by Julian Clary
Then one day, something terrible happened. Mr. McNumpty was on his way home from his usual weekly shop at the supermarket (six apples, three bananas, a chicken pie, two tins of sardines, a huge jar of honey, a loaf of bread, lamb chops, a nice bit of fish, some vegetables, a jumbo pack of toilet rolls, a bottle of dry sherry, and a bar of chocolate) when disaster struck. His sturdy shopping bag, which had served him well for many years (indeed, proclaimed itself to be “a bag for life!”) suddenly gave way along its seams and fell apart.
Mr. McNumpty’s precious purchases fell to the ground. Apples rolled into the gutter, tins under parked cars, bread, vegetables, chocolate, chops—everything sprawled across the pavement. Mr. McNumpty stood helplessly rooted to the spot, unsure what to rescue first.
A gang of six or seven surly, bored youths with unnecessarily short haircuts who had been sitting on a wall smoking spotted him. They jeered at his distress, and then leaped off the wall and sauntered towards him, kicking his shopping items around as they laughed callously, delighted to have something to amuse themselves with.
“Clear off!” said Mr. McNumpty. “That’s my shopping. I’ll give you boys a good kicking if I catch you!”
But the Teddington Massive, as the youths were called, took no notice and, hoarse with laughter, took great delight in viciously squashing Mr. McNumpty’s vegetables and stamping on his loaf of bread. They opened his sherry and began swigging it, passing it from one to another as they dodged the now-furious Mr. McNumpty who, red in the face and wheezing noisily, ran in circles trying to grab the agile youngsters.
“Help! Police!” cried Mr. McNumpty, running around aimlessly, still clutching his broken shopping bag. Finally he caught one boy who had paused to guzzle the sherry and gave him a hefty kick on the shin.
“Give that bottle back!” Mr. McNumpty demanded breathlessly.
“Oh yeah?” said the pimply boy, limping backwards. He tossed the half-empty bottle to one of his friends, then lunged forward and pushed Mr. McNumpty to the ground. The atmosphere suddenly became very charged and serious. The youth’s face was twisted with hatred, and danger hung in the air like mist.
“What now, old man?” the young thug spat.
Just then, as it so happened, Tony, who was having his daily outing with Miranda in the carriage, turned the corner of Fairfield Road and was confronted with the chaotic scene. Food was scattered all over the pavement and the angry mob was closing in on Mr. McNumpty, who was now frozen in fear.
Animals have an instinctive reaction to evil, and without pausing to think of the consequences, Tony abandoned the carriage and with a hyena’s blood-curdling war cry and an energy he hadn’t displayed for many years, bounded on all fours towards the boys threatening Mr. McNumpty. “You brutes!” he roared (in animal language).
The gang scattered in terror, but Tony was too quick for them. His eyes glinting menacingly, drool hanging from his snarling jaws, he snapped at the sprinting ringleader, and sank his teeth into the boy’s quivering rump.
There was a rip of cheap denim, the pimply youth howled in pain and fear and ran for his life, squawking like a parrot. Tony then turned his attention to the other boys, who scattered in all directions like sparks from a firework.
Drama over, Tony sat panting on the pavement for a few seconds. Then, noticing Mr. McNumpty staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and gratitude, he attempted to assume a more human-like demeanor. He cleared his throat, brushed himself down, then shuffled awkwardly back to the carriage and hoisted himself up again onto his back legs.
Miranda, meanwhile, had collected what was left of Mr. McNumpty’s shopping and piled it into the now-empty carriage.
“No worry, Mr. McGrumpy,” she said, in her squeaky voice. “We save your shopping!”
Mr. McNumpty stood in silence. He was in shock—so much had happened in the last two minutes he didn’t know what he thought any more. One minute he had been walking home with his shopping, then a loathsome gang had attacked him, and now the people he had thought he hated had suddenly become his heroes.
But who or what was the old man? Could he really be . . . ? Much to his surprise, Mr. McNumpty’s eyes filled with tears and he began to sob.
“I, I . . .” he tried to speak.
“Them nasty boys,” interrupted Miranda as she climbed back into the carriage, perching on top of his battered shopping. “We get you home now. Nice cup of tea.”
