A PACKETFUL OF TROUBLE
by
MARGARET BACON
Illustrated by
Richard Tuckwell
Copyright 2011 Margaret Bacon
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
I
An Invitation
The Packet family lived near Dover. If they had not, this story would have been different. Probably it would not have happened at all.
This particular evening Rose Packet, who was ten, was sitting at one end of the table, painting. On the floor by her chair was a cardboard box. In it was her brown and white guinea pig, called Porky. Rose was having a lot of trouble with her picture; it was a seaside scene, but although the people and boats were all right, the sand did not look like sand and the sea was hopeless – it did not even look wet! It looked like a flat blue carpet.
Rose’s brother Simon was sitting at the other end of the table doing his homework. He was only a year older than Rose but liked to think of himself as almost grown-up. He conducted experiments and built contraptions in the big untidy garden. He was pale and had black hair which stood out round his head like starched wool. He wore spectacles with steel frames and did not mind that the boys at school nicknamed him The Professor. He had a tortoise called Fortescue and a pair of green stick insects which spent their time crawling about in a tall glass jar on the dresser.
Mr and Mrs Packet were sitting by the fire talking quietly.
‘I had a letter from Cynthia this morning,’ Mrs Packet was saying. ‘She married a Frenchman, you know, and lives in the South of France. There’s something in her letter which might solve our problem.’
Rose and Simon knew what the problem was. Their mother had just started a job, which was all right in term time, but the problem was what would happen to the children during the long school holidays.
‘She has invited us all to go and stay there,’ Mother explained.
Father looked alarmed. The idea of going away anywhere always horrified him. At least the idea of going anywhere except London, where he had a small printing business which he liked to go and visit whenever things got a bit difficult at home.
‘I’ll read you what she says,’ Mother went on, taking a letter out of an envelope. ‘Ah, here’s the part I want. She writes: “It is lovely here. We are surrounded by pine forests and hills. There is even a lake nearby. I’m sure you would love it. Why don’t you all come and stay? In the field next to the garden we have two ancient caravans, a little field kitchen, and a tap. If you would like to borrow all these things we should be delighted to see you any time this summer...”’
‘It’s out of the question, of course,’ Father interrupted.
‘Well, yes,’ Mother agreed. ‘For me.’
‘You’re not suggesting that I should take the children? I can’t – I’ll be needed in London several times in August.’
Mother laughed. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I was thinking that Rose and Simon might go. I mean if we could make some arrangement for somebody to take them there.’
Rose and Simon both stared at their parents.
‘Oh, please, Dad,’ Simon said, and his voice was very hoarse. ‘You must let us go.’
Rose was gazing into space; she was imagining two little gypsy caravans in a meadow, she was dreaming of hills and pine forests.
‘It would be ever so good for us,’ Simon went on passionately. ‘Think of the education of it. Now Rose learns French and...’
‘Do you learn French?’ Father asked her.
Rose came out of her dream.
‘I don’t know,’ she said.
Simon glared at her. Sometimes he had a great desire to hit his sister: silly, dreamy thing.
He bent over her. ‘Don’t you see?’ he hissed in her ear. ‘We’ve got to make them want us to go.’
‘But I don’t think I do want to go,’ Rose said in surprise. ‘I mean, what about Porky?’
Simon looked with dislike at the plump brown and white form in the cardboard box. Porky looked up at him for a moment but did not stop chewing the carrot which he was holding down with one paw. Somehow he managed to convey the impression that Simon was less important than a carrot.
‘Look, Rose,’ Simon said. ‘I’d have to leave my stick insects, but I’m not fussing.’
‘Oh, but they’re different.’
‘They’re not. They’re animals, just as much as guinea pigs are. They’re jolly intelligent too and...’
‘Yes, but they’re not cuddly!’
‘Oh, girls!’ Simon said furiously and went out of the room, banging the door behind him.
Rose looked after him with mild surprise and then went back to her painting.
‘You really must pack up now,’ Mother told her. ‘And put Porky back in the cage for the night.’
Rose cleared away her painting things and picked up Porky.
‘I did just wonder,’ Mrs Packet said to her husband, after Rose had gone out, ‘if the cousins might be interested in going with Simon and Rose.’
‘You mean Linda and James?’
Mother nodded.
The other Packets, their cousins, lived at the far side of the town. Felicity was still a toddler but Linda was the same age as Rose. James, the eldest, was fourteen.
‘James is very capable,’ Mother said. ‘And I know he speaks good French. His mother said that he managed very well on that exchange last year; he stayed with a family in Paris, you know. The boys could have one caravan and the girls the other.’
‘And Cynthia would keep an eye on them, you mean?’ Father asked. He was getting quite keen on this holiday, now that he was sure that he would not be expected to go.
‘Oh, I’m sure she would. It’s just the travelling that’s difficult.’
‘You could discuss it with Claire,’ Father said. Claire was the other Packets’ mother. ‘She’s very good at organizing things.’
