For Christine ~ D R
To the lovely Hylands of Hyland Hall ~ A M
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
1 Worms!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
2 Manners!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
3 Rubbish!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
Copyright
CHAPTER 1
It was Monday morning and Bertie was eating his breakfast.
“Bertie, don’t do that!” said his mum, looking up.
“Do what?” said Bertie.
“Let Whiffer lick your spoon. I saw you!”
“He’s hungry!” said Bertie.
“I don’t care,” sighed Mum. “It’s dirty, Bertie.”
Bertie inspected his spoon and gave it a lick. It looked clean enough to him.
Just then he heard the post thudding through the letterbox. He jumped down from the table and skidded into the hall. Bertie hardly ever got a letter, but it didn’t stop him checking the post. He sorted through the bundle. Dad, Mum, Mum, Dad, boring, boring … wait!
A letter with his name written on it in large wonky letters!
Bertie burst into the kitchen. “I got a letter!” He tore the envelope open. The decorations on the card could only mean one thing. A party!
Bertie loved birthday parties – he loved the games, the cake and the party bags. Last year he’d had a dog party and everyone had come as a dog. Bertie had been a bloodhound with Dracula fangs. He had wanted dog biscuits for tea but his mum had put her foot down.
Mum picked up the invitation. “Oh lovely, Bertie! Angela’s invited you to her party.”
“Angela?” said Bertie. The smile drained from his face. “Not Angela Angela?”
“Yes. Angela next door.”
“Bertie’s little girlfriend!” teased his sister, Suzy.
Bertie grabbed the invitation and read the message inside.
Bertie’s mouth gaped open. His whole body drooped with disappointment. Angela Nicely lived next door and was almost six. She had straight blonde hair, rosy cheeks and large blue eyes. Worst of all she was in love with Bertie. She followed him round like a shadow.
He didn’t want to go to Angela’s party, and he definitely didn’t want to go to any party where you had to dress in pink. Bertie’s favourite colour was brown. Mud was brown, fingernails were brown, poo was brown. Ribbons, bows and ballet shoes, they were pink.
“I don’t have to go, do I?” asked Bertie.
“Nose, Bertie,” said Mum.
Bertie removed a finger that had strayed up his nose.
“Angela’s invited you,” said Mum. “How would you feel if you invited Angela and she didn’t come?”
“I’d feel glad,” said Bertie, truthfully.
“It’s a party, Bertie. You love parties,” said Mum.
“And you love Angela!” taunted Suzy.
Bertie ignored her. “It’ll be terrible. They’ll all want to play princesses. Couldn’t you say I’ve got to go to the dentist?” Mum gave him a look. “That would be a lie, wouldn’t it, Bertie?”
“Mum! They’ll all be girls,” moaned Bertie. “I’ll be the only boy!”
“I’m sure it’ll be fun. Now, I’m late for work.” She kissed him and hurried out. Bertie slumped into a chair.
A pink party with adoring Angela and her friends – could anything be worse?
CHAPTER 2
The next day Bertie overheard Mrs Nicely talking to his mum about the party. It was just as he feared. He was the only boy invited – along with six of Angela’s friends. “Angela is so excited about Bertie coming,” said Mrs Nicely. “I think it’s so sweet she’s invited her little boyfriend.”
Bertie was nearly sick. Boyfriend? Yuck! He wasn’t Angela’s boyfriend! If his friends ever heard about the party they’d make fun of him for weeks. He wasn’t going and that was final. If his mum wouldn’t think of an excuse then he’d have to invent one himself. When it came to cunning plans, Bertie was a master.
In his room he searched under the bed for the shoebox where he kept his top-secret possessions.
He pulled out a notebook and began to write a list:
Bertie read back through it. “Brilliant Excuse Number 4” would do the trick. Now all he had to do was talk to Angela and convince her. Then he would be off the hook. No stinky-pinky party for him.
