Crackers!
Page 3
At last, the hands ticked round to seven.
“Time to get up!” yelled Bertie, bursting in on his parents again. “Can I open my presents now?”
Dad groaned. Mum sat up in bed.
“All right. Is Great-Aunt Morag awake?”
Bertie had forgotten all about his crabby aunt. He went to listen at her door and heard a rumbling snore coming from inside.
“She’s asleep,” he said.
“Well, we can’t open presents without her. It would be rude,” said Mum.
“WHAT?” wailed Bertie. “But it’s Christmas Day! Can’t we wake her up?”
“NO, BERTIE!”
Suzy came in wearing her dressing gown. “Are we opening our presents?”
“No,” said Bertie, dejectedly. “We’ve got to wait for Mean Aunt Morag.”
Bertie paced up and down the kitchen, while his family ate breakfast. Eight o’clock went by. Nine. Half past nine. At this rate Christmas Day would be over.
“Can’t we wake her up now?” begged Bertie.
“Maybe if someone took her up a cup of tea?” suggested Dad.
“I’ll do it!” cried Bertie.
Luckily, there was still some lukewarm tea left in the teapot. Bertie sploshed some milk into a mug. He added a little tea and a few heaped spoonfuls of sugar. Then he dashed upstairs with it.
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP! He banged on the bedroom door.
“Who’s that?” grunted his great-aunt.
“It’s Bertie. I’ve brought you a cup of tea.”
“Very well. Bring it in.”
“Happy Christmas!” sang Bertie, handing her the cup.
Great-Aunt Morag was in her nightdress and hairnet. She looked like an ancient mummy.
“Humph. Is it hot?” she demanded. “I don’t like it too hot.”
“Why don’t you drink it downstairs?” suggested Bertie hopefully. “We’re waiting to open our presents.”
“Children today get far too many presents,” grumbled Great-Aunt Morag.
She took a gulp of tea and almost choked. “BLEEUGHH! It’s stone cold!”
“Is it?” asked Bertie. “Sorry, it must’ve got cold while we were waiting for you.”
CHAPTER 4
Bertie waited. Great-Aunt Morag got washed and dressed, ate her breakfast and went back upstairs to clean her teeth. Finally, Bertie was allowed to open his presents. He got a Beetle Bug board game from Uncle Ed, £20 from Aunt June and a pocket torch from Mean Aunt Morag.
“It doesn’t work!” he said.
“It needs batteries,” said Great-Aunt Morag. “You’ll have to save up.”
Luckily, his gran had bought him something that did work. A Kings of Spin Stunt Car. Bertie couldn’t wait to play with it.
BLEEP, BLEEP, BLEEP! WOO, WOO! CRUNCH!
It zoomed into the lounge and slammed into the TV stand, doing a somersault.
Mean Aunt Morag sucked in her breath. “I can feel my headache coming back,” she moaned.
“Bertie,” sighed Mum. “Turn it off.”
“But I’ve only just started playing with it,” said Bertie.
“Can’t you find something less noisy?”
“What about my Lazer Dazer Space Gun?”
“No, not in here.”
“Can I watch TV then?”
Great-Aunt Morag tutted. “Children today watch far too much television.”
“Maybe later,” said Mum. “Why don’t you sit quietly and read for a while?”
Bertie slumped on the sofa. What sort of Christmas was it if you couldn’t even play with your toys or watch TV? He wished his mean old misery-guts aunt would go home. If she wanted peace and quiet why didn’t she go and sit in a library? Or better still a graveyard; she might feel at home there.
TICK, TICK, TICK. The minutes dragged by in silence. Great-Aunt Morag’s pen scratched at her crossword.
“Is it lunchtime yet?” asked Dad, hopefully.
“Not for an hour,” replied Mum.
“I know,” said Suzy. “We haven’t had Bertie’s presents yet… Or did you forget to buy any this year?”
“’Course I didn’t,” said Bertie, brightening up. “I was saving mine for lunchtime.” He rushed upstairs to get them.
At one o’clock Mum called everyone to the table. Bertie had laid it himself and next to each place was one of his home-made crackers.
“Ah, what could this be?” asked Dad, picking up a sticky lump.
“It’s a cracker,” said Bertie. “I made them myself. They’ve got presents and hats and everything.”
“What a lovely idea, Bertie!” said Mum, delightedly. “They must have taken you ages.”
Mean Aunt Morag wrinkled her nose. “I hope they’re not going to be noisy,” she grumbled.
“No,” said Bertie. “I couldn’t find any bangs to put in them. But it’s OK, I can shout when we pull them.”
Everyone took hold of one end of a cracker and got ready to pull.
“One, two, three… BANG!” shouted Bertie.
The crackers came apart and Bertie’s presents shot out over the table.
“Oh, good heavens!” said Mum. A set of Dracula dentures floated in her glass.
“Eugh, gross!” said Suzy, staring at the plastic dog poo on her plate.
“Bertie!” groaned Dad, holding up a severed finger, dripping with blood.
“Brilliant, aren’t they?” said Bertie. “What did you get, Great-Aunt Morag?”
Great-Aunt Morag mumbled something. She seemed to have her mouth full.
Bertie remembered. “Oh yes, you got the sweets. You didn’t actually … eat them, did you?”
Great-Aunt Morag’s jaw stopped working. Her face turned white, then pink, then green. Her eyes bulged, her lips twitched. White froth bubbled at the corners of her mouth.
“ARGHHH! OOOH! URRRGGGH!” she cried, clutching at her throat and rushing from the room.
“You’re not leaving already?” asked Mum. “What about Christmas dinner?”
Great-Aunt Morag carried her bag to the door. “If you think I’m staying to be insulted you are mistaken!” she fumed. “I am going home and I will not be coming back. Ever!”
WHAM! The door slammed shut.
Everyone turned to look at Bertie.
“Out of interest,” said Dad, “what was in those sweets?”
Bertie gulped. “I think it might’ve said on the packet they were, um, soap sweets.”
He got ready to run.
“Oh dear!” said Mum, smiling. “Poor Great-Aunt Morag! That was very bad of you, Bertie.”
“Very bad,” chuckled Dad. “Now then, who votes we eat Christmas dinner in front of the telly?”
Bertie whooped. It was going to be a cracking Christmas after all.
Copyright
STRIPES PUBLISHING
An imprint of Little Tiger Press
1 The Coda Centre, 189 Munster Road,
London SW6 6AW
Characters created by David Roberts
Text copyright © Alan MacDonald, 2008
Illustrations copyright © David Roberts, 2008
First published as an ebook by Stripes Publishing in 2012.
eISBN: 978–1–84715–399–9
The right of Alan MacDonald and David Roberts to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work respectively has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any forms, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available
from the British Library.
www.stripespublishing.co.uk
Crackers!