Fetch! Page 2

  Darren shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “I’ve got swimming,” said Donna.

  “I’ve got to visit my aunt,” said Eugene, gloomily.

  “Oh. Only I won’t be here,” said Bertie. “I’ve got to go to London. To meet the Queen.”

  The others stared at him boggle-eyed. Darren burst out laughing.

  “YOU? MEET THE QUEEN? HA HA!”

  “Good one, Bertie,” grinned Eugene. “For a minute I almost believed you.”

  “It’s true!” said Bertie. “She’s giving a gardening party. Me and Gran are invited.”

  “Invited to what?” asked a drawling voice. Bertie groaned. Trust Know-All Nick to poke his nose in where it wasn’t wanted!

  “Bertie reckons he’s going to meet the Queen,” grinned Darren.

  “Oh ha ha, very funny,” sneered Nick.

  “I am!” said Bertie.

  “Liar liar, pants on fire!”

  “All right, don’t believe me,” said Bertie, huffily.

  “I don’t,” said Nick.

  “Okay, I’ll bring you the invitation.”

  “Huh! Anyone could write an invitation,” scoffed Nick. “Prove you met the Queen, then I might believe you.”

  “Right, I will!” said Bertie. “I’ll get her photo. We’ll soon see who’s lying!”

  The week went by slowly. As the big day drew near, Bertie’s parents gave him lots of helpful advice.

  “Don’t mumble!” said Dad.

  “Don’t slouch!” said Mum.

  “And please, please, please DON’T PICK YOUR NOSE!”

  “I’m not going to,” sighed Bertie. Anyone would think he had no manners at all!

  Mum pulled up a chair. “All right, let’s have a practice. Pretend I’m the Queen and we’ve just met. Now, what do you say?”

  “Um… Where’s the food?” said Bertie.

  “You can’t ask the Queen that!”

  “Why not? I’ll be hungry.”

  “You have to make Polite Conversation,” said Mum. “And remember to call her ‘Your Majesty’. Now try again.

  Ahem… Good afternoon, young man.”

  “Good hafternoon, Your Magicsty,” said Bertie.

  Mum gave him a look. “Why are you talking like that?”

  “I’m makin’ polite what-you-said.”

  “You sound like you’ve got a mouthful of chewing gum. Speak normally! And stop bobbing up and down!”

  “I’m bowing!” said Bertie.

  “Well don’t! Keep still and talk to me. And hurry up, the Queen hasn’t got all day!”

  “Good afternoon, Your Magicsty,” said Bertie. “Um, when do we eat?”

  Mum gave up. There would be hundreds of people at the garden party. With any luck, Bertie wouldn’t get within a mile of the Queen. She certainly hoped not.

  CHAPTER 3

  The great day finally dawned. At ten o’clock on Saturday morning, Bertie knocked on Gran’s front door. Gran did a double take. Was this really her grandson? Bertie’s face shone, his hair was neatly parted and he was wearing a tie.

  “My goodness!” she cried. “I hardly recognized you. You look as if you’ve been polished!”

  Gran took his picture. Then Bertie took a picture of Gran in her new dress and hat. Then they set off for the station.

  Just after two o’clock they presented themselves at the palace gates. A man wearing a smart uniform showed them through to the biggest garden Bertie had ever seen. It had wide green lawns, magnificent fountains and statues with bare bottoms. Across the lawn, hundreds of people were spilling out of an enormous white tent.

  Bertie stared. How was he going to meet the Queen with all this lot?

  Inside the tent, things didn’t get any better. He could hardly move without treading on someone’s foot or being poked by a handbag. Bertie sighed. Where was the party food? The royal jelly and ice cream? A waiter passed by with a tray of dainty cucumber sandwiches. Bertie took one and crammed it into his mouth. It would hardly have fed a goldfish.

  He looked around. This was going to be the worst party ever. Everyone was nearly as old as Gran – and all they did was stand around talking and sipping tea. Worst of all, the Queen hadn’t even bothered to turn up! Bertie had been keeping an eye out for someone wearing a sparkly gold crown, but there was no sign of her. At this rate he would never get a photo. What would he tell all his friends?

