Buried Alive! (2 page)

Biscuits didn't seem the slightest bit shy.

‘Hey, Tim! I've been looking out for you for ages! Hi, Mrs Parsons, Mr Parsons. My mum says do you want to come inside for a cup of tea?'

‘It's very kind of you but we'd better get on our way,' said Dad.

All the same, the two mums talked for ten minutes about mealtimes and bedtimes and boring stuff like that, and the two dads talked about motorways and petrol and boring stuff like
that
.

‘We could have had a cup of tea after all,' said Biscuits. ‘
And
biscuits.'

‘Are you hungry, dear? said Mum.

‘You bet,' said Biscuits.

‘Well, we'll stop at a motorway café quite soon,' said Mum.

‘Great,' said Biscuits. He nudged me. ‘Great, Tim, yeah?'

‘Yeah,' I said. My voice was still all little and whispery.

‘Tim's feeling a bit shy,' Mum announced.

I could have kicked her. Everyone looked at me. I went red.

‘Do you think you ought to have a quick wee while we're here, Tim?' Mum said. She lowered her voice a bit this time – but everyone still heard. I went redder than ever.

I wouldn't go, even though I quite wanted to. Biscuits said goodbye to his mum and dad and then we got in the car and set off.

‘Would you boys like a barley sugar?' said Mum, passing us the bag.

‘Yes please,' said Biscuits. He put three in
his mouth at once and sucked happily. ‘Yum, I'm starving.'

‘We'll stop at the first café we come to when we're on the motorway,' Mum said.

Dad wanted to carry on driving but Mum said Biscuits could obviously do with a proper breakfast. So we stopped at the first service station. We made a trip to the toilets first. I had to dash to get there in time. Then we went to the cafeteria. Mum and I just had tea and toast. Dad said he might as well have a fry-up now he was here.

‘That sounds a great idea,' said Biscuits. ‘Can I have one too? With bacon and lots of sausages? Yum!'

‘You've certainly got a healthy appetite, young man,' said Dad.

‘I think it's an
un
healthy appetite,' said a funny squeaky voice. Something pink and knitted popped out of Biscuits's pocket.

‘It's Dog Hog!' I said. ‘I'd forgotten all about him! It's your doggy piggy thing your granny knitted.'

‘Yes, I'm Dog Hog. Fancy forgetting me!' Biscuits made Dog Hog say. He pretended to poke me with one of his floppety arms. Then Dog Hog gave Biscuits a poke too. ‘You're not to eat bacon or sausages! They might very well be my distant relations.'

‘Well, your distant relations taste ever so yummy,' said Biscuits cheerily.

‘Horrid greedy boy,' said Dog Hog. Biscuits made Dog Hog's head wobble from side to side.

‘What's he looking for?' I said.

‘I'm looking for a certain Mr Bear I've heard a lot about,' said Dog Hog.

‘Oh, you want to meet Walter Bear!' I said. ‘Well, he's all stuffed into my suitcase at the moment, isn't he, Dad?'

Dad sighed – but his big breakfast had put him in a good mood. When we got back in the car he got my suitcase out of the boot and pulled Walter Bear out.

Poor poor Walter Bear. I straightened his legs very gently. He lay back stiffly in my arms, his entire snout squashed out of shape.

‘I don't think he's been able to breathe a bit!' I said, trying to rub his nose back into position.

‘Here, let Dog Hog get at him,' said Biscuits, and he made Dog Hog bend over and put his woolly mouth on Walter's.

‘What
is
he doing?
Kissing
him?' I said.

‘No! He's giving him artificial respiration,' said Biscuits.

‘Oh, right,' I said happily. I pummelled Walter Bear's furry chest. ‘I'll help too. Come
on, Walter, start breathing again.'

I made Walter take a great big breath and sit up.

‘Ah! Thank you so much,' I made him say, in a deep growly voice. ‘Who is this kind pink person, Tim? He's certainly saved my bacon. Whoops! Pardon the expression.'

‘This is Dog Hog, Walter Bear.'

‘I like Dog Hog, Tim,' said Walter Bear.

‘So do I,' I said.

And I liked Biscuits too. Ever so much. I wasn't shy any more. Not one bit.

‘I'm glad you're coming on holiday with us, Biscuits,' I said.

‘Me too!' said Biscuits. ‘Hey, I'm glad this isn't an adventure holiday like last time.'

‘You can say that again!'

‘I'm glad this isn't an adventure holiday like last time.'

‘You can say that again!'

We both started cracking up laughing.

But we were
wrong
.

This holiday was going to be Truly Terribly Adventurous!

OUR HOTEL WAS
called the Gwesty Bryn Nodfa. Gwesty is Welsh for hotel. We were guests in the Gwesty. There weren't many other guests because it's quite a little hotel.

Two old ladies looked out of the Gwesty guest lounge and saw Biscuits and me and said, ‘Oh dear!
Boys!
They'll start rampaging around in their great big boots.'

So Biscuits whispered in my ear, ‘Oh dear!
Old ladies!
They'll start rampaging around in their great big Scholl sandals.'

I cracked up laughing. Biscuits did too.