Bertie’s chance came on Wednesday lunchtime. He was eating lunch with his friends Darren and Eugene. They were flicking peas at the next table to see if they could land one down the back of Know-All Nick’s jumper.
“Hello, Bertie!” said Angela, appearing from nowhere.
Bertie looked at her blankly. “Who are you?” he asked.
Angela giggled. “You are funny, Bertie! Did you get the invitation? You are coming to my party, aren’t you?”
Bertie frowned. “Party? What party?”
“Silly! You know, my pink party!”
“PINK Party? Ha ha!” hooted Darren. “Bertie’s going to a GIRL’S party!”
Bertie shot him a look. “Sorry, I don’t remember any party,” he told Angela. “I’ve lost my memory, you see.”
“Gosh!” said Angela. “How?”
“That’s just it, I can’t remember. I must have got a bang on the head.”
“Oh, poor Bertie!” cooed Angela.
Eugene and Darren exchanged glances. “Poor Bertie!” they mimicked.
Angela put her hand on Bertie’s. Bertie drew it away quickly.
“Never mind,” she said. “The party’s at my house on Friday. We’re having a bouncy castle.”
“Have a nice time,” said Bertie, loading more peas on to his spoon.
Angela stamped her foot.
“You’ve got to come, Bertie. Laura and Maisie are coming. I’ve told them you’re my boyfriend.”
Eugene gurgled and slipped off his chair. Bertie stared hard at Angela as if she looked faintly familiar. “Sorry? What did you say your name was?”
Angela gave a howl of rage and stormed off. Bertie heaved a sigh of relief. It had been a close call but he thought he’d got away with it.
Later that evening Mrs Nicely called to see his mum. Sensing trouble, Bertie hid in his room. But as soon as the front door closed, there was a shout from downstairs.
“BERTIE! Down here! Now!”
Bertie slunk downstairs.
“Right,” said Mum. “What’s this about losing your memory?”
Bertie stared at his feet. “Um … yes. It just seems to keep um … going.”
“Really? So you don’t remember Angela’s invitation?”
Bertie knit his brows. “What invitation?” he asked.
Mum folded her arms. “That’s a pity, because there’s a film you wanted to see at the weekend. I expect you’ve forgotten that too?”
Bertie hadn’t. “Pirates of Blood Island!” he blurted out. He’d been begging to see the film for weeks.
“Ah! So your memory is working,” said Mum.
“I … um … remember some things. But other things I forget.”
“Hmm,” said Mum. “Well don’t worry because I’ve marked the party on the calendar to remind you.” She pointed to Friday the 8th – it was ringed in red. “And Bertie…”
“Yes?”
“I will not forget.”
Bertie slunk out of the kitchen.
He knew when he was beaten.
CHAPTER 3
Thursday sped by. Friday came. After school Bertie played in his room with his pet earthworm, Arthur. Bertie kept him in a
goldfish bowl filled with mud, leaves and a plastic soldier for company. He was trying to train Arthur to come when he called him. “Arthur! Arthur!” he coaxed.
“Bertie!” called Mum from downstairs.
“Just a minute!” shouted Bertie. He hid the bowl under the bed. His mum didn’t exactly know about Arthur yet. A moment later she poked her head round the door.
“Come on, Bertie! You’ll be late for the party.”
“What party?”
“That’s not going to work,” said Mum.
“But … but … I haven’t got a present,” said Bertie, desperately.
Mum held up two boxes. “The doll or the face paints?” she said.
“Face paints,” said Bertie, gloomily. He wasn’t going to turn up holding a doll.
“Oh, and I bought you this to wear.” Mum handed him a brand new T-shirt.
“Blech!” said Bertie. “It’s pink. I can’t wear that!”
“Don’t be silly, Bertie, it’s a pink party. Now hurry up and get ready.” She disappeared, leaving him with the pink horror.
Bertie retrieved Arthur from under the bed. He held the T-shirt against him and looked in the mirror.
