Germs!
Page 1
For Sam, who I’m sure would love
“The Dead Skunks” ~ D R
For Ella – Bertie’s no. 1 fan ~ A M
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
1 Germs!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
2 Stomp!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
3 Zombie!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
Copyright
CHAPTER 1
“Are you all right?” said Mum. “You don’t look well.”
Bertie looked up from his breakfast. His mum was talking to Suzy, who had just drooped into the kitchen.
“I’m hot,” she moaned.
“Actually I’m a bit hot,” said Bertie, through a mouthful of cereal.
“My head aches,” croaked Suzy. “I ache all over.”
“My head’s sort of achey,” said Bertie. “It aches when I talk.”
Mum paid no attention. “Let me look at you,” she said to Suzy. “Goodness! Look at these spots! I think you’ve got chickenpox.”
“Chickenpox?” groaned Suzy.
“Chickenpox!” said Bertie.
Mum fetched her big blue medical book and turned the pages. “Here it is,” she said. “Chickenpox: small itchy red spots, fever, and aches and pains. Yes, you’ve definitely got it. No school for a week, I’m afraid.”
“A WEEK?” said Bertie.
Suzy stuck out her tongue and drooped back upstairs to bed.
“What about me?” asked Bertie, pulling up his shirt. “My tummy’s a bit blotchy. Do you think that’s chickenpox?”
“I think that’s dirt,” said Mum. “Now finish your breakfast. And keep away from Suzy, chickenpox is very catching.”
Bertie sighed. It wasn’t fair. How come his sister caught chickenpox when he never got anything? If anyone ought to catch something it was him. He hardly ever washed his hands. Now Suzy would get a whole week off school while he had to sit through boring lessons with Miss Boot. Bertie gulped. He’d just remembered what day it was. Friday – homework day. As usual Bertie had put off doing his homework until the last minute. Then at the last minute he’d forgotten altogether. Miss Boot, however, would not forget. Anyone who didn’t hand in their homework on time risked execution or worse.
If only I had chickenpox, thought Bertie. He felt his head. It did feel a bit hot. He scratched under his arm. He was definitely a bit itchy. The more he thought about it the more he was convinced he was getting it.
“MU-UM!” he wailed. “I don’t feel well!”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” said Mum. “You just ate two bowls of cereal.”
“Yes, but that was before. Now I feel sick!”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Bertie. Hurry up and clean your teeth.”
Bertie stomped upstairs to the bathroom. How come no one ever believed him? For all they knew he could be dying! He looked in the mirror. Just my luck, he thought. Not a single spot.
But wait a minute, didn’t Mum say chickenpox was catching? Well then he’d just have to catch it. After all, why should his greedy sister keep it all to herself?
CHAPTER 2
Germs, thought Bertie. That’s what he needed. Germs spread diseases – and luckily they were everywhere. His parents were always saying, “Don’t touch that, Bertie, it’s covered in germs!” Cats and dogs had germs. Toilets were crawling with them. You got germs from picking your nose or eating sweets off the floor.
Bertie had always wanted to examine some germs under a microscope. He imagined tiny armies of them, with scowling faces and hairy legs. Cold germs would be green. Chickenpox germs would be spotty. But where did you catch them? Bertie looked around and his eye fell on Suzy’s pink toothbrush. That would be covered in her germs! He squeezed out a large blob of toothpaste. Cleaning your teeth with your sister’s toothbrush was a bit disgusting, even for him, but if it meant missing school it would be worth it.
“Bertie!” called Mum. “What are you doing up there?”
“Nothing!” shouted Bertie. “Just cleaning my teeth.”
He swallowed some toothpaste to give the germs a better chance to work. Then he stared at his face in the mirror and waited. Unbelievable – not a single spot! What did you have to do to catch a few measly germs?
On the landing he met Mum carrying a glass of lemonade.
“Is that for Suzy?” asked Bertie. “Can I take it to her?”
“Why?” said Mum, suspiciously.
“I’m just being helpful.”
“Hmm,” said Mum. “Better not, I don’t want you catching her germs.”
“I won’t!” said Bertie. “I won’t even go near her. I’ll just put it down where she can reach it.”
Mum eyed Bertie strangely. It wasn’t like him to offer to help. “OK, but don’t spill any. And don’t go bothering her!”
Bertie smiled to himself. Once Suzy had drunk from the glass it would be covered in her germs. One little sip of that lemonade and he’d be drinking billions of them.
Suzy was sitting up in bed, looking pale.
“What do you want?” she groaned.
“I brought you some lemonade,” said Bertie, smiling sweetly.
Suzy narrowed her eyes. “Why? What are you up to?”
“Nothing,” said Bertie. “I’m just looking after you.”
“You don’t fool me,” said Suzy.
“You want to catch my chickenpox so you can stay off school.”
“I don’t!” lied Bertie. “Have some lemonade!”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“Just a sip.”
“Go away!”
“Let me help,” said Bertie, pressing the glass to Suzy’s lips. He tipped it up. Suzy choked and spluttered. Lemonade spilled on her pyjamas and splashed the sheets.
