The Bolds to the Rescue

by Julian Clary

  Look out for other books by Julian Clary & David Roberts:

  The Bolds

  First published in 2016 by Andersen Press Limited

  First American edition published in 2017 by Carolrhoda Books

  Published by arrangement with Andersen Press Limited

  Text copyright © 2016 by Julian Clary

  Illustrations copyright © 2016 by David Roberts

  All rights reserved. International copyright secured. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc., except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.

  Carolrhoda Books

  A division of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

  241 First Avenue North

  Minneapolis, MN 55401 USA

  For reading levels and more information, look up this title at www.lernerbooks.com.

  Main body text set in Century Schoolbook regular 12.5/21.

  Typeface provided by Monotype Typography.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Clary, Julian, author. | Roberts, David, 1970– illustrator.

  Title: The Bolds to the rescue / by Julian Clary ; illustrated by David Roberts.

  Description: First American edition. | Minneapolis : Carolrhoda Books, 2017. | Series: The Bolds | Originally published in London by Andersen Press in 2016. | Summary: “The Bolds are a family of hyenas living as humans in a suburban house. But now their kindness to animal waifs and strays has become legendary, and more and more animals keep turning up to stay!”— Provided by publisher.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016015783 (print) | LCCN 2016034207 (ebook) | ISBN 9781512410228 (lb : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781512426892 (eb pdf)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Hyenas—Fiction. | Animals—Fiction. | Impersonation—Fiction. | Teddington (London, England)—Fiction. | England—Fiction. | Humorous stories.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.C59 Br 2017 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.C59 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016015783

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  1-39570-21269-7/28/2016

  9781512432688 mobi

  9781512432695 ePub

  9781512432701 ePub

  For my parents, Peter and Brenda Clary

  JC

  For my nephew, Joel Roberts-Maloney

  DR

  Chapter 1

  A word of warning before I start: it’s probably best to keep this book away from grown-ups. They just won’t understand it. They’ll say it’s “a load of silly nonsense!” or ask, “Why don’t you read something more sensible?”

  Well, grown-ups aren’t always right. (I’m a grown-up myself, so I should know.) They read boring newspapers and tedious, thick books with no pictures and no jokes in them where nothing interesting happens, ever.

  So much happens in THIS book, I’m not even sure where to begin. It is a very unusual book. As you are about to find out. But unusual doesn’t mean it is silly or a load of nonsense. It is a true story. Make no mistake about it. You will understand that. Grown-ups won’t.

  And if a grown-up happens to be reading this to you as a bedtime story, then they must keep their remarks to themself.

  There, then. I’ve gotten that off my chest, so let’s begin.

  Have you ever heard of the Bolds? You probably have. They’re a lovely family who live at 41 Fairfield Road in Teddington. They’re always laughing, always joking. Mr. Bold works in the local Christmas cracker factory, writing the jokes. Mrs. Bold makes and sells elaborate hats at the local market. And their twins, Betty and Bobby, are such sweet, adorable children.

  Also living with them are Uncle Tony and Miranda, who they rescued from a safari park. Yes, that’s right, a safari park—you did hear me correctly. Because the Bolds are a rather unusual family who do unusual things. We all have secrets, but their secret is bigger and hairier than most . . .

  You see, behind closed doors they’re not a family like yours or mine. A human family. Oh dear me, no. They’re a family of hyenas pretending to be humans—from the tips of their furry ears right down to their paws.

  No one knows. Except us.

  You’re probably in shock. Indeed, so was I when I first heard about them, but in actual fact it’s not as shocking as you might think. There are a lot of animals out there living their lives pretending to be humans. Giraffes who stack shelves in grocery stores, pigs who eat popcorn noisily all the way through films in the cinema, bulldogs who work outside nightclubs. In fact, the Bolds’ next-door neighbor, Mr. McNumpty, is an animal too. A grizzly bear. And while he and the Bolds have had their differences in the past, he’s now firm friends with them and pops over most evenings for a game of dominoes and a couple of pork chops.

