CHAPTER 2
After school, Eugene came back to Bertie’s house.
Dad was in the kitchen, working on his computer.
“Dad!” said Bertie. “Can Eugene come to play?”
“Not today, I’m taking you for a haircut, remember?”
Bertie groaned. He was hoping bringing Eugene back would give him an excuse to stay at home.
“But Eugene’s here,” he said.
“So I see.”
“Hello, Mr Burns!” said Eugene.
“Can’t he stay – just for a bit?” begged Bertie.
“My mum says it’s okay,” said Eugene.
Dad looked at his watch. “All right!” he sighed. “But just for half an hour. The barber shuts at five.”
Eugene and Bertie ran upstairs before Dad changed his mind. Bertie slammed the door.
“What’s wrong?” said Eugene.
“Didn’t you hear?” groaned Bertie. “I’ve got to have my hair cut.”
“So? What’s so bad about that?”
“At the barber’s,” said Bertie. “Sweeney Bob’s.”
Eugene looked at him.
“HA HA!” he hooted. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow!”
“It’s not funny,” moaned Bertie.
“Why don’t you go to Super Snips?” said Eugene.
“I’ve tried that,” said Bertie. “Dad won’t take me. You’ve got to help me.”
Bertie racked his brains. There had to be some way out. His eyes fell on the kitchen scissors he’d borrowed to cut out some dinosaur pictures. Of course! Mum and Dad wanted him to have a haircut, so why not have one? He could cut it himself! Wait, though, maybe that wasn’t such a great idea. It would be impossible to see what he was doing. Much safer to get someone else to do it – and luckily he knew just the person.
“Eugene,” said Bertie. “I’ve got a great idea…”
Five minutes later, Bertie sat in a chair with a towel draped around his shoulders. Eugene hesitated.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, doubtfully.
“Of course, I told you!” said Bertie.
“But what if I get in trouble? If your dad finds out, he’ll kill us!”
“He won’t,” said Bertie. “Anyway, he wants me to have my hair cut!”
“Yes, but not by me,” said Eugene. “I’ve never done this before!”
“It’s easy!” said Bertie. “It’s like cutting paper. Hurry up, before anyone comes!”
Eugene took a deep breath. He had a bad feeling about this. He chose a long hair sticking up on the back of Bertie’s head.
SNIP!
“There. All done,” he said.
Bertie rolled his eyes. “You haven’t started yet!”
“I have!” said Eugene. “You said cut your hair. I cut this one!”
“That’s no use,” said Bertie. “It has to look shorter all over, or no one’ll see the difference.”
“How much shorter?”
“I don’t know! So it’s not in my eyes and sticking up everywhere. Go on!”
Eugene sighed heavily. He grasped a clump of Bertie’s hair and raised the scissors.
SNIP! SNIP! SNIP!
CHAPTER 3
Bertie closed his eyes as bits of hair fell to the carpet. He didn’t know why he’d never thought of this before. Why bother with hairdressers when you could get a perfectly good haircut in your own home? The two of them could set up in business. Eugene could cut the hair while Bertie took the money. People would be queuing up. Girls would have to pay double, of course, because they had more hair.
SNIP! SNIP! SNIP!
Eugene paused for a rest. Once you got started, cutting hair was dead easy. You just had to chop away like his dad did when he cut the hedge. He stood back to admire his handiwork.
“Well?” asked Bertie. “How does it look?”
“Er … yeah. Good,” said Eugene.
“You have cut it shorter?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s definitely shorter.”
Bertie stood up and shook off the towel. There seemed to be quite a pile of his hair on the carpet. He went over to take a look in the mirror.
“ARGHHHHHHHHHHH!”
He looked mad! Patches of his hair were missing, while other bits stuck out at all angles.
“What have you done?” he gasped.
“Sorry!” said Eugene. “You asked me to cut it!”
“Not like this! I look like an ALIEN!”
