Ouch!
Page 1
For Daniel Barrie ~ D R
For Liz and Stephen – Our Friends in the
North ~ A M
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
1 Ouch!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
2 Bottom!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
3 Brainiac!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
Copyright
CHAPTER 1
“Go on,” said Darren. “I dare you. Before he comes back.”
Bertie looked at the hammer. It belonged to Mr Grouch, the demon caretaker. Bertie and Darren were helping him with the scenery for the school play. So far they had done nothing but stand around listening to the caretaker grumble. But Mr Grouch wasn’t around right now. He’d gone off to fetch more nails, leaving his hammer lying on the stage.
“Why don’t you do it?” asked Bertie.
“I dared you first,” said Darren.
“I dare you back,” said Bertie.
“I double dare you no returns,” said Darren.
Bertie looked around. He never refused a dare, not even the time Darren dared him to lock Mr Weakly in the store cupboard. And this was just one little tap with a hammer. What harm could it do? A nail was sticking up practically begging to be hit. Bertie picked up the hammer and took a swing.
“Watch what you’re doing!” cried Darren, ducking out of the way.
“Well, stand back then,” said Bertie. “I need room.”
He glanced round, checking that no one was about. All clear.
DINK! He tapped the nail on the head.
Darren rolled his eyes. “Not like that! Give it a proper whack.”
Bertie held the nail between his finger and thumb. He swung the hammer back and brought it down.
THUNK!
“YOWWWWW!” he wailed, dropping the hammer. “What did you do?” said Darren.
“I HIT MY THUMB! ARGH!
OWW!” Bertie hopped around like a frog on a dance floor.
“SHHH!” hissed Darren. “Someone will hear you!”
Bertie was in too much pain to care. “OWW! OWW! OWW!” he howled.
Footsteps came thudding down the corridor. Mr Grouch burst into the hall, followed by Miss Boot.
“WHAT IS GOING ON?” yelled Miss Boot.
“Nothing, Miss,” said Darren.
“ARGH! OHHHH!” cried Bertie, doubled over in pain.
Mr Grouch spotted the hammer on the floor.
“Have you been playing with this?” he growled, picking it up.
Darren shook his head. “No,” he said. “I haven’t!”
Miss Boot turned on Bertie. “Did you touch this hammer?”
“I was only trying to help!” moaned Bertie.
“I knew it!” cried Mr Grouch. “I turn my back for two seconds and this is what happens. That boy is a menace. He should be expelled!”
“Yes, thank you, Mr Grouch,” said Miss Boot. “I will deal with this.”
“OWW! OWW!” wailed Bertie. “I think it’s broken!”
“Don’t make such a fuss!” snapped Miss Boot. “Let me see.”
Bertie let go of his thumb and held it out for inspection. Yikes! It had turned purple and swollen up like a balloon! “I don’t feel very well,” he said, going pale.
Miss Boot took charge. “Darren, take him to Miss Skinner’s office,” she ordered. “And Bertie, don’t think you’ve heard the last of this, I shall be speaking to your parents.”
Bertie sat outside Miss Skinner’s office nursing his injured thumb. It was wrapped in a wet paper towel. He couldn’t believe the way everyone was remaining so calm. Why hadn’t they called an ambulance? For all they knew he could be dying!
The door flew open and his mum hurried in.
“Bertie, are you all right?” she cried.
Bertie shook his head weakly and held up his hand.
“I think it’s broken!” he moaned.
“Your hand?”
“My thumb.”
“Well, what happened?”
“It wasn’t my fault,” said Bertie. “I was trying to help. The hammer slipped.”
“Hammer!” shrieked Mum. “What on earth were you doing with a hammer?”
“Hammering,” replied Bertie.
“Well next time, don’t. Hammers are dangerous,” said Mum. “Let me see.”
Bertie gingerly unwrapped the soggy paper towel. His thumb was still swollen.
Mum stared. “Is that it?” she said. “I thought it was serious!”
