Selby Splits (6 page)

‘And I miss my job,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘I never thought I would, but I do.’

Selby was just passing the kitchen when he heard another conversation. This time it was between the cook and the gardener.

‘He’s a fusspot, old Bentley,’ the cook said. ‘But I’ll miss him. And I feel sorry for him too.’

‘Why’s that?’ the gardener asked.

‘Because of his daughter. She’s sick and she needs special medicine. It’s very expensive. I don’t know how he’ll afford it if he doesn’t keep his job.’

‘What have I done?’ Selby thought. ‘Sick daughter? Expensive medicine? Losing his job? And the Trifles don’t even like it here. Come to think of it, neither do I. It’s not Bentley that should be leaving, it’s us.’

Selby’s mind raced as he heard Bentley close his bedroom door for the last time and start down the stairs.

‘I’ll go to see Mr Jaggers and tell him that I want to sell the mansion. I’ll split the money between the Trifles and Bentley and then everyone will be happy. But then I’d be telling my secret. My life would be ruined! Hang on, there’s another way.’

With this Selby raced to the desk in the study and got out a pen and a piece of crinkly paper. He quickly wrote a note and then crept back to where the Trifles were sitting and dropped it on the floor. It wasn’t long before Dr Trifle spotted it.

‘Where did this come from?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Mrs Trifle said.‘It seems to be another will. And, look, it’s dated after the other one. Let me read it.’

‘Very strange,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Her handwriting certainly got worse as she got older.’

‘Yes,’ Mrs Trifle agreed. ‘But I guess we’ll have to go along with it. Poor Bentley. I didn’t know his daughter was sick. We’d better stop him before he drives away.’

And so it was that later that day Bentley moved his family into Havisham House.

‘I’m sure you’ll be happier back in that Balloonsville place,’ he told the Trifles. ‘In any case — that
dog
of yours will be. I’ll ask the chauffeur to drive you back.’

‘That would be very kind,’ Mrs Trifle said.

‘Oh, well,’ Selby thought. ‘Easy come, easy go. I still don’t like that Bentley guy very much but Mrs Provis was right: there are times when you should help people — and nasty butlers — even if you don’t like them.’

A worm was squiggling through the
dirt
Way deep down in the garden
It bumped into another worm
And said, ‘Sorry — beg your pardon.’

‘You look familiar,’ said our worm
‘But your name I’ve quite forgotten …
Oops, now I see — you’re the back of
me!
I’m talking to my bottom!’

‘Jump into your work clothes,’ Mrs Trifle announced on Saturday morning. ‘Today is CUB Day.’

‘CUB Day? I’ve never heard of CUB day.’

‘It stands for Clean-Up Bogusville Day, silly.’

‘Oh, I completely forgot,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I’m busy today. Can’t we clean up Bogusville another time?’

‘Sorry, everything’s organised for today,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Besides, we could be about to win the Neat Streets award. The judge will be inspecting Bogusville tomorrow morning.’

‘Neat Streets award? What’s that?’

‘You know when you drive into a town there’s often a sign that says it has won the Neat Streets award? Bogusville has never won.’

‘So what makes you think we’ll have a chance this year?’

‘Because I’ve heard that they want to give the award either to us or to Poshfield.’

‘But Poshfield is full of rich people, and their streets are always neat,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘They’ll win for sure.’

‘Yes, but I was just talking to the mayor of Poshfield, Denis Dorset. He didn’t mention the award. I don’t think he knows that the judge is coming tomorrow. They’ve just had a footy match and they still haven’t cleaned up all the litter.’

‘I hope you didn’t tell him.’

‘Good heavens no! Now will you hurry up and finish breakfast so we can get to work? I’m so excited about this! It’s almost Christmas, and winning the Neat Streets award would be a lovely Christmas present for Bogusville.’

‘I love it when people work together to make things better,’ Selby thought as he lay under a tree watching the Bogusville volunteers picking up bits of rubbish by the roadside. ‘I’d love to help,’ he said with a sigh,‘but I can’t, of course. I guess I’ll just have to watch.’

The volunteers threw rubbish bags filled with litter onto the back of a truck. Each time the truck was filled, it took a load to the tip. All day long the people of Bogusville walked along every street and through every park, removing rubbish.

‘I’m exhausted,’ Dr Trifle said at the end of the day. ‘I’m so sore from bending over. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to straighten up again.’

‘It’s good for you, dear,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘It’ll make you fitter. And look how nice our streets are now.’

‘They’re much better,’ Dr Trifle admitted, ‘but they’re not perfect. The bottles and the big pieces of cardboard are gone but there are still lots of little scraps.’

