Frog Whistle Mine by Des Hunt

dropped the package on the floor and then he swapped the good one for this.’
    Betty turned to the couple. ‘Did the man who sold you it drop it on the floor?’
    They looked at each other and spoke in French for a moment before answering. ‘Oui! Yes! Yes, he did. But we see no change.’
    She turned back to Tony. ‘All right, so the package might have been changed for some reason, but what makes you think it has been poisoned?’
    At that moment Jamie Duggan walked in the door with his usual smile, whistling quietly to himself. He stopped when he saw the tense scene playing out before him. ‘Hello! Do we have a wee problem here?’
    ‘Ask him,’ blurted Tony. ‘Ask him if he swapped the package.’
    Duggan’s face clouded. ‘And what package is this?’ he asked in a controlled voice.
    Betty answered: ‘Tony thinks that you swapped the package that these people brought to the counter for another one. Did you?’
    He paused, weighing up his options. ‘I may have replaced it with some other stock. What of it?’
    ‘Tony says this pack is poisoned.’
    ‘What? Poisoned?’
    Tony couldn’t control himself anymore. ‘Yes, poisoned. You poisoned it with uranium because you hate French people.’
    Now everyone was looking at each other. The word ‘uranium’ was repeated on several lips.
    ‘And we can prove it,’ Tony continued. ‘Can’t we, Nick?’ Nick looked like he wanted nothing to do with it. ‘Nick’s Geiger counter will prove it.’
    ‘Aye,’ said Duggan. ‘If Dawnay can prove it, let him go get his machine and we’ll sort this oot once and fer all.’
    Nick could have been away for only a minute or two,but to Tony it felt like a lifetime. People had moved so that he was standing by himself, isolated. Even Rose, whose urging had prompted him to speak, had moved away from the action. His mother was the closest to him, yet not to support him: her face was red with a mix of anger and shame.
    He could tell nobody believed him—yet, they’d soon know the truth. They’d soon find he was right.
    Nick appeared with the instrument and it was turned on. The occasional clicking echoed around the silent room. Then it was moved closer to the packet of marshmallows. Tony held his breath—now they would know.
    Nothing changed—the clicking remained as random as before. Nick held it at several different angles trying to make it click faster—still nothing.
    Tony hung his head. He had been so sure, so very, very sure.
    ‘See?’ said Duggan, ‘Of course there’s nothin’. Do you think I would try to poison people?’
    ‘Then why did you swap the package, Jamie?’ asked Betty.
    Duggan lowered his head to look at the floor. ‘I wanted rid of some old stock,’ he said quietly. Then he looked at the French couple. ‘I’m sorry. It’s true, I doona like the French and I have my reasons fer tha’. But I wouldna poison them. Och, I’m nay an animal.’
    Betty turned to Tony. ‘I think you had better apologise to everyone, Tony.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said in a voice that shook with emotion.Then he turned and ran from the room. Instead of taking the path, he plunged into the scrub, unaware of anything except the need to get as far from the scene as possible. The gorse scratched his arms and the manuka whipped his face red. Several times he tripped, once into a watercourse that would have trapped him if it had been any deeper. None of these things did he notice. The only thing he knew was that he had to run and get away from them all.
    Eventually he came to a stop. It was a clearing beneath the terrace—a patch of dry, bare ground, sheltered by overhanging limestone. By now he was crying uncontrollably. He sat on the ground, pulled his knees up to his head, and wept.
    Slowly it became dark, and still he stayed and cried. At some stage the moon rose and he could see the top of the caravan through the bushes. He got up and pushed his way homewards. Once inside, he climbed under the covers and curled