McTavish Takes the Biscuit

by Meg Rosoff

  From then on, Betty helped McTavish by eating half the ruined cakes, half the ruined puddings, half the ruined cupcakes and half the ruined biscuits. Some tasted very nice and some tasted as bad as they looked. The ones that tasted of liver always went to McTavish.

  But as much as Betty and McTavish liked eating cake, and as much as they were willing to make sacrifices for their family, it soon became clear that this could not go on. McTavish no longer felt healthy. He and Betty could no longer run and play ball without feeling out of breath.

  As the Peacheys’ official rescue dog, McTavish felt obligated to save them from Pa Peachey’s terrible desserts. And from a future of idleness and obesity.

  Which he was willing to do, as soon as his stomach stopped hurting.

  5

  The Competition

  One fine day, Pa Peachey arrived home from work in a state of high excitement.

  “Look what I found in the newspaper!” he called as he opened the front door.

  The Peachey children ran to greet him.

  “A bake‑off competition will be held,” Betty read from the front page, “to discover the town’s best and most ambitious baker. Judging will take place on the first Sunday of the month at the town hall—”

  “By the mayor herself!” Pa Peachey interrupted. “And look here!” He pointed to the bottom of the poster. “First prize: £500, donated by the Fame and Fortune Flour Company.”

  “Wow,” said Betty. “Five hundred pounds could pay for cooking lessons for the entire family!”

  “Wow,” said Ollie. “With £500 we could buy all our cakes from the very excellent bakery in town.”

  Pa Peachey glared at him. “That will not be necessary, Oliver. Not when you have a top‑notch baker such as myself right here at home.”

  Nobody said a word.

  “Are you planning to enter the competition, Pa?” Betty asked.

  “Of course I am planning to enter the competition,” Pa said. “Not only am I planning to enter, I am planning to design and build a creation so difficult, so surprising, so impressive, that I will certainly win first prize.”

  Pa Peachey punched his fist in the air and did a little victory dance, which caused Ollie to roll his eyes and Ava to creep out of the kitchen.

  “I will need the support of my loving family in this difficult and challenging task,” Pa Peachey said, “in the form of perfect solitude and quiet. A talented chef, such as I, needs space to think and create. Without the intruding rabble of family life.”

  “Intruding?” said Betty.

  “Rabble?” said Ollie.

  Talented? thought McTavish.

  “I’m afraid you will now have to leave me in peace, for I have a great deal of thinking to do before I am able to collect my £500,” Pa Peachey said, shooing his family out of the kitchen.

  They were not reluctant to go.

  6

  Pa Peachey’s Dream

  Pa Peachey’s mind was not on his job. It was not on his family. It was not on world events. He lived only for the moments he could resume his preparations for the bake‑off.

  Betty, Ollie and Ava realised that once Pa Peachey arrived home from work each day, there would be no access to the kitchen. So they hastily grabbed food, plates and cutlery before their father appeared.

  Meanwhile, the kitchen was quiet.

  There was no smell of burning.

  There were no cries for help.

  The smoke alarm did not go off.

  It was very quiet.

  Too quiet.

  “Has Pa given up the baking competition?” Ollie asked.

  “Perhaps he is quietly waiting for inspiration,” Ma Peachey said.

  Ava said nothing. She was reading Nausea by Jean‑Paul Sartre (a famous French philosopher) but said the title had nothing to do with Pa Peachey’s baking.

  On the fourth evening of silence, Ma Peachey knocked cautiously on the kitchen door.

  “Yes?” Pa Peachey said.

  “May we come in?” Ma Peachey asked.

  “Interruptions, interruptions. Am I never to have a moment’s peace?” Pa Peachey complained.

  Ollie, Ava, Betty and McTavish crowded into the kitchen behind Ma Peachey. They all stared at Pa Peachey.

  He was hard at work on a great pile of drawings.

  Betty was puzzled. “Have you given up baking, Pa?”

  “Given up? Don’t be ridiculous,” said Pa Peachey. “I am preparing the plans for my Grand Masterpiece.”

