Читать книгу Oscar and the Dognappers - Alan MacDonald - Страница 7
ОглавлениеSam stood outside the house waiting for Dad with Oscar. Dad was eager to take them to see the new cafe for themselves. Mum said she had too much to do this morning and would go another time.
‘So what do you think?’ Sam asked.
Oscar took his time, scratching himself. ‘I’ve never seen the point of cafes,’ he said.
You might have expected Sam to gasp or fall over backwards in amazement but by now he was used to the fact that Oscar could talk. It was a secret between the two of them. Oscar said that things would only get complicated if Sam’s parents ever knew and it would cause an almighty fuss. Sam hadn’t even told his best friend Louie, although keeping the secret wasn’t always easy. Oscar said it was best to pretend that he was just an ordinary dog who happened to be very clever.
‘A cafe’s somewhere people go to eat and drink,’ explained Sam.
‘You can do that at home,’ Oscar pointed out.
‘Yes, I know, but people like eating out sometimes,’ said Sam. ‘It’s kind of a treat.’
‘Like biscuits you mean?’ asked Oscar.
‘Sort of. I expect you’ll see when we get there,’ said Sam.
It was hard to explain cafes to a dog and besides Dad was coming out of the house, so they had to stop talking.
They walked along the seafront for about a quarter of a mile, until Dad stopped and pointed. ‘There it is,’ he said, proudly.
Sam stared. He’d expected something with large windows, comfy booths and warm lighting – a cafe in other words – but this place resembled a rundown Scout hut. The outside needed painting, the windows were broken and the roof sagged as if an elephant had recently sat on it.
‘You bought that ?’ said Sam.
Dad nodded. ‘Of course, it needs a little work but you have to use a bit of imagination.’
Sam thought you’d need a whole lot of imagination.
Inside the hut there was a small puddle on the floor where the rain had got in. The floorboards were pebble-dashed with seagull droppings.
Oscar padded around, sniffing in all the corners. The hut had two rooms and in the back one they found a tall cupboard, a rusty cooker and a sink, which all looked like they had been there since Roman times.
Sam wrinkled his nose. ‘It’s a bit stinky,’ he complained.
‘I know, but we can clean it up. With the counter over here, a lick of paint and better lighting it’ll be the best cafe on the seafront,’ argued Dad.
‘The only cafe on the seafront,’ said Sam.
‘Exactly, which is why it can’t possibly fail,’ said Dad. ‘It’s just what this town needs. I don’t know why I’ve never thought of it before.’
‘I thought you wanted to make things – inventions,’ said Sam.
‘I’ll do that too, but this is kind of a reinvention,’ explained Dad. ‘I’m turning a neglected beach hut into a successful cafe.’
‘Right, so what are you going to call it?’ asked Sam.
‘I haven’t really thought. The Old Beach Cafe, I guess,’ replied Dad.
Sam wrinkled his nose. ‘Sounds a bit boring.’
‘Or maybe the Seaview Cafe?’
‘Deathly boring,’ said Sam. ‘What about Oscar’s ?’
Dad snorted. ‘You can’t have a cafe named after a dog!’
Oscar looked offended. In his opinion a lot of things could be named after dogs. Why have Henry Road when you could have Barkley Square or Oscar Avenue?
‘What about the food?’ Sam asked.
‘Ah that’s the really clever part,’ said Dad. ‘We won’t serve all the usual stuff like burgers, chips or ice cream.’
‘We won’t?’ said Sam.
‘No, my idea is beautifully simple,’ said Dad. ‘We’re going to serve TOAST.’
‘Toast?’ repeated Sam.
‘Well obviously not just toast,’ said Dad. ‘Cheese on toast, beans on toast, egg on toast – in fact pretty much anything on toast!’
Sam frowned. ‘But what if people don’t like toast?’ he asked.
‘Everyone likes toast!’ laughed Dad. ‘And the great thing is it’s simple, you can’t go wrong with making toast.’
‘You can if you burn it,’ said Sam.
He suspected that toast was the one thing his dad knew how to cook. Other dishes, like chilli con carne or lemon meringue pie for instance, he hadn’t the faintest clue. Still, the cafe would certainly be different.
