Pirate!

by Alan MacDonald

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” asked Mum.

  “What, now?” said Bertie.

  “Yes, now,” said Mum. “And I’ll be up in a minute to check.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Upstairs, Bertie closed his bedroom door and got down on his hands and knees.

  “Eric?” he said. “Eric, it’s me!”

  He reached under the bed and pulled out a goldfish bowl. Inside were a few rocks, some muddy weed and a small green frog. Bertie lifted him out and set him on the carpet. Eric was Bertie’s latest pet. He’d had other pets – but none of them had lasted very long. As soon as Mum found out, she insisted he get rid of them. Eric had come from the pond in the park. Bertie was hoping that one day he’d produce tadpoles, though he wasn’t too sure if boy frogs could have babies. In the meantime, he was hoping to train Eric.

  Bertie fished out a half-eaten biscuit from his pocket.

  “Are you hungry, Eric?”

  Eric didn’t seem to be. Maybe he didn’t like Jammie Dodgers.

  Just then, Bertie heard footsteps on the stairs. Uh oh – Mum was coming! If she found Eric there would be big trouble. Bertie shoved the goldfish bowl under the bed and threw a pair of pants over Eric.

  “KURAAAAK!”

  “Shhh! Be quiet!” hissed Bertie.

  A second later, Mum poked her head around the door.

  “Bertie, who were you talking to?”

  “Me? No one,” said Bertie, innocently.

  Mum gave him a suspicious look. “You’re meant to be tidying your room.”

  “I am,” said Bertie. “I’ve made a start. I, um … folded my pyjamas.”

  Mum glanced at his pyjamas which were screwed up on the floor. As usual Bertie’s bedroom looked as if it had been hit by a tornado.

  Mum pointed. “Are those pants dirty? Why aren’t they in the washing basket?”

  Bertie looked down. The pair of pants suddenly twitched into life.

  “ARGH!” screamed Mum. “There’s something there!”

  “Where?” said Bertie.

  “There! They just moved!”

  The pants were getting away – they hopped across the floor in little jumps. Mum had seen enough. She marched over and scooped them up.

  “KUURAAAAAK!”

  “A FROG!” screeched Mum.

  “Oh yes!” said Bertie. “I wonder where he came from.”

  Mum let out a long sigh. “I’ve told you a hundred times, Bertie, you are not to keep pets in your room. He’ll have to go!”

  “But I haven’t trained him yet,” said Bertie. “And he’s hungry.”

  “All the more reason for him to go outside where he belongs,” said Mum.

  “Can’t I just keep him a few more days?” begged Bertie.

  “No!” said Mum. “Take him out to the garden right now.”

  Bertie trailed out of the back door with Eric cupped in his hands. It was starting to drizzle. He trudged to the bottom of the garden and set the frog down on a big grey stone.

  “Sorry, Eric,” he sighed. “Mum says you can’t stay.”

  The frog blinked up at him with large, sad eyes.

  “I know, but I’m not allowed,” said Bertie. “You’ll be okay, won’t you?”

  “KUURAAAAK!”

  Bertie stroked his head one last time, then turned and plodded back to the house. When he looked round, Eric hadn’t moved. Bertie sighed. It was cruel to leave him in a strange garden, especially with next door’s cat sniffing around. He’d be much happier back at the pond. Bertie glanced at the house … no one was watching. Maybe he’d keep Eric for another day or two – just till he could return him to the park.

  CHAPTER 3

  On Saturday night, everyone got ready to go to the restaurant. Bertie had managed to keep Eric hidden all week, but he was worried about his pet frog. Eric hadn’t touched the Choc-o-Pops he’d saved him from breakfast. Bertie had decided there was only one thing to do.

  At seven o’clock Bertie’s family bundled into the car and set off.

  “Remember, Bertie – behave or you’re going straight home,” warned Mum.

  “You said!” groaned Bertie.

  “Use your knife and fork,” said Mum.

  “And don’t play with your food,” said Dad.

  “And if you spill anything down my dress I’ll scream,” added Suzy.

