Betsey Biggalow Is Here! Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  The Special, Special Trainers!

  Betsey Biggalow Is Here!

  Betsey and the Mighty Marble

  Betsey’s Bad Day!

  About the Author

  Also by Malorie Blackman

  Copyright

  About the Book

  “Have no fear! Betsey Biggalow is here!”

  Meet Betsey Biggalow! She may be small, but she’s full of big ideas, like her HELP THE WORLD day. But botheration! No one seems to want her help . . . until she hears something that sounds like someone in trouble. Maybe someone does need her help after all!

  Four funny adventures in the sunny Caribbean, perfect for building reading confidence.

  For Neil and Lizzy, with love as always.

  The Special, Special Trainers!

  Betsey peered in through the shoe shop window. There they were! Her special trainers. Her magic trainers. With those trainers she wouldn’t just run, she’d fly! No one would be able to catch her in those extra special, special trainers.

  “Betsey, come away from that window.” Gran’ma Liz frowned.

  “Oh, Gran’ma Liz. Look! The trainers I was telling you about – they’re still there!” Betsey pointed.

  “They’re going to stay there too!” Gran’ma Liz said. “Come on.”

  “But I need a new pair of trainers,” said Betsey. “Mine are worn to nothing now.”

  “I don’t know how you can get through the soles of your shoes so fast.” Gran’ma Liz tutted. “You must be eating them!”

  “Gran’ma Liz, just look at these trainers. Look at the colours. Look at the laces. Look at the . . .”

  “Look at the time!” Gran’ma Liz glanced down at her watch. “Come on, Betsey, or we’ll miss our bus.”

  “But Gran’ma Liz . . .”

  “Betsey, for the last time, I’m not buying you those trainers. For weeks now, all your mum and I have heard from you is trainers this and trainers that!”

  “But Gran’ma Liz, my best friend May has a pair of those trainers,” Betsey said eagerly, “and you should see her when she runs. She doesn’t run, she soars and swoops – just like a bird or a plane.”

  “Betsey, you talk some real nonsense sometimes,” said Gran’ma Liz. “Come on, child.”

  So Betsey had to leave the front of the shoe shop. She crossed her fingers tight, tight, tight.

  “I want those trainers something fierce,” Betsey muttered to herself.

  “What did you say, Betsey?” asked Gran’ma Liz.

  “Nothing, Gran’ma,” said Betsey.

  “Hhmm!” said Gran’ma. And without another word, off they went home.

  But on the way home, Betsey had an idea . . .

  At dinner time, the family sat around the table — there was Gran’ma Liz, Mum, Betsey’s bigger sister, Sherena, and Betsey’s bigger brother, Desmond. For dinner there was cou-cou and flying fish and salad and a huge jug of delicious mango punch with plenty of ice. Betsey licked her lips. Scrumptious!

  “Pass the salt please, Betsey,” said Sherena.

  Betsey picked up the glass salt shaker. “The tops of the trainers I want are just as white as this salt,” said Betsey.

  She pointed to the pepper bottle.

  “And the soles of the trainers I want are blacker than the writing on the pepper bottle.” Sherena and Desmond looked at each other.

  “Betsey, I don’t want to hear anymore about those trainers. D’you hear?” Gran’ma Liz frowned.

  “Yes, Gran’ma,” Betsey said.

  Betsey poured herself a glass of mango punch, but some spilt onto the sky-blue tablecloth. The yellow-orange liquid spread out.

  “Betsey!” said Gran’ma Liz. “Look at that mess.”

  “That stain is just about the size of the trainers I want,” Betsey murmured.

  Gran’ma Liz could stand it no longer.

  “Elizabeth Ruby Biggalow, all day, all week, all month, you’ve done nothing but mope and whine about those trainers.” Gran’ma Liz frowned. “Your long face is spoiling my day as well as my dinner. Now not another word.”

  And Betsey knew then that she’d better shut up. Whenever Gran’ma Liz called her by her whole, full name, Betsey knew she was treading dangerously close to trouble.

