Jacqueline Wilson's Happy Holidays Read online

  ‘Is that you, Biscuits?’ I shouted.

  Was this all part of his joke? I couldn’t believe he could have scooted up the path to the clifftop so quickly. And surely old Biscuits wouldn’t risk his neck climbing down the sheer cliff face? (Though he had been pretty good at abseiling.)

  ‘Biscuits?’ I yelled, as the sliding and slithering progressed downwards behind me.

  Then I saw a head bob up from behind the rocks. It was munching on a chocolate bar.

  ‘Ha ha! I really got you worried, didn’t I?’ he yelled. ‘I didn’t really leave you, I just hid behind the rocks.’

  ‘Biscuits?’ I said. ‘Then who . . .?’

  I tried to crane round again.

  I saw Biscuits stop and look behind me. His hand stopped in mid air, holding the chocolate. His mouth stayed open and empty.

  I knew it was seriously bad news for Biscuits to forget to eat. My heart was banging to bursting point now. I had a sudden terrible premonition.

  Someone started to give triumphant Tarzan whoops as he got nearer and nearer. I could feel my trapped skin erupting in goosebumps.

  Then I heard a thump thump as two very big boots jumped onto the sand.

  I saw Biscuits mouth one terrible word. Prickle-Head.

  ‘Aha! Who have we got here?’ he yelled triumphantly. ‘Fun time!’

  Biscuits was still standing statue-still. Then he moved. I wouldn’t have blamed him for one minute if he’d clambered back over the rocks to the other beach. I think I might have done. And he could always say he was rushing off to get my dad.

  But Biscuits didn’t run away and really abandon me. He started running towards me, spade at the ready, all set to dig me out and rescue me.

  But he didn’t have time. Prickle-Head got to me first.

  ‘What’s this weird little squashy thing in the sand?’ he said. ‘Is it a little jellyfish?’ He put his great boot right on top of my head, pressing down hard enough to hurt.

  ‘Get off!’ I said.

  ‘Oooh! The jellyfish can talk! Yuck, it really is a jellyfish, there’s slime and snot all over its face.’

  I sniffed desperately.

  ‘Oh my, it’s not a jellyfish at all, it’s the little Mummy’s boy. What’s happened to its weedy wimpy little body then? Someone’s chopped its head off. Well, it’s no use to anyone. Might as well use it as a football, eh?’ He took his boot off my head and took aim.

  ‘Don’t you dare kick him!’ Biscuits yelled, and he started whirling the spade in a threatening manner.

  But Prickle-Head was bigger and quicker. He dodged, pushed and grabbed.

  Biscuits ended up on his bottom.

  Prickle-Head ended up with the spade.

  ‘Aha! It’s my turn to play sandcastles now,’ said Prickle-Head. ‘Here’s a nice castle. Ready-made, couldn’t be better. Hey, look at my castle, Rick.’

  There was another thump on the sand behind me. Prickle-Head had reinforcements.

  Pinch-Face came running into my view. He laughed and aimed a kick at my head. He missed – but only just. I tried to dodge and jarred all down my back.

  ‘Yeah, I don’t like that wet blobby bit on top of the castle. Spoils it, doesn’t it? So shall I pat it smooth, eh?’ Prickle-Head held the spade high and then brought it down hard and fast.

  I screamed.

  Biscuits leapt up and tried to rugby tackle Prickle-Head. The spade swung and landed with a loud bang on the tightly-packed sand.

  ‘Get off, Fatboy,’ said Prickle-Head, and he punched Biscuits in the stomach.

  Biscuits made a sad little ‘oooof’ sound, and sank into the sand like a burst balloon.

  ‘Now, let’s play Hit the Head,’ said Prickle-Head, grabbing the spade again.

  ‘Sounds like fun, Boss,’ said Pinch-Face.

  ‘Look, if you really hit me with that you could easily kill me,’ I said desperately.

