scooped some marmalade out of the sandwich and spread it on to the man’s head and then picked up the hair clippings and stuck them on top. It was working rather well.
Paddington had stepped back to admire his handiwork when the customer stirred in his sleep.
“What are you doing?” the man mumbled.
“I thought you’d like some hair product, sir,” said Paddington, thinking on his paws.
“Jolly good. Carry on,” said the man, going back to sleep.
Paddington did as he was told.
At last, when he thought he could do no more for the customer, he shook him gently awake. “All done,” he said. “Is sir happy with the trim?”
The man surveyed his reflection critically. “I suppose so,” he said. “But what about the back?”
Paddington grabbed a hand mirror and fleetingly showed the customer the back of his head. The man frowned. He reached up and patted the marmalade-glued patch of hair.
“What’s this?” he asked, puzzled.
“Marmalade, sir,” said Paddington in a matter-of-fact tone. “Hairy marmalade,” he added, thinking this sounded more the sort of product a barber might use.
“Hairy marmalade?” exclaimed the man. “Well, get it off!”
“Certainly, sir. Waste not, want not,” said Paddington. He stretched up on the tips of his paws and leaned over to lick the marmalade off.
“WHAT-A ARE YOU DOING-A?” shouted a voice from the shop door.
“Ah, there you are, Mr Giuseppe,” said Paddington, glancing up. “This is not at all as bad as it looks,” he added hastily when he took in the look of fury on the barber’s face.
Giuseppe opened his mouth to reply that it was possibly a lot worse, but his words were drowned out by the deafening blare of the fire alarm.
Paddington looked up to see that sparks were flying out of the ceiling fan and smoke was filling the room! He looked around wildly for a way to stop the fire.
He need not have worried, for almost immediately some sprinklers came on, putting out the fire.
Unfortunately, they also drenched everyone and Paddington decided that, under the circumstances, the best course of action was to beat a hasty retreat.
“I’m sorry, but I think perhaps working in a barber’s shop is not my strongest suit,” he cried on his way out. “Ciao, ciao, Giuseppe!”
THAT EVENING THE Browns took the whole family to Madame Kozlova’s Steam Fair as promised.
It certainly was a spectacular sight. Paddington didn’t think he had seen anything as wonderful since leaving Darkest Peru. Judy and Jonathan were as excited as he was. They chattered away, pointing out the rides to Paddington and asking him which he would go on first. However, Paddington was deep in thought. He had not been able to take his mind off the pop-up book since seeing it in Mr Gruber’s shop and now that he was here, at the fair, he knew more than ever that he had to find a way of getting the book for Aunt Lucy. But how was he going to get another job after the disaster at the barber’s? he wondered.
Mr Brown had gone to buy some snacks. When he came back with candyfloss for Mrs Bird and toffee apples for the others Paddington asked Mr Brown if he had ever been fired from a job.
Mr Brown looked uncomfortable. “Not exactly, but … I think you should be careful about entering the workplace, Paddington. Are you sure you’re ready? It’s a tough, competitive world out there, and I should know,” he added wearily. “I worry that a kind, good-natured bear like you might get trampled underfoot.”
Paddington considered this as he took a bite from a toffee apple.
“Dad’s right,” said Judy, suddenly sullen. “You can’t trust anyone.”
Paddington tried to open his mouth to protest that this wasn’t true – he knew he could trust the Browns, for example – but he found the toffee apple had glued his teeth together so he remained silent.
Mrs Brown put a hand on Judy’s shoulder. “Is this about Tony, darling?” she asked.
“No,” Judy snapped.
“Everything’s about Tony,” Jonathan teased.
“At least I’m not pretending to be someone I’m not,” Judy retaliated.
“Nor am I,” said Jonathan irritably. He moved away from his sister towards a group of boys who all appeared to be dressed in a similar fashion with cyber-shades and baseball caps. “Hey, G-Man!” Jonathan cried, slipping on his own shades and performing a complicated hand gesture.
“J-Dog,” said the boy, walking over in a slouch, one hand raised. “Spud bounce, man,” he said, bumping his fist against Jonathan’s.
Paddington had finally managed to work his mouth free of the toffee. “But, Mr Brown,” he said, continuing the conversation from before, “I’m sure I will be fine in the workplace. Aunt Lucy said if you’re kind and polite, all will be right.”
“Someone’s making sense at last,” said Mrs Bird. She gave Jonathan and his friend a funny look.
“You are kind and polite, Mr Brown,” Paddington went on. “And you’ve made it to the top.”
Mr Brown grimaced. “I’m nowhere near the top, Paddington. I peaked in the middle. And now my hair’s going grey and my belly has popped out and I creak.”
Mrs Brown took her husband’s arm. “You don’t creak, darling,” she said. “When do you creak?”
“When I sit down. When I get up …” said Mr Brown.
“I thought that was the chair,” said Mrs Brown kindly.
“Nope,” Mr Brown said, looking miserable.
Just then there was a burst of applause from the crowd and the family turned to see a handsome man bounce on to the stage in front of them.
“Oh!” cried Paddington. “Doesn’t that man live in the big house on the corner of Windsor Gardens?”
“Yes,” said Judy, taking a photo. “He’s one of dad’s celebrity clients – Phoenix Buchanan.”
Mr Brown nodded importantly. “He’s a Platinum Club member and a very famous actor.”
“Or used to be,” said Mrs Bird knowingly. “Now he does dog-food commercials.”
Mrs Brown smiled. “Mrs Bird doesn’t like him, Paddington, because
