‘And when he howled all night and disgraced himself on the carpet and bit the other guests I’m sure they wouldn’t really mind that either,’ said Dad sarcastically.
‘How about if Wolfie stayed in the car then? I could sleep in the car too just to make sure he’s all right and – ‘
‘Micky,’ said Mum. ‘We’ve been through this a dozen times. Stop it. Wolfie’s going into the dog shelter. Now, I can appreciate it’s very upsetting for you, so I’ll take him in if you like.’
‘No. If he’s got to stay there then I’ll take him,’ said Micky. He had his arms tightly round Wolfie, his cheek pressed hard against his head. Wolfie squirmed and whimpered a little, starting to feel uneasy.
Dad drew up outside Webb’s Dog Shelter and Wolfie gave a sudden startled yelp.
‘Here, Wolfie. A little treat,’ said Granny Boot quickly, delving in her handbag. She popped two chocolate toffees in Wolfie’s mouth. ‘There now. Take him in quickly, Micky.’
Micky gathered up his pet and carried him to the door. Wolfie scrabbled to escape. He sniffed the air, tensed, and then let out a long howl, chocolate drooling down his chin.
‘I recognize that howl!’ said Miss Webb, opening the door.
Her twin labradors, Rough and Tumble, growled, and little Jeannie the Scottie scuttled out of harm’s way. They obviously recognized Wolfie too.
‘Shall I take him?’ said Miss Webb. ‘Here, boy. Remember me?’
Wolfie howled harder. He twisted and turned, scrabbling and scratching Micky desperately, his amber eyes big with betrayal.
‘Oh Wolfie, I’m sorry,’ said Micky. ‘It’s not my fault, honest. They won’t let you come on holiday with us, and I know it’s not fair, and I’d give anything for you to come too. Please don’t look like that. It’s only for a week and then I’ll come and get you.’
‘Don’t worry about him. We’ll see he’s OK and make a big fuss of him,’ said Miss Webb, holding out her arms for Wolfie.
Wolfie stiffened all over and bared his teeth, snarling. He did his best to cling to Micky, practically winding his paws round his neck.
‘Oh Wolfie, please, you’ve got to try and be a good dog,’ said Micky, though he knew how unfair it was to expect a baby werewolf to be anything but bad.
He gave Wolfie one last long loving hug and kiss, and Wolfie stopped struggling and snarling for a moment and licked Micky mournfully, coating his cheeks with chocolate.
‘Better go now, while he’s quiet,’ said Miss Webb, taking hold of Wolfie.
The moment she held him Wolfie stopped being quiet. He howled and growled and snarled and snapped, so that Miss Webb had her work cut out holding on to him.
‘Here’s his blanket and all his bits,’ said Micky, giving her the carrier bag. ‘And for a special treat he loves chocolate toffees. I’ll just run and get another toffee or two from my gran.’
‘Well, that’s not really very good for his teeth,’ said Miss Webb, shaking her head.
Wolfie’s teeth certainly seemed in very good shape at the moment. He was doing his best to bite hard.
‘Oh Wolfie,’ said Micky helplessly. ‘You do understand, don’t you? I’m not leaving you here for good.’
Wolfie seemed to think Micky was leaving him for bad. He was working himself up into such a state that Micky couldn’t bear it. He ran to Granny Boot for a whole handful of chocolate toffees.
‘Here, Wolfie,’ he said, offering the treat.
Wolfie usually gobbled chocolate toffees in one gulp. But this time he seized just one, holding it in his teeth, looking straight at Micky.
‘What is it, Wolfie? You can eat it,’ said Micky.
Wolfie didn’t swallow. He’d stopped struggling. He stayed still, his eyes bigger than ever, glowing gold, looking straight at Micky.
Micky looked back at Wolfie. He blinked back his tears. Wolfie was saying something, as clearly as if he were speaking. Micky nodded and Wolfie nodded too. Then Wolfie swallowed his chocolate toffee and started chewing Miss Webb’s fingers instead – and Micky gave him one last pat and trailed back to the car.
‘About time too,’ said Dad. ‘We’re never going to get there today at this rate.’
‘Wolfie will be fine, Micky,’ said Mum.
‘Wolfie will probably be in his element chatting up all the lady dogs,’ said Meryl.