‘We can’t possibly pick up everything,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘What worries me more is that the judges usually give the award to a town that makes an extra effort.’

‘What sort of extra effort?’

‘Like polishing statues and decorating lampposts. We haven’t done any of that because there’s just no time. The main thing is that Bogusville now has much neater streets than Poshfield.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ a voice said.

Mrs Trifle turned around to see none other than Denis Dorset, the mayor of Poshfield, stepping out of the back of a long black limousine.

‘Marvellous job,’ he said, throwing away his cigar and almost hitting Selby. ‘For a very, well,
ordinary
town Bogusville looks cleaner than ever.’

‘Denis!’ Mrs Trifle exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’m on a very peculiar mission. We need a little bit of help using one of your good husband’s inventions.’

‘What did I do now?’ Dr Trifle asked.

‘You invented a wonderful machine some years ago — the Vacu-Shred Clean Machine. Do you remember?’

‘Oh, yes. A street-cleaning machine with a difference,’ Dr Trifle said, smiling to himself. ‘I gave away the plans but no town could afford to build one — not even Bogusville — because it was too expensive.’

‘Nothing’s too expensive for us,’ the mayor of Poshfield said. ‘We had one made. But we’re having trouble getting it going. Perhaps you could help us.’

‘Why, yes, of course.’

‘Good, because we have a bit of a litter problem and we need a quick clean-up in time for the Neat Streets inspection tomorrow.’

Mrs Trifle looked at Dr Trifle and Dr Trifle looked at Mrs Trifle and Denis Dorset looked at both of them and Selby looked at all three of them. Mayor Dorset was the only one who was smiling.

‘We’ll see you straight away in Poshfield, Doctor, shall we?’ he said, hopping back into his limo and speeding away.

‘What a hide that man has!’ Mrs Trifle cried. ‘Why did you agree to show him how to work the street-cleaner?’

‘I had to. It’s the duty of every inventor to show people how to use their inventions.’

‘Well, you’re a very good man,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘And I’m sure it’s the decent thing to do. But it will probably cost us the Neat Streets award.’

‘He’s such a good man,’ Selby thought. ‘But sometimes I think he’s too good for his own good.’

*  *  *

The streets of Poshfield were as clean as ever, except for the litter along the main street left over from the footy match. Dr and Mrs Trifle and Selby drove up to the council garage. Outside was the new Vacu-Shred Clean Machine. Denis Dorset had the door open and was looking at all the foot pedals and levers.

‘It’s really quite easy,’ Dr Trifle said, getting into the driver’s seat as Denis Dorset sat beside him and Mrs Trifle and Selby sat behind. ‘Push the starter button.’

Selby could barely hear the engine start but in a second the truck was driving along the main street of Poshfield. Dr Trifle pulled a lever and a long arm which looked like a huge elephant’s trunk came out of the top of the truck.

‘This is the Snorkel Arm,’ Dr Trifle explained. ‘Point it towards the rubbish and it will do the rest.’

With this, the Snorkel Arm shot over to one side and sucked up a chocolate bar wrapper. Then there was a faint whirring sound.

‘That’s the shredder,’ Dr Trifle went on. ‘The shreds get blown into the back of the truck.
Then you drive it to the tip, pull the Blower Lever, and everything blows back out again. Simple. Want to drive it?’

‘Not just yet,’ said the nervous mayor. ‘Keep going for a while and then I’ll take over.’

Dr Trifle drove the street-cleaner through town, cleaning one side of the street as he went.

‘Careful on the turns,’ he said, edging the machine around very slowly. ‘The wheels are close together so that it can get down narrow streets. This makes turning a bit tricky. Want a go?’

‘Just do a bit more and then I’ll take over.’

Dr Trifle drove the Vacu-Shred back to the garage, cleaning the other side of the street as he went.

‘Now it’s your turn,’ he said.

‘Me?’ the mayor said, rubbing his hands together.‘Why should I? The Neat Streets judge is only going to inspect the main street and you’ve cleaned it beautifully.’

‘How do you know the judge will only inspect the main street?’ Mrs Trifle asked.

‘Let’s just say that a little birdy told me,’ Denis Dorset said with a giggle.

That night Selby lay awake furious at Poshfield’s mayor.

‘That dirty Denis!’ he thought. ‘He tricked Dr Trifle into cleaning up Poshfield! This isn’t fair! Oh how I wish I could get him back for that! Hey! I’ve got it!’

Selby sneaked secretly and silently out of the house and ran through the deserted streets of Bogusville. Soon he was in Poshfield, standing outside the council garage.

