For Lynsey ~ D R
For Olivia and Natasha – with best Berties ~ A M
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
1 Bogeys!
2 Potty!
3 Magic!
Copyright
CHAPTER 1
“BERTIE!” Miss Boot thundered. “ARE YOU PAYING ATTENTION?”
Bertie shot upright.
CRACK!
“OW!” He had forgotten he was looking for his rubber under his desk. He peeped out, rubbing his head.
“SIT DOWN!” barked Miss Boot. “Now what was I just saying?”
“When?” asked Bertie.
“While you were crawling around under your desk.”
Bertie racked his brains trying to remember. The truth was he hadn’t been following too closely. Whenever Miss Boot started talking, Bertie’s mind had a habit of wandering off.
“Um, you were saying…” Bertie looked to Eugene for help. Eugene mouthed something he didn’t quite catch.
“You were saying … about fried eggs.”
The class sniggered. Eugene whispered in his ear.
“Oh, Friday. You were saying about Friday.”
Miss Boot folded her arms. “Yes, and what’s happening on Friday? Do tell us.”
Bertie hadn’t the faintest clue. “We’re having a day off?” he said, hopefully.
More laughter.
THUMP! Miss Boot’s fist slammed down on her desk.
“We are not having a day off. I was talking about our visitor. Can anyone tell Bertie who’s coming to school on Friday?”
A sea of hands rose in the air. Miss Boot’s eyes fell on the pale boy bouncing up and down in the front row like an eager puppy.
“Yes, Nicholas?”
“The Mayoress,” said Know-All Nick.
“Quite right. I’m glad someone is paying attention,” said Miss Boot.
Nick smirked at Bertie. Bertie scowled back.
Miss Boot went on. “It’s a great honour to have someone as important as the Mayoress coming to our school. I’m sure you’re all very excited.”
Bertie yawned. Why were school visitors always so boring? Why didn’t they invite someone interesting for a change – like a lion tamer or a brain surgeon?
“Now,” said Miss Boot, eyeing the class, “Miss Skinner would like one of our class to do a special job. One lucky child is going to welcome the Mayoress in assembly. Who wants to volunteer?”
The hands shot up again. Bertie couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. Know-All Nick was jiggling around as if he needed the toilet.
“Ooh, Miss, Miss! Me, me!” he gasped.
Miss Boot hesitated. Last time there was a visitor she had chosen Nick to meet them. And the time before.
“Hands down,” she said. “Since so many of you are keen, we will put all your names in a hat and draw one out.”
Everyone wrote their name on a piece of paper and put it in a biscuit tin. (Miss Boot didn’t actually have a hat.) Miss Boot drew out one scrap of paper and unfolded it. She read the name scrawled in big letters. She turned white. She looked as if she might pass out.
“Who? Who is it?” everyone asked.
“Bertie,” groaned Miss Boot.
Bertie looked up from doodling on his maths book.
“What? I wasn’t doing anything,” he said.
Miss Boot sighed. “If you were listening, Bertie, you’d know that you’ve been chosen to welcome the Mayoress.”
“ME?” said Bertie. “Really?”
“Really,” said Miss Boot. The bell went for break. She screwed up the piece of paper in her hand. She needed to find somewhere quiet to lie down.
CHAPTER 2
“You?” said Dad.
“You?” said Suzy. “They want you to meet the Mayor?”
“Actually, it’s the Mayor-hess,” Bertie said.
“But why you?” asked Suzy. “They had the whole school to choose from! Why didn’t they pick someone with half a brain?”
Bertie ignored this remark. “Miss Boot thought I’d be good at it,” he said. “Meeting mayor-hesses and that. Making speeches.”
Dad looked horrified. “Surely they don’t want you to make a speech?”
“I don’t know yet,” said Bertie. “We’re having a practice on Thursday.”
Mum put an arm round his shoulder. “Well, I think it’s wonderful, Bertie,” she said. “I’m very proud of you.”