  But for the rest of the evening, all Betsey had in her head were her special trainers. She even fell asleep dreaming of soaring and flying, her special trainers on her feet.

  The next morning, when Betsey went down for breakfast, everyone was unusually quiet.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Betsey.

  “I’ve got something for you.” Mum smiled. “As your old trainers are in such a state, I decided to get you some new ones.”

  “You bought the trainers!” Betsey couldn’t believe it.

  “Now perhaps we can all get some peace,” Gran’ma Liz sniffed.

  Betsey grinned and grinned. Her extra special trainers. She’d got them at last. Mum handed over the bag she was hiding behind her back. Betsey opened the bag and . . .

  “What’s the matter?” asked Sherena.

  “Oh!” Betsey couldn’t say anything else. Her eyes started stinging and there was a huge, choking lump in her throat. Botheration! These weren’t the trainers she wanted. Where were the ones with the white fronts and the black soles and the red laces? Where were her special trainers? Still in the shop – that’s where!

  These ones were pink and grey and didn’t have any black writing on them like the ones she wanted.

  “Betsey . . .” Gran’ma warned. “Your mum had to take time off work to buy those for you.”

  “Don’t you like them, Betsey?” Mum asked.

  “They’re lovely,” Betsey whispered.

  “Put them on then,” urged Desmond.

  Betsey sat down and, oh so slowly, she put on her new shoes.

  “They look boss!” Sherena smiled.

  “The best trainers I’ve ever seen,” said Desmond.

  Gran’ma Liz didn’t say anything. She just watched Betsey.

  “Can I go and show them to my friend May, please?” Betsey asked Mum.

  “Go ahead then.” Mum smiled. “But don’t stay with her too long. You’ve still got your morning chores to finish.”

  Betsey ran out of the kitchen. She couldn’t wait to get out of the house. She looked down at her feet. These shoes weren’t her special trainers. These shoes were just horrible. Betsey ran all the way to May’s house – sprinting as if to run the trainers right off her feet. At May’s house, Betsey knocked and knocked again. May opened the door. Worse still, May opened the door wearing the very same trainers that Betsey had wanted so much.

  “Hi May,” Betsey said glumly.

  “Hi Betsey,” said May. “I was just going to the beach. Coming?”

  Betsey shrugged. “Just for a little while.”

  So off they went. But things weren’t right. No, they weren’t. By the time Betsey and May reached the beach, they were having a full blown, full grown argument.

  “Well, my trainers are the best in the country,” said May.

  “My trainers are the best in the world,” Betsey fumed.

  “Talk sense! My trainers are the best in the universe,” said May.

  “I hate you and your trainers,” Betsey shouted. “And I hate these ones I’m wearing and I hate everything.”

  “And I hate you and your smelly shoes too,” May stormed.

  Betsey and May stared and glared and scowled and growled at each other.

  Then Betsey started to smile, then to laugh, then to hold her stomach she was laughing so much.


  “What’s so funny?” May asked, still annoyed.

  “Botheration! Imagine hating a pair of shoes!” Betsey laughed. “You hate my shoes and I hate your shoes. And both pairs of shoes are probably laughing at us for being so foolish.”

  “All this fuss over a pair of trainers,” May agreed with a giggle.

  “Come on! Let’s have a run. Things are always better after a run on the beach,” said Betsey. “I’ll race you to that palm tree yonder.”

  “Ready . . . steady . . . go!”

  And off they both sprinted, faster than fast. They leapt over the sand and through the lapping water, kicking up the spray as they went, laughing and laughing. Until finally, they both collapsed in the shade of the palm tree Betsey had pointed to. Who won the race? Neither May nor Betsey cared.

  Betsey glanced down at her wet shoes. They were all right! Not the ones she’d wanted, but a present from her mum just the same. A special present. A wonderful surprise.

  “Look at that!” said May, surprised. May pointed to her trainers. The red colour in her laces was running down the white front of her trainers and over the black writing. May’s trainers didn’t like getting wet – not one little bit. Betsey glanced down at her own trainers – still grey and pink and no running colours anywhere. She jumped up.