‘And he’ll have fun winning all the dog fights,’ said Mandy.
‘Isn’t it quiet in the car without Wolfie,’ said Mona.
‘Micky’s crying,’ said Marigold.
Granny Boot didn’t say anything at all, but she passed Micky her hanky and offered him her bag of chocolate toffees when all his sisters were looking the other way. Micky took one. He was hidden behind the big hanky so no one actually saw him eating it.
‘Do you mind if we have the window open a bit, Granny?’ he asked.
‘Of course not, dearie, I like a bit of a blow,’ said Granny Boot, winding the window down.
Micky stuck his head half out of the window and let his arm hang out too.
‘Sit down properly, you silly boy,’ said Dad. ‘That’s dangerous!’
Micky moped again. Granny Boot offered him another chocolate toffee. And then another. And another.
Micky kept edging up to the open window.
‘Are you feeling all right, pet?’ Granny Boot whispered.
‘I – I feel a bit sick,’ Micky mumbled.
‘Well, no wonder! You’ve nearly finished the chocolate toffees, and I had a great big jumbo bag full when we set out!’ Granny Boot sounded worried. ‘Ooh dear, I shouldn’t have let you have so many.’
‘You shouldn’t have let Micky have so many what?’ said Marigold.
‘It’s not fair,’ Mona moaned. ‘Granny’s been giving Micky toffees and we haven’t had any.’
‘I want a chocolate toffee!’ Marigold demanded.
‘Pipe down you lot!’ Dad shouted, but he stopped at the next motorway service station and bought a big bag of chocolate toffees for everyone. Micky still claimed his fair share.
‘Don’t make yourself ill, lovey,’ Granny Boot whispered. ‘I’ve never known you eat so many. It’s almost as if you were feeding young Wolfie too.’
Micky fidgeted and hung his head.
‘He’ll be all right, you’ll see,’ said Granny Boot, putting her arm round him.
‘I hope so,’ said Micky, snuggling close.
5…
The Amber Hotel looked lovely, with hanging baskets of flowers, tubs of geraniums all round the porch, and honeysuckle and roses climbing up the white walls. The doors and window frames were shiny yellow, as if a giant Micky had just coloured them in with his crayon.
‘Doesn’t it look wonderful?’ said Mum.
‘There! We’re going to have a great holiday,’ said Dad, putting his arm round her.
‘It looks ever so friendly and welcoming,’ said Granny Boot.
‘Not to some people,’ Micky muttered. ‘I’m surprised they haven’t got barbed wire round the flowerbeds and notices all over saying DOGS KEEP OUT!’
The lady who owned the hotel was standing in reception all smiles, but Micky glowered at her.
She showed them to their rooms. Mum and Dad seemed very happy with theirs, and Granny Boot loved the old-fashioned furniture, admiring the art deco mirrors and Lloyd Loom chairs, but the girls were less impressed.
‘We haven’t got an en suite bathroom! I can’t go trailing down the corridor in my nightie, someone might see me!’ said Meryl.
‘We haven’t got a telly in our room and I wanted to see a bit of Grandstand,’ said Mandy.
‘No television! How am I going to watch Neighbours and Home and Away?’ Mona wailed.
‘And where’s the mini-bar?’ said Marigold, rushing round the room she was sharing with Micky and Granny Boot. ‘All my friends say you get special mini-bars in your room in hotels and you can have all these ice-cold cans of Coke whenever you want. And you get baby bottles of drink,
whisky and vodka and gin, and I wanted Dad to drink them so I could have the bottles for my dolls.’
‘What’s that, pet?’ Dad called from his room, determinedly cheery now that he was on holiday. ‘Now listen here, you moaning Minnies. This is a lovely old-fashioned family hotel – ’
‘Only it doesn’t cater for all the family,’ Micky mumbled, flopping on his bed.
‘I heard that, Micky,’ said Dad, appearing at the door. ‘Now stop that silly sulking. And you girls, stop your grouches and show a bit of appreciation. Who wants a new soulless package holiday hotel with blaring tellies and bars?’
‘We do,’ Mona whispered.
‘We’re going to have a real traditional family holiday,’ said Dad. ‘We don’t need boring old television. We’ll have fun on the beach and play games and soak up the sun – ’
‘I think it’s just started spitting with rain,’ Granny Boot said, looking out of the window. ‘Oh dear. Those clouds do look black.’