  “BERTIE!” hissed Gran.

  “What?”

  “Don’t eat so fast. And don’t say ‘what?’ say ‘pardon’.”

  “But I didn’t burp!” protested Bertie. He sighed. “Can I see if there’s any cake?”

  Gran rolled her eyes. “If you must. But don’t be greedy.”

  Bertie pushed his way through the crowd until he spotted a waiter with a plate of cakes. There were dainty cupcakes, macaroons and lemon slices. He tugged on the waiter’s sleeve, and started to fill his plate. A voice interrupted him.

  “Are you having a nice time?”

  Bertie turned to see a lady in a pale blue dress, with a matching hat. She was about Gran’s age, but spoke terribly nicely, as if she was reading the news.

  “Er, yes … yes thanks,” said Bertie.

  “One imagines this might not be your cup of tea,” said the smiling lady.

  “Oh, I don’t drink tea,” said Bertie. “I tried it once but I spat it out.”

  “I meant the garden party. Are you really having a nice time?”

  “Honestly?” said Bertie, cramming a cupcake into his mouth.

  “Honestly.”

  Bertie lowered his voice. “It’s dead boring. There’s nothing to do.”

  “Ah,” said the lady. “I see.”

  “I mean look!” said Bertie, spraying cake crumbs everywhere. “You’d think the Queen’d do better than this. There aren’t even any balloons or games! She could at least have got a bouncy castle!”

  The lady seemed to find this idea amusing. “People would have to take off their hats,” she said.

  Bertie caught sight of Gran, who seemed to be trying to tell him something. She pointed at Bertie’s companion and waved her hands as if she was swatting flies. Bertie hadn’t a clue what she meant. He’d only taken four cakes so he was hardly being greedy.

  Other people were waiting to meet the lady in the blue hat. She seemed surprisingly popular.

  “Well, I enjoyed our little chat,” she said. “Tell me, are you fond of dogs?”

  “Um, yes, I’ve got a dog,” said Bertie. “He’s called Whiffer.”

  “I have corgis. Five. Molly, Polly, Vicky, Georgia and Jemima. Perhaps you’d like to see them?”

  “Me?” said Bertie.

  “Yes, my footman will show you the way.”

  A man in a black uniform bowed. Bertie wondered why the lady had a footman. Maybe she had bad feet? In any case, dogs were much more interesting than people. He followed the footman out of the tent to a small courtyard. A maid stood waiting with five fat little corgis, all pulling on their leads.

  CHAPTER 4

  Bertie let the corgis lick the cake crumbs off his hand.

  “You like dogs?” asked the maid.

  “Yes,” replied Bertie. “Do you?”

  “Can’t stand ’em. Smelly, yappy things. Want to hold them for a bit?”

  “Can I?”

  Bertie took the leads from the maid, who seemed glad of a break. Molly, Polly, Vicky, Georgia and Jemima sniffed round his legs.

  “They haven’t had their walkies yet,” said the maid.

  “I could take them,” said Bertie. “I’m not doing anything.”

  The maid considered. “Okay, just round the gardens. But keep ’em on the lead.”

  Bertie set off. He was used to taking Whiffer for walks, but five excited corgis were a lot more trouble. They pulled in different directions and their leads got tangled under his feet. They crossed the lawn, passing the Queen’s garden party. Ooops! Bertie stumbled over a tap.

  WHOOSH! A
garden sprinkler came on, spraying him with jets of water.

  “Arghh! Oooh!” yelped Bertie, letting go of the dog leads.

  Free at last, the corgis bolted through a flower bed and raced across the lawn.

  “NO! COME BACK!” yelled Bertie, as they headed for the door of the big white tent.

  He chased after them. The party was still in full flow, but as he reached the tent he heard a terrible noise.

  WOOF! CRASH! TINKLE! THUNK!

  Bertie barged his way through the crowd. He stared in horror. A waiter was lying on the floor, surrounded by broken cups and plates. Five fat little corgis were clambering over him, licking up cream and bits of cupcake.

  “Crumbs!” gasped Bertie.

  The party had fallen silent. The waiter scrambled to his feet and bowed to the lady in the blue hat.

