by Roddy Doyle
You tell him, Uncle Rover.
Time is money. And books shouldn’t be messy.
‘Alright, Rover,’ said the writer. ‘I’ll cut out the bits about Billie Jean’s mother.’
You do that, pal.
‘Well,’ said Billie Jean. ‘I tripped on the rug. And I went head first. Like this.’
She showed Mister Mack how she’d tripped on the rug and shot forward. And, as she did that, the BFB flew out of the backpack – again! – and right over the garden hedge.
‘Goop!’ said the BFB.
Chapter Eleven
Back to the Gigglers
A small Giggler ran into Giggler Headquarters. She was even smaller than the smallest Giggler. She was actually the smallest Giggler never seen. She was tiny – really, really tiny. But she had a big voice.
‘POO!’
‘Where?!’ said the biggest Giggler.
‘WE NEED MORE POO!’ the tiny, tiny Giggler explained.
‘Why?’
‘GROWN-UP JUST CALLED LITTLE BOY A FEATHER-HEAD!’
‘Why?’
‘NO REASON!’
‘Sure?’
‘NO REASON AT ALL!’
‘Right,’ said Biggest.
‘SAID IT THREE TIMES!’
‘Right, so,’ said Biggest. ‘We can’t be having that. The Giggler Treatment for him. We’ll need more poo.’
‘GROWN-UP HAS BIG FEET!’
‘Lots more poo,’ said the biggest Giggler. ‘Any sign of Rover?’
Chapter Twelve
Rover was just about to pick up the poo when the BFB flew over his head. Her shadow shot across the footpath.
‘Either that was a very fast cloud, or a big fat baby just flew over our heads,’ Rover said to Messi.
‘The postman’s bike is mucky,’ said Messi.
The postman was actually a woman. Her name was Etna Stamp and she was cycling past just as the BFB sailed over Rover and Messi.
Etna had had a rough day, so far. It had rained on her five times – so far – and a bulldog called Sweetie had tried to bite the back wheel off her bike. She’d had ten extra parcels to deliver to a woman who lived at the top of the steepest hill in Dublin. Her feet felt heavy and sore as she pushed the pedals of her bike.
The thing Etna liked most about her job was reading all the letters before she delivered them. She wasn’t being nosey and she never told anybody else what was in the letters.
If there was bad news in a letter, Etna would ring the doorbell, so she could chat to whoever was going to read the bad news. She would tell them that they were looking great or that their new jumper was lovely. To make them feel a little bit more cheerful before they read the bad news. Etna thought that this was the most important part of her job.
But she hadn’t been able to read the letters this morning. Because the post office kettle had been broken.
It was like this.
I know.
Who’s that?
The reader.
And what do you know?
How the post lady read the letters. She held the envelopes over the steam coming out of the kettle until, like, she was able to open the envelope without ripping it. Then she took the letter out and read it, like. Then she put it back in the envelope and closed it again. And, like, she waved the envelope around a bit, to dry it.
How did you know that?
I open my parents’ letters all the time.
OK.
Especially the reports from school, like.
OK.
And any letter that looks like it might have money in it.
OK. Anyway, Etna wasn’t happy. She was a nice woman but it hadn’t been a nice day. She was cycling on a flat piece of the road but, suddenly, it felt as if the bike was getting heavier. She had delivered all the post, so cycling back to the post office should have been easy.
But it wasn’t.
Etna’s legs were sore.
‘I’m getting old,’ she told herself, as she pushed her feet down on the pedals.
But Etna wasn’t getting old.
Well, she was. She was thirty seconds older than she had been when she’d cycled past Rover and Messi. But her bike didn’t feel heavier because she was getting older. Etna’s bike seemed heavier – Etna’s bike was heavier – because the BFB had landed on it. The BFB had dropped into the leather pouch where Etna carried her letters and parcels. Etna was cycling away with the BFB.
‘Goop!’ said the BFB.
But Etna didn’t hear her. Because Etna was a bit deaf.
What?
Etna was a bit deaf.
Chapter Thirteen
When Billie Jean and Mister Mack got out to where Rover and Messi were standing on the kerb, there was no sign of the BFB.
‘Maybe she hasn’t landed yet,’ said Mister Mack.
He looked up at the sky.
Rover barked. He understood humans. They were a bit slow sometimes, especially parents and grandparents. After years of looking after children their brains turned to mush.
Rover barked again. Messi joined in – because he liked barking.
‘What is it, Rover?’ Billie Jean asked.
Rover couldn’t point at Etna Stamp cycling away. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. Dogs can’t lift their front legs and point.
Rover could talk but he wasn’t going to. It is, of course, one of the world’s best-kept secrets: animals can talk – especially dogs. But it isn’t the only one.
OTHER WELL-KEPT SECRETS
Many people go to school and end up thinking that science teachers are aliens. But they’re not. Science teachers are actually experiments performed by other, older science teachers. Now, if your teacher is brainy enough to invent another teacher, then he or she is well worth listening to. So the fact that your science teacher is an artificial life form who stays behind after work to make other artificial life forms is very good news.
