Читать книгу Oscar and the CATastrophe - Alan MacDonald - Страница 6

CHAPTER 1

MOVING IN

On the first floor of 18 Beach Road a boy and his dog stood looking out of a window. The boy was wearing blue patterned pyjamas while the dog wasn’t wearing anything, apart from a collar and a worried frown. The dog’s name was Oscar and his boy was called Sam. Anyone passing by on the road wouldn’t have suspected there was anything out of the ordinary about them.

‘It’s okay, Oscar, it’s only a furniture van,’ said Sam. ‘I think someone’s moving in next door.’

Oscar pressed his nose closer to the window. He didn’t trust vans, not since a black one had carried off two of his friends and they’d had to rescue them from a dog pound. This van, however, was large and blue with Heaver and Sons Removals written on the side. It was parked outside number 20, the house next door that had a SOLD sign in the front garden. The workmen were unloading the furniture onto the pavement.

‘Look, there’s a pet basket,’ said Sam. ‘You never know, they might have a dog.’

Oscar gave him a look as if to say there was only one dog in the neighbourhood and that was him.

Downstairs a heady smell of coffee, toast and sausages filled the kitchen as Mr Shilling made breakfast. The coffee was for him, the toast for everyone, and the sausages were for Oscar, who claimed tinned dog food was not fit to eat.

‘It looks like someone’s moving in next door,’ said Sam, pouring himself some cereal.

Dad nodded. ‘Yes, I saw the van,’ he said, closing the kitchen door. He lowered his voice. ‘Before your mum gets down, you haven’t forgotten, have you?’

‘Forgotten what?’ asked Sam.

‘Her birthday of course – it’s next Saturday. I wrote it on the calendar so you wouldn’t forget.’

Sam had forgotten. He rarely looked at the calendar because most of the time it recorded things like ‘dentist appointment’ or ‘parents evening’. Saturday still gave him a week to get a present but he had no idea what to get. As it was almost the end of the summer holidays, he’d spent most of his pocket money too.

‘What are you giving her?’ he asked.

‘Me? I’m working on a little idea,’ said Dad. ‘I’ll show you when it’s ready.’

Sam nodded. He hoped it wasn’t one of his dad’s less successful inventions like the Hercules Speedy Pop-up Toaster, which had almost set fire to the kitchen.

Dad set Oscar’s food bowl down on the floor. ‘There’s a birthday list on the fridge,’ he said.

Sam read the list, which he obviously hadn’t noticed.

A holiday – anywhere hot

A new car!

Swimming costume

Beach towel

Slippers

He was pretty sure he couldn’t afford a holiday, unless his mum wanted a bus ride to Winklesea. They hadn’t gone away this summer because his parents had been busy running the beach cafe, which Dad had bought after selling one of his inventions. Originally it was called The Toast Cafe, but then Sam and Oscar had the genius idea of turning it into The Waggy Dog Cafe – the only cafe in Little Bunting to welcome dogs.

Oscar barked loudly, interrupting his thoughts. Usually this meant someone was coming and a few seconds later the doorbell rang.

It was Mr Trusscot, their busybody neighbour, who was known in Sam’s family as Mr Fusspot. As leader of the town council, Trusscot had once tried to turn most of the town into a dog-free zone, so he and Oscar were old enemies.

‘Mr Trusscot, how nice to see you,’ lied Dad.

Trusscot nodded to them. As usual, he was wearing his brown tweedy suit with a checked bow tie. Sam thought he’d probably been born wearing a suit. Oscar eyed him suspiciously.

‘I imagine you’ve heard the news,’ said Trusscot. ‘We’re getting a new neighbour.’

‘So I gather,’ said Dad. ‘I expect you’re going to tell me who it is.’

‘As a matter of fact I can,’ replied Trusscot, smugly. ‘It’s Mrs Bentley-Wallop.’

‘Mrs WALLOP?’ giggled Sam.

‘Bentley-Wallop,’ said Mr Trusscot. ‘And I fail to see what’s funny about it. Perhaps you’ve heard the name?’

‘I haven’t,’ replied Dad. ‘I think I’d remember a name like that.’

‘Well from what I hear she’s from a wealthy family and she’s very well connected,’ said Trusscot. ‘She’s just the sort of person we need to improve this neighbourhood.’

Sam and Dad exchanged looks. Mr Trusscot was always talking about improving the neighbourhood. He complained that the Shillings’ doorbell played ‘Jingle Bells’ and their garden was a disgrace, littered with batteries and bike parts for Mr Shilling’s inventions.

‘In any case, she’s arriving this morning so you might want to tidy up,’ said Trusscot.

‘Why? Is there going to be an inspection?’ asked Dad.

‘I suppose that’s one of your jokes,’ said Mr Trusscot, frostily. ‘I’m sure we all want to make a good impression on Mrs Bentley-Wallop. I for one am very much looking forward to meeting her.’

‘Good, then I won’t keep you,’ said Dad.

‘Oh, and one more thing,’ said Trusscot. ‘You’d better keep your filthy dog away from her.’

Oscar bristled.

‘He’s not filthy,’ said Sam, crossly. ‘He had a bath last week and, anyway, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

‘Well I don’t want him upsetting Mrs Bentley-Wallop,’ said Trusscot. ‘My advice is to keep him indoors where he can’t do any harm.’

Oscar took a step forward and proceeded to give Mr Trusscot’s hand a thorough licking. He knew very well this would annoy him. Trusscot hated dogs and he didn’t want any of their slobbery germs. He pulled his hand away.

‘He’s only trying to be friendly,’ said Sam.

‘Well I’d rather he didn’t,’ snapped Trusscot, wiping his hand on a hanky.

‘Anyway, thank you for calling by and if we ever need your advice we’ll be sure to ask,’ said Dad. He closed the door and rolled his eyes at Sam.

‘Nincompoop!’ he said and marched back to the kitchen.

Sam waited till he was gone and looked at Oscar.

‘Uh oh.’

‘If he thinks I’m staying indoors to please him, he can forget it!’ said Oscar.

‘It’s only old Fusspants, ignore him,’ said Sam. ‘Anyway maybe Mrs Thingy Wallop likes dogs.’

‘Who doesn’t?’ asked Oscar.

‘Mr Fusspot for one,’ said Sam. ‘But I saw a pet basket, so maybe she’s got a dog herself. We should go next door and find out.’

‘All right, as long as it’s not a poodle,’ said Oscar. ‘They never stop yapping.’

Sam looked round as his Dad reappeared, heading upstairs.

‘Who are you talking to?’ he asked.

‘No one,’ said Sam. ‘Just, you know – Oscar.’

Dad sighed and shook his head.

‘How many times? He’s a dog, Sam. He doesn’t understand a word you’re saying!’