  Except for Tuesdays. There are no games of dominoes that night because Tuesday nights in the Bolds’ neat semi-detached house are very special. Tuesday nights are Grooming Night. You might think this means face masks and manicures, but you’d be wrong. In fact the Bolds, and deaf old Uncle Tony, and Miranda the marmoset monkey, all sit in a circle, scratching, rubbing, and nibbling each other, making sure all the loose fur comes out and any bits of mud or fluff that might be lurking there are removed. Not to mention the fleas . . .

  Obviously they have to make sure the curtains are drawn and no one peeps in. Although we humans sometimes scratch and itch too, we aren’t often seen lying on our backs while our mothers nibble at our tummies with sharp teeth, or found licking each other’s ears with big, long tongues that reach right across our faces to the other ear and beyond.

  Enjoyable and good for the Bolds as this is, the activity tickles too, so everyone at Number 41 ends up giggling and whooping with laughter. This just gets them in the mood to listen to some of Mr. Bold’s latest jokes:

  Or:

  And before long, on Tuesday nights in 41 Fairfield Road, everyone is rolling on the floor in laughter.

  Now, one Tuesday evening, once the grooming was done and the twins had gone to bed, Mrs. Bold went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash and moisturize her friendly, furry face. The moment she sat on the toilet seat, she thought she heard a faint cough followed by a splashing sound. She cocked her ear to one side and listened intently. Hyenas have very good hearing.

  Then she blinked in confusion as she realized the sounds she was hearing were coming from beneath her . . . from inside the toilet bowl!

  But before she could jump up to take a look she felt a little nip on her bottom.

  “Shrieeek!” she cried and shot up into the air. She then peered cautiously into the toilet.

  A head with two huge green eyes and a very long snout peered up at her and said in a deep, gravelly voice: “So sorry! It’s only little me!”

  Whatever this creature was, he or she seemed to have a LOT of teeth . . .

  Chapter 2

  “Good heavens!” said Mrs. Bold, peering into the toilet bowl. “Why? Who? What on earth are you doing down there?”

  “Pardon me,” the voice said. “I live down in the sewers, and I’ve had ENOUGH of it!” And with a bit of a groan, the creature slid up and out of the toilet and then climbed to sit on the seat, shaking its head to flick off the water.

  Mrs. Bold could see now that the unexpected visitor was a rather bewildered crocodile, almost as big as she was.

  “That’s better!” said the uninvited guest once she was dry. “How do you do? I’m Sheila, and I’m a crocodile.”

  “So I see!” said Mrs. Bold, scratching her head. “I’m Amelia Bold. Er, perhaps I’d better call my hus
band?”

  “Give me a moment, dear,” said Sheila. “I’m still catching my breath. Mind if I have a quick shower first? It’s just that I’ve been living down in the sewers and you know what that’s like.’

  “No, I don’t really,” blinked Mrs. Bold.

  “Unspeakably filthy, that’s what it’s like. I’m sure I smell disgusting!”

  “Well, now that you mention it,” said Mrs. Bold, her nose twitching at the pungent, shall we say “earthy,” aroma.

  With a flick of her big tail, Sheila got off the toilet and jumped into the shower. As she fiddled with the temperature nozzle she said, “Be a sweetie, Amelia, and scrub my back, would you? I don’t have very long arms and I can’t reach.”

  “Of course,” said Mrs. Bold obligingly. “We’ll use plenty of shower gel and you’ll be lovely and clean in no time.”

  “Scrub nice and hard, please,” Sheila instructed. “I’m very thick-skinned. Make sure you get right into all the little grooves. I’ve been swilling about in filth all my life. And while you’re doing that, I’d better explain everything.”

  “That would be nice,” said Mrs. Bold as she set to work with a nailbrush on Sheila’s knobbly back. Sheila was right—there was layer upon layer of dirt and muck, and considerable elbow grease was required.

  “Ah! This is bliss!” sighed Sheila. And then she proceeded to tell her story to Mrs. Bold. “Before I begin, dear, am I right in thinking you are a hyena?”