Another one of the world’s best-kept secrets is this: vegetables are evil, especially the green ones. And the idea that eating vegetables is good for you is a big fat green lie that was started by vegetables, helped by vegetarians. Vegetarians are people who pretend to like eating vegetables but secretly eat burgers and chicken nuggets in the same room where the science teachers are inventing other science teachers. The only honest vegetables are beans. But they aren’t really vegetables at all. They are legumes.
They are Lego?
No – legumes. Beans are legumes.
What’s a legume?
I’m not sure but it’s not a vegetable, although it’s nearly a vegetable – kind of. The beans try to warn the humans that vegetables are evil and that they are trying to take over the world. The beans shout it.
‘Watch out, people! The vegetables are evil!’
But no one can hear them because they are in tins. And when they escape, they are so stunned – the sunshine, the fresh air, the chips! – that they forget they have an important message to shout. And by the time they remember, they have been eaten.
And that’s another secret. Farts are actually the beans in your tummy shouting,
Back to the story – for a while.
The Return of Chapter Thirteen
Rover barked again.
He looked, and saw that Billie Jean and Mister Mack were looking at him.
Then he ran.
He ran as fast as he could after Etna and her bike. He knew they’d watch him and they’d see him catching up on Etna. And he hoped they would think, ‘Aha! The BFB is in Etna’s pouch!’
One thing helped.
The BFB popped her head out of the pouch.
‘Goop!’ she said.
One thing didn’t help.
Rover wasn’t as young as he used to be. He could still run, but not as fast or for as long. He could run, but Rover had always thought that running was a bit stupid.
All dogs are like this. They chase the balls their owners throw for them but, really, they would much prefer it if the owners ran after their own sticks and
balls and plastic toys. And that is often what happens. People run after the sticks they throw for their dogs and the dogs stay behind and watch them.
Anyway.
One more thing helped.
Messi had run after his Uncle Rover. In fact, Messi had gone past Rover – although he didn’t know yet what they were running after. But he was a pup, and fast and full of beans – Watch out, people! – and he wanted to run as fast as he could. He hadn’t learned yet that running was stupid. So he shot past Rover. And that made Rover run faster. He wasn’t going to let his little nephew win this race. And he went past Messi.
‘Keep in touch, Messi,’ he said.
He was now very close to Etna and her bike.
Messi ran past Rover again and Rover went even faster to catch up with him.
‘Why are we running, Uncle Rover?’ he asked.
One more thing didn’t help.
Rover had no breath left to tell Messi why they were running and Messi ran straight past Etna Stamp and her baby-filled bicycle.
One wet thing helped.
There was a ramp – a speed bump – right across the street, in front of Etna. It was brand new. In fact, it was still wet. Etna cycled on to it. She cycled into it. Etna cycled straight into the wet cement, and stopped. The front wheel was stuck.
But this was bad too. Because the rest of the bike was lifted into the air and the BFB flew out of the letters pouch—
Again?
Again.
And up into the air.
Chapter Fourteen
Billie Jean had started to run after Rover, and Mister Mack had gone back into the garden to get his bike.
Billie Jean texted as she ran. She texted her son, Robbie. Robbie was the BFB’s dad. BFB has escaped again. X. She also sent the text to her other son, Jimmy, and her daughter, Kayla. She even sent it to Mister Mack, just in case he forgot. He was in the front garden with his bike, trying to remember why he’d gone back in, when he heard the text and read it.
‘Oh, yes,’ he said, and hopped on the bike.
Back to the BFB.
She had flown up into the air – and down – into a handbag.
The back wheel of Etna’s bike landed back on the road. Luckily the bike hadn’t flipped over, so Etna was fine. She got off the bike and looked at the front wheel. She let go of the handlebars and the bike didn’t fall over.
Rover had caught up with Etna, and Billie Jean had caught up with Rover.
Billie Jean looked into Etna’s pouch.
Was Etna a kangaroo?
No! She wasn’t even nearly a kangaroo. OH NO!
Chapter Fourteen
Back by Popular Demand!
Billie Jean looked into the pouch but the BFB wasn’t in there.
‘Did you post Emily, Etna?’ she asked.
‘Did she have a stamp on her?’ Etna asked.
‘No, she didn’t,’ said Billie Jean.
‘Well, then I didn’t,’ said Etna.
She pulled the front wheel out of the wet cement. It had been a long day. Etna just wanted to go home.
Rover barked.
Meanwhile, the owner of the handbag was getting on to the number 39A bus.
This time nobody had seen the BFB flying through the air. Not Rover, not Billie Jean, not Mister Mack, not the owner of the handbag.
And definitely not Messi.
He was still charging down the street like a mad thing.
Rover barked again.
Messi kept going.
This time, Rover had to shout.
‘Messi!’
Messi heard him.
But no one else did.
Well, they did. But they were too busy and much too worried to notice. They were looking for the BFB.
Messi stopped and turned and saw his Uncle Rover. And he ran straight across the street, right in front of a white van.
The white van screeched to a stop.
The driver’s window was open.
‘Watch where you’re going, pup!’ the driver shouted.
Then he started the white van again and continued on his journey to the airport.
