Christopher Robin_The Novelization Read online

  “I’m going to teach this copycat a lesson!” Tigger hissed from the floor of the taxi.

  Piglet gulped. He had seen that look in Tigger’s eyes before. Nothing good came from that look.

  Just then, Tigger leaped up at the window. But as he jumped, he also let out a roar. This time, when the cabbie turned around, there was no denying that he was not seeing things. There was, in fact, an orange-and-black-striped creature leaping and jumping around the back of his taxi. So the cabbie did what any person in his situation would do: he screamed.

  And swerved—right into oncoming traffic.

  Letting out another scream, he quickly wrenched the steering wheel back, narrowly missing a head-on collision with another taxi. In the back seat, Madeline and the animals went flying back and forth as the taxi continued its wild ride down the street.

  “I’m never leaving the wood again!” Piglet cried, trying to clutch his now very upset stomach while somehow holding on to the door handle. Tigger, meanwhile, was still trying to fight his “imposter,” and Pooh was being tossed helter-skelter all over the place. As the taxi made a particularly sharp swerve, Pooh went flying and ended up wedged in the small window of the taxi’s partition.

  “Hello,” Pooh said jovially, when the cabbie caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye.

  That was it. The last straw. The cabbie could only handle so much. Letting out another scream, he threw his hands in the air. Freed from any control, the steering wheel pulled to the left, and before anyone could do anything to stop it, the vehicle jumped the curb and went slamming into a newspaper stand.

  As the engine coughed and then died, Madeline and the others crawled out of the back of the taxi. Brushing down her skirt, Madeline quickly checked the others to make sure they were all right. Behind her, a police officer raced up to the scene.

  “You need to arrest this lot!” the cabbie shouted when the officer asked what was going on.

  The policeman looked over at Madeline. She was standing still, an innocent expression on her face, with four stuffed animals in her arms. He looked back at the cabbie. “The little girl and her stuffed toys give you a fright, did they?” He didn’t even bother to hide his amusement.

  “Something’s going on with that one,” the cabbie said, shaking his head. “Something…spooky.”

  As the officer continued to question the cabbie, Madeline slowly began to back away from the accident. She was having a hard time keeping Tigger still and needed to get away. But how? Just then, she felt a tiny tug on her sleeve. Looking down, she saw that Piglet was pointing at something ahead of them.

  “Madeline,” he whispered. “Look! Doesn’t that say ‘Woozle’?”

  Looking to where Piglet was pointing, Madeline’s eyes brightened. There, parked next to the curb half a block up, was a truck. On its side was written WINSLOW LUGGAGE. As she watched, a few deliverymen loaded some unfinished trunks into the back of the truck. She had an idea. But she had to act fast!

  “Officer!” she said, getting the policeman’s attention. “That’s my father there!” She spun and pointed at what she thought was the first respectable-looking man she saw.

  “All right then,” the officer said, taking her at her word. “Off you pop. But be careful!”

  Madeline flashed her most innocent and sweet smile. “I will! Thank you, officer!” Then, before the officer could rethink just sending her off, Madeline dashed down the street and slipped into the back of the truck moments before the deliverymen slammed the door shut.

  Instantly, Madeline and the animals were plunged into darkness. But it didn’t matter. If Madeline was right, which she usually was, this truck was heading toward the Winslow Luggage building. And her father.

  Snuggling into an open trunk, Madeline made herself comfortable. Beside her, Pooh pulled out a small travel-sized jar of honey and began to eat. “This truck should take us right to Winslow’s,” Madeline explained as the truck rumbled along.

  “You mean the Woozle?” Pooh asked through a mouthful of honey.

  Madeline nodded. “That’s right.” Then she peered over the edge of her luggage trunk. The others were crammed together in a trunk down a ways. “How are you getting on in there?”

  In response, there was a flurry of limbs and noses moving about—and then she saw Tigger’s tail. “It’s close quarters,” Piglet called back as he swatted Tigger’s tail out of the way. Then he pulled himself up so he could just barely see Madeline and Pooh. “But we’re all right.”

