‘The city doesn’t have a lot of pies either,’ said Dottie. ‘It’s mostly trains and fish.’
‘Oh,’ said Mrs Crisp. ‘In that case, I’ll put in three.’
Of course, Mr and Mrs Blanket thought that a picnic in the hills was a fantastic idea. Besides, they had rather a lot to do.
So Winnie and Dottie raced across the spongy grass with their bottles of water and still-warm pies.
‘Shall we go down by the river first?’ asked
Winnie. ‘Then, I might even show you my secret den.’
‘Secret den?!’ asked Dottie, chasing after Winnie. ‘Yes please!!!’
She stretched her arms out like a plane and ran down the tuffety hill.
It was strange, not having any paths or pavements to walk on. You were allowed to go wherever you liked!
No straight lines.
No ‘Keep to the Left’ signs.
Not even a ‘Please Mind the Gap’!
‘Hurry up,’ shouted Winnie, ‘or our pies will all go cold.’ Her head disappeared beneath some green. Dottie followed.
The air smelt of river and old rain. She pushed her way through some long crunchy grass and a rush of water twisted before her.
‘Wow!’ sighed Dottie.
‘Great, isn’t it?’ said Winnie, swinging her legs over the edge of a riverbank and opening the picnic bag. ‘It’s where I learnt to swim.’
‘Really?’ said Dottie, remembering verruca socks and the whiff of chlorine and bleach.
‘Have a pie,’ said Winnie. ‘They always taste better outside.’
Dottie bit into the crust and smiled: it was chewy and cheesy and warm. In fact, it was the best pie she’d ever tasted.
Then, when they’d finished, they went for a paddle and skimmed lots of stones.
‘Right. Time to show you my secret den,’ said Winnie, putting on her not-matching socks.
Dottie’s tummy fluttered with excitement.
‘Your secret den! Are you really sure?’
Winnie just grinned. Then she dived into a big yellow bush. ‘Mind the prickles. And don’t let anyone see you. Just keep low and follow me!’
Winnie disappeared.
Dottie looked around.
There was a red kite flying in the sky. And some sheep in the fields. But no one else was looking. Dottie felt a bit silly but she followed and tried to ‘keep low’. Winnie was crouched on the grass.
‘We have to be very careful not to get seen,’ she whispered between puffs of breath.
‘Seen by who?’ asked Dottie.
‘The Rowlands twins. Or the Fidgets,’ said Winnie. ‘They’re always trying to steal my hoard.’
‘Hoard?’ asked Dottie.
‘Yes. Treasure,’ said Winnie. ‘It’s what we call it. Now…’ she pointed up the hill, ‘we’ve got to get to the top of these woods, make a break through the field, do some tumble-rolls past that rock, and get to the biggest tree on the left. Think you can do it?’
‘What’s a tumble-roll?’ asked Dottie.
‘Just copy me.’
‘OK,’ said Dottie.
‘Good,’ said Winnie, getting on her hands and knees.
She scrambled between the roots of the trees and disappeared into the wood.
Dottie tried her very best to keep up.
They reached the top of the dark wood and the brightness of the hill made Dottie blink.
Winnie tumble-rolled across the grass in her flowery skirt and Dottie managed not to laugh.
‘Your turn,’ said Winnie.
Dottie had never tumble-rolled across a field before. But it was actually really good fun.
Apart from the thistles.
And a bit of sheep poo.
But mostly, it was just like being a spy.
‘Right,’ said Winnie. ‘It’s all clear. Just be careful of the cans and barbed wire!’
She pushed some branches aside.
‘And don’t get caught on the blue string or it will set off the booby trap.’
‘The booby trap?!’ asked Dottie.
She looked up and saw a sparkle of tins and blue string, hanging in the trees like strange fruit.
‘What happens if I tread on this?’ asked Dottie, touching some string with her toe.
‘DON’T! It will set the whole thing off! Someone will hear!’ shouted Winnie.
Dottie looked around the hilltops. She still couldn’t see any Fidgets. In fact, she still couldn’t see anyone at all!
‘Quick! Cover my back!’ Winnie dived behind the tree on the left.
Dottie followed fast.
Winnie was scrabbling about on the floor, scraping piles of branches away with her hands.
Then she lifted a big biscuit tin out of the muddy earth. She passed it to Dottie.
‘Shall I open it?’
Winnie grinned.
