by Julian Clary
‘I-I think so,’ said Sylvie.
‘I’m going up!’ said Mr Bold, wearing some bright orange rubber gloves and holding the Tupperware box at the ready. Then he added: ‘Knock, knock!’
‘Who’s there?’ asked Mrs Bold.
Europe!
Europe who?
Well, that’s not very nice!
Mr and Mrs Bold had a nervous laugh at his joke, then Fred pulled himself together. ‘Right. You two, stay in here. Wish me luck!’
After opening the front door wide, Mr Bold crept up the stairs. He paused on the landing and listened to the loud snoring coming from inside the fox den, then opened the Tupperware box. He sniffed at the contents then wrinkled his snout. ‘Disgusting!’ he thought to himself, then silently counted ‘One, two, three... !’ and threw the contents deep into the den in the direction of the snoring fox, and pressed himself against the wall, ready to watch Mossy’s swift exit.
The snoring stopped but nothing happened.
After a tense moment of waiting, Mr Bold looked into the den.
‘Strange, I thought he’d be out by now,’ he muttered, then peered in a little closer. Suddenly a large lump of cougar dung hit him splat on the nose.
‘Ugh!’ cried Mr Bold. ‘That wasn’t supposed to happen.’
‘Trying to scare me away with THAT?’ said Mossy’s voice. ‘You stupid hyena.’ And another lump of cougar poo hit Fred, who quickly retreated to the kitchen.
‘It didn’t work, then?’ concluded Mrs Bold, as she wiped her husband’s hairy face with a dishcloth.
‘Not at all,’ said Fred. ‘Mossy is still up there, settling back down for his nap. I just got covered in the stuff for my trouble.’
‘What was it?’ asked Sylvie, her nose twitching.
‘Cougar poo. I thought foxes hated the smell and that Mossy would run in terror from our house and we’d be free.’
Sylvie shook her head. ‘Lion poo, yes. Terrifies us. Cougar poo, no. Doesn’t bother us in the slightest.’
‘Ah!’ said Mrs Bold. Then she began to laugh. ‘It is quite funny though. My Fred covered in poo!’
So of course Fred laughed too. Eventually even Sylvie couldn’t resist. And after a good laugh, they all felt much better. But the problem of Mossy remained and the Bolds were out of ideas.
The next morning was bright and sunny and there was nothing to indicate that it was going to be a day of great upset and tragedy.
After breakfast Minnie came to visit the twins with her little dog, Walter, and the four of them went to play in the garden.
Mr and Mrs Bold were in the lounge giving the students a lesson on hind-leg walking and general deportment. All three had now mastered dressing up in human clothes and talking – more or less.
Craig liked to disguise his ears under a bowler hat and was rather keen on saying ‘How dooo yooo dooo?’ to everybody.
Walking and manners were proving to be a bit more of a challenge. But, as Mr Bold pointed out, if Uncle Tony had managed to do it, then anyone could. The Bolds thought it would probably soon be time to let them out into the real world and see how they got on.
Mr McNumpty and Uncle Tony were playing dominoes on the kitchen table.
Mossy and Sylvie had retired to their den after breakfast, and as usual weren’t expected to be seen again until lunchtime.
Miranda the marmoset monkey was dozing on the windowsill in the bathroom and it was she who spotted the newly repaired Honda pulling up outside 41 Fairfield Road. She had heard about the breakdown, so when she saw the man in his overalls coming up the garden path she scampered downstairs to alert Mr Bold.
‘Man come! Honda better!’ she squeaked, just as the doorbell rang.
‘Ah, thank you, Miranda,’ said Mr Bold. Turning to the students, he said, ‘I suggest you all practise walking about some more. Try not to waddle too much, Snappy. It makes you look like a goose, which of course you are, but the idea is to disguise the fact. And Craig – less snorting. Miss Paulina, you’re doing very well, but young ladies don’t usually twitch their whiskers quite as much as you do.’
‘Why don’t you invite the mechanic in?’ suggested Mrs Bold. ‘He sounds very nice and it will be a good test for the students. A brief encounter with someone from the outside world.’
‘What? Bring him into the lounge?’ asked Fred.
‘Yes, why not? Everyone ready to meet a proper human?’ she asked the class. There was an excited giggle and much nodding from Miss Paulina.
‘Yup!’ quacked Snappy.
‘If it is your wish,’ said Miss Paulina.