“What do you think, Arthur?” he asked. “Yucky or what?”
Suddenly Bertie had the most brilliant brainwave. The invitation said to wear something pink. Well, worms were pink, weren’t they? He could go to the party as an earthworm! All he needed was something pink and wormy to wear.
Bertie tiptoed into his parents’ room. Strictly speaking he wasn’t allowed in there, not since he’d used Mum’s favourite perfume to make a stinkbomb.
Opening the wardrobe, he began to pull out armfuls of clothes. Nothing pink there. But then – bingo! – on top of the wardrobe he spotted something. Suzy’s sleeping bag, the one she was taking to school camp. It was bright pink with a hood that fitted snugly over your head – perfect for an earthworm. All it needed was the finishing touch.
Ten minutes later Bertie’s mum found him in the back garden.
“Oh, Bertie! No, Bertie!” she wailed.
“What?” said Bertie.
“You’re filthy. Look at you!”
Bertie scrambled to his feet and inspected his costume. He was impressively dirty – but that was the whole point of rolling in a flowerbed.
“Earthworms are meant to be muddy,” he explained. “They live underground.”
“Bertie! I asked you to get ready for the party!”
“I am. It said to go in pink, so I am. I’m going as an earthworm.”
Mum looked closer. “What is that?” she said. “It’s not Suzy’s sleeping bag?”
“It is!” beamed Bertie. “It’s perfect!”
The sleeping bag was smeared with mud. It covered Bertie from head to toe with only his grimy face peeping out. Mum sat down heavily on the rockery.
“Bertie, you can’t go like that.”
“Why not?” said Bertie. “It’s pink. I bet no one else’ll be going as an earthworm.”
“No,” sighed Mum, wearily. “I doubt if they will.”
CHAPTER 4
Angela’s front door was festooned with pink balloons. Mum walked up the path with Bertie hopping after her like a giant pink jumping bean and rang the doorbell. Mrs Nicely came to the door.
“Hello!” she said and then, “Oh good heavens!” as her eye fell on Bertie.
“I’m an earthworm,” Bertie explained.
“How … ah … lovely, Bertie,” said Mrs Nicely. “Do come in.”
Bertie showered clods of earth on to the carpet as he bounced into the hall.
Most of Angela’s friends had come as princesses and fairies. The front room was a sea of pink tutus.
“You’re here, Bertie!” said Angela, running up to him. “I’m a fairy. Look, I’ve got wings!”
“I’m an earthworm,” said Bertie. “I got you a present.”
An arm emerged from the sleeping bag holding a scruffy package. Angela tore off the wrapping paper. “Thank you!” she trilled, dropping the face paints on top of her big pile of presents. Bertie gazed at them longingly.
“Let’s play a game,” said Mrs Nicely. “Who wants to play Musical Statues?”
“Me! Me!” chorused the fairies and princesses.
The music played and they all danced round the room.
“Bertie isn’t dancing!” moaned Angela.
“Yes I am,” said Bertie. “This is how earthworms dance!”
Bertie rolled over and over on the floor so that the dancing fairies had to jump over him. The music suddenly stopped.
“Statues everybody! Statues!” cried Mrs Nicely. The fairies and princesses became wobbling statues. But Bertie, who was feeling a little hot and dizzy, hadn’t been listening. He just kept rolling … straight into one of the fairies.
Laura wobbled and fell into Angela… Angela wobbled and fell on top of Maisie and Clare…
Soon all the statues had collapsed in a heap. Bertie rolled to a halt at Mrs Nicely’s feet. “Did I win?” he asked.
Tea was pink. Pink biscuits, pink ice cream and a pink birthday cake in the shape of a heart. Bertie ate “worm-style” by licking things off his plate.
“Bertie, please don’t slurp like that,” sighed Mrs Nicely.
“Sorry,” replied Bertie. “Worms can’t help it. They don’t know about manners.”
When tea was over Mrs Nicely surveyed the mess on the floor. Most of it had collected under Bertie’s chair.
