'Ooooh!' All the breath was knocked out of me.
'Oh Tim!' said Biscuits, ever so upset. 'That Cheetah pushed into you on purpose. He really did cheat!'
Giles was yelling at me from a long way off.
'Tim! You're so useless!'
I lay there, still juddering. I had my eyes shut because I was trying very hard not to cry.
You cheaty old Cheetah!' I heard Kelly bellow.
There was a yell and a thump and a splash. When I opened my eyes I saw the Cheetah sprawling on the ground, soaking wet, Kelly standing over him triumphantly.
'Hey! Hey! You'll all end up dis-qualified if you're not careful!' Jake called. 'Is Tim OK?'
I wasn't sure. There was wet on my knees. It wasn't just the water from my bucket. I was bleeding.
'Maybe you'd better go and get
them bandaged?' said Biscuits.
I stood up very slowly. The blood spurted a bit more. I had a truly great excuse to get out of finishing the race.
I looked at Biscuits. I looked at Kelly. I looked at Laura and Lesley, who were running back to see if I was 75
all right. I looked at Giles. He was yelling again.
'Come on! We've all got to finish.
You can't let us down, Tim!'
I didn't mind letting Giles down at all. But I didn't want to spoil it for the others.
'I'm OK,' I said. 'I'll run back to fill my bucket again.'
We'll wait for you,' said Biscuits.
'No, I'll catch you up.'
So I ran all the way back to the pool, even though my knees were hurting quite badly. Then I filled my bucket and started the long run again, way way way behind all the others, though two Lions then bumped into each other and had to go back to the pool as well. And more came a cropper on the slide. There was a whole bunch who fought to go first and spilled all their water. By the time I got to the slide it was clear and I could take it slowly. I didn't spill a drop.
I caught Biscuits up at the sandpit.
We staggered through the sand,
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balancing our buckets.
'It's like being at the seaside,' I said.
'I couldn't half do with an ice-cream,' said Biscuits longingly. 'Or an ice-lolly. Or a can of cola. No, a bottle of Tizer. Or an ice-cream soda. No, better, a Knickerbocker Glory . . .'
He was off in a wistful food fantasy right up until we got to the stream.
Jake was swinging the bin mouths again.
'They're so thirsty,' Jake called.
'They're desperate. Water, water!'
But we were all the other side of the stream with our buckets. None of the others had made it across. Some of the children were very wet, after several attempts.
'Let me have a go,' said Kelly, elbowing Giles and Laura and Lesley out of the way.
She started edging along the
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wobbly drainpipe, holding her bucket out. The drainpipe was only lightly wedged into the ground at either side of the stream. It jiggled at each step.
Kelly wobbled, but got halfway
across. She turned round to make sure we were all watching her. She wobbled again, lost her balance, slipped off the drainpipe and fell into the stream. She had the presence of mind to clutch her bucket to her chest so that it didn't all spill. She added a bit of stream water for luck when she thought Jake wasn't watching.
'Hey, Kelly, no sly refilling that bucket!' he shouted. 'Empty half of that out.'
Kelly sighed and muttered but did as she was told.
'I'll have a go,' said Giles. 'I'll have a little practice without my bucket.'
He made it halfway across too.
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Then the drainpipe jiggled and Giles wobbled and he went flying too. He made a leap for it so that he didn't get totally soaked like Kelly. He just got water all down his trouser legs.
'You look like you've wet yourself, Giles,' said Laura, and she and Lesley fell about laughing.
'Come on!' Jake urged from the
other side of the bank. 'Think of a way to give these babies a proper drink.'
Kelly was peeling her sodden shoes and socks off.
'Hey, why don't we just paddle
across?' she said. 'I'm sure it's shallow enough.'
'Not allowed,' said Jake, and he picked up a log and threw it in the stream. 'See that log? It's really a crocodile. You paddle, he'll come along and enjoy a leg sandwich.'
Well, it's easier without shoes and socks on anyway,' said Kelly, having another go across the drainpipe.
She ran to show how easy it was.
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She slipped and fell in again.