“MUUUM!” wailed Suzy. “BERTIE’S BEING MEAN!”
Mum’s feet pounded up the stairs.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
“Nothing!” cried Bertie.
“BERTIEWET THE BED!” howled Suzy.
“Bertie!” shouted Mum. “GET OUT!”
Bertie escaped to his bedroom. He still had the glass and luckily there was a little lemonade left in the bottom. He could almost see the germs swimming around like tiny tadpoles. Chickenpox here I come! he thought, gulping down the drink in one go. He ran to the bathroom and stared at his face. A minute passed. Two minutes. He inspected his belly. Not a single spot or blotch. This is so unfair, thought Bertie. Suzy got chickenpox without even trying!
Time was running out. Any minute now Mum would drag him off to school and he would have to face Miss Boot. There was no escape. Unless … he suddenly remembered his mum’s big blue medical book. Bertie found it on the kitchen table. Boils, bruises, burns … chickenpox – here it was!
Bertie read it twice through then closed the book. Maybe I don’t actually need to catch anything, he thought. He just had to make Mum believe he had chickenpox. Then he’d be safe. No Miss Boot, no school and no handing in smelly homework.
CHAPTER 3
“Bertie, where are you? We need to go!” yelled Mum.
Bertie dragged himself downstairs and slumped into the hall.
“I’m tired,” he moaned.
“Don’t droop,” said Mum. “We’re late and I need to get back to Suzy. Now hurry up.”
She opened the front door and marched off down the road.
Bertie dawdled behind at a snail’s pace.
“Can’t you walk a bit faster?” grumbled Mum.
“I’m tired!” moaned Bertie. “My l
egs hurt!”
“Bertie, stop all this nonsense!” said Mum. “There’s nothing wrong with you! Now get a move on!”
“There is!” wailed Bertie. “I’ve got aches and pains.”
“Where?”
“All over,” said Bertie.
Mum rolled her eyes. “I don’t have time for this, Bertie. You’re going to school and that’s that.”
She strode off down the road. Bertie made I’m-going-to-be-sick noises. Mum kept walking.
“Blech! Urggle!” Bertie sounded as if he was choking.
Mum spun round. “NOW WHAT?”
“I think I’m going to be sick!”
“So which is it then? Your legs hurt or you’re feeling sick?”
“Both,” said Bertie. “I think I must be really catching it.”
“Catching what?”
“Chickenpox!”
Mum bent down to examine his face. “Chickenpox, eh?” she said. “So where are the spots then? Show me.”
Whoops, thought Bertie. He’d completely forgotten about the spots.
Mum folded her arms. “Oh dear, yes, this is serious,” she said. “Very serious. I see what you’ve got. It’s homework-itus.”
“Um, is that bad?” asked Bertie.
“Very bad. You catch it when you don’t do your homework. There’s only one cure, I’m afraid.”
“Staying at home?” asked Bertie, hopefully.
“No,” said Mum. “Telling your teacher. I’m sure Miss Boot will know what to do. Come on!”
CHAPTER 4
They reached the school gates. Bertie waved to his friends Darren and Eugene, who were clutching their homework books, ready to hand in. Miss Boot was prowling the playground glaring at anyone who dared to make a noise. Over by the railings Bertie spotted Angela Nicely, sucking on a stick of liquorice. Angela lived next door to Bertie. She was six years old and madly in love with him. Normally he tried to avoid her, but right now she was his only chance.
“Is that liquorice?” asked Bertie.
“Yes,” beamed Angela, proudly. “I bought it with my pocket money.”
“Can I have a bit?”
Angela shook her head. “No! It’s mine!”
“Go on, just a little bit.”
“I already sucked it. It’s got my germs!” said Angela, waving the soggy liquorice.
“I’ll swap you my apple,” said Bertie.
“No thanks.”
Bertie didn’t have much time. His Mum had finished chatting to Mrs Nicely and was getting ready to go.
“I’ll give you fifty pence,” he said. “I’ll bring it to school on Monday.”
Angela considered. She could buy a lot of liquorice with fifty pence.
“Brownie’s honour?” she said.
“Yes, yes, Brownie’s honour.”
Angela took a last suck of the liquorice and handed it over. Bertie popped it swiftly in his mouth and chewed. Mum was coming. “Bye, then, Bertie. Have a good day at school.”
Bertie swallowed. “Mmmmnhh!” he groaned.
“What?”
Bertie pointed to his throat. “Mmmmnh! Mmmmnh!” he croaked.
“What? I can’t hear what you’re saying!”
“My throat hurts!”
Mum sighed heavily. “Bertie, we’ve been through all this. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“There is!”
“OK, show me. Open your mouth.”
Bertie opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue.
“GOOD HEAVENS!” shrieked Mum. “IT’S BLACK! WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SO BEFORE?”
Bertie lay on the sofa and zapped on the TV. It was going to be a brilliant day. Suzy felt too sick to leave her bed so he had the front room all to himself. He gulped down some lemonade and slurped up another spoonful of chocolate ice cream. It had all worked out perfectly. Mum had wanted to call the doctor straight away, but by the time they got home his tongue was looking much better. Still, she decided it was best to keep him off school. Bertie smiled to himself as he took another swig of lemonade. He didn’t have to face Miss Boot and he hadn’t even had to catch any horrible spots.