  “May, let’s walk along the beach for a bit longer,” said Betsey. “We can collect shells and paddle. Never mind our trainers. Let’s walk along in our bare feet.”

  “Yeah! It’s much nicer walking on the sand in bare feet anyway,” May agreed.

  And May and Betsey ran over the white sand and through the blue water, their trainers knotted at the laces and dangling around their necks.

  Betsey Biggalow Is Here!

  Betsey Biggalow had another of her bright and shiny ideas! Today would be her HELP THE WORLD day! The question was, who should she help first? She ran into the living room. Sherena was sitting at the table, books, books and more books spread out in front of her.

  “Have no fear! Betsey Biggalow is here!” said Betsey proudly.

  “Not now, Betsey. Can’t you see I’m busy?” said Sherena.

  Betsey walked across to peer over her sister’s shoulder.

  “What are you doing?”

  Sherena looked up, annoyed. “I’m trying, trying to revise for my maths test on Monday.”

  “I’ll help you,” Betsey insisted.

  “You can help me by disappearing,” Sherena said crossly. “Go on! Vanish! Depart! Leave! Go away!”

  “All right. You don’t have to go on,” said Betsey. “If you don’t need my help, I’ll go and find someone who does.”

  “You do that!” said Sherena, burying her head back in the book in front of her.

  Betsey ran out into the backyard to see her brother. Desmond was feeding the chickens which clucked and pecked and pecked and clucked.

  “Have no fear! Betsey Biggalow is here!” said Betsey. “I’ve come to help.”

  “I don’t need the help of a shrimp like you,” Desmond scoffed. “Besides, how come you wait till I’ve almost finished, before coming to help me?”

  “Well, I’m here now,” said Betsey. Helping the world was turning out to be more difficult than she’d ever imagined.

  “Betsey Biggalow, what are you up to?” Gran’ma Liz came out into the yard. “If you’re seeking useful employment, I can soon find a hundred and one things for you to do.”

  Betsey shuddered. She was looking for one interesting something to do – not a hundred and one boring things!

  “No thanks, Gran’ma Liz,” said Betsey. “I was just about to go and see my friend May.”

  “Hhmm!” said Gran’ma Liz. “Well, just make sure you’re back before supper.”

  Betsey didn’t need to be told twice. It was time to scarper before Gran’ma Liz decided that her one hundred and one things should come before a visit to May.

  So off Betsey went, down the track, along the road, to May’s house. The evening sun was still hot, hot, hot and the sugar cane in the fields on either side of the road cast long, evening shadows.

  “Botheration! So much for ‘Have no fear, Betsey Biggalow is here!’” Betsey muttered with disgust.

  And so much for helping the world. You just couldn’t help the world when it didn’t want your help! Betsey was so deep in thought that she almost didn’t hear it. She stopped and frowned and looked around. Then it came again.

  “Help . . . oh, please help me . . .”

  Frightened, Betsey looked around. “Who’s that? Who’s there?”

  “Over here . . .” the faint voice said.

  Slowly, oh so slowly and oh so carefully, Betsey crept over towards the voice. Then she saw him. There, lying in a ditch by the side of the road, was a man with a moustache. He was lying half on his side, half on his back. And there, on top of his left leg, was a motorbike.

  “I . . . I think I’ve broken my leg,” the man whispered. Betsey could see the perspiration all over his cheeks and his chin. His wet face glistened in the evening sunshine. His shirt was damp and sticking to him just as closely as Gran’ma Liz’s Sunday hat stuck to her head.

  “Wait . . . wait there. I’ll go and get my gran’ma,” Betsey said. “I’ll be right back.”

  “What’s your . . . your name . . .” asked the man.

  “Betsey. Betsey Biggalow.”

  “Hurry, Betsey . . .” the man gasped, before his eyes closed and his head nodded down towards the ground.

  Betsey ran. She raced like the wind.

  “Gran’ma Liz! Gran’ma Liz! There’s a man. And he’s broken his leg. And he’s lying in a ditch. And his motorbike is lying on his leg. And his eyes are closed. And . . .”

