Trolls on Hols by Alan MacDonald Read Free Book Online Page B

Ulrik
    Back at the farm, Mr Priddle was doing his best to clean out the waterlogged caravan.
    He squeezed muddy brown water from his mop into a bucket. His wife and son were refusing to help – Mrs Priddle said they were on strike. She looked up from the novel she was reading and shook her head.
    â€˜I don’t know why you’re wasting time on that, Roger.’
    â€˜The floor’s almost dry,’ said her husband.
    â€˜I’ve told you, I’m not sleeping in there.’
    â€˜You’ll get used to the smell after a while.’
    â€˜I don’t want to get used to it. I want to move to a nice hotel.’
    Warren stopped juggling with his football. ‘Will the hotel have a swimming pool?’ he asked.
    â€˜Of course it will, my poppet,’ said Mrs Priddle.
    Mr Priddle thumped his mop on the floor. ‘We’re not going to any hotel, we’re staying here! I’ve paid Ogwen for two weeks!’
    â€˜Fine. You stay in your smelly old caravan if you like, Roger; we’re not,’ said Mrs Priddle, placidly turning her page.
    Mr Priddle emptied a bucketful of brown water into the grass.
    â€˜The sun’s shining, you’re out in the fresh air, what more do you want?’
    Mrs Priddle gave him a withering look. ‘Dry clothes,’ she said.
    â€˜Can I have cooked breakfast at the hotel?’ asked Warren.
    â€˜Have what you like, darling, your father’s paying,’ said Mrs Priddle.
    â€˜Will the Trolls be coming too?’
    â€˜No,’ said Mrs Priddle firmly. ‘They’re having their own holiday.’
    â€˜Where?’ asked Warren.
    â€˜I’ve no idea. That’s up to them.’
    Warren glanced anxiously back at the woods. It was hours since he’d left Ulrik and set off towards town with the intention of claiming the £500 reward. But the closer he got to the village, the more he’d begun to lose faith in his plan. For one thing, he wasn’t exactly sure where the police station was. For another, he doubted the police would believe a word of his story. Hairy and ugly he might be, but Ulrik didn’t sound much like a savage beast once he opened his mouth. He was far too gentle and good-natured. Even worse, Warren thought, what if Mr and Mrs Troll discovered that he’d tried to swap their son for £500? Warren had seen Mr Troll in a temper and he didn’t wish to be picked up and swung round by his ears. No, he’d decided in the end, it would never work. Far safer to go back and just keep quiet.
    When he returned to the caravan his parents were too busy arguing to even notice that Ulrik was missing. All the same, Warren was starting tofeel uneasy. What if Ulrik never got out of the hole? What if he stayed there for ever and starved to death? Come to think of it, Warren was pretty hungry himself. Wasn’t it time for supper?
    His dad carried a bundle of soggy sheets from the caravan and began to peg them on a washing line.
    â€˜I wonder where they are,’ he pondered.
    â€˜Who?’ asked his wife.
    â€˜The Trolls. They’ve been gone hours. You think they’re all right?’
    â€˜All right?’ snorted Mrs Priddle. ‘They’re trolls, Roger, not children!’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Mr Priddle. ‘That’s what worries me.’
    Mr and Mrs Troll’s search for somewhere to stay was not going well. As soon as the villagers saw them coming down the hill they scurried into their houses and locked their doors. Mrs Troll spotted a sign in the window of a tall white house offering ‘Bed and Breakfast’, but when she knocked on the door a hand appeared and turned the sign around so that it said ‘No Vacancies’.
    â€˜Now what?’ she asked her husband.
    Mr Troll pointed down the hill to a van parked by a playground.
    â€˜Look! There’s a caravan just like the Piddles’.’
    When they got closer they found the caravan was empty.