“It’s not my fault!” wailed Eugene. “I’ve never cut hair before. You said you wanted it shorter!”
“I meant shorter all over!” said Bertie. He turned back to the mirror. “What am I going to do?”
Eugene sat down on the bed. “It’s not that bad. It’ll grow back in a few weeks.”
“A FEW WEEKS!” yelled Bertie. This was terrible. He should have known it was no use trusting Eugene. What would his parents say when they saw his hair? Dad would go mad. Mum would probably faint…
“BERTIE!”
Uh-oh – Dad was calling from downstairs.
“Um … just a minute!” Bertie shouted.
Eugene stared at him in panic. “What shall we do?”
“Bertie! Time to go!” yelled Dad.
Bertie looked around in desperation. They had to hide the evidence quickly. He stuffed the towel and scissors into one of his drawers, and slammed it shut. Help! There were bits of hair all over the carpet. Bertie scooped them up. He looked around for somewhere to hide them.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
Dad was coming up the stairs. Bertie stuffed the hair in the pockets of his jeans.
The door swung open.
“Come on,” said Dad. “We need to— ARGH! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR HAIR?”
“This?” said Bertie. “Eugene did it.”
“It wasn’t my fault! He made me!” cried Eugene.
Bertie shrugged. “You said I needed a haircut, so I’ve had one.”
“I meant at the barber’s, not doing it yourself,” said Dad. “You look like a moulting sheep!”
He checked his watch. “Come on, we’ll just make it. We’ll drop Eugene home on the way.”
“Where are we going?” asked Bertie.
“To the barber’s, where else?”
“But … but I’ve already had a haircut!”
“Yes,” said Dad. “And now you’ve got to have another, before your mum gets home!”
CHAPTER 4
Sweeney Bob’s didn’t have free lollipops or comics to read. It had three black leather chairs and one barber – Bob. Bob had been cutting hair in the same way for twenty years.
“Who’s next?” he growled.
Bertie looked round. The only people waiting were him, Dad and a pale, freckle-faced boy.
Bertie looked at him. “After you,” he said.
“No, you go,” said the boy.
“No, you go. You were here first.”
The boy hung his head and plodded over to where Bob was waiting.
“So, what’ll it be?” asked Bob, as his victim sat down.
“Um … just a trim, please,” squeaked the boy.
Bob reached for his Number One electric clippers. “Short back and sides,” he said.
BUZZ, BUZZ, BUZZ!
The clippers hummed. Hunks of red hair fell on the floor. Bertie thought Bob looked more like a boxer than a barber. He had a bulldog neck and razor-short grey hair. His muscly arms were covered in tattoos.
BUZZ, BUZZ, BUZZ!
Bertie shifted nervously in his seat. He glanced at the door, praying for another customer to arrive. He didn’t want to face the electric clippers. He’d much rather settle for patchy, sticking-up hair than be bald as a baby’s bottom.
The clippers stopped buzzing. The freckle-faced boy got down from the chair, rubbing his neck. He looked like a shaved coconut. Bertie kept his eyes on the floor as the boy paid his money and hurried out. Now there was no escape. Dad was reading the newspaper. Bob swept up the hai
r on the floor. He set down the broom and cracked his knuckles. This is it, thought Bertie. Goodbye hair.
“Who’s next?” grunted Bob.
Bertie lost his nerve and pointed at Dad. “He is!”
Dad looked up from his newspaper. “What?”
“Take a seat,” said Bob.
“No, no, I’m … just waiting,” stammered Dad.
“Then it’s your turn,” said Bob. “Take a seat.”
Dad looked round for some means of escape. “Bertie,” he pleaded. “You go.”
Bertie shook his head. “That’s okay. Mum said you needed a haircut.”
“Yes, but not…”
“Get a move on,” glared Bob. “I’m closing in five minutes.”
Dad threw Bertie a dark look. He drooped over to the chair and sat down heavily. Bob draped a grey cloth round his neck.
“Right then, what’ll it be?”
