Trick or Treat Read Online Free Page A

With the stone, Bill passed on to Arthur the beginnings of his great knowledge. He taught him to test the temperature of the soil with his skin, to judge the character of the seasons, to watch the phases of the moon and to work within her rhythms. Arthur has treasured the godstone ever since that day and, whether it has any influence or not, everything Arthur plants grows as if charmed. Arthur has green fingers, he has the secrets Bill taught him, and the wisdom of half a century of working with the soil, and even without the godstone his plants would be bound to flourish – but the godstone is Arthur’s talisman and now he holds it in his hand for just a moment as he watches the rising, falling form of Olive beneath the bedclothes. He finishes dressing, scoops Chairman Mao from the bed, carries him downstairs and puts him outside. Kropotkin yaps excitedly from the outhouse and Arthur lets him out, old grizzled dog, wagging and smiling and panting with joy.
    â€˜Good dog, good old lad,’ Arthur rubs the curls of his neck and the animal groans with pleasure. Chairman Mao, shivering, slinks under a bush where he does his business and arrives back at the door, blue and mottled already although it is not an especially cold morning.
    Arthur breathes deeply. ‘It’s a grand day,’ he declares. ‘I’ll get off early and make the best of it.’ The sky is pearly pale, innocent, but Arthur is aware that the ripple of cloud in the west might well mean rain.
    He takes a cup of tea upstairs to Olive. ‘Morning me duck,’ he says. He shakes her shoulder until her snoring shudders and stops and she opens her eyes a fraction. They are bright slits like the eyes of a little girl peeping through a mask. ‘All right now?’ he asks, and helps her up, props her with her back against the pillows. She frowns at him. She’s never been any good in the mornings, not till she’s had her cup of tea and time to separate herself from the unfathomable depths of her sleep. She goes so much deeper than Arthur, who hovers and flickers all night on the line between asleep and awake. He envies Olive her ability to plummet straight through.
    Olive fumbles for her teeth and Arthur passes them to her. She puts them in and clamps her jaws until they sit comfortably. They are sticky still, and sweet with the caramel that is jammed in their crevices.
    â€˜Morning,’ she croaks, and takes the cup of tea.
    â€˜I thought, Ollie, if it’s all right with you, I’d get straight off. Looks like rain. I’ll be back soon after dinner.’ Olive grunts. ‘There’s ham in the fridge for your dinner, you can do yourself a sandwich then I’ll do you chips for your tea. Chips and egg, eh?’ Olive sips her tea. ‘I’ll put your clothes out for you here, and I’ll fetch your hat down. Potkins is looking forward to his walk.’
    â€˜If you say so. Where’s Mao?’
    â€˜He’s downstairs, Ollie. He’s been out so he’ll be all right till I get back.’ Arthur arranges Olive’s clothes on the end of the bed. ‘All right, then? Need the lav before I go?’ Olive shakes her head. He kisses her, and creaks off downstairs. Olive listens to him whistling. Already his mind is on the allotment, messing with the soil. He doesn’t get up there so much now, but still he loves it. Loves it more than anything. More than anything except Olive. She finishes her tea and slides luxuriously back down into the bed. Mao materialises on the pillow beside her just as she hears the door bang downstairs. With a pitiful little cry, a new-baby cry, he snuggles his cold smooth body down inside her nightdress, and curls himself up, vibrating with pleasure, against the warmth of her breasts.
    â€˜Hello Mum.’ Rodney comes in through the back door looking taller and more disreputable than ever. ‘How are you?’ He hugs her so that her face is