  “Sit tight and we’ll be there soon,” Madeline called back.

  Nodding, Piglet sank back down. He looked at the other two. They were crammed against the trunk’s side, the big brown folder between them.

  “What did she say?” Tigger asked Piglet.

  “She said keep your tail out of my face,” Piglet answered.

  Eeyore cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. Beside him, Tigger did the same. “That doesn’t sound like Madeline,” he said, curious. “Let me ask her.” He shifted in the trunk, preparing to launch himself up and out. Or at least up.

  Piglet tugged on his leg and shook his head. He didn’t want a repeat of the disastrous taxi ride. His stomach couldn’t handle it. Sometimes he wished Tigger would just sit still. “We have to be quiet. Otherwise we’ll get found out.”

  “Got it,” Tigger said, nodding and crossing his heart. He popped up. “MADELINE!” he shouted, causing Piglet to cringe.

  Just then, the truck ran over a pothole. The trunk went bouncing up, connected to the vehicle by only a thin cord. Tigger went flying backward so far that his head ended up on the bottom of the trunk, wedged between Piglet and Eeyore, and his tail was flopping in the open. As the truck slammed down, so did the top of the trunk. It landed with a loud thud, right on Tigger’s tail.

  “ARRGGHHHH!” Tigger cried. And then he let out another cry as Piglet and Eeyore tried to pull his tail free. But it was no use. The truck was bouncing around too much. They couldn’t get a grip. And then, just when they thought things couldn’t get worse, the truck hit another huge pothole and sent the trunk bouncing down the length of the truck. With one more bump, the doors to the truck flew open and the trunk fell off the back, onto the street below. Sparks began to fly as it—and Tigger, Piglet, and Eeyore—were dragged along like a sled.

  Inside her trunk, which had managed to stay open, Madeline thought she heard something. “Did you hear that?” she asked Pooh.

  Pooh looked up from his now empty jar of honey. “I can hear my tummy rumbling, that’s for sure,” he answered.

  Madeline shrugged. Must have been something outside, she thought. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter—as long as they got to her father in time to help rescue him from the Woozle. Or rather, Winslow.

  Inside the Efficiency Department of Winslow Luggage, meanwhile, Christopher Robin was in desperate need of saving.

  He had arrived in the lobby of the building with only minutes to spare, disheveled and feeling completely unprepared. Racing to catch the elevator just as the doors began to slide shut, he found himself alone with Giles Winslow. The man’s face had a healthy glow, and he was holding a golf bag. Seeing Christopher, he shifted awkwardly on his feet. “Ready for the presentation, Robin?” he asked.

  Christopher tapped the briefcase. “It’s all in here,” he said, nodding. Then his eyes narrowed at the clubs. “Have you been golfing?”

  “Me? What? No!” Giles stammered. He pointed at the bag. “These are…an area we’re branching into. Golf bags. Been testing them this weekend.” The elevator arrived at their floor. As the door slid open, Giles slithered out. “Right, well, see you on the dance floor. We’re all counting on you.” Then, before Christopher could blink, Giles slipped down the hall and into his office.

  Christopher watched him go, trying to tamp down the anger he felt boiling up inside him. Golf bags? Right. That was a whole lot of hogwash—and they both knew it. While he wanted to storm into Giles’s office and give him a piece of his m
ind, he didn’t have the time. Looking over at the clock on the wall, he realized he didn’t have any time, period! He needed to get to the conference room now. The meeting was scheduled to start in less than a minute.

  Racing down the hall, Christopher flung open the conference room doors and took one of the few remaining seats. The others were occupied by the members of the board, who had gathered to hear how the company was going to cut 20 percent of its operating costs. A moment later the doors swung open and Giles entered. He glanced around the table, but upon seeing that the only open seat was by Christopher, he visibly cringed. Walking over, he sat down just as his father entered the room. Everyone else stood.

  “As you were,” the older Winslow said, gesturing for everyone to sit.