  Bertie rolled his eyes. If he’d known his family were going to make this much fuss he’d have stayed at home. Anyone would think they were having tea with the Queen! Up ahead he could see the flashing sign of Burger Madness. He already knew what he was going to order: a Mighty Mega Cheeseburger with extra fries and no salad. He could almost taste it now, a big juicy burger swimming in…Wait a minute, they’d driven straight past!Where was Mum going? The car turned right and came to a stop.

  “Here we are!” cried Mum. “Restaurant Paradiso!”

  Bertie stared. “But I thought we were going to Burger Madness!”

  Mum laughed. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “You said we could go anywhere we liked,” moaned Bertie.

  “That’s right,” said Mum. “And I chose Restaurant Paradiso. It’s new and very smart.”

  Bertie climbed out of the car and drooped to the door. He didn’t want to eat at Restaurant Paradiso. He bet they only served the kind of sloppy gunk his parents liked to eat.

  He trailed inside and looked around. A piano tinkled in the background. People sat at tables peering at their food by candlelight.

  “Oooh, isn’t it nice?” cooed Mum.

  Bertie snorted. If he’d wanted to sit in the dark he could have gone to the cinema.

  The head waiter stepped forward to greet them.

  “Good evening sir, madam. May I take your coats?”

  “Um … no thanks,” said Bertie quickly.

  He was wearing his blue jumper that he’d chosen for a special reason. It had a large front pocket – big enough to hide a frog. After all, he could hardly leave Eric at home to starve!

  The waiter showed them to their table and brought the menu. Bertie read it gloomily.

  Chicken on a Bed of Gloop

  Vegetables in Sickly Slop

  Smelly Fish Cooked in Gloopy Gunk.

  “Mmm, it all sounds delicious!” said Mum.

  “I can’t decide what to have!” said Suzy.

  “I know what I want,” said Bertie. “Cheeseburger and chips.”

  “They don’t have cheeseburgers,” sighed Dad. “Or chips. This is a smart restaurant. Take your elbows off the table and sit up.”

  Bertie scowled. At Burger Madness everything came with chips. Burger with chips, cheeseburger with chips, chips with chips. If he leaned forward he could see the restaurant’s brightly-lit windows across the road. Suddenly something tickled his leg.

  “AH HOO HA HAA!” he giggled.

  “Shh!” hissed Mum. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing,” said Bertie. “I’ve just got a … HEE HA HA!”

  “BERTIE! STOP IT!” snapped Dad.

  Bertie lifted the tablecloth to look. Help! Eric had escaped from his pocket and was exploring his leg. Bertie reached out to grab him, but the frog sprang off, landing on the floor. Uh-oh. Now what? How was he going to rescue Eric without his parents noticing?

  Mum leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Don’t look now,” she said, “but I’m sure that’s Gerald Fusspot at the next table.”

  “Who?” said Suzy.

  “You know, the famous food critic. He’s on TV.”

  Bertie looked over. At the next table was a plump man with the hairiest moustache he’d ever seen. The waiters hovered round him like flies.

  “Bertie, don’t stare. It’s rude!” hissed Mum.

  Bertie sighed. This was the last time he came to a posh restaurant. You couldn’t move without someone telling you off! But right now he had other things to worry about. He needed to capture Eric.

  Just then, the waiter arrived. Bertie
ordered the first thing on the menu – Chicken on a Bed of Gloop. While his parents were busy talking, he ducked under the tablecloth. He stared in horror. No! Where was Eric? He could be anywhere. If Mum saw him she would go bananas.

  CHAPTER 4

  Bertie scanned the restaurant. Eric couldn’t have gone far. He was probably just hiding under a chair or … ARGH! There he was – on Gerald Fusspot’s table! Fusspot was reading a book while he waited for his dessert. He hadn’t noticed Eric yet. Bertie jumped to his feet.

  “Do you ever keep still?” groaned Mum.

  “Yes … no … I um … need the toilet,” Bertie mumbled.

  “Now?” said Mum. “Your food will be here any minute.”

  “I won’t be long,” said Bertie.