“Can we go on the bouncy castle now?” asked Bertie, tugging at her sleeve.
“In a minute, Bertie!” she said. “Angela, why don’t you all go next door and play with your presents?”
While Angela’s friends played with her Little Patty Pony set, Bertie eyed the face paints. Maybe he would just try one? He wriggled an arm out of his sleeping bag and selected a black face paint. He drew on his chin and looked in the mirror. Next he drew on his cheeks. Perhaps he would turn himself into a vampire or a zombie? Or better still…
He was so busy that he didn’t notice the room had gone quiet.
“Oh, Bertie!” said Angela.
“Ah,” said Bertie, “I was just … um … borrowing them.”
“What have you done to your face?”
“I’m a slug,” said Bertie.
“You said you were a worm.”
“I was, but now I’m a slug. A big black, slimy slug.”
He slithered on to the floor, making slimy, sluggy noises. Angela’s friends shrieked with delight and ran to hide behind the curtains. Angela peeped out, her eyes shining. “Make me a slug too, Bertie,” she pleaded.
Mrs Nicely was still tidying up when the doorbell rang. Thank goodness it was over for another year. She went to answer the door. Bertie’s mum stood on the doorstep with three other parents.
“I do hope Bertie’s behaved himself,” she said.
“Oh yes,” said Mrs Nicely. “He’s such a … lively boy.” She led them through to the back door. “They’re all playing in the garden,” she said. “Angela’s had such a lovely time. They’ve all been good as…”
Mrs Nicely stopped in her tracks. Eight children were bouncing on the bouncy castle. But the princesses and fairies who had come to the party had vanished. In their place were ugly green monsters in filthy tutus who looked like they’d crawled from a swamp.
In the middle of them all was Bertie, bouncing and whooping.
“Look, Mum!” sang Angela. “I’m a creepy caterpillar! Bertie did it!”
Mrs Nicely looked at Bertie’s mum. The other parents looked at Bertie’s mum. Bertie’s mum looked at Bertie.
“What?” said Bertie.
Back in his room, Bertie was glad to be reunited with Arthur. Personally he couldn’t see why everyone had made such a fuss. What was the point of giving someone face paints if they weren’t allowed to use them?
“Anyway,” he told Arthur with a smile. “I don’t think they’ll be inviting me next year.”
&nb
sp; He considered it. Really the party hadn’t turned out so badly.
He felt in his pocket and brought out something pink and sticky.
“Look, Arthur!” he said. “I saved you some cake!”
CHAPTER 1
Bertie had no manners. His family all agreed. He lolled, he fidgeted and talked with his mouth full. He sniffed and slurped and burped and picked his nose.
“Bertie, use a hanky!”
“Take your elbows off the table!”
“Don’t touch that, it’s dirty, Bertie!” his parents moaned every day.
Bertie didn’t see the point. Animals didn’t make all this fuss. Did pigs or dogs have manners? When Whiffer weed against a tree no one seemed to mind. Yet if Bertie had done that his mum would have fainted on the spot.
No, in Bertie’s opinion manners were a waste of time. But that was before he heard about the prize.
It was the head teacher, Miss Skinner, who had announced the prize in assembly one morning.
“Does anyone know what tomorrow is?” she asked. Her gaze fell on Bertie who was crossing his eyes at Darren.
“Bertie!” she said.
“Uh … yes, Miss?”
“Do you know what tomorrow is?”
Bertie thought. “Tuesday?” he said.
Miss Skinner gave him one of her looks. “Tomorrow,” she said, “is National Courtesy Day. It’s a day when we should be especially polite, so I want us all to think about our manners. We are lucky to have Miss Prim from the library coming to visit us, and she has agreed to present a very special prize to the child with the best manners.”
“Huh! Special prize!” said Bertie to Darren as they trooped back to the classroom. “I bet it’s some boring old book about being polite.”
Worms! Page 1