by Julian Clary
“Yes?” he snapped.
“Ah, Mr. McNumpty. Fred from next door. How lovely and clean all your windows are looking! Just checking you are all right . . . my wife tells me there was a bit of a commotion this afternoon.”
“Hmph!” came the bad-tempered response.
“We were hoping—I mean, worried—that you’d kicked—I mean dropped the bucket?”
“Still here, aren’t I?”
“Good!” said Fred, determined to be jolly friendly whatever response he got from Mr. McNumpty. “Nothing to, er, worry about, then? Just an unfortunate accident?”
“You could say that,” hissed Mr. McNumpty. He opened the door wider. “Or maybe I saw something unexpected? Something that made me jump.”
“Er . . . I doubt that. Just got a bit giddy up that ladder, didn’t you?”
Mr. McNumpty’s eyes bulged and he came closer to Fred than was comfortable. “You Bolds had better watch out. Or I might tell . . .”
“Whatever can you mean?” said Fred innocently.
“You know what I mean,” came the furious reply. “Tell TAILS! Yes, TAILS. T-A-I-L-S! You’re not right, you lot. Not right at all. I SAW IT!”
“Calm down, old chap,” said Fred, holding his hands out as if to protect himself. “Whatever you think you saw, you, er, didn’t see at all. That’s all there is to it.”
“Your daughter has got a tail, and I expect the whole lot of you have. Tails! I knew there was something odd about you Bolds. TAILS!”
“Hush now,” said Fred, worried that
Mr. McNumpty’s raised voice might be overheard by others in the street. “Of course we don’t have tails—I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous or insulting in my life. What you saw was no such thing.”
“It was so!”
“No, no, no, Mr. McNumpty. It was, er, a thing, a furry thing, a toy, yes, that’s right. A . . . feather duster!”
“It was a tail that I saw. What are you? Monkeys? Werewolves? I’ve a good mind to call the ASPCA and have you all taken away.”
“Don’t do anything silly,” said Fred, trying his best to smile endearingly at his angry neighbor, but worrying that his sharp teeth might just add to the man’s suspicions. “You’re letting your imagination run away with you. Maybe you have had a bump on the head? Have you got a temperature? Let me feel your forehead . . .” He raised a paw towards Mr. McNumpty, who backed away and almost closed the door completely.
“Get away from me, you beast!”
Fred thought the best thing he could do to calm the situation was say nothing for a moment, so he stood silently and shook his head a little from side to side. “Dear oh dear,” he muttered to himself and rolled his eyes. “I admit we are a little . . . unusual,” he said reasonably. “But live and let live, eh? And it is nothing like you’re saying. My daughter has been very fond of her feather duster since she was a pup—I mean, baby. It’s like a comfort blanket to her. Never played with dolls or teddy bears, just that silly feather duster. Now, let’s have no more talk about tails, shall we?” He gave a gentle laugh.
Mr. McNumpty looked slightly less cross, as if he was now unsure about what he’d seen over the fence. “Well, maybe . . .”
“Not maybe, dear chap, definitely,” said Fred conclusively. “I’m terribly sorry if it gave you a fright and you dropped your bucket.”
“But I thought . . .” said Mr. McNumpty, looking less sure of himself.
“Well, I thought I saw a man in the moon once, but I didn’t at all, did I?” said Fred, letting out the loud chortle that had been building up inside him.
“OK,” said Mr. McNumpty doubtfully.
“Now. That’s that all sorted. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea and some ice cream?” Fred licked his lips encouragingly.
“No, I would not!” said Mr. McNumpty, sounding cross that Fred had managed to talk him out of what he was sure he’d seen. “I keep myself to myself. And be warned, Mr. Bold—I’ll be watching you lot. Watching you all very closely indeed. And if I EVER see anything again that makes me think I’m living next door to a bunch of furry critters masquerading as decent law-abiding human beings, I shall blow the whistle on the whole flea-bitten lot of you!”
And with that Mr. McNumpty slammed the door closed.