  When everyone was once again seated, Giles began to speak. “Right, well, we all know why we’re here. No one wants to see the Winslow Luggage ship sink.” There were murmurs of agreement from around the room. “So, hard decisions must be made. Now Robin and I worked tirelessly the whole weekend on this.” He coughed awkwardly as Christopher glared at him. He went on. “But I don’t want to take all the credit. I’ll let Christopher present our solutions.”

  Getting to his feet, Christopher slowly headed toward the front of the table. He clutched his briefcase as though it could offer comfort. As he passed by the conference room doors, he saw his team gathered outside. They all wore identical looks of anticipation—and fear. He nodded at them, hoping to silently reassure them. Then he turned back to the room.

  “Right,” he began. “The good news is I’ve found some cuts. There’s a chance the company can be saved.” The board members all nodded their heads approvingly. “But it won’t be easy. We need to cut overheads, find cheaper suppliers, and there are a lot of sacrifices to be made in terms of our workforce.”

  Outside the conference room, Macmillan, Hastings, and the others exchanged nervous glances. Sacrifices to the workforce did not sound promising. While they knew Christopher had their backs, they were efficiency experts. They also knew that he was going to have to do what he was going to have to do. Turning back to the conference room, they continued to listen in.

  “Sacrifices are fine,” Giles said. “Just show us the proposals.”

  Christopher bit his tongue. Sacrifices were not fine. But he had no choice. Giles was the boss. “It’s all laid out here in my papers,” he said, lifting his briefcase and placing it on the large conference table. “They are very detailed, so hold tight….” His voice trailed off as the lid to the briefcase popped open, revealing…nothing!

  His big folder was gone.

  In its place was a collection of objects from the Hundred-Acre Wood: Pooh Sticks, haycorns, a jar of honey. As Christopher frantically rustled through them, looking for the papers, he also found a weather vane and Eeyore’s tail. His mouth dropped open and his throat went dry. He stopped searching and just stared down at the briefcase.

  Outside the conference room, Christopher’s team watched their leader’s face go pale. “He’s frozen,” Butterworth observed.

  “Like a rabbit in the headlights,” Leadbetter added.

  Gallsworthy, always ready to see the negative, let out a groan. “We’re all doomed!” Then he lowered his head into his hands, unwilling to watch what was going to happen next.

  Back in the conference room, it wasn’t pretty. Giles was staring at Christopher, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. The board members were staring at Christopher—arms crossed and eyes narrowed. And worse still, the older Winslow was staring at Christopher, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

  “Robin,” Mr. Winslow finally said, “if we don’t solve this issue, we’ll have no choice but to shut down. What have you got?”

  Christopher looked up. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t show him—and everyone else—the collection of objects. And his mind had gone completely blank. He couldn’t remember a single number he had written. He couldn’t recall one of the solutions he had come up with. All he could see was haycorns. “I, uh…”

  The clock on the wall ticked, ticked, ticked. The seconds felt like hours. Just when Christopher thought he was going to have a breakdown, his assistant burst into the conference room. Racing over, she whispered something in his ear and then pointed to the door. Evelyn stood there, her face as pale as Christopher’s.

  “Gentlemen,” Christopher said, looking back at the table. “I have to step out for a moment. My apologies.”

  “What the devil are you doing?” Giles said, pushing back from the table angrily. “If you walk out that door, don’t bother coming back!”

  Christopher didn’t even offer a response. Instead, he raced out to find out exactly what was going on. Because if Evelyn was here—and not out in the country—it couldn’t be anything good.

  Christopher had been right: it wasn’t anything good.

  Evelyn quickly filled him in. Somehow, after he had left the country house, Madeline had slipped away. Evelyn had managed to track her down to the train station, and after speaking to the ticket seller, figured out that she had gotten a train ticket to London. Unfortunately, Evelyn told Christopher, she had missed the train Madeline was on and had to race and get their car to make the drive into the city.

  “Where is she?” Christopher asked, scanning the sidewalks from the passenger side of the car as it rushed around London.