  He made his way towards the toilets. As he passed Fusspot’s table, Bertie bent down pretending to tie his shoelace. Good, no one was paying him any attention. Dropping to all fours, he crawled over to the table and peeped above it. Eric blinked back at him. Slowly, Bertie’s hand slid across the table, ready to grab him.

  Just at that moment, a waiter arrived with a large bowl. “Your dessert, sir.”

  Bertie ducked out of sight. Where was Eric now? As the waiter disappeared he risked another peek. Gerald Fusspot was helping himself to a large spoonful of raspberry trifle. As he raised it to his mouth, two small beady eyes met his own.

  “YARRGH!” he yelled. “A FROG!”

  Then everything happened at once. An old lady screamed. Mum looked over and spotted Bertie. All the waiters came running. One of them tried to flatten Eric with an enormous ladle.

  THUMP! WHAM! BANG!

  Bertie shot out of his hiding place.

  “STOP!” he cried. “I’ll catch him!”

  But Eric had other ideas. He hopped around the table like a jumping bean. CRASH! Bowls, plates and a bottle of wine hit the floor. Eric made a flying leap and landed on Fusspot’s head.

  “AAARGHH!”

  “Don’t move!” cried Bertie. He picked up the pudding bowl and crept closer, ready to pounce.

  “GOT YOU!” he cried, slamming it down.

  There was an awkward silence. Mum gasped. Dad groaned. A trickle of cream was running down the famous critic’s head and dripping from his nose. Bertie lifted the bowl to peep underneath.

  “Whoops!” he said. “Anyone seen a frog?”

  Half an hour later, Bertie’s family still weren’t talking to him. The manager had ordered them to leave and never come back. Bertie couldn’t see why everyone was so upset. It was only a frog, after all. The way Gerald Fusspot went on you’d have thought he’d been savaged by a tiger!

  Still, it wasn’t all bad. He’d managed to rescue Eric. And Mum still had her review to write, so they’d had to find another restaurant. Luckily, it turned out there was one place that still had room.

  “Yes,” said the waitress. “What can I get you?”

  “A Mighty Mega Cheeseburger, please,” said Bertie. “With extra fries.”

  CHAPTER 1

  “FASTER!” bellowed Miss Boot. “I SAID RUN, BERTIE, NOT WALK!”

  Bertie groaned and broke into a trot. Teachers were always telling you off for running in the corridor. But when it was PE they shouted at you for NOT running. Why didn’t they make up their minds? He trailed across the playing field and flopped down on the grass, coming in last.

  “Some of you need to try harder,” said Miss Boot, eyeing Bertie. “Now, while you’re all getting your breath back, I have some exciting news. Next Friday is our School Sports Day.”

  “Hooray! Sports Day!” cheered the class.

  Brilliant! thought Bertie. Sports Day meant a whole day off boring lessons. Best of all it meant medals. Darren had won two last year and he’d worn them every day for a week. Bertie had never won a medal. The closest he’d come was fourth in the egg and spoon race. This year would be different, though. He was determined to get his hands on a shiny winners’ medal. It was just a matter of finding a race he could win.

  “So pay attention,” said Miss Boot. “I’m going to read through the list of races. Put up your hand if you would like to take part.”

  Everyone sat up eagerly. If you didn’t get one of the good races, you might end up in the beanbag challenge or the blindfold race (last year Eugene had walked into a tree).

  “The 60 metre sprint,” said Miss Boot. “Who’d like to take part in this one?”

  “Ooh, miss, miss!” cried the whole class, waving their hands in the air.

  Bertie kept quiet. There was no way he would ever win a sprint against Zoe Trotter. She was faster than a bionic greyhound.

  “The three-legged race?” said Miss Boot.

  Bertie frowned. With his luck he’d probably get paired with weedy Trevor or worse, Know-All Nick. Better to choose a race he could win on his own.

  Miss Boot droned on. The chariot race, the obstacle race, the backwards hopping race… By the time she’d finished, everyone was in a race – or almost everyone.

  Bertie’s hand went up.

  “What about me, miss?”

  Miss Boot groaned. “Didn’t you put up your hand like everyone else?”

  “No,” said Bertie.

  “Well, why not?”