“Yes,” said Bertie, sticking out his tongue at his sister. He hadn’t mentioned that he had been selected by pure chance. It was a small detail.
Suzy still couldn’t believe it. “Has your teacher got a screw loose?” she asked. “Does she know what you’re like?”
“I don’t see why you’re making such a fuss,” said Bertie. “All I’ve got to do is give her a bunch of old flowers. It’s not difficult.”
“Of course it’s not,” said Mum. “But it is the Mayoress and she is very important…”
“I’ve never heard of her,” said Bertie.
“…And the whole school will be watching,” Mum went on.
“Oh yes, I forgot,” said Bertie. “Miss Boot says a man from the Pudsley Post is coming as well.”
“The newspaper?”
“Yes, he’s going to take my picture with the Mayor-hess.”
“Good heavens! Is that a good idea?” asked Dad.
Bertie frowned. He’d expected a bit more enthusiasm. He thought his family would be pleased that his picture was going to be in the paper.
“I’m sure it will all be fine,” said Mum. “Just as long as you don’t do anything … silly.”
“Like what?” asked Bertie.
“Burping,” said Suzy.
“Or talking with your mouth full,” said Dad.
“And please, please, please, Bertie, don’t pick your nose,” pleaded Mum.
“I won’t,” said Bertie. “When do I pick my nose?”
“Only every five minutes,” said Suzy, scornfully.
“Well, what does it matter? It’s my nose,” said Bertie. “It’s not as if I go round picking any old nose!”
Mum rolled her eyes. “You just cannot do it. Not when you’re meeting the Mayoress.”
“I won’t!”
“Or the other thing,” said Suzy.
“What other thing?”
“You know – eating bogeys!” said Suzy. “It’s disgusting!”
“I don’t!”
“You do!”
Dad held up a hand. “In any case, nose picking is a horrible habit and it’s time you gave it up,” he said.
“I will,” said Bertie. “But…”
“No buts,” said Mum, firmly. “I want you to promise.”
Bertie sighed heavily. “I promise,” he said. “You won’t catch me picking my nose again.”
CHAPTER 3
Bertie went upstairs to his room, humming to himself. He’d promised his parents they wouldn’t catch him picking his nose – so he’d just have to make sure he wasn’t caught.
In any case, he didn’t see what all the fuss was about. Everyone picked their nose. His friends certainly did. Bertie and Darren often compared bogeys to see who had the biggest. They’d invented several bogey games, including Bogey Golf, Bogey Table Football and Roller-Bogey.
Grown-ups picked their noses, too. Bertie had seen his dad do it when he was driving. And Miss Boot did it when she was reading a book. He bet even the Queen picked her nose when no one was looking.
So what was the harm if Bertie sometimes had a good clean out? Talking of which, there was no one about now…
“BERTIE!” Mum stuck her head round the door. “Remember what you promised!”
“I wasn’t!” cried Bertie. “I just had an itch.”
Mum tutted. “I’m watching you.”
Bertie flopped down on his bed. This was terrible. If you couldn’t pick your nose in your own bedroom where could you do it?
Five minutes later, he slipped out of the back door. His Top Secret Hideout was behind the garden shed. Darren and Eugene were the only ones who knew about it and they were sworn to secrecy. Bertie pushed his way in among the bushes and sat down. Alone at last. Now for…
“BERTIE! What are you doing?”
Dad was staring at him through the shed window.
“Nothing!” said Bertie. “I was just looking for Whiffer.”
“He’s asleep on the sofa. Come out of there! It’s filthy!”
Bertie drooped back to the house. This was hopeless. His parents wouldn’t leave him alone for five minutes. He was actually glad when it was time to go to bed.
Mum came up to tuck him in.
“Goodnight, Bertie!”
“Night, Mum.”
“Sleep tight!”
CLICK! Off went the bedroom light. Peace and quiet at last. No one to disturb him. Bliss. Bertie’s finger crept out from under the covers.
