Archie Saves the Day

By Leonie Thorpe

Life is never easy for Archie Roach, but some days it gets downright perplexing.
Life is never easy for Archie Roach, but some days it gets downright perplexing. He's not much good at anything, he's got the meanest mum in the whole universe and now some little kid wants him to save his granddad's house, all because he read about Archie winning a fishing competition. And as if that wasn't enough, a total maniac psycho tagger's moved into town. the tagger's already run foul of Community Constable Wang, who's given him one last chance and forced him to join Archie's Sea Scout pack. It's just not fair - you shouldn't have so many problems when you're only twelve. But Archie is no ordinary kid, and his ducking and diving will have you in stitches as he deals with life in his own amazing way. this is Archie's second series of adventures, once again written by Leonie thorpe, who lives in Lyttelton with her daughters. While reading the first book would be helpful and fun, it's not essential to enjoy a rollicking series of misadventures and escapades in a small coastal town with a fine boating tradition and a very unusual troop of sea scouts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jan 31, 2010
• ISBN: 9780730400615

Leonie Thorpe

Leonie Thorpe wrote the Archie’s series and the critically acclaimed Sheep on the Fourth Floor. Here she moves into the YA level with panache.

Book preview

Archie, scrapbook star

1

‘Gotcha!’ growled an old man’s voice. A small seedling was grab bed by its scrawny stem and wrenched from the ground. ‘Ned! Come over here, boy. There’s weeds growing in the herb garden.’

‘Where, Uncle Chico?’ Ned frowned and put down the watering can. He knew he had weeded that patch only an hour ago.

‘Look at this!’ said Uncle Chico, thrusting the seedling towards Ned’s face. ‘Gotta get ’em when they’re tiny or boom! They’ll take over our whole vege garden.’

Ned took the seedling from his uncle’s outstretched hand and examined it. It didn’t look like a weed. He squeezed the seedling and sniffed it. His heart sank as the familiar pungent smell of parsley filled his nostrils. Ned let out a sigh. Uncle Chico was a menace without his glasses on.

Ned dropped the parsley seedling on to the compost heap. ‘Why don’t you leave that area for me to weed?’ He gently steered his uncle towards the side garden, away from the herbs, in case he uprooted anything else.

Uncle Chico ambled along, one arm resting on Ned’s shoulder, the other grasping his gnarled walking cane. Ned liked his uncle’s cane. Sometimes he could see faces in the knotty holes on its surface. Uncle Chico stopped and leaned forward to inspect more seedlings breaking through the soil. Grunting with satisfaction, he ruffled Ned’s curly black hair.

‘It’s gonna be a good season, boy,’ said Uncle Chico. ‘Your own great-grandpappy said that when the runner beans come up strong like that, it’s a good sign.’

Ned looked at the climbing frame his uncle was pointing at with his cane. They had built the frame together from tomato stakes and an old fishing net two years ago. It was peas, not runner beans, that were beginning to wind their green tendrils around the dirty white fibres of the net.

‘A good season,’ Ned agreed with a grim smile. ‘I’ll run in and get your glasses, shall I?’

‘Bah, don’t need ‘em,’ Uncle Chico grumbled to Ned’s disappearing back.

Ned ran up the back steps and, pausing to kick off his gum-boots, stepped in through the back door. The smell of simmering mushrooms flowed out of the kitchen and led him all the way down the hall. Ned thought a lot of nine-year-old boys would hate to live with an old relative like his Uncle Chico, but it didn’t bother him. He sometimes wished his uncle wouldn’t try to stuff him with so much food, and that he would wear his glasses more often, but mostly it was fun. Uncle Chico was teaching him to play poker, and he had already learned four chords on the guitar. But best of all, Ned loved just pottering around with Uncle Chico in the vegetable garden.

Ned stepped into the lounge. He knew where Uncle Chico kept his glasses: third drawer down in the china cabinet. The china cabinet. Ned hesitated. The shiny, polished piece of furniture seemed to glare at him from the corner. Uncle Chico’s glasses, Ned reminded himself. Holding his breath, he stepped forward and pulled on the metal handle of the third drawer. If he was careful, he could just grab the glasses without having to look at anything else. Too late—his gaze was drawn to the white envelope. Ned’s heart sank as he remembered finding the letter over a week ago. It had been addressed to his uncle but it looked so official with the bright orange ‘URGENT’ stickers all over it that he hadn’t been able to stop himself reading it.

Dear Mr Sanchez,

Despite sending you three letters over the last month, we still have not heard from you regarding the outstanding mortgage money. We have handed this matter on to our lawyer who has instructed that, if we do not receive the total sum within six weeks, we will have no option but to proceed with the sale of your house.

