The Bolds in Trouble

by Julian Clary

  What did one elevator say to the other elevator?

  I think I’m coming down with something!

  Knock knock!

  Who’s there?

  Wooden shoe.

  Wooden shoe who?

  Wooden shoe like to hear another joke?

  Everyone was so busy telling jokes and laughing at them, no one noticed the smart, shiny Rolls Royce that purred silently to a halt a few metres away. The tinted rear window opened a few centimetres and an elegant gloved hand emerged and pointed at one of Mrs Bold’s hats. The chauffeur then got out of the driver’s seat, slipped through the crowd, purchased two mud bonnets from Mrs Bold and drove away.

  When Mr Bold returned from work later that evening looking tired and drawn, he was thrilled with the jokes the twins and Minnie had collected for him.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ he said, shaking his head in wonderment. ‘These are great. And worth quite a lot! What wonderful pups you are.’

  Minnie giggled.

  The twins and Minnie – who was staying for tea – felt very proud of themselves. They’d had a fun day and helped Mr Bold at the same time. Both Mr and Mrs Bold looked much happier that evening.

  ‘We’ll do the jokes stall again next week, if Mum says it’s OK,’ said Bobby.

  ‘Yes of course, dear,’ said Mrs Bold, who was making a spaghetti bolognese. ‘I’m all for it. And it attracted lots of new customers for my hats. I sold all three mud bonnets today and made more money than usual, which will come in very useful,’ she said, glancing at her husband. ‘And it’s given me an idea to make some new hats out of unusual material. How about muesli glued together with chocolate sauce? Edible hats could become all the rage.’

  Mr Bold said, ‘Lovely. And think of all the seagulls and pigeons that will attract. Swooping down to peck at the ladies’ heads!’

  The thought of this made everyone laugh so much they had to have some lemonade to calm themselves down.

  After tea the twins and Minnie went out to play in the garden while Mr and Mrs Bold cleared the table and then laid it again for Uncle Tony, Miranda and the students. Mr Bold tried out the new jokes and everyone laughed appreciatively. Then there was more washing-up to do until finally two bowls of spaghetti bolognese were placed on the floor for Mossy and Sylvie. Mossy wouldn’t dream of eating from a table and wouldn’t allow Sylvie to either. ‘We’re foxes, remember?’

  It was hard to forget it, these days. A pungent, foxy aroma emanated from the earth den in the bedroom and filled the whole house. You could barely open the door for the mound of earth. There was a small round entrance concealed behind a rose bush that Mossy had demanded be uprooted from the front garden. And because Mossy was eating so much and getting hardly any exercise, this entrance had been widened several times in the last few days.

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Mossy, sniffing at his dinner suspiciously that evening. Mr and Mrs Bold could tell from the weary expression on Sylvie’s face that Mossy was in a particularly bad mood.

  ‘It’s spaghetti bolognese,’ said Mr Bold.

  ‘Delicious!’ added Mrs Bold hopefully.

  Mossy took another sniff and wrinkled his nose. ‘Well I’m not eating it,’ he said. ‘Smells disgusting. Foreign muck. Make me something else.’

  ‘That’s all there is,’ said Mrs Bold. Mossy glared at her.

  In an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, Mr Bold asked:

  Did you hear about the Italian chef who was very ill?

  He pasta way!

  But not even Mrs Bold laughed at the joke.

  Mossy’s response was to swipe the bowl angrily with his paw, overturning it and spilling his unwanted dinner across the floor. Mrs Bold jumped and Sylvie darted under the table for cover.

  ‘ALL THERE IS, did you say?’ growled Mossy, his eyes flashing with anger as he moved towards Mrs Bold. Mr Bold jumped in front of his wife protectively.

  ‘Now then, Mossy. No need to overreact. I’m just going to the supermarket, as it happens. What can I get you? A nice big steak?’

  Mossy sat down and licked his paw.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ he said calmly. Then he gave a big yellow-fanged yawn. ‘I’ll have two T-bone steaks. Triple-fried crinkle-cut chips with sautéed carrots. Then a vanilla cheesecake. And a box of chocolates to finish.’

  ‘Of course!’ said Mr Bold. ‘Now why don’t you go upstairs for a little nap in your cosy den and I’ll call when it’s ready for you?’

