Read Online The Moon King by Siobhan Parkinson - Free Book Online
Authors: Siobhan Parkinson
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grass didn’t look long to him. He couldn’t understand why Tomo thought it needed to be cut.
‘Here, don’t sit there,’ said Tomo. ‘How am I going to mow the lawn if you are sitting in the middle of it like a garden gnome?’
Ricky crawled to the path and lay on it, flat on his back, looking up at the sky. There were tiny little clouds in it, little puffball things, miles high, and the sky was much vaster when you looked at it from flat on your back. The earth shook then, as Tomo finally yanked the lawnmower into life, and started to mow the lawn, up and down, up and down, screaming and whining. Ricky could hear it right in his ears, as if the lawnmower was screaming at him. Like the sky, the lawnmower’s voice seemed much bigger when he was lying on the ground, so he pulled himself up into a sitting position, and sure enough the whine of the lawnmower got instantly less and the sky seemed immediately less far away and endless.
Tomo didn’t need help now, so Ricky sat on the path and chewed a stem of grass and just watched him. Thefront lawn sloped steeply to the gate, and Tomo had a job keeping the lawnmower from flying away from him, off down the slope and into the laurel hedge at the bottom of the garden. He was like somebody walking a very large and energetic dog.
A thought occurred to Ricky, and he stood up and bounded into the house, through to the back door, up the back garden to the shed where the lawnmower lived, next to the pigeons. Yes, sure enough, there was a garden rake. One or two teeth were missing, and it was heavy, but he could manage it. He carried it gingerly through the house, sidling it through the doors so that it didn’t snag, and out into the sunny front garden again. Then he started to rake the area of lawn that Tomo had mown. When Tomo turned around at the end of a stretch he waved to Ricky over the throb and whine of the lawnmower and gave him a thumbs-up. Ricky waved back and went on raking.
When the lawn was all done, Tomo brought two tall glasses of lemonade out of the house and they both sat on a garden bench holding the icy glasses in their hands and surveying their work.
It was home-made lemonade. Ricky didn’t usually like drinks with bits in and no fizz, but he was so hot and so thirsty from his work that he gulped it down in long, cold and deliciously sharp-tasting draughts.
‘Thanks, son,’ said Tomo, raising his lemonade glass.
Ricky raised his glass back. You’re welcome, he smiled.
CHAPTER 15
The Ruined Picture
Indoors was cool and dark after the bright warmth of the garden. Ricky’s limbs felt heavy from exertion and the sun, and coloured shapes, after-images of the sun, swam in front of his eyes as he entered the hall. Even after blinking he could hardly see, and he staggered forward to the kitchen, flailing his rubbery arms in front of him.
He was still having trouble adjusting his vision when he reached the light-filled kitchen. Shapes floated in the air like oily blobs on water and he had to blink hard several times. Gradually the room assembled itself in front of him, and he could make out the table, as he had left it, covered in newspapers and his painting things. But what had happened to his picture? He’d left it drying on the table, but it wasn’t there now, just a … Oh no! It was there, but not opened out flat to dry. Somebody had folded it over. Now it was going to be all stuck together, if the paint hadn’t been allowed to dry first.
Gingerly, Ricky picked up the folded sheet and started to prise it open, very gently and carefully. It had stuck, quite badly, but he managed to open it withouttearing it at least. The two halves eased themselves apart with sticky resistance.
But this … no … oh!
It wasn’t just that somebody had thoughtlessly folded over the page. This wasn’t thoughtlessness. It was – vandalism! His lovely dandelion-yellow-haired Rosheen had been smeared and slashed with ugly tattered ribbons of paint – dense black
‘Here, don’t sit there,’ said Tomo. ‘How am I going to mow the lawn if you are sitting in the middle of it like a garden gnome?’
Ricky crawled to the path and lay on it, flat on his back, looking up at the sky. There were tiny little clouds in it, little puffball things, miles high, and the sky was much vaster when you looked at it from flat on your back. The earth shook then, as Tomo finally yanked the lawnmower into life, and started to mow the lawn, up and down, up and down, screaming and whining. Ricky could hear it right in his ears, as if the lawnmower was screaming at him. Like the sky, the lawnmower’s voice seemed much bigger when he was lying on the ground, so he pulled himself up into a sitting position, and sure enough the whine of the lawnmower got instantly less and the sky seemed immediately less far away and endless.
Tomo didn’t need help now, so Ricky sat on the path and chewed a stem of grass and just watched him. Thefront lawn sloped steeply to the gate, and Tomo had a job keeping the lawnmower from flying away from him, off down the slope and into the laurel hedge at the bottom of the garden. He was like somebody walking a very large and energetic dog.
A thought occurred to Ricky, and he stood up and bounded into the house, through to the back door, up the back garden to the shed where the lawnmower lived, next to the pigeons. Yes, sure enough, there was a garden rake. One or two teeth were missing, and it was heavy, but he could manage it. He carried it gingerly through the house, sidling it through the doors so that it didn’t snag, and out into the sunny front garden again. Then he started to rake the area of lawn that Tomo had mown. When Tomo turned around at the end of a stretch he waved to Ricky over the throb and whine of the lawnmower and gave him a thumbs-up. Ricky waved back and went on raking.
When the lawn was all done, Tomo brought two tall glasses of lemonade out of the house and they both sat on a garden bench holding the icy glasses in their hands and surveying their work.
It was home-made lemonade. Ricky didn’t usually like drinks with bits in and no fizz, but he was so hot and so thirsty from his work that he gulped it down in long, cold and deliciously sharp-tasting draughts.
‘Thanks, son,’ said Tomo, raising his lemonade glass.
Ricky raised his glass back. You’re welcome, he smiled.
CHAPTER 15
The Ruined Picture
Indoors was cool and dark after the bright warmth of the garden. Ricky’s limbs felt heavy from exertion and the sun, and coloured shapes, after-images of the sun, swam in front of his eyes as he entered the hall. Even after blinking he could hardly see, and he staggered forward to the kitchen, flailing his rubbery arms in front of him.
He was still having trouble adjusting his vision when he reached the light-filled kitchen. Shapes floated in the air like oily blobs on water and he had to blink hard several times. Gradually the room assembled itself in front of him, and he could make out the table, as he had left it, covered in newspapers and his painting things. But what had happened to his picture? He’d left it drying on the table, but it wasn’t there now, just a … Oh no! It was there, but not opened out flat to dry. Somebody had folded it over. Now it was going to be all stuck together, if the paint hadn’t been allowed to dry first.
Gingerly, Ricky picked up the folded sheet and started to prise it open, very gently and carefully. It had stuck, quite badly, but he managed to open it withouttearing it at least. The two halves eased themselves apart with sticky resistance.
But this … no … oh!
It wasn’t just that somebody had thoughtlessly folded over the page. This wasn’t thoughtlessness. It was – vandalism! His lovely dandelion-yellow-haired Rosheen had been smeared and slashed with ugly tattered ribbons of paint – dense black
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