There was a sum of money written at the bottom of the page. It was an awfully long number, but the bank had helpfully written it out in words:

Forty-one thousand, two hundred and sixty-five dollars.

Using his three dollars pocket money as a comparison, Ned had needed only a short while to work out just how huge this amount of money was. He had run straight to Uncle Chico.

‘Bah, nothing for you to worry about boy,’ said Uncle Chico, flicking his hand at the letter. ‘It’s just rubbish from the bank.’

‘But…but they’re going to sell our house,’ Ned spluttered.

Uncle Chico put his hand on Ned’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. ‘Boy, don’t you worry. The silly old bank won’t come and take our house away. Just you wait and see. These things have a way of working themselves out.’

But Ned was worried. He had spent many sleepless nights thinking about the letter. How could Uncle Chico afford to pay all that money? He didn’t work on the wharf any more. He was too old. Now all he got was a pension. There were no rich friends or relatives to lend them the money. Maybe if his uncle hadn’t had the burden of bringing him up, he wouldn’t be short of money. Ned felt angry and frustrated. If only he were a bit older and a bit smarter, he might be able to think of some way to pay back the money himself. But what could a nine-year-old possibly do?

With a troubled sigh, Ned picked up Uncle Chico’s black-rimmed glasses and closed the drawer.

As he put his gumboots back on Ned heard his uncle’s voice from the front garden, which looked out over the street.

‘Pull one out,’ Uncle Chico was saying. ‘Go on. I bet you’ve never tasted a better carrot.’

Ned smiled to himself. Uncle Chico was always inviting people in off the street to show them his prized vegetables.

‘No, thanks anyway, but I’m not hungry,’ a boy’s voice replied. ‘Mr Sanchez, I’ve got to go now. I’m on my way down to the wharf to do some fishing.’

‘No, it’s no bother,’ Uncle Chico insisted. ‘Here, I’ll get one for you.’

As Ned rounded the corner of the house he saw Uncle Chico bending awkwardly over the garden, using his cane for support. Ned’s mood brightened as he recognised the skinny red-headed boy who stood just inside the gate looking nervous. His name was Archie Roach. He lived up the road, and was two years ahead of Ned at Collerden Primary School. Ned had read all about Archie winning a fishing competition a little while ago.

With a grunt, Uncle Chico hauled himself back upright, a long, thin tuber dangling from his hand.

‘Here!’ Uncle Chico said, proudly holding it out.

Ned saw Archie grimace at the sight of the vegetable. It was similar to a carrot, but very different from the bright orange ones in the supermarket. It was much longer and thinner, and it was a brownish-yellow colour. It had funny little hairs protruding along it.

‘Thanks,’ said Archie, looking uncertain. ‘I’ll take it home for tea.’

‘Come here and I’ll wash it for you,’ said Uncle Chico with a grin. ‘Then you can eat it now.’ He walked towards the green hose coiled at the side of the house. ‘Ned, you’re back! I’m just washing this carrot for our young neighbour here.’

Ned handed his uncle the glasses and smiled at Archie. ‘I saw your picture in the paper, twice. First when you won that fishing competition, and then with the sea scouts.’

‘Oh,’ said Archie. He smiled and looked at his feet. ‘Um, your uncle was just showing me his garden.’

‘I cut the photos out,’ Ned continued. ‘I glued them into my scrapbook.’

‘That’s right, Archie,’ said Uncle Chico. ‘I’ve seen it myself. You’re stuck right next to a signed All Blacks ticket, smiling away with your big fish.’

Archie looked pleased and his face flushed a little. He stared at the dripping wet vegetable Uncle Chico was now holding out for him.

‘You taste it—delicious!’ Uncle Chico encouraged. Archie reached out slowly and took the vegetable. Uncle Chico, seeming satisfied, headed back into the house.

‘Uncle Chico is right,’ said Ned, pointing to the carrot. ‘They are really tasty.’

‘I don’t like carrots all that much,’ Archie admitted.

‘These ones are different. I bet you’ll like it,’ said Ned. As he stood looking at Archie, an idea began to form in his head. He had been wishing he was older and smarter. Maybe he just needed the help of someone who was already older and smarter.

‘Hey, Archie,’ said Ned, kicking at a stone on the pathway. ‘You must be good at solving problems—you’ve been in the paper and won all those things.’

Archie looked surprised.

‘It’s just…I’ve got a big problem,’ Ned continued, ‘and I don’t think I can work it out by myself. I need someone with good ideas to help me.’

