Chapter Seven

KELLY WAS BARELY talking to me. Biscuits had told her about our last desperate encounter with Prickle-Head.

‘You took Biscuits to our beach?’ Kelly cried indignantly. ‘You rat. You total traitorous flea-ridden slimy-tailed rotten rat!’

She kept repeating this, with yet more ratty embellishments, all the while we told her about our narrow escape.

‘Do shut it, Kelly. You don’t own the beach,’ said Biscuits. ‘Don’t you realize, I got beaten to a pulp and Tim practically got his head bashed in.’

‘The way Prickle-Head was holding the spade it could have sliced off the top of my head just like a boiled egg!’ I said dramatically.

Kelly refused to be impressed.

‘If I’d caught you there with Biscuits I’d have jumped up and down on your head myself,’ she said darkly.

She waved Theresa Troll in the air and hit me hard before I had time to duck. It was surprising how much a plastic troll could hurt.

‘Ouch!’ I said, reeling. I had to try very very hard not to cry.

‘Serves you right,’ said Kelly. ‘Just be glad Theresa’s not a sharp spade. I’m not like this stupid Prickle-Head you keep going on about. I don’t miss when I take aim.’

She stalked off, her pony-tail switching furiously right and left.

‘Wow!’ said Biscuits. ‘Old Killer-Kelly, eh? I dropped you in it there all right, didn’t I, Super-Tim?’

‘Too right, Biscuits-Boy,’ I said, rubbing my head ruefully.

I sighed. At least I was back being friends with Biscuits. I hoped that Kelly might have got over her mega-huff by tomorrow. I so wanted us all to be friends.

‘What’s up, dear?’ said Mum, coming and putting her arm round me. ‘You’re looking a bit peaky. How’s your poor old eye? It’s not still smarting, is it? It looks a bit watery.’

‘It’s fine, Mum, really,’ I said.

‘It’s silly, everyone thinks sandy beaches are so safe – and yet they can cause all sorts of problems,’ said Mum.

‘I know,’ I said. I wondered what Mum would say if she knew of my problems in the sand with Prickle-Head.

‘I’d be happy to give the beach a miss tomorrow,’ said Mum, keeping her voice down. ‘We could go for a car trip, maybe explore another castle. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Tim? And Biscuits will go along with that so long as we feed him every five minutes.’ Mum sniffed.

‘You bet I will,’ said Biscuits, who had sharp ears.

‘So it’s all settled,’ said Mum. ‘We’ll go on a car trip, just the four of us.’

‘What’s that?’ said Dad, coming over. ‘Not tomorrow. It’s the Caravan Site Carnival Day and we’ve all been invited, remember?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Mum. ‘But Tim and Biscuits want to go for a car ride, don’t you boys?’

‘I’d sooner go to a carnival,’ said Biscuits. I saw the dreamy look in his eyes. Carnivals meant ice-creams and candy floss and hot dogs.

‘What about you, Tim?’ said Mum.

I hesitated. I hated to upset her. But if I didn’t go to this Carnival Day I knew I’d upset Kelly even more. I rubbed the sore place on my forehead where Theresa Troll had clouted me.

‘I’d like to go to the Carnival Day too,’ I said.

It was a BIG mistake.

The moment we got to the caravan site and saw the ropes and flags set out across the beach I realized something terrible.

There were going to be sports.

I am the least sporty boy ever.

‘Great!’ said Dad, reading the poster. ‘There’s going to be all sorts of races. Sprinting, relay, three-legged, sack race, egg and spoon. You boys must have a go.’

‘It’ll be just for people staying at the caravan site,’ I said quickly. ‘We can’t enter, it wouldn’t be fair.’

‘Don’t be such a wimp, Tim,’ Dad said sharply. ‘Of course you can enter.’

‘But I don’t want to!’ I said.

‘Nor do I, actually, said Biscuits loyally.