Chapter
14
Betty and Bobby could not believe their eyes when they looked out the front-room window and saw Miranda and Tony slowly walking a shaken Mr. McNumpty to his front door and then go inside with him. They looked at each other in shock.
“Did you just see what I saw?” asked Betty.
Bobby nodded. “I think so. Should we do something?”
“I don’t know. Shall I call Mum in from the garden?”
“Probably.” And the two of them rolled off the sofa, laughing.
Next door, Mr. McNumpty was in no fit state to be left alone. He slumped down on a chair while Tony put the kettle on and Miranda nimbly leaped from the carriage to the counter and back again, each time carrying an item of shopping.
“Thank you,” the old man mumbled as Tony handed him a cup of tea. Tony nodded and patted Mr. McNumpty gently on the shoulder.
“He no speak English,” explained Miranda. “He learn slow. Understand but no speak yet. Me speak for him.”
“I see,” said Mr. McNumpty weakly, taking a nice slurp of warm tea. “What country is he from?”
“Oh, er,” said Miranda, “some place far, far away.”
“He saved my life . . . I’ve been such a nasty, miserable fool . . . How can I ever thank him?”
“No need!” chirruped Miranda brightly. “Boys bad, Tony bite them good!” And she gave a flute-like hoot of laughter, and this set Tony off on a loud hyena cackle.
Mr. McNumpty’s eyes widened in surprise. But the laughter was infectious, and before he knew it he was laughing himself. He hadn’t laughed for years, and the feeling of it cheered him up instantly. “Those boys will think twice about stealing anybody’s shopping in future!” he chuckled. “And that big one will have a good set of teeth marks on his backside. Sitting down is going to be a painful business for that young ruffian!”
They were all laughing loudly together now, and Tony’s teeth were on full display.
“Blimey, you’ve got some teeth on you, Tony,” said Mr. McNumpty admiringly. “I have to take mine out at night.”
After the laughing stopped and the tea was finished, Miranda and Tony thought they should leave, but Mr. McNumpty seemed in no hurry to be on his own, so Miranda settled down in her carriage for a nap.
The two old boys sat thoughtfully at the table for a moment. Much to his surprise, Mr. McNumpty was enjoying the company of someone his own age. He’d never been one for a chat or a gossip, so the fact that Tony didn’t speak didn’t bother him in the slightest.
“Like a game of dominoes?” he asked.
Tony shrugged. “Romroes?” he tried to say.
“Dom-in-oes,” said Mr. McNumpty slowly. “Don’t suppose you know what dominoes is?”
Tony shook his head.
“Let me teach you, then. I’ve got a set somewhere . . .”
An hour later, when Miranda woke up from her snooze, the two new friends were hunched over the domino game, completely engrossed.
“Grapes, please, Mr. McNump?” yawned Miranda.
“No grapes, I’m afraid. Will an apple do?” asked Mr. McNumpty. He got one of the rescued apples from the counter and handed it to Miranda, who proceeded to nibble at it daintily. “And please,” he said, blushing a little, “call me Nigel.” He turned back to Tony and the dominoes. “My turn?”
Tony nodded.
A while later, the game was over and Tony and Miranda got ready to leave.
“Shall we play another game tomorrow?” asked Mr. McNumpty.
Tony nodded enthusiastically.<
br />
As they opened the front door, they found Mrs. Bold standing nervously on the doorstep with Betty and Bobby peeking out from behind her skirt. She had come rushing in from the garden when the twins called her and had been wondering ever since whether to go round to Mr. McNumpty’s or not. Finally her curiosity and concern had gotten the better of her.
“Is everything all right?” she asked, but suddenly couldn’t help giggling as she saw Mr. McNumpty put his hand affectionately on Tony’s shoulder.
“Everything is fine. Absolutely fine. Miranda and Tony have been most kind, and we’ve just finished a delightful game of dominoes. Same time tomorrow, Tony?”
Tony nodded, and Betty and Bobby just couldn’t help it—they broke out into the longest and loudest hyena laugh ever. Dominoes with Mr. McNumpty? Whatever next?
