The taxi pulled up outside 32 Windsor Gardens. Paddington got out and gazed in awe at the Browns’ house. Next door, a curtain twitched. Mr. Curry, the Browns’ neighbor, liked to keep a strict eye on their comings and goings. It would appear that they had brought a bear home, and he was looking forward to complaining about this no end.
Paddington followed the Browns inside their home. His eyes widened as he took in his new surroundings. He ran his paws over the smooth, cold floor tiles. Somewhere, a radiator gurgled. “Excuse me,” he murmured apologetically, moving over to look at a painted blossom tree on the staircase wall. It reminded him of the rain forest, and he stood there admiring it for some time.
“It’s not my best,” said Mrs. Brown modestly.
“It’s wonderful!” exclaimed Paddington. “I was beginning to think nobody would ever give me a home, but this will do very nicely. Thank you so much!”
As he went to hang his hat up, Mr. and Mrs. Brown exchanged glances.
“Er . . . we’re not giving you a home,” said Henry.
“It’s just for one night,” said Judy, pushing past Jonathan. Paddington put his hat back on and frowned.
“When a young person comes to this country, I’m afraid they can’t just move in with the first people they meet,” said Mrs. Brown gently.
“You need a proper guardian,” said Mr. Brown, disappearing into the kitchen.
Paddington looked confused.
“A guardian?”
“It’s a grown-up who takes you into their home and looks after you,” explained Mrs. Brown.
“Like you?”
“Yes.”
“But not you?”
Henry came back in to hammer the point home.
“Not us. We don’t do that.”
“It’s normally someone that you know,” said Mary.
Paddington’s face fell.
“But what if you don’t know anyone?”
“Then the authorities will house you in some kind of government facility,” said Mr. Brown breezily. Jonathan looked at his father in dismay.
“What? You mean an orphanage?”
“No, no, no. Not an orphanage,” blustered Henry. “It will be a sort of institution for young . . . souls whose parents have . . . sadly passed on.”
Paddington didn’t like the sound of it much.
“Maybe I could live with the explorer,” he said.
“What explorer?” asked Jonathan.
Paddington sat down on the stairs next to him.
“I never met him,” he said. “He visited Peru before I was born, but I know he came from London. He told Aunt Lucy there would always be a warm welcome for us here.”
Henry grabbed his car keys.
“What’s his name? I’ll drive you there now.”
“Ah,” said Paddington, “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, Mr. Brown.”
“Why, is it a state secret?” he said.
Paddington felt one of his hard stares coming on.
“He told Aunt Lucy his name but it was hard to pronounce, so we only ever called him Raghhhhh.” He growled.
Mr. Brown threw his keys back in the fruit bowl. Seeing the look on Paddington’s face, Mrs. Brown tried to stay positive.
“There can’t be many explorers who went to Darkest Peru,” she said. “Maybe we can find him.”
“Without a name? I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” said Mr. Brown, tapping his watch at Jonathan. “Right, you. Come on. Pajamas.”
Jonathan protested, then pounded up the stairs.
“Walk!” bellowed Mr. Brown, picking up the phone to his insurance company for a quote on keeping bears overnight.
“Don’t worry, Paddington,” said Mrs. Brown. “I’m sure we can find your explorer. I’ll look in my encyclopedia while you use the facilities.”
“The facilities?” said Paddington. “I’ve never used those before, Mrs. Brown.”
“I thought you might like to freshen up,” she said, noticing the blobs of cake cream encrusting in his fur. “Most people do after a long journey.”
“Well, if that’s what most people do, so shall I,” he said, determined to fit in.
“Top of the stairs,” said Mrs. Brown.
Paddington climbed up the banisters.
“Oh. You’re going that way.” She smiled. “Mind you don’t fall.”
“Don’t worry about me, Mrs. Brown,” he said. “Bears are used to climbing.”