‘There! We’d have all been much better off if we’d gone for a car ride,’ said Mum. ‘In fact, why don’t we still go? This carnival doesn’t look very exciting. There aren’t any craft or bric-a-brac stalls, and the tombola prizes don’t look much cop. There aren’t even many food stalls.’

‘Yes, let’s go for a car ride,’ said Biscuits.

Dad looked exasperated.

‘But all Kelly’s family are expecting us.’

‘I think we’ve seen a little too much of Kelly’s family this holiday,’ Mum muttered.

‘Yes, I like it best when it’s just us,’ said Biscuits.

Mum blinked at Biscuits – and then offered him a piece of chocolate out of her handbag to cement their new alliance.

‘Tim, you want to see Kelly, don’t you?’ said Dad.

I dithered. Perhaps there wasn’t much point seeing Kelly at the moment, seeing as she wasn’t speaking to me. It would be a bit like watching telly with the sound turned down.

‘Well . . .’

I heard someone shouting through a megaphone.

‘Come and enter for the first race of the day, folks!’

‘I want to go on a car trip,’ I said.

Mum smiled.

Biscuits smiled.

Dad frowned. But it was three against one so we turned round and started walking away from the caravan site.

‘Hey, Tim! TIM! TIM!!’

It was Kelly. She was speaking to me again. She didn’t need a megaphone. She had her volume turned right up to maximum force.

‘Pretend you haven’t heard her,’ said Biscuits.

It was not a sensible suggestion. People covered their ears the length of the Welsh coast and said ‘That’s Kelly!’ Cattle in the meadows were mooing ‘That’s Kelly!’ Sheep up in the mountains were baaing ‘That’s Kelly!’ Dolphins and whales way out in the ocean were spouting ‘That’s Kelly!’ Little green men in flying saucers were twitching their antennae and mumbling in Martian ‘That’s Kelly!’

I turned. We all turned.

Kelly came charging up to us.

‘Where are you going? The carnival’s over on the clifftop. Come on, they’ve just announced the first race. It’s the under-five fifty-steps toddle and our Dean’s going to walk it, you watch!’

‘I’m sure he will, dear. But we were actually wondering whether to give all these races a miss,’ said Mum.

‘You can’t. I’ve entered all of you,’ said Kelly.

‘What?’ I said.

‘You’re doing the three-legged race with me, Tim. Come on in case it’s next,’ Kelly commanded.

‘That’s it, Kelly, you get this lazy lot organized,’ said Dad.

‘I’ve entered you in the dads’ race. And there’s a knobbly knees contest too. You’re down for that and all,’ said Kelly.

‘Knobbly knees!’ said Dad, looking down his shorts at his legs. ‘I haven’t got knobbly knees, young woman.’

‘Well, there’s a hairiest leg contest too. Would you sooner go in for that?’ said Kelly.

‘Cheek!’ said Dad.

‘I told you those shorts were a mistake,’ said Mum, sniggering. ‘It’ll be funny if you win!’

‘You might win too,’ said Kelly, smiling at her.

Mum blinked. ‘Kelly,’ she said, very slowly and ominously. ‘What have you entered me for?’

‘Well, the mums’ race, of course. And the Fabulous Forty-Plus Beauty Contest.’

Mum snorted.

Dad snorted too.

‘Kelly!’ said Mum. ‘I am not forty-plus.’

‘Oh well, never mind,’ said Kelly. ‘You’ve a good chance of winning it then, haven’t you? Come on, we must get a move on or we’ll miss Dean’s race.’

So we got a move on.

You simply can’t argue with Kelly. She’s like a steamroller.

‘I shall go in for the sack race,’ Biscuits muttered. ‘And I shall try hard to barge into Kelly. And I shall knock her over. And jump on her. Hard.’

But I could tell his heart wasn’t in it. Biscuits was twice Kelly’s fighting weight but he knew he’d never get the better of her.

