Paddington Races Ahead (6 page)

“Now, we mustn’t be defeatist, must we,” said Miss Brimstone. “Take a deep, deep breath and try a little harder…

“A teensy bit more…”

Paddington began waving his paws wildly in the air for fear he might lose his balance.

“More… more… more…” urged Miss Brimstone.

“Brilliant!” she cried, as Paddington managed to touch the bar with his toes at long last. “Top hole! I knew you would get there in the end.

“Now try the other leg.”

There was a crash as Paddington landed on the floor with both legs in the air.

Miss Brimstone gazed down at him. “Oh dear,” she said. “I was rather expecting you to remove your right leg first.

“Bravo, though!” she continued, “You have taken up the scissors position. None of my other clients have ever managed that the first time round.”

Paddington attempted to unwind himself as best he could. He wasn’t familiar with the scissors position. It felt more like one of Mr Brown’s corkscrews to him and after a moment or two he gave up the struggle and remained where he had landed.

“Was that it?” he gasped.

“Was what what?” asked Miss Brimstone.

“The crash course,” said Paddington.

Miss Brimstone gave him another sickly smile. “Certainly not!” she said. “Whatever next?” She pointed towards the back of the gym. “There’s a whole lot more to come… the rowing machine… the treadmill… we mustn’t rest on our laurels, must we.”

“I don’t mind, Miss Brimstone,” said Paddington. “Except it doesn’t feel like laurels. It’s more like the floor, and it’s very hard.”

“These things are all in the mind,” said Miss Brimstone.

“Is anything the matter?” she asked, proffering a helping hand. “You look rather disappointed about something.”

Paddington gazed up at her. He was very conscious of the fact that her tattoos seemed to have taken on a life of their own. Some of them were making very odd faces indeed, mostly in his direction.

“I was hoping you might lift me up with your teeth,” he said. “Like you do in your brochure.”

“It just so happens I have a bad back,” said Miss Brimstone stiffly.

“I expect it’s all those steam rollers you’ve been pulling,” said Paddington.

Miss Brimstone chose not to answer.

“Now, on the subject of snacks,” she said. “If you take doughnuts, for example… a typical sugar-coated doughnut contains over 200 calories.”

“It sounds very good value, Miss Brimstone,” said Paddington, raising his hat politely as he rose to his feet. “If I may, I wouldn’t mind two of those while I recover.”

“You will do no such thing,” barked Miss Brimstone sternly. “You must realise that in order to counterbalance the gain in weight from eating just one doughnut you would need to spend nearly an hour on a bicycle.”

“That’s all right,” said Paddington, breathing a sigh of relief.

“You don’t mind doing that?”

“I haven’t got a bicycle,” said Paddington.

“Aha!” said Miss Brimstone. “In that case, we are in luck’s way. I happen to have the very thing.” She pointed to a contraption in the corner of her gym. “It’s what is known as an exercise machine.”

Paddington eyed the object dubiously.

“I don’t think Mr Brown will be very keen on having one of those in our driveway,” he said. “He won’t be able to get his car out for a start.”

“Don’t worry,” said Miss Brimstone. “It’s bolted to the floor.

“You may find this hard to believe,” she continued, “but some of my clients spend an hour working out in the gym and at the end of it all they go straight to the nearest cake shop and undo all the good work by stuffing themselves with blueberry muffins. Some of the larger ones contain nearly 400 calories.”

Paddington didn’t find it hard to believe at all. All the talk about food you ought not to eat was occupying his own mind to the exclusion of everything else, and he was beginning to feel hungrier than ever.

“We never had anything like that in Darkest Peru,” he said, looking at the machine.

“Have no fear,” said Miss Brimstone. “It doesn’t go anywhere. That’s the beauty of it. You simply pedal away to your heart’s content for as long as it takes to remove the excess fat. Allow me to give you a hand…”

Having managed to lift Paddington on to the saddle, she stood back and surveyed the result.

“Oh dear,” she said. “Our feet
are
rather a long way from the pedals…”

“I’m afraid I can’t reach the handlebars either,” said Paddington.

“Stay right where you are,” said Miss Brimstone. “Don’t move an inch or we could have a nasty ax. I shall have to try lowering the saddle. Excuse me while I look for a suitable spanner.”

Reaching for her handbag she began rummaging through it. “It’s a shame,” she said. “My treatment is guaranteed to take you out of yourself.”

“I think I’d rather stay inside it for the time being if you don’t mind, Miss Brimstone,” said Paddington.

Marooned in midair, he clung on to the saddle with one paw as Miss Brimstone handed him a card. “It’s a list of my charges,” she said briefly. “You may like to browse through them while you’re waiting.”