“It hurts!” said Bertie. “It’s probably broken!”
“So you keep saying,” sighed Mum. “Well, we’d better get it checked out. Let’s get you to hospital.”
CHAPTER 2
Later that afternoon, Bertie sat in the hospital waiting room. It was packed with people. Bertie stared at a small girl with her foot in plaster. Beside her was a man in a neck collar and a boy with a saucepan jammed on his head. You got all kinds of people in hospitals. Bertie checked his thumb again to see if it had got any bigger. It hadn’t.
He looked at the clock. They had been waiting for hours and he hadn’t eaten since lunch. His stomach gurgled. If they waited much longer he might pass out with hunger. Tempting smells drifted across from the snack bar.
“Mum, can I get some crisps?” asked Bertie.
“No,” said Mum. “I thought you were in agony.”
“I AM,” said Bertie. “But crisps might take my mind off it.”
Mum gave him a weary look. “You’re not having crisps now,” she said.
Bertie sighed. “How about a doughnut, then?”
“NO, BERTIE!” snapped Mum. “Just sit quietly and wait for the doctor.”
Bertie slumped in his seat. Talking about food only made him hungrier. Maybe he could just investigate what the snack bar had to offer? He got up.
“Where are you going?” asked Mum, lowering her magazine.
“Nowhere! Just to have a look,” pleaded Bertie.
“Well, stay where I can keep an eye on you,” said Mum.
There was a queue of people at the counter. Bertie hung around for a while, hoping someone might take pity on a starving boy. No one did. On a nearby table he noticed a bowl containing small packets of mayonnaise, tomato ketchup and mustard. Bertie slipped a couple of them into his pocket as emergency supplies for later. He looked up and found a boy with his arm in a sling watching him.
“What happened to you?” asked Bertie.
The boy shrugged. “Hit a lamp post.”
“With your arm?” said Bertie.
“No, on my bike,” said the boy.
“I hit my thumb with a hammer,” said Bertie, proudly. He unwound the paper towel to show off his swollen thumb.
The boy shrugged. “Huh! That’s nothing,” he scoffed. “I’m always in hospital. This is the second time I broke my arm. Broke my collar bone too.”
“Wow!” said Bertie, impressed. The only thing he’d ever broken was the upstairs toilet.
The boy lowered his voice. “They don’t let you stay unless it’s serious,” he said.
“Stay where?” said Bertie.
“On the children’s ward.” The boy gave him a pitying look. “Haven’t you ever been in hospital?”
Bertie shook his head.
“You don’t know what you’re missing!” said the boy. “You don’t have to do nothing – just lie in bed all day, watching TV. No going to school – nothing.”
Bertie gawped at the boy. Staying in hospital sounded like paradise! Much better than listening to Miss Boot droni
ng on for hours. Maybe the hospital would keep him in for a few days, or even a week? He noticed his mum beckoning him to sit down.
“Better go,” he said.
The boy nodded. “Okay. Maybe catch you on the children’s ward later?”
“I’ll be there,” said Bertie.
He went back to his seat.
“Who was that?” asked Mum.
“Don’t know,” replied Bertie. “We just got talking. Mum, how long do you think I’ll have to stay in hospital?”
Mum laughed. “Bertie, you’ve only bruised your thumb!”
“It might be broken,” Bertie reminded her.
Mum shook her head. “If it was, you’d be in agony.”
“I am in agony!” said Bertie. “I’m just not making a fuss!”
“You fooled me,” said Mum. “In any case, they’ll probably just give you a plaster and send you home.”
Bertie stared. Send him home with a plaster? They couldn’t do that! What about missing school?
CHAPTER 3
“BERTIE BURNS?” called a loud voice. Bertie looked up. A red-haired nurse with a clipboard was looking round the waiting room. Her badge said “Nurse Nettles”.
“Over here!” said Mum, standing up.
“Follow me, would you please?” said the nurse.