  Mr Bold’s obsequious manner seemed to please Mossy and a slight smile hovered on his lips. ‘Clean this mess up, vixen,’ he said to Sylvie, then sashayed out of the kitchen and back upstairs.

  Being aware that any unnecessary delay might anger the hungry fox, Mr Bold gave his worried- looking wife a hug and grabbed the car keys. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ he said. ‘Stay out of his way.’

  ‘I’ll look after Amelia,’ said Sylvie, emerging from under the table. ‘You go. Hurry.’

  As soon as Mr Bold had gone, Sylvie and Amelia cleaned up the spaghetti bolognese with some kitchen towel.

  ‘Sorry about the mess and the waste,’ said Sylvie.

  ‘It’s not your fault, dear,’ said Mrs Bold. But she knew the situation couldn’t continue like this for much longer. Mossy was ruling the roost, and there had to be a way to fight back. They just hadn’t thought of it yet.

  Mr Bold whizzed around the supermarket, grabbing two juicy steaks, carrots, chips, cheesecake and a top-of-the-range box of chocolates, and was back in the Honda in record time. He amused himself while driving home by telling himself jokes.

  How do fleas travel from place to place?

  By itch-hiking!

  What has four wheels and flies?

  A garbage truck!

  He was half a mile from home when disaster struck. The Honda began to cough and splutter.

  ‘Oh dear,’ he said to the car. ‘Please don’t break down now, little car. I dread to think what Mossy will do if he doesn’t get his dinner!’

  But it was no good – after a final shudder, the Honda’s engine cut out and Mr Bold just had time to steer it into a side street before it stopped altogether.

  Back at Fairfield Road, Sylvie and Mrs Bold were discussing the future.

  ‘I do feel bad about overstaying our welcome,’ said Sylvie. ‘Mossy is being very unreasonable. I’ve tried to speak to him about it but he just won’t listen.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ said Amelia. ‘I know that. Everyone is welcome in our house for as long as they want to stay. It’s just the cost of all the food Mossy requires and the way he treats us that is so unacceptable.’

  ‘I heard what he said to you,’ said Sylvie, pacing up and down and looking concerned. ‘He’s blackmailing you, isn’t he? Threatening to tell people who you really are. I’m so sorry.’

  Mrs Bold nodded and a tear rolled down her cheek. ‘Mr Bold says it will work itself out one day. We just have to be patient. He is not the sort to let anything get him down for long. Maybe he’s right. Certainly the twins’ joke stall today was a great help bringing in extra money to pay for all the, er, extras. So we’ll cope, I guess. And you, Sylvie, are more than welcome here. I like having you around. And I couldn’t have made those mud bonnets without you.’

  ‘Thank you. But grateful as I am for your hospitality, I’m really missing the park,’ said Sylvie. ‘The fresh air and the other foxes. Mossy must be too, underneath all the bluff and bluster. He doesn’t really want to live in a human house. I will keep trying to persuade him and I’m sure he’ll decide we ought to go back soon.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Mrs Bold. ‘You have a right to be happy. We all do.’

  Mr Bold had by now found a local garage that was willing to help with the broken-down Honda, and a man in overalls was looking inside the bonnet. After a few minutes and a lot of tapping and some sort of wrenching with a spanner, the mechanic wiped his hands with an oily rag and gave his verdict.

  ‘Well, mate. It’s your pi
stons. Welded against your cylinder walls, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Mr Bold. ‘Naughty pistons, eh? Will it take long to fix? Only I’ve got a hungry fox – I mean hungry fella at home waiting for his dinner, you see.’

  ‘I’ll have to tow it back to the garage, I’m afraid,’ said the mechanic. ‘Should be ready later this week though. I’ll drop you home, if it’s not too far. Where do you live?’

  ‘How kind of you,’ said Mr Bold. ‘I’ll tell you some jokes on the way! I live at 41 Fairfield Road. Just by Bushy Park. Do you know it?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ answered the mechanic somewhat wistfully. ‘I know the park very well.’

  Mr Bold was true to his word and the whole way back home he told endless jokes, which the mechanic thought were very funny. Jokes like:

  What made the dinosaur’s car stop?

  A flat Tyre-annosaurus!

  When is a car like a frog?

  When it’s being toad!

  What snakes are found on cars?

  Windshield vipers!

