Monster!

  To Joel ~ D R

  For my dear Sally x ~ A M

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1 Monster!

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  2 Buskers!

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  3 Rocky!

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  Collect all the Dirty Bertie books!

  Copyright

  Miss Boot glared at her class, waiting for silence.

  “The Summer Fair is only a week away, and I need polite, sensible children to help run the stalls,” she said. Her eyes fell on Bertie, who was drawing on the back of his hand. She sighed – he was about as sensible as a fruit bat.

  Bertie put down his felt-tip pen and sat forward. There was only one stall he and his friends were interested in running, and he hoped that no one else pinched it.

  “I’ve made a list of all the stalls,” said Miss Boot. “Raise your hand if you would like to help with one of them. First, the book stall…”

  Bertie waited as Miss Boot worked her way down the list.

  “Next, face painting,” she said.

  Bertie’s hand flew into the air. Darren and Eugene leaped out of their seats excitedly.

  “Ooh! Ooh, Miss! Can we do it? Can we?” they begged.

  “We’d be brilliant at face painting,” said Bertie.

  Miss Boot sucked in her breath. She imagined entrusting Bertie with a set of face paints. He’d probably give people revolting spots or ugly warts. In no time there’d be a queue of wailing children and angry parents demanding their money back. It was out of the question.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said. “Donna and Pamela, I’m sure I could rely on you.”

  “But what about us?” moaned Bertie.

  “I have another job for you,” said Miss Boot. “The Lucky Dip – you can’t do any damage with that.”

  THE LUCKY DIP? NO! Bertie slumped back in his seat. Why did they always get the most boring stall at the fair? There was nothing to do on the Lucky Dip, and the prizes were rubbish. Last year Bertie had won a bar of scented soap – what was “lucky” about that? Besides, he was brilliant at face painting.

  When the bell rang for break, Bertie trailed outside with his friends.

  “It’s not fair,” he complained. “We never get chosen for anything!”

  “The Lucky Dip… BOR-ING!” groaned Darren.

  “Well, there’s nothing we can do. Miss Boot won’t change her mind,” sighed Eugene.

  “We’re not beaten yet,” said Bertie.

  He’d set his heart on face painting and he wasn’t giving up without a fight. After all, anything could happen on the day. With a bit of luck, Donna and Pamela might be allergic to face paints.

  The day of the Summer Fair arrived. Miss Boot stood at the school gates, greeting people as they came in. The sun was shining and the school field was packed with visitors. Everyone seemed to be having fun – everyone except Bertie and his friends at the Lucky Dip.

  Bertie sat kicking his feet behind a large black bin filled with sawdust.

  “LUCKY DIP – A PRIZE EVERY TIME!” said the sign. So far they’d only had two customers – one had won a plastic key ring and the other a jar of elastic bands.

  “This is rubbish,” grumbled Darren.

  Bertie gazed longingly at the face-painting stall, where a queue of children waited their turn. Donna was painting someone as a mermaid while Pamela drew a butterfly on a toddler’s cheek.

  “Look at that,” said Bertie in disgust. “They’re not even doing it properly!”

  “Maybe we could ask them to swap?” suggested Eugene.

  “Fat chance!” snorted Darren. “Who wants to run the Lucky Dip? The prizes are all useless!”

  Suddenly Bertie had an idea. What if the Lucky Dip prizes weren’t so useless? What if it was a gold mine and everyone wanted a go? Then Donna and Pamela might be tempted to swap with them!

  “Lend me a pound, Eugene,” said Bertie.

  “What?”

  “Come on,” said Bertie. “Do you want to do face painting or not?”

  Reluctantly Eugene handed over one of the coins he’d brought for the fair. Bertie wrapped the coin in red tissue paper and hid it near the top of the bin.

  A few minutes later Royston Rich stopped at the stall.

  “Lucky Dip – a prize every time!” cried Bertie. “Try your luck, Royston!”

  Royston handed over his money and plunged his hand into the sawdust.

