Eddie Albert and the Amazing Animal Gang Page 3

  ‘Come here, you,’ the man shouted, starting to run after him, but he skidded on a slice of tomato and fell flat on his back instead.

  Jumping into the car, where Whetstone was already waiting for him, Eddie yelled, ‘Put your foot down, Mr Whetstone, and let’s get out of here.’

  Whetstone, used to taking orders from Aunt Budge, automatically revved the engine up and took off at great speed.

  ‘Phew,’ Eddie said, sitting back in his seat. ‘That was close.’

  ‘Would you care to tell me just what happened in there for you to make such a hasty retreat?’ Whetstone asked Eddie.

  ‘It was Bunty’s fault,’ Eddie explained. ‘She jumped out of my top pocket and on to the salad bar and this rude bloke thought she was a rat and then he slipped on a tomato.’

  Whetstone wheezed as he chuckled. ‘I’m sorry I missed that,’ he said, coughing. ‘I bet your little hamster caused quite a fuss.’

  ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ Bunty apologised. ‘I really don’t know what came over me. You see, I haven’t seen a spread like that since the New Year’s Eve party in the officers’ mess, and I just couldn’t help myself. Before I knew it, I’d jumped into that lovely bed of lettuce.’

  ‘We could’ve been arrested,’ Eddie said.

  Whetstone, thinking that he was talking to him, agreed.

  ‘Oh, those were the days,’ Bunty went on dreamily, closing her eyes and clutching her paws together. ‘Being the RAF’s mascot was such a wonderful experience. The happiest days of my life,’ she sighed. ‘Why I remember the night when—’

  Butch rudely cut her off mid-sentence. ‘Here we go again,’ he yawned. ‘Another When I was in the RAF, blah blah blah story.’ And curling up on Eddie’s knee he went quickly to sleep.

  It was late afternoon by the time they found themselves driving along the winding roads of the Romney Marshes, surrounded by hawthorn hedges and ditches full of reeds. They pulled up outside a big wooden gate, which Whetstone opened electronically by pushing a button on a small key fob. Inside, and once they’d driven down a long drive, which was really no more than a dirt track, they arrived at the cottage, and standing on the front step was Aunt Budge with her arms outstretched waiting to greet them.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Butch said as he watched Aunt Budge rushing towards the car. ‘It looks like kissy-kissy time for you, Eddie.’

  Butch was right, for as soon as Eddie stepped out of the car Aunt Budge grabbed him and was busy smothering him in kisses while Butch danced around their ankles, barking furiously for attention.

  ‘Welcome to the Marshes and to Hodgepodge Cottage,’ she said, picking up Butch and cuddling him too. ‘How absolutely, positively, glorious to see you all again. I do hope that you’ll enjoy staying here as I’m very fond of this old place.’

  ‘Hodgepodge?’ Eddie asked, wiping his cheek where Aunt Budge had planted a big wet kiss ‘Why’s it called that?’

  ‘The reason it’s called Hodgepodge Cottage,’ Aunt Budge explained, ‘is because that’s what it is – a hodgepodge of nooks and crannies and crooked staircases that lead either to tiny little rooms or nowhere at all.’

  It was a very pretty cottage, the type you might see on a calendar or the lid of an old-fashioned sweet tin. The roof was thatched, and the pale-yellow straw complemented the soft butter-coloured brickwork of the house perfectly; and set as it was in a garden filled with bright yellow daffodils and tulips, in the fading afternoon sunlight the cottage seemed to glow golden.

  ‘Come inside,’ she commanded, grabbing hold of Eddie’s arm and leading the way. ‘You must be starving after such a long drive. I don’t know why it took you so long. I suppose there was a delay on the motorway, there usually is, but never mind, you’re here now, and Whetstone will bring the fish in. I’m dying to see them again, such interesting little chaps.’ Aunt Budge wittered on non-stop as they entered the house, jumping from one subject to the next with Eddie unable to get a word in as she chattered away.

