by Jon Blake
‘Dad,’ I said. ‘I don’t think monkeys shake hands.’
‘Ah,’ said Dad. ‘Well, er…’ He patted Thimble on the shoulder. ‘Good going, Thimbs,’ he said.
‘Thimbs?’ I repeated.
‘It’s my pet name for him.’
‘Since when?’ I asked.
‘Since now,’ said Dad.
‘If it’s a pet name,’ I said, ‘he must be our pet!’
‘Of course he’s our pet,’ replied Dad. ‘Have I ever suggested he wasn’t?’
EPILOGUE
(THAT’S THE END BIT)
We certainly had a busy time once we got back to Dawson Castle. Thimble had a great pile of wooden boxes to saw up for firewood, while Dad and I had five chapters of Monkeys Over Dover to write. Monkeys Over Dover was the story we thought up on the journey home, or rather I thought up, while Dad explained how important it was to have his name on the cover.
‘Mum was right,’ I said. ‘You just needed to get away.’
‘I guess so,’ replied Dad. ‘There’s nothing like nearly dying to get the creative juices flowing.’
Mum arrived home at the usual time. She was not surprised to see us back so soon, but most impressed to see us all sitting together on the sofa.
‘Fantastic,’ she said. ‘You’ve bonded.’
‘Yes, Mum,’ I replied, ‘and guess what, me and Dad are writing a book together, and it’s all about Thimble and all his mates, and they’ve all got helicopters, and…’
Dad gave me a dig in the ribs.
‘Oh yes,’ I said, ‘and by the way, I’d just like to say what a fantastic Dad Dad is.’
‘Did he pay you to say that?’ asked Mum.
‘No!’ I protested. ‘I really mean it. He’s a brilliant Dad, totally awesome, so please don’t leave him.’
‘You weren’t supposed to say that!’ cried Dad.
Mum chuckled.
‘I didn’t tell him to say that,’ said Dad.
‘Just the other bit,’ said Mum.
Dad was silent.
‘I’m pleased you’re writing a book together,’ said Mum.
‘And Thimble’s staying,’ I added.
‘Thimble always was going to stay,’ said Mum.
Dad was silent.
‘Everything’s perfect,’ I said.
‘I wouldn’t quite go that far,’ said Mum. She laughed, ruffled my hair, dropped back on the sofa and even gave Dad a little squeeze, which Dad might have enjoyed more if Thimble hadn’t managed to get between them.
Just then – who’d have believed it – there was a knock at the doorbell.
‘Not the Jehovah’s Witnesses again!’ groaned Dad.
‘I’ll get it,’ I said.
I waltzed to the Great Door without a care in the world. But I was in for an unpleasant surprise.
The neighbours!
‘Good evening,’ said the man.
‘We’ve come for our hamster,’ said the woman.
I had to think fast. ‘He’s gone,’ I blurted out.
‘Gone?’ asked the man. ‘Gone where?’
‘Abducted by aliens.’
The woman’s face hardened. ‘Now listen here,’ she said. ‘That hamster belongs to Billy Bunn’s circus, and I have the certificate to prove it.’ She flourished the said certificate in my face. I fumed.
‘No one owns Thimble!’ I said. ‘He was born free, and lives here by his own free will!’
‘I thought you said he’d been abducted by aliens,’ said the man.
‘You’d better let us in,’ said the woman.
A tense stand-off ensued, ended by a hairy hand plucking the certificate from the woman’s grasp and tearing it to pieces. All hell broke loose, with a screaming Thimble scurrying back into the castle, the neighbours chasing him, me chasing them, and Mum and Dad rushing in the other direction to see what was up.
Alas, it turned out that the neighbours were experts in martial arts. They employed the Nimzo-Indian Defence to repel Mum and Dad, then trapped Thimble underneath King Arthur’s cocktail cabinet.
‘Leave him alone!’ I cried, but the woman neighbour issued a stern warning.
‘Stay right where you are,’ she said, ‘or the hamster gets it.’
‘What do you mean?’
The woman reached into her coat and drew out a sinister syringe. ‘I am a trained vet,’ she declared, ‘and this is a powerful sedative. If there is no struggle, I will administer just enough to sedate the hamster. If, on the other hand … do you get my drift?’
We were in a hopeless situation.
‘Get the monkey,’ ordered the woman.
The man got down to the floor and began inching under the cabinet. Thimble gibbered fearfully.
Suddenly there was a cry from the man: ‘What on earth?’ He shot back from the cabinet, shaking his hand frantically. A great fat, hairy, eight-legged monster dropped to the floor and ran straight towards the woman.
‘TARANTULA!’ she screamed, dropping the syringe and legging it for all she was worth, closely followed by the man. Clearly in full attack mode, the tarantula chased them back out of the Great Hall, out of the West Door, away from the grounds of Dawson Castle, over the hills and far away, hopefully never to return.
‘Now,’ I declared, dusting myself down. ‘Where were we?’
‘I think we were saying that Thimble was going to stay,’ said Mum.
‘For ever and ever amen,’ I replied.
Mum laughed, ruffled my hair, dropped back on the sofa and gave Thimble a little squeeze, which Thimble might have enjoyed more if Dad hadn’t managed to get between them.
Dawson Castle had never felt more like home.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jon Blake lives in Cardiff with his partner and two young children. He qualified as a teacher in 1979. His first story was published in 1984; since then he has earned his living as a writer of books, TV and radio scripts, and as a teacher of creative writing. Previous books include the best-selling You’re a Hero, Daley B!, Stinky Finger’s House of Fun and The Last Free Cat.
Martin Chatterton’s own books include Monster and Chips (OUP) and some of the Middle School books with James Patterson, and he has illustrated many, many books in UK and Australia, including stories by Julia Donaldson and Tony Bradman.
COPYRIGHT
First published in 2016
by Firefly Press
25 Gabalfa Road, Llandaff North,
Cardiff, CF14 2JJ
www.fireflypress.co.uk
Text © Jon Blake
Illustrations © Martin Chatterton
The author and illustrator assert their moral right to be
identified as author and illustrator in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form, binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record of this book
is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781910080344
ebook ISBN 9781910080351
This book has been published with the support
of the Welsh Books Council.
Design by: Claire Brisley
Printed and bound by: PULSIO SARL
Dragonfly books are funny, scary, fantastical and exciting.
Come to our website for games, puzzles and competitions.
www.fireflypress.co.uk/dragonfly
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