‘Well, everyone’s basically all right,’ said Jonathan Ripples cheerfully. ‘Let’s see what this island’s got to offer in the way of snacks.’
Yes, it was an official Jonathan Ripples Snack Discovering Expedition, or ‘JRSDE’ for short.
So off they set through the rainforest, making their way beneath the low-hanging vines and creepers. From time to time, Jonathan Ripples would stop to investigate the plants and rocks for any snacks that might be hiding there, but Polly was far more interested in the natural beauty of the island. She had never seen anything like it.
‘Why, it’s like some sorts of paradise,’ she marvelled, gazing around the lush rainforest, unspoiled by Man or Shopping Centre. Insects the size of birds buzzed all around, birds as small as bees darted through her eyelashes and the colours were so dazzling she thought her brains would go mental with happiness.
‘An’ jus’ look at Padlock!’ laughed Polly joyfully. ‘He loves it here an’ he’s doin’ somersaults to prove it!’
It was true. Padlock was a-bouncin’ and aboundin’ ahead of them like the world’s furriest gymnastics guy. And when Polly saw him roaming so wild and free and hairy she realised the truth of it.
‘Why, this must be the Kingdom of the Beasters at last!’ she said in wonder. ‘That’s what’s makin’ Padlock so happy an’ filled with power an’ playtime!’
Giggling with glee, Polly went skipping after her friend, and there in a forest clearing she found him, rolling around in the huge violet flowers, rubbing his back in pleasure against the tree trunks and pooing wherever he flipping well felt like. He had never looked more like a proper fat shaggy rumble-me-tumble sort of a roly-poly flip-flap-flopper of a big brown bear than he did at that moment. And the sun it shone down and the butterflies bibbled and the day was as bright as Cleopatra’s nail varnish. And Padlock and Polly stood there in the clearing together, gazing into one another’s eyes with love and hope for the future. For they had done it. Padlock had finally come home – home to the Kingdom of the Beasts where he belonged.
It was a magical moment and the only thing that spoilt it was when Mr Gum and Billy William jumped out from behind a vine and whacked Padlock around the head with a big rotten log crawling with giant woodlice.
‘Ha ha!’ laughed Mr Gum. His horrible skin was red with sunburn, his horrible beard was red with just being red to begin with, and there was evil written all over his face. He had written it there that morning in biro.
‘Not so proud an’ strong now, are ya?’ he yelled at Padlock, who lay cowering on the ground in fright.
‘Ha ha!’ laughed Billy, putting his foot on Padlock’s head and pretending like he was going to squash it. ‘He knows who’s the boss – us!’
‘You good-for-nothin’ pair of hofflers! What on earth you doin’ here?’ demanded Polly furiously.
‘It was all part of me amazin’ genius plan,’ boasted Mr Gum. ‘See, we decided to sail to this island on purpose. We knew you’d turn up eventually with the bear – it was just a matter of waitin’ for you.’
‘Actually we just sort of landed here by accident,’ admitted Billy. ‘To be honest, we’ve been drunk most of the time an’ – OW!’
‘Shut up,’ said Mr Gum, whacking Billy round the head with the log. ‘Now, little girl, take one step closer an’ I’ll finish off your precious “Padlock” once an’ for all. Billy, you repaired our boat engine yet?’
‘Yeah,’ said Billy William. ‘The Dirty Oyster’s back in business, Gummy, me old paint bucket.’
‘Right then,’ said Mr Gum, prodding Padlock in the back with a stick. ‘Let’s get off this stinkin’ island an’ go an’ make our fortune with Mr Funny, the Dancin’ Bear.’
‘I hates you, Mr Gum!’ shouted Polly, ‘an’ to be quite franks I don’t much care for you neither, Billy William! He’s NOT Mr Funny, an’ he’s NOT a dancin’ bear! He’s a wonderful animal with dignity an’ pride an’ pretty hazel eyes an’ he don’t belongs with you, he belongs here!’
‘So you don’t like to see a bear dancin’?’ grinned Mr Gum. ‘Well, bad luck, Girly McSwirly – you’re gonna get one last performance before we go.’
And then the villains started up with that terrible shanty they loved so well:
Dance for yer supper!
You big ugly tungler!
Dance for old Gummy an’ Bill!
An’ the wind she blows high an’ the wind
she blows low —
But Padlock wouldn’t dance.
He had had enough.
‘Dance!’ shouted Mr Gum wildly. ‘Dance, you filthy old flea-bear, dance!’
But no.
Padlock’s doleful hazel eyes looked deep into Polly’s and in that moment he seemed to find his greatest strength yet. Not the sort of strength that helps you lift a sack of babies over your head in a Baby-Lifting Competition, but the sort of strength that comes deep from the inside. The sort of strength that tells the world, ‘I am a bear, not a dancing clown! And I am proud like the wind, and free like the wind, and wild like the wind! Hey, maybe I am the wind! No, hold on, I’m a bear, yes, I’m definitely a bear! And you may poke me with sharp sticks and call me a tungler, but you will never again make me live in the World of Men!’
And Padlock threw back his head and oh, boy, he HOWLED, a noise so mournful and long and rich with ancient animal power that even Mr Gum drew back in alarm.
The beautiful, lonely sound carried to every corner of that island, calling to the creatures that lay hidden there, waiting for the signal of a brother in pain. And slowly, gradually, hundreds of eyes began appearing among the trees and ferns. Hundreds of pairs of eyes, blinking ominously all around the forest clearing.
‘What’s goin’ on?’ whimpered Mr Gum. ‘I don’t likes it, I don’t likes it one bit!’