Go, Go, Guinea Pig! (Adventures of Harry Stevenson Book 3)

by Ali Pye

  Paris, here we come! thought Harry.

  * * *

  An hour later, the Smiths were not quite so happy. In fact, they were all rather cross.

  Not long into the journey, Mr Smith’s van had started to make alarming noises. Then came a funny smell that had made Billy hold his nose. The van had jerked on for a few more minutes, but had finally spluttered and banged to a halt.

  Now they were waiting in a layby beside the road to the port. A mechanic had come in a truck to mend the van, but things weren’t looking good.

  ‘I can fix the problem,’ said the mechanic, ‘but I’ll have to do it back at the garage. I need to order the parts so it’ll take a day or so.’

  Oh, no! thought Harry, looking at the Smiths’ downcast faces. We’ll never get to Paris now.

  The mechanic offered the Smiths a lift back to the city.

  ‘Come on, let’s go home,’ sighed Mrs Smith. ‘I thought this trip was too good to be true.’

  But Mr Smith didn’t want to give up just yet.

  ‘Hang on for five minutes,’ he said to the mechanic.

  Mr Smith seemed determined to get to Paris. He really must want to see the Christmas markets, thought Harry, as he watched Mr Smith pacing around the layby, trying to think of a solution.

  Five minutes passed but Mr Smith was still pacing. When fifteen minutes had gone by, Mrs Smith marched over to him. She and Mr Smith ‘had words’, as they called it. The words sounded angry to Harry. There was a lot of hand-waving and stomping about too. It went on for ages, and they didn’t notice the mechanic starting his truck.

  ‘I’ve got to head off now,’ he called out of the window. ‘Are you coming?’

  ‘Mum! Dad!’ yelled Billy. ‘We need to go!’

  But Mr and Mrs Smith didn’t hear over the noise of the traffic. The mechanic called again – still no reply. So he shrugged his shoulders and drove the truck away, towing the van behind.

  Harry watched from Billy’s arms as the truck and van sped off.

  EVERYTHING’S going wrong today, he thought.

  CHAPTER 4 Born to be wild, Harry Stevenson?

  As Harry Stevenson stared after the van, he noticed that the traffic was slowing down. Perhaps there were workmen digging up the road further on. Soon the traffic crawled to a halt. In among the cars and lorries was a huge, noisy motorbike, ridden by an enormous biker. Harry spotted another biker, and another. There were about twenty of them, all looking mean and scary.

  ‘Erm, Harry, I think that biker’s staring at us,’ muttered Billy.

  Harry looked at the first biker. Sure enough, the man’s eyes were fixed on Billy – or, more particularly, Harry Stevenson. Harry shrank down in fear. Why is that man looking at me? Harry fretted. He was scared by the biker’s fierce-looking face and big bushy beard.

  Still staring at Harry, the biker revved his engine. BRMM, BRMMM! Then all the other bikers did too. BRMM, BRMM, BRMMM! What a noise! Harry gave a chirrup of fright. Billy edged back towards his parents, who were still ‘having words’. Harry felt safer next to Mr and Mrs Smith.

  But the lead biker turned his bike towards the Smiths and drove into the layby! The others followed, coming to a halt in a circle around the Smiths. Mr and Mrs Smith stopped their row and looked up in surprise. What’s going on? wondered Harry. The lead biker stepped off his bike and walked over to the Smiths in his big leather boots:

  STOMP,

  STOMP,

  STOMP.

  The metal chains around the biker’s neck jangled as he moved. Harry gulped. The man looked even scarier close up. Underneath his leather jacket, his hands and arms were covered with tattoos.

  The biker stood in front of the Smiths and rolled up his sleeve to reveal muscles that would win any arm-wrestling match on the planet. Was he going to arm-wrestle Mr Smith, perhaps? Harry gulped again, and took a closer look at the tattoos. No doubt they were of dragons, or dinosaurs, or, even worse, a snake!

  Hang on…

  Harry peered closer.

  Was that… a guinea pig?

  Harry looked again. Yes, it was. And not just one: all the tattoos were guinea pigs! A whole herd of them danced across the man’s beefy biceps. Harry heard Billy and his parents gasp as they spotted them. The man held out his gigantic, guinea-pig-covered hand.

  ‘All right, people? My name’s Thor and I’m the leader of this lot,’ he growled, gesturing to the bikers behind him. ‘We’re called Los Cavies Locos.’