Unfortunately, bears were not used to bathrooms, as Paddington was about to demonstrate. Having doffed his hat at the toilet roll doll, he spotted a pair of toothbrushes in a mug. Giving them a quick sniff, he shoved them in his ears, whirled them round, and was astonished to see what came out. Mistaking the big blob of wax for a marmalade chunk, he licked it. Disgusting! Spitting it out, he grabbed a bottle of extra-strong mouthwash and glugged it down. Now his tongue was on fire!
Fanning his mouth with his hat, Paddington knelt down by the toilet bowl to rinse his mouth out when the seat fell over his head. Reaching blindly to pull himself up, he yanked the toilet chain. Water flushed in his face, and he jerked back, snapping the hinges off the seat which was now hanging round his neck like a huge wooden collar.
As he lifted it off, he nudged the toilet roll doll with his elbow. Hearing a splash, he whipped round to see her whirling round in the bowl, and before he could grab her, she disappeared down the u-bend, causing a blockage. Paddington watched in horror as the water rose and began to cascade over the toilet rim.
Down below, old Mrs. Bird, a relative of the Browns who lived with them, came bustling into the kitchen.
“Batten down the hatches,” she said. “There’ll be a storm tonight.” Her husband had been a seagoing man, and she had a nautical turn of phrase.
Mrs. Brown looked up from her encyclopedia.
“The radio said it was clearing up.”
“The radio?” snorted Mrs. Bird. “I can feel it in my knees. They never lie.”
“True,” said Mrs. Brown.
Jonathan bounded in wearing his superhero pajamas along with a pair of old skates with homemade jet packs tied to the back.
“Are those the same ones you wore when we had to take you to A and E, Cherub?” asked Mrs. Brown.
“Nah—these ones are even faster,” said Jonathan. “Guess what, Mrs. Bird? We found a bear.”
“Oh yes?”
Nothing seemed to faze Mrs. Bird.
“A real live bear from Peru.”
“That’s nice, dear,” she said.
“You don’t seem very surprised,” said Jonathan.
“Ach, I gave up being surprised when they came up with the microwave oven.” She looked at the microwave. “I still don’t trust you.”
Judy swept in to make some hot chocolate.
“Where’s Paddington going to sleep, Mum?” asked Jonathan.
“Not in my room. He’s a he,” said Judy.
Jonathan flicked her with a rubber band.
“Tony’s a he.”
Her face went scarlet.
“Shut up, Jonathan.”
“Ooh! Who’s Tony?” said Mrs. Brown.
Jonathan pulled a face.
“Some boy she’s in love with.”
It was news to Mrs. Brown. Judy rarely spoke to her these days.
“Darling, really? When can I meet him?”
Judy glared at Jonathan.
“See what you’ve done?” she screamed, chasing him round the room as he taunted her.
“Tony! Tony! Tony!”
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”
Mrs. Bird intercepted the mug of hot chocolate and tooted sharply on the ship’s whistle she kept in her apron pocket.
“No running on deck! Hot liquid in transit.”
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Brown.
Oblivious to the commotion downstairs, Paddington was having troubles of his own. As the water from the blocked toilet flooded the bathroom, he climbed on top of the cistern to keep dry. He
was sitting there thinking what to do next when there was a loud crack and the cistern pulled away from the wall, ripping out the plumbing.
Water gushed out of the pipes and as Paddington fell into the bath, he knocked the tap lever, causing the shower hose to rear up at him like a cobra. Defending himself with the toilet seat and a toilet brush, he hooked one of its coils and after an exhausting battle, he managed to pin it down at the plug end and tie a knot in it.
He was about to get out of the bath onto dry land when, to his alarm, he realized it was floating; he was in deep water without a life jacket.
Downstairs, the insurance company had put Mr. Brown on hold. It wasn’t every day they were asked to quote on keeping bears overnight in a house, and they weren’t about to give him a quick answer. He walked into the kitchen, where an argument was still raging about who was going to share with Paddington.
“It’s OK. He can sleep in my room,” said Jonathan.
“That bear is not sleeping in anyone’s room,” said Mr. Brown. “He’s going in the attic, and I want you all to lock your doors.”
“I can’t find anything about an English explorer in Peru,” sighed Mrs. Brown.
Henry rolled his eyes.
“Of course you can’t.”
