Eating Things on Sticks (15 page)

We had a grand time after that. The rain made some things taste a little slimy and turned some others soggy. I must admit my candyfloss was positively pitted. But you can't ruin pork pie on a stick. Or sausage. Toffee apple on a stick holds up quite well against the occasional downpour. I had a bit of a run-in with one of the wardens when half my fishfinger broke away and fell in a puddle. She thought I ought to start over again with a fresh one. But Uncle Tristram argued my case quite forcefully – not wanting to pay for it – and in the end she did give up and tick my card.

An hour later, while I was tipping back my head to catch the drippings from the ice lolly on a stick that I'd forgotten to eat earlier, I noticed the helicopters had stopped circling. I swung round to see them heading for the mainland – a little line of beetles across the sky.

‘Mum's told them we're all right, then.'

‘Good,' Uncle Tristram said. He shivered. ‘You realize you and I are going to get a frightful slice of tongue pie from your mother when we get back.'

‘I know.' I was distracted from my own short ripple of fear by a disturbance around us. Everyone began to whisper.

‘It's Delia! Delia's coming!'

‘Look! Look! She's walking
this
way.'

Excitement was intense. ‘See? Delia's coming! Everyone make way for Delia!'

The crowds fell back, to make a sort of avenue of beards. Into sight stepped a police officer. She was tall and slim. She wore her sleek black uniform as proudly as if she were a general on parade. And she was eating chips.

I nudged Uncle Tristram. ‘
There's
one that they've forgotten. Chips on a stick!'

He didn't answer. I glanced up at him. He wasn't even listening. Just like the beardies, he was staring straight ahead at Delia as if a shining angel were passing by.

I poked him hard. ‘No! Don't even
think
of it!'

‘She's very beautiful,' he whispered. A dreamy look spread over his face. ‘And look at what she's wearing! Isn't that
fantastic?
So simple and so smart. So sober and so black.'

‘Stop it!' I shook him. ‘Stop it at once! She lives here, don't forget. And you are never, ever to fall in love again with anyone who lives on this island!'

It was as if I'd said the exact right words to break the spell. The dreamy look passed from his face.

‘You're right,' he said, and gazed around us. ‘So what do you reckon? Where shall we go next? Steak on a stick? Or are you still on the desserts?'

MY LONG-LOST COUSIN

We were just heading for the frozen banana on a stick stand when Uncle Tristram nudged me.

I looked up from my chipolata. ‘What?'

‘Look over there.' He jerked a thumb towards the car park. ‘See what I see?'

I peered across. There, scrambling out of Uncle Tristram's car, was Morning Glory. Tugging his uniform straight, Officer Watkins climbed out after her.

‘He must drive very fast,' I said, ‘for them to have got back this soon.'

‘I don't think they've been anywhere at all!' said Uncle Tristram. ‘The whole car's totally steamed up.' A little bitterly he added, ‘Being in the presence of the old boyfriend has clearly turned out to be a whole lot more exciting than being in the presence of an apple.'

I tried to cheer him up. ‘I expect she'll make him sit cross-legged in the mud and thank his lips now.'

But Uncle Tristram was still a bit put out at being trumped in love. He glowered as Morning Glory and Officer Watkins came over towards us. ‘Been very
busy
, have you both?' he asked sarcastically. ‘Spent all this time desperately barricading Aunt Audrey's back door against the torrent?'

Morning Glory did at least have the grace to blush. But Officer Watkins grinned. ‘We didn't go. We just sat in your car—'

‘So I see,' Uncle Tristram said, horribly frostily.

‘– and agreed to get married!' He stuck his hand out. ‘And Morning Glory wanted you to be the first to know – since you're her long-lost second cousin twice removed.'

That startled Uncle Tristram. ‘
Am
I?'

Morning Glory let out a tinkling laugh and shook a warning finger at Uncle Tristram. ‘Don't be so silly,' she scolded. ‘You know you are! And Harry here is yet another long-lost cousin. It was so good of dear Aunt Susan to bring us together after all these long-lost years.'

I was so glad not to have to be Titania, I didn't mind whose long-lost cousin I became. So I gave Morning Glory a giant hug. ‘Congratulations, cuz!'

She turned to Uncle Tristram. In a spot, he had to hug her, too. Then, after a moment's slightly peeved consideration, he turned to Officer Watkins and shook hands with him as well. ‘Oh, all right. Congratulations to you both.' He stood there for a moment longer, then simply added, ‘Right, then. Now that we're all successfully in harmony with the universe, I might go back to my pork pie on a stick.'

Morning Glory ignored him. ‘We're not just getting
married
,' she pressed on happily. She pointed to the
FOR SALE
sign. ‘We're going buy that house as soon as I've managed to sell Aunty Audrey's.'

‘Better get back and have that go at barricading the stream, then,' said Uncle Tristram.

‘Yes,' she agreed. ‘So are you ready?'

We stared. ‘Who, us?'

She smiled seraphically. ‘Of course. For one thing, I'll need all the help that I can get. And for another, it's not as if you're doing anything important here.'

‘We are,' I said. ‘We're trying to win the Eating Things on Sticks prize.'

‘But
why
?' She spread her hands. ‘The only thing you'll win is what you'll have tomorrow anyway. A whole week on the mainland. The only thing you're doing here is putting yourselves totally out of harmony with the universe by stuffing yourselves with quite disgusting foodstuffs that will make you sick.'