'Whoops,' said Kelly, clambering up the bank. ' Slightly easier.' She shook herself like a wet dog and then dug Theresa out of her pocket and gave her a squeeze too. 'We're not too keen on this swimming lark, are we,
Theresa?'
'This is stupid,' said Laura. 'It's too difficult, Jake. It's all right for you.
You can jump across.'
'I bet I could jump across,' said Giles. 'Look. Watch me.'
He took several giant steps backwards, revved up, hurtled forward, leapt into space and soared over the stream. He staggered a bit when he landed in the mud at the other side, but he'd made it. He punched the air triumphantly, thrilled with himself.
'But you haven't got your bucket,'
said Kelly.
The Cheetahs were watching.
Their tallest boy tried leaping the stream with his bucket. He made it to the other side. But most of the water 80
sprayed out of his bucket as he leapt.
Lots of the others had a go. Without success.
'They're s-o-o-o-o-o thirsty, these baby big cats,' said Jake. 'Try harder!'
We are jolly well trying,' said Kelly.
'Think of a way of giving them their drink,' said Jake.
Well, we've all tried to get across,'
said Kelly. 'Apart from Biscuits and Tim.' She looked at us hopefully.
'You've got to be joking!' Giles called from the other side of the stream. 'If Fatso stands on the drainpipe, he'll bust it in two.'
'I'll bust you in two in a minute, Piles,' said Biscuits.
'Tim?' said Kelly.
'There's even less point asking him,' said Giles.
I was thinking. It was like a puzzle
game. We were all trying to do it the hard way. There had to be an easy way . . .
I suddenly had an idea. Though I wasn't sure if it would be allowed.
Well,' I started.
But they were all watching one of the Lion girls who had balanced her way right along the drainpipe. She was almost at the end. But then she suddenly wobbled – and went.
'Oooh!' said everyone.
'See. No-one can do it, Jake,' said Laura, getting cross.
Jake just laughed at her.
'Did you have an idea, Tim?' he called.
'He won't be able to do it,' said Laura. 'He fell over just on the field.'
'You try walking the drainpipe, Laura, I'm sure you could do it,' said Lesley.
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'If you can get the bucket three quarters of the way over then I can reach across and get it,' said Giles.
'But you don't have to do it that way,' I said.
'You shut up, Tim,' Giles shouted.
I'd suddenly had enough of being shouted at. And I really did have a good idea.
'No, you shut up, Giles,' I yelled.
'Pick your end of the drainpipe up and stick it in the baby tiger's mouth.'
Giles stared at me, going, 'You what?'
But Jake jumped up and down and gave me the thumbs-up sign. I'd cracked it!
'Kelly and Biscuits, you hold the drainpipe this end,' I said, telling them what to do. 'Laura and Lesley, pass me the buckets. Look!'
It was so simple. We didn't have to walk across the stream on the drainpipes. They were hollow inside, like giant straws. We could empty the 83
wate
r down the drainpipe right into the Baby Tiger bin.
And that's exactly what we did.
'Well done, Tim!' Jake shouted.
'Oh, Tim! Brilliant!' said Kelly, giving me a hug. 'You're so clever.'
'Super-Tim,' said Biscuits.
'Why didn't we think of it,' said Laura.
'Look, everyone's copying us now!'
said Lesley.
'But we've won!' said Giles, caper-ing about. We're first to fill the bin –
and we've got it nearly full to the top too. We've won Hurray for Tim!'
All the Tigers jumped up and down and cheered. Cheering me. And I jumped up and down and cheered me too!
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Chapter Six
Time is a funny thing. If you listen to a clock it goes tick tick tick. It doesn't go tick-tick-tick-tick-tick sometimes and t-i-c-k t-i-c-k t-i-c-k other times. And yet the first two days of my adventure holiday went so s-1-o-w-l-y that years and years seemed to go by.
But the last two days went whizz-whizz-whizz.
You'll never guess which team
ended up the over-all winners! We did.
The Tigers. Kelly and Giles and Laura and Lesley and Biscuits and me.