Messi kept running, until he got back to Rover.
Rover hid behind a bin, so the humans wouldn’t hear him giving out to Messi.
‘You nearly got smacked by that white van there, Messi.’
‘I’d have smacked it back, Uncle Rover,’ said Messi.
He was a tough little dog.
‘Listen, Messi,’ said Rover. ‘If that van had hit you there’d be blood and guts everywhere. Think of the mess.’
‘Sorry, Uncle Rover,’ said Messi.
Meanwhile, Billie Jean and Mister Mack were still standing at the wet speed bump.
‘What will we do?’ asked Mister Mack.
Robbie Mack arrived. He jumped out of his car.
‘Where is she?’ he asked.
‘She’s around here somewhere,’ said Billie Jean.
‘We’ll have to search everywhere between here and the house,’ said Robbie.
Rover put his mouth to Messi’s ear.
‘I know where she is,’ he whispered.
Messi fell over.
‘Where?’ he asked when he stood up.
‘The white van,’ said Rover. ‘The windows were all open. She must have gone in through the window.’
He barked.
But the humans didn’t notice. They were looking in the shop windows. This wasn’t the first time that the BFB had gone on an adventure. They had once found her in the wine-shop window, sitting in among the bottles of wine.
Rover barked again.
But the humans still didn’t notice.
So Rover shouted. ‘The van!’
‘What van?’ Mister Mack asked.
He was looking in the bakery window.
‘The white van!’ Rover shouted.
‘I saw a white van when I was parking,’ said Robbie. ‘Quick!’
‘Where?’ said Mister Mack, and he ran to his bike.
‘Quick,’ said Robbie. ‘That was the word on the side of the white van.’
‘Only one word?’
‘Quick Couriers,’ said Robbie. ‘Anywhere In the World, We’ll Get It There Pronto.’
‘Oh, no!’ said Billie Jean. ‘That means the BFB could be going anywhere in the world.’
‘And pronto.’
‘Let’s go,’ said Robbie.
He ran to his car.
‘Oh, no!’
Robbie had parked his car on the wet speed bump. But it wasn’t wet any more. The cement was dry and the front wheels of the car were stuck in it.
Robbie grabbed his father’s bike.
‘Sorry, Dad,’ he said. ‘This is an emergency.’
‘We’ll stay here,’ said Billie Jean. ‘We’ll search all the gardens and shop windows.’
‘OK,’ said Robbie, and he took off on the bike.
The white van was a distant white dot.
Rover and Messi ran after Robbie.
‘What about the Gigglers, Uncle Rover?’ Messi asked.
‘What about them?’
‘They’re waiting for their poo,’ said Messi.
‘They’ll have to wait,’ said Rover. ‘We have to catch up with the BFB. And ASAP.’
What does ASAP mean?
Sorry, we’re in a hurry.
Chapter Fifteen
A Very Short Little Chapter
Meanwhile, the BFB had found lots of interesting stuff in the handbag. It wasn’t the first time she’d been in that bag.
Chapter Sixteen
The Gigglers had been waiting. And waiting and waiting. For Rover. They had ordered seventeen dog poos, to give thirteen adults – seven men and six women – the Giggler Treatment.
That’s only thirteen.
What?
7 + 6 = 13. You said the Gigglers were waiting for seventeen poos but they were only going to give the Giggler Treatment to thirteen adults.
But one of the adults was a total eejit
and Gigglers knew they’d have to give him the Treatment four times before he learned the lesson. 7 + 6 + 4 (Eejit) = 17.
Anyway, the Gigglers were hiding behind their favourite wall. A cranky mam was on her way. She always took this route when she was on her way to her angry-yoga class. The Gigglers were going to give her the Treatment because she had made her twin daughters count all the crispies in a large box of cereal.
‘So I can have a bit of peace and quiet, if that’s not too much to ask for,’ she’d said. ‘I have a life too, you know.’
She’d gone really mad when she saw that the girls had drawn little faces on every crispie. There were hundreds of little smiling faces looking up at her when she picked up the box and looked in.
‘You’re driving me mad, girls,’ she’d said. ‘This is so not OK.’
The girls had to wipe the faces off each crispie.
‘And make sure they’re still crispy,’ said their mam. ‘I’ll be checking every one of them.’
The twins had to dry each crispie with a hairdryer. One twin held the dryer and the other held the crispie so it wouldn’t blow away. It was nearly midnight by the time they’d finished and gone to bed. They were falling asleep at the same time. They closed their eyes at the exact same moment.
‘What do you see?’ a twin asked her sister.
‘Crispies,’ said the twin’s twin sister. ‘Like, millions of crispies.’
‘Me too,’ said the twin. ‘Millions and millions of crispies.’
‘Do yours have faces?’
‘Little evil faces.’
‘Like, millions and millions of little evil faces.’
The twins didn’t sleep a wink because all of the crispies snored.
‘Snoring crispies, like.’
‘Millions and millions of little evil snoring crispies.’
The Gigglers had seen and heard all of this because the tiny, tiny Giggler had been hiding in the cornflakes box right beside the crispies.