To Chris Newton and Heather Collins of the Scottish Book Trust - thank you for looking after me so well ~ D R
For Megan and Bethany with love ~ A M
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
1 Loo!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
2 Dig!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
3 Move!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
Copyright
CHAPTER 1
“NO RUNNING!” barked Miss Boot, grabbing Bertie’s arm as he flew past. “And that means you, Bertie. Get on the coach in an orderly fashion.”
The class stampeded up the steps as Mr Weakly counted them on board. Bertie, Darren and Eugene elbowed their way past, trying to reach the back seat. Bertie raced down the aisle and skidded to a halt. Know-All Nick, and his weedy pal Trevor, had got there first.
“Sorry, Bertie,” smirked Nick. “No room!”
“Yeah, no room!” grinned Trevor.
“But we’re sitting there!” said Bertie.
Mr Weakly came down the gangway, looking flustered. He was a nervous young teacher who Bertie had once locked in the store cupboard for a dare.
“Come on, boys,” he sighed. “Sit down. We’re waiting to go.”
“But sir, they’re in our seats!” complained Bertie.
“Yeah, they had the back seat on the way here,” said Darren.
“Tough cheese! First come, first served,” said Nick, smugly.
“Couldn’t you all just share nicely?” pleaded Mr Weakly. He could see Miss Boot glaring at them like a black cloud.
Bertie pointed at the empty seat in front. “Oh, Nick, isn’t that your money?”
“Where?”
“There – under the seat!”
Nick got up to look. “Where…?”
WHOOSH!
Bertie and his friends barged past him and hurled themselves on to the back seat, pushing Trevor out of the way.
“Sorry! First come first served!” grinned Bertie.
“Sir!” whined Nick. “They stole our seats! It’s not fair!”
“NICHOLAS!” Miss Boot’s voice shook the windows like a hurricane. “SIT DOWN, THIS MINUTE!”
Nick flopped sulkily into the seat in front. The coach set off.
Bertie stared out of the window. The day had been one big let down. School trips were meant to be fun, but Miss Boot always chose something “educational”. Why couldn’t they go somewhere interesting – like a chocolate factory, or a space centre? Miss Boot’s idea of a trip was to drag them hundreds of miles to the Costume Museum in Dribbleswick. Bertie had spent hours staring at dummies dressed in petticoats and frilly bloomers. Worse still, the museum shop didn’t even sell sweets. He’d ended up buying a useless plastic ruler that said “I’VE BEEN TO THE COSTUME MUSEUM!” Bertie took it out of his bag and stared at it. Hang on, maybe he could find a use for it after all?
The back of Nick’s head was poking up above the seat in front. Bertie reached out and prodded it with his ruler. Nick scratched his head.
PROD! PROD! Bertie did it again. Nick swung round.
“Was that you?”
“What?” said Bertie, innocently.
“I’ll tell,” warned Nick, turning back. Bertie bent back the ruler, taking aim.
THWUCK!
“OWW!” howled Nick, clutching his head. “Miss! Bertie hit me!”
Miss Boot spun round. “BERTIE! IS THIS TRUE?”
“No, Miss,” said Bertie. After all, he hadn’t touched Nick, the ruler had.
Nick narrowed his eyes. There was a long journey ahead. He would get Bertie for this.
CHAPTER 2
The coach crawled along slowly, nosing through traffic. Bertie felt like they’d been on it for a week. He had drunk the last of his lemonade while Eugene and Darren drew pictures of Miss Boot on the window. At long last they pulled off the motorway into a service station.
“We’re stopping for fifteen minutes!” boomed Miss Boot. “You will stay with me and Mr Weakly. And you will all be going to the toilet!”
The class filed into the service station with Miss Boot leading the way. They divided into two groups, with Mr Weakly taking the boys off to the men’s toilets. But when they arrived there was a large notice outside:
“Oh dear! How unfortunate!” groaned Mr Weakly. “We’ll try the café. Follow me, boys.”