  “Grand Masterpiece?” Betty asked, eyes wide.

  “Grand Masterpiece?” Ollie asked, mouth open.

  “What sort of Grand Masterpiece did you have in mind?” Ma Peachey asked, sounding a bit nervous.

  “Why, the Grand Masterpiece that will win the town baking competition, of course!” Pa Peachey pulled out a notebook full of sketches. The sketches looked like plans for a house. A very large and complicated house.

  “What are these drawings?” Ava asked.

  “If you must know,” Pa Peachey said, “they are drawings of the Palace of Versailles. It is the finest building in France. Two thousand three hundred rooms, formal gardens, home to King Louis XIV, the Sun King … oh, the glory!” Pa Peachey’s face shone with joy.

  The rest of the Peacheys looked puzzled.

  “And?” Ma Peachey asked. “What will you do with these sketches of the Palace of Versailles?”

  “I plan to construct the entire Palace of Versailles, detail for detail, stone for stone …” Pa Peachey paused for dramatic effect, “… in gingerbread.”

  Betty gasped, Ollie guffawed, Ava sat down hard on a chair and McTavish made a strange choking noise.

  “Gingerbread?” Ma Peachey had turned pale.

  “Why?” asked Ava.

  “It sounds quite … challenging,” Betty said.

  “It is!” Pa Peachey exclaimed.

  Ma Peachey was silent for a moment. “Excuse me, children, but I should like to talk with your father alone,” she said at last.

  Ava, Ollie, Betty and McTavish left the kitchen.

  Ten minutes later, Ma Peachey emerged.

  “Pa Peachey and I have spoken,” she said. “We have come to an agreement. Pa Peachey will pursue his dream of constructing the Palace of Versailles in gingerbread and we will turn over the kitchen to him until the day the competition is judged. This is Pa Peachey’s dream, and we must help him achieve it.”

  “Must we?” asked Ollie. “What if his dream is the dream of a madman?”

  Ma Peachey gave Ollie a warning look. “We will all encourage and help him as much as possible towards the fulfilment of his dream.”

  “Even if he’s the world’s worst baker?” Ollie asked.

  “Nothing he has ever baked has come out right,” Ava added. “Ever.”

  “The Palace of Versailles with 2,300 rooms and formal gardens may prove somewhat challenging for a man of Pa’s skills,” Betty said.

  In his bed under the stairs, McTavish dreamed that Pa Peachey had taken up a nice sensible hobby like table tennis.

  Ma Peachey looked at her children and sighed. “There is no accounting for dreams,” she said.

  7

  The Palace of Versailles

  Pa Peachey sketched and sketched. At last he emerged from the kitchen, waving a sheaf of papers.

  “I’ve done it,” he said. “I have planned every element for construction of the Palace of Versailles in gingerbread. It is a feat never before attempted in the entire history of baking.”

  “I wonder why,” Ollie said.

  Ma Peachey shot him a stern look.

  “I made a gingerbread house once,” Ava said. “It fell down.”

  “But it tasted nice,” Ollie said.

  Pa Peachey ignored them. “This is not an easy task,” he said. “But I am confident that once the necessary 3,784 separate pieces have been baked and glued together, my palace will come together in a blaze of glory.”

  “Three thousand seven hundred a
nd eighty‑four pieces?” asked Ma Peachey.

  McTavish looked worried.

  “Exactly,” Pa Peachey said. “Each small piece carefully shaped, measured, cut and baked from gingerbread, glued with sugar glue and decorated with icing. It’s going to be magnificent.”

  Nobody spoke.

  Betty had found Ma Peachey’s phone and was staring at it. “Wikipedia says that the famous hall of mirrors at Versailles contains more than 300 mirrors. And was lit by 3,000 candles.”

  “I don’t think your father is interested in mirrors and candles,” Ma Peachey said quickly. “There’s plenty to think about with all those windows and balconies …”

  “And arches and fountains and marble columns,” Ollie added, looking over Betty’s shoulder at the palace.