‘A spot of rain never hurt anyone,’ said Dad, glaring at Granny.
It was more than a spot. It was a downpour. The family finished unpacking and then stood around uncertainly, waiting for the rain to clear up a little.
‘I want my lunch, I’m starving,’ Marigold complained.
‘I’m not,’ said Micky, lying on his bed and staring at the wall.
‘That’s because a certain someone ate a whole bag of chocolate toffees,’ said Granny Boot, giving him a pretend pat on the bottom.
‘Come on, we’ll go and eat,’ said Dad, putting on his mac. ‘Here, Marigold, there’s room for you inside here too.’
He buttoned Marigold up inside his mac and she stepped up on to his feet, giggling.
‘Look at the Mac-Monster!’ she shouted from inside. ‘Hey, I know what I want to eat. A Big Mac for the Mac-Monster, please!’
Mum was all right in the rain because she had an umbrella and Granny Boot had a plastic rainhood but Micky and his older sisters didn’t have hoods or umbrellas. It was only a short walk from the Amber Hotel into the town but they got soaked.
‘Honestly, look at my hair!’ Meryl complained. ‘All the curls gone out, look! I look such a mess’
Mandy always looked a mess and didn’t care at all, but she was pretty miserable too, because she was wearing her old plimsolls and they had a hole in each sole.
‘Both my feet are going for little private paddles,’ she said, her plimsolls squelching at every step.
‘It’s not fair, why does Marigold get to choose where we eat? I don’t want a burger, I want fish and chips,’ Mona grumbled.
Micky didn’t say a word. He mooched along behind his family, his jumper pulled up over his ears, his chin on his chest.
‘Micky, don’t pull your jumper out of shape like that,’ said Mum. ‘Come under my umbrella with me.’
Micky didn’t feel like company. He shook his head, scowling.
‘You look like a gangster,’ said Mum. ‘Pull that jumper down!’
Micky pulled it down a fraction but kept his neck bent and his shoulders hunched. He wanted to look like a gangster. He curled his hand into a pretend gun, two fingers aiming at his entire family.
‘This is a stick-up,’ he muttered. ‘I’m going to spring my pal Wolfie out of gaol, do you hear me?’
Granny Boot heard and chuckled sympathetically.
‘Poor Miss Webb! That dog shelter is a very nice place, Micky. My friend Monica left her poodle there when she went to Majorca and he was ever so perky when she went to fetch him.’
‘Yes, but Wolfie isn’t a soppy old poodle. He’s different,’ said Micky.
‘I’ll say,’ said Granny.
‘Granny,’ said Micky. ‘Supposing… just supposing Wolfie escaped.’
‘No, he couldn’t get out, pet, you know that. There are locks on the pens, I’m sure.’
‘Yes, but just supposing, Granny. Then do you think he could possibly follow my scent and track me down?’
‘Oh Micky, don’t be daft. We’ve driven miles and miles and miles. And your Wolfie’s only a pup, for all he’s getting bigger every day. And even if he was a huge great tracker dog then he couldn’t follow your scent because you were in the car, weren’t you?’
‘So would he just run about looking for me, lost?’ said Micky, anxiously. ‘Oh Granny, I can’t bear to think of him going round and round, calling for me. And he’d be so worried and frightened and so he’d probably be howling and if anyone came near him he’d probably snap a bit because he was feeling miserable and then what if someone thought he was really fierce or even dangerous and called the police and then they caught him and locked him up in one of their cells and… and…’
‘Micky’s crying again,’ announced the Mac-Monster.
Granny Boot passed him her hanky.
‘You’re going to have to stop moping, pet,’ she said. ‘You’re going to spoil your whole holiday carrying on like this.’
‘You’re going to spoil our holiday,’ said Dad. ‘Now I’m warning you, Micky. You’re going to stop snivelling, buck up and ENJOY yourself! That goes for the lot of you. Meryl, stop going on about your hair, for goodness sake. Mandy, if you’d only wear a decent pair of shoes instead of those disgraceful old plimsolls your feet would stay bone dry. Mona, we’ll have fish and chips tomorrow, so stop that silly whining.’
‘I’m not whining, am I, Dad?’ said Marigold smugly. ‘Where’s the McDonald’s then? This Mac-Monster wants feeding now.’