  Harry twitched with surprise. He knew what ‘cavy’ meant – guinea pig! But why did the bikers have that name? Did they eat cavies for breakfast?

  Thor smiled, and all of a sudden he looked cuddly rather than terrifying.

  ‘We spotted your little guinea pig there,’ Thor continued. ‘It just so happens we’ve all got a thing about guinea pigs.’ The other bikers nodded their heads. ‘Had them as kids and never shook the habit. Thought they’d make the perfect mascot for our gang.’

  To Harry’s horror, Billy held him up to Thor!

  ‘Guinea pigs are the best, aren’t they, Thor?’ said Billy. ‘This is Harry Stevenson. What are yours called?’

  Harry looked bravely into Thor’s craggy face. The eyes that met his own were kind and twinkly. PHEW, thought Harry. Thor really does love cavies!

  ‘He looks just like my Gnasher,’ sighed Thor, tickling Harry on the nose. ‘He was my first guinea pig, back when I was a lad.’ Thor proudly pointed to his tattoos. ‘That’s Gnasher here. And these are Thunder, Chaos, Zombie, and, er… Snuggles.’

  Now all the members of the gang showed off their guinea pig tattoos. Then everyone admired Harry Stevenson, who basked in the gang’s approval.

  ‘So,’ said Thor. ‘It looks like you’re in trouble. We can’t let a fellow cavy-lover down – what can we do to help?’

  The Smiths explained their problem.

  ‘Easy,’ said Thor. ‘Hop on the back of our bikes and we’ll take you to the port. We always carry spare helmets, just in case. Billy and Harry, you come with me. Mum and Dad, you go with Vulcan and Storm.’

  ‘On you get,’ Thor said as Mr Smith looked nervously at Vulcan and his bike. ‘Or do you prefer this layby to Paris?’

  That did it! Harry watched Mr Smith jump on to the back of Vulcan’s motorbike. And with a mighty roar of engines, Los Cavies Locos took to the road with their new members, the Smiths.

  CHAPTER 5 Ahoy there, Harry Stevenson!

  Bombing down the motorway with a gang of bikers made life in the hutch seem very tame. Harry Stevenson peeped out of Billy’s bag as they zoomed along. His whiskers were pinned backwards by the wind, and his ginger fur was blown into his eyes. Harry wished he had a pair of goggles, like Thor’s. Some earmuffs might be useful too. The bike’s engine growled, the wind howled, and cars and lorries thundered alongside them. Every now and again, Vulcan and Storm’s bikes caught up with Thor’s, and Harry could see Mr and Mrs Smith holding on to their bikers for dear life. Mr Smith had his eyes shut with fright the whole time, but Mrs Smith seemed happier. At one point she even winked at Billy. Well, thought Harry. She’d wanted an adventure!

  It didn’t take long to reach the port. As Los Cavies Locos roared into the car park, scattering tourists and workers, Harry caught a glimpse of the ferry ahead. He blinked and looked up, up and up again. The ferry was as tall as the tower blocks near the Smiths’ flat!

  Are we really going on that? he wondered, feeling even smaller than usual. Billy seemed awed too.

  ‘We’d better be off,’ said Thor, helping Billy and Harry off the bike. ‘You can join our gang when you’re older, Billy,’ he winked. Then he revved his engine, circled around and led the gang out of the port.

  ‘Bye, Thor! Bye, Vulcan! Bye, Storm!’ called Billy. ‘And thank you!’

  ‘Well, that was eventful,’ said Mr Smith when the noise of the bikes’ engines had faded. ‘I must say I did enjoy that ride. I’ve always fancied myself as a biker.’

  Harry saw Mrs Smith and Billy exc
hange a look. Mr Smith must have seen it too, because he blushed.

  ‘Come on, then,’ he said. ‘Let’s catch that ferry!’

  * * *

  Harry Stevenson had seen some surprising sights in his life, but nothing could prepare him for his first glimpse of the ocean. The Smiths were sitting on a bench on deck, enjoying the view as the ferry sailed to France. Their fellow passengers seemed confused to have a guinea pig among them, but Harry didn’t care. He was too busy trying to spot where the sea ended. Harry wrinkled up his sparkly eyes and looked all around, but all he could see was bluey-grey water.