“Why not?” said Jonathan.
Mr. Brown took a sip from his coffee mug, the phone still clamped to his ear. “The bear made it up. It’s just the sort of sob story your mother falls for.”
Mrs. Brown snapped the encyclopedia shut.
“Hang on. That’s not fair.”
“It so is fair, Mum,” said Judy. “You literally just brought home a random bear. So embarrassing.”
As if to distract them, Mrs. Bird started knee-bobbing around the room.
“The storm is upon us,” she said ominously.
“You and your knees,” groaned Henry. “I work with probabilities all day, Mrs. Bird, and I can tell you for a fact it is not going to rain indoors!”
Just then, a drop of water plopped into his coffee.
“Thar she blows!” cried Mrs. Bird triumphantly.
Henry took one look at the damp stain spreading across the ceiling and ran up the stairs yelling into his phone.
“Yes, that sounds fine. No, don’t read me the terms and conditions, I just want to action this as soon as . . . no, don’t put me on hold again!”
By now, the bath was floating in four feet of water. Paddington was steering it round in circles with the toilet brush when Henry shouted through the door.
“What’s going on in there?”
“Nothing, Mr. Brown. I’m just having a spot of bother with the facilities.”
Henry turned the handle, releasing a tidal wave of water that blasted him against the banisters. He watched in disbelief as Paddington sailed past him in the bath, shot down the stairs, and scraped to a halt in the kitchen.
“Lovely weather for ducks!” said Paddington, tipping water out of his hat.
Speechless, Henry surveyed the damage. The insurance company came back on the phone.
“Mr. Brown? We now have a quote for you regarding bears . . .”
“Forget it,” he groaned.
“Paddington?” said Jonathan, awestruck. “That was amazing.”
That night, Paddington stood on the bed in the attic and drew a picture of London in the condensation on the window. It looked like the one in his pop-up book the explorer had left him in Peru, but in reality, London was nothing like he’d imagined; everyone was in such a hurry and no one said hello or wore a hat. Feeling homesick, he filled his fountain pen and, spilling ink on the sheets, began writing a letter to his aunt.
“Dear Aunt Lucy, I have arrived and so far it has rained, poured, tipped, bucketed, and chucked it down. The buildings are very big and the trees are very small and you can no longer turn up at the station and get a home.”
Hm—it sounded a bit glum. Paddington tried to put a bright spin on things for Aunt Lucy’s sake.
“The Browns are a curious tribe,” he wrote. “They live in separate compartments and shout through the walls. Mr. Brown is something called a risk analyst and says having a bear in the house increases the chances of fire, flood, and pestilence by four hundred percent. Mrs. Brown illustrates stories. Her latest is set in the sewers under London, but she’s stuck because she can’t imagine what her hero looks like . . .”
Paddington could hear them arguing downstairs.
“The man I married would never have left a young bear shivering on a platform,” said Mary.
“I’m not the man you married,” said Henry. “I’m a father, and it’s my job to protect this family. First thing tomorrow, that bear is out of here!”
Paddington gave a deep sigh. He had already grown fond of Jonathan, and he was sure his sister was lovely, really. He blotted the letter on the pillowcase and wrote some more.
“Judy finds everyone embarrassing and is learning Chinese so she can run away with her boyfriend and Jonathan wants to be an astronaut but Mr. Brown only lets him play sensible games so he makes up his own dangerous ones. Last year he made a pair of rocket boots but he ended up in hospital and now he is only allowed to play with educational indoor toys from Mr. Brown’s childhood.
“The family live with an elderly relative called Mrs. Bird, whose husband was in the Navy, so she likes everything shipshape.”
He was about to tell Aunt Lucy about his trouble with the facilities and how Mrs. Bird had fixed the pipes with a welding torch, but decided that it was probably best to gloss over that little episode.
“Tomorrow I am being sent to live in something that is not an orphanage . . .”
He chewed his pen anxiously. It didn’t sound like the kind of home he was hoping for at all. There was a tap at his door and Mrs. Brown came in.
