The Amsterdam Adventure Read online

  ‘I wasn’t fighting, Dad,’ Eddie protested, wincing as he patted his lip with a bit of kitchen roll. ‘Quentin Harris just punched me in the mouth.’

  ‘For no reason?’ his dad enquired. ‘He just hit you?’

  ‘Well, we were having an argument, you see, but he started it. And then he hit me,’ Eddie explained.

  ‘And what did you say to rile him up like that?’ his dad asked.

  Eddie kept quiet, pretending that his cut lip made it hard to speak.

  ‘Come on, out with it. What did you say?’ Dad persisted. ‘I know you’ve got a sharp tongue if somebody gets your back up.’

  ‘I said he had spots and a fat bum,’ Eddie replied, smiling as he remembered the expression on Quentin’s face.

  ‘Did you now?’ his dad said, trying not to laugh in spite of himself. ‘That’s not very nice, is it?’

  ‘Well, he’s not very nice,’ Eddie responded. ‘He’s a bully and he’s always telling tales to the teachers and he said you were poor cos I haven’t got a phone and he has.’

  ‘Listen to me, son. Boys like Quentin aren’t worth wasting oxygen on. Just ignore him, pretend he doesn’t exist and don’t let him get to you,’ his dad advised. ‘There’s a lot more to life than mobile phones – and they’re certainly not worth getting into a fight over. I’ve told you before: you can have a phone when you go to big school.’

  ‘But I didn’t start it,’ Eddie almost shouted. ‘He hit me!’

  ‘Well, you did give him a right mouthful and, whether he deserved it or not, you know he has problems controlling his temper,’ Dad replied. ‘A cruel word can be just as hurtful as a punch.’

  Eddie folded his arms and sank down sulkily in his chair. He felt like exploding with the injustice of it all. It wasn’t fair that his dad considered him to be partly to blame, even though he was the one with the split lip and not Quentin Rotten Harris who’d started it all in the first place.

  Typical, he fumed silently. I always end up getting the blame for everything. I bet if the street fell into a sinkhole it would somehow be my fault. It just isn’t fair. It’s rotten.

  ‘I’m going to start a union for kids,’ he told his dad, ‘and, if a kid’s got a complaint against an adult, then they have to go to court where the evidence can be looked at properly before innocent people get blamed for something they didn’t do.’

  ‘You do that,’ his dad replied absently. ‘Now, why don’t you go to your room and feed your animals while I rustle up something to eat? And then I’ve got some important news to talk to you about after tea. I’ll let Butch out of the kitchen first; he’s been driving me mad with his yapping.’

  Butch was a Jackawawa – that’s part Chihuahua and part Jack Russell. On his way home from work one night, Eddie’s dad had bought him from a man who’d been staggering around outside a pub, waving the tiny puppy in his hand. Eddie’s dad was determined to get the poor creature off this sleazy-looking character as it was obvious he was incapable of looking after himself, let alone a dog.

  Dad had known that if he was to get the pup away from this bloke he’d have to be extremely crafty.

  ‘Can I have a look at your dog, mate?’ he’d asked casually, putting on a cheerful voice. ‘What sort is it?’

  ‘Dunno,’ the man slurred, leaning against the wall of the pub. ‘I’ve been trying to flog him in there –’ he nodded towards the pub door – ‘but the landlady chucked me out. Here, have a look at the little rat, if you’re interested.’

  Eddie’s dad had held the tiny pup in the palm of his hand. It was dirty and half starved and one of its eyes had closed over, the eyelid swollen and clearly infected. He was sickened at the state of this pathetic little dog and he desperately wanted to tell the man what he thought of him, but he bit his tongue and played it cool so as not to make him angry.

  ‘Doesn’t look like it’ll last the night,’ he said casually. ‘How much do you want for it?’

  ‘’Undred quid,’ the man replied, belching loudly and putting his hands on his knees to steady himself.

  ‘You won’t get a hundred pounds for this,’ Eddie’s dad said, shaking his head as if he was an expert. ‘It’s a mongrel, and half dead at that. And besides I haven’t got that kind of cash on me.’

  ‘How much you got, then?’ the man asked, lurching towards him.

