Worms! Read online

  “Actually it’s not,” said a reedy voice behind them. It was Know-All Nick, Bertie’s worst enemy.

  “How do you know?” asked Bertie.

  “Because I heard Miss Skinner tell Miss Boot,” said Nick, looking pleased with himself. “She said the tickets had come this morning.”

  “Tickets for what?” asked Darren.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know!” sneered Nick (who would have liked to know himself).

  “I bet it’s football tickets!” said Darren.

  “Or cinema tickets,” said Donna.

  “Or tickets for Mega Mayhem,” said Bertie, his eyes lighting up. Mega Mayhem was the best theme park in the world and he’d been begging to go for months.

  “It doesn’t matter what it is,” said Nick, smugly. “I’m bound to win. My mum says I’ve got beautiful manners.”

  “It’s a pity your face is so ugly,” muttered Bertie.

  Bertie thought about the prize for the rest of the day. He was sure the tickets were for Mega Mayhem and he’d made up his mind to win them. Even if it meant he had to be polite for a whole day he didn’t care. After all, how hard could it be?

  CHAPTER 2

  The next morning Bertie bounded out of bed. Today was National Courtesy Day – the day he was going to win the prize. On the landing he met his mum returning from the bathroom.

  “Good morning, Mum,” he said. “Isn’t it a lovely morning?”

  His mum gave him a suspicious look. “What have you done, Bertie?”

  “I haven’t done anything,” said Bertie. “I was just being polite.”

  Downstairs Dad and Suzy were eating breakfast.

  “Good morning!” Bertie greeted them cheerfully, as he sat down.

  He poured Frostie Flakes into his bowl and cleared his throat. “Ahem. Would you pass the milk please, Suzy?”

  Suzy stared at him. “Why are you talking in that funny way?”

  “It’s not a funny way, thank you. It’s called being polite.”

  Bertie poured milk into his bowl without spilling a drop and sucked his Frostie Flakes so as not to make a noise. Even when he dropped his spoon he was careful to wipe it on his jumper before putting it in his mouth.

  “I might be getting a prize today,” he announced.

  Dad looked up. “Mmm? What kind of prize?”

  “For being polite,” said Bertie. “It’s National Courtesy Day and they’re giving a prize for being polite.”

  “You? Polite? HA!” snorted Suzy.

  Bertie sniffed. “I’m more polite than you, fat-face.”

  “Nose, Bertie,” said Dad. “Where’s your hanky?”

  Bertie pulled a grubby hanky from his pocket and wiped his nose. Something fell out and plopped into the sugar bowl.

  “Eugghh!” shrieked Suzy. “What’s that?”

  “It’s only Buzz. He won’t hurt you,” said Bertie, picking out the large bluebottle.

  “Bertie! It’s a dead fly!” said Dad.

  “I know,” replied Bertie. “Don’t worry, I’m going to bury him.”

  Bertie had found Buzz lying on his window sill. He had decided to bury him under the apple tree. He blew off the sugar that was stuck to his wings.

  “Put it away!” said Dad. “It’s filthy!”

  Bertie sighed and wrapped Buzz inside his hanky. He would bury him after school. That was the trouble he thought, you did your best to be polite and all you got was people shouting at you.

  CHAPTER 3

  Miss Prim stood at the front of the class. She was tall and thin. Her glasses hung round her neck on a cord. Bertie thought she must be a hundred at least. He’d seen Miss Prim at the library where she stood behind a desk and stamped people’s books. He hoped she didn’t remember him. Last time he’d been to the library Whiffer had done something in the story corner and they’d had to leave quickly.

  “This is Miss Prim,” said Miss Boot. “I hope we’re all going to show her how well-mannered we can be.” She ran her eye over her class, who were all sitting up straight and paying attention. It was marvellous the effect a prize could have. Even Bertie wasn’t lolling in his seat or pushing a pencil up his nose.

  Miss Prim talked to the class about the importance of good manners. Bertie tried to listen but his mind kept drifting off. He was imagining whizzing down the Slide of Doom at Mega Mayhem.

  “Now,” said Miss Boot. “Who would like to show our visitor around the school? Let’s have two volunteers.”

