Jackpot!
For Johnny and Aoife ~ D R
Thanks to Megan and Andrea for the great story ideas ~ A M
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
1 Jackpot!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
2 Crumbs!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
3 Demon Dolly!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
Collect all the Dirty Bertie books!
Copyright
Bertie thumped downstairs. The phone was ringing in the hall. Maybe it was Darren calling to say that school had burned down! He snatched up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hello, is that you, Bertie?”
“Oh hi, Gran, wassup?” said Bertie.
“You sound funny,” said Gran.
“Are you eating?”
“No, jush cleaning my teef,” said Bertie.
“Well, never mind that, I’ve got some exciting news,” said Gran. “You remember we stopped off at the supermarket on Wednesday?”
“Yes?”
“And you kept on and on until I bought a lottery ticket?”
“Yes?” said Bertie.
“Well, I WON!” whooped Gran. “We won! Can you believe it?”
Bertie thought he must be dreaming but no, he was wide awake with toothpaste dribbling down his jumper.
“REALLY?” he gasped.
“Yes really!” said Gran. “I’ve got the ticket right here. And anyway—”
“WAHOOOOO!”
Bertie dropped the phone, leaving Gran to talk to herself. He skidded into the kitchen where Mum and Suzy were having breakfast.
“WE WON! WE WON!” he yelled.
“Won what?” said Mum.
“The lottery!” shouted Bertie.
“Oh ha, ha,” jeered Suzy. “We never do the lottery.”
“No, but Gran did,” said Bertie. “That was her on the phone. We actually won!”
Mum and Suzy stared at Bertie as if he’d lost his mind. They waited for him to burst out laughing and admit that it was a joke. But he didn’t.
“WE’RE RICH! WE’RE RICH!” he sang, bouncing around the room.
“What’s all the noise?” asked Dad, coming in. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for school, Bertie?”
“Gran just phoned,” said Mum. “She’s got some news…”
“WE WON THE LOTTERY!” yelled Bertie.
Dad looked at him. “You’re kidding!”
Bertie had to go over it all again. It was really him they ought to thank, he explained, because he’d talked Gran into buying a ticket. In fact, when you thought about it, half the money was his.
“How much will we get?” Bertie asked.
Dad sat down heavily. “I don’t know, it could be millions,” he said.
“MILLIONS!” cried Bertie.
“What exactly did she say to you?” asked Mum.
“Nothing, just that we won the lottery,” said Bertie.
They sat round the breakfast table, trying to take it in. Bertie’s mind was already going into overdrive. Millions – think of that! He’d never actually seen a million pounds. Would the postman bring it round in his sack? Or would it come on the back of a lorry? One thing was for sure, he was definitely going to need a bigger money box!
“I could give up work,” said Dad in a daze.
“We could go on our dream holiday,” said Mum.
“I could have my own pony,” said Suzy. “Or even two.”
“Don’t forget it’s my ticket that won,” Bertie reminded them.
“Gran’s ticket, you mean,” said Mum. “And we shouldn’t get carried away. She might not want to share the money.”
Bertie’s face fell. Not share it? What would Gran do with a million pounds? She already got half-price travel on the bus! In any case, Gran was part of the family – she practically lived at their house! There was no way she’d keep a million pounds all to herself. He poured a second bowl of cereal.
“What are you doing?” asked Mum.
“Having breakfast,” replied Bertie. “I can’t go to school today, can I?”
“Too right you can,” said Mum. “Now get a move on.”
Bertie sighed. When he was a millionaire he definitely wasn’t going to school. Spending all that money would be a full-time job. Wait till he told his friends – they would never believe it!
Ten minutes later Bertie met Darren and Eugene at the end of the road. Mum had suggested they should keep their lottery win a secret for now, but Bertie wasn’t very good at keeping secrets. Besides, Darren and Eugene were his best friends. He greeted them, grinning from ear to ear.
“You’re very happy for a school day,” said Darren.
“Yes, I’ve had a bit of good news,” said Bertie. “You’ll never guess what.”
“You’ve got peanut butter sandwiches,” suggested Eugene.
“You actually finished your homework,” said Darren.
“Much better than that,” said Bertie. “We won the lottery!”
His friends stared at him in goggle-eyed amazement.
“The lottery?” said Eugene.
“You big liar!” snorted Darren.
Bertie just went on grinning at them. This was better than the time Miss Boot’s chair broke when she sat down.
“It’s true,” said Bertie. “But it’s a secret, so don’t go blabbing it around.”
“You’re serious?” said Darren. “How much?”
Bertie shrugged. “Dunno, probably millions.”
“MILLIONS?” cried Eugene. “Woah! You’ll be loaded!”
“We’ll never have to walk to school again,” said Darren. “We could go by helicopter!”
“I might give up school anyway,” said Bertie breezily. “I can pay someone else to go for me – Know-All Nick for instance.”
It wasn’t a bad idea. He could hire Know-All Nick as his personal servant to carry his bag, clean his shoes and fetch important stuff – like ice cream.
Darren was thinking. “When do you get the money?” he asked.
“Pretty soon I expect,” replied Bertie. “Gran’s got the ticket.”
