Olive of Groves and the Great Slurp of Time Read Online Free Page A

is the way that all pig rehabilitation centres record time . . . which just proves that this is an official letter!’
    Olive stared at the rag of paper with its messy, misspelt words written in blunt pencil. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, official about it.
    Olive looked at Pigg McKenzie. He smirked into his trotter.
    Mrs Groves continued, ‘The second piece of paper says, “This is Pigg McKenzie,” Pigg being written with a double g. There is an arrow that points to our dear friend here . . . if you hold the page the right way. Rather conclusive, wouldn’t you say?’
    â€˜Good grief,’ sighed Olive. Although I am not sure whether she was referring to Mrs Groves’ stupidity, the factthat Fumble had curled up into a ball behind the door and was rocking back and forth, moaning in terror, or the sight of Chester, who had just chewed a button off Mrs Groves’ blouse and was waving it joyfully in the air like a victory banner.
    The pig yawned and stretched. He patted his bulging belly with his front trotters. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it has been delightful to meet you, Obvious.’
    â€˜It’s Olive !’ cried Blimp, then dived beneath the bed, frightened at his own boldness.
    Mrs Groves nodded and blushed, said, ‘Merry Christmas’ – even though it was only May – then disappeared down the spiral staircase.
    Pigg McKenzie stared at Olive. His gaze settled for a moment on her new school-captain badge and his eyes narrowed, ever so slightly. He looked down at his lime-green jacket with rather ordinary plastic buttons and back to Olive’s shiny silver badge.
    He grunted and left the room, but not before he had thrown one last smirk over his shoulder and wiped something brown and disgusting from his trotter on the wallpaper.

5
    In which Basil explains the mysteries of time travel
    â€˜ Guten Tag! ’ sang a musical voice with a German accent.
    â€˜It’s the time traveller!’ cheered Olive, bunny-hopping around the room with even more enthusiasm than before. ‘It really truly is this time!’
    To be honest, a visit from anyone who wasn’t Pigg McKenzie would have sent her into raptures at this stage. Relief can turn one quite dizzy with excitement.
    â€˜ Guten Tag! ’ sang Basil once more. ‘May I come in?’
    â€˜Of course!’ cried Olive. ‘You are very welcome.’
    Basil stepped inside, doffed his green felt hat, clicked his heels and bowed. His snowy blond hair flopped onto his forehead. A smile stretched across his face and his blue eyes sparkled. ‘What a beautiful, spacious room you have up here in the turret!’
    He looked through the window, down into the back garden of Groves. The dahlias and crocuses were in full bloom. ‘What a delightful view!’
    He looked around at Olive’s friends. Fumble was draping Olive’s scarf from his antlers like bunting. Wordsworth was reading a small book of poetry about mice. Chester was gazing at his new red button, turning it over and over in his paws. Blimp was eating Olive’s favourite black velvet headband flavoured with a thick layer of toothpaste. ‘What fascinating friends!’
    And then Basil froze. He stared at the battered silver alarm clock sitting on the bedside table. His sparkly blue eyes widened and his green felt hat fell to the floor. ‘It’s true!’ he gasped. ‘You have a special clock!’

    â€˜Oh, that,’ said Olive. ‘It was smashed to pieces by a Very Nasty Pig, but the rats fixed it for me. Of course, one of the bells has been replaced by a thimble . . . and there’s a lump of cheese instead of the number eight . . . and the hands go backwards. But that’s what makes it special. That and the fact that it was repaired with nothing more than ratty intelligence and a whole lot of love.’ She smiled fondly at Wordsworth, Chester and Blimp.
    Blimp’s nose blushed