‘OK, OK,’ said Mandy, giving Micky a quick hug. ‘You all right, little pal? Those thugs didn’t hurt you, did they?’
‘No, but they hurt you, didn’t they? You’re going to need Wolfie and me to protect you every delivery day now, isn’t that right?’
‘Yeah. Well. Maybe,’ said Mandy, brushing herself down and grinning. ‘Here, Wolfie! Here boy! Come and get thanked.’
Wolfie lolloped back, chomping on the jeans as if they were chewing-gum. He pranced in front of Mandy, letting her pat and praise him profusely, his amber eyes glistening.
Micky started to gather up the crumpled newspapers and Wolfie tried to help. He’d got so overexcited now that he scattered the papers further, and chewed the few he did collect into soggy pulp.
‘Wolfie! No, boy. Here, leave off,’ said Mandy, but she couldn’t get cross again.
Micky tried to piece all the floating parts together, but as Wolfie had chewed the edges where the page numbers were it was a very hard job. There was a colouring competition on the children’s page which caught his eye, a seaside scene. He’d maybe have a go at colouring it in now he had a yellow crayon for the sand. There were seaside adverts on the opposite page, including a special last-minute deal for a week in a big hotel on the south coast cliffs. The Amber Hotel. There was a blurry photo of it, too. Micky decided to colour the roof and doors and windows yellow when he was going in for the competition.
It was almost dark by the time Mandy and Micky and Wolfie got home.
Mum was looking out for them.
‘There you are! I was getting really worried. First Dad goes missing, and then you three.’
‘Dad’s back then?’ said Micky, wondering if he and Wolfie should make themselves scarce again.
‘Yes,’ said Mum, but she was smiling now. ‘He was late because his boss took him for a drink.’
‘Dad hasn’t lost his job, has he, Mum?’ said Mandy.
‘No, thank goodness. Things have picked up at his work. They’ve got a new order in. The boss is very pleased with your dad,’ said Mum, obviously enormously relieved.
Dad was sitting at the kitchen table eating fish and chips. Marigold was on his lap, scrounging chips from his plate.
‘I hear Wolfie helped himself to my tea,’ said Dad, but he was smiling.
‘Sorry, Dad,’ said Micky. He nudged Wolfie, to try to make him look sorry too.
Dad laughed. ‘Oh well. As long as I don’t have to go and fetch myself fish and chips every teatime. Anyway, things are looking up, chaps. My boss was even hinting at a wage rise. So we could maybe have had a bit of a holiday after all. Still, I suppose everywhere will be booked up now.’
‘Hey, I know where we could go,’ said Micky. He delved into Mandy’s shopping bag amongst the totally chewed-up leftover papers and tried to piece one together. ‘Here it is! Look– the Amber Hotel. A week’s bargain break.’
‘Couldn’t we go on a week’s bargain break to Disneyland?’ said Marigold.
‘You never give up, do you, pet?’ said Dad, feeding her another chip. ‘No, we can’t quite make it to Disneyland - but let’s have a look at this hotel deal, Micky.’
‘Oh, I love that bit of the coast,’ said Mum, reading the advert too. ‘Do you think we could really afford it? Tell you what. My mum could come on holiday with us. She could really do with a bit of sea air after that bout of bronchitis.’
‘Oh great! Can Granny Boot really come too?’ said Micky, who adored his gran.
‘Mmm,’ said Dad, not sounding at all sure he liked the idea. He was nowhere near as fond of Granny Boot as Micky was.
‘Then she could always babysit for us in the evenings,’ said Mum, wheedling a little.
‘Ah. Yes. Well, OK then,’ said Dad. ‘So we’d need… three rooms. One for us. One for Meryl and Mandy and Mona. And then Granny Boot can share with Micky and Marigold.’
‘And Wolfie,’ said Micky.
There was a sudden silence.
‘What about Wolfie?’ Micky repeated.
Wolfie barked insistently, as if he was asking the same question.
3…
Micky couldn’t believe it.
‘What do you mean?’ he shouted. ‘Wolfie’s got to come too! I can’t go on holiday without Wolfie.’
‘Come on now, Micky, calm down,’ said Mum.
‘If you keep shouting like that you won’t be going on any holiday,’ said Dad.
‘I don’t want to go on holiday – not without Wolfie,’ Micky yelled.
‘Good,’ said Marigold. ‘We’ll leave you and Wolfie at home.’
