Mud! Read online

  For Kate, James and little ‘O’ ~ D R

  For everyone at Greythorn Primary School

  ~ A M

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1 Mud!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  2 Cheese!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  3 Spooky!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Copyright

  CHAPTER 1

  “BERTIE! HANDS OUT OF YOUR POCKETS!” thundered Miss Boot.

  “I’m cold, Miss,” moaned Bertie.

  “Then run around!”

  Bertie made a feeble show of stamping his feet. He hated football practice. Why did Miss Boot have to drag them outside in the freezing cold? Why couldn’t they practise indoors?

  Bertie was brilliant at watching football. He was terrific at talking about it. He just wasn’t any good at playing it. During a game he never seemed to be in the right place. Most of the time he watched the ball zooming back and forward over his head. And when it did come his way everyone yelled advice: “PASS! MOVE IT! CROSS IT!” Bertie dithered – and by the time he made up his mind, the ball was at the other end of the pitch.

  Miss Boot started the lesson with some warm-up exercises. She was wearing her bright orange tracksuit, the one which made her look like a giant satsuma. The class dribbled in and out of cones. They passed back and forth. They practised heading the ball without squealing.

  After ten minutes, Miss Boot called them together.

  “Before we start a game, I have some good news. From this term the Pudsley Junior team has a new coach. Me.”

  “Hooray!” cheered Know-All Nick.

  A lump of mud hit him on the ear. Bertie looked up at the sky and whistled.

  “Now, we have an important match on Friday and I am looking for new players,” Miss Boot went on. “Who would like to play for the school team?”

  A dozen hands shot up. Bertie kept his hands by his sides. He shivered. He tried pulling his shirt down over his knees to keep warm.

  “Excellent,” said Miss Boot. “And hands up if you want to play in goal?”

  No hands went up.

  Bertie felt someone pinch his arm.

  “YOW!” he cried.

  Know-All Nick looked up at the sky.

  “Bertie!” said Miss Boot. “Are you volunteering?”

  “Me?” said Bertie.

  “Yes, have you played in goal before?”

  “No, no … I can’t… I don’t…”

  “He’s just being modest, Miss!” said Nick, thumping Bertie on the back. “Ask anyone, he’s brilliant!”

  “Hmm,” said Miss Boot. Brilliant was not a word she connected with Bertie. Surely there had to be someone else?

  “What about you, Nicholas?” she said.

  “I can’t, Miss. I’ve got weak ankles,” simpered Nick.

  “Really,” said Miss Boot. “Eugene, how about you?”

  “Sorry, my mum doesn’t like me playing football.”

  “Trevor?”

  “Haven’t got any boots, Miss.”

  Bertie looked around in desperation. Surely someone wanted to play in goal?

  “That settles it then,” sighed Miss Boot. “You are in goal on Friday, Bertie. DO NOT LET ME DOWN.”

  “But Miss—” began Bertie.

  Miss Boot blew a shrill blast on her whistle and bustled off to start the game.

  Bertie stared after her. This couldn’t be happening. Him playing in goal for the school team? It was a disaster! A nightmare! Bertie had never played in goal in his life, not even in the playground. He didn’t know how to save a ball – he couldn’t even save his pocket money. That two-faced toad Nick was behind this. He knew very well Bertie was no good at football. He just wanted to see him make a fool of himself.

  After the practice, Bertie trudged back to school with Darren, Eugene and Donna.

  “Never mind,” said Donna. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “No,” said Darren. “When you kept your eyes open you did much better.”

  Know-All Nick caught up with them. His shirt and shorts were spotless.

  “Hey, Bertie, what was the score again? Remind me,” he smirked.

  Bertie ignored him.

  “Six? Or was it seven? I lost count.”

  “At least Miss Boot won’t want me in the team,” said Bertie.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” grinned Nick. “There’s no one else.”

  Bertie groaned. “Why me? Can’t someone else go in goal?”

