Chapter 4
Nigel Makes a Terrible Mess
Angela was sitting at the kitchen table writing out the mortgage
payment when she heard the front door creak open every so slowly.
"Mummy?" she heard Nigel ask, "Where are you?"
"In the kitchen, dear. Doing the household budget.
She looked back over her shoulder slightly and raised her voice
.
"What is it you want, Nigel?"
"Nothing, Mummy."
That was peculiar, Angela thought, but she didn't get up.
"Then don't pester me," she admonished instead, deep in concentration.
"I'm busy keeping a roof over our heads."
"Where's Daddy?"
"In the garden."
"Are you certain?"
Angela gave a sigh as she scrutinised the next invoice.
"Yes, for goodness sakes!" she groaned impatiently, "What in blazes do
you want?"
The answer came in the sound of a front door slamming, an abrupt
staccato of little feet pounding up the stairs, accompanied by a
strange metallic rattling
Perplexed, Angela looked towards the now empty staircase, and then
rolled her eyes in annoyance.
"Barmy boy," she sighed, shrugging her shoulders.
Now safely in the bathroom, Nigel quietly closed the door, set his
treasure box on the side of the bathtub, set Pooh in the far end of
the tub, and silently congratulated himself on his stealthy
cleverness. He knew Mum and Dad would disapprove, but he took his
responsibility to Christopher Robin with all the gravity of a holy
quest, and that included cleaning the toys for him. Of course, he
also wanted to satisfy his own curiosity about them. So he set the
bathtub plug firmly in the drain and turned on the tap, occasionally
waving a finger through the stream to test the temperature as the tub
filled.
"Oh! Too cold!"
"Ouch! Too hot!"
At last the tub was full and steaming quite pleasantly. He turned off
the taps, leaving muddy prints on the handles and the spout, and then
carefully slipped into the water. The grime that had previously
coated him blossomed into a great inky cloud as his bottom slipped
beneath the surface. Paying it no mind, the boy turned about to find
Pooh floating face down, so he righted him and then reached for his
treasure chest.
"We should clean the treasure box, too," he suggested, removing the
lid and dumping all the toys, along with an accumulation of dirt and
rust and mossy bits and dead bug parts, into the water. They made a
very solid and metallic 'kathunk' as they struck the bottom.
Nigel looked about for something with which to scrub the box. He
spotted Mum's mysterious red bag with the long hose hung over the
shower spigot. It certainly looked to be a lot of fun in the bath. He
stood up, thinking it might be useful, so he filled the bag with
bathwater, put it under an arm and gave it a firm squeeze. A
magnificent stream of dirty water arched across the bathroom and
struck the mirror. It would be fun, Nigel thought, to play elephant
with it, but it wasn't very practical for cleaning toys, so he set it
on the floor.
There was Mum's back brush hanging from the shower head, so he stood
up again, sloshing muddy water out onto the tiles, and took it down.
"This will do, I think," he said brightly, and promised himself he'd
clean it very well so Mummy wouldn't mind that he'd used it.
He scrubbed and scrubbed the box for what seemed an eternity, but
could only manage to dislodge a few more specks of old paint, so he
set the brush aside and turned his attention to the toys sunk between
his legs. He fished out the penguin and examined it carefully. If he
could find something to scrub it, perhaps he'd discover it wasn't nice
enough for Christopher Robin, and that he could keep it.
What to use?
He discovered Mum's nail and toe brush beside the shampoo and soap
dish.
"This will do, I think," he nodded to himself, and promised he'd clean
it very well so Mum wouldn't be too disappointed in him. He began to
scrub, then stopped and looked thoughtfully at the shampoo, then at
Pooh, who was doing a back float.
"I'll clean you next, Pooh.
"
Downstairs, a bewildered Roger Macmillan came into the kitchen and
tapped his wife on the shoulder
.
"What noise?" she replied without looking up from her books. "I don't
hear anything unusual."
"That clunking sound. You don't hear that?" he said in surprise. "I
heard it when I came in from the garden. God, I hope it isn't the
bloody water heater going out again."
Angela set her pen down and raised her head, listening. Then she went
a little white and she stood up.
"Yes," she replied in a worried tone, "Sounds like its coming from
upstairs. You know, I could have sworn I'd heard water running
earlier, but I didn't think anything of it."
At that, Roger and Angela scurried to the foot of the stair, peering
up and straining to discover the source of the noise and, more
importantly, what it meant. It was a tapping and clunking sound
alright, as if from underwater.
"The bathroom!" They both exclaimed, and they thundered up the
staircase. Roger reached the door first, flung it open, then stopped
there in the doorframe, speechless in an expression of astonishment.
Immediately, Angela wedged her way in past him and looked towards the
tub.
"Nigel! My God!"
In no less a state of shock than his two parents, Nigel sat in a
waist-high tub of filthy water, frozen in the act of lathering up
Pooh's bum. There was clutter and mud everywhere, on the tiles, on
the floor, the bath mat seemed soaked in grime, and grubby handprints
"What's that smell?" Roger sniffed, "Is the cat's box in here?"
"It's Poohkums' pee." Nigel whispered, quite chagrined, and offered no
further explanation.
Both Mum and Dad's faces had gone scarlet and, for a moment, it seemed
likely there would be an explosion. No time to waste! Nigel dropped
Pooh, reached both hands into the murky bath, and held out his
treasure box, now scrubbed and leaking water like a sieve.
"Look!" the boy yelled ardently, "Treasure!"
HMSVV2010
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