‘So it’s really a toast cafe?’ he said.
‘I suppose it is,’ said Dad. ‘In fact that’s brilliant, Sam! The Toast Cafe – that’s what we’ll call it!’
‘Oh my great-grandmothers!’
A familiar voice interrupted them. It was Mr Trusscot, their busybody neighbour and Leader of the Town Council, whose bald head was poking round the door. Oscar gave a low growl. He’d come to regard Trusscot as a mortal enemy ever since he’d tried to turn large parts of town into ‘dog-free zones’.
Trusscot walked in and looked around, shaking his head.
‘I heard a rumour that some idiot had bought this dump,’ he said.
‘As it happens you’re looking at the idiot,’ replied Dad.
‘YOU?’ Trusscot stared. ‘What on earth for?’
‘If you must know, it’s going to be a beach cafe,’ Sam informed him.
Trusscot bent over. He shook, making strange squeaky noises like a rusty gate. Sam realised he was laughing.
‘A cafe? Oh hee hee hee! That’s a good one!’ he chortled.
‘It’s not a joke,’ scowled Dad.
Mr Trusscot took out a hanky and wiped his eyes.
‘Of course not, I mean just look at this place, it’s got everything,’ he said. ‘Broken windows, a leaking roof and bird wotsit on the floor!’
‘Very funny,’ said Dad. ‘You won’t be laughing when this place is a roaring success.’
‘A success? It’ll never happen,’ scoffed Mr Trusscot.
‘I bet you it will,’ replied Dad.
‘Not a chance,’ said Trusscot.
‘Is that right?’
‘Yes it is right, actually! ’
Sam rolled his eyes. He’d heard better arguments than this in the school playground. Mr Trusscot produced his wallet and pulled out a note.
‘Twenty pounds says that you’ll never last a week,’ he said.
‘Twenty? Pah! Make it fifty,’ said Dad.
‘If you’re so sure, why not a hundred?’ replied Trusscot.
Sam looked alarmed. This was getting out of hand. Mum would go up the wall if she found out Dad had bet Mr Trusscot a hundred pounds!
‘If you’re going to bet, at least make it interesting,’ he said.
‘How do you mean “interesting”?’ asked Trusscot.
‘Well it’s a cafe, so why don’t you make the bet about food?’ asked Sam.
‘Oh I see, you mean the loser has to eat a plate of snails or something,’ said Trusscot.
‘Or a seaweed sandwich,’ said Dad.
Sam’s eye fell on Oscar. ‘How about a bowl of dog food?’ he suggested.
Mr Trusscot turned pale. He couldn’t stand dogs and just the smell of the gloopy, ghastly food they ate made him feel sick. There was no way he was ever going to eat it. Then again, he wouldn’t have to, because he’d make sure he won.
‘All right, you’re on,’ he said.
‘Fine by me,’ replied Dad.
‘One week from the day you open,’ said the Councillor. ‘If you don’t last a week, then you lose.’
‘And if we do, you lose,’ said Dad, shaking Trusscot’s hand.
Mr Trusscot glanced at Oscar who had been watching him suspiciously since he arrived.
‘While I’m here,’ he said, ‘you should keep that dog on a lead. It’s for his own good.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Sam.
‘The Council’s had a lot of complaints lately about stray dogs causing a nuisance,’ said Trusscot. ‘So we’ve decided to take action. Starting this week, we’ve employed a company to clear them all off the streets.’
Oscar sat up, suddenly alert.
‘But what will happen to them?’ asked Sam.
‘Oh I shouldn’t worry, I’m sure they’ll be taken care of,’ said Trusscot. ‘Now I’ll leave you to get on – you’ve obviously got a great deal to do. What are you going to call the place by the way – The Cockroach Cafe ?’
He went off, shaking his head and squeaking at his own joke.
Sam thought he wouldn’t mind seeing smug-faced Mr Trusscot sitting down to a big bowl of dog food. All the same he couldn’t help worrying that his Dad had made a risky bet. At the moment the hut looked like somewhere you’d pay to avoid. He looked around for Oscar and found him waiting by the door.
‘I’d better go,’ Sam said. ‘I think Oscar wants me to take him for a walk.’