  “Because there wasn’t a race I liked,” said Bertie.

  Miss Boot ground her teeth. Why was it always Bertie? She looked down her list – most of the races were full.

  “Will your parents be coming?” she asked.

  “I s’pect so,” said Bertie.

  “Good, then I’ll put you down for the parent-child relay,” said Miss Boot.

  “What?” cried Bertie.

  “Don’t say ‘what’!” snapped Miss Boot. “It’s a relay race, Bertie. You’ll be in a team with one of your parents.”

  Bertie gaped. Was Miss Boot mad? His parents? He’d stand more chance of winning with a stuffed gorilla.

  “But … but they’re OLD!” he protested.

  “I’m sure they’ll be fine,” said Miss Boot. “Just make sure one of them will be there.”

  Bertie slumped back on the grass. This was terrible. Parents came to Sports Day to watch, not to take part! It would be so embarrassing! And besides, how was he going to win a medal if he was stuck with his mum or dad?

  CHAPTER 2

  At supper that evening, Bertie brought up the subject with his parents.

  “It’s our school Sports Day next Friday,” he began. “You are coming, aren’t you?”

  “Of course,” said Mum. “We always come.”

  “Only Miss Boot’s picked me for the relay,” said Bertie.

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” said Mum. “What relay?”

  “The parent-child relay,” said Bertie.

  “That’ll be fun,” grinned Dad. “Who’s the parent?”

  “Well, you are,” said Bertie. “I said you’d take part.”

  A lump of mash dropped off Dad’s fork.

  “You want me to run a relay race – with you?” he said.

  “Yes,” said Bertie.

  Mum and Suzy burst out laughing.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny,” said Bertie, scowling.

  “I’m sorry,” said Mum, wiping her eyes. “It’s just the idea of your dad running a race.”

  “What’s funny about that?” said Dad. “I used to play football you know.”

  “When? At junior school?” giggled Suzy.

  “Anyway,” said Mum. “I notice you didn’t ask me, Bertie.”

  “No way,” said Bertie. “I want to win!”

  “Thanks a lot,” sniffed Mum. “Maybe you and I should enter, Suzy?”

  Bertie snorted. Now that would be funny – his mum and Suzy in a relay race! The last time he’d seen Mum run was when she found a spider in the bath.

  He turned back to Dad. “But anyway, can you come?”

  Dad grunted. “Hmm. I’m not sure.”

  “But you’ve got to! I’ve told Miss Boot!” cried Bertie. “A
nd it’s my only chance to win a medal!”

  “We’ll see,” said Dad. “Work’s very busy right now.”

  After supper Dad went out to cut the front hedge. Mum reminded Bertie that Whiffer hadn’t been out for a walk. Bertie was just closing the front gate when he was almost flattened by someone running past.

  “Oh, hello, Bertie!”

  Bertie groaned. It was Royston Rich. Royston was the biggest show-off in the class and Bertie couldn’t stand him. He was wearing a bright red tracksuit exactly like his dad’s. They both jogged on the spot.

  “Me and Dad are on a training run,” panted Royston.

  “Really?” said Bertie.

  “Yes,” said Mr Rich. “I try to run every day. You know, just four or five miles.”

  “Is that all?” said Dad, coming to join them.

  “Do you run yourself?” asked Mr Rich.

  “Not really,” said Dad. “I don’t have time.”

  “Pity, you should keep in shape,” said Mr Rich. “At your age.”

  Bertie stared. Mr Rich was smiling smugly while Dad glared back at him. They looked as if they might start a fight.

  Whiffer pulled at his lead, sniffing round Mr Rich’s legs. Bertie hoped he didn’t mistake him for a lamp post.

  “Well, must get on,” said Mr Rich. “We’ve got an important race next week.”

  “Oh? What’s that?” said Bertie.

  “The parent-child relay race,” said Royston. “Me and my dad are a team.”

  “That’s funny, so are we!” said Dad.

  “Are we?” said Bertie.

  “Splendid!” said Mr Rich, stroking his moustache. “I like a bit of competition. But I warn you now, I don’t like losing.”