Authors: Alan MacDonald
Angela Nicely (5 page)
“ARRGHH! URRRRRGH!”
Angela hurried upstairs. Strange noises were coming from her parents’ bedroom. It sounded like her mum was having a tooth out.
“ANGELA! Can you come here a moment!” yelled Mrs Nicely.
Uh oh. Surely her mum wasn’t still
cross about her painting the cat’s claws? Nervously, she poked her head round the bedroom door. Mrs Nicely was standing in front of the mirror, wrestling with her dress.
“Did you call me?” asked Angela.
“Yes, I can’t seem to zip up this dress,” huffed her mum.
Was that all? Angela breathed a sigh of relief. She took hold of the zip and pulled. It didn’t move.
“It won’t go,” she said.
“Don’t be silly. Try harder,” said Mrs Nicely.
Angela climbed on to the bed to get a better grip. She tugged. She heaved. She panted and pulled. Finally she flopped back on the bed, out of breath. “It’s no good, it won’t budge.”
Mrs Nicely frowned. “It was fine last time I wore it. Maybe it’s shrunk.”
“Or maybe you got bigger,” suggested Angela.
“Bigger?” Mrs Nicely’s eyebrows shot up. “Do you mean FATTER?”
Angela prodded her mum’s tummy.
“You’re not fat, just a bit squidgy,” she grinned.
“SQUIDGY?” screeched Mrs Nicely.
Angela rolled her eyes. Parents could be so touchy. They were always saying that she should tell the truth, but when she did they hit the roof!
Mrs Nicely turned sideways, inspecting herself in the mirror. She reached behind and yanked the zip up.
RRRRRIPPP!
“ARGHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Angela jumped off the bed and hurried to her room. When her mum was in a bad mood it was best to stay out of the way. Her dad usually hid in the shed.
Half an hour later, Angela came
downstairs. She could hear drawers crashing and banging in the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” she asked, peeping round the door.
“Found it!” cried her mum, waving a piece of paper.
“Found what?” Angela’s dad looked up from his newspaper.
Mrs Nicely handed over a leaflet.
Get into shape! Take a spa break at Bracegirdle Hall! it said.
“A spa break?” said Angela. “What’s that?”
“It’s a sort of healthy holiday,” explained her mum. “I might book it for this weekend.”
“Can I come?” pleaded Angela. She loved holidays.
“I don’t see why not,” said her mum.
“YAHOOOO!” whooped Angela.
Mrs Nicely sighed. “Please don’t do that, Angela. It gives me a headache.”
Her husband looked doubtful. “Are you sure it’s a good idea?” he asked. “It’s not really for children.”
“Of course it is,” said Mrs Nicely. “There’ll be sun loungers, hot tubs, a swimming pool…”
“A swimming pool?” cried Angela excitedly. “Is it like Splash City?”
Bertie, the boy next door, had told her about Splash City. It had six slides and the Rocky Rapids River Ride. Bertie said it was too dangerous for girls, but Angela wasn’t scared of anything.
“Something like that,” said Mrs Nicely. “Anyway, I’m sure there’ll be plenty to do.”
“Will they have pancakes for breakfast?” asked Angela.
“I expect so.”
“YAHOOOOOOO!” yelled Angela. “Sorry. I mean yahoo.”
On Friday evening Angela and her mum arrived at Bracegirdle Hall and headed for reception. Everything was gleaming and spotlessly white. A woman walked past dressed in a white tunic and trousers.
“Mum,” whispered Angela. “I think it’s a hospital.”
“Don’t be silly, Angela,” said Mrs Nicely. “You wait, by Sunday we’ll be the picture of health – and I shall fit into my dress.”
Just then, a door swung open and a gigantic woman marched in. She had heavy eyebrows, huge arms and a hairy mole on her chin.
“Welcome to Bracegirdle Hall,” she barked. “I am Miss Bullock, your personal trainer. I will be in charge of your programme.”
“Oh, er, lovely,” said Mrs Nicely.
“Can we see the swimming pool?” begged Angela, pulling on her mum’s hand. She couldn’t wait to zoom down the Rocky Rapids River Ride.
Miss Bullock waved a beefy arm. “Plenty of time for that later. First, have
you any forbidden goods in your bags? Chocolate, crisps, cakes – nasty things like that?”
“Er, I don’t think so,” said Mrs Nicely.
Miss Bullock gave a snort and unzipped Mrs Nicely’s bag. She put in her hand and seized a packet of ginger creams.
“What do you call this?” she cried.
“Oh, those – they’re for my daughter,” stammered Mrs Nicely.
“They are not!” said Angela. “Ginger creams are
your
favourite.”
“Quiet, Angela,” snapped Mrs Nicely, going pink.
But Miss Bullock hadn’t finished yet. She grabbed Angela’s bag. There was a fudge bar in the pocket. Miss Bullock pounced on it.
“HA! Chocolate!” she cried. “Strictly against the rules.”
“But it’s mine,” argued Angela.
Miss Bullock shoved the bar in her pocket. “Horrible sugary muck. I will take care of it,” she said. “Right, let me show you to your room. Lights out at 10 p.m. I’ll meet you in reception tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. sharp, dressed for exercise.”
The next morning, Angela and her mum waited by reception, their stomachs rumbling. Breakfast had been a measly bowl of muesli.
“When do we go in the swimming pool?” asked Angela.
“Soon,” said Mrs Nicely. “I expect they want to give us tea and a tour of the hall first.”
Miss Bullock arrived, wearing a running vest and tiny shorts. She didn’t look dressed for tea.
“Good,” she said, rubbing her hands. “We’ll begin with a light jog.”
“A jog?” said Mrs Nicely. She hadn’t jogged since she was at school.
“But it’s raining,” protested Angela.
“Pah! A spot of rain will do you good,” said Miss Bullock. She bounded off down the drive. “Come on, keep up!”
An hour later, Angela and her mum staggered up a steep, grassy bank. They were soaking wet, muddy and exhausted.
“No dawdling!” yelled Miss Bullock.
“I can’t go any further,” panted Angela.
“Nor me,” gasped Mrs Nicely.
Miss Bullock looked at her watch. “COME ON! We’ll miss lunch!”
Angela ran. Her mum broke into a feeble trot. At the bottom of the hill was a large muddy puddle.
SPLAT!
Angela skidded and sat down with a squelch. Her mum slid down the hill and fell on top of her. They slipped and slopped around like two hippos in a mud bath.
Miss Bullock rolled her eyes. “Get up, the pair of you!” she barked. “Last one back to the hall does twenty press-ups!”
