by Julian Clary
“Good,” said Miranda. “Your lives depend on it.”
“But how will you ever get this door open?” worried Molly. “Dean will never let us get away a second time—he’s ruthless, he’ll kill you!”
“No worry about a thing!” Miranda reassured her. “Just stay calm and get ready to run like windy.”
“Another thing,” said Minty quickly. ‘“There are three of us in here. Hamish the pony is with us.”
“Er, no probs!” said Miranda. “I’ll go tell Mr. and Mrs. Boldy. More the merrier, I’m sure!”
Then there was calm for a moment while everyone got ready for the next part of the plan to begin.
“If we get out of here, you’re coming with us,” explained Molly to Hamish.
“But won’t I slow you down?” asked Hamish, trying to keep up with the sudden events. “I’ve got very short legs, and they don’t work terribly well.”
“Nonsense,” said Minty. “You’re one of us, and we can’t leave you behind to live a terrible life with that dreadful Dean man. I’ve no idea how they’re going to get us out of here, but if they do, you’re coming with us.”
“Thanks, pal,” said Hamish gratefully.
The seagulls circled above the trailer for a few minutes until Mr. Bold gave the signal. One by one, like planes coming in to land, they swooped down and tapped their beaks noisily on the wind shield. Dodgy Dean awoke with a start.
“What the—?” said Dean, rubbing his head. “Blighters—I’ll soon show them.” He opened the driver’s side door and got out, swiping at the air as the six seagulls continued to swoop and dive, leading him a few yards along the road. Dean snapped a thin branch from a nearby tree, then bashed and jabbed at his airborne assailants, shouting with anger and using some terrible words that I can’t possibly write down. “Bl***rgh!” he grunted. “Little sl***#@$**s!” he roared.
Having gottem the man exactly where they wanted him, the seagulls then unleashed their secret weapon: poo. Splosh, splash, right in his eyes.
“Aarrgh!” cried Dean, dropping his stick and covering his face. “Stings! Ouch! Ow!” He pulled a hanky from his pocket and tried to wipe the muck from his eyes, which only made them sting more. And still the seagulls swooped, dropping more and more runny seagull poo on the dastardly man until it was all over his head and face.
By now Dean was rolling on the ground trying to cover himself.
“Go, Roger! Go, Fifi!” was the next order from Mr. Bold.
Roger charged, head down and horns gleaming magnificently in the moonlight, toward the pitiful figure, crashing into him and causing more “Oofs!” and “Aarghs!” Roger backed away a little, pawed the ground and charged again.
Already blinded by the seagull poo, the bewildered man didn’t know what on earth was attacking him now, and he wept with fear. Just then Fifi joined the fray, growling and howling as she circled him and giving the occasional nip for good measure, while Roger ran around him in circles, snorting loudly and nudging with his horns whenever Dodgy Dean looked like he might be attempting to stand up.
“Werewolves!” trembled Dodgy Dean. “I’m going to be eaten alive!” And he sobbed even harder.
“Go, Bobby! Go, Betty!” called Mr. Bold, and the twins ran into the scene eager to do their part. They too circled Dean, unfurling ropes as they went so he was soon tied up and unable to see or move.
“Tony? Mr. McNumpty? Go shut ’im up!” was Mr. Bold’s next order. The two older members of the Bold household trotted over now and put a stop to the noise by tying some old socks and underpants around the mouth of the blubbering horse thief. Finally he was unable to see, move, or speak.
“Well done, you lot!” cried Mr. Bold, very pleased with the rescue mission so far. But they still had to get into the trailer and release Minty and Molly.
“Amelia, could you go and get the padlock keys from the cab?” asked Mr. Bold urgently.
“Yes, dear,” answered Mrs. Bold, heading determinedly toward the trailer. She searched on the dashboard, in the glove compartment, and the van door compartments, but found nothing.
“Oh dear,” she said. “He must have the keys somewhere in his pockets.” She looked over at the horrid man writhing on the muddy roadside, covered in mess and trussed up with rope. “I don’t think I fancy rummaging through his pockets. Must I?”