Chapter
6
Following the fright with Mr. McNumpty, the Bolds were all a little shaken up and they resolved to be more careful. Tails were kept well and truly tucked away, caps and hats were worn at all times to disguise big ears and snouts, and everyone tried not to laugh too loudly in case they annoyed Mr. McNumpty.
Luckily for them, however, Minnie was an understanding, trustworthy friend who kept her word and didn’t tell anyone their secret—but they might not be so lucky next time.
You know how it is, though—once a hyena always a hyena. Some things just can’t be helped. There was no actual harm in laughing, or indeed scavenging, which comes very naturally to hyenas. But they had to do it on the quiet, that was all, even though it was hard to remember all the time.
Things seemed to be going well until one evening when the Bolds were having their family tea—lamb chops, with chips and some acorns Mrs. Bold had found beneath an oak tree in Bushy Park. Suddenly there was a loud knock at the front door. Betty answered it, and an angry Mr. McNumpty pushed his way past her and into the kitchen.
“You disgust me!” he shouted at Mr. Bold.
“Good evening, Mr. McNumpty,” said Mr. Bold politely. “What seems to be the problem?”
“I saw you rubbing your bare bottom on a lilac bush in the garden this morning, that’s the problem!” said Mr. McNumpty, getting very red in the face.
Mr. Bold shrugged. “There’s no law against that, is there? I was simply marking my territory.”
Now I think I’d better explain something here. You’ve probably heard how dogs mark their territory by weeing over everything. It’s a pretty dirty habit, but there are dirtier habits, believe me. Hyenas like to mark their territory too—making their mark and showing who is boss by wiping their bottoms on trees and bushes. It’s not very nice, I admit, but there’s no harm in it.
Mr. Bold had worked hard at being a human—he wore clothes, cleaned his teeth, used a knife and fork and even read newspapers—but there was one hyena habit he just couldn’t give up, no matter how much Mrs. Bold told him not to. He liked rubbing his bottom on plants in the garden to mark his territory. A simple pleasure, but it was going to get him into a lot of trouble. But I digress.
“You filthy individual!” continued Mr. McNumpty. “And furthermore, your children knocked over my garbage cans.”
“No, we didn’t!” said the twins in unison.
“No, dear chap,” said Mr. Bold. “I’m sorry, but that was me too. You left a couple of chop bones in there. I could smell them as I passed your cans this morning. Waste not, want not! Delicious!”
Betty looked down at her plate and suddenly lost her appetite.
Mr. McNumpty made a strange growling noise. “Eeeuuurrrgh! You filthy, horrible, revolting lot!” he said. “You live like animals! Why don’t you go and live in Kenton Safari Park with all the other beasts? You’d be right at home there!” And with that he left, slamming the door behind him.
The Bolds sat in stunned silence for a moment. Then Mrs. Bold said, “Eat up, children. Anyone for mint sauce?”
“I’m not eating this if it came out of Mr. McNumpty’s garbage,” said Betty, wrinkling up her nose.
“All the more for me, then,” said her father briskly, taking the plate and scraping the leftovers onto his own. “Back in Africa we wouldn’t think twice about it. Everything gets eaten there. Hyenas don’t believe in waste!”
“And rubbing your bum on the plants? How could you!” said Betty incredulously.
“Don’t say ‘bum,’ Betty, say ‘bottom,’” chipped in Mrs. Bold. Bobby started to laugh.
“How could I? you ask,” continued Mr. Bold, chomping on a chop bone.
“Very easily, is how. What’s wrong with it? We do it all the time back home to leave our calling card. Then when another hyena passes by he knows whose territory it is.”
Betty looked as if she might throw up, but Bobby’s eyes had definitely lit up at the thought of rubbing his bottom on plants.
“I’ve done it too,” he admitted. “Outside the school gates. I couldn’t help myself—it just felt like the right thing to do. No one saw me, though.”
“Good boy,” said Mr. Bold, now licking the plate with his big hyena tongue. He felt very proud of his son. Rubbing his bottom on plants—Bobby was growing up!
“Thank goodness you weren’t spotted, though,” said Mrs. Bold, sounding relieved.
Mr. Bold let out an unusually loud laugh. “You see?” he said. “We are hyenas! This is what we do! We laugh, we scavenge—and we rub our bottoms on things!”
