every day, and clean out his cage?”

  “Yes, yes,” said Bertie. “Can I put him back now?”

  “Wait,” said Miss Boot. “I haven’t seen him yet.”

  Bertie’s heart sank. This was just what he’d been dreading. The class crowded round, eager to get a glimpse of their favourite hamster. Bertie set down the cage.

  “Where is he?” asked Miss Boot.

  “There,” said Bertie. “He’s asleep.”

  All Miss Boot could see was a furry lump, hidden under piles of straw.

  “He looks fatter,” she frowned.

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Bertie.

  “What have you been feeding him?”

  “Just the usual hamster stuff.”

  Miss Boot prodded the furry lump with her finger. “He’s not moving!” she squawked.

  Bertie gulped. He got ready to run.

  Miss Boot gave Snuffles another prod. He slumped on his side.

  “Ohhh!”The children gasped.

  Miss Boot reached into the cage and brought Snuffles out. She stared at the rolled-up sock covered in sticky fur. It had a lopsided smile and two goggly eyes.

  “BERTIE!” thundered Miss Boot. “WHAT DO YOU CALL THIS?”

  Bertie turned very pale. “Crumbs,” he said. “I’ve been looking for that sock.”

  WHAM!

  The front door slammed shut. Bertie drooped into the kitchen and threw his bag on the floor. Mum was sorting through a pile of wet washing.

  “Good day at school?” she asked.

  “Terrible,” groaned Bertie, flopping into a chair.

  “Did you take Snuffles back?” asked Mum.

  “Oh, um, yeah, of course.”

  “Really? I expect Miss Boot was pleased to see him?”

  “Yes, very pleased,” said Bertie.

  “That’s funny,” said Mum. “Because when I checked through your dirty washing basket I found something.” She pointed to a cardboard box on the worktop.

  Bertie went over. He looked inside.

  “SNUFFLES!” he cried. “YOU’RE ALIVE!”

  “No thanks to you,” said Mum. “He could have ended up in the washing machine. Why didn’t you tell me he’d got out?”

  “I thought you might be cross,” said Bertie.

  He scooped up Snuffles and cuddled him. He never thought he’d be so pleased to see him.

  “Clever boy,” he grinned. “Wait till I tell Miss Boot.”

  Mum smiled. “Well, he certainly seems pleased to see you.”

  “How can you tell?” asked Bertie.

  “Because he’s just pooed on your jumper.”

  CHAPTER 1

  It was Saturday morning. Mum was tidying the kitchen. Bertie was still in his dressing gown, eating breakfast. “Listen,” he said. “I can burp my name…”

  He took a deep breath.

  “BURPIE!”

  Mum groaned. “Bertie! Please!”

  “What? I bet you can’t do it.”

  “I don’t want to,” said Mum. “It’s disgusting!”

  Bertie didn’t see why. At school he was the champion burper of his class. He’d been practising for weeks. His longest burp was a record-breaking six seconds.

  “Get dressed,” said Mum. “Mrs Smugly’s coming and she’s bringing Flora.” Bertie groaned. “FLORA? What for?”

  “Because I invited her mum for coffee.”

  “You don’t even like her!” grumbled Bertie.

  “Of course I do!”

  “You don’t!” said Bertie. “You told Dad she’s stuck up and she never stops boasting about Flora.”

  Mum wiped the table. “Well, Flora is very talented. You should try to be more like her.”

  “Huh! No thanks!” said Bertie, scornfully. Who wanted to be like goody-goody Flora? Last time she came he’d had to sit through hours of her playing the clarinet. The way her mum went on, you’d think she was some kind of genius. Anyway, thought Bertie, I bet Flora can’t burp for six seconds.

  DING DONG!

  “They’re here,” groaned Mum. “For heaven’s sake, Bertie, get dressed.”

  Bertie stomped up to his room. He got changed as slowly as he could. But then he remembered the chocolate biscuits that Mum always kept for visitors. He hurried downstairs.

  There were only three biscuits left on the plate. Bertie helped himself as he sat down.

  “And how is Flora doing at school?” asked Mum.

  “Oh, wonderfully!” said Mrs Smugly. “She came top in maths again, didn’t you darling?”

  Flora nodded. She eyed Bertie and took a biscuit, leaving only one.