He cheered up a little watching Dean’s race. He had got quite matey with him during their boat-building session. Dean wasn’t the oldest and he wasn’t the biggest under-five by any means but it was obvious he was taking the race very seriously. Most of the kids were fidgetting or talking or whimpering or waving at their mums as they lined up at the starting post on the grass. One or two were facing the wrong way. They had to be turned round quickly or they might have gone hurtling towards the cliff edge and hurled themselves over the top like lemmings. But Dean was clearly concentrating, his teeth gritted, his fists clenched. When someone shouted ‘One two three – go!’ Dean was off like a shot, charging along, his elbows flapping like little wings. One big kid tripped over just in front of him. Dean ran straight over him, never pausing.

‘That’s it, our Dean!’ Kelly yelled.

‘Go for it, Dean!’ Biscuits yelled.

‘Come on, Dean!’ Kelly’s mum yelled, standing just beyond the finishing post, holding out her arms to him.

Dean won.

Kelly and Kelly’s mum and Kelly’s mum’s boyfriend Dave and my mum and my dad and Biscuits and me all cheered. Baby Keanu, perched up on Dave’s shoulders, gave a cheery sort of chirp.

Dean was given a winner’s badge and a little bar of chocolate.

‘Wow!’ said Biscuits. ‘I didn’t know they gave you chocolate. Hey Dean, are you going in for the three-legged race? How’s about you teaming up with me, eh?’

Dean was pleased to be partners with his new pal Biscuits but their pairing wasn’t very successful. Dean was little but ran very fast. Biscuits was big but ran very slowly. They fell over. They fell over again. And again. And then Biscuits tried picking Dean up and carrying him, still with their legs tied together. And then they fell over again because they were laughing so much. Luckily Biscuits was so well padded he didn’t hurt himself at all and Dean always managed to land on top of Biscuits so it was just like bouncing on a huge well-stuffed sofa.

Kelly and I didn’t do much better.

My heart sank as she tied our legs together with her mum’s scarf. She did it so tightly she cut off all the blood supply to my foot. She looked very determined. Kelly liked to win.

I would have liked to win too. But I knew we didn’t have a chance.

I tried hard to get ready, get steady and go.

‘Run!’ Kelly commanded.

I ran. She ran. But not together.

We tripped over. It hurt rather a lot. I wondered if I ought to stay lying there on the grass.

‘Get up!’ Kelly squealed.

I decided to get up. I was barely on my feet before Kelly tore off again. I staggered along beside her for three or four paces, and then tripped again.

‘Oh Tim, you’re so useless!’ Kelly yelled.

I agreed with her meekly.

‘Look, shut up and get up,’ Kelly said sharply.

I tried to do as I was told.

It didn’t work.

We were last in the three-legged race. We didn’t actually finish. Kelly tore the scarf off our legs and stormed off. I was left to limp the rest of the way to the finishing post by myself with everyone laughing at me. I saw Kelly’s mum and Kelly’s mum’s boyfriend Dave pretending not to have noticed. I saw Mum’s face. I saw Dad. I felt so awful. Then I heard another loud braying laugh and a cry of, ‘Mummy’s boy!’

Prickle-Head.

I felt even worse.

But Dad looked up. He’d heard the laugh too. Prickle-Head didn’t have his dad with him this time, only Pinch-Face. Pinch-Face saw my dad looking suddenly fierce. He said something to Prickle-Head. They both scooted off sharpish.

I felt a fraction better. But only a fraction.

‘Cheer up, Tim,’ Biscuits said. ‘Dean and me were hopeless too. They laughed at us and all.’

But Biscuits had learned the knack of making people laugh with him. They laughed at me.

‘I’m ever so sorry, Kelly,’ I said humbly.

Kelly raised her eyebrows and sighed.

‘So I should think!’

‘You be quiet, our Kelly. Tim did his best,’ said Kelly’s mum. ‘You were the mean one, rushing off like that and leaving him on his own. Anyway, it’s only a bit of fun, kids.’

‘That’s right,’ my mum said gratefully.

Dad didn’t say anything.

I knew he thought I was useless too.