I was already feeling a tiny bit queasy. But when she said that, I felt worse. I held my chipolata on a stick a little further away from me, and turned to Uncle Tristram. ‘She is right, you know.'

‘Yes,' Uncle Tristram said. ‘I know she's right. It's just that I'd prefer to spend my very last afternoon on this island walking round eating things on sticks to being in a cold and miserable house mopping up water.'

‘Oh, come on,' Morning Glory said. ‘Fair's fair, Tristram. You owe me one small favour. You've had a lovely,
lovely
week at my house. You've even seen an angel!'

The dreamy smile came back on Uncle Tristram's face. ‘Well, there is that,' he found himself conceding. ‘I've seen an angel.'

He set off cheerily through the gathering crowd towards the car park, singing a song in which the words ‘Beautiful Delia, Queen of my Heart' featured enough to get on my nerves and irritate Morning Glory intensely.

THE BEST BEARD ON THE ISLAND

‘Make way! Excuse me! Could we please get through! We're in a bit of a hurry here!'

The crowd weren't budging, even for Officer Watkins.

‘What's going on?' I asked.

‘I don't know.' Uncle Tristram shrugged. ‘Maybe it's jugglers. Or a magician or something.'

Fat chance, I thought. And I was right. When we had shoved our way far enough through the crowd to see what everyone was staring at, it was the beards.

‘Don't stop,' said Uncle Tristram. ‘Keep pushing through.'

But Officer Watkins had come to a halt. ‘Hey, Morning Glory. Isn't that—? Up there on the platform. Look! Surely . . . ?'

He stared. She stared. We all stared. Morning Glory let out a gasp of astonishment. ‘
Dad . . .?
'

And yes, indeed. It was her father standing there, holding a placard that said quite plainly: ENTRANT NO. 17.

‘I simply don't
believe
it,' Uncle Tristram said. ‘What is that miserable old body doing here? The man as good as
promised
he would be spending the whole of today in bed with his face to the wall.'

I turned to Morning Glory. Her faintest flush of pink was deepening by the moment. Raising her arms, she waved to him frantically above the heads of the crowd. ‘Oh, good luck, Dad! Good luck!'

I didn't see how anyone whose head was swathed in such an unruly snap! crackle! pop! of hair could possibly hear well enough to catch this cry of encouragement. So I was not surprised to see him turn the other way. But then I realized that was not because he hadn't heard the cry from Morning Glory. It was because he was already listening to someone else. There, on the other side of the semi-circle of people admiring the eight grand finalists of the Best Beard competition, there was a woman wearing a sparkly purple shift, lace mittens and pixie boots, waving a brolly which had flashing lights.

Who else but Morning Glory's mother?

‘Good luck!' she was shouting cheerily. ‘Oh, best of luck! I really hope you win! You certainly deserve the prize!'

And then there was the strangest miracle.

Morning Glory's father smiled.

Yes, Mr McFee smiled! I'm not sure how we knew. Perhaps some of the wispy bits of his mad beard were lifted somehow in the breeze. But there was no disputing it. He gave a radiant smile.

That was the moment when the judges shuffled out of the tent. We stood in a breathless hush as they walked up and down in front of the finalists, studying in turn each goatee, silken avalanche and bushy beard. We waited with our hearts a-thump as they made notes on their clipboards. We sighed with anticipation as they retired behind the flaps of the tent to start their deliberations.

I could see Uncle Tristram glancing at his watch. Anxiety was plain on his face. Only a couple of hours now until the ferry left! But none of us could tear ourselves away. We had become a part of the crowd, desperate to hear the result. And by the time the judges finally came out again, we were all standing at the front, around Morning Glory.

‘And the winner of the Best Beard Competition is . . .'

I honestly think that I came close to a heart attack.

‘Mr McFee!'

Oh, the punches of triumph and cries of delight! The stamps and cheers of the crowd. The hoots of relief. The hugs of joy between Mr McFee and his wife.

‘Oh, Albert!'

‘Oh, Angeline!'

‘Oh, Alby!'

‘Oh, Angie!'

‘Lambkin!'

‘Sweetpea!'

They only tore themselves apart, with Mr McFee still beaming, for the Grand Prizegiving. The mayor of the island gave a short speech. It all got muffled somewhere in his beard, but no one minded. Most of them just wandered off, chattering excitedly among themselves about the honour and unrivalled glory, and the rather nice mock-tortoiseshell nit comb. In the end, we were the only people left, and Uncle Tristram was getting more and more anxious. ‘Really, we must press on. We have a door to barricade and a ferry to catch.'

‘A ferry to catch?'

On Mr McFee, these words worked just like magic. Utterly galvanized, he pushed his daughter and Officer Watkins towards the car park. ‘Quick, Morning Glory. Hurry along. Your friends mustn't miss the ferry! No one must ever miss a ferry again. So hurry along! Whatever it is you're barricading, go and do it now. Quick! Hurry! Hurry!'

AND THERE IT WASN'T

We took the last tight corner before you reach Aunty Audrey's house, and there it wasn't.

Yes, that's right. Wasn't.

There was the new stream, a whole lot wider than when we'd left that morning. Along its edges lay a sort of tidemark of old bricks, strands of coloured wool and little heaps of rubble. Quite a few heavy bits of furniture were still exactly where they'd been. But there was no house around them. Nothing stood higher than Aunt Audrey's wardrobe, which had clearly dropped as if from heaven and landed upright in the mud that Officer Watkins had been complaining about so bitterly earlier.