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Iggy and Me on Holiday
Jenny Valentine
More adventures of the irrepressible Iggy as told by her sister Flo, by Jenny Valentine, winner of the Guardian Children’s Fiction Prize for her debut novel, Finding Violet Park.This is the third outing for Jenny Valentine’s endearing siblings, and this time they’re full of plans for the school holidays.Will they go camping, or to the seaside? Or have Mum and Dad got something entirely different up their sleeves? Whatever they do, readers can be sure of plenty of laughter.Each chapter is a complete and satisfying story in its own right, perfect for newly-confident readers to enjoy alone, or for reading aloud at bedtime.Illustrated throughout in with black & white line drawings by Joe Berger, who was nominated for the Booktrust Early Years Award for his picture book, Bridget Fidget.
Jenny Valentine
Iggy & Me
ON HOLIDAY
Illustrated by Joe Berger
Contents
Cover (#u6f9e03d4-3572-5caa-a5f9-cd196022f864)
Title Page (#u7556f2b6-973a-5ecc-8a7f-db98cf6257e8)
The last day of school (#ud58aa3c8-d9f8-534e-988a-ed6a6a3c686f)
Packing (#ua0d1cb0c-c4d8-55ca-9149-e00e9e9133fc)
The longest journey ever (#litres_trial_promo)
At the seaside (#litres_trial_promo)
Iggy makes a friend (#litres_trial_promo)
Where is Iggy? (#litres_trial_promo)
A rainy day (#litres_trial_promo)
Iggy and Barnaby (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Illustrator (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
The Last Day of School (#ulink_b31559ee-843f-57fa-a9c6-2c3e1abd8ff7)
It was the end of term for me and my little sister, Iggy.
Iggy didn’t want it to be. We were eating our breakfast and she was quite worried.
“Who will look after the hamsters and the guinea pigs?” she said.
“Someone will take the hamsters and the guinea pigs home,” said Mum.
“What will all the teachers do?”
“Someone will take the teachers home too,” Dad said. “The teachers will get some peace and quiet.”
“What about us?” Iggy said. “What will we do?”
“Oh peace and quiet will be off the menu here,” Dad said, “that’s for sure.”
“We’ll have fun,” I said.
“Flo,” Iggy said, like I was being silly. “School is fun.”
“Holidays are fun too,” Mum said. “We’ll have a holiday.”
“Will we?” said Dad.
“What will we do on holiday?” Iggy said, and she pulled her shoulders up high and her bottom lip down low.
“We’ll put you in a dark box and let you out again when school starts,” Dad said.
“I don’t think so,” said Iggy, and she scowled at him.
“We’ll get up when we want,” I said. “We’ll watch telly and wear our pyjamas all day.”
“Oh no you won’t,” said Mum, and Dad said, “Sounds like heaven.”
“We’ll go out on our bikes,” I said, “and have picnics and go to the playground and eat ice cream.”
“OK,” Iggy said. “That sounds good.”
Dad was making coffee and Mum had tea. I ate my toast and Iggy listened to her cereal popping.
“How long is our holiday?” Iggy said.
“Six weeks,” Mum said, and Iggy’s mouth fell open like a trap door.
“Six weeks,” she said. “That is forever.”
“No it’s not,” Mum said. “It’s a month and a half.”
“It’s forty two days,” Dad said, and he looked at us and then at Mum.
“That is a long time,” Mum said.
“We’ll have a nice long holiday,” I told Iggy. “You’ll see.”
On the way to school, Iggy walked extra fast because she wanted to get there early.
“Hurry up,” she said to me and to Mum. “There’s only one day left, and it’s now.”
Her extra fast walking made her whole body wiggle and she looked very funny from behind. It made us laugh. But Iggy wasn’t laughing. She turned to us and pointed. Iggy only points when she is cross.
“Hurry,” she said, pointing, “Up.”
So we did.
We got to school very early. I took Iggy to her classroom. We were the first people there apart from Rwaida, her teacher. Rwaida was sharpening pencils.
“Did you know?” Iggy said, “That this was the last day of school?”
“Yes I did,” Rwaida said and she looked happy about it until she saw Iggy’s face.
“What will we do for forty-two days and six weeks?” Iggy said.
Rwaida smiled. “We’ll think of something,” she said, and she dropped the sharpened pencils into a cup with a clatter.
“I hope so,” Iggy said. “I hope we do.”
It was a good last day of school. We had lessons in the morning like normal. At lunchtime we had foods of the world. We ate things from India and Morocco and France and Somalia and Poland and Bosnia. Most of them were very tasty.
Then we had Golden Time, which is the same as extra play but with a special name. We could choose football, or aerobics, or making things. I chose making things and so did Iggy. There were jigsaw puzzles and arts and crafts and decorating biscuits. Iggy decorated biscuits. I made a picture for Mum and Dad. I made a beach with blue sea and blue sky, and real sand poured onto glue, and the four of us cut out and stuck there, on holiday.
While I was drawing and cutting and sticking, Iggy came to see what I had made. She had biscuit dust all round her mouth and icing on the ends of her fingers.
“What are you doing?” she said, spraying biscuit dust around.
“I’m making a holiday picture.”
“Who’s that?” she said, and she wiped her mouth on her sleeve.
“That’s you and me and Mum and Dad,” I said. “Being on holiday at the seaside.”
“What, swimming in the sea and getting shells and making sandcastles?” she said.
“Yep.”
“Ooh, I think I like doing that,” Iggy said.
“Me too,” I said, and we looked at the picture together for a bit longer.
I said, “I’ll draw some shells and sandcastles in a minute.”
“And starfish,” Iggy said. “Draw some starfish and a mermaid.”
Mermaids are Iggy’s favourite thing to draw and make up stories about. Sometimes Iggy wishes very hard that she was a mermaid. Sometimes she is quite disappointed to have legs.
“Maybe, this holiday,” I said, “we could go to the seaside, you and me and Mum and Dad, just like in the picture. It’s ages since we’ve been to the sea.”
Iggy tightened her mouth and shook her head. She looked very serious and solemn.
“I’m not really having a holiday,” she said in a whisper, like when she tells a secret.
“Why not?”
“Rwaida says she has an important job for me to do.”
“What sort of job?”
“I told you,” she said. “An important one.”
“I know, but what kind?”
She shrugged. “Rwaida says it is for the whole summer.”
“Oh.”
Iggy was still looking at my picture. She said, “I think I’m going to be a bit busy for the seaside.”
I thought about what Iggy’s job could be.
“Is it the Guinea pigs?” I said.
Iggy shook her head. “Josh Green’s having those.”
“Is it the hamster?”
“Nope,” Iggy said. “It’s not Gruffles.”
“Who else?” I said.
“It’s not the fish,’ she said, “because they get to stay at school and the cleaning lady feeds them.”
“Then what can it be?”
Iggy shrugged again and her eyebrows went as high as they could go.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But I think it must be very important.”
At the end of the day I waited for Iggy and Mum in the playground. We had to take all of our work home with us, all our books and pictures in a special folder. I had my folder under my arm. It was quite heavy. When Iggy came out of her classroom she had her folder and a little suitcase. She was having trouble carrying it all so I went to help her. I took Iggy’s folder and I put it with mine.
“What’s in the suitcase?” I said.
Iggy was bursting to tell me.
“It’s my job,” she said. “Do you want to see?”
We stopped in the playground and I put the folders down. Iggy put the little suitcase on the floor and she fiddled with the clips until it popped open.