  “As for ballet, Miss Leotard says she’s quite outstanding,” said Mrs Smugly. “Does Bertie go to ballet?”

  “Er, no, not really,” said Mum.

  Bertie scowled. Did he look like he went to ballet?

  Mrs Smugly chattered on. “Of course, it’s hard to fit it all in. Ballet on Saturdays, clarinet Mondays, French classes Tuesday. Does Bertie speak French?”

  “Not yet,” said Mum. “I’m sure he will.”

  “Perhaps when he’s older,” said Mrs Smugly. “Flora’s lucky – she’s just so gifted. What a pity we didn’t bring her clarinet.”

  “Mmm. What a pity,” yawned Mum.

  Bertie reached for the last chocolate biscuit. It was gone! Who had swiped it? Flora smiled sweetly and stuck out a sticky tongue at him.

  “And what about you, Bertie?” asked Mrs Smugly.

  “Mmm?” said Bertie.

  “How’s the trumpet?”

  Bertie looked blank. Trumpet? What trumpet?

  “You know, Bertie,” said Mum, nodding at him. “Actually he’s doing very well. He’s taking Grade 5, aren’t you, Bertie?”

  Bertie stared. Grade 5? Taking it where?

  Mrs Smugly raised her eyebrows. “Grade 5? That is impressive. I’d love to hear you play sometime, Bertie.”

  So would I, thought Bertie. His mum was avoiding his eye. There was definitely something funny going on.

  CHAPTER 2

  That evening over supper Bertie mentioned what had happened.

  “She told them WHAT?” said Dad.

  “That I play the trumpet,” repeated Bertie. “It turns out I’m really good.”

  “YOU? Play the trumpet?” hooted Suzy.

  Mum had gone rather red. “Um, anyone for more potato?” she asked.

  “But you don’t even play an instrument!” said Dad.

  “I do! I play the recorder!”

  “Once,” said Dad. “Until you broke it.” He looked at Mum. “But what on earth made you say he plays the trumpet?” Mum turned redder still. She wished Bertie had kept quiet.

  “I had to say something,” she sighed. “I was sick of hearing about fabulous Flora. I just mentioned that Bertie likes music.”

  “LIKES MUSIC?” cried Bertie. “You told them I play the trumpet!”

  “Well, you might. You must be
good at something.”

  “I am!” said Bertie. “I can burp for six whole seconds!”

  “In any case,” said Dad, ignoring him. “You’ll have to explain it’s not true.”

  “I can’t do that now,” said Mum. “It will look as if I told a lie.”

  “You did!” laughed Suzy.

  “Well yes, but only to Mrs Smugly, and she’ll never find out.”

  BRINGG! BRINGG!

  The phone rang. Mum hurried to answer it, glad to escape. But when she returned she looked rather pale.

  “That was Barbara Smugly,” she said. “She asked if Bertie could play in a concert, with the Pudsley Junior Orchestra.”

  “HA HA!” howled Suzy. “Imagine that!”

  “I hope you said ‘no’?” said Dad.

  Mum bit her lip. “Not exactly. I sort of agreed.”

  PLUUUUUUGHHHHH! A lump of mash flew from Bertie’s mouth.

  “WHAT?” he gasped.

  “I’m sorry,” said Mum. “I couldn’t get out of it! She’d already put your name down.”

  “A concert?” cried Bertie. “But I don’t play the trumpet! I haven’t even got one!”

  “We’ll hire one from a shop,” said Mum, desperately. “It won’t be so bad. Just a few rehearsals.”

  Rehearsals! This was getting worse and worse! Well, he wouldn’t do it. After all, none of this was his fault.

  “You can’t be serious,” said Dad. “They’ll find out he can’t play.”

  “They won’t,” said Mum. “It’s an orchestra. There’ll be dozens of children. Who’s going to notice if Bertie isn’t playing?”

  “No one,” answered Bertie. “Cos I’m not doing it.”

  “You have to!” pleaded Mum. “I’ve promised.”

  “No way!” said Bertie.

  Mum sighed. She’d dug herself into a deep hole. If Bertie backed out now, Mrs Smugly would want to know why. And what if she found out the truth? No, Bertie would just have to go through with it, and there was one way to persuade him.