Paddington Races Ahead

Contents

 

Chapter One

M
R
C
URRY’S
B
IRTHDAY
T
REAT

E
ARLY
ONE SPRING
morning Paddington hurried into the garden as soon as he had finished breakfast in order to inspect his rockery. He was an optimistic bear at heart, and having planted some seeds the day before, he was looking forward to seeing the results.

The seeds had been a free gift in one of Mrs Brown’s magazines, and the picture on the side of the packet was a blaze of bright yellow flowers. Some of them were almost as tall as the magazine’s gardening expert, Alf Greenways.

Mr Greenways was known to his many friends in the trade as ‘Beanpole Greenways’, so it was as good a recommendation for success as anyone could possibly wish for.

He also owned the nursery supplying the sunflower seeds, so it was no wonder he was beaming all over his face as he held a watering can aloft, spurring his blooms to even greater heights.

Paddington got down on all fours and peered at the freshly-raked soil in his patch of garden, but apart from a disconsolate-looking caterpillar, there wasn’t so much as the tiniest of green shoots to be seen. Everything was exactly as he had left it the night before when he had gone outside with a torch before going to bed.

Mr Greenway’s seeds were rather large and he couldn’t help wondering if he had planted them upside down by mistake.

A robin redbreast landed on a nearby rock to take a closer look at what was going on, but having spotted Paddington’s network of cotton threads protecting the patch, it flew off in disgust.

Mr Brown was right. Gardens were a good example of life in the raw; a constant battle between good and evil. Slugs, for example, were given very short shrift, often ending up with the contents of a salt cellar upended over them, whereas worms were always welcome – unless of course they happened to come up for air in the middle of the lawn.

All the same, it was disappointing, and for a moment or two Paddington toyed with the idea of going indoors and fetching his binoculars in case the caterpillar had a hearty appetite and he could see traces of green on its lips.

He was in the middle of weighing up the pros and cons when he heard an all-too-familiar voice calling out to him.

His heart sank as he looked up and saw the Browns’ neighbour peering at him over the top of the fence. Not that there was anything new in that; Mr Curry was a notorious busybody and he spent his life poking his nose into other people’s affairs.

Because his patch of garden coincided with some higher ground on Mr Curry’s side, Paddington often bore the brunt.

It was most disappointing. Mr Brown had spent half of the weekend raising the fence at that particular point, with the express intention of putting a stop to their neighbour’s spying.

At the time Mrs Bird had said ‘the chance would be a fine thing’ and it looked as though her worst fears were being realised.

“What are you doing, bear?” growled Mr Curry suspiciously. “Up to no good as usual, I suppose.”

“Oh, no, Mr Curry,” said Paddington. “I was just checking my blooms – except I haven’t got any yet. Mrs Bird was right. She said you would be bound to find a box to stand on. I mean…”

“What was that, bear?” barked Mr Curry.

“Mrs Bird saw a fox in our garden the other day,” said Paddington hastily. “She thinks it came over here because it couldn’t find anything interesting in yours.”

Paddington was normally the most truthful of bears and he stayed where he was for a moment or two in case the proverbial thunderbolt landed on his head, but nothing happened, so he breathed a sigh of relief and carried on looking for new plant shoots.

“I don’t see any point in having flowers,” growled Mr Curry. “Nasty things. They make the place untidy – dropping their petals everywhere. Just you wait.”

“I was hoping Mr Brown might take a photograph of mine when they are ready,” explained Paddington. “It’s my Aunt Lucy’s birthday in August and she says flowers always brighten things up. They don’t have many in the Home for Retired Bears in Lima and I thought I could send her a picture she can keep by her bed.”

A gleam entered Mr Curry’s eyes and he suddenly perked up. “Do you know what day it is today, bear?” he asked casually.

Paddington thought for a moment. “I think it’s a Wednesday, Mr Curry,” he said.

“Nothing else about it?” asked Mr Curry.

“Not that I know of,” said Paddington. “I can ask Mrs Bird if you like.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Mr Curry hastily. Reaching inside his jacket pocket, he removed a folded sheet of paper.

“It’s funny you should mention the word ‘birthday’, bear,” he continued, waving it in the air. “Quite a coincidence, in fact. Don’t tell anyone else, but it happens to be my birthday today.”

“Does it really, Mr Curry?” exclaimed Paddington. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well,” said the Browns’ neighbour, “you do now, but since you have clearly forgotten the fact, it’s…”

He broke off as the paper slipped from his fingers and they both watched it flutter to the ground on Paddington’s side of the fence and land at his feet.

“Now look what you’ve made me do!” he barked. “I’ve dropped my list of presents… I sat up late last night making it out…”

Paddington looked shocked. “You haven’t opened them already have you, Mr Curry?” he exclaimed. “Mrs Bird says that’s supposed to be very unlucky.”

“I don’t have any to open yet, bear,” said Mr Curry. “That paper you made me drop contains a list of all the things I wouldn’t mind having.

“I made it out in case anyone happens to be stuck for ideas,” he added casually.