I tried hard not to mind too much as the races went on and on. Nobody made me go in for anything else. But it didn’t matter. I cheered Kelly and Dean in all their running races. They won. I cheered Biscuits in his sack race. He didn’t win but he bounced along grinning all over his face so that everyone clapped nevertheless. I was pleased for him. But I still minded and minded about me inside.

Then the dads had a race. My dad ran like crazy and went purple in the face. Kelly’s mum’s boyfriend Dave ran like he was hardly bothering. And won.

My dad congratulated him but I could see he minded a lot.

Then it was the mums’ race.

‘I’m not going in for it,’ said my mum.

‘Go on, it’ll be a laugh,’ said Kelly’s mum.

There was nothing going to stop her going in for it, even though she didn’t have the right sort of shoes to run in, just backless sandals with heels. She gave them to Kelly to hold and went to the starting post, practically dragging my mum with her.

I saw my mum’s face.

I realized she hated sports just the way I did. She especially hated the idea of running in front of everyone and looking stupid. I felt a horrid new squeezing in my tummy. My mum was plumper than the other mums. And I’d seen her running for a bus. Her legs kicked out at the sides and her bottom waggled. I didn’t want to see everyone laughing at Mum.

‘This is going to be a laugh,’ said Biscuits.

Then he saw my face.

‘Hey, your dad gave you some pocket money, didn’t he? Let’s go and get an ice-cream from the van over there,’ Biscuits suggested.

‘OK.’ I looked over at Kelly who was prancing around in her mum’s high heels.

‘Not her,’ Biscuits said quickly. ‘Just you and me.’

So we sloped off together while everyone else was waiting for the start of the mums’ race. We bought an ice-cream each and stood licking them at the edge of the cliff.

We heard great shrieks and roars and laughing behind us.

I winced.

‘Hey, let’s have our own private Super-Tim and Biscuits-Boy race,’ said Biscuits, swallowing the rest of his ice-cream whole. ‘We’ll have a roly-poly-down-the-sand-to-the-beach race, right?’

‘Right!’ I said, and then I stepped over the edge and started rolling right away.

‘Hey! Cheat! I didn’t say go!’ said Biscuits behind me, as he hurled himself over the edge of the beach too.

I went roly-poly roly-poly roly-poly over and over and over, my eyes squeezed shut to stop any more sand getting in them. I bumped a few bits and went very wobbly but it was still fun, if scary. And I landed on the beach first.

‘I won!’ I said as I landed bump on my bottom on the beach.

‘Look who it isn’t! Old Mummy’s boy!’ came a dreadfully familiar voice.

But it sounded odd. Hollow. Sort of echoey and far away.

I blinked. I couldn’t see Prickle-Head anywhere. Then I realized. He was in one of the sandy caves, burrowing away. I saw his great big boots and Pinch-Face’s trainers sticking out.

I decided it would be wise to hasten back up the cliff sharpish.

‘I’m second!’ Biscuits shouted above me, hurtling down in a great flurry of sand.

He was sliding down with great thumps and bumps. And suddenly the sand all around him started shaking.

I stared. And then I shouted, ‘Get out the cave quick! The cliff is giving way! The sand’s all sliding!

Pinch-Face backed out so quickly that Biscuits couldn’t steer past him and landed bang on top of him. They sprawled in a heap, Pinch-Face groaning, Biscuits giggling.

‘Where’s Prickle-Head?’ I said. ‘Did he get out too?’

‘Must have done,’ said Pinch-Face, picking himself up.

There was a huge mound of new sand down on the beach.

‘Wow! I caused a landslide,’ said Biscuits, looking at the sifted sand. ‘No, a sand slide!’

I stared. Something glittered in the sand. A stud. Several studs. Prickle-Head’s boots! He was buried in the sand!

‘Quick!’ I said. ‘We’ve got to get him out. Dig, you two. Come on. He’s buried alive under all that sand. He’ll die if we don’t dig him free.

I hated Prickle-Head but I didn’t want him to die. We scraped and scrabbled at the sand covering him.