“Can’t you sleep, Paddington? Me neither, but I’ve been thinking. You must know something about this explorer that could help us find him.”
Paddington thought about it. “Well, I know he came from London. And I think he must have worn glasses, because he gave Aunt Lucy a pair . . . and he gave Uncle Pastuzo this hat.”
“That’s brilliant!” cried Mrs. Brown. “My friend Mr. Gruber runs an antique shop. He knows a lot about old things like that. I bet he could help us find your explorer.”
Paddington almost swallowed his pen lid.
“Oh! But didn’t Mr. Brown say . . .”
Mrs. Brown plumped the pillows.
“Never mind what Mr. Brown said. I’m not standing by while there’s a chance of finding you a happy home. Try and get some sleep, OK? Night night.”
As she left, Paddington crossed out the last line on his letter and rewrote it:
“Tomorrow I am going to find the explorer. Love, Paddington.
P.S. That is now my name.”
He yawned. It had been a long day and he was about to get under the duvet when he changed his mind. Used to sleeping in a tree, he climbed up to the ceiling, bedded down on a wooden beam, and closed his eyes.
While Paddington began to dream, something more like a nightmare was unfolding at Paddington Station. In the security operating room, a ceiling panel had just been lifted. A tranquilizer gun poked through and fired two darts at the unsuspecting guards. They slumped forward, and a woman lowered herself into the room and started scrolling through the footage on the CCTV monitors.
Seeing Paddington getting into a taxi with the Browns, she zoomed in on the license plate and noted down the number.
“Gotcha!” said Millicent.
CHAPTER FIVE
Paw and Order
As the sun rose over Windsor Gardens, Paddington woke to the sound of cooing. The pigeon that had pestered him at the station was watching him through the window. He was about to bang on the glass when a whole flock of them landed on the windowsill. With a startled squeak, Paddington fell off the ceiling beam and onto the floor.
Luckily, he was well padded, and didn’t hurt himself—he was anyway far more concerned
about the safety of the marmalade sandwich that Mrs. Bird had given him at bedtime. Relieved to see it was still in one piece, he tucked it back under his hat and headed downstairs for breakfast. Passing the bathroom, he saw Henry loading his toothbrush.
“Good morning, Mr. Brown,” called Paddington cheerfully. “You’re not cleaning your teeth with your ear brush, are you?”
It gradually dawned on Henry what Paddington must have used his toothbrush for yesterday. He began spitting violently into the sink. Quite unaware, Paddington jauntily mounted the banisters and slid all the way down.
“Cool!” said Jonathan, swinging his leg over the rail. He was about to slide after Paddington when his father appeared, foaming at the mouth.
“Jonathan! Don’t you dare. Thirty-four percent of prebreakfast accidents involve banisters.”
“But Paddington just . . .”
Mr. Brown folded his arms.
“I don’t care what Paddington just . . .”
Downstairs, Paddington was taking his place at the kitchen table for breakfast with the rest of the household.
“You know all my bathroom stuff has been ruined?” scowled Judy.
Mrs. Brown opened a fresh jar of marmalade.
“Well, I don’t like you using all those chemicals anyway, Sweet Pea.”
Judy slammed the sugar bowl down.
“It’s J-U-D-Y. Not Twinkle Toes. Not Sugar Plum. Not Sweet Pea.”
Jonathan came in and pretended to hang himself with his school tie.
“Mum, why is Dad so boring and annoying?” he said.
Mr. Brown walked in and walked straight out again. It was the same every breakfast time—the arguing, the name-calling. The lack of respect for the head of the household.
“It’s for your own good, Jonathan,” he shouted from the next room.
“I can’t even wash my own face!” moaned Judy.
“Allow me,” said Paddington, licking the crumbs off her cheek.
Judy slid so far down her chair, she almost went under the table.
“Gross,” she whimpered.
“Ha! In your face,” said Jonathan, roaring with laughter.
“It’s just what bears do in the wild, darling,” soothed Mrs. Brown. “He wants to be friends.”
As if to prove it, Paddington licked Jonathan from nose to chin with a loud slurp.
Paddington: The Junior Novel Page 3