  ‘We’re here now,’ said the mechanic. ‘I’ll drop the car off in the week.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ said Mr Bold, shaking his hand and getting out of the car with his shopping. ‘My name is Fred Bold.’

  ‘Thanks for the jokes, mate. Brightened my day up no end, you have!’ said the mechanic. ‘My name is Bert.’

  And Mr Bold went indoors and cooked Mossy his two steaks, chips and sautéed carrots.

  But that night Mr Bold tossed and turned in his bed. Unable to sleep, he went downstairs for a glass of water. Mrs Bold, realising her husband wasn’t next to her, came downstairs too and found him staring out of the kitchen window.

  ‘Couldn’t you sleep, dear?’ she said, putting her paw on his back.

  ‘Oh, Amelia, this just can’t go on,’ said Mr Bold. ‘Even my children are working on Saturdays to feed this greedy animal. He’s threatened you, he’s cruel to Sylvie and he’s blackmailing us and threatening all our safety and happiness. He’s a bully. And we’re allowing him to bully us. I would never have let this happen in Africa. I would have stood up to a predator. But I’m so desperate to protect our way of life, I’m letting him beat me.’

  ‘I agree. But what else can we do?’ said Amelia. ‘You’re doing this to protect us. I’m quite sure if you fought it out with him you could win, my darling. But a fox and hyena fighting would alert the neighbours and our secret would definitely be discovered. And if we throw Mossy out and demand he leaves then I’m pretty sure he’ll reveal our secret without a moment’s hesitation. I think all we can do is carry on as we are and hope that eventually he misses his wild ways so much he decides to move on.’

  ‘We’ve thought that for too long,’ said Mr Bold. ‘We’re putting up with his behaviour, hoping something will change. It’s what Sylvie’s done for a long time but it hasn’t worked for her and it isn’t working for us. We’re frightened of what he will do and we are living in fear in our own home. Well no more.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Mrs Bold. ‘Please be careful. I’d rather live like this than have my family imprisoned in a zoo or a cage.’

  ‘But don’t you see? We’re already imprisoned – in our own home. And it’s time we broke free.’

  ‘How can we stop a bully being a bully?’

  Mr Bold scratched his head for a moment.

  ‘Well you can’t. But you can make it difficult for them. After all, there’s only one of him. Together with us Bolds, there is Minnie, Walter, the students, Uncle Tony, Mr McNumpty and Miranda. That’s twelve!’

  ‘And Sylvie makes thirteen!’ corrected Mrs Bold.

  ‘Strength in numbers! That’s the answer!’ exclaimed Fred, beaming at his wife. ‘Right. I need a pen and paper. And some cardboard and felt-tip pens... I’m going to be busy... Tomorrow things are going to be different!’

  The next morning when the twins came down to the kitchen for breakfast there was a surprise waiting for them. Hanging from all the kitchen cupboards, on the walls and even from the ceiling were brightly coloured posters. Mr and Mrs Bold stood huddled by the back door looking pleased with themselves, gently quivering with amusement.

  It took the twins a few minutes to read the MANY posters and notices their parents had made.

  ‘Bully-Free Zone!’ said the biggest sign, above the kitchen window. As they scanned the room they read them all out loud.

  ‘Wow,’ said Bobby. ‘This is amazing!’

  ‘We’ve been rather busy,’ said Mr Bold proudly. ‘But hopefully it will give Mossy something to think about when he comes down for breakfast.’

  ‘Er,’ interrupted Betty. ‘There’s only one problem.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Mrs Bold.

  ‘Mossy can’t read,’ said Betty.

  There was an awkward silence.

  ‘He can’t?’ said Mr Bold.

  ‘No, Dad,’ said Betty, shaking her head sadly.

  ‘Ah,’ said Mr Bold. ‘And Sylvie? Might she read them out to him?’

  ‘No. Neither of them can read,’ said Bobby. ‘They’re wild foxes, remember. They’ve never needed to learn to read.’

  Mr Bold blew out his cheeks with frustration. ‘So, I’ve rather wasted my time then,’ he said.

  ‘Not really,’ said Mrs Bold brightly. ‘The twins enjoyed your posters, and I’m sure Mr McNumpty and everyone else will too. Just, er, not Mossy.’