  “Well, if you put it like that, er, yes, I am,” said Mrs. Bold, a bit shocked. “But it’s a secret.”

  “Oh, I know.”

  “You know? How do you know?”

  “I’ll come to that later,” said Sheila. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but a group of hyenas is known as a clan, isn’t it?”

  “Yes!” agreed Mrs. Bold. “Though we are sometimes called a cackle, which I think is a better description, certainly in our case. We really do love a good laugh.”

  Sheila sniffed. “Be that as it may. Do you know the name for a group of crocodiles, though?”

  “No,” said Mrs. Bold. “I don’t believe I do.”

  “Well, dear, it’s a bask.”

  “A bask of crocodiles?”

  “Correct! And my point is that there are a LOT of crocodiles living in the sewers beneath Teddington. BASKS of us. Been there for generations. How we got there no one really knows. It’s suspected some rather eccentric human once had a pet crocodile who one day laid lots of eggs. When they all hatched out the human panicked. Flushed the babies down the loo to get rid of them and there we still are, blah, blah, blah.”

  “How cruel!” gasped Mrs. Bold.

  “Yes, I agree. But humans can be, sometimes. There are a lot of goldfish down there too. Poor things don’t stay gold for long, swimming through all that mess and manure . . .”

  “Eew, yuck!” said Mrs. Bold.

  “Quite,” continued Sheila. “Anyway, there we are. A bask of crocodiles living in dirt and darkness down in the sewers. We never see daylight, just the odd glimpse through a manhole cover maybe.”

  “What do you poor things eat?”

  “Rats, mainly. There are lots of rats down there. But life isn’t much fun. Boring and smelly. Not much in the way of entertainment. We have to invent our own amusement. Which I did, when I was very young.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Well, we could all hear muffled conversations from the houses above, through the pipes. But then I discovered that I could swim up some pipes and round the S-bends and end up in people’s bathrooms! As long as they weren’t occupied at the time, I could have a bit of a break from sewer life.”

  “You came up through people’s toilets?”

  “Yes, dear, I did! I was only young when I first did it, no bigger than your paw. I could have a few lungfuls of nice fresh air, listen in on some human conversations, and then dive back down before anyone knew about it!”

  “And no one ever discovered you?”

  “Oh no. I have always been very careful about that. I’ve been popping in here for years. Long before you moved in . . .”

  Mrs. Bold stopped scrubbing for a moment while she took all this in. “Oh,” she muttered thoughtfully. “So do you remember the people who lived here before us?”

  “Well, yes I do, Amelia dear,” said Sheila, turning round to fix Amelia with a decidedly beady stare. “Lovely couple. So in love. And looking forward to their holiday in Africa very much . . .”

  “I see.”

  “And then you and Mr. Bold—Fred, isn’t it?—came back from Africa instead of them. Very curious. A couple of hyenas, living in secret here in Teddington and pretending to be humans!”

  Mrs. Bold didn’t know what to say.

  “And then you had the twins, of course. Little Bobby and Betty. How are they?”

  Mrs. Bold was shocked. “You know everything, then!” she gasped.

  “Except what happened to the original HUMAN Fred and Amelia Bold. That’s still a mystery to me. What did you do with them?”

  “I can explain,” said the second Amelia Bold, feeling suddenly inexplicably guilty.

  “Did you eat them, dear? Did you? Were they very tasty?” Sheila asked, her mouth visibly watering, saliva drooling down onto her chest.

  “No, of course not! But we saw what happened to them, and it was very tragic and sad.”

  “Ye-es?” Sheila tapped her foot impatiently on the side of the shower screen.

  “They were out walking one day on holiday, got too hot, and went for a swim in a watering hole. There were loud snapping noises and then they were gone! Eaten, but not by us—by YOU!”

  “Me?”

  “Well, not actually you—you weren’t there—but by some big hungry crocodiles.”