“BERTIE!” called Mum. “STOP PICKING YOUR NOSE!”
CHAPTER 4
For the rest of the week, Bertie’s parents watched him like vultures. He couldn’t even lift a hand without Mum tutting or Dad glaring at him. He tried to find places where he could be by himself. On Tuesday Mum found him hiding in the towel cupboard. OnWednesday Dad caught him in Whiffer’s kennel.
School was just as bad. Miss Boot made him practise his part for assembly over and over again. She barked orders at him: “Don’t slouch! Hands out of your pockets! Stop mumbling – SPEAK UP!”
By the time Friday came round Bertie was beginning to wish he’d never been chosen. He wished he was sitting with his friends instead of standing at the front with a bunch of droopy flowers. He could see Darren and Eugene pulling faces at him. Darren put two fingers up his nose as a joke.
The man from the Pudsley Post was ready with his camera. Bertie shuffled his feet nervously. What if he did something wrong? What if he tripped on the steps? Or trod on the flowers? What if he forgot what to say?
The hall was hot and airless. Miss Boot was frowning at him. More than anything Bertie was dying to pick his nose. He always picked his nose when he was nervous and now it was like having a terrible itch which you couldn’t scratch.
His nose felt bunged up. He was convinced he had a giant bogey poking out of one nostril. But he didn’t dare investigate – not with the whole school watching.
A door opened and Miss Skinner entered, followed by the Mayoress.
Bertie had been expecting someone royal like the Queen. But the Mayoress could have been one of his gran’s friends.
She wore a plum-coloured dress, which matched her face. Round her neck was a large silver chain.
She took a seat while Miss Skinner turned to face the rows of children.
“We are extremely honoured – blah blah blah,” droned Miss Skinner.
Bertie had stopped listening. He’d just noticed no one in the hall was looking at him. They were all gazing up at the Mayoress and her silver chain.
Go on, said a voice in Bertie’s head. One little pick. What harm can it do? Bertie bent his head as if he needed to scratch his nose. It didn’t take more than a few seconds.
“BERTIE!” hissed Miss Boot. “Hurry up! We’re waiting!”
Bertie dropped his hand. Had he been spotted? He glanced round – no, but Miss Skinner had stopped talking. Everyone was waiting for him to welcome the visitor. He thudded up the steps and on to the stage. He thrust the droopy flowers at the Mayoress.
“For-you-Miss-Mayor-hess-from-all-the-children,” he gabbled in one breath.
“Oh! Thank you. How kind,” smiled the Mayoress.
Bertie turned away. Everything might have been all right if he’d gone back to his place there and then. But he realized he’d forgotten something. He was meant to shake hands. He turned back and stuck out one sweaty hand. Bertie stared in horror. There was something stuck to the end of his finger: a giant green bogey.
The Mayoress had seen it, too. She bent closer to examine it.
“Oh! What is that?”
“What?” asked Bertie.
“That thing stuck to your finger.”
“Oh, er, that,” said Bertie. “It’s um … it’s a…”
And then he did it. The thing he claimed he never did. The thing that no one in the school who saw it happen would ever forget. The thing you must never do when someone is about to take your picture for the paper…
CHAPTER 1
“Bagsy sit at the back!”
Bertie clattered up the steps on to the coach. It was the day of the school trip. Bertie loved going on trips. He loved the coach ride there, the packed lunches and pulling faces at passing cars. He loved drawing on the windows, stuffing crisps and fizzy drinks – and being sick on the way home. Best of all, a trip meant a whole day without boring lessons. No mouldy maths or dreary spelling! No hours of listening to Miss Boot droning on and on.
