Flying Fergus 10

by Sir Chris Hoy

  But Grandpa shook his head. “And have us show up at Internationals a laughing stock?”

  “We’ll be a laughing stock anyway if we carry on like this,” said Fergus grimly.

  But Grandpa was insistent. “We’ll sort it out from inside the team,” he said. “You focus on the wedding, Jambo. It’s only a few days after Manchester, after all.”

  “Och, okay,” said Jambo. “I’m certainly busy enough at the Evening News and writing articles for the Herald too.”

  “Aye,” said Mum. “I’m working all hours at the moment to save up a bit extra and what with …” She stopped.

  “What?” asked Fergus.

  Mum and Jambo exchanged a glance. “Nothing,” they said.

  Fergus felt his insides slop and slide for the second time that day. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  Mum shook her head. “Definitely not,” she said, then changed the subject sharpish. “Now, why don’t you go and have a bath and then give Daisy a quick ring? She left a message earlier.”

  Fergus’s found himself managing to smile at this news – he’d been dying to speak to Daisy, and now more than ever. So without even trying to argue, he clattered along the hallway and into the bathroom, where he washed, spruced and pulled on clean togs, before settling down in the hallway holding the telephone in one hand and stroking Chimp with the other.

  “Mr Bruce did what?” demanded Daisy after Fergus had filled her in.

  “I’ve told you twice now,” Fergus said. “And it’s still the same. He sacked me!”

  “But he can’t,” came the outraged reply.

  “But he did,” Fergus batted back. “And that’s not all. Something’s going on with Mum and Jambo.”

  “The wedding, that’s what,” said Daisy. “Weddings turn everyone doolally. Unless …”

  “Unless what?” Fergus asked.

  “Well, you don’t suppose they’re thinking of moving, are they?”

  “What do you mean? Who’s moving?”

  “Your mum and Jambo, of course!” said Daisy. “I mean, you can’t all stay in that flat.”

  “Why can’t we?” said Fergus.

  But Daisy was too busy thinking to listen. “Maybe Jambo’s got a new job,” she said. “Maybe it’s in Inverness!”

  For a moment Fergus let himself imagine living near Daisy again. They could set up a new team together. But then, he’d miss this place too much. And he’d miss the Hopefuls. Even though they weren’t really his team right now.

  “I don’t think so,” Fergus said. “They’d tell me if we were moving.”

  But even as he said it, he wasn’t so sure. Anything could happen to the Hamiltons, it seemed, so moving miles away wasn’t completely out of the question. If Daisy’s mum and dad had moved, then it wasn’t impossible, was it?

  “I wish you were here,” he said to Daisy then.

  “I wish you were here, Fergie!” Daisy said immediately. “I really miss you and all the team. But I have had a bit of luck – I met some kids at the park, Jack and Ryan, who are into cycling too, and they invited me to try out for their team, the Inverness Arrows. They’re identical twins so I need a bit of help telling them apart but luckily their bikes are different colours.” Daisy paused. “What about Sorcha – isn’t she around?”

  “She’s in the Hebrides on holiday,” said Fergus with a sigh. “Back the day before the last race in Manchester. Not that I’ll be racing,” he added.

  “Listen,” Daisy said. “Moping around’s not going to do you any good.”

  “So what do I do?” asked Fergus.

  “You do what you always do when you fall off. You get back in the saddle. And you get cycling.”

  “What for?” asked Fergus.

  “What for?” repeated Daisy. “Are you serious? Because otherwise you’re just letting Mr Bruce and his stupid butterscotch biscuits win.”

  “Maybe,” said Fergus.

  “Not maybe,” said Daisy. “Definitely. And no biscuits. Get back on the bananas so you’re fighting fit when he realises his mistake.”

  “Okay,” said Fergus, brightening slightly.

  “And no buts either,” added Daisy. “Because …”

  “Butts are for sitting on,” said Fergus, finally finding a smile.

  “You bet they are!” said Daisy. “I’m going to train with the twins for the Arrows tryouts, and I want a full report from you on the Hopefuls.”

  “You’ll get one,” Fergus promised.

  And so excited was he by Daisy’s pep talk that he almost forgot to say goodbye to her before he put down the phone and fled through the kitchen in the direction of the front door.

