He’d found some interesting seaweed in the bottom of the lifeboat and was just sticking it into the scrapbook with a blob of marmalade when there was a loud parp, which made him almost jump out of his fur. At first, he thought the noise must have come from him, and he wafted his tail. It was only when he spotted dry land that he realized it was the ship’s horn announcing that it was about to dock.
As the crew unloaded the cargo, he shut his scrapbook in his suitcase and crept out of the lifeboat. Keeping a low profile, he pulled his hat down over his eyes and sidled hastily along the ship toward the gangplank.
He was sneaking past a pile of mail sacks when a shadow appeared around the corner, and he almost bumped into a dockworker. Seeing a stowaway bear, the man yelped and dropped his clipboard, but by the time he’d gathered all his papers, the bear had vanished. He grabbed an oar and, holding it like a bayonet, began to search for it.
Hiding in a mail sack, the cub peered through the holes in the hessian. He watched as the man got down on his hands and knees and followed a trail of sticky paw prints back to the lifeboat. Using the end of the oar, he flipped back the tarpaulin. There was no bear inside—just a load of empty jars. The man sniffed them. They seemed to smell of . . . marmalade?
He retraced his steps and, spotting a pile of mail bags, he tiptoed over. He was just about to search them when another docker grabbed the sack with the cub in it and tossed it over the side of the ship to a colleague who was loading them on to a mail van.
The driver started the engine. When he thought it must be safe, the cub opened the sack to stretch his legs. He was hoping to get his first view of the English countryside, but unfortunately, there were no windows in the van. He couldn’t tell if it was night or day, but it definitely felt like teatime. Reaching under his hat, he found his last emergency marmalade sandwich, took a bite, and, saving the rest for later, snuggled back down in the sack.
A few hours later he woke to the sound of the van doors opening. The sack he was in was loaded onto a trolley along with the rest of the mail. As a porter pushed it along, a voice came over the tannoy: “The next train from Paddington will be the 8:35 to Plymouth.”
The trolley came to a halt while the porter chatted to a guard. Unseen by either of them, one of the mailbags jumped off and shuffled behind a kiosk. Seconds later, the little bear stepped out of the sack, eyes wide with amazement. So this was London! He had read the guides, pored over postcards, and played with a pop-up book, but this was beyond his wildest expectations. He sat on his suitcase and tried to take it all in: the hustle and bustle, the roar of the trains, the smell of the coffee.
Remembering the first rule for visitors, he stood up and went to say hello to everyone, only to be swept along by a wave of commuters charging toward platform six. He lifted his hat politely and introduced himself to the throng.
“Um . . . good evening . . . hello? Tipping it down, isn’t it?”
To his dismay, no one replied. They were too busy going about their business.
Being a determined bear, he tried again, only to have his hat knocked out of his paw. He crawled after it, buffeted by briefcases as it was kicked along by a sea of feet.
“Excuse me . . . ouch! Sorry, my hat . . . oof! . . . just hit your shoe?”
He was about to get trodden underfoot when he managed to grab his hat and leap aside. He’d always been told that Londoners were friendly and was beginning to wonder if he’d come to the right place.
“Hello? Excuse me, does anyone know where I can find a home . . . ? Anyone?”
Disappointed and bewildered, he made his way over to a sign marked Lost and Found, sat on his suitcase, and waited patiently for someone to rescue him.
The clock ticked by and a tannoy announced that any unattended baggage would be taken away and destroyed. It felt like a very long wait.
CHAPTER THREE
Introducing the Browns
Rush hour was over, and still no one had made the bear feel the slightest bit welcome. Thinking that some marmalade might cheer him up, he took the remains of his sandwich out of his hat. He was about to eat it when a pigeon landed at his side, stared at it hungrily, and cooed.
“Sorry, I’m afraid it’s all I’ve got,” explained the cub. “It’s for emergencies.”
The pigeon cooed again. Reluctantly, he threw it a small piece of crust.
“Go on then,” he sighed.
