Money Bags Read online

  For Ella, a wonderful lady. Thank you.

  First published in Australia in 2007 by

  LJD Books

  PO Box 918, Warragul Vic 3820

  www.quizzicalbook.com

  Text copyright © Leanne Davidson 2006

  Reprinted 2016

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-publication data

  Davidson, Leanne, 1964–

  Money Bags.

  1st ed.

  ISBN 9780 9954 322 1 5 (eBook)

  I. Title.

  Other Creators/Contributors:

  McNab, Nan, editor.

  A823.4

  Cover and text design: Allan Cornwell and Nan McNab

  Produced for LJD Books by Allan Cornwell and Nan McNab

  And thanks to Tibby and Scaggle for help with the cover

  CHAPTER 1

  I’m at the doctor’s.

  It’s not what I’d usually choose to do for Saturday morning recreation, but Mum insisted I get a check-up. She’s a bit worried since the little incident on Quizzical, when I made a complete idiot of myself on national television.

  ‘There might be some underlying reason you got the hiccups on Quizzical,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing more than a simple case of the hiccups, son,’ said Dad. ‘But better to be safe than sorry.’ Then, with a nudge and a wink, he’d whispered, ‘Better still to keep your mother happy, eh?’

  I couldn’t tell them about the Prescott Heath stuff and what happened when I was on Quizzical. About how Ted, Crofty and I, with the help of Prescott’s Personal Assistant, Maxwell Jeebs, had blackmailed him into resigning his job as Principal of Daramour Grammar. He deserved it! I mean, what kind of principal would try to stop a kid like me from competing in a quiz show, just because I posed a threat to Daramour Grammar’s chances of winning?

  Anyway, I told Mum that the hiccups episode on Quizzical was just a one-off thing; that it would never happen again. Not in a million years. But then, sometimes I can argue till I’m blue in the face and it has no effect on my mother.

  ‘You’re going to the doctor’s and that’s that,’ she’d said, in that authoritative way parents have.

  ‘But Mum …’

  ‘No buts, Brain. The sooner we get to the bottom of this, the better. I’m just glad Ted is going on Money Bags and not you.’

  Money Bags. That’s the new quiz show on TV. It’s even more popular than Quizzical. And Ted is going on it.

  I still find that hard to believe, actually. Fancy Ted going on Money Bags instead of me. Not that it bothers me. I’m through with quiz shows anyway.

  But how could anyone think that Ted is smarter than me? I am the smartest kid in school. Everybody knows it.

  The waiting room is full now. I’m the only kid. We are all sitting around like stunned mullets. Well, everyone except Mum. She has her head stuck in one of those glossy women’s magazines, catching up on all the latest gossip.

  It is so boring.

  Aha! I see a crossword book sitting on the table! The Little Book of Crosswords, second edition. I love crosswords! I am an expert at them. I think I’ll just … Bumdrats! The woman next to me just picked it up. Oh well, it was probably too easy for me anyway.

  Moments later she sighs.

  ‘Hmmm … to officially give or grant something … five letters beginning with “A”,’ she says thoughtfully.

  ‘Try AWARD,’ I tell her.

  ‘Oh yes, that fits perfectly,’ she says, and gives me an approving smile.

  ‘Brian Davis,’ the doctor finally calls. The nametag on his jacket says: Dr Jorey. He is holding a file that says: BRIAN DAVIS in big black letters on the front. I shake my head.

  ‘It’s Brain,’ I tell him.

  ‘Oh,’ says Dr Jorey, and looks at me strangely, as if I have an attitude problem or something.

  Mum and I follow him into his room.

  ‘So you have a problem with the hiccups,’ he says to me.

  He is nearly as old as my grandfather, but he has more hair.

  ‘It’s only since …’ Mum begins, but I cut her off quick smart before she gets the chance to blow things way out of proportion.

  ‘It’s not really a problem,’ I tell him. ‘It’s just … well … my mum’s a bit worried, that’s all, ever since I went on Quizzical. You know, that quiz show on television?’

  ‘Yes, I know it,’ he says. ‘I was watching the night you were on. You are a very intelligent lad.’

