Figaro and Rumba and the Crocodile Cafe (9 page)

Figaro studied the crocodile's wide mouth. He didn't trust his smile. And his voice was too smooth. It was sugary and sweet like Mrs Foozy's chocolate icing, but with nothing solid underneath. It was a voice that left you feeling empty, with sore teeth.

At midday, lunch was served in the Dining Car. At each little table there was a basket of hot bread rolls. And there were sausages and lamb cutlets and nachos. Rumba looked down at the package of food he'd brought from home.

‘Shnever mind,' said Figaro, with his mouth full, ‘Eat it shlater.'

Rumba chose Chocolate Surprise for pudding and Figaro had Bombe Alaska.

‘This is a flaming dessert, sir,' the waiter told Figaro. He took a matchbox from his pocket.

‘I knew that,' said Figaro. But he looked nervous.

The waiter poured something orangey over Figaro's pudding, and then lit it with a match.

‘Everyone down!' cried Figaro, leaping under the table.

Blue flames flickered up from the pudding then sank away into a tasty toffee puddle.

‘Yum!' said Rumba, taking a spoonful.

Figaro looked at Rumba admiringly.

‘If you enjoy this dessert,' the crocodile said to Rumba, ‘then you must come to my café at the seaside. It is just a short walk from the train station. And there we can relax, sit back and look out to sea. I can play my congas for you. We can pretend we are back in Cuba.'

Figaro yawned. He'd done enough sitting around today already. But Rumba gave his biggest smile, his whiskers springing up like fencing wire.

Chapter 6

Crocodile Café

T
he crocodile's café was called ‘Buena Vista'. It stood on a hill above the sea. Figaro took one look at the water and rolled down the carpet of sand until he fell
WHOOSHUFF!
into the brilliant blue. He swam and dived and barked with excitement, chasing waves and cloud-shadows, until he was so tired that even his tail stopped wagging.

‘Oh, isn't this great?' Rumba sighed happily as Figaro drooped up the steps. ‘It's just like home.'

‘Are you going to drip like that all over my café?' asked the crocodile.

Figaro was panting so hard he couldn't speak. But he gave himself a good shake. Then he looked about. He had to admit this was the most cheerful café he'd ever seen, with tables the colour of mangoes. He liked the tropical flowers draped around – they smelled like sunrise, his favourite part of the day.

‘Fabulous!' he said.

‘I'm glad you like it,' the crocodile smiled. He made them a bright green drink. Inside floated a strawberry with a little plastic umbrella stuck into it. He said they could keep it as a souvenir.

They leant back in their chairs, chatting and sipping. It didn't take long for Figaro to stop panting. He tried to make his drink last. But after a while he began to fidget. He was a dog who liked to move. ‘I'm just going to have a sniff around,' he said. ‘I'll explore that grassy bit with the barbecue we saw as we came in.'

Rumba waved but the crocodile frowned. ‘That's not a good idea,' he said. ‘The grass is full of prickles and there is a deadly wasp nest near the lagoon at the south end. You'll know when you're near it, because you'll hear a nasty humming sound. So keep away.'

But Figaro had already bounded off. There was so much to see, and smell. Frangipani flowers, blue tongue lizards, green parrots and honeysuckle. He breathed so deep, so often, he almost fainted. But then, he saw something shimmer. It was a lagoon with the sun on it, and at the edge there was a playground.

Figaro went on the swings first. But every time he swooped down, his stomach dropped and he thought he would lose his lunch. Besides, there was a strange humming noise coming from the cubby house. He held his breath to listen. It wasn't nasty humming.

It sounded just like singing, like Rumba when he was cleaning. Figaro knocked on the door.