  “No thanks!” said Darren. “I’m a striker. Anyway, goalies always get the blame when you lose.”

  “You think we’ll lose?” asked Bertie.

  “Are you kidding?” said Darren. “We’re playing Cropper Lane.”

  Bertie looked blank.

  “They’re top of the league,” said Donna. “They haven’t lost a match.”

  “HA! HA!” gurgled Nick. “It’ll be a thrashing! I’m definitely coming to watch. I wouldn’t miss this for anything!”

  CHAPTER 2

  Bertie plodded home after school. Over supper he broke the news to his parents.

  “The school team?” said Dad. “That’s terrific!”

  “Mmm,” said Bertie. “Except they want me to play in goal.”

  “Well that’s good, isn’t it?” beamed Mum. “You don’t look very excited.”

  “Of course he’s excited,” said Dad. “I had no idea you played in goal, Bertie.”

  “I don’t!” groaned Bertie. “That’s the point. I only got picked by mistake!”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Mum. “You’re probably better than you think.”

  “I’M NOT!” wailed Bertie. “I’m rubbish!”

  “Well I’m sure it’ll be fine,” said Mum. “As long as you do your best no one’s going to mind.”

  Bertie thought Miss Boot would mind. Miss Boot hated losing at anything – even tiddlywinks. If Bertie played badly she’d probably use him as a football and boot him round the pitch.

  Dad had fetched his old trainers from the hall. “I used to play football a bit myself,” he said. “Just over in the park, but I was pretty good.”

  “Really?” said Bertie. It was the first he’d heard about it.

  “Why don’t we have a kick-about in the garden? I could give you a few tips.”

  Five minutes later, Bertie stood between two flower-pot goalposts. He was wearing his woolly gloves and a baseball cap. Dad bounced the ball a few times and placed it on the lawn.

  “Now,” he said, “make yourself big. Not like that, crouch down. Arms wide, head up, eye on the ball. Now I’m going to come at you, try to put me off.”

  Bertie waved his arms. “MISS, MISS, MISS!” he yelled.

  “What are you doing?” asked Dad.

  “Putting you off.”

  “Not like that. I mean come out!”

  “I thought I was in goal!” said Bertie.

  Dad sighed. “Listen. I’ll take a shot, you just try and stop it, OK?”

  Dad took three steps back. He ran up and thumped the ball with all his might. Bertie watched it sail miles over his head into next-door’s garden.

  CRASH! TINKLE!

  “Whoops,” said Dad. “Maybe we’ll finish this another time.”

  The next few days passed in a daze. Bertie couldn’t get the football match out of his mind. Even in his sleep he had nightmares about it. He dreamed he was playing against a team of Miss Boots. Miss Boot dribbled. She passed to Miss Boot. Miss Boot shot. Bertie dived…

  He woke up on his bed
room floor, cold with sweat.

  CHAPTER 3

  The day of the big match arrived. Bertie stared at the drops of rain running down the minibus window. He was doomed.

  “Cheer up,” said Darren. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “We lose,” said Bertie. “And I let in twenty goals.”

  “You won’t!” said Darren. “You’re not that bad.”

  “No?” said Bertie.

  “No!” said Darren. “You’re just not very good.”

  “Thanks,” said Bertie. Donna turned round from the seat in front.

  “You never know, you might play well,” she said. “We might even win.”

  “Against Cropper Lane?” said Darren.

  “Hey, Bertie!” called a loud voice behind them. “Catch!”

  Bertie turned round. A toffee hit him on the nose.

  “HA! HA!” jeered Know-All Nick. “Call yourself a goalie? You can’t catch for toffee!”

  The rain fell in buckets as the bus turned into the school drive and came to a halt. The Pudsley Junior team trooped off. They stared at the field. It sloped like the deck of a sinking ship. There were a few tufts of grass – the rest was a sea of mud. A seagull swam in one of the puddles.

