Eating Things on Sticks Read Online Free Page B

Tristram who glanced at his watch first. ‘Should we be getting down again? I’m feeling quite peckish . . .’ He trawled his brain for some more lofty reason to abandon the search for angels. ‘And Harry here really ought to phone his mother to tell her what a nice time he’s having.’
    Morning Glory lifted her hand. ‘Hark!’
    I listened pretty hard, but I heard nothing.
    Then, ‘There she is! There!’ Morning Glory was pointing into thin air. ‘Oh, can you see her? Dido! You’ve come.’
    Morning Glory dropped onto her knees. She held an animated conversation with the invisible (and silent) Dido, explaining who we were, and telling Dido how wonderfully radiant she looked. I stood to the side, like a spare pudding. Uncle Tristram took great interest in the stones beneath his feet, and we just waited.
    At last, Morning Glory stepped forward with a wave. ‘Farewell! Farewell, my angel!’
    Eagerly she turned to Uncle Tristram. ‘You saw her? You did see her?’
    I watched poor Uncle Tristram paw the ground. ‘I do think maybe I saw something  . . .’
    â€˜She’s lovely , isn’t she?’
    â€˜Lovely,’ said Uncle Tristram faintly.
    I shouldn’t have been grinning. I was next.
    â€˜You saw her too, didn’t you, Harry? You saw her shining wings. You saw her glowing gown. You saw her radiant face!’
    â€˜Angels are beautiful,’ I agreed.
    I have to tell you I felt brilliant . I had been far more enthusiastic than Uncle Tristram, yet kept my dignity.
    â€˜Nothing can follow that,’ I said to both of them. ‘Shall we go down again now?’
    THERE’S NO ESCAPE
    When we got back to the house cagain, Morning Glory mysteriously disappeared.
    â€˜Stolen by angels,’ suggested Uncle Tristram. But it was no more than a couple of minutes before he vanished as well. I spent a bit of time rooting through cupboards to see if I could find a pack of cards, or something else so ancient it didn’t need a battery. But there was nothing.
    So I did what Uncle Tristram had suggested earlier, and I phoned home.
    My mother took the call. ‘Harry! At last! We’ve phoned Tristram’s mobile a thousand times but it’s gone totally dead. Where on earth are you?’
    I wasn’t sure where Morning Glory was. For all I knew, she might be walking barefoot past the door. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings again so I dropped my voice to a whisper.
    â€˜I’m on a tiny island,’ I explained. ‘There’s no escape.’
    â€˜No escape?’ Mum’s voice turned anxious. She began to whisper, too. ‘So where is Tristram?’
    â€˜I’m not sure.’ In case he was with Morning Glory, I added tactfully, ‘But I don’t think he’s anywhere around.’

    I realize now I must have sounded rather plaintive. Almost pitiful. Certainly I could tell from the change in her voice that Mum was getting more and more worried. ‘Harry, who else is there?’
    â€˜Just someone Uncle Tristram thought he knew,’ I explained, and couldn’t help adding bitterly, ‘But nowhere near well enough, it seems. And now it’s too late.’
    â€˜My God, Harry! It’s been three days! Are you even being fed?’

    I’m not allowed to eat pork pies because of the additives. (Well, certainly not four .) So I slid round the topic. ‘I did eat some nettles the day before yesterday,’ I told her piteously. ‘But only because I wouldn’t have slept from hunger otherwise.’
    Along the hall, I thought I heard a door open and a bit of giggling. ‘Mum,’ I said. ‘Someone is coming. I don’t have long to talk.’
    â€˜Quick!’ she said. ‘Tell me everything you can. Quick!’
    â€˜We drove for hours ,’ I said. ‘Then we were rushed onto a boat. Everyone had accents. Really thick