‘Bring it on!’ said Craig.
‘Jolly good,’ said Mr Bold, uncertainly. ‘Back in a tick!’
‘I’m not sure they’re ready,’ said a worried Mr Bold to his wife once they were out of earshot. ‘But I guess there’s only one way to find out...’
The doorbell rang again.
‘Hurry up!’ said Mrs Bold.
‘Coming!’ called Fred, and seconds later he opened the door to the mechanic.
‘Ah, Bert!’ said Mr Bold cheerily. ‘Do come in.’
‘Car all fixed up for you, mate,’ said Bert, stepping into the hallway. ‘Here’s your bill. I’ve taken ten per cent off for all the laughs you gave me.’ He glanced up the stairs and seemed to be sniffing the air for some reason.
‘That is so kind of you,’ replied Mr Bold. ‘Which reminds me...’
What did the duck say after he went shopping?
Put it on my bill!
‘Ha ha ha!’ laughed Bert appreciatively.
Why can’t you borrow money from a leprechaun?
Because they’re always a little short!
Bert laughed loudly again. Very loudly. ‘Oh, you’re a tonic, Mr Bold, you really are.’
‘Would you like a cup of tea while you’re here?’ asked Fred. ‘Come and wait in the lounge while I put the kettle on.’ Mr Bold led the mechanic into the lounge and introduced him to Mrs Bold. ‘My lovely wife. And we have some visitors,’ he indicated the three students sitting primly in a row on the sofa. ‘This is Craig, Miss Paulina and Snappy.’
‘Pleased to meet you all,’ said Bert, shaking their paws – or in Snappy’s case, webbed foot – which he’d disguised in gloves.
‘How do you like your tea?’ asked Mr Bold. ‘One leg or four? I mean lump. Two lumps, not four. Silly me. One lump or two?’
‘No sugar, thank you,’ said Bert, smiling broadly and taking a seat by the window. Mr Bold went to make the tea and Mrs Bold nodded at the students, encouraging them to practise their conversational skills.
‘Nice day for a swim. I mean walk,’ said Snappy.
‘Er, yes, I suppose so,’ said Bert.
‘It’s otter than you think,’ said Miss Paulina, who immediately realised her mistake. ‘Hotter, even. Forgive me. Why on earth did I mention an otter?!’
Mrs Bold winced. This was not going well.
‘Mmmm. Quite warm out,’ said Bert.
‘You fix cars for a living?’ asked Craig. ‘Interesting? Or boar-ing?’
Bert began to giggle. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But, you see... Oh my... it’s just that...’ But his giggles got the better of him and in a few seconds he was quite helpless, throwing his head back and roaring and bellowing with laughter.
In the kitchen Mr Bold was stirring the tea in the pot when he heard the happy sound of laughter from the lounge.
‘They’re getting on well, then,’ observed Mr McNumpty, looking up from his dominoes.
‘Sounds like it!’ said Uncle Tony.
‘He’s a very nice chap,’ said Mr Bold. ‘Liked all my jokes and enjoys a good laugh.’
‘Clearly!’ said Mr McNumpty. Now they could hear everyone joining in the laughter, which seemed to be getting more and more raucous.
‘Whatever the joke, it sounds like a cracker!’ said Mr Bold. ‘I think I’d better go and write it down.’
Just then Sylvie appeared in the kitchen, wide-eyed and alar
med.
‘Mr Bold?’ she said urgently. ‘Who is that laughing in the lounge?’
‘Sorry if we disturbed you,’ said Mr Bold. ‘I’ll go and ask them to keep the noise down.’
‘No, it’s not that.’ Sylvie shook her head. ‘I recognise that laugh...’
‘Oh, I doubt it, Sylvie. You don’t know him. It’s just Bert who fixed the car for me.’
This news seemed to make Sylvie feel faint, and she sat down on the kitchen floor. ‘Bert? Car mechanic?’ she whispered. ‘Then it is. It’s him. It’s Mossy’s brother, Bert.’
Mr McNumpty’s jaw dropped open with surprise.
‘You mean... Bert is a fox?’
‘I knew there was something about him,’ said Mr Bold. ‘I just couldn’t quite put my paw on it. And I was so concerned about getting back to cook for Mossy, I didn’t really give it much thought.’
‘Well, well, well!’ Uncle Tony shook his head. ‘He’s done all right for himself, then.’