  Billy had told Harry about the names for guinea pigs around the world, so Harry knew that lots of them meant ‘little sea pig’. Now I really AM a little sea pig, he thought proudly. Harry didn’t feel quite such a ‘sea pig’ when some gulls whizzed alongside the boat. The seagulls stared at him with cold, hungry eyes, so he hid under Billy’s coat. Yikes!

  ‘We’ll be in Paris for tea!’ said Mr Smith, drumming his fingers on the rail around the deck. ‘Are you excited, Billy? I am!’

  ‘I’m glad you’re so excited, dear,’ smiled Mrs Smith, looking up from her guidebook. ‘I never thought you’d be that keen.’

  Me neither, thought Harry. Why does Mr Smith want to go to Paris so much?

  ‘It’s the Christmas markets,’ replied Mr Smith. ‘I can’t wait.’

  Just then, Billy stood up and pointed towards the horizon.

  ‘I can see France!’ he cried. ‘Land ahoy!’

  We’re nearly there! squeaked Harry Stevenson.

  CHAPTER 6 You’re in Paris, Harry Stevenson!

  The plan was to catch a train from the port to Paris. But when the Smiths got to the railway station, none of the trains were running because the train drivers were on strike! There was a coach service to Paris instead. So Harry Stevenson and the Smiths had to go to the back of yet another queue.

  Everyone waited and waited. Gradually the sky turned darker and it began to get chilly. Harry snuggled inside Billy’s coat, fluffing up his fur so he was like a furry hot water bottle, but Billy started to shiver. Mr Smith unzipped his bag, rummaged around and pulled out a scarf. The scarf looked familiar, thought Harry. Ah, yes – it was Mr Smith’s Sparky FC scarf, the one he wore to matches.

  ‘I thought I told you not to bring that,’ said Mrs Smith. ‘You can’t walk around an elegant city like Paris in a football scarf!’

  ‘I brought it in case it was cold,’ said Mr Smith. ‘And it is! Here you go, Billy.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ said Billy gratefully as he wrapped the scarf around him.

  Just then, a minibus pulled to a stop, and a cheery man leaned out.

  ‘I recognize that scarf!’ he said. ‘Need a lift, Sparky fans? We’re heading to Paris.’

  Harry looked hopefully at Mr and Mrs Smith. They didn’t seem too sure, but at that point Billy sneezed.

  ‘We’d love a lift, thanks,’ said Mrs Smith. ‘It’s freezing out here and our son is getting cold.’

  ‘Hop in the back, then, folks,’ said the man.

  Harry peeped out from a gap in Billy’s coat as the Smiths went to the back of the minibus. The door swung open and a friendly-looking lady popped her head out.

  ‘Come inside!’ she said. ‘You poor things, you look half-frozen.’

  ‘You’ve got a Sparky scarf too!’ said Mrs Smith. ‘Are you a fan?’

  ‘I am indeed,’ smiled the lady. ‘We all are!’

  As the Smiths climbed into the minibus, Harry saw what she meant. The minibus was full of people and EVERYONE was wearing a Sparky FC scarf. Some wore Sparky tracksuits, others had Sparky hats, and there were Sparky flags draped across the seats.

  Mrs Smith’s mouth dropped open in surprise. ‘Wow, what a lot of Sparky fans!’ she gasped. ‘What a coincidence you’re going to Paris as well.’

  Mr Smith coughed. Harry turned to him and saw he was looking shifty, very shifty indeed.

  ‘We’re heading to the big game,’ said the lady who’d let them in. ‘The Sparks versus PSG. Aren’t you going?’

  ‘You didn’t mention that Sparky were playing in Paris!’ exclaimed Mrs Smith, turning to her husband.

  ‘Erm… it must have slipped my mind,’ mumbled Mr Smith, who looked shiftier than ever.

  ‘We’re going to the Christmas markets,’ explained Mrs Smith, with a steely eye on Mr Smith. ‘My husband wanted to see them especially. Didn’t you, dear?’

  * * *

  At last Harry Stevenson and the Smiths reached Paris. What a journey it had been! The last leg in the minibus had been fun, though. The Sparky fans turned out to be lovely people, and were thrilled to discover that a VIP (Very Important Pig) was in their midst. They’d recognized Harry from the time he’d scored a winning goal last season, and when he’d stopped the theft of Sparky FC’s silver trophy. There had been laughing and joking and lots of funny football songs. Even Mrs Smith had put down her guidebook and joined in a song or two. All the fans wanted their photo taken with Harry, and they were so happy to meet him that they’d driven the Smiths the whole way to their hotel – and offered them a lift back home too!