  Bertie felt a wave of relief. Surely if the pitch was waterlogged the game would have to be called off? He wouldn’t have to play! He was saved!

  “Right, hurry up and get changed,” barked Miss Boot, putting up her umbrella.

  “But Miss, what about the pitch?” said Bertie.

  “What about it?”

  “It’s a bog. We can’t play on that!”

  “Nonsense! A few little puddles never hurt anyone. In my day we played hockey when the snow was up to our knees!”

  Just then the Cropper Lane team ran out in their red shirts. They warmed up, taking it in turns to blast the ball into one of the goals.

  Know-All Nick sidled over. “Pretty big aren’t they? Look at that number nine. I wouldn’t want to get in his way.” He gave Bertie a sickly smile.

  Bertie stomped off to the dressing room to get changed.

  CHAPTER 4

  SPLODGE, SPLODGE, SPLODGE.

  Bertie paddled around in his goalmouth. So far he hadn’t let in any goals. Considering they’d been playing for five minutes this was pretty good. He was already rather dirty but that didn’t bother him. Bertie loved mud. Adults were always shouting at him to keep out of it. But goalkeepers were actually expected to get muddy. It was part of the job.

  Bertie sploshed through a puddle. I wonder what it’s like for mud sliding? he thought. Taking a run, he skidded across his goal. Mud sprayed everywhere. Not bad. Next he chose the biggest puddle in the goal. This time he skidded right through it.

  THUMP! WHOOSH!

  Something zoomed past his head. He looked up. Why was everyone cheering? The Cropper Lane players were all crowding round the number nine. Bertie turned his head slowly. A football nestled in the back of the net.

  Miss Boot turned crimson.

  “BERTIE!” she thundered. “WHAT ARE YOU PLAYING AT?”

  “Sorry! I wasn’t watching,” said Bertie.

  Darren picked the ball out of the net.

  “You’re meant to try and stop it,” he grumbled.

  “I wasn’t ready!” complained Bertie. “Somebody should tell me if they’re going to shoot!”

  Pudsley Juniors kicked off. Bertie sighed. This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to play in goal. You stood around for ages freezing to death then everyone blamed you for one tiny mistake.

  From the touchline Know-All Nick gave him a thumbs-up sign.

  “Nice one, Bertie!” he jeered.

  For the rest of the half, Bertie tried to focus on the game. It wasn’t too hard as most of the action took place around his goal. Cropper Lane were well on top. Pudsley got everyone back and defended grimly. Bertie dived, slipped and sloshed in the mud as shots rained in like hailstones. One crashed off the post.

  Another thudded off the crossbar. A third squirted through Bertie’s legs and was going in until it got stuck in a puddle.

  At half-time the Pudsley players trudged off, grateful to be only one goal down. Their coach was not pleased.

  “USELESS! PATHETIC!” screeched Miss Boot. “I didn’t come all this way to see you lose! Now go out there and get back in this game!”

  The second half began. The rain fell in sheets. Bertie got muddier and muddier. His shirt stuck to his back. His shorts were brown. His boots sucked and squelched every time he moved.

  Then the miracle happened. Pudsley scored! It was Donna who surprised everyone, ending a mazy dribble by poking the ball home.

  “GOAL!” bellowed Miss Boot, waving her umbrella.

  “GOAL!” cried Bertie, doing a handstand in the mud.

  Know-All Nick shook his head. The Cropper Lane players looked at each other in disbelief. With five minutes left, the scores were level at 1–1.

  “Come on, Pudsley!” roared Miss Boot. “You can do it!”

  Cropper Lane kicked off. Pudsley cleared the ball, booting it anywhere. From a throw-in the number nine barged his way into the penalty area.

  “Come out, Bertie!” yelled Darren.

  Bertie tore out of his goal like an express train. He skidded in the mud and couldn’t stop… “ARGH!” cried the number nine as Bertie flattened him.

  “PEEP!” The referee pointed to the spot for a penalty.