We got clapped and cheered by
everyone and then Sally and Jake gave us all a prize. We had to put our hands in this big box. I felt something 87
furry. We all did. We scrabbled around until we'd all got a handful and then we pulled them out the box. Six toy tigers, baby ones, with big eyes and smiley mouths and soft paddy-paws.
We all laughed and mucked about, making them roar. My tiger is a bit fatter than the others. He seems stuffed to bursting. I've called him Biscuits.
The real Biscuits should rename himself Sausages. He ate fourteen and a half sausages at the Camp Cook-Out. (The half was mine. I dropped it in the grass and it got a bit muddy but Biscuits couldn't bear to waste it.) He also ate two burgers and five chicken wings, washed down with three cans of cola. My friend Biscuits has a Mega-Superior Stomach.
He's got a good loud voice too. We all had a Giant Roar competition 88
between the Lions, the Tigers, the Panthers and the Cheetahs.
'Right, us Tigers, let's hear you.
ROAR!' Giles yelled, conducting us.
He roared until he was red in the face, but he'd been shouting so much bossing us about that he didn't have much voice left. Laura and Lesley had high voices that weren't loud enough.
I wasn't much use either. I tried and tried, but my roars came out small and squeaky. Kelly did much better.
She was squashed up beside me and when she opened her mouth and let rip I had to put my hands over my ears. But Biscuits did better. He threw back his head and bellowed from the pit of his magnificent stomach.
We won the Giant Roar competition too. I'm SO glad I'm a Tiger and not a Lion or a Panther or a Cheetah.
Giles and Biscuits and I stayed awake ever so late, swopping jokes and acting daft. Jake had to come and tell us off three times. But he didn't 89
get really cross. I do like Jake. I do like Biscuits.
I even almost liked Giles that last night. And when we were quiet at last and snuggled up to go to sleep it didn't matter that I didn't have Walter Bear. I had little Biscuits Tiger to cuddle instead.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JACQUELINE WILSON was born in Bath in 1945, but has spent most of her life in Kingston-upon-Thames, Surrey. She always wanted to be a writer and wrote her first 'novel'
when she was nine, filling countless Woolworths' exercise books as she grew up. She started work at a publishing company and then went on to work as a journalist on Jackie magazine (which was named after her) before turning to writing fiction full-time.
Since 1990 Jacqueline has written prolifically for children and has won many of the UK's top awards for children's books, including the Smarties Prize in 2000 and the Guardian Children's Fiction Award and the Children's Book of the Year in 1999. Jacqueline was awarded an OBE in the Queen's Birthday Honours list, in Golden Jubilee Year, 2002.
Over 10 million copies of Jacqueline's books have now been sold in the UK and approximately 50,000 copies of her book are sold each month. An avid reader herself, Jacqueline has a personal collection of more than 15,000 books.
She has one grown-up daughter.
'A brilliant young writer of wit and subtlety whose stories are never patronising and are often complex and many-layered'
THE TIMES
'Jacqueline Wilson has a rare gift for writing lightly and amusingly about emotional issues'
BOOKSELLER
'Wilson writes like a child, and children instantly recognize themselves in her characters. The tone of voice is faultless, her stories are about the problems many children face, and her plots work with classic simplicity . . . a subtle art is concealed by artlessness and some might call that genius'
DAILY TELEGRAPH
THE MUM-MINDER
Jacqueline Wilson
I'm Sadie and I'm nearly nine. Mum's a childminder, but she doesn't have to mind me. I can mind myself, easy-peasy. Lucky for Mum, because now she's got the flu, so I've got to mind her – and help with all the babies!
A hilarious, entertaining and lively account, told throughout in Sadie's own words, of one chaotic week in the life of a young girl whose mother is a childminder.
From the award-winning author of The Suitcase Kid and The Story of Tracy Beaker.
'Funny and warm-hearted' Daily Mail
'Jolly story' Daily Telegraph 0 440 86302-3
CORGI YEARLING BOOKS
Document Outline
Front Cover
Frontmatter Excerpt
By the Same Author
Title Page
Epub Copyright Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Endmatter About the Author
The Mum-Minder
Cliffhanger Page 4