  ‘I know,’ I say proudly. ‘I am the smartest kid in the school.’

  Dr Jorey looks at me strangely again, as if I have a boasting problem or something.

  He looks thoughtful for a moment, then says: ‘Nerves can cause the hiccups sometimes. I think that’s what might have happened in your case.’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness it’s nothing serious.’ Mum sighs with relief.

  Nerves! Ha! I have never heard of anything so ridiculous. I wonder if Dr Jorey is getting too old for this doctoring thing. But I can’t tell him about the Woozers: those little coloured lollies with the hiccup-inducing side effects. Like he’d believe me anyway!

  ‘I don’t suffer from nerves,’ I tell him calmly.

  ‘Here is some reading material that might be useful,’ he says, as if I haven’t even spoken, and hands me a couple of sheets held together with a paperclip. ‘There are also some breathing exercises I want you to do. They should help. And if you have any further problems, just come back and see me.’

  Yeah, right! As if!

  We are heading out past the waiting room when Mum nudges me and whispers: ‘Isn’t that … oh, you know … that principal from Daramour Grammar? What’s his name?’

  ‘Maxwell Jeebs?’

  ‘No, no … the other one … the one before him.’

  I feel my face turn pale.

  ‘You mean Prescott Heath?’ I quickly glance around the waiting room. ‘He’s here? Where?’

  A look of bewilderment suddenly washes over my mum’s face.

  ‘Well, he was right over there,’ she says, pointing to an empty chair with a newspaper perched on top of it.

  I sigh with relief.

  ‘You must have been mistaken, Mum. Prescott Heath is in Queensland. There’s no way he could be here.’

  ‘But I could have sworn it was him,’ insists Mum, shaking her head.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I tell her. ‘You are forty-two, remember. You can’t expect your eyes to be what they once were.’

  We are approaching the foyer when the woman I was sitting next to in the waiting room stops me.

  ‘Excuse me young man,’ she says sweetly. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know a word with seven letters meaning a spot or stain, would you? ’

  ‘Hmmm … how about BLEMISH?’ I suggest, but then my voice trails off as I notice the person now walking through the doorway. It is my mate Ted Dimple. The same Ted Dimple who is going on Money Bags instead of me. But I don’t hold grudges. I’m not like that.

  Well, I think it is Ted. Except that his face is all puffed up and it has a red rash all over it.

  ‘Ted, is that you?’

  ‘Oh, Brain,’ says Ted nervously. ‘Am I glad to see you.’

  ‘Is everything okay? You look awful.’

  ‘Just meet me at the tree house tonight,’ he whispers. ‘You know the drill. I’ll explain everything.’

  Prescott Heath hated waiting rooms. Especially doctors’ waiting rooms, where people coughed and spluttered, and sprayed their filthy germs everywhere.

  But it couldn�
�t be helped. He was feeling dreadful. He couldn’t sleep, no matter how hard he tried. And the doctor was his last resort.

  The trip to those Queensland islands had done him the world of good. He had luxuriated in the sun and surf, shopped till he’d dropped, and cleared his head in the process. It was wonderful. No pressure. No demands. No stress of any kind.

  But then old George from next door had sent him up copies of The Daramour Gazette, and that’s when he’d seen the picture of Jeebs. There he was, as large as life on the front page, that familiar face smiling triumphantly at him. Mocking him. Above the photo in large, bold type was the heading:

  NEW PRINCIPAL FOR DARAMOUR GRAMMAR

  ‘No,’ breathed Prescott Heath, and he’d felt the blood drain from his face. ‘It’s not possible! How could that ninny be given my job? My job!’ And he’d hurled the newspaper to the floor in disgust, only to pick it up again moments later and rip the front page clean off. Then he’d screwed it up into a tight ball and hurled it across the room.

  ‘Traitor!’ he spat.

  He took some long, deep breaths, then picked up another paper from old George’s pile, and absently flicked through, trying to take his mind off the appalling fact that his assistant now had his job. But when he turned to page five, it was as if the fates were mocking him. He gasped in horror.