The pigeon gobbled it up. Then it waddled back toward him, cocking its head expectantly. The cub waved his sandwich to shoo it away.
“That’s quite enough vitamins and minerals for someone your size. Now you’re just being greedy.”
The pigeon snatched the bread in its beak. As the bear tried to grab it back, a train pulled into platform five and a family got off, bickering with each other.
“Dad, that was the worst ‘Fun Wednesday’ ever,” sulked Jonathan. “I told you we should have gone to the science museum.”
“Nerd,” muttered his sister, Judy.
“Well, I’m sorry you all feel like that,” tutted Mr. Brown, “but it was my week to choose and personally, I enjoyed the Victorian Wool Museum.”
“At least we spent some time together as a family,” said Mrs. Brown, trying to smooth things over.
“And we learned a lot about wool,” added Mr. Brown. “Who can name the twelve main types? There’s angora, cashmere, merino . . .”
Jonathan leaped onto a bench and ran along it.
“Yeah, really useful if I’m gonna be an astronaut, Dad.”
His father winced.
“You’re not ‘gonna’ be an astronaut . . .”
“You can be anything you like, Peanut,” said Mrs. Brown cheerfully as Jonathan launched himself off the end.
“Five, four, three, two, one, blast off!”
“Don’t jump like that, Jonathan,” said Mr. Brown. “Seven percent of childhood injuries start with jumping.”
“He’s only playing, Henry,” insisted Mrs. Brown, ruffling her daughter’s hair. “Did you have fun, Pumpkin?”
Judy—who was listening to Let’s Learn Chinese through her headphones—cursed her mother in Mandarin.
“It’s not Pumpkin, it’s Judy! And it was fine until you jumped in the lake.”
Mrs. Brown laughed it off.
“It was a Victorian bathing pond, darling. It’s what you’re supposed to do.”
“Not naked!” wailed Judy.
Mr. Brown was about to tell them the percentage of people who drowned in ponds when he was distracted by a strange creature trying to chase a pigeon away with a hat. Thinking that it might be vicious, he tried to herd his family to safety.
“Stranger danger! Keep your eyes down.”
“What’s wrong now?” said Mrs. Brown exasperatedly.
He lowered his voice. “There’s some sort of bear over there. Probably selling something. Don’t make eye contact or we’ll never get rid of it.”
“Good evening,” said the bear, raising his hat to reveal a pigeon on his head.
“No, thank you,” said Mr. Brown bluntly.
Jonathan stared at it in astonishment.
“Did that bear just speak?”
“Keep walking,” said Mr. Brown.
Touched by the forlorn look on the bear’s face, Mrs. Brown crouched down and gave him a sympathetic smile. Mr. Brown turned, aghast.
“Ignore him, Mary!”
“Just a minute, Henry. . . . Hello there, little bear.”
“Oh, hello!” he said. “It’s coming down in stair rods, isn’t it?”
Mrs. Brown looked up at the rain beating down on the station roof.
“Stair rods? Yes, that’s one way of putting it.”
Judy curled her toes in embarrassment.
“Mum! Talking to a bear? You’re showing us up.”
Mrs. Brown took no notice. The bear looked very young and she didn’t like to think of it sitting there all alone.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
; “It’s just . . . I’ve been trying to find a home all day,” he said wearily. “And you’re the first person who’s stopped.”
Mrs. Brown looked round, half expecting to see a pair of adult bears searching anxiously for him on Paddington Station.
“Find a home? What do you mean? Where are your parents?”
The bear frowned.
“They died when I was small.”
“Oh, here we go,” interrupted Mr. Brown. “Don’t believe a word of it, Mary. He’s just after your purse.”
The bear gave Henry a hard stare. It wasn’t as hard as the one Aunt Lucy had taught him, but it was the best he could do on an empty stomach.
“Don’t upset him, Henry,” said Mrs. Brown, keen to coax the story out of the bear. “You were saying?”
The bear stopped staring at Mr. Brown and continued.
“All I have now is my aunt.”
