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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.
“There!” she said.
Inside the suitcase was a bear. Iggy lifted him out. He was brown with a white patch on his eye and a shiny black nose.
“This,” Iggy said while the other kids and their mums and dads hurried and chattered around us, “is Barnaby.”
“Hello Barnaby,” I said, and I pretended to shake his hand. “How do you do?”
Iggy was very pleased with me. She hid behind him and she said, “I’m fine thank you,” in a gruff little bear’s voice.
Barnaby was wearing trousers and a tiny school jumper, just like the ones we were wearing. There were other clothes in the suitcase too, all folded neatly, and a real camera, the kind you have to throw away when you are finished with it.
“Look at his holiday clothes,” Iggy said, and she fished out a little flowery shirt to show me, and a baseball cap, and she giggled. I picked up the camera.
“Don’t drop it,” Iggy said. “Be careful.”
“What’s it for?” I said.
“It’s Barnaby’s camera,” Iggy said. “I mustn’t lose it.”
Just then, Mum came to find us in the playground. She carried our folders and I carried the little suitcase and Iggy carried Barnaby. She put him on her shoulders like Dad carries us sometimes. She held onto his hands just like Dad does.
“Can he see?” she said.
“Yes,” I said, and Mum said, “Who is that?”
“It’s Barnaby,” Iggy said.
“Who’s Barnaby?” Mum said.
“He is Iggy’s very important summer job,” I told her.
“I have to look after him,” Iggy said.
“You’ll be good at that,” said Mum.
“I know. I’ve got to take him everywhere, and take his picture. And I’ve got to show all the pictures to the whole class when I get back to school.”
Mum laughed. “How lovely,” she said.
Iggy said, “So every day he has to do something new and exciting for me to take a picture of.”
“OK,” said Mum.
“So it’s good news,” Iggy said.
“What is?” I said.
“About the seaside,” Iggy said.
“What seaside?” asked Mum.
Iggy said, “Flo said we could all go to the seaside and I was worried I wouldn’t be able to come. I was worried that my job would be too busy.”
“I see,” said Mum.
“Show Mum your picture, Flo,” Iggy said.
I took my folder from Mum and pulled out the picture of us at the seaside.
“There we are,” Iggy said. “And now Barnaby can come too.”
“I’ll draw a Barnaby and stick him on when I get home,” I said.
Iggy and Mum smiled at me at exactly the same time.
“Good idea,” they both said.
“So you don’t mind about the last day of school anymore?” I said to Iggy.
“No,” she said. “Not now I’ve got a job. Not now I’ve got Barnaby.”
“And you don’t mind about the long holiday?” I said to Mum.
“No,” Mum said and she winked at me. “Not now we’re going to the seaside.”

Packing (#ulink_4ec52bf3-dfbb-51a6-9578-66ca9d0e22d0)
The whole house was turned upside down because we were packing for our holiday at the seaside. All of our rooms were a bit of a mess. Mum was making sandwiches for the journey. Dad couldn’t find anything.
“Where are my trunks?” he said.
Iggy giggled. “Trunks,” she said. “They belong to elephants.”
“Well,” Dad said. “The particular elephant they belong to is me,” and he swung his arm in front of his face like a real trunk and chased Iggy across the landing. Iggy squealed and snorted and jumped.
Mum shouted from downstairs, “What’s that stomping noise?”
“Elephants!” said Dad and Iggy, together.
“Elephants?” Mum said. “Are they coming on holiday with us?”
I said, “Only if they can find their swimming trunks.”
“Oh,” said Mum, “I see,” and she winked at me from the bottom of the stairs.
“Left hand drawer,” she called to Dad. “I thought elephants never forget.”
“Oh,” said Dad. “Thanks. This elephant did.”
We had a rucksack each to put our things in. Iggy’s was red with white squiggles on it, and mine was blue. Barnaby the bear had his own little brown suitcase with his clothes and his camera in. Iggy had to look after him for the whole summer and take his picture wherever we were. It was the very important holiday job her teacher Rwaida had given her.
I learned all about packing at school. We had a picture of an empty suitcase and we had to draw what we would pack if we had to leave home one day in a hurry. Our teacher said we had to think really hard about what we didn’t want to leave behind. She said games and toys and colouring pens were not as important as passports and underwear and important family treasures.
I put all my things on my bed in little piles, like Mum does. We were going to the seaside for six days. I thought very hard about it. I had six pants, six pairs of socks, six T-shirts, two pairs of shorts, one dress, one pair of jeans and two jumpers. I had my swimsuit and my goggles and my dress that’s really a towel. I had my book and my pencil case and my toothbrush and a pack of cards and some yellow sunglasses and a hat with spots on. I did have colouring pens because you never know when you might need to draw a picture. I didn’t have my passport because Dad keeps it safe and I didn’t have any important family treasures either, but I was all ready to pack.
Iggy came into my room.
“What are you doing?” she said.
She was twiddling her hair. Twiddling hair is Iggy language for I’m-stuck-and-I-need-help. Iggy has lots of ways of telling you what she is thinking.
She rubs her eyes with her fists when she is tired. Her eyebrows turn bright pink when she is going to cry.
She points when she is cross.
Her mouth goes thin and white when she is angry.