  There, for all the world to see, was a full page devoted to the winning Quizzical team – Brain Davis, Ted Dimple and Harriet Spittle – grinning from ear to ear. And the unwelcome news that Ted Dimple was now going to be appearing on Money Bags, the new television quiz show. Dimple, of all people. It was preposterous.

  After that he was seething; the little veins in his temple throbbed wildly.

  ‘You!’ he screamed, as he poked the smiling face of Brain Davis. ‘You and your conniving sidekicks forced me to resign from my school. My school!’ He tossed the paper on the ground and stomped on it, until his rage eventually dissipated.

  Then he’d flopped into a chair, staring at the floor. It wasn’t long, though, before the anger began to rise in him again, and in one swift movement he scooped the paper up, ripped out the offending page and tore it to bits. When he’d calmed down sufficiently, he sat in silence in the darkness. Thinking. Plotting.

  Brain Davis would pay. He would make sure of it.

  And so he’d returned to Daramour. But sleep had deserted him. Thoughts of revenge filled his mind constantly, until he couldn’t think properly, couldn’t function properly.

  Was it possible he was going mad?

  He picked up a magazine from the waiting-room table and skimmed its pages, before throwing it back onto the pile again. He had no patience for this sort of thing. And he felt extremely uncomfortable sitting so close to people he didn’t know.

  He sighed, then reached over to grab a newspaper. At least if he held it up high enough it might block out some of the airborne nasties hovering about the place.

  He barely had it in his grasp when he felt the breath catch in his throat and his hands suddenly went clammy.

  His eyes were fixed on the person walking past the waiting room.

  No, it couldn’t be.

  But there was not a single doubt in his mind. It was.

  Brain Davis.

  Suddenly Prescott Heath felt ill. Panic engulfed him.

  He couldn’t let that appalling boy see him. He had to hide.

  Nausea washed over him in a great wave, and droplets of sweat appeared on his forehead. He took several deep breaths and tried to remain calm. But it didn’t help. In fact, he only felt worse.

  And moments later, clutching at his stomach, he found himself staggering from the waiting room in search of the toilets.

  CHAPTER 2

  I know the drill well. I am an expert at it. I could do it with my eyes closed.

  Lights out across the road at Ted’s.

  Check.

  Mum and Dad preoccupied.

  Check.

  Extra pillows under the blankets.

  Check.

  Torch.

  Check.

  There is nothing else I can think of.

  Check.

  I am ready for action. Window up. Slowly. Quietly.

  Check.

  Creep past garage so as not to disturb …

  Too late! In three seconds flat Mischief is bouncing around me like a lunatic, tail wagging furiously.

  ‘Oh Mischief,’ I groan as I am bombarded with loving licks. ‘You’re not coming. I’m on a secret mission. No dogs allowed.’

  Naturally, Mischief takes no notice. As far as she is concerned ‘no dogs allowed’ is not in her vocabulary. At the first sign of action, or adventure, or anything remotely resembling trouble, Mischief is there in the thick of it.

  Well, she used to be. Until she was dognapped just before Quizzical. Her behaviour since then has been exemplary. No nicking neighbours’ newspapers (or anything else for that matter). No digging holes to bury her loot. No trampling roses, or tomatoes. Not even a visit to a chicken coop.

  Mum and Dad haven’t had to threaten her with the pound once. And that’s saying something!

  I head over to the garage with Mischief and settle her on her bed.

  ‘Stay,’ I tell her firmly, then I head quickly over to the front gate. I am just about to sneak out when I am almost bowled over.

  ‘Mischief, get back here!’ I hiss. But she doesn’t. She is already across the road, sitting on the Dimple front lawn. Why the heck is she in such a hurry to get to Ted’s place? I shake my head in exasperation. I can recognise a ‘no-win’ situation when I see one.

  So I ignore her.

  I crouch behind a bush at the side of the Dimple house.

  Silence. (Except for Mischief panting in my ear.)

  I creep along the garden path, quickly, quietly, until I reach the backyard. Then I stop. And wait.

  Silence. (Except for Mischief pawing at me to play.)