  The cottage was bigger than it looked from the outside. The wooden front door opened into a hall with a slightly uneven stone-flagged floor, and the living room that led off the hall was surprisingly long with a low ceiling and exposed wooden beams that Aunt Budge explained had come from an ancient shipwreck. It was a nice room with three big squashy sofas that looked very comfortable and sat facing an inglenook fireplace that was so big you could step inside it and sit in one of the little stone alcoves that sat either side of the hearth without getting burnt by the log fire in the middle. There was also a small metal door set into the brick wall. ‘That used to be an oven,’ Aunt Budge explained. ‘They baked bread in that once upon a time.’

  ‘Well, thank heavens I don’t have to bake in it now,’ a familiar voice boomed out. ‘My pastry wouldn’t like it, and neither would I.’

  It was Miss Schmidt, Aunt Budge’s Bavarian cook. She stomped into the room and, laying the tray she was carrying on the table, she turned to Eddie and held out her hand.

  ‘Welcome, Eddie,’ she said, shaking his hand vigorously. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

  Butch was yapping his head off, partly because he’d seen the tasty-looking food on the tray and partly because he wanted to say hello to Miss Schmidt.

  ‘Hello, little dog,’ she said gruffly, bending over and giving his head a rub. ‘Good to see you as well.’

  Whetstone had carried the fish in their travelling tank inside and placed it on a small table. They were delighted to see Aunt Budge and were dashing around the tank as speedily as a couple of sharks. Aunt Budge (who spoke excellent Goldfish) removed the lid with the air holes in it and was chatting away to them as they leapt in and out of the water.

  ‘Don’t worry, boys,’ she was saying. ‘Whetstone will soon transfer you to the big tank I’ve bought you from the pet shop in Hythe. It’s got a shipwreck and a large skull set in the gravel at the bottom of the tank – you’ll love it.’

  ‘Cor,’ Jake said, his eyes like saucers. ‘Did you hear that Dan, a genuine shipwreck.’

  Miss Schmidt, who had been watching Aunt Budge with the fish, shook her head sadly.

  ‘Now she’s talking to fish,’ she said grimly, smoothing her apron down. ‘Yesterday it was a seagull and the day before that, a mole. This is why I lock my bedroom door at night, just in case your aunt takes a funny turn and attacks me or if a burglar should break in.’

  ‘I don’t have what you call “funny turns”,’ Aunt Budge pointed out. ‘And I don’t think anybody would care to see you in your nightie, Miss Schmidt, especially with your false teeth sat grinning in a glass on the bedside table.’ Aunt Budge added brightly, ‘You’d frighten the horses, never mind me or some unsuspecting burglar.’

  This infuriated Miss Schmidt ‘My teeth are my own,’ she exclaimed, curling her top lip to prove it and revealing a set of enormous pearly white teeth. ‘Why, I can eat an entire apple in one bite.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it, my dear,’ Aunt Budge replied sweetly. ‘I’d say with those magnificent teeth you could eat an entire rugby ball in one bite if required to do so.’

  Miss Schmidt gave her a terrible look. ‘I sometimes wonder if I should think about seeking employment in an ordinary, sensible household,’ she fumed. ‘One with an employer who appreciates her staff and doesn’t accuse them of having false teeth.’ And muttering something in Bavarian under her breath, she turned on her heel and swept out of the room back to her kitchen.

  ‘I know I shouldn’t tease her, but she’s grumpy because she doesn’t really care for the countryside,’ Aunt Budge explained, turning her attention back to Eddie. ‘She much prefers the hustle and bustle of the city. It’s the quiet of the nights that makes her nervous.’

  ‘I suppose you don’t hear much down here,’ Eddie said. ‘Apart from foxes and owls.’

  ‘And at a certain time of the year you can hear the marsh frogs. They manage to make a terrible racket, despite their size.’

  ‘Shall I go upstairs and unpack my things?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘All in good time, my dear,’ Aunt Budge said. ‘You can do that after we’ve had our delicious tea that Miss Schmidt has kindly prepared for us, and then there’s someone special I want you to meet.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ Aunt Budge said mysteriously. ‘He’s French.’ And smiling proudly she added, ‘And he’s also a famous film star.’

  If you took yourself off to Hythe, a pleasant little town on the south coast, and bought a ticket to travel on that remarkable miniature train, the Romney, Hythe & Dymchurch Railway, and went all the way without getting off at any of the stations along the line, you’d find yourself in an extraordinary place called Dungeness.