  “The best prizes are near the top,” Bertie whispered.

  Royston pulled out a ball of red tissue paper. He unwrapped it to reveal Eugene’s shiny pound coin.

  “WOW! I won a pound!” he cried.

  “That’s nothing,” said Bertie. “Don’t tell anyone, but there’s a fortune in here – maybe a hundred pounds!”

  “Never!” gasped Royston.

  “Don’t say I told you,” whispered Bertie.

  Royston quickly paid for another go. This time he won a pencil sharpener, but it didn’t put him off. He rushed off to tell his friends.

  “ONE HUNDRED POUNDS?” cried Darren. “You made that up!”

  “Of course I did, but Royston doesn’t know that,” said Bertie. “You wait, soon everyone will want a go. Then we’ll see if Donna and Pamela want to swap.”

  Bertie was right. Once word got around that the Lucky Dip was a treasure trove, it began to draw a crowd. Children queued in the hope of finding a five or ten pound note. Eventually Donna and Pamela came over to see what the fuss was about.

  “What’s going on?” asked Pamela.

  “Royston won a pound,” Bertie explained. “It turns out the Lucky Dip’s full of money.”

  “Really?” said Donna.

  “Yes, we’ve won quite a bit ourselves,” said Bertie. “Haven’t we Eugene?”

  “Oh … er, yes, we have,” said Eugene.

  “Millions!” said Darren.

  “Wow!” said Pamela. “I wish Miss Boot had given us the Lucky Dip!”

  Bertie pretended to consider. “Well, I suppose we could swap stalls for a bit,” he offered generously.

  Pamela and Donna looked at each other.

  “Could we?” asked Donna. “But what about Miss Boot?”

  “She won’t care!” said Bertie. “She’s too busy to notice.”

  “Okay, you’re on,” said Pamela.

  Bertie smiled to himself. At last! he thought. Now was his chance to show what could really be done with a set of face paints!

  “This is wicked,” said Darren. “I just turned Royston Rich into a rat!”

  “And I gave Angela Nicely measles,” said Eugene. “She loved it!”

  Bertie and his friends had been busy. So far they hadn’t painted any mermaids, fairies or butterflies – instead they had done two pirates, a werewolf and a ghost.

  Bertie nudged Darren. “Look, there’s Know-All Nick,” he said. “Let’s paint him.”

  “Yes,” grinned Darren. “We could make him really UGLY.”

  “He’s ugly already,” said Eugene.

  Know-All Nick caught sight of the stall and stopped.

  “Face painting?” he smirked. “I thought Miss Boot put you on the Lucky Dip.”

  “She did, but we swapped,” said Bertie. “Why don’t we paint you, Nick?”

  “No thanks,” replied Nick. “My mum says I’ve got sensitive skin.”

  “It’s okay, these are extra-sensitive face paints,” said Bertie.

  “I bet you’d look great with your face painted,”
said Darren.

  “You think so?” said Nick.

  “Oh yes, with a face like yours you could be anything,” said Eugene. “A superhero, for instance.”

  Nick’s eyes lit up. Secretly he’d always believed he’d make a fantastic superhero. He could be TIDYMAN – saving the world from smelly socks and pants.

  He narrowed his eyes. “But how do I know you won’t play a trick on me?” he asked.

  “US?” said Bertie. “As if we’d do that!”

  “So what’s it to be?” asked Darren. “A wizard or a superhero?”

  Nick shook his head. “Make me a lion,” he said. “A big scary lion.”

  Bertie raised his eyebrows. He couldn’t think of anyone less like a lion than Nick – he was more of a slug or a worm. In any case, a lion wasn’t much of a challenge. Nick deserved something better, something special. Wait, he had it – the perfect idea. People would certainly get a fright when they saw Nick’s face. Bertie whispered to his friends, who grinned and nodded.

  “What are you saying?” whined Nick.

  “Nothing!” said Bertie. “We’ll make you a lion. Close your eyes so you don’t get paint in them.”

  Nick sat down and did as he was told.