“Well, I’m not a scavenger!” said Betty indignantly.
“Yes, you are,” corrected her father. “You’re a hyena, and don’t you forget it.”
“Well, dear,” said Mrs. Bold, trying to calm things, “I think that’s enough for now. We have tried to make our children fit in and act like humans, so please don’t confuse matters by telling them it’s OK to mark their scent all over the place and rummage through garbage.”
Mr. Bold sighed and scratched his head. “You’re right, I suppose,” he said.
Mrs. Bold leaned over and gave her husband a kiss on his snout. “Are you missing the old country a bit?” she asked quietly.
“Yes, I do miss it and I wish the kids could experience it sometimes. I’m all for them using a knife and fork when we are out to blend in with the humans’ funny ways. But we don’t need to use them at home, do we? What’s the point of cutlery and plates? They should be able to be hyenas sometimes—in the privacy of our own home, surely? I’d like to see them tearing at their meat, scratching themselves and running round the garden with their tails and bottoms out in the fresh air—all the things we did when we were growing up!”
The twins looked on, concerned. They had never seen their father so upset and they had never known such a long conversation with no one laughing.
“Are you worried we’re forgetting our hyena roots?” asked Bobby.
“Yes, I guess I am,” said Mr. Bold. “I’m worried that I am too. Before we know it, you’ll be proper human beings who no longer understand animal language and have to rely on supermarkets to feed you.”
Now I know you are probably thinking: What is animal language? And what’s wrong with getting your food from supermarkets? And I’m afraid I don’t really have the answers for you. I’m not a hyena and neither, presumably, are you.
But the fact is, that as much as Mr. Bold wanted to live as a human, a part of him missed his old life. He would always be a hyena at heart—and he wanted to keep that alive. Deep down, in fact, he wanted to shout about it.
That night, Fred Bold dreamed he was home in Africa, running across the plains, catching antelope for his dinner, wagging his tail wherever he felt like it and laughing long and loud at the top of his hyena voice. He was making such a racket in his sleep that Mrs. Bold was woken up, and she had to jab him several times in the ribs with her paw.
But by the next morning Mr. Bold had formed a plan. He and Mrs. Bold were sitting on deck chairs in the back garden. Bobby, who had been very taken with the idea of marking his scent, was sniffing at a rosebush and trying to resist the temptation to take his trousers down, and Betty and Minnie were flicking through a celebrity magazine, discussing who had the best hairdo.
“I’ve been thinking,” said Mr. Bold to his wife. “I think we need to go back to Africa for a bit. Introduce the kids to their relatives, let them get back to their hyena roots; have a go at practising their animal language and maybe pick up a few new phrases.”
Mrs. Bold laughed. “Darling, I would love to see my family and introduce Betty and Bobby to my parents, but that is the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard! How do you propose we get passports for the children? And what will we do if we can’t get back to England? Airport security is very tight these days—supposing they discover our secret and lock us away in a zoo?”
Mr. Bold sighed and shook his head. “Oh dear, I hadn’t thought of that,” he said. “We can’t take that risk.”
“No, we certainly can’t,” agreed Mrs. Bold. “I love our life here in Teddington. I love this house. We love our jobs. And the pups are doing very well at school.” (This wasn’t strictly true: Bobby had gotten in trouble yet again for laughing all the way through a lesson about the Black Death, but his mother didn’t know that.)
“No, I’m sorry, dear,” she continued, “but we can’t go to Africa, and Africa can’t come to us. So we will just have to carry on as we are. It’s a good life really.”
Minnie, who had been listening to this whole conversation, looked up from her magazine. Something Mrs. Bold said had got her thinking. Animals might be cleverer than human beings, but sometimes human beings can come up with fairly good ideas themselves.
“Er, Mrs. Bold, I think I know a way of bringing Africa to you,” she said.
“Do you really, Minnie?” said an astonished Mrs. Bold. “Then let’s hear it!”
“It’s the school holidays next week, so why don’t you go on a trip to Kenton Safari Park? I’ve seen the posters and their slogan is: Bringing Africa to you.”