  “Hey, what’s the hurry?” asked. Jambo. “I thought you were going to help with last-minute wedding prep. You need to make sure that mutt fits his bow-tie for a start!”

  Chimp yelped.

  Fergus’s face fell. “But Internationals start in three days,” he pointed out. “I need to practice.”

  “Good work, sonny,” said Grandpa, nodding in approval.

  “Aye, go on, scram,” said Mum, smiling. “I’m glad your chat with Daisy helped and you’re seeing the sunny side again.”

  “But what about tea?” asked Jambo. “I’ve done spaghetti.”

  “Can I have it cold later?” Fergus asked.

  “Och, have something now,” said Mum. “You need the energy. Just a little biscuit?”

  Fergus grinned. “Better than that,” he said, grabbing a piece of fruit from the bowl. “I’ll have a banana.”

  And peeling it as he went, Fergus set off in high spirits and with high hopes. He couldn’t change the Biscuit Baron’s mind. Not yet, anyway. But he could look after himself. And that was exactly what he was going to do.

  Chapter 4

  Silent Bicycles and Sit-Ins

  Boosted by his brilliant training spin the night before, Fergus kept his promise to Daisy and turned up to practice promptly in the morning.

  But within minutes he felt his winning attitude waning and his resolve dissolving like the sugar on top of a Bruce’s Bubblegum Bake.

  Fergus nudged Belinda. “Who’s that?” he asked, nodding at the short, stubby man standing next to her dad.

  “No idea,” she replied. “Dad doesn’t tell me anything.”

  “I know,” said Calamity, frowning. “It’s Pete Prowse.”

  “What? Pete ‘Pedals’ Prowse?” asked Wesley, aghast. “But, isn’t he …”

  Calamity nodded.

  “Inventor of the Silent Bicycle?” said Mr Bruce. “Yes, he is. And he’s invented a model just for us.”

  “Hang on,” said Choppy. “Aren’t Silent Bicycles –”

  “Motor-powered?” interrupted Mr Bruce. “Yes, they are.”

  “Wait,” said Grandpa. “Motors? So you don’t actually have to use any effort at all?”

  “Bingo!” said Mr Bruce. “The motors Pedals Prowse has fixed up for us will slip inside the spokes and the … the … whatever those twirly things are, and because they’re silent and now invisible, no one will be any the wiser.”

  “Let me get this straight,” said Grandpa slowly. “You’re saying you want us to use motorized bicycles? At the International Championships? In front of a crowd of thousands?”

  “Again, bingo!” said Mr Bruce. “You’re quite the brainbox, after all.”

  “Steady on,” said Grandpa.

  But Mr Bruce wasn’t going to go steady or slow down either. “It’s guaranteed success!” he declared. “No one will beat us with our secret engines on board. Not the Brisbane Blethers. Not even the Shanghai Shenaniflops.”

  “The Brisbane Belters,” corrected Grandpa. “And the Shanghai Shooting Stars. But that’s not the point. The point is, that’s cheating!”

  “I know!” agreed Mr Bruce happily. “Genius, isn’t it?”

  “Choppy?” Grandpa turned to him. “Back me up here. Remember what happened when you fiddled with our bikes before a big race?”

  Choppy
nodded. “Aye,” he said. “But with these secret engines we’re not sabotaging any one else’s equipment, or chances?”

  “It would give us the edge,” Wesley said, and Mikey nodded in agreement.

  Fergus couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “No!” he snapped. “We … we just can’t. Because even if it did work and we did win, it wouldn’t be a real victory.” He turned to Wesley and Mikey. “Don’t you want to feel what it’s like to cross the finishing line at the Internationals under your own steam?”

  Wesley hesitated. “Yes, but –”

  “No buts, Wesley,” continued Fergus, fired up again. “Butts are for sitting on! We just won’t do it, Mr Bruce.”

  “Oh, really?” Mr Bruce replied. “And how do you plan to stop it, exactly?”

  Fergus smiled: the famous Sorcha Henderson Sit-In! It had worked on Daisy when she had refused to talk to him, so it would work on Mr Bruce too.

  “We’ll refuse to race until you take back the secret engines and end the banana ban,” Fergus announced triumphantly, sitting down and crossing his arms and legs in defiance.

  “But you’re not even on the team,” scoffed Mr Bruce. “Get up and stop being silly, little boy.”