“Won’t hear of it, my dear!” said Mr. Bold chivalrously. “I would never put my own dear wife through such an ordeal. Who needs keys when we’ve got Sheila?!” He gave Sheila a nod, and she darted into action.
Much as she felt like slithering over to Dean and making a meal of him there and then, Sheila followed Mr. Bold’s orders and headed instead for the back of the trailer. The chains were thick and rusty, but she pushed her lower jaw up against the trailer doors and wriggled until she had a good grip under the chains. She then took a deep breath, and with as much force as she could muster, she crashed her upper jaw downward. Nothing happened with the first two bites, which made Sheila cross. The third, furious bite was a gigantic CRUNCH! that caused metallic sparks to fly up in the air. With a heavy clink, the severed chains fell to the ground. Everyone applauded (apart from Dodgy Dean, who couldn’t have even if he’d wanted to, which he wouldn’t have, even though he couldn’t).
Mr. Bold bounded over to the back of the trailer and, with Mr. McNumpty’s help, slid the heavy metal bar across and out. Still the door wouldn’t open, though. “It’s locked!” he cried.
“Pah!” said Sheila. “I’m just getting the taste for this. Let me at it!” This time she used her smaller front teeth, gripping the rusty lock tightly and twisting her body. With a crunch of splintering wood she pulled the lock out of the door in one piece, then deftly spat it over her shoulder.
Finally, the doors swung open to reveal Minty Boy, Gangster’s Moll, and Hamish, all blinking at them.
“Oh, you’ve done it!” said a shaky Minty Boy as he climbed gingerly out of the trailer and looked around.
“Thank you, thank you, everyone!” said Gangster’s Moll, taking some deep breaths of fresh air and shaking her mane with delight. “Come on, Hamish! I’ll introduce you to everyone later.”
“Don’t thank us yet, folks,” cautioned Mr. Bold. “It’s not over until we are all safely home at Number 41. Bobby? Betty? Climb on Minty and Molly’s backs—otherwise they’ll look like runaways and won’t know where to go—and get them home as fast as possible. I know you don’t like running, you two, but I’m sure you can do it just this once, eh? And Miranda, you ride little Hamish.”
The three horses nodded eagerly in agreement.
Minty glanced up the road at Dodgy Dean. “We know we’re running away from him so it’ll be easy. Hamish, you trot between us. Climb aboard, twins! See you back at the ranch, everyone.” And with a thankful bow, Minty and Molly cantered off through the industrial park, Hamish hardly visible between them, the seagulls flying a little ahead of them, leading the way home.
For good measure, Mr. Bold and the others hauled Dodgy Dean to his feet and bundled him into the back of the trailer before sliding the metal bar back into place and biting all the tires so there was no chance he could follow them.
Dodgy Dean was so scared and bewildered he didn’t utter a word. But just before they left the trailer to return to the car and drive home, they did hear a muffled “Urgh!” from Dean.
“I think our friend might just have rolled in one of Minty Boy’s rose-garden specials,” said Mr. Bold, and everyone laughed and cheered as they clambered back into the car.
Chapter 16
By the time the new day dawned, everyone was gathered in the lounge at 41 Fairfield Road, tired but triumphant, enjoying a hearty breakfast. Hamish was introduced to all the residents and was beaming with delight at his new circumstances.
“This is all fantastic!” he sighed contentedly. “After years of hard slog I’ve somehow landed on my hooves at last.”
“You deserve a good life after what you’ve put up with, Hamish,” said Uncle T
ony.
“And can I really stay here?” asked the little Shetland.
“You are very welcome,” said Mr. Bold kindly.
“I can’t believe it’s all over,” said an emotional Minty Boy with his mouth full of hay.
“Another hour or so and we’d have been driven through those gates to our doom!” shuddered Gangster’s Moll. “How can we ever thank you all enough?”
“You are a part of our family,” said Mr. Bold, patting both horses affectionately on their shoulders before biting into a bacon sandwich. “We all stand together.”
“We weren’t going to let that tasty—I mean nasty—man get away with it,” added Sheila. “Pass the ketchup please, Fifi dear.”
“He’ll think twice about taking any more horses to the abattoir now!” laughed Bobby.