Bertie and Mum followed her down the corridor and into a cubicle with a bed, a table and a couple of plastic chairs. The nurse drew the curtain across and looked briskly at Bertie.
“Well, young man, what have you been up to?” she said.
“Nothing,” frowned Bertie. “I hurt my thumb.”
“He hit it with a hammer,” explained Mum.
“Not on purpose,” said Bertie. The way everyone talked you’d think he had.
Nurse Nettles wrote something on a form. “Let’s have a look at it then, shall we?” she said.
Bertie winced as Nurse Nettles unwound the paper towel. The thumb was still purple, though not quite as swollen as Bertie remembered.
“Mmm, yes, I see,” said Nurse Nettles. “Try and move it for me.”
Bertie waggled his thumb gingerly.
“OUCH!” he yelled.
“Now bend it back.”
Bertie bent it back.
“ARGHH!”
“Well?” asked Mum. “Is it serious?”
Nurse Nettles smiled. “I don’t think so. Badly bruised, that’s all.”
“BRUISED?” cried Bertie. “Not broken?”
“Not broken,” said Nurse Nettles. “But we’ll get Dr Dose to examine you.”
This was more like it.
“Does that mean I have to stay in hospital?” asked Bertie.
Nurse Nettles laughed. “No, don’t worry, you’ll be going home in no time.”
She went off to find the doctor.
Bertie slumped back on the bed. Bruised? Was that all? It was so unfair! After all the pain he’d been through! Had Nurse Nettles actually looked at his thumb properly? It was purple! Did they really expect him to go to school with a purple thumb? What he needed was a proper rest – rest and unlimited television.
“You see?” said Mum. “I told you it was nothing to worry about.”
Bertie scowled. If only his thumb was hanging off, spurting fountains of blood everywhere. If only it had gone bad and was dripping with yellow pus. Wait a moment… Bertie felt in his pocket. He still had the little packets he’d got from the snack bar. Mustard was yellow. All he needed was a minute to himself, before the doctor came.
He jumped to his feet. “I need the toilet!” he said.
“What? Now?” said Mum. “Can’t you wait?”
“No!” said Bertie. “Won’t be a minute.”
He dashed off.
CHAPTER 4
By the time Bertie got back, Dr Dose had arrived and was talking to his mum and Nurse Nettles.
“Right then,” said Dr Dose, rubbing his hands. “Let’s have a look at this thumb, shall we?”
Bertie nodded weakly and held it up for him to see.
“Good heavens!” said Nurse Nettles.
Bertie’s thumb had turned a funny colour. Globs of yellow oozed and dripped on to the floor.
“What happened?” cried Mum.
“I don’t know!” groaned Bertie. “I think it’s infected!”
Dr Dose pushed his glasses up his nose. “It does look odd. Let me see.”
He peered closely at the thumb. “Cotton wool, please, nurse,” he said.
He dabbed at the messy thumb and sniffed the cotton wool.
“Ah,” he said. “Just as I thought. Mustarditis.”
Nurse Nettles giggled.
Bertie looked up at them. “Is that bad?”
“Very bad,” said Doctor Dose.
“Mustarditis?” repeated Mum.
Dr Dose gave her a wink. “Perhaps you could wait outside while I talk to Bertie.”
“Yes, I think someone should,” said Mum.
Bertie sat on the bed. His brilliant trick had fooled everyone. Children’s ward, here I come! he thought. A whole week off school!
“Will I have to stay in hospital?” he asked, feebly.
“For a while,” said Dr Dose. “After the operation.”
Bertie gasped. Operation? No one had said anything about an operation!
“W-what?” he mumbled.
“Well, your thumb’s turned yellow,” said Dr Dose. “Very bad, mustarditis. The only thing is to operate right away. Wouldn’t you agree, Nurse Nettles?”
Nurse Nettles nodded, trying not to laugh.