Bertie had had enough of staying with Mr Weakly. Besides, he didn’t even need the loo. And he had spotted arcade games in the foyer.
“Hey, look,” he whispered to Darren and Eugene. “Let’s stay here!”
“No!” said Eugene. “I need the loo!”
“Me too,” said Darren.
“Fine,” said Bertie. He hung behind as the others trooped into the café.
Ten minutes later, he’d shot down fifteen Vargon spaceships and reached level nine. But he’d started to squirm in his seat. Maybe he did need the toilet after all? Luckily, he still had a few minutes. He rushed to the café…
Nooo! The queue for the toilet stretched for miles.
Bertie looked for Darren and Eugene but they’d been and gone. He spotted Know-All Nick near the front of the queue. Normally he wouldn’t have dreamed of asking Nick for anything, but this was an emergency.
“Hey, Nick,” said Bertie. “Let me in. I really need the loo.”
“There’s a queue,” said Nick.
“I know,” replied Bertie. “But I can’t wait. And the coach’ll be going any minute. Please!”
Nick raised his eyebrows. “Ahh, poor Bertie. Are you really bursting?”
“Yes!”
“Would you like to go in front of me?”
“Can I?”
“No chance,” snapped Nick. “Get to the back.”
Bertie drooped to the end of the queue. Through the café window he could see Mr Weakly counting children on to the coach. The queue inched forward at a snail’s pace. Nick came out of the toilet and hurried past.
“Don’t wet your pants, Bertie!” he jeered.
Finally Bertie reached the front.
KERSPLOOSH! The toilet flushed. Yes! My turn at last!
But just as the toilet door opened, someone grabbed him by the arm and hauled him out of the café.
“BERTIE! Come on!” fumed Miss Boot. “EVERYONE IS WAITING!”
“But Miss, I need—”
“We are late! Back on the coach. NOW!”
Bertie’s classmates cheered as Miss Boot frogmarched him up the steps. The driver started the engine and the coach pulled away.
Darren turned to Bertie. “You all right? You look a bit pale.”
“I NEED THE LOOOOOOO!” wailed Bertie.
CHAPTER 3
Cars and lorries zoomed past. Bertie tried to count them to keep his mind off other things.
“Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-loo…”
It was no good, all he could think about was needing the toilet. How long would it be until they got back to school? He wasn’t sure he could hold out much longer. His tummy ached. His hands were sweating. Why oh why hadn’t he gone when he had the chance?
He nudged Darren.
“Darren, I need the loo!”
“I know, you already told me.”
“But I REALLY need it. Like, now.”
“You can’t go now! There’s no toilet on the coach!” said Darren.
“I know that!” groaned Bertie.
“So what are you going to do?”
“That’s what I’m asking you!”
Eugene leaned over. “What’s up?”
“What? A piddle?”
“A widdle.”
“A tiddle?”
“SHUT UP!” groaned Bertie. “You’re not helping!”
Darren and Eugene grinned. They were starting to enjoy this.
“D’you know what I do when I need to go?” said Darren. “I sing to myself.”
Bertie sighed. “Don’t be stupid.”
“No, really! It works, doesn’t it, Eugene?”
“Yeah,” said Eugene. “It takes your mind off it. Go on, Bertie.”
Bertie rolled his eyes. Still, he’d try anything if it stopped him thinking about what he was trying not to think about.
“All right. What shall I sing?” he asked.
“I know,” said Darren. He whispered something to Eugene. They burst into song:
“Does the driver want a wee wee?
Does the driver want a wee wee?
Does the driver—”
“SILENCE!” thundered Miss Boot, jumping to her feet. “WHO WAS THAT?”
Know-All Nick raised his hand. “Bertie, Miss.”
“It wasn’t ME!” cried Bertie. “Honest.”
Miss Boot glowered. “I have my eye on you, Bertie. Do not try my patience.” She sat back down.