‘Please,’ interrupted Sylvie, still rather dizzy with shock. ‘I must speak to him. Would you ask him to meet me in the garden for a private word?’ and she staggered out of the back door.
Forgetting all about the promised tea, Mr Bold hurried back to the lounge. The sight that greeted him was not one of civilised strangers making small talk. Far from it. Everyone was on all fours on the lounge carpet, sniffing bums, rubbing snouts and beaks, and behaving very much like animals.
‘Oh!’ said Mr Bold.
‘Bert is a fox!’ said Miss Paulina.
‘He saw through our disguises almost at once,’ laughed Craig.
‘He gets a bit tired of being a polite human all the time,’ said Mrs Bold. ‘He couldn’t wait to get down on all fours again!’
‘Oh, Mr Bold!’ laughed Bert. ‘I knew this was a house full of animals the moment I stepped through your front door.’ Bert tapped the side of his nose. ‘Animal sense of smell, you see! And there was one animal I could smell above all the others. Fox!’ He looked intently at Mr Bold. ‘And am I right in thinking a certain vixen in particular...’
‘Sylvie is waiting for you in the garden,’ said Mr Bold. He could tell from the excitement in Bert’s eyes that this was to be a reunion he had longed for. ‘Come this way.’ Despite all his time living as a human and working as a car mechanic, Bert had immediately reverted to his natural fox-like behaviour and although he was still wearing his overalls, he trotted on four feet out of the lounge and raced sleekly down the hall, through the kitchen and out of the door into the garden.
Outside, the twins and Minnie were playing catch. They were so engrossed they hadn’t noticed when Sylvie slipped out of the back door and sat expectantly under a large, flowering pink peony.
The leaves of the plant trembled slightly, conveying the nervousness of the vixen concealed beneath.
But when Bert stood on the back doorstep, panting slightly, Bobby noticed him at once and wondered why there was a fox dressed in overalls in their house. It couldn’t be Mossy. He was too thin.
The fox’s snout twitched and he immediately turned to face the peonies. Suddenly Sylvie emerged and the two foxes came face to face on the garden lawn.
‘It can’t be!’ said Sylvie.
‘It is!’ answered Bert.
‘I thought I’d never see you again,’ said Sylvie. ‘That you were off living your new life.’ The vixen had tears of joy in her eyes. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m... I’m fine... I’ve missed you.’
The two foxes stood inches apart, their wet noses twitching with excitement and glistening in the evening sunshine.
‘I didn’t expect... What are you doing here?’ asked Bert.
‘The Bolds took us in after Mossy was caught in a trap. We were only supposed to stay for a little while but Mossy likes being waited on by Mr and Mrs Bold.’
‘Mossy!’ gasped Bert. ‘My brother! Is he here? Can I see him?’
Sylvie glanced behind Bert and looked suddenly worried. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s changed, Bert. He’s been so angry since you left. He won’t—’ she stopped suddenly. ‘He’s just come out. Behind you.’
Bert tore his eyes away from Sylvie and turned round. There, on the kitchen step, was Mossy.
‘Mossy!’ cried Bert, bounding up to his brother, tail wagging beneath his overalls. ‘It’s me! Bert! Hardly recognised you. Gosh, you’ve put on a few kilos since I last saw you, bro!’
But Mossy’s tail didn’t wag in response. It stood upright, quivering with uncertainty and the hackles along the ridge of his back rose up.
‘You,’ he growled quietly. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I work in the garage in Hampton Wick. Came to deliver Mr Bold’s car,’ said Bert cheerfully. ‘It’s all a wonderful coincidence. Fate!’
Mossy’s lip curled, revealing his teeth. ‘Get out of here. Go back to where you came from.’
‘What? Aren’t you pleased to see me?’ asked Bert, bewildered by his brother’s unfriendliness.
‘Mossy, be kind! Please!’ pleaded Sylvie.
But Mossy jumped off the step and stood between Sylvie and Bert. ‘I’ll not be kind to a traitor,’ he said.
‘I’m not a traitor!’ objected Bert. ‘I’m your brother!’
‘You’re no brother of mine. You left us, remember? Think you’re someone now, do you? Too good to be a fox?’ Mossy was getting angrier with every word. ‘How dare you waltz in here and start flirting with my Sylvie. You always thought you were better than me. Well, I’ll show you!’ Suddenly Mossy threw himself at Bert, grabbing hold of his overalls with his teeth, pulling him to the ground.