  Bertie’s hand shot in the air. This was his chance to show Miss Prim how polite he could be. Unfortunately everyone else in his class had the same idea. Thirty children strained out of their seats waving their hands in the air. “Miss! Ooh, Miss! Please, Miss!”

  Miss Boot pointed. “Nick. I’m sure you’ll look after our visitor.”

  Bertie couldn’t believe it. Not Know-All Nick – why did he always get picked? Just because he’d made Miss Boot a soppy card on her birthday. It wasn’t fair – Bertie never got picked for anything.

  Miss Boot hesitated. She needed someone else who was polite and reliable.

  “Miss, ooh, Miss! Me, Miss!”

  “What about that boy at the back who’s sitting so quietly?” suggested Miss Prim.

  “Oh,” said Miss Boot. “Not Bertie?”

  Bertie, who hadn’t been listening, looked up. “Me?” he said.

  Miss Prim walked down the corridor, admiring the paintings on the walls.

  “That one’s mine,” said Nick, pointing to a bright picture of a sunset.

  “And that one’s mine,” said Bertie, pointing to a splodgy mess of green. “It’s an alien. And that’s his dinner inside him.”

  “Ah,” said Miss Prim. “How unusual. Don’t we have a hanky, Bertie?”

  “Oh yes. ’Scuse me,” said Bertie. He pulled out his hanky and offered it to Miss Prim.

  “No, I meant you. You need to wipe your nose!”

  “Oh. Thanks,” said Bertie. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and pocketed his hanky. He’d just remembered Buzz was wrapped inside and he didn’t want him falling out.

  Miss Prim sighed heavily. “Perhaps we could look in the next class,” she said.

  Nick started to walk ahead quickly. Bertie kept pace with him. There was a mad dash for the door and they both grabbed the handle at once.

  “I was first!”

  “I was!”

  “I was!”

  Miss Prim caught up with them. “Boys, boys! I hope we’re not squabbling,” she said.

  “Oh no,” smiled Nick. “I was just telling Bertie his shirt’s hanging out.”

  Bertie looked behind him. Nick wrenched open the door, squashing Bertie behind it.

  “After you, Miss,” said Nick. Miss Prim beamed at him.

  “Thank you, Nicholas. It’s nice to see someone remembers their manners.”

  CHAPTER 4

  By lunchtime Bertie was exhausted. Being polite was hard work, especially with Know-All Nick trying to outdo him the whole time. And now it looked as if he was stuck with Miss Prim for lunch.

  As they crossed the hall, Bertie could hardly believe his eyes. No one in the dinner queue was pushing and shoving. There was no running or fighting or firing peas across the room. Everyone was eating their lunch quietly and politely.

  “Hello, Miss Prim!” called Donna, as they passed by.

  Bertie gulped. Three of his teachers were waiting for them at a table laid with a white tablecloth and a vase of flowers.

  “Do come and join us,” said Miss Skinner. “Bertie will fetch your lunch.”

  “Careful you don’t drop it, Bertie!” whispered Know-All Nick.

  “Careful I don’t drop it on you,” muttered Bertie.

  Bertie sat opposite Miss Prim and Know-All Nick and stared at the plate in front of him. Spaghetti – how was he meant to eat that without making a mess? He watched Miss Prim wind spaghetti round her fork and tried to copy her. The spaghetti fell off before it reached his mouth. Nick put a hand o
ver his mouth and loudly sucked up a piece of spaghetti. “Shlooooooop!”

  “Bertie!” he said. “Don’t be so disgusting!”

  The teachers all looked in Bertie’s direction.

  “But … it wasn’t me!” gasped Bertie. “It was him!”

  Miss Prim made a tutting noise. “Don’t tell tales, Bertie, it isn’t nice.”

  Bertie turned to glare at Nick. He would have liked to put spaghetti down his neck. He would have liked to pour a jug of water down his pants. But he wanted those tickets and Miss Prim was watching him like a hawk. As he lifted his fork to his mouth a hand jogged his elbow.

  SPLAT! A splodge of sauce landed on the white tablecloth.

  “Oh Bertie, you are messy!” jeered Nick. “Look what you’ve done!”

  Miss Prim made another tutting noise.