  “Your Majesty, I’m most terribly sorry,” he said.

  Bertie gaped. “Your Majesty?” Then the lady in the blue hat was the QUEEN? Why hadn’t anyone warned him? He’d told her that her party was boring. He’d let her dogs loose and broken her best plates. She would probably have his head chopped off!

  The Queen turned to Bertie and raised her eyebrows.

  “Ah,” she said. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

  Bertie gulped. He bowed low.

  “Your Magicsty … um, would you be in a photo?”

  The following Monday, Bertie’s friends were waiting for him in the playground. They hadn’t forgotten his ridiculous boast.

  “So?” grinned Darren. “How was the party?”

  “Did you see the palace?” asked Eugene.

  “And did you meet her Majesty?” jeered Know-All Nick.

  Bertie waited for them to stop laughing. “Actually, I did,” he said. “We had a good chat.”

  “Liar!” snorted Nick. “You’re making it up.”

  “Am I,” said Bertie. He reached into his pocket and brought out a photo. Nick stared. His mouth fell open. He turned white, then green.

  “You can keep it if you like,” said Bertie. “I’ve got lots!”

  CHAPTER 1

  Bertie groaned.

  “It’s not fair! Why do I have to go?”

  “It’s your cousin’s wedding,” said Mum.

  “I love weddings,” sighed Suzy. “So romantic!”

  “Yuck! I hate them!” said Bertie.

  The last wedding his parents had dragged him to was deathly dull. He had to sit through speeches that went on for days. Even when it was time to leave there were armies of aunts waiting to kiss him. This time, his cousin Dora was marrying her fiancé, Bruce. Bertie had met drippy Dora. He couldn’t see why anyone would want to talk to her – let alone marry her.

  “In any case, we’re going,” said Mum. “Suzy’s a bridesmaid and you’re a pageboy.”

  Bertie looked horrified. Him? A pageboy?

  “No way!” he cried.

  “All you have to do is look smart,” said Mum.

  “I never look smart,” said Bertie, truthfully.

  “You will for Dora’s wedding,” said Mum firmly. “That’s why I’m taking you shopping on Saturday. Suzy can find a bridesmaid’s dress and we’ll get you a kilt.”

  “A KILT?” Bertie gasped for air. “But that’s a … a…”

  “A SKIRT!” giggled Suzy. “HA HA!”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Mum. “Bruce is Scottish and lots of the men will be wearing kilts.”

  “But can’t I just wear jeans?” begged Bertie.

  “Of course not! It’s a wedding!”

  Bertie groaned. This was torture! Cruelty! It couldn’t be happening!

  On Saturday morning Mum took them to “Gladrags” wedding shop in town. The snooty assistant helped them to choose things to try on. Suzy picked a pretty lilac dress with puff sleeves and went to change. Bertie didn’t choose anything. The kilts were all too big, too baggy, too … skirty! In the end Mum chose one for him. Bertie took it into the changing room and slammed the door.

  A moment later, Suzy appeared.

  “Oh darling, you look lovely!” said Mum.

  Suzy twirled round in front of the mirror. She’d always dreamed of being a bridesmaid. It was just a pity Bertie would be there to spoil the pictures.

  “Where is Bertie?” Mum frowned. “He’s been in there ages.”

  She knocked on the changing room door. “BERTIE?”

  “He’s not here!”

  “Bertie, hurry up, we’re waiting!”

  “It doesn’t fit. It’s too big!” grumbled Bertie.

  “Nonsense! Let me see!” said Mum.

  “NO!”

  Mum folded her arms. “Right, I’m counting to three. One, two, thr—”

  BLAM! The door burst open. Bertie stomped out, scowling furiously. He was wearing a black jacket, a frilly shirt and a green kilt with a hairy sporran. It was the smallest kilt in the shop, but it practically reached Bertie’s ankles.

  “It’s too big!” he moaned. “I look stupid!”

  “Ahh,” said Suzy. “Do you want an ickle pink bow for your hair?”

  “SHUT UP!” cried Bertie.

  “Take no notice,” said Mum. “Lots of boys wear kilts. I think you look very handsome.”

