Trolls on Hols (5 page)

‘If you want, my ugglesome,' said Mrs Troll. ‘Maybe we should.'

She began unbuttoning the flowery summer dress she was wearing. Mr Troll shrugged and tugged his grubby vest over his head. He unzipped his shorts and kicked them off. He was about to take off his pants when Mrs Priddle stopped him.

‘WAIT!' she screamed, turning pink. ‘Aren't you wearing trunks?'

‘Trunks?' said Mr Troll. He looked at his wife. ‘Have we got trunks?'

‘I don't think so, Eggy.'

‘Then what are you going to wear?' demanded Mrs Priddle.

‘Same as you. We'll go bareskin,' said Mrs Troll, stepping out of her dress.

‘Bareskin? You can't walk around naked!' said Mrs Priddle. ‘This is a beach – people are looking!'

‘No they aren't. All the peeples ran away,' said Mr Troll.

‘Well, I am a peeples … I mean, a person,' said Mrs Priddle. ‘And if you haven't got swimsuits at least keep some clothes on!'

Mr Troll sighed and bent down to pick up his shorts. There was no pleasing peeples, he thought. First they told you to take off your clothes, then they wanted you to put them back on. In any case he couldn't see what all the fuss was about. Back home trolls went bareskin all the time.

Mrs Priddle had settled herself on her towel and was rubbing some kind of cream on her legs. Mrs
Troll watched enviously. She didn't have a towel to sit on and she didn't have any cream. She sat down next to Mrs Priddle and sniffed her legs. The cream smelled quite nice, like tinned peaches.

‘Isn't there somewhere else you could sit?' asked Mrs Priddle, coldly.

‘I haven't got a towel,' said Mrs Troll.

‘Of course not. No towels, no swimsuits – anything else you didn't bring?'

‘Legs cream,' said Mrs Troll, pointing at the tube in Mrs Priddle's hand.

‘It's called suncream. You put it on to stop you burning.'

‘Are you burning?' Mrs Troll looked above Mrs Priddle's head, checking for signs of smoke.

‘No, because I always wear suncream. I've got delicate skin,' said Mrs Priddle, smoothing back her blonde hair. She sighed wearily. ‘Look, if you want some, there's another tube in the bag.'

Mrs Troll rummaged in the Priddles' picnic bag. Under the sandwiches and crisps she found a large yellow tube which she assumed was the spare suncream. She squeezed a blob on to her hand. It was thick and yellow, though it didn't
smell of peaches. She began to rub it on to her arms. ‘Eggy!' she said. ‘Can you rub some of this on my back?'

‘What for?' asked Mr Troll.

‘It's suncream – it stops you from burning. You should try some.'

Mr Troll sniffed the tube and pulled a face. ‘Smells of eggs,' he said. He squeezed out a large blob and began to rub it on to his wife's hairy back. Warren, in the meantime, had changed into his swimming trunks and was waiting impatiently.

‘Are you ready, Dad? I want to go for a swim!'

Mr Priddle groaned. ‘Not yet! I've only just sat down.'

Mrs Priddle lay back on her beach towel and opened her book. ‘Go and swim with him, Roger. The water looks lovely.'

Ulrik looked. It was true, the sun was sparkling and dancing on the waves.

‘I've never swimmed in the sea,' he said a little nervously.

‘Never?' said Warren.

‘No. Dad says the sea is for fishes.'

Mrs Troll flicked off a wasp that was crawling up her thigh. ‘That's because he's frighted of water.'

‘I am not!' growled Mr Troll indignantly.

‘You are, Eggy. You never go near it. Not since that time you got butted off a bridge by a billy goat.'

Mr Troll scowled. He didn't see the point of the seaside. There was nothing to chase and no one to roar at.

Mr Priddle adjusted the waist of his swimming trunks and took a few deep breaths. ‘The best way is to run straight in,' he advised Ulrik. ‘Don't paddle about in the shallows. Just take a deep breath and dive in. Copy me and you'll be fine.'

‘OK, I'll try,' nodded Ulrik.

They ran down the beach. Ulrik was the first to reach the water and splashed in excitedly. A wave broke over his knees as he plunged in deeper. The water was as cold as ice. Mr Priddle jumped up and down shouting, ‘Ahhh! Heee! Ha-hooo!'