Judy whipped out her mobile.
“What’s her number? I’ll text her to come and fetch you.”
The bear shook his head.
“She doesn’t have a number. Even if she did, she can’t fetch me. She lives in a home for retired bears in Lima.”
“Of course she does,” snorted Henry. “Keep back, Jonathan.”
Ignoring his father’s wishes, Jonathan dashed forward.
“How did you get here?”
The bear straightened his whiskers.
“I stowed away in a lifeboat.”
“Cool!” said Jonathan.
“And I ate marmalade. Bears like marmalade.”
Jonathan was seriously impressed.
“I didn’t know bears could talk.”
The cub nodded.
“I’m a very rare sort.”
Mary looked at the label round his neck and read it aloud. “Please look after this bear. Thank you.”
She gazed up at Henry, who turned away. He’d seen that look before, and if he wasn’t careful, he was afraid he might cave in.
“No, Mary. He’s not our responsibility.”
“What are you going to do now?” she asked the bear.
He shrugged.
“I suppose I’ll just . . . sleep here? Still, mustn’t grumble.”
“That’s the spirit. Good-bye,” said Henry, chivvying the children along the station, but the bear looked so lonely, Mrs. Brown couldn’t leave.
“Why don’t we find you some help?” she said.
The bear’s big brown eyes lit up.
“Oh, yes please!”
“Stay there,” said Mary. “Mr. Brown will look after you while we find someone in charge.”
Henry folded his arms.
“Oh, will Mr. Brown!”
“Take him for tea and a bun or something,” said Mary, heading off with Jonathan and Judy toward the information desk.
“Tea . . . and . . . a . . . bun,” mouthed Henry.
“As long as it’s no trouble,” said the bear.
Henry forced a smile.
“Trouble? No, not at all.”
The bear raised his hat politely.
“After you, Mr. Brown.”
Having bought tea for two and a large cream cake, Mr. Brown sat in the booth opposite the bear. He watched uncomfortably as it crammed its cheeks with sugar cubes and drank from the milk jug.
“So . . . Bear . . . what’s your name?” he said, feeling he ought to make conversation.
Drinking straight from the teapot spout, the bear swallowed hard.
“My name is Grrrngk,” he answered, spraying Henry with scalding Earl Gray.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Grrrngk,” repeated the bear.
“Right,” said Mr. Brown, staring out of the window.
“You have to say it in the back of your throat,” explained the bear.
“I don’t have to do anything of the sort,” said Mr. Brown, but the bear looked so offended, Henry waited until the waitress was out of earshot and gave his best growl.
To his surprise, the bear clapped his paws over his ears and fell off his chair.
“Mr. Brown!” he whispered. “What you just said was extremely rude!”
As he pulled himself back up, he spotted the rest of the Brown family heading toward the café and clambered onto the table to give them a wave.
“We’re back!” called Jonathan.
“At last,” grumbled Mr. Brown. “Is someone coming to get him?”
Mrs. Brown shook her head.
“Everyone’s gone for the night. He’ll have to come home with us.”
The bear took a step back into his teacup and, to Jonathan’s amusement, began hopping about trying to prise it off his foot.
“No way, Mary,” said Mr. Brown. “Stay there, Jonathan.”
“I was only going to help him,” protested Jonathan as the bear finally managed to remove the teacup, fell backward, and sat on the cake.
“Good for you, Jonty,” said Mrs. Brown. “We can’t just leave him here.”
“Jonty?” cringed Judy. “It’s Jonathan . . . gross! Now look what it’s doing.”
The Browns watched as the cub licked cake out of his hat. He had cream up to his eyebrows, and even Mr. Brown had to admit he didn’t look very threatening.
“All the same, he’s not our responsibility,” he said.
“He’s a young bear who needs our help,” said Mrs. Brown. “It’s only for one night ’til we find the right people to look after him. How much trouble can he be?”
Realizing that he was fighting a losing battle, Mr. Brown gave in.
“One night only,” he said.