She stretches her arms and points her toes when she is starting to get bored.
And when she is excited about something that’s going to happen she does a little dance with just her hands.
“What are you doing?” she said again, hair-twiddling.
“I’m packing my bag,” I said.
“What are you putting in your packing?” she said.
I showed her all the piles of things on my bed.
“That’s a lot of stuff,” she said, and she stretched her arms over her head and pointed her toes.
“Do you want help with yours?” I said.
Iggy shook her head. “I’ve done my packing,” she said. “And Barnaby’s done his.”
“What did you pack?” I said.
Iggy counted on her fingers. “Gloria and Mumble and Polly and Ranger,” she said.
Gloria and Mumble and Polly and Ranger are four of Iggy’s best and biggest teddies. They would fill her whole rucksack in a flash.
“What else?” I said.
Iggy shrugged. “Nothing,” she said. “No room.”
I said, “What about pants and socks and T-shirts and shorts and your swimsuit?”
“I’m wearing them,” Iggy said.
I looked at Iggy more carefully. She was looking a bit lumpy.
“All of them?” I said.
“Don’t be silly,” Iggy said. “I can’t wear all of them.”
“OK.”
“I can only fit four,” Iggy said.
She was wearing four pants and two pairs of shorts. She was wearing four T-shirts and a vest and two pairs of socks. She had her swimsuit on all the way underneath.
“What happens if you need a wee?” I said.
“Why?”
“You’ll have to take all of it off.”
“Why?”
“Because your swimsuit is in the way.”
Iggy thought for a minute. “I don’t need a wee,” she said.
“You will,” I said.
“Ssssh,” Iggy said. “I don’t need one.”
“Have you got your toothbrush?” I said.
Iggy nodded. “In my pocket.”
“Have you got your sunhat?”
She smiled and showed me. “Other pocket.”
Iggy had nearly thought of everything.
“Have you got a book and some pens and a game and a pair of sunglasses?”
“No,” Iggy said. “I can’t fit them anywhere. Can I share yours?”
Just then, Mum came into the room.
“Are you all packed?” she said, and I said, “Nearly,” and Iggy said, “Yes.”
Mum looked at Iggy. She looked at her once and then she looked again.
“Why do you look lumpy?” Mum said.
Iggy smiled like she had a secret she was very proud of.
“What have you got on?” Mum said.
“She’s wearing her packing,” I told her.
“What does that mean?” Dad said, coming into the room behind Mum.
Iggy twiddled her hair again. She took her sunhat out of her pocket and put it on.
Dad looked at Iggy and frowned.
“What are you hiding about your person?”
“Nothing,” Iggy said. “I haven’t got a person. I’ve got Barnaby and he’s got his own suitcase and his clothes are too small for me anyway.”
Mum lifted up Iggy’s T-shirt and found another T-shirt, and then another one, and then another one, and then her swimsuit.
Mum pulled at Iggy’s shorts and found another pair, and four pairs of pants, and even more swimsuit.
“Well I never,” said Dad.
“What happens if you need a wee?” Mum said.
Iggy crossed her legs. “Don’t talk about it,” she said.
“You’re a human suitcase,” Dad said, and Iggy pointed at him.
“No I’m not,” she said.
“At least if you fall over on holiday, you won’t hurt yourself,” he said. “You’re all nice and padded.”
Mum said, “Why aren’t you using your rucksack?”
“It’s full,” Iggy said. “It’s all full up.”
“With what?” Mum said.
“Gloria and Mumble and Polly and Ranger,” Iggy told her.
“The four horsemen of the apocalypse,” Dad said.
“No, silly,” Iggy said. “They’re not horses. They are two penguins and a polar bear and a dog.”
“You’re right,” Dad said. “Yes they are. And they’re not coming on holiday with us.”
“Why not?” Iggy said.
“Because they are two penguins and a polar bear and a dog.”
“Penguins and polar bears like the sea,” I said.
“And dogs like the beach,” Iggy added.
“They won’t like this beach,” Dad said, “because they’re not coming.”
Iggy’s eyebrows went pink. “We can’t leave them at home,” she said. “Barnaby won’t have any friends on holiday if we do that.”
“Yes we can,” said Dad, and Iggy’s eyebrows got pinker and pinker.
“I see,” Mum said.
“See what?” Dad said.
“The problem,” Mum said.
“They want to come too,” Iggy said. “They really want to.”
“Oh dear,” said Mum.
“Barnaby gets to come,” Iggy said, “and it’s not fair on the others. And he’ll be lonely.”
“Never mind,” said Dad.
“Can’t they fit?” I asked them. “Can’t Gloria and Mumble and Polly and Ranger and Barnaby all squeeze in the car with us?”
“No,” Dad said. “They’re not invited.”
“I invited them,” Iggy said. “Please can they come?”
“Not really,” said Mum.
“Why not?” Iggy said.
“They take up too much room,” Dad said.
“We can move up,” I told him.
Iggy grinned and nodded and did a little dance with just her hands. “And they can make themselves really small,” she said. “They squashed right up to fit in my rucksack. They didn’t complain.”
“Here we go,” said Dad.
“Can they?” Iggy said, and I said, “Go on, let them.”

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