  ‘I’ve got five quid,’ Eddie’s dad said, for that was all the money he had on him. ‘Take it or leave it. I’ll be doing you a favour taking this off your hands.’

  The man thought about the offer for a moment before eventually shouting, ‘Done! Now, gis the money and you can ’ave it!’ He’d snatched the five-pound note out of Eddie’s dad’s hand and staggered off down the road, leaving him alone on the pavement with the tiny pup shivering in the palm of his hand.

  ‘Come on, little one,’ he’d said, putting the puppy inside his coat to keep him warm. ‘You cost me my last fiver, which means beans on toast for dinner for Eddie and me. Now, let’s get you home.’

  Of course, Eddie had fallen in love with the pint-sized puppy the moment he set eyes on him. He was really very sick, though, having been taken away from his mother far too early, but Eddie decided to nurse him back to health.

  ‘What shall we call him, Dad?’ Eddie asked as he cleaned the little dog’s eye.

  ‘Call him an early birthday present,’ Dad said. ‘But we’ve got to keep an eye on the little fella as he’s quite poorly.’

  The dog really was very sick indeed. But Eddie, who was in tune with all animals, knew what this little pup needed – and that was lots of love and constant care, which Eddie was only too happy to provide by the bucketload.

  Eddie’s bedroom had become a sort of animal hospital over the years. He’d looked after a wide assortment of injured birds and had become quite an expert at mending broken wings. He’d hand-reared baby hedgehogs, a barn owl chick and even a stoat with a broken leg. Once they were well again and able to care for themselves, Eddie released them back into the wild where they belonged. So for the moment he only shared his bedroom with Butch, two goldfish named Dan and Jake, and a hamster called Bunty.

  Believing that the news Dad was about to break to him was more than likely going to be bad, Eddie stomped moodily into his bedroom, followed closely by Butch, who was yapping his head off as usual.

  To anyone else’s ears, Butch’s yapping would be just that – an excitable little dog barking incessantly. Nothing in the least bit unusual. However, Eddie heard something else entirely.

  ‘So tell me what happened?’ Butch asked Eddie eagerly as he ran round the room. ‘Did you let him have it? Eh? Did you run him out of town? I’d have bitten him on the ankle and ripped his trouser leg off,’ he continued without pausing for breath. ‘How did it start?’

  ‘A mouse came out from behind the radiator in class,’ Eddie explained. ‘He was lost, you see, and just as I was telling him how to get to the boiler room—’

  ‘Why?’ Butch interrupted. ‘Was there a party going on in this boiling room or was it the headquarters for the Mouse Mafia and this mouse was a trained assassin?’

  ‘I don’t know what was going on in the boiler room,’ Eddie replied, laughing. ‘But, just as I was telling him how to get there, Quentin Harris heard me and told the teacher. Then afterwards he started on me as I was walking home.’

  ‘The big bully,’ Butch growled angrily. ‘I’d have keeled him. I’d have hunted him down like a dog.’

  ‘You are a dog,’ Eddie reminded him.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Butch growled. ‘I’d still have keeled him.’

  When Butch was angry, which he frequently was, the Chihuahua side of him came out and he spoke in what he considered to be a Mexican accent (as Chihuahuas originated from Mexico). This accent was extremely dodgy because he’d picked it up from watching old cowboy films on daytime television.

  Butch loved these films and, after watching one, he’d swagger round the house, speaking through gritted teeth. He’d say things like, ‘This town ain’t big enough for the both of us,’ and, ‘I’ve come for my boy,’ in his roughest growl.

  Eddie always thought Butch really believed that he was a great big dog – as little dogs so often do – whereas, in fact, he was tiny. Tiny but very, very tough.

  Butch also loved the heat – claiming it was down to his Mexican blood – and could normally be found sitting bolt upright with his eyes closed in front of the gas fire, basking in the warmth, or stretched out in the park on the hottest of summer days, taking in some rays as he liked to call it.

  Eddie sat on the edge of his bed to take his shoes off, but was disturbed by a loud tapping at the window. Turning round, he was greeted by the sight of a large black bird sitting outside. The bird tapped on the glass again with his beak and shouted, ‘’Urry up and open the window, will ya? It’s starting to rain out ’ere and I’m gettin’ soaked.’