“Yes!” said Jonathan.
“Great,” groaned Judy. “Having you as a brother is bad enough. Now I have to put up with a bear?”
Mrs. Brown helped the cub down from the table. He was so pleased to be rescued, he couldn’t stop thanking her.
“You’re welcome,” she smiled. “Sorry, I don’t actually know your name.”
He looked sideways at Mr. Brown.
“I’ve got a bear’s name,” he said. “It’s . . . very hard to pronounce.”
“Oh. Well—would you like an English name?” asked Mrs. Brown.
The bear looked thoughtful.
“An English name . . . like what?”
“Don’t give him a stupid one like you keep giving us,” said Judy.
“Shush, I’m thinking, Twinkle Toes,” said Mrs. Brown.
She often made up names for the characters in the books she illustrated, but nothing she could think of suited the bear. It was only when she saw the sign behind him that it came to her.
“Oh look, Henry, it’s perfect!”
Mr. Brown pulled a face.
“You want to call him Ketchup . . . Ketchup the Bear?”
“No, Paddington.”
The bear tried his new name out for size.
“Paddington . . . Pad-ding-ton . . . PADDINGTON! I like it!”
“Well then, Paddington,” said Mrs. Brown. “How would you like to come home with us?”
Paddington beamed from ear to ear. Climbing into a taxi along with the Browns, he told himself that Aunt Lucy had been right. Londoners hadn’t forgotten how to treat a stranger. The city lights dazzled him as he pressed his nose to the window. Jonathan pointed out all the famous landmarks, and the lilting rhythm of a calypso band filled the air. Paddington Bear decided that London was the place for him.
But little did he know what dangers lurked in the city. As the cab drove past the Natural History Museum in South Kensington, a light glowed from one of the top floor windows—someone was working late. In her office, the Head of Taxidermy was busy sharpening a knife when there came a timid knock at her door.
“Madam Director?”
“Yes, what is it?” she said irritably. “Come in.”
A man entered, holding a cage covered with a cloth. Smiling nervously, he made his way gingerly across the room, weaving his way among the stuffed animals.
“Another delivery from the doc
ks?” asked Millicent. “Bring it through.”
Beckoning him to follow, she poked a stuffed rhino on the nose and a hidden door swung open. They entered the secret stuffing room and she patted the worktable.
“Put it there.”
The man put the cage down. Millicent pulled off the cloth and, seeing an exotic monkey inside, her eyes glittered darkly.
“Mmm!” she said, tickling it under the chin. “You’re going to make a fantastic addition to the collection. . . . Pass me that syringe, Grant.”
The dockworker looked at the cowering monkey and hesitated.
“Won’t people ask questions?”
Millicent gave him a withering look, pushed him aside, and snatched up the syringe.
“As far as the tree huggers who run this place are concerned, I wouldn’t dream of stuffing a poor defenseless animal,” she said. “But if I happen to stumble across an old specimen that has been ‘lost’ in the archives? Well, that’s a whole different story.”
She smiled to herself and held her needle over the monkey. Grant quickly interrupted.
“There was a weird animal at the docks today. I was doing my rounds when I trod in sticky paw prints. Whatever made them must have stowed away in a lifeboat all the way from Peru. Seems it lived on nothing but marmalade.”
Millicent gasped. She dropped the monkey back into the cage.
“Did you say . . . marmalade? What happened to the creature?”
“It sneaked out in the mail van. I tracked it as far as Paddington Station.”
Millicent clapped her hands.
“Excellent! And then?”
“I lost it, Madam Director.”
She slapped him hard across the face. There was a shocked silence as Grant clutched his stinging cheek.
“I’m sorry,” said Millicent. “But that animal means a great deal to me.”
“Why, is he endangered?” whined Grant.
Millicent threw her knife at the wall, piercing a photo of an explorer enjoying the company of two friendly bears in Peru.
“Endangered?” she hissed. “He is now!”
CHAPTER FOUR
Trouble with the Facilities
Paddington: The Junior Novel Page 2