Eating Things on Sticks (5 page)

I tried to repair the damage. ‘Well, I suppose there's no harm in just going to look . . .'

Her eyes went bright again. ‘So you will come?'

‘Not half!' I said enthusiastically. ‘All my life I've longed to see an angel.'

‘I have my own,' she told us.

Even Uncle Tristram looked startled at this claim. ‘Really? Your very own angel?'

‘Yes. She's called Dido and she hangs about at the top of the hill behind this house.'

‘Hangs about?'

‘In the air,' explained Morning Glory.

‘Can anyone
else
see Dido?' Uncle Tristram asked cunningly.

‘Only real true believers,' Morning Glory admitted.

‘Oh, well,' said Uncle Tristram. ‘Still worth the trip, I expect. Though it's a very steep hill.'

‘Very,' I echoed.

It was, too. It took at least an hour to reach the top. Uncle Tristram and Morning Glory spent a lot of the time kissing and giggling on the narrow path. She'd come out wearing some sort of leopardskin tablecloth that trailed on the ground, but he had sent her back to change into the silver tube that barely covered her bottom. (‘It'll get tangled in the undergrowth a whole lot less.') He made me walk in front, so I climbed very fast to spite them both.

I reached the peak. Only a little way down on the other side, water was bubbling out between stones. I reckoned it was far too high up the hill for any sheep to have got near enough to poo in it, so I knelt down to cup my hands and drink.

Finally, those two staggered up behind me.

‘That is The Source,' said Morning Glory, pointing to where I was kneeling at the very start of the stream. We had studied rivers in school, so I looked down to see how it widened and deepened, and how one or two other streams joined it. Then I looked around for angels.

‘Is Dido here yet?'

‘Not yet,' said Morning Glory. ‘Not till we call.'

She sat cross-legged and sang her Calling Angels Song. It went on quite a long time, so I wandered back to The Source and pushed stones around with my feet. When I came back up, Morning Glory had risen to her feet to start her Calling Angels Chant. That went on a bit as

well, so I drifted back to The Source and packed some mud around my new arrangement of stones. (If I was
four
, you would have called it spending my time building a dam in the stream. But I am well past four.) When I got bored with that, and came back up to the top for the third time, Morning Glory had stretched out her hands and embarked on her Calling Angels Entreaty. I can't remember much about the song, the chant or the entreaty, except that there was quite a bit about ‘beloved feathered ones' and ‘winged treasures of the world' and such stuff.

In the end, it was Uncle 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
 . . .'

‘She's
lovely
, isn't she?'

‘Lovely,' said Uncle Tristram faintly.

I shouldn't have been grinning. I was next.

‘You saw her too, didn't you, Harry? You saw her shining wings. You saw her glowing gown. You saw her radiant face!'

‘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.

‘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.

‘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.

‘I'm on a tiny island,' I explained. ‘There's no escape.'

‘No escape?' Mum's voice turned anxious. She began to whisper, too. ‘So where is Tristram?'

‘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?'

‘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.'

‘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.'

‘Quick!' she said. ‘Tell me everything you can. Quick!'

‘We drove for
hours
,' I said. ‘Then we were rushed onto a boat. Everyone had accents. Really thick accents. We couldn't understand a word. And they have beards. There are no trees on the island and only one hill. I'm stuck inside now so I haven't really seen anything else.'

‘Think!' Mum urged. ‘Did you see anything –
anything
– on the journey?'

I thought back. ‘Myrtledown Swimming Pool,' I said. ‘And a strange little restaurant called The Woolly Duck.'

‘Oh, good boy! Smart lad!' she said. ‘We'll have you off that island in no time.'

‘I really doubt it,' I said gloomily. Then I heard footsteps. ‘I have to go!' I warned her. ‘How's the kitchen coming along?'

‘For heaven's sake, my precious! Don't you worry about the kitchen! It doesn't matter in the least! Don't even
think
about it ever again. Just hang in there and try to keep your spirits up.'

‘All right,' I promised.

And when I put down the phone, I did console myself that even a day up a hill building dams like a toddler and looking for angels was better than being at Aunt Susan's.

Tuesday and Wednesday

BEARD TOUR

Next morning, Morning Glory brought me a cup of tea in bed. At least, I thought that it was tea until I sipped it.

‘Splarrp!'

(I managed not to spit it on the counterpane.)

‘Are you all right?' she asked me tenderly.