But although they walked round the whole town twice, getting wetter and hungrier by the minute, they couldn’t find a McDonald’s. There weren’t any burger bars at all.
‘What a lousy rotten swizzle!’ said Marigold.
‘Look, let’s go in the Copper Kettle, it looks really lovely,’ said Mum.
‘Oooh, home-made steak and kidney pie,’ said Granny Boot. ‘Bang goes my diet.’
‘Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, mmm,’ said Dad.
‘Yuck!’ said Marigold, stamping on his feet. ‘I don’t want meat in slices and chunks, I can’t eat it like that. I want a Big Mac!’
‘Ouch! Stop that silly stamping this minute, Marigold!’ said Dad, trying to get her out from under his mac.
‘But I want – ’
‘You’ll get a smacked bottom if you’re not careful,’ said Dad. ‘Now behave.’
At least Meryl and Mandy and Mona cheered up a little to see Daddy’s little darling getting told off for once.
Even Micky managed a watery little smile – but he couldn’t obey Dad and enjoy himself. The food in the Copper Kettle was delicious but Micky could only manage a few mouthfuls. Even his creamy mashed potato could barely slip past the lump in his throat
‘You won’t get any pudding if you don’t finish your first course,’ said Dad.
Micky didn’t care. He watched the rest of the family scooping their way through giant ice-cream sundaes without a flicker of interest.
‘Yum yum, that was lovely grub,’ said Dad. He peered out of the window. ‘And I do believe the rain’s clearing up. So. What shall we all do this afternoon?’
‘Well, I’d like to go round the shops – only there aren’t any decent ones,’ said Meryl.
‘I’d like to go to the sports centre and try out the facilities – but I don’t think there’s one of them either,’ said Mandy.
‘I’d like to go to the amusement arcade – but where is it?’ said Mona, sighing theatrically.
‘Micky? Where would you like to go, son?’ said Dad, trying to make friends with him.
Micky shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he mumbled. He did know of course. He wanted to go straight back to Wolfie.
‘I know where I want to go,’ said Marigold. ‘I want to go on the pier. There is a pier, I know, I saw it.’
‘What a good idea,’ said Dad heartily, ruffling Marigold’s curls.
The pier was Victorian, with a creaking turnstile and wooden planks that didn’t always fit edge to edge, so you could pe
ep through to the green sea churning underneath. It made Micky’s stomach churn a little too and Marigold refused to step on any crack, which made her walk very oddly indeed.
‘Let me be the Mac-Monster again, Dad,’ she said, but it had stopped raining at last and Dad had folded his mac away.
‘Then give me a piggy-back, Dad,’ said Marigold.
Dad carried her a few yards, even neighing obligingly like a horse, but Marigold was a solid little girl and Dad soon started sagging.
‘You’ll have to get down now, sweetheart, I’m getting worn out,’ said Dad.
Marigold slid down ungraciously and picked her way over the planks, stepping high as if scared the waves could suck her through the cracks.
‘I don’t like this pier,’ she said.
But the others were starting to have fun. Granny Boot went on the Bingo stall and won two teddies, a miniature teapot and a purple troll in no time. Mum went to have her palm read by the fortune teller and came back, cheeks flushed, muttering about romantic holiday adventures.
‘I’ll be your romantic holiday adventure,’ said Dad, and he bought her a bunch of pink plastic roses from the gift boutique.
Meryl spent ages inside a booth selling postcards and pop posters because there was a group of Italian language students squashed inside too, most of them boys.
Mandy went right to the end of the pier and got chatting to the fishermen, trying to talk them into liberating their fish like a true vegetarian.
Mona spent all her holiday pocket money trying to win a rainbow panda out of the cranes. The rainbow panda remained firmly wedged into place, but she managed to win a turquoise mouse and a yellow hippo instead.
Micky mooched off down the pier by himself. There was a plump man with a beard painting a picture of the sea front. Micky stood watching him for a while.
‘Do you like painting?’ said the man.
‘Mmm,’ said Micky.
He didn’t feel up to conversation. The artist seemed to understand. He got on with his painting, giving happy little sighs as he dabbed and daubed. His painting was very happy too, much brighter and bluer and bolder than the real scene.
‘It reflects my mood, you see,’ he said, as if Micky had made a comment.