“Yes, but I think it would be wise for us to lie low for a little while,” said Mr. Bold. “Particularly you horses. No more fairs or sticking your heads out the window for a while.”
After breakfast, the twins and Miranda gave all three horses a good wash and groom to clean away any trace of their terrible ordeal. Their manes were brushed too, so they looked and felt much better.
“I had no idea I was so attractive under all the dirt!” said Hamish, admiring himself in a full-length mirror.
“I think we should all get some rest,” yawned Mrs. Bold.
“I shall sleep like a log,” said Mrs. Bold.
“Then you’ll probably wake up in the fireplace!” said her husband.
One by one the housemates all slipped off to bed. Minty and Molly stayed where they were in the lounge and fell asleep standing up. Hamish lay on the sofa and had the best sleep he’d had for years.
Chapter 17
It was the middle of the afternoon by the time anyone stirred. And they were woken by the sound of Fifi running down the stairs in a panic.
“Alors!” she yelped. “Quick! C’est aujourd’hui le jour! Today is the day! I almost forgot!”
“The day for what?” asked Mrs. Bold, racing downstairs in her dressing gown.
“Vite!” said Fifi, hurriedly applying some lipstick. “For my first singing lesson, that’s what! I have to meet Monsieur Trumpet in half an hour!”
“Ah, of course,” said Mrs. Bold. “I’ll help you, don’t worry.”
“Where is the pink chemisier? Et la jupe noire?” asked Fifi, throwing various items of clothing over her shoulder as she searched for the perfect blouse and skirt combination. “This is it, Madame Bold,” she said portentously. “My first step on the path to stardom! Chanteuse extraordinaire! La, la, la, la, laaaa!”
As it turned out, Mr. Trumpet agreed with Fifi’s assessment of her own talent. He thought she was a very good singer indeed. She could go far. The first lesson was a huge success, and week after week he became more enthusiastic about Fifi’s progress.
“You sing from the heart, Fifi,” he told her. “And with such emotion! There is an animal quality to your voice which is quite extraordinary. Some notes you almost seem to howl!”
Everyone else, meanwhile, continued with the lessons at Number 41, with varying degrees of success. Roger’s human speech was coming along really well. He loved playing with and looking after the twins, and his dream was still to work as a nanny one day. Every night he practiced singing nursery rhymes, and of course his favorites were “Baa Baa Black Sheep” and “Mary had a Little Lamb.” Eventually he started a part-time course in childcare at Kingston College, and it began to look as if his dream might one day become a reality. (As long as he remembered to wear his trousers, of course. There had been an unfortunate incident in the supermarket recently.)
Molly and Minty took a while to recover from their traumatic adventure. It was some time before they ventured out again, and even then they looked nervously over their shoulders a lot, afraid that Dodgy Dean was going to pounce.
But eventually they stopped worrying. Dodgy Dean clearly knew when he was beaten and there was no trace of him. So, dressed up and walking on their hind legs, this tall and strikingly attractive pair became more confident. When they strolled down Teddington High Street people still stared—but it was a stare of admiration, nothing more. In fact, a well-spoken young man in an orange Porsche drew alongside Molly one afternoon, introduced himself as Henry, and asked if he could take her out to a wine bar one evening. Molly batted her eyelashes and said thank you, but she didn’t drink wine.
In the evenings, when the twins came home from school, often with Minnie in tow, Molly and Minty would set up their beauty salon in the kitchen and practice on the youngsters, styling Minnie’s hair and makeup, painting Betty’s nails, or giving Bobby a relaxing head massage. Hamish—who couldn’t yet walk on his hind legs, talk, use silverware, or use the toilet, but was just happy to be away from Dodgy Dean’s clutches—called himself their assistant, but really just stood around laughing at their efforts.
The trouble was, the word “beauty” didn’t really describe the results. The horses needed fingers, unfortunately—hooves just don’t lend themselves to beauty treatments or massages: Minnie looked like a dog’s dinner gone wrong, Betty had more nail polish up her legs than on her nails, and Bobby’s head was so bruised after his “massage” that he had to go and lie down in a darkened room.