  “Right, let’s get started,” said Bertie. He reached for the green and daubed it all over Nick’s face.

  “What are you doing?” demanded Nick.

  “Just putting on the base colour,” replied Bertie. “Golden for a lion.”

  “Don’t forget the whiskers,” said Nick.

  “Don’t worry,” said Bertie. “I won’t.”

  He reached for another face paint and gave Nick thick black eyebrows. Next he added ugly scars running across his forehead.

  “Do I look like a lion?” asked Nick.

  “Definitely,” grinned Eugene. “A monster lion.”

  Finally Bertie wet Nick’s hair and shaped it into jagged peaks.

  “This is your lion’s mane,” he said. “There we are – finished!”

  He stood back to admire his work.

  “Oh, yes!” said Eugene. “The Lion King!”

  “Dead scary!” said Darren.

  Nick stood up. Bertie had thought Nick was ugly before, but now he made Dracula seem handsome.

  “Where’s the mirror? I want to see myself!” cried Nick.

  “Oh, um, sorry, Darren broke the mirror,” said Bertie, hiding it behind his back.

  “But we promise you won’t be disappointed,” said Darren.

  Nick showed his claws. “Am I really scary?” he asked.

  “Very scary,” said Bertie. “Why don’t you creep up on someone and give them a fright?”

  “I’m going to!” said Nick. “You watch, I’m going to creep up and roar. GRRRR!”

  “Oh, help, help! It’s a lion!” whimpered Bertie. “That’ll be fifty pence, please.”

  Nick paid and went off looking pleased with his new look.

  Eugene laughed. “He’s not going to be too happy when he sees himself.”

  “No, not when he finds out he looks like Frankenstein’s monster,” said Darren.

  “Well, if you ask me, I think it’s a big improvement,” said Bertie.

  Nick made his way through the crowds. People turned to stare as he went past. A toddler saw him and burst into tears.

  Anyone would think they’d never seen a lion before! thought Nick. He practised his roar under his breath. “ROOARR!”

  Who should he sneak up on first? Trevor or maybe Royston Rich? No, they’d both pretend they weren’t scared. What he wanted was someone who’d really scream with fright. Come to think of it, his mum could scream quite loudly. He spotted her at the refreshment stall, chatting with Miss Boot over a cup of tea.

  Perfect, thought Nick. Wait till a lion creeps up and pounces on them.

  Back at their stall, Bertie and his friends watched as Nick slunk over to the refreshment stall and dropped down on all fours.

  “What’s he doing now?” asked Eugene.

  “Pretending to be a lion,” said Darren.

  “Maybe he’s creeping up on someone,” said Bertie. “Wait, isn’t that Miss Boot?”

  “Yes,” said Eugene. “And she’s talking to Nick’s mum.”

  Surely Nick wasn’t planning to scare his mum and Miss Boot?

  “Come on!” said Bertie, hurrying over. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

  As they reached the refreshment stall, they were just in time to see Nick crawl under his mum’s table.

  “I’m so glad Nicholas is doing well,” Nick’s mum was saying. “He’s such a kind and sensible boy…”

  Bertie saw a hand grip the table. Then a ghastly green face rose up above a plate of cupcakes. Miss Boot turned her head and gasped, dropping her teacup.

  “GRAAAARR!” roared Nick.

  “EEEK!” screamed his mum, falling backwards off her chair.

  Know-All Nick jumped out, growling and showing his teeth.

  “GRRRR! GRAAAARR!”

  Miss Boot stared at the monster. She knew that face.

  “NICHOLAS!” she thundered. “IS THIS YOUR IDEA OF A JOKE?”

  “Did I scare you?” cried Know-All Nick.

  “Good heavens, Nicholas! What have you done to your face?” gasped his mum.

  “It’s face paint,” said Nick. “I’m a lion! GRRRR!”

  “A lion indeed!” snorted Miss Boot. “I’ve never heard such nonsense. Take a look at yourself!”