‘Ahhh! Heee! Ha-hoooo!' repeated Ulrik, anxious to do everything correctly. They were up to their waists now. Mr Priddle stretched out his arms and flapped them as if he was a pigeon
preparing for take-off. ‘Oh! Oh my … !' he gasped, but the rest was lost as a huge wave crashed over all three of them and Ulrik got a mouthful of salt water. When he could see again, he found he was on his own. Mr Priddle was wading back rapidly towards the beach, spluttering and coughing. Ulrik splashed after him excitedly. ‘Uggsome!' he called. ‘Did you see me? I swimmed!'

Back on the beach they found Mrs Troll performing an odd kind of dance. She shook her head, flapped her arms violently and slapped at her thighs.

‘Do you have to do that?' complained Mrs Priddle. ‘You're kicking sand on me.'

‘I can't help it,' said Mrs Troll. ‘It's these buzzle-bees – they're everywhere!'

Mrs Priddle put down her book. A cloud of insects hovered over Mrs Troll, buzzing angrily. ‘They're not bees, they're wasps!' she yelped, leaping to her feet.

‘Wisps?' said Mrs Troll.

‘Wasps! Where did they come from?'

‘I don't know,' said Mrs Troll, swatting the air furiously. ‘But I wish they'd go back.'

Mrs Priddle noticed the yellow drips running down Mrs Troll's legs.

‘What on earth is that?' she pointed.

‘Suncream.'

Mrs Priddle saw the empty yellow tube lying on the sand and seized it. ‘Wait! You didn't use this?'

‘Yes, it was in the bag.'

‘Not the picnic bag! That's mayonnaise! It's meant for the sandwiches!'

‘What?' gasped Mrs Troll.

She rushed off towards the sea with the angry wasps buzzing after her. On the way she passed Ulrik, who stopped to watch his mum plunge into the waves, flapping her arms above her head. For a beginner, she seemed to be getting the hang of swimming.

Ten minutes later Mrs Troll sat shivering on the sand with a beach towel wrapped around her.

‘How are you feeling now?' asked Mr Troll, sitting down beside her.

‘Sore,' said Mrs Troll. ‘I've been stinged all over.'

Mr Troll sniffed her shoulder. ‘You still smell stinksome,' he said.

‘Thank you, my lugly,' said Mrs Troll.

Warren and Ulrik had been trying to play football but the tide was coming in and the ball kept going in the sea.

‘Mum, I'm hungry! Can't we get an ice cream?' whined Warren.

‘I think that's a very good idea,' said Mrs Priddle. ‘Why don't we all go to the café and have a nice cup of tea?'

Sunny Bay Café was a small wooden building just down the hill from the car park. Considering it was the holiday season it didn't seem to be very busy. The only customers were an elderly couple drinking coffee at a table in the corner. When they saw Mr Troll duck his head to squeeze through the door, they banged down their cups
and rose from their seats in alarm. The man spilled some coins on the table and they bolted for the door, almost knocking over the Priddles in their haste.

‘Well! Really!' said Mrs Priddle.

‘Why does everyone run off as soon as we arrive?' asked Ulrik.

‘They didn't even finish their lunch,' said Mr Troll. He helped himself to a half-eaten doughnut and licked the sugar off his fingers.

Mrs Troll looked around the empty café. Under a glass case was a tempting display of cakes, pies and tarts, but there was no one to serve them. A coffee machine coughed and gurgled by itself.

‘That's funny,' she said. ‘There's nobody here.'

‘Yes there is,' said Ulrik.

‘Where?'

‘Over there.' Ulrik dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘I think she's playing Hide and Sneak.' He pointed under one of the tables and they all bent down to look. A middle-aged woman in an apron was trying to sneak on her hands and knees towards the kitchen door. Ulrik crept over and bent down until his face was level with hers.

‘FOUND YOU!' he cried.

The woman started, banging her head on the table. She crept out and smoothed her apron into place.

‘What do you want?' she asked, edging behind the counter rather nervously.

‘Four nice creams,' said Mr Troll. ‘And Mrs Piddle wants the potty.'

‘He means a pot of tea,' said Mrs Priddle, turning pink.

‘Yes,' said Mr Troll. ‘And what kind of pie is that?' He pointed to the largest one.

‘Apple,' said the woman.

‘Oh,' said Mr Troll, disappointed. ‘I was hoping it might be goat.'

The woman introduced herself as Mrs Evans and brought the tea and ice creams to their table on a tray. After the first shock of seeing the Trolls the colour had returned to her cheeks.

‘Gave me a fright you did, walking in like that,' she said. ‘I'd just been reading that terrible article in this morning's paper.'