Inside were three cans of lemonade, two bags of bon-bons and a bag of sugar-coated pineapple cubes.
Treasure! The hoard! Just like Winnie Crisp had promised.
‘Help yourself,’ grinned Winnie. ‘I’ve been waiting for someone to share them with. I’ve never had a best friend before.’
Dottie felt her whole face smile. She’d only just arrived on the hilltop, and she already had a best friend!
She took a big swig of lemonade. Suddenly, there was a clatter of cans.
‘QUICK! GRAB THE TIN! IT’S THE FIDGETS!’
yelled Winnie, charging into the woods.
Dottie ran so fast that the bubbles all went up her nose.
‘GERONIMO!’
screamed some voices.
Dottie turned around to look.
There was a boy in a red jumper and two short-haired girls pushing aside branches and pulling down the tins!
‘Good move. They’re deactivating the booby trap,’ said Winnie. ‘But we’ve already got the treasure.’
‘I know,’ said Dottie, clutching the can.
‘Quick. We’re not out of danger. The Fidgets don’t give up. Let’s retreat to safety.’
Winnie grabbed Dottie by the arm. Then they raced through the wood until they fell down in the darkness in a heap.
‘That was AMAZING!’ said Dottie, all out of breath.
‘Hah!’ Winnie took the tin. ‘They didn’t
even get the pineapple cubes. I knew they were onto me. We’re soooo going to find their den.’
‘Have they got treasure too?’ asked Dottie.
‘Of course they have. Their hoard is mostly toys. And gobstoppers. I think it might be up by Robbers’ Cave.’
‘Can we try and find it tomorrow?’
‘We can’t. We’ve got school.’
‘But there isn’t a school on the hilltop!’
‘Of course there is. Well, on another hilltop not far away.’
‘Oh,’ sighed Dottie. ‘I don’t really like school much.’
‘Have a pineapple cube and don’t think about it. But you’ll like it, I promise you will.’
‘OK,’ said Dottie, sucking hard.
They slunk deeper into the undergrowth as the Fidgets all ran past.
‘Don’t move!’ said Winnie. ‘Don’t even breathe!’
When the Fidgets had definitely gone, Dottie and Winnie crawled out of the woods and went and sat in the sunny field. They sipped on their ice-cold cans of lemonade and had a few more of the sweets.
Dottie felt the fizz of bubbles in her tummy and the tickly wind blowing through her curls.
‘I love living on the hilltop,’ sighed Dottie. ‘Even if the Fidgets do raids.’
‘So do I,’ said Winnie. ‘Especially now. It’s so much nicer with you on it.’
Dottie sucked on her pineapple cube and blushed.
Chapter Seven
The Lamb with No Name
It’s never easy starting a new school. Especially when you’ve been called ‘Dottie Stank-It’ and ‘Dottie Twice-with-Chips’ at the last one. That’s probably why she’d locked herself in the bathroom!
<
br /> ‘Come on, Dottie,’ shouted Mrs Blanket.
‘Don’t keep the school Land Rover waiting!’
‘BUT I DON’T LIKE LAND ROVERS,’ yelled Dottie.
‘Get a move on! There’s no time for tantrums now,’ said Mr Blanket. ‘My new job starts today and I still haven’t brushed my teeth.’
‘I’m not coming out. EVER!’ huffed Dottie.
‘BEEP BEEP,’ went the horn.
‘Come on!’ said Mr Blanket.
‘It’ll be fun,’ said Mrs Blanket.
‘No, it won’t,’ said Dottie. ‘It will be horrible. And they’ll all call me really mean names.’
‘Of course they won’t,’ said Mr Blanket.
‘Yes they will,’ said Dottie. ‘And they won’t like me.’
‘Why not?’ asked Mr Blanket.
Dottie sniffed her jumper.
OK. So she didn’t smell of fish any more. But that didn’t mean anything. They’d still call her names.
‘Why don’t you think they’ll like you?’ asked Mrs Blanket again. ‘You’re such a lovely little girl.’
‘Because I’m from Somewhere Else,’ said Dottie. ‘People never like you when you’re from Somewhere Else.’
‘Of course they do,’ said Mr Blanket. ‘I married your mother, didn’t I? And we’re still not sure where she’s from.’
Mr Blanket laughed. He always laughed at his own jokes. He was that sort of man.