“Er … just a very, very light trim, please,” said Dad.
Bob switched on his Number One clippers.
“Short back and sides,” he said.
BUZZ, BUZZ, BUZZ…
Mum was laying the table for supper when the front door slammed.
“Is that you, Bertie?” she called. “How did you get on?”
“Fine!” said Bertie, bounding into the kitchen.
Mum stared in horror. “Good heavens! What happened to your hair?”
“Eugene cut it,” said Bertie, cheerfully.
“What?” cried Mum. “I thought Dad was taking you to the barber’s?”
“He did, but Bob didn’t have time to cut my hair.”
“What? Then whose hair did he cut?”
Bertie grinned and turned towards the door. Dad walked in with a face glowing pink.
“ARGHHHHHH!” screamed Mum.
“It’s all right,” said Bertie. “It’ll probably grow back in a few weeks!”
CHAPTER 1
Bertie loved Saturday mornings. Saturdays were for watching TV, seeing his friends or taking Whiffer to the park. But not today, worst luck. Today he had to go shopping with Mum. Bertie hated shopping trips. The shops Mum dragged him round didn’t sell anything he wanted.
This morning they were in Dibble’s Department Store to buy new school shoes.
“Right,” said Mum. “Don’t touch anything and DON’T go wandering off.”
“I won’t!” sighed Bertie. Where would he wander off to anyway – to look at bath-mats?
Mum studied the store guide. The shoe department was on the second floor.
“Can we take the lift? Please!” begged Bertie.
“Yes, all right,” said Mum, stopping to look at a perfume that was on special offer. Bertie ran ahead and pressed the button marked “Call”. He loved going in lifts. He didn’t know why his parents hadn’t thought of putting in a lift at home. It would save a lot of tramping up- and downstairs when you needed a chocolate biscuit. He pressed the button again and held it down.
PING! At last the lift arrived. The doors slid open and several people got out. Bertie got in, pleased to have the lift all to himself. Hang on a minute though, where was Mum? The doors were starting to close! He spotted her at the perfume counter.
“Mum!” shouted Bertie.
“Bertie – wait!” she yelled, dashing over.
Too late – the doors shut in her face. Bertie blinked. He jabbed at one of the buttons on the wall. But instead of the doors opening, the lift gave a sigh and started to go up. Help! I really am in trouble, thought Bertie. Mum will go potty. He pressed all the buttons at once, but the lift paid no attention.
Finally it stopped with a jolt. PING! The doors slid open and Bertie stepped out. He didn’t recognize this floor at all. But before he could change his mind, the lift set off again. Now what? Bertie looked around. Mum would expect him to return to where he’d got lost. That meant the ground floor. Maybe he’d be quicker taking the stairs? He wandered past rows of beds, looking for a sign to point him in the right direction.
Five minutes later, he was still wandering. Turning a corner, he saw a large room crowded with people. Rows of seats were set out facing a long stage, decked with flowers. Maybe someone famous is coming? thought Bertie. He was about to ask for help when a shop assistant appeared. She was wearing a Dibble’s badge with her name: LAURA.
“Thank goodness, there you are!” she said.
Bertie felt a wave of relief. Mum must have sent someone to find him. Laura glanced at her clipboard. “It’s Bernie, isn’t it?” she said.
“Er … Bertie,” said Bertie.
“Oh sorry, Bertie.” Laura checked her list. It was probably a printing error. “Anyway, you’re here. Hurry up, they’re all waiting.”
Bertie looked puzzled.
“Er … sorry, I’m looking for my mum,” he said.
“Don’t worry,” said Laura. “She phoned. She’s on her way.”
“Is she?”
“Yes, she said she’ll meet you here.”
Phew! thought Bertie. At least he wasn’t in trouble. Laura opened a door and ushered him through. “Claudia’s been going up the wall!” she said. “We thought you weren’t coming.”
Bertie stared. This definitely wasn’t the shoe department. It looked more like some kind of changing room. A man was pulling on a shirt. Another hurried by in his pants.