Darren frowned. “Hang on, you mean it’s not actually your ticket?” he said. “It’s your gran’s?”
“Well, yes,” admitted Bertie. “But it was my idea, and anyway, I’m her favourite grandson.”
Actually he was her only grandson – which was probably just as well.
Bertie found it impossible to concentrate on lessons that morning. His attention always wandered when Miss Boot was talking, but today was worse than ever. All he could think about was one million lovely pounds. ONE MILLION! He could buy his own sweet shop, or a chocolate factory… He could live in a palace with a whole room for his bug collection…
“BERTIE!” bellowed Miss Boot. “GET ON WITH YOUR WORK!”
“Yes, Miss.” Bertie sighed. The first thing he would do with his winnings was buy Miss Boot a one-way ticket to Australia.
Back home, Bertie slammed the front door shut and threw down his bag. His mum was in the kitchen.
“Well, did it come?” he asked eagerly.
“Did what come?” said Mum.
“The money of course! The million pounds.”
“It won’t come here,” said Mum. “It belongs to Gran. I’ve been trying to phone her all day but she’s never in.”
Bertie frowned. Surely Gran should be staying at home, in case the postman came.
“Anyway, I left a message,” said Mum. “I said we’d take her out to celebrate tomorrow – at Dibbles’ Tea Rooms.”
Bertie raised his eyebrows. They never went out to tea and certainly not to Dibbles – the posh department store in town. Bertie thought that tea rooms sounded like the kind of place where people tutted when you burped. Still, there would be cakes and Gran could tell them all about their lottery win. Best of all, Dibbles had a toy department!
“Mum,” said Bertie. “Can we go shopping tomorrow?”
Mum narrowed her eyes. “I thought you hated shopping,” she said.
“Only clothes shopping,” said Bertie. “But I think Dibbles has a toy department.”
“I’m sure it does,” said Mum. “But I’ll need to talk to your father.”
She thought it over. Normally she avoided taking Bertie shopping like the plague. He was forever picking things up, knocking them down or complaining that he wanted to go home. But maybe just this once. After all, if it wasn’t for Bertie, Gran would never have won the lottery in the first place.
The following afternoon, Bertie’s family arrived at Dibbles department store.
“Right, Suzy and I are off to look at shoes,” said Mum.
“Wait a minute, what am I supposed to do?” grumbled Dad.
“You can look after Bertie,” said Mum. “He wants to go to the toy department.”
“Why can’t you take him?” moaned Dad.
“I’m taking Suzy,” said Mum. “See you later. We’re meeting Gran at three.”
Dad rolled his eyes. A whole hour in a toy department with Bertie – this was going to be torture!
Dibbles’ toy department was on the fourth floor. Bertie’s eyes lit up as they stepped out of the lift. It was an Aladdin’s cave of wonders: board games, scooters, skateboards, super gunge shooters and gadgets galore.
Bertie picked up a pirate cutlass and swished it through the air. “AHARRRR!” he roared.
“Put that down!” hissed Dad. “You’ll break something!”
“May I be of any help, sir?”
A tall, silver-haired shop assistant loomed over them.
“It’s okay, thanks, we’re just looking,” said Dad, grabbing Bertie’s sword.
“Anything special?” asked the assistant. “We have a brand new range of trampolines.”
“Maybe a bit dangerous – and expensive,” said Dad.
“But we’re loaded!” said Bertie. “We’ve just won the lottery.”
“Ha ha! We can all dream, can’t we?” laughed the shop assistant.
“It’s not a dream, it’s true!” said Bertie. “We’re rich!”
Suddenly they had the assistant’s full attention. “Well, I do apologize, sir,” he said. “In that case, may I show you our luxury toys over here.”
Bertie gazed at the toy spaceships and gamma-ray guns. Then something else caught his eye – a gleaming red sports car, just his size.
“Look at this, Dad!” he cried.
“Ah yes, our junior Ferrari,” said the shop assistant. “It has a rechargeable battery, working headlights and a top speed of ten miles an hour.”
“WOW!” said Bertie. Imagine arriving at school in his own Ferrari! Even Royston Rich hadn’t got one of those.
“Can I get in?” asked Bertie, eagerly.
“By all means,” said the shop assistant.
Bertie climbed into the driving seat.
“How much does it cost?” asked Dad, anxiously.
The assistant showed him the price tag. Dad turned pale. It was more than he’d paid for their family car.
“VROOM! VROOM!” cried Bertie, imagining he was on the Formula One starting grid. The dashboard had lots of lights, switches and buttons. Bertie pointed to a silver key.
“What’s this for?” he asked.
“Don’t touch that!” cried the shop assistant.
VROOOOOM!
The car’s engine roared into life. Bertie’s foot was on the accelerator and the Ferrari took off like a rocket.
“WOAH!” squawked Bertie, gripping the steering wheel. “I CAN’T STOP!”
Customers dived out of the way as the Ferrari zoomed straight for them. Bertie turned the wheel and screeched round a corner.
“BRAKE!” yelled Dad. “USE THE BRAKE…!”