‘Look, Dottie,’ said Mrs Blanket. ‘Lots of people are from somewhere else. In fact, we all are, when you come to think about it. And besides, you’ve made friends with Winnie Crisp and the Fidgets already.’
‘I didn’t make friends with the Fidgets. I just ran away from them.’
‘BEEP BEEP,’ went the horn.
‘Come on,’ said Mr Blanket. ‘Unlock this door. You’re going to make me late for work.’
But Dottie didn’t unlock the door. She just sat down on the cold, hard tiles and listened to the engine throb outside.
Suddenly, there was a loud knock and muffled voices. Then a man (that wasn’t Mr Blanket) started talking to the bathroom door!
‘Thing is,’ said a deep and very different voice. ‘I need a bit of help, see? And you might be just the sort of person I’m after.’
Dottie stopped chewing a towel and listened.
‘I’m not going to tell a lie to you. I know you’re too smart for that. But I’ve got a problem. I’ve got these lambs to take down to Blod’s farm, but the smallest keeps leaping about. Nearly made me drive off the road! What I need is a pair of small hands to hold her down. Otherwise, she’ll do herself an injury. I don’t suppose…’
The man went quiet.
Dottie looked at her hands. They were quite small.
‘Thing is, see,’ said the voice again, ‘if I don’t get the lambs to Blod’s for some milk, I think they’ll probably die.’
Dottie gasped.
‘To be honest, it’s lucky the crows didn’t get them. Their mothers didn’t want ’em, see.’
Dottie gasped again.
‘Anyway, I need to get a move on. Gotta be at school in a minute now. And Winnie’s running late, as per usual.’
There was a ‘click’ as Dottie slowly unlocked the bathroom door. She popped her head out but the man with the different voice wasn’t there!
‘Where’s the man with the different voice?’ asked Dottie.
‘He’s gone,’ said Mr Blanket, pushing into the bathroom.
‘But what about the lambs! The ones that nobody wanted. I’ve got to hold them down or they might die!!!’
‘You might just catch him if you run,’ said Mrs Blanket.
Dottie grabbed her lunch box, her school bag and a cap.
‘I’M COMING! WAIT FOR ME!’
The Blankets watched her hop into the Land Rover.
‘Oh, I do hope she’ll be alright,’ sighed Mrs Blanket.
‘Did she just take my tweed cap?’ asked Mr Blanket.
‘Yes, I think she did,’ said Mrs Blanket.
‘Sniff,’ said Baby Joe.
(Which could have meant anything at all.)
Chapter Eight
Tom Tractor
‘Right then, bach,’ said the man with the different voice, a bundle of wool under his arm.
‘This is the one that’s causin’ all the trouble. The others are fine in the back.’
Dottie put her belt on and let the man plonk the wriggling wool in her lap!
It had a flicketty long tail, a little black nose and two blinketty eyes. It nuzzled its head into her tummy.
Dottie laughed.
‘Hello, lamb,’ she said.
‘So you can talk then?’ smiled the man.
He slammed the door shut and walked around to the driver’s seat. The other lambs bleated from behind.
Dottie had never been to school with some sheep before. She stroked the lamb’s hard, woolly forehead.
‘Has it got a name?’ she asked, bravely.
‘No, bach. Have you?’
‘Yes,’ said Dottie. ‘My name’s Dottie Blanket.’
‘And mine’s Thomas Vaughan,’ said Thomas Vaughan.
Just then, the door opened and Winnie threw herself into the seat next to Dottie – all bluster and lateness and puff.
‘Aww … love your lamb! So cute! Bore da, Tom Tractor,’ she grinned.
‘Bore da, Winnie.’ He grinned back.
Dottie was confused. ‘I thought he was called Thomas Vaughan?’ she whispered.
‘He is,’ said Winnie. ‘But everyone calls him Tom Tractor.’
‘Are they being mean?’ asked Dottie, wondering if Tom Tractor was as bad as Dottie Twice-with-Chips.
‘Course not,’ said Winnie. ‘You don’t mind being called Tom Tractor, do you Tom Tractor?’
‘Well, it’s better than Dai Death. Or Mostyn Milk. Or Betti Shop.’
Dottie was even more confused!
‘Dai Death digs the graves,’ said Winnie. ‘Mostyn Milk’s our milkman and Betti Shop’s my mum.’
‘Oh,’ said Dottie, still not really under-standing. Names were quite confusing on the hilltop.