  She grabbed her handbag and brought out a pocket mirror. Nick stared at his reflection in horror.

  “But … I look like FRANKENSTEIN’S MONSTER!” he wailed.

  “Yes,” said Miss Boot. “I’m surprised at you, Nicholas. And Donna and Pamela should be ashamed.”

  “But it wasn’t Donna and Pamela,” moaned Nick. “It was Bertie! He tricked me! He said I was a big scary lion.”

  “BERTIE?” barked Miss Boot. “I warned him to keep away from the face paints! Where is that wretched boy?”

  She looked around. But there was no sign of Bertie or his friends – not at the face-painting stall or anywhere else.

  Bertie had heard Miss Boot bawl his name and had legged it back to the Lucky Dip to hide. He peeped out of the bin. All in all, the Summer Fair hadn’t turned out so badly. He was looking forward to seeing Know-All Nick on Monday. Perhaps from now on they should just call him Nickenstein…

  It was Saturday morning and Bertie was out shopping with Mum and Suzy. He couldn’t see the point of shopping, unless it involved sweets or toys. Today, however, Suzy needed new school shoes. He trailed behind them along the high street. Is anything more boring than shoe shopping? he thought.

  The sound of music drifted down the street. Outside a shop, a man was tootling away on some sort of instrument. Bertie stopped in his tracks.

  “It’s just a busker,” said Mum. “Come on, Bertie, we don’t have time.”

  Bertie didn’t hear – he had already wandered over to take a closer look.

  BOOM, CHIKKA, BOOM!

  The busker had a drum machine tapping out a tinny rhythm.

  But something else had caught Bertie’s eye. Lying on the pavement was a hat – a hat full of money! As Bertie stared, someone dropped fifty pence into the hat as they went by. Bertie could hardly believe it. He’d seen people throw coins in a fountain, but never a hat before! Perhaps it was a lucky hat? He stooped down to pick it up.

  “Look at this!” he called to Suzy.

  The music came to a sudden halt.

  “Hey, you! Get your thieving hands off!” cried the busker.

  Mum came running over.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed, snatching the hat from Bertie.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, handing it back to the busker. “I’m sure he wasn’t going to keep it.”

  “Why not?” asked Bertie. “It was just lying there!”

  Mum grabbed Bertie by the arm and marched him off.

  “What?” said Bertie. “I
was only looking at it!”

  Suzy rolled her eyes. “You are so embarrassing,” she groaned.

  At the shoe shop, Bertie fidgeted while Suzy tried on endless pairs of shoes.

  “How was I to know the hat was his?” he grumbled.

  “Why do you think he left it there?” asked Mum.

  “Don’t ask me,” said Bertie. “It’s a stupid place to leave a hat!”

  “It’s there to collect the money!” explained Mum. “Buskers play on the street. If you like the music then you drop money in their hat.”

  “What? Just for blowing a trumpet?” said Bertie.

  “It was a saxophone,” sighed Suzy. “And actually he was pretty good.”

  Bertie stared. Wait a minute… So you could play music on the street and people would actually pay you? Why hadn’t someone told him this before?

  “Can anyone do busking?” he asked.

  “No, you have to be able to play an instrument,” said Suzy.

  “I can play,” said Bertie. “I used to play the recorder.”

  “Yes, until you broke it,” said Mum.

  “Well, I bet I could play the saxophone,” said Bertie. “Our music teacher says I must be good at something.”

  “Whatever she says, you’re not going busking,” said Mum firmly.

  “Why not?” asked Bertie.

  “Because you’re way too young!” said Mum.

  Bertie sighed. He didn’t see what his age had got to do with it. He bet Darren and Eugene wouldn’t think he was too young. Come to think of it, why didn’t they all go busking together? With three of them they could make an almighty racket! They were bound to earn a fortune!

  The shopping trip was a failure. Suzy couldn’t find any school shoes she liked and by eleven o’clock they were back home. Bertie rang Darren and Eugene and invited them round, eager to tell them his latest idea.