Free Sticky Beak by Morris Gleitzman

camera anymore and that he had the address of a really good home for uncontrollable cockies and kids.
    Ms Dunning and Dad went back to their conversation about babies’ names.
    â€˜Caroline,’ said Ms Dunning.
    â€˜Carla,’ said Dad.
    â€˜Amelia,’ said Ms Dunning.
    â€˜Leanne,’ said Dad.
    â€˜Lachlan,’ said Ms Dunning.
    â€˜Clarrie,’ said Dad.
    â€˜Our neighbours had a turtle called Clarrie,’ said Ms Dunning.
    â€˜My dad’s name was Clarrie,’ said Dad.
    â€˜I’m not really hungry,’ I said. ‘Bye.’
    As I left the house the phone still hadn’t rung.
    I decided Mr Cosgrove must still have been tidying up the shop.
    I could hardly breathe by the time I got to the end of Darryn Peck’s street in case Amanda wasn’t there or was there but didn’t have the camera.
    She was there.
    She had the camera.
    â€˜I reminded Dad you’re a disadvantaged person,’ said Amanda. ‘Sorry.’
    I gave her a hug.
    Normally I’d have been ropeable, but sometimes you have to be lenient when a clever and generous best friend’s trying to stop your life from going down the dunny.
    Even if later the same day it ends up down there anyway.
    Getting into Darryn Peck’s place was easier today than it would have been six months ago because six months ago his three big brothers were still living at home and there was always at least one of them lying in the front yard under a motorbike with a spanner at all hours of the day and night.
    This morning the front yard was empty except for a few bushes near the front door.
    Me and Amanda went and crouched in them, camera and clipboard at the ready.
    â€˜He’s definitely still in the house,’ said Amanda, using her hands. ‘I’ve been at the end of the street since six-thirty.’
    She’s incredible. She’ll be on national television by the time she’s twenty-three.
    After I finished telling her that, we headed for the front door.
    Then I had a thought.
    â€˜If he sees us ringing the bell,’ I said, dragging Amanda back into the bushes, ‘he could lock himself in the bathroom. We’ve got to take him by surprise. Round the back.’
    We crept along the side of the house, ducking under the windows, and peered round the corner into the back yard.
    Darryn’s mother was kneeling at a small table just outside the back door, making strange noises.
    â€˜Oochy, oochy, oochy,’ she went. ‘Goo, goo, goo, goo, goo.’
    It sounded like she was feeding a baby. I knew she hadn’t had a baby recently, but for a sec I thought maybe she was feeding someone else’s as a part-time job.
    Then she moved a bit and I saw it wasn’t a baby but the poodle, which was standing on the table looking bored while she combed its curls with a tiny comb.
    â€˜Who’s a beautiful girl then?’ cooed Mrs Peck.
    The dog didn’t answer, but I could see it eyeing Mrs Peck’s hairdo, which was very similar to its own, and wishing it had a tiny comb too.
    Then Mr Peck came out of the house and started making baby noises as well.
    â€˜Ga, ga, ga, ga, ga, ga, ga, ga, ga, ga,’ said Mr Peck.
    You don’t often hear a forklift-truck operator talking like that.
    I could feel Amanda shaking with silent laughter and I put my hand over her mouth just in case.
    Mr Peck tilted the poodle’s head up and pushed its legs a bit further apart. ‘First prize,’ he said, speaking into his fist, ‘goes to Amelia Peck Hyloader The Third.’
    Then me and Amanda stiffened.
    Darryn was coming out of the house.
    He stood watching his parents, shoulders drooping.
    Then he took a deep breath and spoke.
    â€˜Dad,’ he said, ‘why can’t we go to the cricket tomorrow? You promised.’
    Mr Peck answered without looking up from the poodle. ‘You know why,’ he said. ‘We’ve got Amelia in the