  I see the tree house. It is shrouded in darkness. There are no signs of life.

  I hope Ted is in there. Otherwise I’ll kill him.

  I tiptoe across the grass, with Mischief at my heels. Oh, bumdrats! There’s a heavy dew, and I am only in my socks! They are soaked and cold now.

  Ted had better be in there. Or I’ll torture him before I kill him.

  Snap!

  What was that?

  My heart is thumping in my chest. What if someone is hiding in the bushes?

  I drop to the ground, perfectly still. Fortunately Mischief does the same. But that’s only because she thinks I’m playing a game.

  Suddenly I have a terrible thought. What if it’s Mum and Dad? What if they’ve discovered that I’m not in my room?

  ‘Shhh!’ I whisper as we both lie low. Oh, double bumdrats! Now my pyjamas are soaked too. If Ted is not there I will …

  A flash of light suddenly blinds me.

  Instinctively I fling my head back and shield my eyes from the glare.

  I am just about to surrender, cold and soggy and all, when I hear a familiar voice.

  ‘Pssst, Brain, it’s me. I’m up here. In the tree house.’

  Ted! The doofus! I’m going to throttle him. I swear his brain goes walkabouts sometimes.

  At the sound of Ted’s voice, Mischief pricks up her ears, then bolts in his direction.

  I am furious. My blood is boiling. And to top it off I have white spots in front of my eyes. I feel like yelling some choice words that I wouldn’t normally use because my mum and dad would kill me.

  But I don’t. I bite my tongue. And think them instead.

  How is it possible that Ted is going on Money Bags instead of me?

  CHAPTER 3

  I don’t have the heart to throttle Ted; as much as I’d like to. I know, I am too soft. It’s just the kind of kid I am. But that’s not the only reason. Ted is not as smart as me. Sometimes I forget that.

  It is the sign on Ted’s tree house door that reminds me. It says:

  No tresparsers
<
br />   Or you will be in big trubble!

  Ted is a shocking speller. I don’t know how many times I’ve told him: ‘That’s not how you spell trespassers, Ted. And it’s definitely not how you spell trouble!’

  But Ted is Ted. It just goes in one ear and out the other. How can I throttle someone like that?

  He does have an awesome tree house, though. It’s got the lot: beanbags; blankets; pillows, just in case you want a snooze. It even has a built-in set of drawers in the corner, where Ted keeps things like spare clothes and nibblies. Mischief hasn’t been forgotten, either! Ted keeps a stash of her favourite dog biscuits in here for what he calls ‘bonding purposes’. It is some set-up, let me tell you. If I ever get kicked out of home, I know where to come. I wonder if Ted would charge me rent?

  Speaking of Ted. He is very quiet. Which can mean one of three things.

  1. He is worried about something.

  2. He is too tired to talk.

  3. He is asleep.

  Which is not as silly as it sounds. We’ve been sitting in the dark in silence ever since the little incident earlier, when Ted scared the living daylights out of me. His methods of welcoming someone certainly need an overhaul! Mischief is sprawled on a beanbag, snoring softly. Not that I’m surprised! She probably can’t move after all the dog biscuits Ted has been feeding her.

  Apart from that he hasn’t said a word. I haven’t either, actually, but then I’ve been busy eating a packet of Smarties I found in the top drawer.

  ‘Hey Ted,’ I whisper after a bit. ‘Don’t you think we’ve been in the dark long enough?’

  ‘I guess,’ he says softly.

  I flick on my torch and flash it all around the tree house. Mischief barely stirs.

  ‘I am Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight,’ I say in my best actor’s voice, then I flash it in Ted’s face a few times to perk him up. ‘Come on, you can be Darth Vader.’

  But Ted just sits there. The torch in his face doesn’t even bother him.

  ‘Hey Ted, are you okay?’

  It is then that I notice his face. It’s back to normal, unlike earlier at the doctor’s, when it looked as if a blotchy red balloon was attached to his body.

  ‘Do you think it’s safe to talk?’ asks Ted. His eyes dart left and right, as though he is waiting for something to jump out and attack him.