Eating Things on Sticks (3 page)

‘Blown away, are they?'

‘Harry,' said Uncle Tristram testily, ‘this island is famous for its rugged beauty.'

‘So is the Gobi desert,' I snapped back. ‘But no one goes there on hols.'

He scowled. ‘Would you like the return half of your ferry ticket now?' he said. ‘Then you can take a train back down to Aunt Susan's.'

‘No, thanks!' I said. I took another look. ‘It's quite astonishing really. Look at the unspoiled sweep of it. Enchanting!'

‘That's better,' Uncle Tristram said. ‘Shall we start getting ready to get off?'

‘Disembark,' I corrected.

But he'd already gone.

We were the only passengers to leave the boat at this particular island. ‘Glerhus dill sotblug,' the ferryman warned once more as he let down the ramp so we could drive away.

‘Quite so,' responded Uncle Tristram enthusiastically. ‘Quite so. Quite so.'

MORNING GLORY

An hour later, we were still sitting in the car.

‘It would be better not to have a map at all,' said Uncle Tristram, ‘rather than one like this, that simply throws out the odd cruel hint as to where we might be.' He ripped it into pieces. ‘I shall ask the very next person we come across.'

It was quite late by then, so there was no one. There were no houses, either. If there was a village anywhere, it was successfully hidden. We saw sheep, but they're not helpful when it comes to finding out where you are.

Finally, some ancient codger on a bike came round the corner. He had a beard like a used scouring pad. I was expecting him and Uncle Tristram to end up in yet another of the conversations like the ones on the ferry – all, ‘Ooh, yar. Darp plummet gep!' and ‘Quite so. Indeed!' But though the ancient codger was hard of hearing, he clearly wasn't quite as steeped in darkest dialect as those on the boat. So when Uncle Tristram gave up on showing him the hastily pushed together pieces of map and simply shouted, ‘Morning Glory!' at him, the baffled look turned into a seraphic beam. Ushering us a few yards round the corner, the ancient codger pointed.

There, in the shadow of the hill we'd seen from the ferry, stood what looked like a large and ugly cardboard box with ill-fitting windows.

‘Marvellous!' said Uncle Tristram.

The codger stood there waiting for some sort of tip. But Uncle Tristram was already hurrying back towards the car. As he came past, he slowed so I could scramble in before he took off with a squeal of wheels.

IN THE PRESENCE OF THE APPLE

We knocked on the door. After a moment it opened, and there stood Morning Glory, dressed in some sort of silver tube that barely covered her bottom. Her legs were stuck in furry yeti boots. She wore a lot of bangles on one wrist, and flowers in her hair.

‘Tristram!' she cried, and threw her arms around him.

‘Hi, Morning Glory!' he said enthusiastically, and patted her silver bottom. ‘How far's the pub? Poor Harry and I are
starving
.'

‘I'll fix you something,' she offered. ‘Just let me finish my session first.'

‘Session?'

‘I'm putting myself in harmony with the universe,' explained Morning Glory.

Uncle Tristram asked guardedly, ‘Does it take long?'

‘No, no. You go and unpack.'

‘I think we'll just sit here and wait,' said Uncle Tristram. (I think he hoped that we would put her off whatever she was doing enough to hurry things along.) Morning Glory sank cross-legged to the floor and sat there for a minute or two.

‘What are you doing?' I asked her.

‘Ssh!' she said. ‘Try not to disturb me. I am sitting quietly in the presence of the apple.'

‘What apple?'

She pointed. Over in the corner of the room, there was an apple on the floor.

‘I'll bring it closer, shall I?' I offered politely.

‘No, thanks,' she said. ‘It's fine just where it is because, right now, I am just being
mindful
of the apple.'

‘So you don't actually
want
it?'

‘No,' she said. ‘Not until it's time to look at it. I'll need it then. And after that, when I'll be
listening
to it.'

‘Apples don't make a lot of noise,' said Uncle Tristram, ‘unless someone's munching them, of course.'

‘That isn't what I do,' said Morning Glory rather scornfully.

We sat and waited for what seemed a good few weeks while Morning Glory listened to the apple. Sometimes I looked around the room at all the lumpy brown furniture and a particularly ghastly corner in which there was a sizeable collection of owl and pig knick-knacks. The rest of the time I kept my eyes on Uncle Tristram, half expecting him to start making faces behind Morning Glory's back. But he sat tight. Clearly he'd had to sit through times when she did weird things like put herself in harmony with the universe before.

Finally, Morning Glory got to her feet and walked across to pick up the apple. She held it to her nose.

‘What are you doing now?' I asked.

‘Right now, I'm
smelling
the apple,' she explained. ‘And after that I put it to my lips.'

‘And will you eat it?'

‘This is a Being-in-Harmony-with-the-Universe session,' Morning Glory said disdainfully. ‘It's not a feast.'

She finished shortly after that, and unfolded upwards just the way our ironing board used to unfold before I burned it to a crisp. ‘OK, I'm ready to go.'

Uncle Tristram jumped to his feet. ‘Better make tracks. What time do they close?'

‘Nine thirty,' Morning Glory said.

Uncle Tristram looked horrified. ‘Nine thirty?'

‘They're not a
real
pub,' Morning Glory said reprovingly. ‘More a small family place where you can get light suppers.'

‘But it's already ten! You should have
said
. If you had told us when we first arrived, we could have eaten by now.'

‘The thing is,' Morning Glory said, ‘that it's important, when you're in the presence of the apple, to let go of trivia like time.'

‘What are we going to
eat
, though? I'm starving. And Harry here threw up his last meal. He'll be hungry, too.'

‘I've got some nettle pudding,' Morning Glory said.

‘What about the apple?' suggested Uncle Tristram.

Morning Glory looked shocked. ‘We can't eat that! Not after I've been at peace in its presence!'

So we had nettle pudding. I can't say it was very nice, or that I'd ever want to eat it again. But it did settle my stomach. By then I was so tired that I went off to bed. Later, I woke to hear Uncle Tristram tiptoeing past my door and muttering to himself. It wasn't very clear to me what he was saying. But I did think that I distinctly heard the words ‘could eat a weasel' and ‘
kill
for some chips'.

Sunday

 

NOTHING TILL SATURDAY

Next morning, when Uncle Tristram came downstairs yawning his head off, I asked him, ‘Why were you wandering about in the night?'

‘Impossible to sleep,' he said. ‘I can't describe the length and misery of the hours. I had a terrible time.'

‘The nettle pudding, was it?'

‘No. The mice.'

‘You never had mice for afters!'

He stared at me. ‘Of course I didn't have mice for afters. They simply swarmed about my bedroom.'

‘Mice don't swarm.'

‘These did. They swarmed
all night
. I had to wrap myself in some old Chinese dressing gown of Morning Glory's, and huddle on the top of the chest of drawers.'