Darren and Eugene fell about giggling. Bertie scowled at them.
“How’d you like it if you were dying for the loo and all I did was make jokes?” he grumbled.
Darren shrugged. “If it’s that bad, tell Miss Boot,” he said.
“How’s that going to help?”
“You never know, maybe she’ll stop the coach.”
Bertie doubted it. Miss Boot didn’t like to be bothered on coach trips. She especially didn’t like to be bothered by him. Nevertheless, he had to try.
He got up and began to make his way down the gangway.
“Where are you going?” asked Know-All Nick.
“Mind your own business,” said Bertie.
He found Miss Boot marking a pile of books with a red pen.
Bertie coughed loudly. “’Scuse me, Miss, I, um … need the toilet.”
Miss Boot looked up. “WHAT?”
“I need the toilet,” said Bertie. “Badly.”
Miss Boot snorted. “Go and sit down.”
“But Miss, I can’t wait…”
“Then why didn’t you go at the service station like everyone else?” snapped Miss Boot. She stared accusingly at Mr Weakly.
“Oh dear!” he said meekly. “I thought they all did.”
“I didn’t have time!” moaned Bertie. “I was about to go when you made me get on the coach!”
Miss Boot sighed wearily. “Why is it always you, Bertie?”
Bertie didn’t answer. He was hopping from one foot to the other like a morris dancer.
Miss Boot slammed her book shut. “Well, there’s nothing I can do now. We’re on the motorway. You’ll just have to wait till we get back to school.”
Bertie moaned. “How long will that be?”
Miss Boot looked at her watch. “About an hour.”
CHAPTER 4
Bertie drummed his feet on the floor. He stood up, then sat back down. He squirmed. He wriggled. He bounced up and down in his seat.
“Do you have to?” sighed Darren.
“I can’t help it! I need to goooo!” wailed Bertie.
This was torture. Agony. And the rain wasn’t helping. Large raindrops ran down the window. Drip, drip, drip. He felt like he was going to explode. It was no good. He would never last out. He stood up and began to shuffle down the gangway. Know-All Nick stuck out an arm to bar his way.
“Why can’t you sit still?” he asked.
“What’s it to you?” said Bertie.
“I know!” said Nick, smiling. “YOU need the toilet!”
“No I don’t!” said Bertie, turning pink.
“Yes you do! BERTIE NEEDS THE LOO-HOO!” sang Nick at the top of his voice.
People were turning round. Bertie pushed past and hurried towards Miss Boot.
“Um, Miss?”
Miss Boot let out a long sigh. “You again? What now?”
“I still need the toilet. Desperately!”
“I told you before, you’ll have to wait.”
“I caaaaan’t!” moaned Bertie, crossing his legs. “Can’t we stop, just for a minute?”
“We’re on the motorway!” barked Miss Boot. “Where do you suggest we stop?”
“At a service station!”
“There isn’t another one. And stopping on the motorway is against the law. You’ll just have to hold out.”
Bertie whimpered. “I don’t think I can!”
“You will.”
“But what if I can’t?”
Miss Boot groaned. “I don’t know, go in a bottle!”
Bertie returned to his seat with the look of someone who was doomed. Still, Miss Boot had said it, and when a teacher told you to do something he assumed they meant what they said. And what else could he do? He rummaged in his backpack and found his empty lemonade bottle. He unscrewed the lid, checked that no one was watching and slid into the corner.
Then Bertie did it. The thing that would have made his parents blush with shame and his classmates howl in horror. A smile of huge relief spread across his face.
Darren looked over. “Ewww! You haven’t?”
“What?” asked Eugene.
“Bertie’s weed in a bottle!”
“YOU DIDN’T!”
“All right, keep your voice down,” said Bertie. “Nobody saw, did they? Anyway, Miss Boot told me to.”
He carefully screwed the lid back on.