  Fergus looked at his team-mates. Come on, he willed them silently. But Mikey was avoiding his eye, and Wesley was examining the spokes on his bike wheel. He glanced at Grandpa in despair.

  And that’s when it happened.

  “But I’m on the team,” said Belinda, sitting down next to Fergus and crossing her arms and legs too. “I’m on the team, and I refuse to race.”

  Calamity sat swiftly, if unsteadily, next. “I’m on the team,” he repeated. “And I refuse to race!”

  Minnie was next, and then Mikey, followed by Wesley and, finally, Dermot, who would have been quicker but was looking for a lost biscuit in his kit bag.

  Then, to Fergus’s delight, Grandpa sat down too. And so did Choppy.

  “I think that’s unanimous, Mr Bruce,” Choppy said. “It’s normal bicycles. And Fergus is right, you can drop the banana ban and take back the biscuits too. If I see another Bruce’s Butterscotch Bonanza you’ll be seeing my breakfast.”

  “But … but …” blustered Mr Bruce. “What about the minibus? And the hotel in Manchester? It’ll be tents in the Arndale Shopping Centre for you without my sponsorship money!”

  “No, it won’t,” came a voice.

  Fergus swivelled on his bottom to see Jambo walk in.

  “Patterson,” snorted Mr Bruce. “And what’s your plan? Are you going to tell the truth in your terrible newspaper? Ooh, I’m quaking in my shoes.”

  Jambo rolled his eyes. “No,” he said. “Like Herc has already pointed out to me, the team would be a laughing stock if we made all this biscuit bother public. But the paper does come into it.”

  “How?” asked Fergus.

  “Meet your new sponsor!” announced Jambo, unrolling a new Number One jersey and handing it to Belinda. But this time, instead of BRUCE’S BISCUITS emblazoned on the back, it read:

  “Well, a jersey’s one thing,” sneered Mr Bruce. “But don’t tell me they’ve stumped up for a minibus as well.”

  “Oh, aye,” Jambo confirmed. “And helmets, and water bottles, and novelty pen-toppers, and the hotel bill in Manchester, so there’ll be no tents. Not unless you’re planning on joining us, that is. I think everywhere else is booked up.”

  “Belinda?” blurted Mr Bruce. “Do something!”

  But Belinda shook her head. “I’m with Fergus,” she said.

  “But I was going to rename the team in your honour,” her dad insisted. “The Brilliant Belindas.”

  To Fergus’s relief and delight, Belinda didn’t care. “I’m a Hercules’ Hopeful,” she said. “And this can go back to its rightful owner as well.”

  Belinda held the Number One jersey out to Fergus.

  “Really?” he asked.

  “Really,” she answered. “You’re the best leader this team has.”

  Fergus looked around to see Grandpa and Choppy nodding, and the rest of the Hopefuls smiling too. Their smiles were so wide, he could ignore Mr Bruce’s blistering glare.

  “Take it,” urged Wesley. “You deserve it.”

  Fergus took a deep breath, then took the jersey. “I’ll do everything I can,” he said seriously. Then, jumping to his feet, a grin breaking over his face, he yelled the words he’d been holding in for months now:

  “Manchester, here we come!”

  Chapter 5

  The Manchester Grand

  “Are you sure you’ve got everything?” Mum asked, for what seemed to Fergus like the eleventy-billionth time.

  “I’m sure,” he replied.

  “Are you sure you’re sure?” she said.

  Fergus rolled his eyes. “Muuuu-uuuum!”

  “Och, okay, okay. But it’s my job to worry.”

  “You wouldn’t need to worry if you were coming with us,” said Fergus, failing to hide his disappointment.

  “Fergie, we’ve been through this,” said Mum. “There’s work tonight, then there’s everything left to do before the wedding and I … well, you’ll understand soon enough.”

  “Understand what?” Fergus asked suspiciously.

  “Soon,” repeated Mum.

  Fergus couldn’t believe this. The biggest event of his life and no one was coming to watch him race. Daisy lived too far away now. Sorcha wasn’t back from holiday yet. But Mum not coming was the worst. He turned to Jambo, desperate. “Can’t you drive back and fetch Mum, just so she can see me race?”

  Jambo shook his head. “Och, there won’t be time, Fergie. But you’ll have Grandpa and Chimp. And … well, I know it’s not the same but you’ll have me too.” He put a hand on Fergus’s shoulder.

