Eating Things on Sticks by Anne Fine Page A

may the toughest stomach win!’
    EATING THINGS ON STICKS

    We had a grand time after that. The rain made some things taste a little slimy and turned some others soggy. I must admit my candyfloss was positively pitted. But you can’t ruin pork pie on a stick. Or sausage. Toffee apple on a stick holds up quite well against the occasional downpour. I had a bit of a run-in with one of the wardens when half my fishfinger broke away and fell in a puddle. She thought I ought to start over again with a fresh one. But Uncle Tristram argued my case quite forcefully – not wanting to pay for it – and in the end she did give up and tick my card.
    An hour later, while I was tipping back my head to catch the drippings from the ice lolly on a stick that I’d forgotten to eat earlier, I noticed the helicopters had stopped circling. I swung round to see them heading for the mainland – a little line of beetles across the sky.
    â€˜Mum’s told them we’re all right, then.’
    â€˜Good,’ Uncle Tristram said. He shivered. ‘You realize you and I are going to get a frightful slice of tongue pie from your mother when we get back.’
    â€˜I know.’ I was distracted from my own short ripple of fear by a disturbance around us. Everyone began to whisper.
    â€˜It’s Delia! Delia’s coming!’
    â€˜Look! Look! She’s walking this way.’
    Excitement was intense. ‘See? Delia’s coming! Everyone make way for Delia!’
    The crowds fell back, to make a sort of avenue of beards. Into sight stepped a police officer. She was tall and slim. She wore her sleek black uniform as proudly as if she were a general on parade. And she was eating chips.
    I nudged Uncle Tristram. ‘ There’s one that they’ve forgotten. Chips on a stick!’
    He didn’t answer. I glanced up at him. He wasn’t even listening. Just like the beardies, he was staring straight ahead at Delia as if a shining angel were passing by.
    I poked him hard. ‘No! Don’t even think of it!’
    â€˜She’s very beautiful,’ he whispered. A dreamy look spread over his face. ‘And look at what she’s wearing! Isn’t that fantastic? So simple and so smart. So sober and so black.’
    â€˜Stop it!’ I shook him. ‘Stop it at once! She lives here, don’t forget. And you are never, ever to fall in love again with anyone who lives on this island!’
    It was as if I’d said the exact right words to break the spell. The dreamy look passed from his face.
    â€˜You’re right,’ he said, and gazed around us. ‘So what do you reckon? Where shall we go next? Steak on a stick? Or are you still on the desserts?’
    MY LONG-LOST COUSIN
    We were just heading for the frozen banana on a stick stand when Uncle Tristram nudged me.
    I looked up from my chipolata. ‘What?’
    â€˜Look over there.’ He jerked a thumb towards the car park. ‘See what I see?’
    I peered across. There, scrambling out of Uncle Tristram’s car, was Morning Glory. Tugging his uniform straight, Officer Watkins climbed out after her.
    â€˜He must drive very fast,’ I said, ‘for them to have got back this soon.’
    â€˜I don’t think they’ve been anywhere at all!’ said Uncle Tristram. ‘The whole car’s totally steamed up.’ A little bitterly he added, ‘Being in the presence of the old boyfriend has clearly turned out to be a whole lot more exciting than being in the presence of an apple.’
    I tried to cheer him up. ‘I expect she’ll make him sit cross-legged in the mud and thank his lips now.’
    But Uncle Tristram was still a bit put out at being trumped in love. He glowered as Morning Glory and Officer Watkins came over towards us. ‘Been very busy , have you both?’ he asked sarcastically. ‘Spent all this time desperately barricading Aunt Audrey’s back door against