The lamb nuzzled its nose into Dottie’s arm.
‘Does the lamb have a name?’ asked Dottie.
‘Good grief, we don’t give ’em names,’ said Tom Tractor.
‘Bleat,’ said the lamb.
(Which probably meant: ‘Why not?’)
‘Why not?’ asked Dottie.
Tom Tractor didn’t answer.
‘Well, if Cabbage Patch Dolls have names, and toy rabbits have names, lambs should definitely have names,’ said Dottie.
‘Bleat,’ said the lamb.
‘Alright,’ said Tom Tractor. ‘But you better make it good!’
He smiled at them in the mirror and turned the Land Rover down a muddy track.
‘What shall we call her?’ asked Winnie, stroking the lamb’s fluffy head.
Still holding her tight, Dottie looked at the yellowy-cream coloured wool. The black little nose. The currant eyes.
‘I think I’d like to call her “Fluff”,’ said Dottie.
‘You can’t call her “Fluff”!’ said Tom Tractor. ‘If you’re going to give her a name, it’ll have to be a Welsh one. She’s a Welsh lamb, after all.’
‘Bleat,’ said the Welsh lamb.
(Which probably meant, ‘Yes, that is true. I actually am.’)
‘Well, what’s “Fluff” in Welsh then?’ asked Dottie.
‘Fflwffen,’ said Tom Tractor.
‘Flooffen?’ giggled Dottie.
‘Bleat,’ said Fflwffen.
(Which almost definitely meant: ‘Hooray’.)
Chapter Nine
Not From Round Y’ere
It’s hard saying goodbye to a lamb that you’ve only just met. But somehow, Dottie managed it. She sniffed Fflwffen’s warm woolly head one last time and passed her into Tom Tractor’s thick arms.
‘Come after school,’ said Tom Tract
or. ‘Blod could do with a little bit of help.’
‘Bleat,’ said Fflwffen, wriggling off.
Dottie tried to smile.
But when Tom Tractor started up the engine and drove off through more hills, Dottie felt completely empty without a lamb on her lap.
And when the Land Rover pulled up outside a big white farmhouse, Dottie felt sick and a little bit scared.
That’s why she dug about in her bag, found Mr Blanket’s tweed cap, and pulled it down hard over her eyes.
‘Budge up,’ said Winnie, squeezing Dottie towards the door.
‘Shwmae,’ said some voices. ‘Sut wyt ti? Wyt ti’n newydd?’
Dottie pulled the cap down even harder.
‘Her name’s Dottie Blanket,’ said Winnie.
‘Doesn’t she speak Welsh?’ asked a boy’s voice.
‘Don’t you speak Welsh?’ asked a girl’s.
Dottie shook her head. She didn’t speak Welsh. And to be absolutely honest, she didn’t even know other people could!
‘Now, you lot,’ said Tom Tractor, ‘she’s not from round y’ere’. So be nice.’
Dottie closed her eyes.
This was going to be awful. Everyone was going to hate her. She so hoped she didn’t still smell of trains or fish!
‘Are you from Tregaron?’ asked the boy.
‘Course not,’ said the girl. ‘Does she look like she’s from Tregaron?’
‘Not really. But she might be from Lledrod. Are you from Lledrod?’ asked the boy.
‘Leave her alone, Rhys,’ said the girl.
‘I’m just asking, Rhoslyn,’ said Rhys.
‘Well, I’m just telling, Rhys,’ said Rhoslyn, leaning closer to Dottie. ‘Don’t mind him,’ she said. ‘He’s just my brother. He can be so annoyin’. But you must be from Somewhere Else? Are you from Somewhere Else?’
‘Don’t worry, Dottie,’ whispered Winnie. ‘Rhoslyn’s really nice.’
Very slowly, Dottie lifted up her cap.
‘Thing is,’ said Rhoslyn. ‘I’d love to be from Somewhere Else, but I’m from y’ere. Always ’ave been.’
Rhoslyn was pretty with wonky front teeth and a be-my-friend smile. Dottie tried to smile back.
‘So. Are you from London? Or Paris?’ asked Rhoslyn. ‘I’d love to be from London or Paris. I want to go on The Eiffel Tower. Or The Eye. They look amazing.’
‘I’ve been on The Eye,’ said Dottie, quietly.
Dottie Blanket and the Hilltop Page 3