Paddington did as he was told and then wished he hadn’t.

“It’s a lot of buns’ worth,” he announced over the sound of banging coming from the direction of the front door. “I shall have to think it over.”

“Oh dear,” said Miss Brimstone, abandoning her search for a spanner. “It really isn’t your fault, but I shouldn’t have taken you on in the first place. I shan’t be ready for a day or two and now it sounds as though I have another customer…”

Seeing what she took to be a look of disappointment on Paddington’s face, and conscious of the continued banging, Miss Brimstone lifted him off the saddle.

“At least you can take a present away with you!” she said. “I know you will want to come back when you’ve thought things over, so in the meantime, if I can have your name, I would like to present you with a special gift voucher.” She scribbled a note on one of her cards. “It allows for one free go on my Advanced Personal Training Course. In the meantime you can tell all your friends what a splendid time you’ve had.”

As she was ushering Paddington towards the front door the banging stopped and whoever was outside pushed open the letter box flap.

Anxious to be of help, Paddington made a dash for the door and held the flap open with one paw while he peered through the gap.

“Bear!” bellowed a familiar voice. “I might have known! What are you up to in there?”

In a state of shock, Paddington let go of the flap and as it sprang back into place there was a cry of a pain from outside.

“Oh dear,” said Miss Brimstone. She slid back the door bolt. “Was that a friend of yours?”

“Not really,” said Paddington. “It’s Mr Curry. Mrs Bird says he’s always sticking his nose into things that don’t concern him.”

“It sounds as though he’s done it once too often,” said Miss Brimstone. “And I haven’t even unpacked my first aid box yet.”

“Are you practising for the Games, Mr Curry?” asked Paddington hopefully, as he went outside and found the Browns’ neighbour dancing up and down on the pavement.

“No I am not, bear!” barked the Browns’ neighbour, rubbing his nose. “You know very well what happened.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Curry,” said Paddington. “I didn’t realise it was your nose. I thought it was someone trying to deliver a parcel…”

“Are you trying to tell me you mistook my nose for a parcel?” bellowed Mr Curry. “Just you wait until I get back home. I shall report you for this.”

“Oh dear,” said Miss Brimstone. “Have a nice day!” With that, she handed Paddington the card she had been carrying and hastily shut the door, ramming the bolt home for good measure.

“What have you got there, bear?” demanded Mr Curry.

“It’s a prize,” said Paddington. “Were you going to take one of the courses?”

“Take one of the courses?” repeated Mr Curry. He pointed to a board on the wall. “Have you seen the prices? It’s disgraceful. I was about to complain.

“Er… what sort of prize did you win?” he asked casually.

A gleam came into Mr Curry’s eyes when Paddington told him. “If you let me have that card, bear,” he said, “I promise we’ll hear no more about your deliberate attack on my proboscis. Keep it for yourself, and who knows what might happen?

“And no telling anyone else,” he warned. “Otherwise it will be the worse for you.”

With that, he put the card into his wallet and went on his way in high good humour.

Paddington kept to his side of the bargain and didn’t mention what had happened to anyone, but Mr Curry couldn’t wait to tell everyone else he met about his windfall, without mentioning how it had come about, of course.

The news spread like wildfire, and many a curtain twitched in Windsor Gardens a few days later when he set off early in the morning for Miss Brimstone’s gymnasium.

They twitched again when he staggered back home later that day, cutting a sorry figure in his bedraggled shorts and sweat- stained shirt. For some reason he kept shaking his fist towards number thirty-two Windsor Gardens, but wisely Mrs Brown pretended there was no one at home.

It was Mrs Bird who eventually discovered the truth. “I thought it was unlike Mr Curry to splash out on a course like that,” she said. “It seems he had a free pass, but it turned out to be in someone else’s name so he wasn’t able to use it.”

“I wonder how he came by it in the first place?” said Mrs Brown.

“I wonder,” said Mrs Bird. “But I haven’t seen Paddington doing his press-ups on the lawn for several days. I think he’s keeping a low profile.”

It was left for Mr Gruber to sum things up.

“I do like stories with a happy ending, Mr Brown,” he said, when Paddington had finished telling him the truth of the matter.

“That dreadful Mr Curry won’t be bullying you again for a long time. Miss Brimstone has got her business off to a flying start, and here we are again, enjoying our elevenses in peace.

“Everything in moderation,” he said. “That’s my motto. Not too little; and not too much. That being so, what is this life if you can’t enjoy your elevenses undisturbed?”

There was no answer to that so, having considered the matter carefully, Paddington helped himself to another bun.