“That’s it! The perfect solution!” said Mr. Bold, jumping out of his deck chair and rolling on the patio, laughing. “And it isn’t too far away, either!”
“Well done, Minnie,” said Mrs. Bold. “What a clever human being you are!”
All the commotion brought Bobby scampering up the lawn. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“We’re going on an outing,” said Mr. Bold excitedly. “Next week. To the safari park!”
Chapter
7
The following Wednesday the Bolds set off on their expedition to Kenton Safari Park. There would be roller coasters and rides included in the price of the ticket, but the Bolds weren’t interested in those. It was the wild animals they wanted to see. For the senior Bolds in particular, this was going to be like a trip home to their motherland.
“We have to stay in the car, dear,” Mrs. Bold reminded her husband. “It says so in the brochure. With all the windows wound up. You can’t jump out and run rings round the lions like we did in Africa.”
“I know, I know,” said Mr. Bold a little sadly. “But just the smell of them will be wonderful. There’s nothing like the whiff of a lioness, children—pungent and powerful to us hyenas. You’ll see.”
The twins sat in the back of the car, noses twitching in anticipation, thrilled that they would soon see and smell all the different animals they had only looked at in pictures or on television before. They had never seen their parents in such a tizzy of excitement—and it was catching.
Eventually they arrived at the (to give it its full name) Kenton Wilderness Wildlife Animal Safari Experience.
There was a bit of a line at the main gate, where the park staff sold tickets and explained the rules of the visit.
(Mrs. Bold said “Pah!” when she heard that one—and Mr. Bold gave her a wink.)
(“And humans, I might add!” whispered Betty.)
(Bobby gave a loud hyena laugh when he heard that!)
Finally they were waved through.
Mrs. Bold squealed with excitement when she looked at the map they had been given. “Oh, goodness me!” she said. “They have every kind of animal here!”
The park was set on hundreds of acres of land where the animals could live and roam very much as they would have done in their natural state. The map showed the road they would drive slowly along and had drawings of each type of animal and where it would be located on the route. There were indeed lots!
Mrs. Bold read the list out, getting louder and more animated as she went: “Lions, tigers, cheetahs, birds of prey, elephants! Monkeys! Pa
rrots! Sea lions! Penguins! Camels and llamas!! Giraffes!! Zebras!! Rhinos!!! Baboons!!! and HYENAS!!!!”
Mr. Bold took out a tissue and offered it to his wife. “You’re dribbling, Amelia,” he said.
“Oh!” she replied, and wiped the drool from her chin.
“I want to see the lions first!” said Bobby, who had been very patient during the journey. Now they were finally in the park, he couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“Rhinos! Rhinos!” shouted Betty.
“Calm yourselves, children,” said Mrs. Bold. “We have to drive slowly along this road and we will see all the animals as we go. It’s not a zoo where we can go and look at them in cages.” She glanced back down at the map. “According to this, we will see the monkeys first.”
“Right. If we’re all ready?” said Mr. Bold, driving towards the final set of gates into the wilderness area. “We just have time for a quick joke.”
The children laughed, and Mrs. Bold gave Mr. Bold a playful slap on his arm.
And then they drove through the gates and past a big red sign warning them that monkeys could damage their car and the safari park would take no responsibility.
At first nothing much happened. The monkeys were nowhere to be seen.
“Is that one up that tree there?” asked Mrs. Bold.
“Maybe,” said Mr. Bold doubtfully. Then he cocked his ear and said, “Ssssh! Can you hear that?” To begin with, it was just a high-pitched sound, a bit like a seagull. But then it got louder and louder—a chattering, clattering, happy sound that seemed to echo all around them.
Mrs. Bold turned round to Bobby and Betty. Her face was filled with happiness. “That sound, children? It’s the monkeys—they are greeting us!”
A loud thud made her jump back round.
“There’s one on the roof!” laughed Mr. Bold. The noise got even louder and there were more thuds. Then a monkey—a flash of brown fur and teeth—landed on the bonnet of their car. Then another, and another. Their smiling monkey faces peered through the windows and the monkeys on the roof appeared upside down at the passenger windows. They all shrieked their welcome over and over again.