And so it was that Tony and Mr. McNumpty (or Nigel, as we are now allowed to call him) became firm, if unlikely, friends. A game of dominoes after Tony’s afternoon walk became a daily tradition—and they even progressed to ice creams together at the ice-cream parlor, if you can imagine that.
It did Tony the world of good to have a friend, and he seemed much happier and more settled. And patiently, every day, Mr. McNumpty attempted to teach Tony a few more English words. Tony puckered his lips and bravely attempted to speak, but somehow his tongue seemed to get in the way and the words came out back to front.
“Never mind, at least you are trying,” comforted Mr. McNumpty. “We’ll get there one day.”
Nigel’s animosity towards his neighbors was replaced with smiles and—whenever he met Mrs. Bold—a gallant bow and a cheery “Hello!” He even put a Christmas card through their letterbox in early December, signed:
“Goodness, what a turnaround!” said Mr. Bold, placing the card on the mantelpiece.
“There was a nice man inside trying to get out all along,” said Mrs. Bold. “It just took Tony to find him and winkle him out.”
“Do you think we should invite him to Christmas dinner?” suggested Mr. Bold. “It seems a shame for him to be alone next door while we are all tucking into our turkey.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Bold. “We’ve already got Minnie coming, as her parents are going to spend the day making soup for homeless people.”
“Very kind of them,” said Mr. Bold.
“Although it does mean we’ll actually have to cook the turkey this year,” pointed out Mrs. Bold, “which I doubt will be as tasty.”
“It’ll make a nice change,” said Mr. Bold. “And the two old fellows can have a nice game of dominoes after dinner.”
“Perfect!” agreed Mrs. Bold, and she sighed contentedly.
Chapter
15
It had been several months since Tony’s rescue from the safari park and now he and Miranda were well and truly a part of the Bold family.
One day Miranda, just like the twins, would make her own way in the world, but for now they were all happier than they had ever been.
The snow that year fell thick and fast all Christmas Eve, and the Bolds awoke to see a magical wonderland outside.
Father Christmas had not left their presents wrapped up under the tree as was usual, but instead had buried them in the garden, so before breakfast all the Bolds went outside in their pyjamas for a glorious dig. (Nigel McNumpty saw this from his window, of course, but he didn’t mind what the Bolds did any more. In fact, he quite fancied having a dig himself . . .)
After much frantic excavation, all the presents were found. Tony had a pair of nice warm mittens, Miranda had a skipping rope, the twins had roller skates, and Mr. and Mrs. Bold shared a big glossy book about Africa, which included lots of photographs of places and animals they loved.
Christmas was Mr. Bold’s favorite time of year. The Christmas tree glittered with fairy lights, the house was decked out with garlands and holly and baubles, and the table was laid properly with napkins, candles and, of course, Christmas crackers. Because the best part of Christmas, in Mr. Bold’s opinion, was that he could tell Christmas cracker jokes all day long.
Then a little later, Minnie and Nigel McNumpty arrived and they all sat round the kitchen table tucking into their lunch.
“Very tasty,” said Nigel, rubbing his tummy. “Haven’t had such a slap-up lunch in years!”
“Mum made you a cake once, but you slammed the door in her face,” said Bobby.
“Now then,” cautioned Mrs. Bold, “that’s all in the past.”
“No, you’re right,” said Nigel. “I behaved terribly, I know. I must say sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” said Mr. Bold, passing the box of chocolates to their guest. “Fancy another?”
Nigel popped a chocolate in his mouth.
“Mind you,” said Mr. Bold, “I thought you were going to punch me in the nose over that incident with the bucket!”
“When was that?” asked Betty.
“You know,” said Minnie helpfully. “Mr. McNumpty was up the ladder and dropped his bucket. It was the day I saw your tail and found out you were all hyenas.” Then, realizing what she had said, she stopped and covered her mouth with her hand, but it was too late.
There was a terrible silence, and Minnie mouthed the word “Sorry” to Betty. No one knew what to say, and for once not a single hyena felt like laughing. They all stared at Nigel, and eventually he spoke.
“I know,” he said simply. “Deep down I’ve always known. You are hyenas.”