Next morning, Bertie woke up early. Brilliant, he thought. Saturday! The sun was shining and he didn’t have to go to school. He threw on his clothes and dashed downstairs.
“Oh, you’re up,” said Mum. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Much better,” said Bertie. “Can I go to the park with Darren and Eugene?”
“Certainly not,” said Mum. “I don’t want them catching your germs.”
Bertie frowned. “I haven’t got any germs,” he said. “I’m better now. I thought I was catching something, but it turns out I wasn’t.”
“Really?” said Mum. “Have you looked in the mirror?”
Bertie felt his face. Suddenly he felt itchy. And hot. He dashed into the hall and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
It couldn’t be! It was! His face was covered in hundreds of spots!
CHAPTER 1
Bertie loved Sunday afternoons. Gran often dropped in for tea and brought one of her yummy home-made cakes. Today it was Bertie’s favourite: Triple Chocolate Fudge Cake.
“Bertie,” said Gran. “What are you doing next Saturday?”
“Nuffink,” replied Bertie with his mouth full.
“Well how would you like to go dancing with me?”
Bertie choked, spraying cake crumbs all over the table.
“ME?”
“Yes, I’m entering a competition and I’m stuck for a partner. Stan’s put his back out mowing the lawn.”
“But I can’t dance!” said Bertie.
“Of course you can. You’ve got two feet.”
“And you went to the school disco,” Mum pointed out.
“I didn’t dance!” said Bertie, horrified. “I just ate crisps!”
“Well, I’m sure you’d get the hang of it with a little practice. Please, Bertie. For your gran.”
Bertie shook his head. No way was he going anywhere near a dance floor … especially not with Gran. The kind of dancing she did was the kind he’d seen on telly. Ballroom dancing! It was all prancing round in tight trousers and fluffy petticoats. There was no way Gran was going to talk him into this one! He’d rather eat dog food than have to dance like that.
Gran sighed. “Oh well, I’ll just have to find someone else to share the prize.”
Bertie paused mid-mouthful. “What prize?”
“No never mind, if you’re not interested.”
“I am! What prize?”
“Well, if we won the contest, the prize is a luxury cruise to New York.”
Bertie’s eyes boggled. New York! Land of hot dogs and hamburgers! A luxury cruise meant a swimming pool and his own servants. Maybe the captain would even let him steer the boat into New York!
“And would I have to take time off school?” he asked.
“Well if you won, I suppose so,” said Mum.
“I’ll do it!” declared Bertie.
“YEEE HOOOOO!” yelled Gran, grabbing him by the hands. She whirled him round and round the kitchen, until she got dizzy and collapsed into a chair.
Yikes! thought Bertie. If this is what she calls dancing, we’re in trouble!
CHAPTER 2
The following evening, Gran dragged Bertie along to her dance class. He stared in horror at the couples shuffling round the hall. Most of them looked older than Egyptian mummies.
Miss Twist, the teacher, stepped forward. She was tall and thin as a ruler, with her hair scraped back into a bun.
“How lovely to see a new member,” she trilled. “A special welcome to Bertie!”
The class clapped. Bertie doubted that they’d be clapping once they saw him dance.
Miss Twist divided them into groups to practise their steps. They began with the waltz.
“And step … step … slide-together,” chanted Miss Twist. “Bertie, glide, not stamp! And stop looking at your feet!”
Be
rtie groaned. This was impossible. How could he tell what his feet were doing if he couldn’t look at them?
“One, two, three. One, two, three,” went the class, gliding like swans.
CLUMP! STOMP! STOMP!
CLUMP! STOMP! STOMP! went Bertie, clomping like an elephant.
Things got worse when it was time to dance with Gran. She was twice as tall as Bertie, so he found himself squashed against her chest.
Gran sighed. “You’re meant to be leading!”
“How can I lead if I can’t see where I’m going?” moaned Bertie.
At last it was time for a break.
“Phew, I’m pooped!” wheezed Gran, mopping her brow. Bertie bought a can of drink and sat down beside her.
They watched a tall, sun-tanned couple practising their steps. The man had hair like Elvis. They whirled across the floor as if they were glued together.
“Good, aren’t they?” said Bertie.
Gran rolled her eyes. “That’s Keith and Kerry-Anne – South East Champions, as they never fail to mention. They’re hot favourites to win on Saturday.”
Bertie gaped. “You mean we’ve got to beat them?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Keith was stamping and waving his arms as if he was trying to take off.
“What’s he doing?” asked Bertie.
“It’s called the paso doble,” Gran explained. “It’s like a bullfight.”
Bertie’s eyes lit up. A bullfight? Now that was his kind of dancing. Much better than a drippy old waltz. Bertie imagined he was a famous matador entering the bullring. He swept off his red cape and bowed. The crowd chanted his name: “EL BERTO! EL BERTO! EL…”