  “Gosh!” exclaimed Sheila. “What an uncanny coincidence. Some crocodiles have got no sense of restraint.”

  “So then my husband and I put on their clothes and pretended we were—or are—Fred and Amelia Bold. I fancied a change of life and it seemed like a great opportunity.”

  “I see, of course. Well, what a remarkable stroke of luck for you both. Waste not, want not. Carry on with the scrubbing, dear. I’m feeling much better already.”

  “So have you been listening to us from the toilet for some time?” asked Mrs. Bold, resuming her work and wondering where this was all leading.

  “I have, yes. By far my favorite house, this is. Some people live such dreary lives. Barely speak to each other! But not you lot. Never a dull moment at 41 Fairfield Road. Pass me a towel, dear, I think that’s enough scrubbing for now. A nice white fluffy one, please.”

  Just then there was a tap on the bathroom door.

  Sheila wrapped herself in a bath towel and wound another, smaller towel around her head like a turban. “Not one of his best,” she muttered. “You’d better introduce me.”

  Mrs. Bold unlocked the bathroom door and Mr. Bold came in smiling cheerfully.

  “Fred,” interrupted Mrs. Bold. “Meet Sheila. She’s a crocodile who, er, just popped up through the toilet for a quick visit.”

  Fred looked a little surprised, then shrugged as he looked at Sheila swathed in towels. He shook her claw and said, “Pleased to meet you, Sheila.”

  “She needed a shower,” explained Mrs. Bold. “It’s not very nice down in the sewers . . .”

  Mr. Bold paused while Sheila laughed politely.

  “How do you do, Mr. Bold. Charmed, I’m sure,” she said, her smile revealing her many rows of huge sharp teeth.

  “Well, I’m very pleased to meet you too, Sheila. Glad you’ve enjoyed a nice shower. Do drop in anytime.”

  “Sheila has been dropping in for years, apparently,” explained Mrs. Bold, a slight quiver creeping into her voice. “She knows . . . everything . . . about us. And where we come from.”

  “Ahem. I see,” said Mr. Bold, suddenly as nervous as his wife that their secret was out.

  “And what is more,” growled Sheila, “I’m n
ot ‘popping in’ this time. I’m staying put. I know all about poor Tony and tasty—I mean tiny—Miranda the monkey. The kindness you showed in rescuing them from the safari park is legendary down in the sewers. You help animals in need. You teach them to blend in as humans. You are saints, you really are!”

  “Staying put?” said Mrs. Bold, confused.

  “Yes, dear. I’m moving in. Aren’t you thrilled?”

  “Well, I—”

  “The thing is, dear Amelia,” Sheila interrupted, “I’m a growing croc. I only just managed to squeeze round the S-bend this time. Another few days, a few more rats, another couple of centimeters wider and I’d get stuck. You wouldn’t want that now, would you?” A couple of crocodile tears slid down her face.

  “Well, I-I-I . . .” stammered Amelia.

  “I’m moving in with you Bolds. Temporarily. You can teach me how to ‘pass’ as a human—just like you do—and then I’ll be on my way. I could get a job as a lifeguard, perhaps?” Sheila cackled at the thought. “What a marvelous service you Bolds provide. You’re the talk of the animal kingdom, my dears!”

  “But I’m not sure we can—” began Mr. Bold.

  “Nonsense!” cried Sheila. “This crocodile is here to STAY! That is settled. Now, get me a snack, would you, Fred? Got any tuna fish? Or sausages, perhaps? I’m starving!”

  “Er, I’ll see what I can find,” said Fred, backing out of the bathroom.

  “Amelia, dear? Isn’t it time for some full-body moisturiser?” cooed Sheila, as she raised her arms in readiness. “My poor skin is desperate after all those years in the sewer. Drier than a camel’s, er, tongue. Be gentle with me, dear!”

  And so it was that the Bold household acquired a new lodger. And a rather snappy one at that. Sheila took up residence in the bathroom, helping herself to baths every few hours and going through an awful lot of hot water, shower gel, and clean towels.