  The minibus gave a toot toot as it headed off, and the Smiths turned towards the hotel. ‘Come on,’ said Mrs Smith, looking at her watch. ‘Let’s check in, get some food and have an early night. It’s been crazy today and I’m bushed! Then we can get up early and have a full day tomorrow.’

  Do we HAVE to go to bed? thought Harry Stevenson. We’re in PARIS! Harry looked around to see if he could spot anything from Mrs Smith’s guidebook, but he was so tired he drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER 7 Regarde, Harry Stevenson!

  The next morning was brightly lit with cold winter sunshine – the perfect weather for sightseeing, said Mrs Smith. Sightseeing turned out to involve a lot of walking, so Harry Stevenson was glad to be carried in Billy’s bag. It would have been hard to keep up, with his little legs. Harry stuck his head out of the bag, taking everything in. Paris was certainly beautiful. The Smiths passed through narrow streets crammed with cafes, and along grand avenues lined with smart-looking shops. Mrs Smith was delighted, pointing out the famous places listed in her guidebook. Well-dressed people stalked by, hurrying to work or play, and in too much of a rush to notice a small ginger guinea pig staring at them. All around was the chatter of people talking, arguing and joking in French. Harry had no idea what they were saying, but it all sounded glamorous and exciting. How different Paris is from home, he thought.

  The Smiths’ walk continued past art galleries, museums and gardens. They stopped in a cafe for pastries and chocolat chaud – which Billy said was the nicest hot chocolate he’d ever tasted. Moving on, the Smiths passed a street artist who was drawing portraits of tourists. The Smiths watched for a while, admiring his skill, and then Billy and Harry posed for a picture! Harry was pleased with the cartoon – it made him look very handsome.

  Then it was time for a boat ride on the River Seine. Two boats in two days, thought Harry Stevenson. I AM a lucky guinea pig. The Smiths sat at the front and got a good view from the boat’s big windows as they ate lunch. Harry perched on Billy’s lap and peered ahead, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. Billy had shown him a picture of it in Mrs Smith’s guidebook. Harry didn’t spot the Tower, but as the boat passed under a bridge, the people looking down from it spotted him.

  ‘Oh, regarde, un petit cochon d’Inde!’ they cried, waving and smiling. Harry knew that cochon d’Inde was French for guinea pig. He felt like he was famous!

  Sightseeing was so much fun that the day flew past, and soon the Smiths felt hungry again. Mrs Smith got out her guidebook. She was looking for two things – a crêperie where the Smiths could eat pancakes, and a food market where they could buy vegetables for Harry. Luckily both were easy to find – just round the corner in a little square. Mr and Mrs Smith weren’t very good at speaking French, but they tried their best, and bought a big bunch of carrots, still with their green bushy t
ops.

  Billy held Harry up to the stall-holder, who seemed charmed to see a cochon d’Inde and picked out his best spinach leaves to go with the carrots. Mmmm, thought Harry as he wolfed them down. Mrs Smith was right, French food is excellent.

  Next to the food market was a snug-looking crêperie. It was cosy inside, so the Smiths sank down gratefully into comfy chairs. Harry Stevenson snuggled in Billy’s bag and listened as the family decided what to have in their pancakes. His whiskers twitched with excitement when Mr Smith ordered one with spinach. Yum! (Although, it was a bit of a waste to mix spinach with pancakes, he thought.) Harry hoped there might be a few leaves left over for him, but sadly Mr Smith scoffed the lot.

  ‘Right,’ said Mrs Smith when everyone had finished. ‘That was delicious. There’s just one more thing that will make today perfect – a Christmas market!’

  Mr Smith and Billy didn’t look too keen, but Mrs Smith had already headed to the door.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s go!’

  CHAPTER 8 A beret, Harry Stevenson?

  The Smiths stepped on to the street, but stopped in their tracks. Paris looked so different from earlier in the day. It was late afternoon now, and the sky was getting darker. One by one, a million glowing lights were flickering into life. There were lights everywhere Harry Stevenson looked: strings of them draped around the trees, above the streets, up the sides of buildings, and across the bridges over the River Seine. It was like diamonds had been shaken all over the city.