“Oh dear,” said Molly one evening after it had all gone particularly wrong and Betty was scrubbing nail polish off her chin. “I get the feeling we’re not very good at this, Minty.”
“I agree, my dear,” said Minty Boy despondently. “We’re never going to be able to open our own salon, let’s face it. What ARE we going to do with ourselves?”
“I think we need to have a good long think,” concluded Molly. “Let’s go into the garden and have a nibble of the lawn.”
In fact, it was Bobby who came up with an idea for the two unemployed horses. He was feeling better after his rest that evening (although he was wearing sunglasses, as he still had a bit of a headache).
“You need a job doing something you are good at,” he told the pair, who were still chewing grass thoughtfully in the back garden an hour later.
“That’s the problem,” said Minty Boy. “We don’t seem to be gifted at anything in particular.”
“We are racehorses who don’t like running. We’re useless!” agreed Molly, returning from the flowerbed where she had deposited something to make the roses happy.
“That’s it!” said Bobby suddenly as he watched the steam rising behind Molly.
“What’s it?” asked Molly and Minty in unison.
“It’s obvious when you think about it!” continued Bobby excitedly. “Look at the lawn where you’ve been nibbling . . . perfect! And look how wonderful all our roses are thanks to your help. You should be gardeners! You can take care of people’s lawns, eating a bit of grass when no one is watching. And with a wheelbarrow full of your special manure—and maybe a bit of Roger’s if he’s willing to part with it—your customers’ flowers will all look spectacular!”
Molly and Minty nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, well done, Bobby!” said Molly. “We’ll love being outside in the fresh air too. It’s a fantastic idea. And Hamish can be our trainee!”
“Minty and Molly’s Marvelous Garden Makeovers!” said Minty. “We’ll get some leaflets printed and post them through everyone’s mailboxes. We’ll be rushed off our hooves in no time. Hurrah for Bobby! That knock on the head seems to have done you a lot of good!”
Unlike the others, however, Sheila wasn’t making such good progress. She could talk human well enough, and walk upright when she could be bothered, but she just wasn’t happy. She hated wearing clothes. They felt wrong on her skin. She liked to be wet and spent most of her day lolling in the bath, dreaming about swimming. She was always hungry too. Grateful as she was to Mr. and Mrs. Bold for letting her stay and for feeding her, the food they provided was just not enough for her. She had an overwhelming urge to chase and catch her own dinner. A packet of sausages and a couple of pork chops j
ust didn’t satisfy Sheila. And sometimes it took every inch of self-control not to gobble up the kittens or make a meal of Minnie. If she went out anywhere, it was to Teddington Lock to gaze at the water and imagine swimming around freely, snapping at the odd fish or (she daren’t say it out loud) person.
But there was something else too. Sheila wanted to have children—baby crocodiles of her own. And that was never going to happen if she lived her life as a human and didn’t find a mate.
“Would you like to return to the sewers, then?” asked Mrs. Bold during a Group Therapy session where Sheila had been particularly tearful.
“No! It was too awful down there,” cried Sheila. “There is no mate for me amongst that smelly bask of crocs. And when I see you and your twins tickling and nibbling each other on grooming night, I long to have the same thing. I want little crocs of my own. I want to teach them how to swim and hunt, and how to clean their teeth. I can’t possibly raise children down there.”
The reality was that no one could think of a solution. Sheila seemed trapped in her new life, and while all the others were enjoying themselves and working toward fulfilling their ambitions, Sheila couldn’t see a way forward, backward, or sideways. What on earth was she going to do?
Chapter 18
With Mr. Trumpet’s tuition, Fifi’s singing was getting better and better. And one day the teacher announced that the talented poodle was ready to perform in front of the public.
“Look,” he said, pointing to an ad in the local paper. “There is a talent competition at Teddington Town Hall in three weeks’ time. I think you should enter!”
“Alors, and so my destiny, it begins,” said Fifi, misty-eyed.
She became very grand back at Fairfield Road in the days before the competition, wafting about in a kimono and a feather boa.
“Miranda, ma chérie, a bowl—I mean a glass—of water for me, s’il vous plaît. Je suis parched.”