Mrs. Bold’s mouth dropped open and everyone looked at Nigel in horrified surprise.
“But . . . you . . . how?” Mr. Bold tried his best to form a sentence.
“I met the original Fred and Amelia before they went on their honeymoon,” Nigel explained. “I didn’t actually speak to them. Didn’t speak to anyone in those days. But then when they, or rather you, came back, I knew something wasn’t right. Took me a while to work it out. Hyenas, eh?” He looked around the table. “Apart from you, Minnie, and Miranda.”
“Monkey, monkey!” said Miranda.
“Yes. I figured as much.”
“So why didn’t you tell on us?” asked Bobby.
“You won’t tell, will you?” asked Betty fearfully.
Nigel shook his head and looked at Betty kindly. “No, I shan’t be telling anyone.”
“But, I don’t understand . . .” muttered Mrs. Bold. “I know you like us now. Since Tony saved you from that gang and you made friends—” she looked affectionately at Tony, who was following the conversation with rapt attention— “but before? Why didn’t you tell anyone before?”
“You used to hate us!” said Bobby helpfully.
Nigel smiled. “I know, I know. But you see, we all have our secrets. And I was terrified you’d discover mine. That is why I was so nasty. I wanted to make sure you stayed away.”
“Oh dear,” said Mr. Bold. “This is all such a lot to take in. Can I tell another joke?”
“Not now, dear,” said Mrs. Bold.
“So what’s your secret, then?” asked Bobby.
“Well, I’ve never told anyone,” said Nigel, wiping his forehead with his large hand.
“You know our secret,” Bobby said encouragingly. “We’re hyenas.”
“Yes, you are. And very nice hyenas you are too. And more to the point, I trust you. All of you.” He took a deep breath. “I am not really Nigel McNumpty, the miserable old man from next door . . . In fact, I’m not a man at all. I am . . .” He paused, as if unable to say the words.
“Well?” asked Bobby.
“I’m an animal too. A grizzly bear.”
There was a collective gasp from everyone.
“Grizzly bear?!” said Mr. Bold, impressed. “I didn’t see that coming!”
(And neither did I, if I’m honest, and I don’t suppose you did either—even the cleverest ones amongst you. This story just gets better and better!)
“How cool!” said Betty, taking a surreptitious look at Mr. McNumpty’s surprisingly long nails.
“Not now,
” said Mrs. Bold.
“But how come?” asked Minnie, ignoring the joke. “Where are you from?”
“I was born in Alaska many, many years ago. I am indeed old. When I was born, I was truly wild and free, but when I was still a small cub my mother was killed by some fur hunters and I was taken into captivity.”
“Oh no!” said Betty, a paw to her mouth. Miranda whimpered and ran onto Tony’s lap.
“Shh!” said Mrs. Bold. “Let Nigel continue.”
Mr. McNumpty smiled sadly, then carried on with his story. “From there I was bought and sold a few times until I struck lucky. I ended up as the prized pet of a rich, somewhat eccentric Arabian prince. I was more than a pet—I was his constant companion, his best friend. I learned how to speak in several languages and how to conduct myself in social circles. I wined and dined with heads of state, I played poker, I saw the best shows on Broadway, I dated some of the most beautiful women in the world—those were indeed very happy days.”
He sighed wistfully at the memory.
“And when we weren’t travelling around in first class, I lived in sumptuous style in the prince’s palace. I wore a gold and diamond-encrusted collar and slept in a marble-floored den with my own servants on a four-poster bed under a Harrods’ duvet.”
“Wow! Imagine that!” said Betty.
“The prince and I were inseparable. We flew all over the world. Summer season in St. Tropez, skiing in Aspen, Hollywood parties, Ascot, the Oscars—”
“Red carpets!” Minnie squeaked, and Mr. McNumpty nodded at her.
“Yes, all right, we get the idea,” interrupted Mr. Bold.
“Stop it with the jokes for just a minute, Dad,” pleaded Bobby. “I want to know what happened next.”
“Oops, pardon me,” said Mr. Bold, trying to look serious, which was impossible.
“Yes, I want to know too,” said Betty. “How come you ended up in a little house in Teddington?”