‘We can’t leave Wolfie,’ said Micky, getting desperate.
‘Micky’s going to cry in a minute,’ said Marigold. ‘Look, he’s getting all red in the face. Baby!’
Micky got even redder, boiling with rage. Yes, there were tears in his eyes, but it was because he was so angry. He couldn’t understand his family. How could they possibly be so mean? They all seemed happy with the idea of a holiday without Wolfie.
Wolfie was becoming upset too, bounding from one to another, looking for reassurance.
‘Get off me, Wolfie. I don’t want your mangy old dog hairs all over my new skirt,’ Meryl fussed.
‘Down, Wolfie,’ Mandy commanded, because she was giving Wilbur rat a little ride on her shoulder.
‘Yuck, Wolfie’s slobbered all over me,’ Mona moaned.
‘Wolfie’s going for me now! Get him off me! Help help help,’ Marigold whimpered affectedly, waving her arms about. One of her fingers caught Wolfie on his soft snout, scratching him. He growled indignantly – and Marigold squealed and squirmed.
‘Help, Dad! He’s going to bite!’
‘I hope he does. I hope he bites you all – because you’re all so horrible not letting him come on holiday,’ Micky shouted.
Wolfie growled louder in agreement, and ever so slightly nipped one of Marigold’s fat little fingers.
Wolfie ended up banished to the garden where he howled miserably.
Micky ended up banished to his bedroom. He howled too. He couldn’t believe how quickly everything had gone wrong, the holidays spoiled before they’d even got started. And it made it even worse knowing that it was his own fault. He was the one who’d read about the wretched hotel. He’d suggested it.
‘Oh Micky, don’t take on so,’ said Mum, coming into his room. ‘Look, maybe you’re getting into a state about nothing. Perhaps this Amber Hotel will let dogs stay too. There are a few hotels that don’t mind pets. Although Wolfie’s so wild I’m not sure anyone would welcome him.’
‘I would,’ Micky snuffled. ‘And he can’t help being a bit wild, Mum. It’s the way he was born. He’s… he’s not like other dogs.’
‘You can say that again,’ said Mum.
She did her best for Wolfie, though. She phoned up the Amber Hotel. Yes, their bargain offer was still open. Yes, they had three family rooms available. Yes, they’d be delighted to accept their booking. Pets? Ah. A puppy. Mmm. Sorry. No.
‘We wouldn’t bring him into the hotel,’ Mum tried. ‘We could keep him in the garden. We’d try our hardest not to let him be a nuisance. It’s just my son adores his puppy and it will spoil his entire holiday if they’re separated…’
But it was no use. The hotel said they really couldn’t take pets as well as people.
Mum sighed and said sorry to Micky.
‘We can’t go then?’ said Micky, refusing to give up.
‘We all need a holiday, Micky,’ said Mum.
‘Wolfie needs a holiday,’ said Micky.
‘Well, he can have a holiday,’ said Mum. ‘He can go back to Webb’s Dog Shelter for the week. He’ll like that, Micky. He can meet up with all his doggy pals again.’
Wolfie’s howls increased dramatically out in the garden. He didn’t sound as if he liked that idea at all.
‘Micky! Where are you, boy? Gome down here at once,’ Dad shouted, forgetting that he was the one who had banished Micky to the bedroom. �
�Get that dog of yours under control, do you hear me? If he doesn’t quit that row he’ll be staying at Webb’s Dog Shelter for good.’
Micky saw it was wiser not to argue with Dad right at the present moment. He hurtled out into the garden. Wolfie was rampaging up and down, tossing his head, growling and groaning, howling and moaning.
‘Oh poor Wolfie!’ said Micky, trying to catch him.
‘Shut him up, Micky,’ said Meryl, coming out into the garden to feed her rabbits. ‘Here, Rachel, Roberta. Din-dins,’ she said, waving a handful of dandelions in the direction of their hutch.
Rachel and Roberta were cowering in a corner, convinced by Wolfie’s savage howls that they were din-dins.
‘Poor little things,’ said Meryl. ‘Honestly, Micky, you’ve got to get Wolfie under control. He’s scaring them silly.’
‘Hey, what about Rachel and Roberta?’ Micky said, flinging himself on his much maligned pet. ‘Who’s going to look after them if we go on this horrid old holiday? You don’t get rabbit shelters, do you?’