Mum frowned at us.

‘Boys! Calm down now.' She looked apologetically at the old ladies. ‘Don't worry, they're very well-behaved boys.'

‘But I bet they're very badly behaved old
ladies,' Biscuits whispered.

I cracked up laughing again. Biscuits did too. We couldn't stop even when Mum got really cross. Biscuits laughed so much he choked on the last bit of a Kit Kat he'd been munching and he had to be patted on the back. Little bits of Kit Kat – Kitten Krumbs – spattered out of his mouth and slurped down his chin.

‘Really!' said Mum, whipping out her hankie.

‘Oh leave the boys be. It's just high spirits,' said Dad. ‘Come on, don't let's bother with unpacking. Let's get on the beach while the sun's still out.'

So we walked to the beach. We loped down all these little lanes with hedges full of honeysuckle and wild roses and harebells. We spotted one hedgehog and two butterflies and three rabbits and four magpies. Mum said it seemed a very long way to this beach.

Then we had to skirt round a cabbage field and Biscuits and I had a long discussion about the general disgustingness of cabbage. Even Biscuits isn't keen on eating something that pongs of old drains. Mum said she was sure we were lost and she was getting a blister.

Then we had to climb over a stile. It was
fun sorting out which way to put your legs. Dad said they were also called kissing gates. He helped Mum climb over and when she was balancing at the top he kissed her! I was dead embarrassed. Biscuits and I raised our eyebrows and made smarmy sucky kissing noises. Mum went very pink but she didn't tell us off. Her blister didn't seem to be hurting her any more because she didn't lag behind. She bounced along arm in arm with Dad, while Biscuits and I ran ahead because we could see the sea at last.

‘Careful!' Mum shouted. ‘Don't go too near the edge, boys!'

But we weren't at the top of a steep chalky cliff. It was all sandy grass and then there was just a long slope of wonderful soft sand in front of us, down down down to the beach.

‘Wheeeeeeee!' shouted Biscuits, and he started sliding down on his bottom.

‘Wheeeeeeee!' I shouted too, sliding likewise.

I had sand all up my T-shirt and shorts but I didn't care a bit. I leaned over sideways and tumbled over and over, shrieking.

‘Wow!' said Biscuits, and he turned sideways and started tumbling too.

He looked like a great big beachball bouncing all the way down.

By the time I got to the bottom I had sand
in my hair and my ears and my mouth and even up my nose but I still didn't care. I just took off my T-shirt and rubbed it all off. Biscuits did the same.

‘Keep your T-shirts
on
, boys. You don't want to get sunburnt!' Mum called.

She rubbed us all over with this sunscreen stuff. It was ever so tickly and Biscuits and I both got the giggles. Then the sun went in and soon we needed our T-shirts back on,
and
our sweaters.

‘How about a game of French cricket to get warm?' said Dad.

‘Oh Dad. No! I hate games like that,' I said.

‘You've never even played it. Come on, it's
fun
, Tim,' said Dad.

‘Why don't you all make a nice sandcastle?' said Mum quickly.

‘Oh yes!' I said.

I know about castles. I did this special project at school.

‘Let's build a motte and bailey castle, eh, Biscuits?' I said.

‘You what?' said Biscuits. ‘Bot and naily?'

‘You twit! Motte. That's a castle that's up on a mound, right? And the bailey is the walk right round it.'

‘No, don't let's build a boring old motte and bailey castle, Tim. We'll do my bot and naily
castle. All the soldiers stand up the top and moon at the enemy showing their bots, right?'

‘OK, OK,' I said, giggling. ‘And then they cut off all their horny old toenails and flick them over the parapets so that it's like confetti and all these daggy old nailies get in the enemies' hair, right, Biscuits?'

‘What on earth are you two going on about?' said Dad, getting a bit irritated. ‘OK, let's build a sandcastle.'

There was just one problem. We didn't have any decent spades. There was a little kiosk right along at the top of the beach so we trailed all the way there but they just had little baby plastic spades for toddlers. They had ice-cream though so we had that instead.

I was a bit disappointed. I had this vision of a brilliant turreted castle on a mound with
garderobes
and arrow-slit windows and a little drawbridge. But Biscuits licked his ice-cream happily and didn't seem to mind a bit.

When we went back to the hotel I spotted something in the umbrella stand in the hall. Two big spades with painted wooden handles and hard metal blades. They were very old and chipped but still sturdy. They looked as if they'd been lolling in the umbrella stand a very long time.

The hotel lady, Mrs Jones, made a fuss of
Biscuits at dinner because he had mushroom soup and a roll and then chicken and chips and peas and then apple pie and cream and he said it was all extra yummy, especially the pie. Mrs Jones said it was her own special home-made pie and she brought him another slice because she said it was good to see a young man who appreciated his food.

I hadn't been able to finish my pie and I didn't like the skin on my chicken and I don't like soup, especially not mushroom.

Mum apologized for me being such a picky eater but Mrs Jones just laughed and ruffled my hair. She seemed to like me too even though I don't appreciate my food like Biscuits. So I plucked up courage to ask about the spades.