Archie stood with his fishing rod in one hand and a dripping carrot in the other. He looked wistfully towards the sea and said nothing.

‘Hey, Ned!’ Uncle Chico called out from the kitchen window. ‘Does Archie want to stay for a bite to eat? There’s some curried mushrooms nearly done.’

‘No, no.’ Archie shook his head. ‘I’ve got to go now. I was just passing by on my way down to the wharf…’

‘Is it okay if I come and see you?’ said Ned, following him. ‘For some ideas and stuff?’

‘I’m busy today,’ said Archie, opening the squeaky gate. He shut it quickly.

‘Tomorrow, then?’ said Ned, his eyes bright.

‘Um…I don’t know. Bye,’ said Archie, and before Ned could reply, Archie ran off down the street.

Ned smiled at Archie’s rapidly disappearing back. What a stroke of luck that Archie had been going past. He was the perfect person to help. He was much older, and clever too. Archie would be able to think of a way to save Uncle Chico’s house. Perhaps Uncle Chico was right—things would work out after all.

Feeling immensely relieved, Ned trotted inside for lunch.

2

Archie slowed his pace as he got further from the Sanchezes’ house. He counted himself lucky to have escaped in under half an hour. Last time he had been called in off the street for a visit, Uncle Chico had kept him there for nearly two hours showing him around the garden. And what was that boy Ned going on about? Helping him with a problem? Unless he wanted tips on bait or tying on fishing hooks, Archie doubted he could be much use. Sure, he’d had his photo in the paper, but that didn’t mean he could solve problems. Archie knew he wasn’t very good at most things, and that included thinking up good ideas. If he was good at ideas, maybe he could lure his friend Captain Frank McGregor into telling him how he had lost his left eye. Instead, it remained the biggest mystery of all time.

As he neared the fishing wharf, Archie realised he was still holding on to the carrot Mr Sanchez had given him. Yuck; carrots were revolting. His father had sown a whole packet of them four months ago, and lately every meal his mother served up had carrots in it. Carrot soup, carrot quiche, braised carrots on boiled silverbeet. He’d even had to take carrots in his lunchbox.

‘No use wasting money on vegetables from the supermarket when we’ve got a garden full of carrots,’ his mother had clucked.

Archie wondered if it was true that your skin turned orange if you ate too many of them.

He was just about to throw Uncle Chico’s carrot into some bushes when curiosity overcame him. Screwing up his face, he raised the vegetable to his mouth. He took a tiny nibble. The bitter, earthy taste he was expecting did not fill his mouth. Instead, this carrot was peppery sweet, with a lighter texture than the hard, woody ones his father grew. Feeling brave, he bit off the end and chewed it. Hmmm…not bad. Not bad at all. By the time Archie got to Frank’s boat, he was surprised to find that he had munched away all but the stalky end. With a careful eye he aimed it at a large oil can sitting beside the wharf. Archie sighed as the stalk missed its target and landed on a clump of grass, startling a nearby seagull.

Frank was nowhere to be seen on board his boat and Archie soon saw why. A small crowd was gathered around a huge crate further down the wharf and Archie could see Frank among them. Frank was tall and broad, with a messy black beard covering his face, and a black beanie on his head. Archie had never seen Frank wear anything other than black trousers and a tatty black jersey. The black leather patch over his left eye, and his gruff way of speaking, did nothing to improve his overall terrifying appearance. But Archie knew Frank was harmless. Most of the time.

He headed off down the wharf towards the commotion.

‘’Ere, come and feast yer eyes on this, laddie,’Frank called to Archie as he neared. ‘Bet ye’ve never seen the likes of this in all yer fishin’ career.’

Archie looked into the crate and gaped in disbelief.

‘It’s enormous!’ Archie exclaimed when he finally found his voice.

Inside the crate, lying on a bed of ice, was the biggest fish Archie had ever seen. The fish was twice as long as him, with eyes the size of his hand. It was sleek, with a silver underbelly and pretty grey-blue scales. Its tail was wide and pointed.

‘Well laddie, wha’ sort o’ fish do ye reckon it to be?’ asked Frank, grinning.

‘I don’t know,’ said Archie. ‘It looks just like a gigantic sardine.’

The men on the wharf chuckled heartily at Archie, who continued to stare at the fish in amazement.

One man in a red and white checked shirt was frowning. He looked at his watch and muttered something about a truck.

‘Don’t fret, Al,’ said another man, flicking ash from his cigarette. ‘Here comes yer truck now.’

Looking relieved, Al waved his arms to attract the driver’s attention.

‘Sorry ’bout the hold-up, mate,’ said the driver, parking the truck next to the container on the