  At first glance, as you climb out of your carriage, you could be forgiven for thinking that it was just a large stretch of deserted shingle. However, it’s not deserted, far from it, as quite a lot of people live there. Some of the houses are smart architect-designed properties, ultra-modern and sleek and yet not a bit out of place in such an environment. You’ll find people living in what look like shacks, bungalows and even old railway carriages that have been converted into really interesting and very comfortable homes. Imagine living in a railway carriage. I bet it’s wonderful.

  If you’ve got the energy, then you could climb up to the top of the Old Lighthouse where you can see for miles and miles around, or you could visit the National Nature Reserve. Dungeness is an interesting place, teeming with wildlife and all sorts of varieties of rare plants. You’ll find a shingle beach, dotted with old fishing boats that sit tilted to one side, making you wonder if they still go out to sea or if their days as working vessels are over, and they now lie abandoned. Beyond the shingle is the English Channel and beyond that, France.

  The
sunsets at Dungeness are like no other as the sky turns from blue to fiery red to deep orange until finally the sun sets out of sight and the night grows dark.

  The building that dominates the skyline is the nuclear power station, which, from a great distance, looks a bit like a Norman fort, but close up looks like, well, a power station.

  If you were to look very carefully round the back of this power station, which I wouldn’t recommend, you might stumble across an old house, hidden in a spot where the sun never shines and screened from public view by an ivy-covered wall.

  The locals avoid this old house at all costs as it has a terrible history and is now reputed to be haunted by the ghost of its former resident, Old Molly Maggot, who by all accounts was a nasty old lady who hated children and who was rumoured to be a witch.

  When they were building the power station, the company had wanted to demolish the house, but Old Molly Maggot threatened the workmen with a terrifying curse that guaranteed instant death to anyone who dared to set foot on her property. Needless to say, none of the workmen would go near the place, and so they built the power station around it, and the house, dilapidated as it was, remained standing.

  Some people said that Molly Maggot was over one hundred and ten years old and after she eventually passed away the only inhabitants of this crumbling old ruin – now called ‘Wych Way’ – were bats, rats, spiders and pigeons. It lay empty for years until eventually the good people of Dungeness forgot about it, assuming that over time it had collapsed. Only it hadn’t collapsed, and a couple of new residents, human ones, and not very nice humans at that, were about to move in.

  It was dark and foggy when they arrived. A sea mist lay thick on the ground as a battered old van trundled down the road containing two people, a man and a woman who looked remarkably alike. They were Demonica and Dennis, the Rancid Twins, fresh out of prison and, judging by their mood, not very happy. Demonica, who was holding a torch as she peered at a map, was shouting angrily at her brother, who was hunched over the steering wheel as they crawled along the road in search of their destination.

  Finally, after a lot of cursing and arguing and quite by accident, as it wasn’t on the map, they came across a dirt track so overgrown in places with brambles and gorse that the van had to push its way through, until they nearly hit an old iron gate set into a wall that was covered in ivy.

  ‘This looks like it could be the place,’ Demonica said. ‘Make yourself useful, and get out and have a look.’

  Dennis grunted, but did as he was told. Getting slowly out of the van with the torch he’d angrily snatched out of his sister’s hand, he pulled at the ivy on one of the pillars of the gate to reveal a weatherworn plaque that read, ‘Wych Way’. Underneath this plaque was a smaller sign that read, ‘Trespassers will be turned into toads’.

  ‘This is the place,’ Dennis shouted to his sister, ‘and a right dump it is too. It’s nothing like the mansion that you were expecting. I’d sooner live in the van.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t,’ she shouted back. ‘Anything is better than sharing this van with you, it’s like living with a pig. And I don’t fancy sleeping on a park bench or ending up back in one of those lousy prison cells that we’ve been banged up in for the last five years, so open the gate, will you. I’m cold, hungry and sick to death of being bumped around in this clapped-out van.’

  They’d both spent a lot of time in prison over the years. At one time, the pair of them had posed as traffic wardens, slapping parking tickets on cars that weren’t illegally parked and then offering to remove them if the drivers paid the fine in cash. They’d made quite a lucrative living out of this scam until the day they tried it on a plain clothes policeman and ended up in jail. After their release, they set up a car-clamping business, charging motorists a fortune to have the clamps removed. All went well until they clamped the Queen’s car on a visit to the local hospital, and so back into jail they went.