  “Calm down, child.” Gran’ma Liz frowned. “Now what’re you saying?”

  So Betsey explained all over again. The words fell over each other, each one in a rush to be heard. Desmond came in from the garden and Sherena left her books in the living room to listen. By the time Betsey had finished explaining she was out of breath.

  “You’d better take us to him,” Gran’ma Liz said. Gran’ma Liz got a blanket and off they all went. At last they reached the part of the road where Betsey had seen the man and his motorbike in the ditch. And he was still there, his eyes closed, his body as still as Sunday morning.

  “Sherena, run back to the house and phone for an ambulance. Desmond, Betsey, help me move this motorbike off his leg.” Gran’ma Liz got busy at once.

  “Is he all right?” Desmond puffed as they tried to shift the motorbike.

  “He’s still breathing and that’s something,” said Gran’ma Liz. “He’s unconscious. The pain was probably too much.”

  “Should we move him?” asked Betsey.

  “No. When someone’s been in a road accident you shouldn’t move them. The paramedics will know the right way to move him,” Gran’ma Liz said. “I’ll cover him with this blanket I brought with me.”

  “Why does he need a blanket? It’s hot-baking!” said Betsey.

  “Anyone who’s had a shock should be kept warm. You can get cold very quickly when you’ve had a serious accident. We’ll stand and watch over him until the ambulance arrives.”

  “Look, Gran’ma Liz. The front tyre of his bike is flat.” Desmond pointed. “He must have got a puncture and skidded off the road.”

  “If the good Lord had meant for us to go tearing around to up, down, below and above, we would have petrol in our bodies, not blood,” Gran’ma Liz sniffed. Gran’ma Liz didn’t approve of fast cars and faster motorbikes.

  After what seemed like ages an ambulance finally arrived, its lights flashing, its siren wailing. Betsey watched, holding her breath, as the paramedics lifted the man with the broken leg onto a stretcher. The injured man’s eyes fluttered open and saw Betsey.

  “It’s OK. You’re going to the hospital now,” said Betsey.

  “Thank you, Betsey.” The man smiled. “I’m going to be fine now.” And he closed his eyes as he was carrie
d over to the ambulance. In only a few moments, the ambulance went roaring away towards the hospital, its siren wailing.

  “Will the man and his leg be all right?” asked Betsey.

  “He’ll be fine. At the hospital they’ll fix him up in no time.” Gran’ma Liz smiled. “Betsey, you did very well. You were right to come and get me.”

  Betsey thought hard for a moment.

  “I didn’t help the whole world today,” she said. “But I did help a little bit of it. I think that’s OK.”

  “Of course it’s OK. I’m proud of you, Betsey,” said Gran’ma Liz.

  And what did Betsey do? Betsey just smiled.

  Betsey and the Mighty Marble

  ‘I’ve got a marble. A mighty marble,” said Josh proudly. School had finished for the day and there was still plenty of afternoon left to play in. Betsey and her friends were at the beach.

  “Who wants to look at my mighty marble?” Josh called out.

  “Me! Me!” everyone shouted.

  Josh held out his marble in the palm of his hand. Betsey’s brown eyes sparkled brighter than sunshine on the clear blue sea behind her. Ooooh! All eyes were on Josh’s marble. Oh, how it glittered! Oh, how it glistened! Betsey had never seen anything like it.

  “I told you,” said Josh. “Isn’t it terrific?”

  It was the biggest marble Betsey had ever seen and it was filled with sky blue and leaf green and moonlight silver slivers.

  “It’s the most beautiful marble in the world,” Betsey breathed. And all at once, she wanted that marble. She wanted that marble something fierce.

  “Josh,” began Betsey, holding up her bag of marbles. “I’ll swap you ten of my best marbles for your mighty marble.”

  “No way,” Josh scoffed. “Mr Mighty Marble is staying with me!”

  “I’ll swap you twenty of my marbles for your mighty marble,” said May.

  Soon the air was filled with ‘I’ll swap you this” and “I’ll swap you that”, but Josh only laughed and held Mr Mighty Marble up higher.