Paddington made haste to retrieve the paper. From a quick glance, it seemed to be rather long.

“Don’t bother reading it now, bear,” said Mr Curry hastily. “You can keep it to browse over at your leisure. However, there isn’t much time left, so I suggest you don’t hang about. I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Thank you very much, Mr Curry,” said Paddington doubtfully. “Bears are good at browsing, so I don’t expect I shall keep it very long.”

But the Browns’ neighbour had already disappeared. One moment he was there, the next moment, following what sounded remarkably like a chuckle, his kitchen door slammed shut.

Paddington stood where he was for a moment or two, wondering what to do with the paper in his paw; then he slowly made his way back to the kitchen.

Mrs Bird, the Browns’ housekeeper, was busy making marmalade, but she gave one of her snorts when he told her what had happened. “I’ll give that Mr Curry a birthday present,” she said.

Withdrawing a wooden spoon from one of the saucepans, she licked it with evident relish. “One he won’t forget in a hurry.”

Catching sight of an anxious look on Paddington’s face, she softened. “I daresay he can’t help being the way he is. He must have been born that way. It’s our bad luck we have the misfortune to live next door to him.

“It isn’t like me to forget anyone’s birthday,” she continued, her mind clearly on other things. “Even Mr Curry’s. I thought it was much later in the year…

“Could you read out some of the things he wants – I daren’t leave my saucepans for a moment in case they boil over.”

Paddington was only too pleased to oblige.

“A new ballcock for the cistern…” he announced, “…a mouse trap… breakfast cereal (see two packets for price of one offer at cut-price grocers)… a three-for-one offer on tubes of shaving cream from new stall in market…”

“I take it all back,” said Mrs Bird, over another quick stir. “He must have turned over a new leaf. It doesn’t sound like him at all. It’s much too modest.”

She thought for a moment. “It just so happens I have a fruit cake in the oven. It was meant for our tea, but it won’t take long to cover it with marzipan… he likes lots of candles and his name written in the icing…

“It would happen today when I’m up to my eyes. It’s way past the marmalade-making season, but I’m experimenting with some Seville oranges I’ve been keeping in the freezer. I’m not too sure how they will turn out.”

“Your 2009s were very good, Mrs Bird,” said Paddington knowledgeably. “I stuck three of the labels from the jars into my scrapbook to remind me. It was the best I’ve ever had.”

“All gone, I’m afraid,” said Mrs Bird, hiding her pleasure as best she could over the saucepan. “And there’s not much left of the 2010s either. I don’t know what happens to marmalade in this house,” she added meaningly. “It just disappears.”

Clearly in two minds about what to do next, she began sorting out her spoons.

“Perhaps I could help, Mrs Bird?” said Paddington. “I wouldn’t want your experiment to go wrong.”

“Would you mind, dear?” said Mrs Bird. “You could get him some of that shaving cream.” Reaching into her handbag she withdrew a five pound note. “That ought to take care of it.”

Paddington needed no second bidding. The steam from the saucepan was making his whiskers droop, and with Mrs Brown at the hairdressers, and both Jonathan and Judy away at school, he was at a bit of a loose end, so he was on his way in no time at all.

Over the years he had become a well-known figure in the Portobello market, and although he had gained a reputation for driving a hard bargain, the resident traders were always pleased to see him.

That said, more often than not, outsiders with their barrows were a case of ‘here today and gone tomorrow’, so it was some while before Paddington came across the one he was looking for.

Chalked on a large piece of slate were the words: TODAY’S BARGAIN, and underneath a smaller announcement that said: THREE ORDINARY SIZE TUBES OF SHAVING CREAM ALL IN ONE GIANT TUBE!

“As used by some of the crowned ’eads of Europe in the old days,” called the stall keeper, rubbing his hands in anticipation of a sale as he saw Paddington eyeing his display. “It wasn’t my fault it fell off the back of a lorry a couple of days ago just as I ’appened to be setting up me barrow. I ran after it, but it was gone before I could say ’alf a mo.”

He took a closer look at Paddington. “If you don’t mind my saying so,” he said. “You look as though you could do with a good shave…

“I’m not asking two nicker. I’m not even asking three. Seeing as you’re the first customer of the day, you can ’ave one of them giant tubes for four pounds…”

Paddington gave the man a hard stare. “Aren’t you going the wrong way?” he said, raising his hat politely.

The stall keeper paused and his eyes narrowed. “I can see there are no flies on you, mate,” he said. “If you don’t fancy ’aving a good shave, how about a new titfer tat?” He reached out for a pile of hats. “Yours looks as if it’s seen better days.”

“It belonged to my uncle in Darkest Peru,” said Paddington. “It was handed down. The shaving cream is a birthday present for our next door neighbour.”

Wilting under Paddington’s gaze, the man hastily changed his tune. “Nothing like starting the day with a bit of friendly banter,” he said. “You can ’ave it for two pounds and seeing it’s a birthday present I’ll throw in some wrapping paper for luck.”

“Thank you very much,” said Paddington. “I might come here to do some shopping again tomorrow.”