Authors: Alan MacDonald
Toothy! (2 page)
Bertie paced up and down, trying to stay calm. He had to get out of here before the mad murderer came for him. The nurse was obviously his evil assistant – she’d probably been hypnotized. Somehow he had to make it past the receptionist without getting caught. But how?
He looked around. Maybe he could escape through the window? But it was too high up. Or down the toilet? But
what if he got stuck? His eye fell on some hats and coats hanging up beside the door. A disguise!
A minute later, Bertie slipped out of the cloakroom. He was dressed in a big grey overcoat, which dragged on the floor. He had a trilby hat pulled down over his eyes and a scarf wound round his face. He swept down the hall, trying hard not to trip on his coat-tails.
“Mr Froggat?”
Bertie halted. Did the receptionist mean him? He looked around. There was no one else about.
“Mr Froggat, if you’ve got a moment, please?” said the receptionist.
Bertie shuffled over to the desk, keeping his head down. The hat was too big and kept slipping over his eyes.
“We just need to book your next appointment,” said the receptionist. “When would you like to come?”
Bertie wobbled his head.
“Umm num num,” he mumbled.
“Sorry?” said the receptionist.
Bertie flapped his long sleeves.
“Umm num num,” he repeated.
“I see,” nodded the receptionist, who hadn’t understood a word.
“WHAT ABOUT THE 24th, MR FROGGAT?” she shouted, as if he was deaf. “IT’S A THURSDAY!”
Bertie nodded. He didn’t care what day it was, as long as he could go. The receptionist scribbled the date on a card and handed it to him.
“IS THAT ALL RIGHT?” she yelled.
“Num. Umm num,” mumbled Bertie, taking the card. He hurried away. It was touch and go, but he thought he’d got away with it. All he had to do now was make it down the stairs.
“Excuse me!”
A hand tapped him on the shoulder. Argh! It was his mum!
“Have you seen a small boy?” she asked. “About this big with a runny nose?”
Bertie shook his head firmly. The hat slipped over his eyes and fell off.
Uh-oh. There was only one thing to do. Run for it!
He made a dash for the stairs, but it was no use. Mum had hold of his scarf. She reeled him in.
“And where do you think you’re off to?” she said.
Mum dragged Bertie back down the corridor to the surgery. Mr Filling turned round.
“Ah, Bertie, found you at last!” he beamed. “Trying to escape, were you? Ha ha!”
Mr Filling had a round face with eyebrows that danced around like hairy
caterpillars. Bertie stared at his big hands.
“Jump up and have a seat then,” he said, patting the chair. For a murderer he seemed in a pretty good mood.
Bertie looked back at Mum, who folded her arms. There was no way out. He sat down in the black leather chair. It rose up, humming as it tilted backwards. He found himself staring at pictures of dancing elephants on the ceiling.
“Okay, young man? Comfortable?” boomed Mr Filling.
Bertie nodded. His hands were starting to sweat. What was the dentist’s evil plan? A deadly injection? Poisonous mouthwash? Mr Filling’s masked face loomed into view. Bertie stared at his mad eyes.
“Open wide…” he said, picking up a long silver instrument.
“YEEEEEAAAARGHH!”
Bertie leaped from the chair as if he’d been shot from a catapult. He grabbed a giant toothbrush from a display.
“Keep back or I’ll use it!” he cried.
Mr Filling’s hairy eyebrows shot skywards. Mum advanced. Bertie bolted out of the door.
“Bertie! Get back here!” shouted Mum.
In the hallway, Bertie almost ran into the receptionist. He swerved left and burst into the waiting room. People looked up from their magazines in surprise.
“Hide me!” Bertie panted, waving his toothbrush.
Suzy rolled her eyes. “What are you on about?”
“Quick, he’s coming! He’s going to murder me!”
Footsteps came down the hallway. There was no time to argue. Bertie ducked behind the curtains and pulled them around him. He stood there, trying not to breathe.
Mr Filling, Mum and the dental nurse marched in.
“Where is he?” demanded Mum.
Suzy sighed. She pointed to the curtain where two dirty trainers were poking out.
Mum went over and yanked it back.
“Bertie, what are you playing at?” she cried.
“Don’t let him get me!” begged Bertie.
“Who?”
“Mr Filling! He’s a murderer!”
A gasp went up. Every head in the waiting room turned to look at the dentist.
Mr Filling laughed weakly. “What are you talking about? I just want to examine your teeth!”
“I heard you,” said Bertie. “I heard you say you were going to put me to sleep.”
Mr Filling looked baffled. Then it came back to him. “OH! I was talking about Rex,” he laughed.
“Rex?”
“Yes, my dog. He’s very ill and the vet says it’s kindest to put him to sleep.”
The heads all turned back to Bertie.
“Oh, I see … your dog,” he mumbled.
Mum marched over and grabbed him. “Now, can we
please
get this over with?” she said.
Bertie lay back in the dentist’s chair while Mr Filling examined his teeth.
It wasn’t my fault
, he thought.
Anyone can make a mistake
.
Mr Filling took off his mask.
“There, all done,” he said.
Bertie blinked. That was it? No injections? No fillings? He hadn’t felt a thing. He sat up, feeling a bit foolish. Suzy would never let him forget this. Wait till the story got round school – Bertie hiding from the dentist. He’d never hear the last of it. “Scaredy-cat! Cowardy custard!” they’d call after him.
“Your teeth are fine,” said Mr Filling. “Just don’t forget to clean them.”
Bertie climbed down from the chair.
“I’m sorry about … you know … before,” he mumbled.
Mr Filling laughed.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m used to nervous patients. Your sister used to be the worst.”
“Suzy?” said Bertie. This was news to him.
“Oh, yes, she used to scream if I came near her,” smiled Mr Filling. “I had to give her Mr Teddikins to cuddle.” He pointed to a large, goggle-eyed teddy bear in the corner.
Bertie smiled to himself. Mr Teddikins, eh? Wait till the next time Suzy called him a cry baby. She was never going to tease him again!