  ‘Ooooh! Mummy’s boy is getting really scared now. I bet he’s wetting his little panties,’ said Prickle-Head.

  ‘Why do you want to be so hateful? I haven’t done anything to you,’ I said, snuffling hard.

  ‘It’s fun,’ said Prickle-Head. ‘Right. I’ll take aim.’ He raised the spade high above my head. ‘And then I’m going to go WHACK!’

  ‘Hey, Boss,’ said Pinch-Face. ‘You’re not really going to?’

  ‘What? Are you chicken or something?’

  ‘Of course not. It’s just like the cissy said. You could really smash his head in,’ Pinch-Face said. ‘You’re just kidding, aren’t you?’

  ‘Am I?’ said Prickle-Head. ‘You just wait and see. Right. One, two, three . . .’

  He waved the spade above his head, his face contorted with effort. I stared up into his eyes. I didn’t know if he was really going to do it or not. Maybe he didn’t even know either.

  ‘Please don’t!’ I begged.

  But that just made him grin.

  ‘Ready steady GO!’

  ‘Hey! You! Stop that! Get away from my boy!’

  It was Dad, over at the rocks, scrambling down, the other spade in his hand.

  Prickle-Head waved the spade in mid-air.

  ‘Hey, Boss, we’d better scarper,’ said Pinch-Face.

  He started running.

  Prickle-Head whirled the spade one last time and then threw it as far as he could. Then he ran too.

  ‘Oh, Tim!’ Biscuits gasped, still rolled up in a ball clutching his stomach. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Oh, Biscuits!’ I said. ‘Are you all right?’

  We both felt very wrong indeed. I cried a bit. And so did Biscuits. And then Dad got to us and dug me out, and rubbed Biscuits’ tummy, and gave us both a big hug.

  ‘I couldn’t believe my eyes!’ he said. ‘Thank goodness I decided to bring you the other spade. How dare those boys behave like that!’ He waved his fist at Prickle-Head and Pinch-Face who were scrambling up the cliff.

  ‘You stupid bullying little thugs! And you’re mad to be climbing that cliff. You’ll break your necks – and it’ll serve you right.’

  Prickle-Head yelled a very rude word at Dad.

  ‘Just wait till I find out exactly who that lad is,’ said Dad. ‘I’ve a good mind to go to the local police. That wasn’t childish rough play – that was atrocious bullying. Imagine burying you in the sand like that, Tim! How did he do it? Didn’t you struggle?’

  I hesitated.

  ‘Mm. I actually buried Tim in the sand,’ said Biscuits.

  ‘You did, Biscuits?’ said Dad. ‘Good Heavens! Why? Tim’s your friend.’

  ‘I know. It was just a silly joke. I wasn’t really going to leave him like that. I just hid for a minute. But then Prickle-Head came down the cliffs—’

  ‘Biscuits tried to stop him,’ I said. ‘He was very brave.’

  ‘It was still my fault you were stuck there and couldn’t run away from him,’ said Biscuits. ‘What’s your mum going to say when she finds out?’

  We all three thought about Mum.

  ‘Ah,’ said Dad. ‘Well. Seeing as there’s no lasting harm done . . . shall us men keep quiet about it? We don’t want to worry your mum, Tim. You know what she’s like.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Yes!’ said Biscuits.

  ‘So, if we dust you both down, and mop you up a bit, Mum won’t need to know. But I’m still in two minds whether to go to the police or not. Or if I could track down where the boy is staying I could have a serious word with his father.’

  We saw Prickle-Head that evening when we went to a fun fair with Kelly and Kelly’s mum and Kelly’s mum’s boyfriend Dave and Kelly’s little brother Dean and Kelly’s baby brother Keanu.

  Prickle-Head was there with his mum and his dad and several pricklet brothers and sisters. They all looked almost as fierce and frightening as their big brother Prickle-Head. His mum looked fierce and frightening too. She was shouting at the older children. Then Prickle-Head’s dad whacked them hard about the head. He gave Prickle-He