  The Pudsley players groaned. Only a few minutes left and Bertie was going to cost them the game.

  Bertie picked himself up and splodged back to his goal line. Typical, he thought, now we’re going to lose and everyone will blame me.

  He crouched with his hands at the ready. He’d never faced a penalty before.

  The number nine pawed the ground. He began his run-up. Bertie heard someone singing loudly behind his goal:

  “There’s only one Pudsley goalie,

  And his pants are all holey…!”

  Bertie swung round to see Know-All Nick’s grinning face.

  THUD! …WHACK!

  Something thumped him on the back of the head, sending him sprawling. Half-dazed, Bertie saw a ball bounce in the mud. He reached out to grab it before it could cross the line. Seconds later he was mobbed by his teammates.

  “Brilliant, Bertie!”

  “What a save!”

  “You weren’t even looking!”

  They crowded round him, slapping him on the back. Bertie grinned and spat out a piece of grass.

  Soon after, the whistle blew for the end of the game. The Pudsley players threw their arms in the air. Miss Boot danced in the puddles. A draw against the might of Cropper Lane was as good as a victory. Bertie was carried off the pitch by his cheering teammates. He caught sight of a scowling boy trying to slink away unseen. Bertie scooped a clod of mud off his shirt and took aim…

  SPLAT!

  CHAPTER 1

  It was twenty to nine. Bertie was late for school.

  “Bertie! Hurry up!” yelled his mum.

  “I’m not going!”

  “Get down here now!” cried Mum. “I’m counting to five.”

  “The door’s stuck! I can’t get out!”

  Mum folded her arms. “One, two, three, four … four and a half…”

  The bathroom door burst open and Bertie stomped downstairs.

  “At last,” said Mum. “Let’s have a look at you. There, I think you look very smart.”

  Bertie stared at his reflection in the hall mirror. He hardly recognized himself. He was wearing a clean white shirt and school tie. His face glowed a healthy pink. His hair had been washed for the first time in months. Instead of resembling a bird’s nest, it was neatly combed and parted.

  “I look ridiculous,” moaned Bertie. “Why can’t I dress normally?”

  “You know why,” replied Mum. “It’s the class photo today and I want you to look your best.”

  Bertie tugged at his tie.

  “It’s str
angling me! I can’t breathe!”

  “Well you’ll have to put up with it,” said Mum. “Just for once, I’d like a class photo I can keep.”

  “But we’ve got millions of photos of me!” said Bertie.

  “Yes and you’re pulling a face in all of them.”

  Bertie sighed. It wasn’t his fault his class photos were never any good. Photographers always made the class stand around for ages. It was boring. By the time they did take the photo Bertie had lost interest and was looking the wrong way.

  Mum straightened his tie. “Anyway, this year you’re going to be smart. And I expect you to stay like this all day.”

  “OK, I’ll try,” groaned Bertie, wiping his nose on his hand.

  Mum sighed wearily. Bertie had trouble staying clean for five minutes, let alone a whole day.

  “Tell you what,” she said, “I’ll make you a deal. If you bring home a nice class photo I’ll take you to that water park.”

  “Splash City?” gasped Bertie.

  Splash City had just opened in town and all Bertie’s friends had been. It had a giant bubble pool, six flumes and the Rocky Rapids River Ride. Bertie was willing to do anything for a trip to Splash City – even stay clean for a day.

  “Is it a deal?” said Mum.

  “Deal,” said Bertie, excitedly.

  “Good. Have you got your hanky?”

  Bertie pulled it out of his pocket.

  “Remember to use it before the photo,” said Mum. “I don’t want a picture of you with a runny nose.”

  “OK!” sighed Bertie.

  “And don’t lose it. No hanky, no trip to Splash City – understand?”

  Bertie tucked his hanky up his sleeve and hurried off down the road. He couldn’t wait for the weekend. All he had to do was stay clean for one day – how hard could it be?