  Bertie scowled at his reflection in the mirror. Handsome? He couldn’t go out like this! What if one of his friends saw him? It was bad enough that he had to be at Dora’s wedding, but dressed in a tartan skirt? No, he wouldn’t do it, not for his cousin, not for anyone. And there was nothing they could do to make him.

  CHAPTER 2

  Bertie climbed into the car and slumped on the back seat. It was the morning of Bruce and Dora’s wedding. He had tried everything to get out of wearing the horrible hairy kilt. First he’d claimed it was torn, then lost, then that it’d fallen down the toilet. Mum wasn’t fooled. She said he was wearing the kilt and he’d better get used to it.

  The cars set off for the church. Bertie was going with Suzy and Neil, the best man. Bertie wriggled around. His kilt was itchy. He tucked it between his legs. He hoped it wasn’t a windy day. Dad said that Scots didn’t wear anything under their kilts – but he wasn’t falling for that one! He was wearing two pairs of pants, just in case.

  “Move over!” grumbled Suzy.

  “You move over!” said Bertie.

  “No! You’re creasing my dress!”

  Neil groaned. “Stop squabbling! You’re giving me a headache!”

  Bertie rolled his eyes. What a fusspot! If Bertie ever needed a best man it wouldn’t be Neil.

  Neil looked at his watch. He checked he had his hanky and his speech. He checked he’d got the ring in the little box.

  “What’s that?” asked Bertie.

  “The wedding ring, stupid,” said Suzy.

  “Can I see it?”

  “Certainly not!” said Neil.

  “Please. Please, please, please…”

  “Oh all right,” groaned Neil. “Just be careful!”

  Bertie opened the box. “Wow!” he gasped. “Is it real gold?”

  “Of course it’s real!”

  Bertie had never actually held a real gold ring. The only rings he ever got were out of Christmas crackers. Dora must have small hands because this ring was tiny. Bertie held it up. Maybe it would fit him? He slipped it over his thumb to see.

  “BERTIE!” snapped Neil. “Give it back.”

  “Okay, okay,” sighed Bertie. Some people were so impatient!

  He pulled at the ring. Oops! It wouldn’t come off. He tried to twist it. Argh! He tugged. He wrestled and wriggled. It wouldn’t budge.

  “Bertie, come ON!” groaned Neil.

  “I’m … trying!” panted Bertie. “It seems to be … arrrr … stuck!”

  The car turned a corner and pulled up outside the church. They all climbed out. In desperation Neil and Suzy took it in turns to try and pull the ring off Bertie’s thumb.

  “Keep still!”

  “I am … OW! That hurts!” moaned Berti
e.

  It was no use. The ring was stuck like superglue. No matter how much they pulled and yanked, it wouldn’t come off. A car drew up and Mum and Dad got out.

  “Everything okay?” said Dad.

  “It’s Bertie,” said Suzy. “He was playing with the ring and now he’s got it stuck!”

  “What?”

  Bertie held up his thumb to show them.

  “It’s not my fault!” he grumbled. “How was I to know it wouldn’t come off?”

  “Of course it’s your fault,” cried Neil. “You should never have touched it in the first place.”

  He paced up and down in a panic. This was terrible, a nightmare! Everyone was in the church waiting, and any minute now Dora would be here. But how could they start the service without a ring?

  Dad checked his watch. “What are we going to do?”

  Mum had an idea. “Butter!” she cried.

  “What?”

  “Butter – that’s how you get it off! Rub his thumb with butter.”

  “We don’t have any butter!” groaned Neil.

  “What about the church hall?” said Suzy.

  “Of course!” said Mum. Everyone was going to the church hall after the service for the wedding party. There would be stacks of food. They were bound to find butter somewhere.

  Just then, a big white car drew up outside the church. The bride had arrived. Dora got out, trailing vast clouds of silk. Mum sprang into action.

  “Quick,” she said. “I’ll try to delay them. Bertie, run to the hall with Dad.”

  “Me? What for?” said Bertie.

  “To find some butter!” cried Mum. “And for heaven’s sake, HURRY!”

  CHAPTER 3