Wolfie threw back his head and howled hungrily, as if he could solve the Rachel and Roberta rabbit problem at one fell swoop.
Mrs Charlton next door said that she wouldn’t mind popping over the garden fence to feed Meryl’s rabbits. She said she could cope with Wilbur rat too, as long as he would keep to his cage.
‘So could you look after my Wolfie too?’ Micky asked hopefully. He still couldn’t bear the thought of parting from his werepuppy, but he knew Wolfie would be much happier in his own home than shut up in the dog shelter.
Mrs Charlton was very kind, but there was a limit to her neighbourliness.
‘I’m not going near that dog,’ she said firmly. ‘Not even if he’s put in a cage like the rat. And while we’re on the subject of the dog, I wish you’d find some way of stopping him howling. It makes all the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. The noise he makes at night – especially when there’s a full moon!’
Micky saw there was no point trying to persuade Mrs Charlton. Her mind was made up.
Mum and Dad’s minds were made up too. And Meryl’s and Mandy’s and Mona’s and Marigold’s. They all wanted to go on their bumper bargain break holiday at the Amber Hotel – and it was just Wolfie’s hard luck that he couldn’t go too.
Granny Boot was delighted to be asked on holiday with the family. Mum rang her up that evening and Granny came rushing round on Saturday, after she’d cruised round one car boot sale, a boy scout’s jumble, and half a dozen charity shops. Her shopping trolley was full of fifties flowery frocks and sixties miniskirts and seventies crochet and patchwork, treasures for her own second-hand clothes shop. Meryl delved through the pile of clothes eagerly, because she was very into seventies fashion. Mandy wasn’t into any kind of fashion at all, but Granny Boot had found an almost new pair of football boots in Mandy’s size, so she was thrilled.
‘Haven’t you got anything for me, Gran?’ Mona moaned, but she perked up considerably when Granny Boot produced a bright pink Speedo swimming costume. Mona had recently learnt to swim and was already flashing up and down the local pool.
‘And look, Marigold, I got you this dinky little bikini,’ said Granny. ‘You’ll look ever so cute in it, pet. You can wear it on the beach on holiday, eh? Oooh, won’t it be fun?’
Granny Boot laughed enthusiastically and then coughed and spluttered.
‘Here, Micky, pat us on the back, there’s a good little chap,’ Granny gasped.
‘You’re still ever so wheezy. Let’s hope the sea air does your chest good,’ said Mum, giving Granny Boot a cup of tea.
‘Thanks, dearie. Well, it’s certainly been ages since I had a proper holiday, what with the shop and that. Still, my friend Monica says she’ll look after it for me.’ Granny sipped her tea, looking at Micky.
‘What’s up with my little pal, eh? Did you think your old gran has given some goodies to all your sisters and forgotten you?’ Granny laughed and coughed all over again. ‘Here, Micky. Look, what’s this, eh?’
She held out a very smart blue and silver dog lead.
‘Thank you, Gran,’ said Micky in a very small voice.
‘Oooh dear, there’s still something the matter, isn’t there? Oh goodness, it’s not your Wolfie? He’s all right?’
There was a sudden angry shouting and anguished barking from the bathroom upstairs. Wolfie had been nosing in the laundry basket for Dad’s other sock to make a matching perforated pair, and Dad had caught him in mid-chew.
Wolfie came flying down the stairs and into the kitchen, hurling himself into Micky’s arms.
‘Well, he looks in fine fettle to me,’ said Granny, chuckling croakily. She patted Wolfie fondly, scratching him behind the ears. ‘Who’s been a naughty boy, mmm? What’s this hanging out your mouth? Oooh, a sock, is it? That’s asking for trouble! Big Daddy up in the bathroom sounds pretty peeved. You’d better hustle Wolfie out the way, Micky, or he’ll get punished.’
‘He’s going to be punished already,’ said Micky mournfully. ‘They won’t let him go on holiday, Gran. They say he’s got to go in the dog shelter. He hated it there. He was howling when I first found him.’
‘Oh Micky, Wolfie’s been howling on and off ever since,’ said Mum. ‘And it’s a lovely dog shelter, ever so clean and all the dogs are well cared for. Miss Webb might even get Wolfie properly trained while he’s there.’
‘Wolfie doesn’t like being clean and well cared for and trained,’ said Micky. ‘He’ll think he’s in prison.’
‘Micky’s going to cry again!’ Marigold announced scornfully.