‘Well, yes; they’re coming over tomorrow afternoon for Porky’s birthday party. I’ll ask her about it and...’
‘What did you say is happening tomorrow afternoon?’
‘Porky’s birthday party. Rose’s guinea pig is a year old. She’s invited her cousins, two rabbits and two other guinea pigs to tea. Oh, and a puppy.’
‘Actually, I think I’ll have to go to London tomorrow,’ Father said hastily.
The children were allowed to read for a while in bed. Simon was reading a history book, and Rose was reading a book about guinea pigs and hamsters.
‘What are plantains, Simon?’ she called across the corridor. ‘It says in my book they are good for guinea pigs.’
‘They’re weeds. They contain vitamin C, I should think.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Like in spinach.’
‘I think I’ll give Porky some for his birthday tea.’
‘But you’ve got masses of stuff already.’
‘Yes, but he always likes a little something extra. He’s a very hungry sort of guinea pig.’
‘All guinea pigs are greedy.’
‘He’s not greedy – it’s not true,’ Rose shouted.
‘Shall I tell you what I’ve been reading about Queen Elizabeth?’ Simon asked to change the subject. ‘She was a terrible queen.’
There was a pause while Rose decided to forgive him for being rude about Porky. She never stayed cross for very long.
‘Why was she a terrible queen?’
‘She executed her cousin.’
‘How dreadful. We wouldn’t execute our cousin Felicity, would we?’
‘No. And we wouldn’t execute our cousin James.’
There was a short silence and then Rose said, ‘Simon, what out our cousin Linda?’
Simon thought for a while and sighed. ‘Oh, well, maybe Elizabeth wasn’t such a bad queen after all,’ he said.
Linda Packet was very like her mother, Claire. They both had short dark hair that curled tightly, they both had brown eyes and small mouths which, after they had finished speaking, they shut very tightly, so that you could almost hear a little click. They had a way of jerking their heads back too and sticking their chins out when they thought you might contradict them. Sometimes you didn’t really think of contradicting them until they gave you this sign.
Only Linda and her mother came to the guinea pig’s birthday party. Felicity had gone out to tea and James was too old for such things. Linda brought her rabbit; she carried it out into the garden and placed it in the pen with Porky, two guinea pigs from the cottage down the lane and another rabbit which lived nearby. Fortescue was in the middle of the run. He kept his head tucked in and did not move.
‘He’s only just come out of hibernation,’ Simon explained. ‘He is sort of thawing out.’
Rose carried out the birthday cake which she had made that morning. Its middle part was made of oatmeal, decorated with grated carrot. Round the edge she had written in chopped parsley, ‘Happy Birthday Porky’. In the centre was a tiny carrot, shaped like a candle.
She put it down in the centre of the run. None of the animals took any notice. The rabbits were beginning to fight and the guinea pigs were nibbling grass.
‘It’s a bit mean, if you ask me, when you’ve gone to all that trouble,’ Linda said disapprovingly. ‘They might show some appreciation,’ she added, tossing her head and sticking out her chin.
‘That’s all right,’ Rose said. ‘I don’t mind.’ She was disappointed all the same. She had imagined all the animals sitting round the cake just like a real party.
‘What about our tea?’ Linda asked.
Just then Mother brought out a tray of sandwiches and lemonade and they all turned their backs on the guinea pigs and rabbits and got on with their picnic.
Inside the house Mother told Aunt Claire about the French holiday.
‘Of course they must go,’ Aunt Claire said decisively. She always made up her mind about things very fast. ‘It’s an opportunity not to be missed.’
‘Yes, but it’s the journey...’
‘It’s quite simple. After all, here we are in Dover, we should make the most of it. We just put them on the boat, then at the other end the train is waiting. They sleep all night and wake up at the station on the south coast of France where presumably your friend will meet them.’
‘Yes. It is a very easy journey, but I’d feel happier if there was an adult travelling with them.’
‘We can find somebody, I’m sure,’ Aunt Claire said, tossing her head. ‘The schools have French mademoiselles who must be travelling home at the end of the summer term. Leave it to me; I’ll find somebody.’
Simon came indoors.
‘How’s the birthday party going?’ his mother asked.
‘Pretty boring,’ Simon told her. ‘One of the rabbits had a nose bleed and a guinea pig was sick. It’s just like those awful parties for little girls that Rose used to have.’
‘Oh dear, perhaps I’d better go and see if they’re all right,’ his mother said and went out into the garden.
‘Aunt Claire,’ Simon asked. ‘What do you think about the holiday in France?’ He tried to sound casual and gazed at the stick insects as he spoke.
‘It’s all arranged. There are no problems,’ Aunt Claire said and shut her small mouth firmly.
Simon forgot about being casual, gave a whoop of joy and dashed out into the garden.
Rose was bending over the run talking to Porky.
‘We’re going,’ he shouted. ‘We’re almost certainly going.’
‘Where?’
‘To France, you idiot.’
‘Oh, dear,’ Rose said. ‘But what about Porky? I can’t possibly go to France and leave Porky behind.’