Charlie's Gang Read Online Free PDF

dreadfully. If she wasn’t going to be taken for walks, she didn’t see why she couldn’t be at home with him, keeping him company while his leg mended. She longed to be safely back on his knee. And of course Darren never bothered to take her to work, leaving her alone instead, shut up in the house with nothing to do and no company. She slept most of the time, willing the weeks to pass until Brian would be better. She was sure that Brian’s business would go badly with Darren running it.
    He’ll be rude to the clients and say it wasn’t him that broke whatever precious thing he’s bound to break, Beattie thought, and Brian will get the blame. I wish Brian would come, or Mum, or Allie or Meg.
    Beattie began to think about running away. She had made the journey from Brian’s flat to Ogden Wash many times, because Darren had no transport of his own and she and Brian picked him up and took him home on most days. But whether she could manage the journey alone on foot was a worry. There were several complicated roundabouts, a railway line, and a huge flyover on the way into Birmingham.
    Far from being grateful for the lifts, Darren resented being dependent on them, and envied a smart motorbike owned by Andy. Whenever he could, Darren would take the motorbike, saying Andy wouldn’t mind. But of course Andy did mind, and there were noisy quarrels about this which Beattie hated, since during them, Darren would often aim a kick at her.

    One Sunday some three or four weeks after Beattie had arrived in Ogden Wash, Darren, Andy and Mike were sitting around waiting for the football to start on TV. Beattie was lying uncomfortably behind the sofa, when she heard Darren say,
    â€˜I’ve been thinking. I’ve got this stupid dog here that I’m supposed to be looking after, and I reckon she should be making me some money, not lounging around all day doing nothing, lazy little object that she is.’
    Andy and Mike looked only half interested.
    â€˜I reckon I could rent her out for ratting,’ Darren went on. ‘My dad used to do a bit of pest control, and you can earn good money. People will pay anything to get rid of rats. Or mice even.’
    â€˜Oh, right,’ said Mike, and Andy asked, ‘What d’you know about rats then?’
    â€˜Not a lot,’ said Darren, ‘but I won’t be doing the job. She will.’
    Beattie listened carefully. Ratting eh? She drew herself up as she remembered her membership, through her mother, of the SSJRT. Mum never managed to teach me much, but she said ratting was in my blood, so it must be.
    Beattie had never met a real rat, but she’d seen them on Youtube. How hard can it be? Just grab ‘em by the neck and shake. She was sure that was what Dora had said.
    The following Wednesday Darren took her down to the local pub. He’d run off some adverts on Andy’s computer and he handed them round to the customers sitting with their drinks.
    Darren’s Pest Control
(Established 1862)
    Plagued by Rats? Mice? Weasels?
    Phone Darren and his expert ratting dog.
    Darren’s mobile number was printed underneath.
    â€˜Now, you horrible dog,’ he said to Beattie, ‘you can start some real work! Make sure you’re good at it, or you’ll have me to answer to.’
    â€˜Evening,’ Beattie heard a croaky voice as Darren downed his pint and wiped his mouth with a grubby sleeve. ‘This your advert is it?’
    â€˜It is,’ replied Darren at once. ‘D’you need some rats clearing?’
    â€˜ I don’t,’ said Archibald Trundle, who just happened to be enjoying a quiet beer in the pub over in Ogden Wash on his way home from visiting his even-older sister. ‘You new to the area are you? Don’t know much about the locality?’
    â€˜I know enough,’ said Darren irritably, ‘what’s it to you Old Man?’
    â€˜Nothing to me,’ croaked Mr Trundle,