‘Do his head end so he can breathe,’ I said, but when we tugged his top half free his head lolled. His eyes were shut. I bent my own head nearer. He wasn’t breathing.

‘He’s dead!’ said Pinch-Face.

‘I’ve murdered him with my landslide!’ said Biscuits. ‘Oh help, oh help, oh help, oh help.’

‘Run and get help, what’syourname, Rick, quick!’ I yelled. ‘Biscuits, stop it! Keep getting the sand off him. Maybe that’s stopping his breathing. It’s crushing his chest.’

‘He’s dead already, I just know he is!’ Biscuits gasped, clasping Prickle-Head’s horribly lolling head.

It suddenly reminded me of floppy old Dog Hog and the game we’d played in the car together on the way to Llanpistyll.

‘Artificial respiration!’ I said. ‘Quick, Biscuits, do it!’

‘I don’t know how!’

‘You did it with Dog Hog and Walter Bear.’

‘I was just messing about. Oh Tim. He is dead.’

‘Then I’ll have a go at this kiss of life thing,’ I said, as Biscuits scraped more sand off Prickle-Head.

I tilted his head back further so I could get at his mouth properly.

‘Breathe into it then!’ said Biscuits.

‘No, wait,’ I said, seeing all the sand around Prickle-Head’s mouth. I shoved it open with my fingers and scooped lots of spitty sand out.

‘Is he breathing now?’ said Biscuits.

‘Not yet.’

I stared at Prickle-Head’s face, wondering how to do it. I need the mouth to stay open – and my breath to get down inside him. I pinched his nose to stop the air getting out, took a deep breath, and then breathed quickly into Prickle-Head’s mouth. Then I took another breath and did it again. And again. And again.

Biscuits kept scrabbling all the while, clearing the sand.

I breathed and breathed and breathed.

‘It’s not working,’ Biscuits wept.

I went on breathing into Prickle-Head.

I breathed again and again and again.

Prickle-Head suddenly coughed.

I shot up from him. Prickle-Head turned his head sideways.

‘He’s being sick. Yuck!’ said Biscuits.

‘He’s alive!’ I said.

‘Oh Tim! He is alive. I’m not a murderer after all. And you’re a hero!’ said Biscuits.

And then lots of people came running down the zig-zag path and more sand started sliding, so Biscuits and I dragged Prickle-Head completely free. We were surrounded by people and there was noise and pushing and questions – and then suddenly someone came charging through everyone, running even faster than Kelly. It was my mum!

She picked me right up and hugged me hard.

‘Oh Tim! I thought it was you who’d been buried! Oh thank God you’re safe. And Biscuits is too?’

‘Mum! Put me down! People are looking.’

‘I’m fine. And I do hope Prickle-Head is. Tim saved him. He gave him the kiss of life. He was wonderful!’ said Biscuits. ‘He’s a hero!’

‘Tim! Wow! You saved his life? What did you do that for? I thought you didn’t like him!’ said Kelly barging through everyone. ‘Still, you are a hero. My boyfriend Tim’s a hero.’

‘Oh son! Did you really give him the kiss of life?’ said Dad, giving me a hug too. ‘How did you know what to do?’

‘I just sort of sussed it out. I didn’t do much. I’m not really a hero,’ I said, trying to wriggle free of Mum and Dad, scared everyone would start laughing again.

But no-one was laughing now. Prickle-Head was carried up the cliff to be taken to hospital. He seemed reasonably OK now, though he had sick all down his front.

‘That Tim rescued you. He gave you the kiss of life,’ said Pinch-Face.

‘No wonder I was sick!’ Prickle-Head gasped.

He wasn’t at all grateful! But I didn’t care. Everyone kept saying I was a hero. And back at the carnival they gave me a special cup. It was supposed to be for the child that won the most races.

‘But you must have it instead, Tim!’

‘I’m ever so glad you’re my boyfriend, Tim,’ said Kelly.

‘You’re a real Super-Tim,’ said Biscuits.

I don’t know about that. I’m not quite Super-Tim standard.

But I’m Tim – and I feel Super!