  ‘Well, if it isn’t the Liver Bird,’ Butch said sarcastically. ‘What does he want?’

  The Liver Bird was a crow. Eddie had found him as a chick when visiting his dad’s brother, Uncle Jack, in Liverpool. He’d fallen out of a nest in the local park and, as there was no sign of his mother, Eddie brought the chick home and hand-reared him, knowing instinctively what to do even though he was only eight at the time.

  His dad had brought Butch home not long afterwards, so the pair of them, dog and crow, had sort of grown up together. Now they were older, there was a little bit of sibling rivalry going on. The crow’s real name was Stanley, because he’d been found in Stanley Park, but Butch had christened him the Liver Bird after the statue that sat on top of the Liver Building overlooking the River Mersey.

  Two years after Eddie had first found him, Stanley had grown into a healthy, happy and
highly intelligent crow, and although he no longer lived in Eddie’s bedroom, having flown off some time ago, he still made regular visits.

  Eddie opened the window and the crow hopped in, landing on Eddie’s desk.

  ‘Hiya, Stanners,’ Eddie said, stroking the back of the bird’s head. ‘D’you want a rub-down with a towel? You’re a bit damp.’

  ‘No need, the plumage is water-resistant,’ Stanley said, giving himself a shake. ‘But I’m glad you’re ’ere as I was getting drenched sat on that windowsill. By the way, did you know your gutter’s leakin’?’ With that, he shook himself out again, quite violently this time, and started to preen his right wing.

  ‘Gets on me nerves, that feather,’ he said, straightening a large black feather that was sticking out at an odd angle. ‘Never lies flat no matter what I do to it. You ’aven’t got any gel, ’ave you? Or an ’airclip? Maybe I’ll leave it and if anyone comments I’ll just say it’s a fashion statement. Right then,’ he continued, changing the subject, as he was frequently inclined to do. ‘Maths ’omework. What is it tonight?’

  ‘I’ve got to find the percentages of fractions,’ Eddie sighed miserably. ‘Miss Taylor gave me extra homework.’

  ‘Easy-peasy,’ Stanley replied, hopping about on the desk. ‘No need to sweat. I’m brilliant at fractions, absolutely brilliant. And I can answer all the questions on University Challenge although I don’t see it very often as I ’aven’t got a telly. But don’t you worry about fractions – I can do them standin’ on me beak.’

  ‘Well, I can’t,’ Eddie moaned. ‘I haven’t got a beak and I certainly haven’t got a clue what Miss Taylor is talking about most of the time. Even if she is really patient, it just won’t go in. Maths is all mumbo-jumbo to me.’

  Stanley reassured him that, with his great knowledge of all things mathematical, by the time he’d finished with Eddie he’d be a genius.

  Butch, cocking his head to one side, was very dubious about this. He asked Stanley just how he knew all these things, and was there really any point in learning about fractures?

  ‘I think you mean fractions,’ Stanley corrected him. ‘A fracture is when you break a bone.’

  ‘Well, whatever they are, they both sound painful,’ Butch replied, yawning. ‘Painful and boring and I don’t see the point of learning ’em.’

  ‘There’s always a point to learnin’,’ Stanley replied knowingly. ‘Education is knowledge, little bro, and with it you can go far in life – ’ave knowledge, will travel. Or, in my case, it’s ’ave wings, will travel!’ He flapped his enormous wings and let out a raucous cackle, unnerving Butch and sending him scurrying under the bed, yapping fretfully.

  ‘Couldn’t agree with you more, Stanley,’ Bunty the hamster said, stepping through the front door of the old doll’s house that Eddie’s dad had converted into a suitable home for her. ‘Flying is simply the best,’ she said, stretching out her front legs as she yawned long and hard, revealing a set of very sharp teeth. She was a typical hamster, little and rotund with a golden coat and a white furry belly.

  You probably already know this, but hamsters are nocturnal, which means they sleep all day and then are busy all night. But Bunty had managed to turn her body clock round, as she was bored being awake when everyone else was sleeping because it meant she had no one to talk to.

  Now, she was awake in the day and went to bed when the others did. On the odd occasion, though, she did like to take a little nap of an afternoon.