  “But it wasn’t ME!” shouted Bertie.

  Miss Boot glared.

  Bertie ground his teeth. He would get that two-faced slimy sneak.

  Nick was sent to fetch dessert.

  Bertie’s eyes lit up. Chocolate fudge cake – his favourite. He reached out to grab a piece.

  “Manners, Bertie,” Miss Prim reminded him. “We don’t grab, we offer the plate to others.”

  Bertie reluctantly passed the cake round the table. Miss Skinner took a slice, so did Miss Boot and Mr Plumly. Bertie watched anxiously as the cake began to disappear.

  “Oh dear,” said Miss Prim, helping herself. “Only one piece left! Which of you is going to have it?”

  Bertie looked at Nick. Nick looked at Bertie. Both of them eyed the last slice of fudge cake. Then Nick did a surprising thing – he offered the plate to Bertie.

  “You have it, Bertie,” he said with a sickly smile. “I don’t mind, really.”

  Bertie wasn’t going to fall for that one. “That’s okay, Nick, I want you to have it.”

  “Oh, well, if you insist,” said Nick. “We don’t want it going to waste.” He snatched the last piece and took a large bite. “Thanks, Bertie.”

  Bertie glared furiously. He’d been tricked! Well, that was it. No more manners, this was war. That fudge cake was his by right and he was going to get it back. Bertie reached into his pocket and brought out his hanky. Nick was too busy talking to Miss Prim to notice a hand dart across the table.

  “Any second now,” thought Bertie. “Five, four, three, two…”

  Nick reached for the cake and raised it to his mouth. There was something black on top.

  “ARGHHHHH! A fly!” screamed Nick, dropping the cake on the table.

  “ARGGHHHH!” shrieked Miss Prim as Buzz landed in front of her.

  “I’ll get it!” cried Miss Skinner. She seized a spoon and attacked the bluebottle.

  SMACK! WHACK! THUMP! Plates and cups leaped in the air. Buzz hopped and jumped with each blow, showing surprising speed for a dead fly.

  Miss Boot grabbed the water jug and emptied it over the table. SPLOOSH!

  Buzz lay still in a puddle with his legs in the air.

  “Is it dead?” asked Miss Skinner. She picked up the fly by one leg and examined it.

  The silence was broken by a loud burp.

  Six pairs of eyes turned on Bertie. He had cake crumbs round his mouth and a satisfied smile on his face.

  “Bertie!” said Miss Skinner.

  “Um… Pardon me!” said Bertie, politely. He held out his hand. “Could I have my fly back, please?”

  Later that afternoon Bertie crowded into the hall with everyone else. The moment had arrived for Miss Prim to announce the winner of the prize. Bertie knew he didn’t stand a chance – not after all the trouble at lunchtime. At least he’d been able to rescue Buzz from the litter bin. In any case it had all been worth it to see the look on Know-All Nick’s face when he’d come eye to eye with Buzz. Bertie didn’t mind who won the prize – as long as it wasn’t Nick.

  “And the winner,” said Miss Prim, “is Nicholas Payne.”

  Bertie groaned. Know-All Nick made his way to the front and shook Miss Prim’s hand. Everyone craned their necks to see what his prize would be. Miss Prim handed him an envelope. “As you’re always so polite I’m sure you’re going to love this. It’s two tickets for the Museum of Manners in London.”

  Nick turned white. His mouth gaped open but nothing came out.

  Bertie leaned forward. “Manners, Nick,” he said. “Aren’t you going to say thank you?”

  CHAPTER 1

  RUMBLE, RUMBLE! SCREECH! SNORT!

  Something was making a noise outside Bertie’s window. He sat up in bed. It was Saturday, Bertie’s favourite day of the week. Saturday was bin day. He pulled back his curtains. Sure enough, there was the dustcart at the far end of the road. If he hurried he would be just in time.

  Downstairs he found Mum making tea in the kitchen.

  “Morning, Bertie…” She broke off and stared at him. “What on earth are you wearing?”

  Bertie looked at his outfit. He had on his dad’s painting overalls, a woolly hat and a muddy pair of wellingtons. True, the overalls were a bit big, but Bertie thought they were perfect for a bin man.