He quietly raised the garage door, crept into the driver’s seat of the street-cleaner and started the engine. In the headlights he could see a stack of red, white and green banners hanging on the wall. They said:

‘Why, you sneaks!’ Selby thought.‘You haven’t won it yet! This is what I think of your banners.’

Selby steered the Snorkel Arm towards the banners. One by one he sucked them up, sending long strips of shredded banner into the back of the truck.

‘That was fun!’ he squealed. ‘Now to drive this baby over to Bogusville and do a little extra cleaning. Ready, steady, and off we go!’

Selby drove through the deserted streets to Bogusville. He steered the Vacu-Shred Clean Machine along Main Street sucking up little bits of rubbish everywhere.

‘There, now we at least have an equal chance,’ Selby thought. ‘I’d better get the machine back.’

Maybe it was because it was the middle of the night. Maybe it was because Selby was exhausted from a long day. But one thing was for certain — Selby forgot what Dr Trifle had said about turning the Vacu-Shred around.

Selby spun the wheel and suddenly the machine lurched to one side, tipping up and nearly turning over.

‘Yikes!’ Selby screamed as he fell against the door. The door flew open and Selby grabbed for the nearest thing he could to keep from falling out — the Blower Lever. Suddenly there was a whirring and a blowing as the Vacu-Shred lurched from side to side down the street.

‘It’s like riding a bucking horse!’ he squealed. ‘I can’t hang on any longer!’

Selby flew through the air, landing in a ditch. He jumped to his feet to see the Vacu-Shred weaving wildly, blowing shredded paper through the Snorkel Arm and into the night sky.

‘Come back!’ Selby screamed, running after the out-of-control machine as it spewed red, green and white strips.

Selby ran down the middle of the street after the speeding machine. Now the trees and poles and wires along the streets were covered in strips of paper.

‘I’ve ruined everything,’ he moaned as the driverless shredder shot away towards Poshfield. ‘All that work that everyone did, and now Bogusville doesn’t have a hope of winning. Oh, woe woe woe.’

Selby dragged himself back home and lay down, exhausted. He awoke the next morning to the sound of Mrs Trifle’s voice.

‘There’s been a disaster!’ she cried. ‘We’re finished!’

‘What sort of a disaster?’

‘The police found your Vacu-Shred lying in a ditch on the road to Poshfield. It appears that
someone
used it to spread litter all along the main street of Bogusville.’

‘Denis Dorset!’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I cleaned his streets and now he’s littered ours!’

‘We don’t know that he did it,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘And, because we can’t prove it, we shouldn’t even be thinking it. It does look highly suspicious. Come along, I guess we’ll have to face the music.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘The Neat Streets judge has already been to Bogusville and now she’s inspecting Poshfield to decide who the winner will be. We all know
who’s going to win, but I’m the mayor so I have to go to the ceremony.’

Dr and Mrs Trifle and the town council waited at Bogusville Town Hall as Denis Dorset drove up in his limousine. With him was the judge, an old woman with white hair.

‘This is Mrs Trifle, the mayor of Bogusville,’ Denis said, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Mrs Trifle, this is the Neat Streets’ judge — Dolores Dorset.’

‘Dolores Dorset?’ Mrs Trifle said, shaking the woman’s hand.‘Did you say Dorset?’

‘Yes, I’m his mother,’ Mrs Dorset said. ‘But don’t let that worry you. I’ve had a good look at Poshfield and Bogusville and I’m going to be as fair and honest as I can be,’ the woman added, looking around at the strips of paper hanging from trees and wires.‘I’ve made up my mind. This year’s Neat Streets award goes to … Bogusville!’

Denis Dorset’s jaw dropped.

‘Mum! How could you?!’ he cried. ‘This town’s a mess! Look at all that rubbish up in the trees!’

‘Nonsense, Denny,’ Mrs Dorset said. ‘Bogusville is very neat. Just as neat and clean as
Poshfield. And those red and green and white Christmas streamers show that they made that little extra effort I always look for.’

‘Mum, Mum,’ Denis blubbered. ‘How could you do this to me? What did I do to deserve this?’

‘Stop your nonsense this instant, Denis!’ the old woman scolded. ‘I’ll tell you what you did to deserve this — you never cleaned your room when you were young. You lied, you cheated and you made every excuse to get out of cleaning your room. And who had to clean up after you? I did! Me, your poor mother. Well now we’re even. And I’ll tell you something else,’ she said, smiling as brightly as Mrs Trifle, ‘right now I feel kind of good.’

‘So do I,’ Selby thought, smiling to himself as tears rolled down Denis Dorset’s face. ‘And I guess Poshfield won’t need those Neat Streets banners after all.’