Читать книгу Teething Trouble - Philip Edwards - Страница 7

cried Beth, using a whole lungful of air as she bravely pushed between the boxers, stretching her arms to the full. Strangely and unexpectedly, Rivett did just that, puzzled, with his eyes almost popping from their sockets..

“What are you doing now?” he asked, staring at Barnaby rummaging on the floor. “What are you doing in those nettles?

“I’ve got to find it,” shouted Barnaby on his hands and knees. “Got to. It’s important,” as he searched through the nettles with his bare hands. “There!” he shouted, lifting something tiny and white from the nettles, quickly placing it in his pocket, right next to the bag of white dog poo.

Rivett then turned his attention to Beth.

“What did you say?” he asked grinning his nastiest cheek to cheek grin. “Did you just say Thtopit? You got a lithp Beth Thaunders? Thaunders got a lithp. Thaunders got a lithp. Thundery Thaunders.” taunted Rivett.

“Don’t you dare call me that. Are you making fun of my dad?” asked Beth, as her hand formed a bunch of snow-white knuckles.

“Yes, Thundery Thaunders. Thund……”

“Whapppp!” as with one almighty swing her fist hit him smack on the nose.

“Why did you do that?” asked Rivett, groaning on the floor, wiping a river of blood from his face. “I was only having a bit of a laugh. You always take things so seriously you do.”

“Thpruddgey, where are you?” asked Beth as she turned, dusting her hands. “Crumbs, look at you.” she said, examining his face. “That’th going to be quite a bruithe. Look at your handth though. They’re red raw. What on earth were you thinking of? What with in those nettleth anyway?”

Barnaby was still a bit dazed and bemused with all the lisping but managed to answer. “Didn’t you see it? A tooth. Not losing than now am I. Cash in hand that is.”

Beth held Barnaby’s hands up to his face. “You were prepared to thuffer like this just for a tooth?”

Barnaby nodded and whispered, “Posh girl……you’ll never understand.”

“Quick.” snapped Beth, turning towards the school door. “The bell will be ringing in a minute. You know what Old Forty’s like if we don’t get to the door on time.”

“Aaaaaugh,” moaned Rivett, sounding just like a rusty gate hinge.

“Get up,” stated Beth as she encouraged him to his feet with a hard tug on the shoulder of his jacket. “You really are a bit of a softy deep inside aren’t you Rivett. I didn’t hit you that hard. And don’t worry, nobody saw it happen and I won’t tell a living soul. No point really. Nobody would believe me anyway. Don’t you ever dare call me ‘Thundery’ though. ” She turned and winked at Barnaby, then whispered, “Never underestimate the power of a posh girl. Never.”

All three children were in the same class at school. Mr. Fortitude Jones’ class, the deputy headmaster and a poorer teacher you’d have to search long and hard to find. He’d started his career at a time just after the war, when the country needed lots of teachers. Ex-soldiers had been trained as teachers in lightning quick time. Some had proved to be great at the job but not Mr. Fortitude Jones. In all honesty, he’d should have stayed in the army, standing guard duty in the North African desert. He often told stories of his old army days and the children would encourage him and goad him onwards as it meant that they didn’t have to work. They’d sailed with him on his sea voyage around Cape Town, then North to the Red Sea eating tinned mangos along the way. He had shared his pictures of the pyramids and the Sphynx. They all managed to get into the cabin of his lorry, bumping its way across Egypt, cooking eggs and corned beef on the top of the engine housing. By the time Friday afternoon came around it was all he could do to stay awake no matter how much noise the class created. He did have one good point though. He loved taking the children on outings and trips. Some people said that he was fond of taking trips because his brother owned the coach company and he was just doing his best for the family business. On this particular day, Barnaby payed more attention than usual when Old Forty announced the reason for the latest outing.

“Pay attention now everybody, yes everybody. You too Nigel Rivett….. What’s happened to your face…..Spruddge? You need to listen to this too boy…good grief, look at your hands….get them washed playtime…Beth Saunders, stop smirking….now. Pay attention. Everybody sit uppppppp. NOW. I’ve planned a little trip for next Friday. We have to learn something about education and business partnerships this term.”

“What’s that all about then Sir?” queried Beth.

“Well, we have to look at some of the local businesses and factories so that you can be better informed about the sort of jobs that you’d like when you leave school. You also need to learn how businesses actually make money.” Old Forty announced positively.

“Oh no,” gasped Barnaby.

“Aaaaaugh,” as Rivett’s rusty gate opened again.

In fact, a collective gasp of dread and horror spread around the room and children started quickly thinking of a believable excuse not to go.

“No Sir, Not the glove factory again is it Sir?” shouted Rivett.

“ No no, not the glove factory. No, not after what happened last time. No, not the glove factory.” assured Old Forty.

Like a Mexican wave, a sigh of relief passed around the class.

“Where then Mr. Jones?” questioned Beth. She thought it wise not to attempt to say ‘Sir’. Not in front of the whole class. Sir was really lisp unfriendly.

“I’ve organised a trip to The Splendid Snooker Balls Storehouse down in Faith, at the bottom of the valley,” said Mr. Fortitude Jones. His chest pumped out with pride because he knew how hard it was to get a visit to this particular factory.”

Rivett appeared overjoyed, “The new place, where they make tournament snooker balls?” he inquired with real enthusiasm.

“Of course.” shouted Jones, “although I’ve been told that they make a few other items as well. They make piano keys and just recently they’ve started making bowling balls.”