  “And curly gold gates,” Ava said.

  “Of course, I can’t speak for your father,” Ma Peachey said, “but I don’t believe it will be necessary to construct every single detail. Many elements could merely be suggested in a creative way.”

  Pa Peachey nodded. “Exactly,” he said. “Now I am afraid you must all leave me in peace. You may enjoy standing around goggling, but I have a great deal of gingerbread to roll out and cut and shape and bake and glue together and then decorate.”

  “And only two weeks to do it,” Ollie said, eyes wide.

  The minute Pa Peachey began to bake his 3,784 gingerbread biscuits for the Palace of Versailles, McTavish’s bowl began to fill once more with rejections.

  McTavish did not like gingerbread that was burned to charcoal. He did not like gingerbread that was tougher to chew than a bone. To be honest, he was not the world’s number‑one fan of gingerbread even when it was cooked perfectly.

  After just a few days, Betty was also thoroughly sick of gingerbread.

  McTavish stood up and waddled back to his bed, tail between his legs. He was no longer willing to rescue Pa Peachey by eating all his leftovers. All he craved was a nice meaty bone.

  I didn’t count on this sort of duty when I became a rescue dog, McTavish thought. This is downright inhumane.

  Betty was tired of eating leftover gingerbread too. It was nice when it first started, she thought, but now all she felt was sick.

  Betty followed McTavish back to his bed.

  “Poor McTavish,” she said, stroking his head. And then, “Your stomach certainly has become quite large.”

  McTavish looked at Betty. Her stomach had also become quite large.

  This diet is terrible for both of us, he thought. Betty is a girl and I am a dog. Neither of us is a rubbish bin. From now on, we will eat no more leftovers. In addition, we will embark on a strict programme of exercise.

  It was time for action.

  8

  Pa Peachey Hard at Work

  The day of the cake competition grew closer.

  The tension in the Peachey household grew too.

  Pa Peachey had taken a week off work. Now he rose early each morning and went immediately to the kitchen, where 3,784 pieces of gingerbread were arranged in teetering stacks on the table, on the worktops, on chairs, on stools, in cupboards and on every shelf.

  It made eating breakfast tricky. It made getting a glass of water or making a cup of tea tricky. It made having a sandwich or a piece of toast impossible.

  Ma Peachey called Ava, Ollie and Betty together and asked them to be patient.

  “I am not saying that Pa Peachey’s dream is a sensible one,” she said. “But nonetheless it is his dream. And there is only one more week until the contest judging. So we must all be patient for a little while longer.”

  “OK,” said Ollie. “But what if the Palace of Versailles encourages Pa to enter more contests? What if his next project is a life‑size model of the Eiffel Tower made out of marzipan? Or the Empire State Building made out of cheese?”

  “I don’t think—” began Ma Peachey.

  “It’s possible,” Ava said.

  Ma Peachey sighed. “I think we shall have to cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “Don’t mention bridges,” Ollie warned. “Pa Peachey might decide to carve the Golden Gate Bridge out of a pumpkin.”

  “Well, yes …” Ma Peachey said. “But Pa Peachey is a man of vision. He has big dreams, and it is wrong to destroy another person’s dreams.”

  “Never mind,” Ollie said. “Pa Peachey is perfectly capable of destroying his own dreams.”

  McTavish appeared with his lead in his mouth and stood in front of Betty.

  “Woof!” said McTavish. “WOOF!”

  “I think McTavish needs a walk,” Ma Peachey said.

  Betty pulled on her jacket and clipped on McTavish’s lead.

  Once out of the house, he began to run.

  McTavish was not a large dog, but he was a determined and stubborn one. When McTavish ran, you had to run with him.

  Together, he and Betty ran to the park. In the park, they ran up hills and down hills. They ran around trees and chased squirrels. McTavish found a ball which he and Betty played with until dark. After all their games and exercise, they returned home flushed and happy, feeling a little bit healthier than they had earlier in the day.

