Michael Bond - Paddington Complete Novels

Paddington took the plate from the man and examined it carefully. “I expect that’s where I had my torch on under the bedclothes,” he said at last.

“Well, I think it’s a very nice picture for a first attempt,” said Mrs Bird. “And I’d like six postcard prints, please. I’m sure Paddington’s Aunt Lucy in Peru would love one. She lives in the home for retired bears in Lima,” she added, for the benefit of the shopkeeper.

“Does she?” said the man, looking most impressed. “Well, it’s the first time I’ve ever had any pictures sent overseas – especially to a home for retired bears in Peru.”

He thought for a moment. “I tell you what,” he said, “if I could borrow this camera for a week to put in my shop window, I’ll not only do all the prints you want but I’ll take a photograph of each of you into the bargain. How’s that?”

“I might have known,” said Mr Brown, as they were walking home, “that if Paddington took our photographs something odd would happen. Fancy getting all these pictures for nothing!”

“Bears always fall on their feet,” said Mrs Bird, looking at Paddington.

But Paddington wasn’t listening. He was still thinking about his camera.

Early next morning he hurried down to the shop and was pleased to see it already occupied a position of honour in the middle of the window.

Underneath it was a notice which said: A VERY RARE TYPE OF EARLY CAMERA – NOW OWNED BY MR PADDINGTON BROWN – A YOUNG LOCAL BEAR GENTLEMAN.

But Paddington was even more pleased by another notice next to it which said: AN EXAMPLE OF HIS WORK – and underneath that was his picture.

It was a little blurred and there were several paw marks near the edge, but one or two people in the neighbourhood came up and congratulated him and several of them said they could quite clearly recognise everyone in it. All in all Paddington thought it had been a very good three pounds’ worth.

Paddington gave a deep sigh and pulled his hat down over his ears in an effort to keep out the noise. There was such a hullabaloo going on it was difficult to write up the notes in his scrapbook.

The excitement had all started when Mr and Mrs Brown and Mrs Bird received an unexpected invitation to a wedding. Luckily both Jonathan and Judy were out for the day or things might have been far worse. Paddington hadn’t been included in the invitation, but he didn’t really mind. He didn’t like weddings very much – apart from the free cake – and he’d been promised a piece of that whether he went or not.

All the same he was beginning to wish everyone would hurry up and go. He had a special reason for wanting to be alone that day.

He sighed again, wiped the pen carefully on the back of his paw, and then mopped up some ink blots which somehow or other had found their way on to the table. He was only just in time, for at that moment the door burst open and Mrs Brown rushed in.

“Ah, there you are, Paddington!” She stopped short in the middle of the room and stared at him. “Why on earth are you wearing your hat indoors?” she asked. “And why is your tongue all blue?”

Paddington stuck out his tongue as far as he could. “It is a funny colour,” he admitted, squinting down at it with interest. “Perhaps I’m sickening for something!”

“You’ll be sickening for something all right if you don’t clear up this mess,” grumbled Mrs Bird as she entered. “Just look at it. Bottles of ink. Glue. Bits of paper. My best sewing scissors. Marmalade all over the table runner, and goodness knows what else.”

Paddington looked around. It was in a bit of a state.

“I’ve almost finished,” he announced. “I’ve just got to rule a few more lines and things. I’ve been writing my memories.”

Paddington took his scrapbook very seriously and spent many long hours carefully pasting in pictures and writing up his adventures. Since he’d been at the Browns’, so much had happened it was now more than half full.

“Well, make sure you do clear everything up,” said Mrs Brown, “or we shan’t bring you back any cake. Now do take care of yourself. And don’t forget – when the baker comes we want two loaves.” With that she waved goodbye and followed Mrs Bird out of the room.

“You know,” said Mrs Bird, as she stepped into the car, “I have a feeling that bear has something up his paw. He seemed most anxious for us to leave.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Mrs Brown. “I don’t see what he can do. We shan’t be away all that long.”

“Ah!” replied Mrs Bird darkly. “That’s as may be. But he’s been hanging about on the landing upstairs half the morning. I’m sure he’s up to something.”

Mr Brown, who didn’t like weddings much either, and was secretly wishing he could stay at home with Paddington, looked over his shoulder as he let in the clutch. “Perhaps I ought to stay as well,” he said. “Then I could get on with decorating his new room.”

“Now, Henry,” said Mrs Brown firmly. “You’re coming to the wedding and that’s that. Paddington will be quite all right by himself. He’s a very capable bear. And as for you wanting to get on with decorating his new room… you haven’t done a thing towards it for over a fortnight, so I’m sure it can wait another day.”

Paddington’s new room had become a sore point in the Brown household. It was over two weeks since Mr Brown had first thought of doing it. So far he had stripped all the old wallpaper from the walls, removed the picture rails, the wood round the doors, the door handle, and everything else that was loose, or that he had made loose, and bought a lot of bright new wallpaper, some whitewash, and some paint. There matters had rested.

In the back of the car Mrs Bird pretended she hadn’t heard a thing. An idea had suddenly come into her mind and she was hoping it hadn’t entered Paddington’s as well; but Mrs Bird knew the workings of Paddington’s mind better than most and she feared the worst. Had she but known, her fears were being realised at that very moment. Paddington was busy scratching out the words ‘AT A LEWSE END’ in his scrapbook and was adding, in large capital letters, the ominous ones: ‘DECKERATING MY NEW ROOM!’

It was while he’d been writing ‘AT A LEWSE END’ in his scrapbook earlier in the day that the idea had come to him. Paddington had noticed in the past that he often got his best ideas when he was ‘at a loose end’.

For a long while all his belongings had been packed away ready for the big move to his new room, and he was beginning to get impatient. Every time he wanted anything special he had to undo yards of string and brown paper.

Having underlined the words in red, Paddington cleared everything up, locked his scrapbook carefully in his suitcase, and hurried upstairs. He had several times offered to lend a paw with the decorating, but for some reason or other Mr Brown had put his foot down on the idea and hadn’t even allowed him in the room while work was in progress. Paddington couldn’t quite understand why. He was sure he would be very good at it.

The room in question was an old box-room which had been out of use for a number of years, and when he entered it, Paddington found it was even more interesting than he had expected.

He closed the door carefully behind him and sniffed. There was an exciting smell of paint and whitewash in the air. Not only that, but there were some steps, a trestle table, several brushes, a number of rolls of wallpaper, and a big pail of whitewash.