Read Online Inside the Worm by Robert Swindells - Free Book Online Page B

– it wasn’t a real dragon, of course. It was kids dressed up.’
    â€˜Kids dressed up.’ The policeman put down his pen. ‘How many kids were there, Sir?’
    â€˜I dunno, do I? They were in this dragon thing. I were packing up for the night – hoeing my last row of spring onions – and this contraption comes running through the gate. It – they – trampled all over my beds, pushed my incinerator over and ran off laughing.’
    â€˜I see. At about what time was this, Sir?’
    â€˜What’s that got to do with it?’
    â€˜It’s procedure, Sir.’
    â€˜It’s a waste of flippin’ time, that’s what it is. I might have known there’d be no point coming here. You’re all too busy cruising about in your luxury limousines these days, talking into them poncey radios, so why don’t you just forget it, eh? Pretend I never came in. I’ll take care of this – my way.’ He spun on one mud-caked heel and made for the door.
    â€˜I wouldn’t advise—’ The constable broke off as Hughie Ackroyd slammed out. ‘Watch out for those dragons, Sir,’ he murmured to the still-quivering door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
    AS HUGHIE ACKROYD was tracking mud into the police station, Trot was doing the same to the kitchen at home. His mother shrieked as he clomped across the floor. ‘Look at the state of your shoes, David. Take them off at once and leave them on the mat.’
    Trot turned with a sigh. ‘Yes, Mum.’
    â€˜Wherever have you been to get them in that state?’
    â€˜Oh – around. You know.’ Squatting by the doormat, fiddling with his laces. ‘The park, mostly.’
    â€˜You must have been on the flowerbeds to get so filthy.’
    â€˜Maybe. We didn’t mean to.’
    â€˜No. Anyway, your dad and I would like a word with you.’
    â€˜A word?’ Trot’s heart lurched. ‘What about?’ Surely old Ackroyd hasn’t been here, he thought. He couldn’t possibly know it was me.
    â€˜About you,’ said his mother unhelpfully. ‘Your dad’s in the front room.’
    Trot left his trainers on the mat and trailed after his mother. His father smiled up at him from an easy chair. ‘Hello, son.’
    Oh-oh. Trot returned the smile. Something’s up. ‘Hi, Dad.’
    â€˜Sit down a minute, David.’ His father indicated the other chair. Trot sank into it, watching his parents’ faces. They didn’t look mad or anything. His mother sat down on the sofa.
    â€˜So, how’re things going, son?’
    Trot pulled a face. ‘OK, I guess.’ He couldn’t remember the last time his father had asked him how things were going. There probably hadn’t been a last time, so what was all this about?
    â€˜Good, good. The play?’
    â€˜Fine.’
    â€˜Your friend – Gary, is it?’
    â€˜He’s fine too, Dad.’
    â€˜Good. I expect he’s got a girlfriend, eh – good-looking lad like him.’
    The way his father chuckled as he said this switched on a little light in Trot’s head. Ah, hethought. So that’s what all this is about. Girlfriends.
    â€˜Er – no.’ He shook his head. ‘Not that I know of.’
    â€˜Oh.’ His father shrugged. ‘It’s just that your mother and I seem to have seen quite a lot of Lisa Watmough and the Sunderland girl just lately, and we wondered —’
    â€˜They’re in the worm, Dad. We have to practise, y’know?’
    â€˜Oh yes, of course. So you’re not particularly interested in either of them, then?’
    Trot shook his head. ‘No way. Ellie-May’s a droop and that Lisa’s got a face like the back end of a motorway pile-up.’
    â€˜David!’ his mother frowned. ‘That’s not very nice, is it?’
    â€˜What – Lisa’s phizog?’
    â€˜No – you know perfectly well what