  The weight of it felt good, and Fergus nodded, finding a smile. Jambo was right, it wasn’t the same, but he’d have his support, and Chimp and Grandpa too.

  And all his team-mates, of course. They were all sharing rooms at the Manchester Grand. At that thought, Fergus began to brim with excitement. He was still sad about Mum not making it, but … a hotel? In a different city? And then there was the championship itself …

  Fergus decided that it was time to buck up. These were going to be the biggest races of his life, and he was jolly well going to have the time of his life.

  “Ready?” asked Jambo. “Your grandpa’s just loading the minibus, then we’ll fetch the others.”

  Fergus nodded. “I’m ready,” he replied, his smile widening into a grin. “Ready for anything.”

  And he’d never meant it more.

  If the drive to Manchester in the new minibus was a blast, the hotel itself was out of this world. On the ground floor of the Manchester Grand there was a super-smart restaurant with white tablecloths and silver cutlery, where the team would eat their specially prepared breakfasts. In the basement was a swimming pool – although that was strictly out of bounds until after the races, Choppy said. But it was upstairs in their shared bedrooms that Fergus and his friends were really blown away.

  In every room was a stack of the latest cycling magazines, goodie bags packed with “Manchester Internationals” baseball caps, jerseys and even socks, a TV tuned to fourteen different sports channels and, best of all, a special bed just for Chimp in Fergus’s room. Not that Chimp wanted to sleep in it with so many other beds to choose from.

  “You can bunk up with me, Chimp,” Wesley encouraged the dog, clicking his fingers.

  “No, me!” demanded Dermot, wiggling a biscuit.

  “What about me?” called Mikey from the adjoining room on the right, where he was sharing with Calamity.

  “I don’t think so.” Minnie looked out from behind the left-hand door. “Chimp wants to sleep with us.

  Our room is far nicer, isn’t it, B?”

  “Well, obviously.” Belinda appeared next to her. “Because we have a foot spa, a fancy hairdryer and a mini-fridge with fruit in it.”

  “And we don’
t?” asked Wesley, pointing to his feet, which were already soaking in scented bubbles.

  “Lovely,” said a voice from the doorway.

  Fergus turned to see Choppy standing with his hands on his hips and Grandpa and Jambo behind him with frowns on their faces.

  “It’s all very well having feet that smell like a flowerbed,” began Choppy, “but sleep’s what you need, and a good eight hours of it at least.”

  “Aye,” agreed Grandpa. “So everyone back to their own beds – that includes you, Chimp.”

  Reluctantly, Chimp hopped off Fergus’s bunk.

  “And lights out in ten minutes,” added Jambo. “Tomorrow’s a big day, so let’s make sure we rise to the occasion.”

  “But we need to talk tactics,” insisted Wesley. “And …” he picked up a packet from the dressing table “‘rejuvenate our skin with a mixture of avocado oil and lemon peel.’”

  Grandpa shook his head. “Save the team talk for the breakfast table,” he said. “And save the face cream for Fergie’s mum. Jeanie could use a bit of pampering.”

  Fergus felt a bit funny hearing that. What did he mean? Was something up with Mum? Or did Grandpa just mean pampering for the wedding?

  “Come on now,” said Choppy, shaking the thoughts from Fergus’s head. “Bed.”

  “Aye, empty your minds and try to dream sweet,” said Grandpa.

  Reluctantly the gang slipped back to their own rooms and under their own duvets. And, after only another hour of whispering about their Shanghai rivals, who were favourites to take the title, one by one the Hercules’ Hopefuls emptied their heads and drifted off to sleep.

  Well, all except Fergus.

  Because something was bothering him, a thought – or thoughts, really – buzzing around like persistent bees. He’d tried to push them away but they just kept zooming back. There was Mum, for a start, and the mystery of what was up with her. Then there was the fact that neither Mum nor Daisy or even Sorcha could come to cheer him on when the others all had someone coming specially to support them. Minnie and Mikey had their mum and dad. Calamity had his gran. Dermot had his Uncle Eggs. Wesley had his Aunt Wallace. Even Mr Bruce was coming to see Belinda, though Fergus was pretty sure he’d bring biscuits and the parakeet, just to annoy her.