Paddington 2: The Story of the Movie: Movie tie-in. Anna Wilson

poured steaming cocoa into two mugs and handed Paddington a plate of buns.

      “I am on a Very Important Mission,” Paddington said. He took a bun and bit into it. “It is my Aunt Lucy’s one hundredth birthday soon and I want to find her the perfect present,” he explained, his voice muffled with crumbs. “I thought you would be the person to ask for some help.”

      “Well, you’ve come to the right place,” said Mr Gruber, beaming. He took a sip of his drink. “See all these boxes?” He gestured to the pile of crates and packages on the floor. “They belong to Madame Kozlova. She runs the fair that has just come to town – have you seen it?”

      “Not yet, Mr Gruber,” said Paddington, wiping his whiskers. “Mr Brown did mention something about it, now I come to think of it. Perhaps we’ll be going soon.”

      “You should. It’s magnificent,” said the old shopkeeper. “Anyway, come and look at this.” He beckoned Paddington over to the boxes. “Madame was having a clear-out and she found these old crates of memory-bilia. There might be something in here that would be just right for Aunt Lucy’s special birthday.”

      Paddington growled in interest. “What a lovely idea!” he said. He took off his hat and put it on the table. He had spotted an old Van de Graaff generator that rather took his fancy, but when he went to touch it it made his fur stand on end. He quickly withdrew his paw.

      “Oh, look at this!” Mr Gruber was holding up a mechanical monkey on a trapeze.

      Paddington put his head on one side. “It’s very nice, but …”

      Mr Gruber replaced the monkey and smiled. “I know, it has to be perfect.”

      Paddington nodded. “Since Uncle Pastuzo died I’m the only relative Aunt Lucy’s got left. And it’s not every day a bear turns a hundred.”

      “Quite so,” Mr Gruber agreed.

      Paddington rummaged in another trunk and found a wig and some glasses. He took off his hat and put them on, modelling them for his friend.

      Mr Gruber laughed. “And how about some rolling shoes to go with the outfit?” He handed Paddington some roller-skates.

      Paddington peered over the top of the glasses and said, “Please, Mr Gruber. Be serious.”

      Mr Gruber bit his cheeks and forced himself to stop grinning at his funny friend. “Yes, perhaps her rolling days are behind her,” he said with a nod.

      Paddington carried on sifting through the contents of one of the packing cases. “Oh, what’s this?” he asked, fishing out an old book. “It’s beautiful! Look at the picture on the cover. It’s a book about London – oh!” he cried again, as he opened the pages and the pictures jumped out at him.

      Mr Gruber laughed. “It’s a popping book, Mr Brown,” he said.

      “It certainly is,” said Paddington. He opened and closed the book, marvelling at the way the pictures popped up into intricate three-dimensional scenes.

      Mr Gruber came and stood over his shoulder. “That must be the special popping book Madame Kozlova has told me about. Her great-grandmother was an artist, you see. Every time she visited a city she made a popping book. This must be the one she made of London.”

      Paddington’s eyes lit up as he opened page after page, all of them popping up to reveal different famous London landmarks. “There’s Tower Bridge … and St Paul’s Cathedral … and Buckingham Palace … This is wonderful, Mr Gruber! Aunt Lucy always wanted to visit London but she never had the chance. If she had this book, it would be as though she was really there.”

      Paddington peered closely at the detail in the pop-ups. He imagined himself shrinking to the size of one of the tiny people in the illustrations. Then he pictured himself with Aunt Lucy. He would take her on the underground and to Piccadilly Circus and the Houses of Parliament. She would clap her paws together in delight and cry, “Oh, it’s just as I always dreamed! Thank you, dear nephew.”

      Mr Gruber cleared his throat, bringing Paddington back to reality with a jolt. Paddington’s eyes were glistening with emotion. He pointed to a line on the book jacket that read, “Where All Your Dreams Come True”.

      “This is the perfect present, Mr Gruber. Aunt Lucy’s going to love it,” he said.

      “Ah,” said Mr Gruber, consulting the price list. His face fell. “Ah. This is the only one of its kind. I’m sorry to say they want rather a lot of money for it.”

      Paddington fished out the coin Mrs Bird had found that morning. “Would this be enough? Mrs Bird pulled it from my ear. Perhaps there’s more where it came from?” He rummaged enthusiastically in his ear to check, but had no luck.

      Mr Gruber sighed and shook his head. “I’m afraid you’re going to need rather more than one earful – a thousand earfuls would be nearer the mark.”

      “But that’s two thousand iced buns!” exclaimed Paddington.

      “Let’s take another look at the monkey,” said Mr Gruber kindly. “I think he’s super-duper.” He turned the handle and it came off in his hand. “I can fix that,” he said hastily.

      Paddington smiled sadly. “That’s very kind of you, Mr Gruber, but Aunt Lucy did a lot for me when I was younger. I want her to know I have made a special effort for her hundredth birthday.” He put his hat back on and made for the door. Then, turning back to his friend, he said, “I’ve decided what I need to do. I’m going to get a job and buy Aunt Lucy that book.”

      “Very good, Mr Brown,” said Mr Gruber. “Very good indeed.”

      

      PADDINGTON LOST NO time in looking for employment. He went into the first place that he saw on leaving Mr Gruber’s – Giuseppe’s barber’s shop.

      “You are-a in-a luck!” cried the flamboyant Italian, as Paddington set out his request. “I am in-a need of an assistant. I have-a much to do this afternoon. Please start by sweeping up-a. I shall be back in-a few-a minutes. Ciao, ciao!” And with that he threw Paddington a broom and left.

      “Ciao, ciao, Giuseppe!” Paddington called after him.

      He was about to set to and sweep up all the hair clippings when he spotted a white barber’s coat hanging on the back of a door.

      “It can’t hurt to try it on,” he said to himself. “After all, I may as well look the part.”

      Slipping out of his own coat, he took the barber’s from the peg and put it on. Then he stood back and admired his new look in the mirror. Taking a comb, he parted his fur into a neat side parting.

      “Ah, sir. Good afternoon,” he said to his reflection, pretending to be a real barber. “Now what can I do for you today?”

      “Just a quick trim, please,” said a voice.

      Paddington whirled round in surprise to see that a customer had walked in and was already installing himself in one of the barber’s chairs. He was a large pompous-looking man with a magnificent mane of grey hair.

      “Come along, man, I haven’t got all day,” said the customer sharply.

      “Oh, I-I’m not the barber,” said Paddington. “I just tidy up.”

      “That’s all I want,” said the man, flicking his hand impatiently around his hair. “Tidy up at the back and sides and nothing off the top.”

      “Yes but—” Paddington began.

      “No buts!” cried the man. “Come on, man. Chop, chop!” He settled back into the