  ‘Yes, but Mossy is the bully in this house. That was the whole point. To try and educate him,’ said Mr Bold despondently. And he began to pull down the posters and signs. Mrs Bold and the twins helped him and then they all had breakfast together.

  Suddenly Mrs Bold cried out: ‘I’ve got it!’

  ‘Got what?’ asked Mr Bold, somewhat alarmed.

  ‘I’ve got the answer,’ said Mrs Bold excitedly, throwing her toast down on the plate.

  ‘Remember that meeting we had at the Binghams’? When everyone was talking about how to get rid of foxes? Well someone said foxes hate lion poo, remember?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ replied Fred. ‘But how does that help? We don’t know any lions.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Amelia, raising her paw. ‘But we know a lion’s cousin. A cougar. Remember?’

  ‘Oh yes, Bertha, our cougar friend who runs the tea rooms down in Cornwall.’

  ‘Precisely. Well maybe whatever it is about lion poo that foxes can’t stand must surely apply to cougar poo as well. I’m sure Bertha wouldn’t mind helping us.’

  So Mrs Bold dialled a number and waited a moment.

  ‘Ah, Bertha! It’s Amelia Bold. I trust you’re keeping well? I wonder if you might be able to help us out. A rather delicate matter... I’m after your poo.’

  And so, the next day a package arrived for Mrs Bold, labelled ‘Handle With Care’. Inside was a Tupperware container, and inside the container was a generous donation of Bertha’s number twos.

  Dear Amelia,

  Hope this does the trick and you’re soon shot of that pesky fox! Love to all, your friend,

  Bertha.

  ‘Bless her!’ said Mrs Bold.

  ‘That’s what friends are for!’ commented Mr Bold.

  ‘So how is it going to work?’ asked Betty.

  ‘We’ll wait until Mossy is asleep in his den, then just chuck the poo in, I suppose. And we’ll leave the front door open. With any luck Mossy will shoot out the den in horror, down the stairs and out. Gone for ever!’

  ‘And good riddance!’ muttered Uncle Tony.

  ‘But what about Sylvie?’ asked Bobby.

  ‘Sylvie no like poo poo,’ pointed out Miranda. ‘Sylvie run away too. Big shame!’

  ‘Well,’ said Mrs Bold, ‘after breakfast I’ll ask Sylvie to help me with some new hats. Mossy will have gone back to bed as he always does. We’ll wait ten minutes, then we strike.’

  ‘Excellent plan of action,’ said Mr McNumpty, who had been listening intently. ‘Top notch. Thought of everything.’

>   ‘Right,’ said Mr Bold. ‘Tomorrow is the day!’

  In the morning everyone had breakfast as usual – the Bolds first, then Uncle Tony, Mr McNumpty and Miranda, then the students. They all tried to act as normally as possible, but there was an air of excitement, as everyone hoped they would soon be rid of the troublesome Mossy.

  Finally Mossy and Sylvie arrived. As usual Sylvie ate hardly anything but Mossy was particularly hungry.

  ‘Get me some chorizo tacos and a potato hash and three fried eggs. Then I’ll have cheddar cheese frittatas, cherry tomatoes and thick sliced ham and some all-butter sugar buns.’

  ‘Certainly, Mossy,’ said Mr Bold obligingly. ‘Won’t be two ticks!’

  After he’d eaten his way through the mountain of food and demanded more buns and a full-fat yoghurt, Mossy belched loudly and yawned.

  ‘Going to go and sleep it off now?’ asked Mrs Bold brightly.

  ‘Yup,’ said Mossy. ‘C’mon, Sylv.’

  ‘Ah, Sylvie, would you mind helping me for half an hour? I’m making some new hats out of rice pudding and wondered if you’d mind doing some stirring for me?’

  ‘Certainly, Amelia,’ said the vixen. ‘Happy to help.’

  ‘Laterz,’ muttered Mossy, giving his tummy a rub, then he left the kitchen without so much as a thank you, and went back to his den.

  ‘Listen, Sylvie,’ whispered Mrs Bold. ‘We’re going to try something that will free us, and you, of Mossy.’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’ asked the startled vixen.

  ‘Mossy has to go. He’s making everyone unhappy and he’s a bully. But I want you to know that you’re welcome to stay with us, if you want to.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘There’s no time to explain now, but you do understand why we’re doing this, don’t you?’