Eugene pulled a face. “Yuck! What are you going to do with it?”
Bertie hadn’t thought that far ahead. He couldn’t sit there holding a full bottle of wee. Somebody might notice! He unzipped the pocket of his backpack and stuffed the bottle inside. He could dump it somewhere on the way home.
At four o’clock the coach pulled up outside the gates. Bertie had never been so happy to be back at school. He put on his backpack and joined the queue to get off. Know-All Nick jostled him from behind.
“Get a move on, slowcoach! I thought you needed the loo!”
“There’s a queue, fat face,” said Bertie.
He jumped down the steps and waited for Darren and Eugene on the pavement. Just as they were going a reedy voice behind them cried out, “Oh, Bertie! Look what I’ve got!”
Bertie turned round.
Know-All Nick was waving a plastic bottle. It wasn’t! It couldn’t be! Bertie checked the pocket of his backpack. ARGHHH! It had gone!
“I’ve got your drink, Bertie! Na na nee na naa!” jeered Nick.
“Crumbs!” gasped Eugene. “D’you think we ought to tell him?”
Bertie thought about it. “No, why spoil it? He’ll soon find out if he gets thirsty!”
CHAPTER 1
“Mum, can I have an ice cream?” asked Bertie.
“No, you’ve just had lunch!”
“But I’m still hungry!”
“You’re not hungry, you’re just greedy. Now find something to do.”
Bertie flopped down on the sand. They had been at Slopton-on-Sea for almost a week and he had done everything there was to do. It was okay for his parents – they liked doing nothing. And Suzy could lie around doing nothing for hours. But Bertie wanted to play. He stared at the windswept beach and the grey sky. If only Darren or Eugene were here – then they could play football, or pirates … or maybe pirate football.
Suddenly Mum got to her feet. “Goodness, isn’t that the Riches over there?”
Bertie turned to look. A couple were coming their way loaded down with rugs, bags and beach chairs. Trailing behind was a goofy boy with lank, fair hair. Bertie groaned. Not Royston Rich! What’s HE doing here? Royston was in Bertie’s class and Bertie couldn’t stand him. He was the biggest boaster in the school. Whatever anyone had, Royston had one that was
bigger, better and ten times more expensive.
“Good heavens!” cried Mrs Rich, raising her sunglasses. “Fancy seeing you!”
“Yes,” said Mum. “I didn’t know you came here on holiday.”
“It’s our first time,” said Mrs Rich. “Gerald’s sister has a house by the beach, doesn’t she, Gerald?”
“Actually it’s more of a villa,” yawned Gerald. “What about you?”
“Oh, we’ve just rented a little flat,” said Mum.
“Actually it’s more of an apartment,” said Dad quickly.
“And here’s Bertie!” squawked Mrs Rich. “Isn’t that super, Royston? You’ll have a little playmate!”
“Super,” said Royston, glaring at Bertie.
“Lovely,” said Mum. “Bertie’s been moaning that he’s missing his friends. Why don’t you two run along and play?”
Bertie groaned. Play with Royston? He’d rather wrestle an octopus!
“So,” sighed Royston, “what shall we do? Want to see my new remote control plane?”
“No thanks,” said Bertie. “I’m busy.”
He picked up his spade and began digging the hole he’d started earlier.
“That’s rubbish!” sniffed Royston. “Why don’t you make it bigger?”
“I am making it bigger,” scowled Bertie.
“Your spade’s too small. Why don’t you get a better one?”
Bertie went on shovelling sand. He would have liked to bury Royston up to his neck.
“I’m getting a new bucket and spade for the competition,” boasted Royston.
Bertie stopped digging. “What competition?”
“The sandcastle competition, stupid. Didn’t you know? There’s a prize and everything.”
Bertie’s eyes lit up. A sandcastle competition? With a prize? Why hadn’t anyone told him? In Bertie’s opinion, he was brilliant at building sandcastles.
Loo! Page 1