“WHICH ONE?” wailed Bertie.
CRASH!
Too late, Bertie ploughed into a display cabinet of dolls, sending them flying in the air. Dad groaned and buried his face in his hands. He knew he should never have agreed to take Bertie shopping.
At three o’clock, Dad and Bertie took the lift to the tea rooms. Mum and Suzy were already there, surrounded by shopping bags.
Dad rolled his eyes. “I thought you were just looking at shoes?” he said.
“We bought shoes,” said Mum. “Plus one or two other things we needed. Anyway, how did you and Bertie get on?”
“Don’t ask,” sighed Dad. They’d been made to pay for all the damage Bertie had caused, which had cost a small fortune.
Dad slumped into a chair. “Let’s just say it’s a good job that Gran’s won the lottery,” he said.
“Here she comes now,” said Suzy.
Gran kissed them all and took a seat.
“This is a surprise,” she said. “Tea at Dibbles, how nice!”
Mum smiled. “Order anything you like,” she said. “It’s our treat.”
“Really? Anything?” said Bertie. He’d been eyeing the cakes and had decided to try them all.
The waiter came over. Mum ordered sandwiches, the special cake selection and champagne for the adults. She turned to Gran.
“Well!” she said. “Tell us all the details.”
“How much did we win?” asked Bertie. “A million? Ten million?”
Gran blinked at them, confused. “But I explained on the phone. Didn’t Bertie tell you?” she said.
“Tell us what?” said Dad.
“I won twenty pounds,” said Gran.
There was a long stony silence.
“Twenty pounds?” cried Mum. “But Bertie said you’d won the lottery!”
“I won a prize, yes. I didn’t win the lottery,” said Gran. “I told you, Bertie, weren’t you listening?”
Everyone turned to glare at Bertie.
He slid down slowly in his seat. Oops! He remembered dropping the phone and rushing off before Gran had finished speaking. It turned out they wouldn’t be getting a swimming pool, servants or a Ferrari, after all.
“BERTIE!” groaned Mum.
“We should have known,” said Suzy.
Dad had gone very pale. “Do you know how much today has cost us?” he said.
Just then the waiter appeared.
“Your cakes and champagne, madam.”
Bertie grabbed an iced bun and crammed it into his mouth. He had a feeling there might not be any more treats for quite a while.
Miss Boot stood at the front of class.
“Good morning, children,” she said. “As you can see, we have a visitor with us today.”
Bertie sat up. It was Mrs Nicely, his next door neighbour! What on earth was she doing in his class?
“Mrs Nicely has kindly offered to teach a cookery class,” said Miss Boot.
Mrs Nicely smiled. “Who would like to learn how to bake a cake?”
A cake? Bertie loved cakes! Mainly he liked eating them, but he was willing to have a go at making one. At home his parents didn’t even let him make toast in case he burned the house down. But if he made a cake he could scoff it all himself! YUM!
“As you know, it’s Mrs Fossil’s last day and the staff are planning a little party for her,” said Miss Boot. “What could be nicer than a special cake made by one of you?”
Bertie’s face fell. No way was Mrs Fossil getting her greedy hands on his cake. Mrs Fossil was about a hundred years old and had been teaching at the school since the Stone Age. Today she was finally retiring. About time, too, in Bertie’s opinion – he wished Miss Boot would hurry up and retire as well.
Later that morning, Bertie’s class gathered in the school kitchen with M
rs Nicely.
“Now children,” she said, “who can tell me what we need to make a cake?”
Amanda Fibb’s hand shot up.
“Eggs,” she said.
“Self-raising flour,” said Know-All Nick.
“Chocolate buttons,” said Bertie.
Mrs Nicely frowned. “Chocolate buttons are not essential.”
“They are if it’s a chocolate button cake,” argued Bertie.
Mrs Nicely silently counted to ten. When she’d agreed to teach a cookery class, no one had warned her it would be with Bertie’s class. The boy was a walking nightmare and his manners were appalling.
“Please leave your nose alone, Bertie,” she sighed. “Now, we are going to make a simple sponge cake. Once it’s baked, you can decorate it any way you like.”
Bertie eyed the jars of cake decorations greedily. There were sprinkles, stars, silver balls, chocolate buttons and chocolate shavings. His cake would definitely need all of them.
Mrs Nicely showed them how to make a cake mix by weighing out the ingredients. Then she put them into pairs to have a go. Luckily Bertie got paired with Darren. He read the recipe.
“What’s 300g of sugar?” Bertie asked.
“Don’t ask me,” said Darren. “Don’t we have to weigh it?”
“That’ll take forever,” said Bertie. “It’s quicker to just tip it all in.”
He poured in the whole jar and added the butter. Next came the flour and the eggs.
Darren inspected the sloppy yellow mixture.
“Is it meant to have bits of eggshell?” he asked.
Bertie sighed – some people were so fussy! He tried to fish out the bits with his fingers but they were too slippery. What did it matter? A few bits of eggshell would add a nice crunch.
“What’s next?” Bertie asked.
“Beat well until mixed,” Darren read out. Bertie grabbed the wooden spoon and attacked the bowl.