Today the class were going to Rustbottom Hall. Miss Boot said it was an Historic Building, hundreds of years old. Bertie couldn’t wait. Last year, Darren’s family had been to Cannonshot Castle. It had a moat and battlements and a headless ghost in the West Tower. There was even something called a joust, where real knights in armour fought each other on horseback. Bertie thought he’d make a brilliant knight. Sir Bertie of the Green Bogey. He would rescue princesses and slay fire-breathing dragons – Miss Boot had better watch out.
Bertie raced to the back seat, only to find Know-All Nick and his weedy pal, Trevor, had got there first. They were sucking sherbet lemons. Handing out sweets was the only way Nick could get anyone to sit next to him.
“Too slow, Bertie,” smirked Nick.
Bertie scowled and sat down next to Darren in the seats in front.
DOINK!
Something hit Bertie on the head and bounced off. He turned round.
“Did you throw that?”
“Throw what?” Nick gave him a sickly smile.
Bertie picked a yellow sweet off the floor. “This!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” sneered Nick. “Seen anyone throwing sweets, Trevor?”
“Er, no, Nick,” said Trevor meekly.
“Liar,” said Bertie.
“Frogface,” replied Nick.
“Yeah, frogface,” said Trevor.
“You wait…” said Bertie.
“BERTIE! I WON’T TELL YOU AGAIN! TURN ROUND!” thundered Miss Boot.
“But Miss, it wasn’t me…”
“SIT DOWN! And if I see you turn round again, you will sit next to me.”
Bertie flopped back into his seat. He didn’t want to sit next to Miss Boot. He’d rather sit in a bath of cold custard. All the same, he would get even with that sneaky know-all. Maybe Rustbottom Hall had a deep, dark dungeon? Maybe he could lock the door and leave Nick to the rats.
CHAPTER 2
The coach swung into the drive and came to a halt. Bertie trooped off with the rest of the class, eager to start exploring. He stared. Rustbottom Hall was a crumbly old house with a clock tower and a wonky weather vane. The roof was whitewashed with pigeon poo.
“Is this it?” asked Bertie.
“Isn’t it magnificent?” said Miss Boot. “This hall has been home to the Rustbottom family since the 17th century.”
“But where’s the moat?” asked Bertie.
“There isn’t a moat.”
“And where’s the drawbridge?”
“It has a front door.”
“But where are the knights going to do the jousting?”
Miss Boot gave Bertie a pained look. “Rustbottom Hall is not a castle,” she snapped. “It is a house.”
A house? Bertie couldn’t believe it. He’d been looking forward to seeing a real castle. Battling on the battlements. Rampagi
ng round the ramparts. What was the point of coming all this way to see a crumbly old house? If he wanted to see a house he could have stayed at home!
“It’s not like Cannonshot Castle,” grumbled Darren.
“It’s falling to bits,” moaned Eugene.
“QUIET!” thundered Miss Boot. “Now, we will be having a short tour of the hall. After that we’ll split into groups to do an exciting quiz. Follow me, class.”
They trudged inside the hall. It was cold, dark and smelt of mothballs. There were podgy little angels painted on the ceiling.
“Remember,” warned Miss Boot, “no running, no noise and you are not to touch anything. Everything in this house is old and very valuable.”
Bertie plunged his hands into his pockets. This was the worst school trip ever. They’d had more fun last year at the sewage farm. At least Trevor had slipped and fallen in.
The tour of the house went on for ages. Twice the guide had to ask Bertie not to yawn so loudly. Afterwards, Miss Boot divided them into groups.
Bertie’s group had Darren and Eugene (which was good), and Sandra (which was not so good).
“I don’t want to be with Bertie,” sulked Sandra. “I want to go with Lucy.”
Miss Boot took no notice. She handed a worksheet to each group. It involved trailing around the hall to answer a list of questions. Bertie stared at it in horror. Thirty questions? It would take days to answer them all! He felt tired just looking at them.
“I don’t have a pencil,” he said.
“I told you to bring one,” snapped Miss Boot.
Bertie searched his pockets. “I did. I must have lost it.”
Bogeys! Page 1