  “I don’t know,” Evelyn answered, her voice raw with emotion. “Somewhere between here and the station. She’s all alone.” Her voice cracked as she was overcome with guilt. This was all her fault. If she hadn’t been so caught up in being mad at Christopher, she might have noticed that Madeline had slipped off. Shoving her hand into her pocket, she pulled out the note Madeline had left and handed it to her husband.

  Scanning it quickly, Christopher’s eyes landed on the word expotition. His expression grew serious. “She’s not alone,” he said.

  “Who’s she with?” Evelyn asked, taking her eyes off the road long enough to give her husband a curious look. She had been panicking ever since the moment she had found Madeline’s note. Christopher, on the other hand, now seemed oddly calm. True, his face had grown a bit paler and—as she watched—he fidgeted in his seat. Evelyn knew that look, and that motion. She had seen both many times over the course of their marriage. It meant Christopher had something to tell her but wasn’t sure just how to do it. She raised an eyebrow and waited for him to start talking. Because that, she also knew, was always what happened next.

  Sure enough, Christopher began to talk.

  At first, Evelyn wished he hadn’t. Because initially, it seemed like her husband had lost his mind. Apparently, as he told it, Christopher’s childhood stuffed bear, Winnie the Pooh, had found him in London and brought him back—through a green door in a tree—to a place called the Hundred-Acre Wood, to help rescue the rest of his childhood friends. But as Christopher went on with his story, something happened. It was as though a light that had been off inside of him had suddenly switched back on. Her husband’s eyes grew brighter; his voice grew lighter.

  And by the time Christopher began to tell her about his other friends, which, if she were to believe him, included a talking piglet, owl, rabbit, kangaroo (and her baby), and “Tigger,” whatever that was, Christopher’s mouth, which Evelyn had been convinced was stuck in a perpetual frown, had started to lift at the corners. And she, to her shock, had started to go along with his story.

  “What’s a Tigger?” she heard herself ask when Christopher mentioned a creature she had never heard of before.

  “Tiggers?” Christopher said, growing more animated. He hadn’t realized how much he had wanted to tell Evelyn everything until he started. Now he didn’t want to stop. He failed, unfortunately, to comprehend her still outwardly disbelieving expression. So he went on. “Well, they’re wonderful things. Their tops are made out of rubber, their bottoms are made out of springs.”

  The description complete, he continued his tale. “Anyway, I pretended there was a
Heffalump. But there wasn’t really a Heffalump.”

  Reality crashed over Evelyn. She had let Christopher tell his tall tale because it had felt nice to have him share with her and she had loved seeing him smile. But a “Heffalump”? And an animal made out of rubber? She had to put a stop to this before it went too far. “Are you hearing yourself?” Evelyn asked, cutting him off. “You need to quit.”

  Christopher shrugged. “I think that decision’s about to be made for me,” he said. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of orange-and-black stripes disappear around a corner up ahead. Tigger! It had to be! “There they are! Left, left!”

  While Evelyn wasn’t entirely sure she should listen to anything her husband had to say, she turned left. A few cars ahead of them, she saw a Winslow Luggage truck rumbling along. She narrowed her eyes. It was dragging something, but she couldn’t quite make out what.

  “I’m telling you, it was Tigger!” Christopher said, pointing toward the truck. “He must’ve been with the others.”

  Evelyn snapped her head toward Christopher. “Darling,” she said, trying to sound calm, though she was convinced she was going to have to commit her husband after they found Madeline, “these creatures aren’t real. Listen, I’ll call Doctor Cunningham on Monday. I think with some rest and—”

  WHUMP!

  The car shook as something hit the windshield.

  WHUMP! WHUMP!

  Evelyn’s head snapped back toward the windshield. Then her mouth fell open. There, squished up against the pane of glass, were a donkey, a pig, and what could only be a Tigger!

  “Hey, Christopher Robin!” Tigger said, smiling at his friend. On the far side of the car, the now empty trunk, which Tigger had managed to free them from right before it broke loose from the truck, bounced a few feet before smashing into the curb. Tigger started to tell Christopher what he had done, but before he could, Piglet spoke.

  “You must be Christopher Robin’s wife,” he said to Evelyn. “How do you do?”