CHAPTER 2
“He’s here!” yelled Laura, above the din. “Claudia, I found him!”
“Thank heaven, darling!” said the lady called Claudia. She looked down her nose at Bertie. “You’re sure this is the one?”
“Yes, this is Bertie. I found him outside.”
Claudia sighed. “Very well, try and do something with his hair, darling. I’ll be there in a moment.”
Bertie frowned. “But I’m only here for new—”
Before he could finish, he was pushed into a chair. A flock of women swooped down on him and set to work. One combed his hair, while another dabbed something on his face and a third tutted over his dirty nails. They all talked at once.
“Head up!”
“Keep still!”
“Look at me, not over there!”
“I need to find my mum,” said Bertie, squirming to escape.
“Do you, sweetie?” smiled one of the women.
“Yes, she’s meant to meet me here.”
“I expect she’s out front, waiting to see you.”
“Mmm,” said Bertie. “Will this take long? Only I’m meant to be getting shoes.”
“Don’t worry, Claudia will see to it. Look up for me!”
Bertie looked up.
“There!” said the lady. “All done.”
Bertie swivelled his chair to look at himself in the mirror. He gasped. He was wearing make-up! His hair stuck up like a paintbrush and he had pink stuff all over his face. He tried to wipe it off with the back of his hand.
Claudia came over to inspect him.
“Well,” she sighed. “I suppose he’ll have to do. Where are his clothes?”
“I’m wearing them,” said Bertie.
“Not those – they’re ghastly!” She checked her list. “He should be in sportswear.”
Bertie looked at his clothes. They seemed okay to him. True, his jumper had got a few splodges of jam on it, but that was normal. And he was wearing his best jeans – the ones that were practically clean.
Claudia was sorting through tops and jackets hanging on a rail. She seized a bright yellow tracksuit with the word DAZZLE written on it.
“Put this on,” she commanded.
“Who – me?” asked Bertie.
“Of course you!”
“But I only wanted shoes!”
Claudia snapped her fingers. “Someone bring him some trainers! Why is it all left to me? And please do hurry, darlings, we’re on in five minutes!”
The assistants swooped down again. They hurried Bertie into the tracksuit and zipped it up to hide his clothes. It was way too big and a horrible sickly yellow. Bertie th
ought he looked like a custard cream.
“Super!” said one of the assistants. “Now let’s get these trainers on.”
Bertie stared. “I’m not wearing those!” he cried. “They’re for babies.”
The assistant glanced at the clock. “Okay, okay, we don’t have time for a tantrum. Keep your own.”
“Excuse me,” said Bertie, loudly. “Has anyone seen my mum?”
But no one took any notice. The music next door had fallen silent, and an air of anticipation swept through the room. Claudia leaped on to a chair and clapped her hands. “We’re starting!” she cried. “Places, darlings, places!”
People started rushing around madly as if a fire alarm had gone off. Bertie found himself herded into a corridor to join a line of people. They were all wearing bright Dazzle sportswear like him. Up ahead was a set of steps leading to a curtained stage.
Claudia clasped her hands in nervous excitement. “Remember, darlings, you are swans, not ducklings! Swans! Good luck!” She blew them all kisses.
The music started up again. Through the curtain Bertie glimpsed rows of people. Where, oh where, was Mum?
CHAPTER 3
Mum was on the ground floor and starting to worry. This wasn’t the first time Bertie had got lost, but in the past he’d always turned up, looking muddy and messy or clutching a caterpillar. This time, however, there was no sign of him. Dibble’s was a huge shop and Bertie could have been anywhere. Mum explained this to the kind assistant at the Help Desk.
“And what does he look like?” asked the assistant.
Mum thought. “Small,” she said. “With scruffy hair and dirty jeans. Probably a runny nose.”
“Runny … nose…” repeated the lady, writing it all down. Mum wished she would write a bit faster.
Fangs! Page 2