  It was their last criminal venture that had landed them in prison for five years, but then pretending to be Salvation Army officers collecting money for the poor is a pretty rotten thing to do, and so back inside they went, and deservedly so.

  Considering they were twins, and they hadn’t seen each other for five years, you’d have thought that they might have been at least a little bit pleased to be reunited, but no, they weren’t happy at all. On the contrary, they couldn’t stand each other.

  ‘You are one of the most repulsive creatures I’ve ever met,’ Demonica shouted to her brother. ‘I can hear you farting from here. You sound like a foghorn, only they probably don’t stink.’

  ‘Ah, shurrup,’ Dennis growled. ‘It must’ve been that sausage roll from the garage. I’ve probably got food poisoning,’ he groaned, clutching his stomach dramatically. ‘I could sue them.’

  ‘You can’t sue them for something you didn’t pay for. You nicked that sausage roll, so it serves you right,’ Demonica said, gloating. ‘Now, stop talking rubbish and open the gates.’

  ‘Dear me, we must have forgotten our manners during our stay in prison,’ he teased. ‘What’s the magic word?’ he asked, putting on a simpering, babyish voice. ‘Open the gates …’

  ‘Now!’ Demonica snapped back angrily as she was in no mood for games. ‘Why was I cursed with such a dim-witted, stupid, annoying, smelly, disgusting twin brother?’ she muttered to herself before losing her temper completely and shouting even louder for him to open the gates in a voice that could be heard all over the Marshes, and quite possibly as far as France.

  It was dark now and from the window of the cottage Eddie could only see one or two lights coming from some of the houses dotted around the Marshes. After they’d had their tea, Eddie and the gang were very keen to meet Aunt Budge’s mysterious guest.

  ‘He’s in here,’ she said, referring to the little room down the hall that she called the parlour. ‘I’m sure you’ll all love him. He’s frightfully sophisticated and ever so interesting. I rescued him, you know – he was just sitting there on the roadside.’

  ‘Had he been attacked or fallen off his bike?’ Eddie asked. ‘What did you do? Call an ambulance?’

  ‘No, dear,’ Aunt Budge replied. ‘I simply brought him home and called the vet.’

  Eddie scratched his head. ‘I don’t get it. Why did you call a vet?’

  ‘Because he’s a rabbit,’ Aunt Budge said, smiling. ‘Didn’t I say? Oh, I thought you knew. Did I tell you that he’s also a French film star, but he speaks perfect English?’

  Eddie reminded her that she had.

  ‘Fancy that,’ she said excitedly. ‘A famous French film star in my parlour; come and meet him.’

  They entered the room and there lying on Aunt Budge’s blue velvet sofa was the most beautiful rabbit that Eddie had ever seen. He was a mini French lop-eared rabbit and an extremely handsome one at that, with soft light-grey fur and long silky ears, one of which had the habit of falling across one eye, making him look mysterious and world-weary.

  ‘Let me introduce you to Monsieur Louis Lapin,’ Aunt Budge said proudly. ‘Louis, this is my nephew Eddie and his friends.’

  Yawning, the rabbit looked up from the sofa, and after studying them for a moment he said, ‘Bonjour,’ in a tone of voice that quite clearly meant he wasn’t very interested.

  When he spoke, it was with a lazy French accent, as if everything was all far too much for him.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Eddie replied, slightly taken aback by this rabbit’s attitude. ‘This is Bunty,’ he went on, introducing everyone. ‘And this is Butch, and the fish are called Dan and Jake.’ Eddie had carried the tank into the parlour with him as they were just as curious to meet Louis as everyone else.

  Louis didn’t even bother to open his eyes; instead he just waved a lazy paw somewhere in their direction. ‘Enchanté, I’m sure,’ he drawled. ‘But please, no autographs or photos as I’m completely and utterly exhausted. Je suis fatigué.’

  ‘We don’t want your autograph or a selfie,’ Eddie told him. ‘We only came in to be polite and say hello.’

  ‘Well, now that you’ve done that, you may leave,’ Louis replied rudely, stretching out on the sofa and yawning again.