  “It’s Saturday,” he said. “I’ve got to help Ed with the bins.”

  “Oh Bertie, not today,” sighed Mum.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s the summer fair this morning. I don’t want you getting filthy.”

  “That’s why I’m wearing these!” said Bertie, flapping his long sleeves.

  “Anyway,” said Mum, “you’re too late. I took the rubbish out last night.”

  “But I always do it!” cried Bertie.

  “Sorry, I forgot. You can do it next time.”

  He stared after his mum as she disappeared upstairs with her tea. Whiffer looked up from a bone he was licking and blinked at him. “How could she forget?” asked Bertie. “I always take the rubbish out on Saturdays!”

  When he grew up Bertie had decided he wanted to be a bin man. He wanted to wear an orange jacket and big gloves and ride in a truck that snorted like a dragon. Most of all he wanted to work with mountains of messy, smelly, sticky rubbish. Bertie loved rubbish. He had piles of it under his bed. String, lolly sticks, rubber bands, sweet wrappers – it was amazing what people threw away!

  He began to rummage in the drawers. The bin men would be here any minute. Finally he found what he was looking for – a large black bin bag. All he needed now was a few bits of rubbish to fill it. Bertie looked around.

  In went a dishcloth, a bar of soap, a tin of cat food and a pile of letters from Bertie’s school (no one ever read them anyway). In went his dad’s slippers, some carrots (yuck!), a cauliflower (double yuck!) and his sister’s pony magazine.

  Rumble, rumble! The dustcart was coming. Bertie scooted into the hall dragging his bag behind him. Someone had left a pot of old flowers by the front door ready to throw out. Bertie scooped it into the bag with the rest.

  The wheelie bin stood on the pavement. Bertie climbed on to the front wall so he could reach to drop his bag in. He peered into the bin, sniffing the sweet smell of rotting vegetables.

  In one corner he caught sight of something familiar. Wasn’t that his chewing gum collection? Surely his mum hadn’t thrown it out? He bent into the bin to try and rescue it. The jar was just out of reach of his fingertips. He’d have to… “ARGHHH!”

  Bertie toppled in head first.

  His face was wedged against something soft and squashy. “Mmff! Help!”

  “Hello, mate,” said a voice. “Having a bit of trouble there?” Strong hands pulled him out and set him on his feet.

  “Oh dear!” grinned Ed. “Your mum’s going to be pleased.”

  Bertie inspected himself. He did seem to have got a bit messy. There was something sticky on his overalls that smelled like tomato ketchup. He brushed off some tea leaves and straightened his hat. A piece of potato peel fell off. He held up the rescued jam-jar to show Ed.

  “I was looking for this. It’s my chewing gum collection,” he expl
ained. “I’m doing an experiment to see what happens when it gets really old.”

  “And what does happen?” Ed asked.

  “It goes hard and it tastes really disgusting,” said Bertie. “Want to try a bit?”

  “No thanks,” smiled Ed. “I’ve got to get on. Want to give me a hand?”

  “Yes please!” said Bertie. “I brought you an extra bag today.”

  Bertie presented him with the rubbish he’d collected. Ed dropped the bag in the wheelie bin and Bertie pulled it to the waiting truck. He watched fascinated as the truck opened its metal jaws and swallowed up the rubbish. Ed held out a gloved hand and Bertie shook it.

  “Good work, mate,” said Ed. “See you next week.” He moved off down the road, whistling.

  “See you!” called Bertie.

  CHAPTER 2

  Back in the house, Bertie whistled as he spooned dog food into Whiffer’s bowl. He whistled as he took off his overalls and sat down to have some breakfast.

  “Bertie, please!” said Dad.

  “What?” said Bertie. “I’m only whistling.”

  “That isn’t whistling. You sound like you’ve got a puncture.”

  “Well I’ve got to practise,” said Bertie. “How can I learn to whistle if you don’t let me practise?”

  Mum came into the kitchen looking flustered.

  “Bertie, have you seen my flower arrangement? I left it by the front door this morning.”

  Bertie paused with his finger in the peanut butter. “By the door?”

  “Yes, it’s for the competition at the summer fair. I spent hours working on it and now it’s disappeared. Are you sure you haven’t seen it?”