‘Aren’t you going to try on your bikini, Goldilocks?’ said Granny Boot. ‘Come on, girls, I want a fashion parade.’
While their attention was diverted Granny dabbed at Micky’s eyes with an old headscarf and then hauled him up on to her lap, Wolfie on top.
‘Watch out, Mum, they’ll squash you,’ said Micky’s mum.
‘I fancy a cuddle with my two big bad boys,’ said Granny Boot, hugging them hard. ‘Yes, I can see it’s going to be hard for you two chaps to be separated. Your silly old Gran didn’t even think of that.’
Micky sniffed and snuggled in tight to Gran. Wolfie snuffled and squirmed a little, but he was happy to be held too. Granny Boot fumbled for her handbag and found a packet of chocolate toffees. She popped one into her own mouth, one into Micky’s, and one into Wolfie’s.
Micky managed a small smile and Wolfie gave Granny Boot a very chocolatey lick.
‘There now. Wolfie and I get on fine together, don’t we, young Micky. So tell you what! Will you stop fretting if Wolfie comes to stay with me while you go on your holiday?’
‘But you’re coming on holiday too, Gran.’
‘I’m not so sure it’s such a good idea, pet. I don’t like to leave my shop. My friend Monica minds it for me on Saturdays, yes, but I’m not sure she can manage a whole week. No, I’ll stay home and Wolfie can stay with me. Yes? So you can cheer up right this minute, little pal.’
Micky was very touched but troubled. Wolfie would much sooner stay with Gran than go to Webb’s Dog Shelter – but Micky wanted Gran to go on holiday with him. Micky wanted Gran and Wolfie to go on holiday with him. But that wasn’t possible, so…
‘Can I stay with you too, Gran?’ said Micky. ‘Us three could all have a sort-of holiday at home.’
‘You’re a caution, Micky,’ said Gran, laughing and then coughing again.
‘Oh Mum,’ said Micky’s mum. ‘Off your gran, Micky, you and Wolfie really are too heavy for her. Now listen, you three. Granny badly needs a holiday by the sea to shake off the last of her bronchitis. And you need a holiday by the sea, young Micky, because you’re getting all pale and peevish and it will do you the world of good. And Wolfie needs a short sharp spell in Webb’s Dog Shelter to get him licked into shape.’
‘But, Mum –’
‘No buts. That’s what’s going to happen, whether you like it or not.’
Micky didn’t
like it at all. But when Mum spoke in that tone of voice he knew there was no point arguing.
4…
The family were all packed and in the car. It had taken hours and hours for them to get to this stage. Meryl had wanted to take two huge suitcases crammed with the entire contents of her wardrobe. Mandy had promised to do her own packing too and had simply shoved a spare pair of jeans and a couple of T-shirts in a carrier bag. Mum had had to waste a lot of time persuading Mandy to take more and Meryl a lot less. Mona moaned all the time that she didn’t have any nice new clothes and it wasn’t fair. Micky didn’t care about clothes, old or new, but he was in such a state over parting with Wolfie that he kept dissolving into tears. Wolfie couldn’t understand why and kept licking Micky’s salty cheeks affectionately.
‘Yuck, how can you stand to have him slobbering all over you like that?’ said Marigold, trying to squeeze all six of her Little Ponies and their stable into her suitcase. ‘And why do you keep blubbering like a baby, Micky? Your stupid big bad wolf looks thrilled to bits to be going back to the dog shelter.’
‘Shut up,’ said Micky. ‘He doesn’t realize properly. He thinks he’s going on holiday with us.’
Micky hadn’t bothered with his own packing but he’d sorted out Wolfie’s new lead and his favourite blanket and bone. Wolfie had watched with interest, bounding about excitedly. Micky felt sick with guilt. He knew he should try to explain to Wolfie but every time he tried to tell him he got all choked up and cried.
He was very nearly crying now as he sat squeezed up beside Granny Boot in the back of the car, Wolfie on his lap.
‘For goodness sake, pull yourself together Micky,’ said Dad sharply. ‘We’re going on holiday, not going to a funeral. Now, first stop this dog shelter, right?’
‘Oh Dad, please, please let Wolfie come on holiday with us. I’m sure if we just turned up with him at the Amber Hotel and they saw how cute he is they wouldn’t really mind,’ Micky said desperately.
Werepuppy and the Werepuppy on Holiday Page 7