  ‘Flying really is a splendid experience,’ she declared again once she’d finally finished yawning. ‘There’s nothing to compare with the thrill of taking to the skies. Why, I remember flying across the Channel frequently with Roger.’ She paused to explain to Stanley for the hundredth time who this Roger was. ‘He was a pilot in the RAF, you know,’ she said, standing with her legs akimbo and her tiny front paws on her hips. ‘Sterling chap. I was the base mascot and used to live with him – until he was posted overseas and Eddie kindly offered me a billet here.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be ’appy to give you a little fly-around on me back, if you like,’ Stanley offered cheerfully. He’d heard Bunty’s RAF stories on many occasions. ‘Just grab a pawful of feathers, ’ang on tight and off we’ll go.’

  ‘That’s very decent of you, old thing,’ Bunty replied heartily. ‘I’ve got a pair of flying goggles that used to belong to a doll knocking about somewhere. I’ll root ’em out if I’m going to take to the air. Might need to lose a little ballast first, though,’ she added, patting her round little belly and laughing.

  ‘Hey, you two!’ one of the goldfish shouted, jumping up out of the water of his tank and hanging over the side. ‘Flying is for budgies. Real men travel on water, by ship.’

  ‘Yeah, you tell ’em, Jake,’ the other fish agreed, leaping up to join his brother. ‘Me and Jake have travelled the South China Seas with pirates. Rough, tough, bloodcurdling pirates,’ he boasted. ‘You don’t see the likes of them serving butties and tea and mopping up sick on one of them airy planes, do you?’

  ‘No, you don’t, Dan,’ Jake agreed. ‘Anyway, it would be very hard for a pirate to get down the aisle with teapots and things. All the pirates we know have wooden legs and hooks for hands, so they’d probably spill the tea.’

  The fish certainly had vivid imaginations and, for the first time that day, their antics made Eddie laugh out loud, completely forgetting the pain of his cut lip. He could think of nothing better than sitting in his room, chatting away in private to his Amazing Animal Gang.

  The fish were really going for it now and so, putting that niggling little worry he had about Dad’s news firmly to the back of his mind, he settled back to hear what else Dan and Jake had to say on the subject of flying versus sailing.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Dan the goldfish gurgled, having just dropped back into the tank for a gulp of water. ‘Give me a life sailing the Seven Seas any day, rather than flapping around in the sky. No, siree, if you ask me, flying is strictly for the birds.’

  ‘How very observant of you,’ Stanley sniffed. ‘But, since the invention of the aeroplane, you’ll find quite a few humans flying through the skies to destinations all over the world, as well as us birds. Although I ’ave to say – we did it first.’

  ‘Although there are flying fish,’ Eddie added. ‘There’s loads of them in … erm …’

  ‘Wigan?’ Bunty offered.

  ‘No, Barbados,’ Stanley corrected her. ‘Barbados is known as the land of the flying fish. Apparently, there’s more fish flying about than birds.’

  ‘Well, we’ve never seen any,’ Dan replied sulkily, ‘and we’ve sailed the Seven Seas.’

  ‘As well as swimming in them. Don’t forget that, Dan,’ Jake added.

  ‘Can I ask you something, boys?’ Stanley asked. ‘If you were pirates, ’ow did you end up in a tank with fifty or so other goldfish in Fred’s Aquatics?’

  ‘Are you calling us liars?’ a furious Dan exploded. ‘I’ll tell you how we ended up there. Our ship was scuttled and sunk by a band of Her Majesty’s pirate-hunters, and Jake and me were cast into the sea and left swimming for ages and ages.’

  ‘Yeah, months and months we were splashing about,’ his brother added. ‘Dodging sharks and poisonous jellyfish.’

  ‘Then we were saved, but our rescuers turned out to be rival pirates who sold us to the evil Fred on the high street. So there, birdbrain,’ Dan said, spitting a stream of water straight at Stanley … but missing him. Instead, he caught Butch – who’d crawled back out from under the bed – right in the ear, which set him off barking angrily.

  ‘I keel you,’ he growled furiously. ‘I tip you down the toilet and then it’s adios, amigos.’

  ‘Calm down, Butch,’ Eddie said, laughing. ‘And the boys really are pirates,’ he told Stanley with a big wink. ‘Really scary pirates.’

  ‘See?’ the fish cried out in unison. ‘Told you so.’