The twins and Minnie stopped their game and ran inside to get help.
‘Mossy! Stop!’ shouted Sylvie, but the two foxes were rolling around on the lawn and over the flowerbed in a flurry of fangs, fur and torn fabric. There was nothing Sylvie could do to stop Mossy’s aggression, he was out of control, it seemed. As if to illustrate the fact, Mossy howled and screeched like the wild fox he was. Bert tried to defend himself but Mossy was snarling with rage, biting and snapping viciously. Bert was on his back now, and Mossy stood over him, wild-eyed and triumphant.
‘Gotcha!’ he hissed, then drew back his lips and lunged at Bert, sinking his sharp teeth into Bert’s shoulder. Bert gave a screech of bitter pain and slithered out from under Mossy’s paws. Hunched and howling, he squeezed himself through a gap in the fence and limped off as fast as his injuries would allow.
Mossy sat panting on the lawn, covered in mud. He turned to glare at Sylvie for a moment.
‘Don’t even think about going after him,’ he commanded. ‘Stay where you are! I’ll go.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘And I’ll finish what I started.’ Mossy headed towards the gap Bert had escaped from, but suddenly Mr McNumpty was there, blocking his way.
‘Enough!’ said Mr McNumpty. ‘Stop this awful fighting at once! He’s your brother.’
But Mossy’s eyes were still full of fury. ‘Get out of my way, you old fool,’ he spat. ‘Or I’ll bite you too.’
‘I won’t warn you again!’ said Nigel. ‘This is a happy, civilised household. You can’t and won’t spoil that for us. You have treated my good friends badly for too long. Not to mention Sylvie. I won’t stand by and watch it any more and I will certainly not tolerate fighting.’
‘Let me through the fence, or else!’ barked Mossy. ‘I’m a wild fox and I fight and bite, so there. I hate you and the Bolds and everyone in this house of fake humans.’ Mossy was staring at Mr McNumpty’s leg, obviously about to bite.
Mr McNumpty knew there was only one thing he could do in the circumstances. He raised himself up to his full grizzly bear height, puffed out his chest and raised his front paws. His jaws opened wider than ever before and a deafening, terrifying roar shook the ground and seemed to go on for ever. Mossy shrank backwards, tail between his legs, eyes squinting with sudden fear. When he was a few metres away from the suddenly terrifying Mr McNumpty, he turned
and ran, bounding down the side of the house and away.
The whole, awful altercation had lasted less than a minute, and when Mr McNumpty’s roar finally finished there was suddenly silence.
Peering out the back door to check it was safe, Mr and Mrs Bold came into the garden with the frightened twins and Minnie behind them. Walter was not only hidden inside her fleece, but buried deep inside the sleeve, quivering.
‘It’s all right, he’s gone,’ said Mr McNumpty, tucking his shirt back into his trousers and straightening his tie. ‘Sorry about that. But it was necessary in the circumstances.’
‘This is all so awful,’ said Sylvie. ‘Bert ran that way, and Mossy went after him. Mossy is in such a state, who knows what he might do. I never thought he could stoop that low. What if he comes back for me?’
‘I doubt Mossy will show his face here again,’ said Mr McNumpty. ‘Not after all the trouble he’s caused.’
‘And not after you roared at him,’ pointed out Uncle Tony.
‘I hope not,’ said Sylvie quietly. ‘He’s gone too far this time.’
‘We wanted him to leave, but not like this,’ said Mrs Bold.
‘And poor Bert is injured. He might need help!’ cried Sylvie. ‘What will happen if Mossy finds him?’
‘Fred, you had better jump in the Honda and go looking for both of them,’ suggested Mrs Bold.
‘Yes, good idea. Sylvie, you come with me. You’ll be able to spot likely hiding places for a fox. And Mr McNumpty too, if you wouldn’t mind. In case we need a bit of grizzly bear muscle again. There’s no knowing what we’ll find. Amelia, you stay here with everyone else. We may be some time.’
So for the next few hours the Honda slowly cruised the streets of Teddington with Mr Bold at the wheel and Mr McNumpty and Sylvie glued to the windows looking intently for any trace of Bert or Mossy, or any likely hiding place. The atmosphere was tense so Mr Bold thought it might be a good time to tell a few jokes.