  Pa Peachey had placed a stack of rejected gingerbread in McTavish’s bowl, but both Betty and he ignored it.

  9

  Three Days to Go

  Pa Peachey was hard at work finishing the Palace of Versailles. No one was allowed into the kitchen to observe his progress, so the Peacheys set up a sandwich bar in the dining room. They had all grown sick of sandwiches and sick of washing dishes in the bath, but Pa Peachey’s dream had to be respected.

  The signs, however, did not bode well.

  The signs were:

  1. Bangs and crashes.

  2. Howls of outrage.

  3. Cries of torment and despair.

  Three days before the contest deadline, Betty gathered her courage and knocked on the kitchen door.

  “May I come in, Pa?” she asked.

  “Disaster, disaster, disaster!” cried a voice from within.

  Betty pushed the door and stuck her head into the kitchen. “Pa?”

  Pa Peachey was sitting in the kitchen with his head in his hands. Approximately two thousand pieces of the Palace of Versailles were still stacked on the table in front of him.

  A great number of pieces had already been glued together with sugar glue, but, so far, any resemblance to the actual Palace of Versailles was difficult to see.

  The walls tilted in a number of unexpected directions. The roof sagged. The balconies clung for dear life to the walls, occasionally dropping off altogether. Pa Peachey had not yet created the east and west wings of the building, nor had he cut out the windows. He had not yet begun to construct the curly gates or shape the elaborate gingerbread sculptures. What he had created so far resembled a large garage stomped on by cows rather than the most majestic building in France.

  Betty stared at the palace. She began to say, “Really it’s not so bad.” But stopped. Because, really, it was very bad indeed.

  She began to say, “I’m sure you can fix it.” But stopped. Because she felt fairly certain it was impossible to fix.

  She began to say, “Never mind, I am sure the judges won’t notice any flaws.” But stopped. Because Pa Peachey’s palace was so flawed, so totally flawed, so 100 per cent flawed that it would be impossible for anyone not to notice.

  Instead, Betty took a deep breath. “Pa,” she said, “you have three days left to finish your palace, and I feel certain that your creation will be a most interesting and unique entry. There is no doubt in my mind that the judges will be amazed.”

  Betty heard a strange snorting noise that might have been Ollie listening at the door, but she ignored it.

  Pa Peachey lifted his head from his hands. He looked up at Betty. His face was covered with flour and bits of gingerbread. Small spatters of coloured icing sugar patterned his clothing and the walls.

  “Thank you for those kind words, dear
Betty. I only fear that I may run out of time before my dream is complete,” he said. “And that it will not measure up to the glorious vision in my head.” Pa Peachey paused for a moment. “But most of all, I am afraid of disappointing my family.”

  “You can only do your best and work your hardest,” Betty said. “That is what you have always told us. You will not disappoint us whatever you do. We will love and admire you whether you win the prize or not.”

  “Thank you, Betty,” Pa Peachey said. “You are a good girl and I am proud to have you as my daughter.”

  There was a long pause.

  “But I still intend to win first prize.”

  10

  Two Days to Go

  More crashing and banging came from the kitchen.

  Betty and McTavish went to the park and did more dashing and jumping and running and leaping and playing ball.

  The most surprising thing that Betty discovered about exercising with a dog was that it did not feel like exercise; it felt like fun. The second most surprising thing she discovered was how very good McTavish was at catching a ball.

  Once, she threw the ball so high it bounced off the top of a tree. But McTavish jumped up on a park bench, leaped in the air and caught it. Another time she threw the ball so hard it flew all the way over a pond.

  There is no way on earth that McTavish will catch that ball, thought Betty. I have thrown it much too hard and much too far.

  But before she could finish her thought, she saw a flash of gold headed towards the pond. Could it be? Yes! It was McTavish, running so fast that his legs were a blur. McTavish came to the edge of the pond, leaped into the water without a second’s pause and began to swim.

  McTavish swam even faster than he ran, scattering ducks in all directions. In no time at all, he had crossed the pond, scrambled out the other side, glanced up into the air – and caught the ball.