Bertie stared at them. All he wanted was a few days off school – not this! He imagined the operating theatre. There would be an injection – with a long needle. Doctors in masks. What if they decided his thumb couldn’t be saved? What if they chopped it off? He needed his thumb to beat Darren at Mega Monster Racing!
Dr Dose put something on. It was a green mask.
“Right,” he said brightly. “Shall we get started?”
“NOOO!” cried Bertie, leaping off the bed.
He rushed through the curtains, hurrying past his mum, who was waiting outside.
“HELP! SAVE ME!” he gasped. “Don’t let them get me!”
“I thought your thumb was agony,” said Mum.
“No!” said Bertie. “Look, it’s better!” He licked his thumb. “It was only mustard.”
Dr Dose and Nurse Nettles peered through the curtains. They were laughing and wiping their eyes. Bertie gaped. The truth dawned on him. There was no operation – it was all a joke.
“So,” said Mum. “Mustard, eh?”
“Um, yes,” said Bertie. “I must have somehow got a bit on my thumb.”
“Really? I wonder how that could have happened,” said Mum dryly.
“Never mind,” said Nurse Nettles brightly. “Let’s find you a plaster, shall we?”
Bertie went back to sit on the bed. A plaster – after all he’d been through! He’d told Darren his thumb was broken and by now the story would be all round school. No one was going to be very impressed if he came back wearing a stupid little plaster.
Nurse Nettles looked in a drawer. She held out a plaster the size of a postage stamp. Bertie looked at her.
“Actually,” he said, “you don’t have something a bit bigger, do you?”
CHAPTER 1
“LAST ONE CHANGED IS A STINKER!” shouted Darren.
Bertie banged into the cubicle and dumped his bag on the seat. It was Friday – swimming day. He stripped off his clothes, dropping them in a messy heap. Then he picked up his bag and emptied it out. Goggles, towel, shower gel…Wait a minute, where were his swimming trunks? His heart missed a beat. He picked up his towel and shook it out. Nothing! He searched the bottom of his bag. Empty! Surely he hadn’t … he couldn’t have left his swimming trunks at home? Miss Boot would go up the wall!
He wrapped a towel round his waist and climbed on to the seat.
“Psssst! Eugene!” he hissed, peering into the next
cubicle.
“What?” Eugene blinked at him through his goggles.
“I forgot my trunks!” said Bertie.
“You’re joking!” said Eugene.
Darren’s head popped up from the next cubicle along. “What’s going on?”
“Bertie’s forgotten his trunks,” explained Eugene.
“You haven’t!”
“I HAVE!” groaned Bertie. “You’ve got to help! Miss Boot will kill me!”
His friends nodded grimly. A few weeks ago Trevor had forgotten his towel. Miss Boot had made him do twenty laps of the changing room to dry off.
“What am I going to do?” moaned Bertie.
Darren shrugged. “You’ll just have to wear your pants.”
Bertie gave him a look. “I can’t swim in my pants!” he said. His pants had holes in them and, besides, they looked like … well, like pants. He turned to Eugene.
“Didn’t you bring a spare pair?”
“Why would I do that?” asked Eugene.
“So I can borrow them, of course!”
Eugene shook his head.
“Darren, what about you?” pleaded Bertie.
“Sorry, can’t help,” said Darren.
Bertie gave a heavy sigh. He was sunk.
There was a loud bang on the changing-room door.
“ONE MINUTE! GET A MOVE ON!” bellowed Miss Boot.
“Sorry, Bertie, we better go,” said Eugene. “You know how mad she gets if you’re late.”
“Yeah,” said Darren. “Good luck!”
The two of them hurried out, leaving Bertie alone. He slumped on the seat in despair. Suddenly, an ugly face appeared in the gap under the door. It was Know-All Nick, the last person on earth he wanted to see.
“Oh dear, Bertie, forgotten your swimming trunks?” he jeered. “Wait till Miss Boot finds out!” He disappeared, sniggering to himself.