Fennymore and the Brumella Read Online Free PDF Page B

family had moved into the supermarket warehouse and how they had made beds for themselves out of large cardboard boxes. And she told him how her six brothers sometimes got on her nerves.
    Fennymore found it all very interesting. He was amazed at what Fizzy told him about what they ate. On Sundays the Kobaldini family ate thick pancakes and sometimes there was fizzy lemonade too if the supermarket manager had given them a few out-of-date bottles.
    All of a sudden, he became dreadfully embarrassed about his eating habits, and in particular the contents of his gymbag. Celery, liver pâté and unsplit bananas – who on earth ate things like that? Obviously not Fizzy.
    Although I haven’t told her that on Sundays I always ate salt-baked dachshund , Fennymore thought with relief.
    â€˜Let’s take a break.’ Fizzy’s voice interrupted his musings. It was starting to drizzle and they had stopped at an enormous haystack. ‘I can’t go another step and I’m hungry.’
    She made a lunge for the gym-bag that hung from his shoulder.
    Horrified, Fennymore held his breath. If Fizzy unpacked his lunch, she’d finally realise what a weirdo he was.
    But Fizzy had snuggled in among the hay and was already examining the contents of his gym-bag. She took everything out, one by one.
    â€˜Let’s see. Celery. Hmm. Pâté. Aha. Bananas. Good. And the hay. Interesting selection. But there’s plenty of hay here already,’ she joked and plumped for a banana.
    It was as if a weight lifted from Fennymore’s shoulders. It occurred to him how hungry he was too. He squirmed in beside Fizzy in the little hay-cave and bit with a joyful crunch into the celery.
    He squinched up his eyes to see if he could make out The Bronx in the distance. Not a thing to be seen. He couldn’t even see the tallest building in town. They’d come a long way!
    â€˜So what’s the story with your parents?’ Fizzy asked, giving him a curious sideways look.
    â€˜Yeah, well,’ said Fennymore and hung his head. He said nothing for a while. But then he told Fizzy as much as he knew.
    That his parents had disappeared about three years ago. That from that day to this, he had lived all alone in The Bronx and that Aunt Elsie had looked after him. That his birthday had become a forgotten day. It did him good to get it off his chest.
    When Fennymore had stopped speaking and was just trying to decide if he should let Fizzy into the salt-baked dachshund story, he realised that she had fallen asleep. The sun was still high in the sky and the hay tickled his chin. Fennymore felt sleepy too. He pulled Aunt Elsie’s flowery rain hat down over his eyes and nodded off.

CHAPTER 9
    In which Fennymore and Fizzy find Monbijou and fetch up in a weird kind of place
    Ting-a-ling! Fennymore was dreaming about a sky-blue bicycle. It was using a string of liver-pâté sausages as a tightrope that was stretched between two high-rise buildings and it was ringing its bell. Ting-a-ling! The tinkling was getting louder, the sausages were swaying dangerously and – no! – the bicycle tottered and fell, fell, fell into the depths. Fennymore jerked awake and opened his eyes.
    The sun was lower in the sky and something was sticking into his back. Fennymore pulled a handful of hay out of his shirt and in doing so he touched something soft.
    â€˜Hrmph,’ muttered Fizzy in her sleep.
    Then Fennymore heard it again. Ting-a-ling. This time the sound was softer than in his dream. Muffled, somehow. Fennymore pulled himself together, sat up and pressed his left ear against his head. The ringing sound seemed to come from behind him.
    Slowly, he crept around the piled-up hay. Now Fennymore could hear a chomping sound. He poked his head carefully around the corner of the haystack and what he saw brought on the hiccups again. Monbijou was up to his pedals in hay, munching away.
    â€˜Mon – hic – bijou!’