polling booths open and the people into them.’
‘Do you think Mr Fogg has a megaphone?’ asks Eric.
‘You ask, and I’ll run and get Mum,’ I say.
‘What shall I do?’ asks Jacob, picking bubblegum from his eyebrow.
I look at him. ‘I don’t know. Whatever you feel you could do most helpfully.’
Jacob stares at me. Slow tumbleweed thoughts roll across behind his eyes.
‘I’ll go and buy some sweets,’ he says.
‘This is all very exciting,’ says Mum.
‘Yes,’ says Eric’s dad, who is wearing his best Hawaiian shirt and mismatched lime-green trousers. ‘It is.’ He doesn’t actually look as if it’s very exciting. He looks as if he’d rather bedigging a deep hole somewhere.
‘And,’ says Mum, ‘you’re bound to win, Colin.’
‘Am I?’ He looks round in astonishment.
‘Well, yes,’ says Mum. ‘I was running against you, and now I’m your vice mayor, and the old mayor has gone. So you’re the only candidate.’
‘We still have to get enough votes to make it legal though,’ I say, repeating something Eric said, which makes me sound wiser than I feel.
‘I’ll get on the phone to the town clerk,’ says Mum. ‘Come on, Colin, let’s get down to the town hall and get it going. Tom, you and your friends get the voters out.’
I run faster than I can down towards the beach, where Eric’s voice is booming from the sand and echoing along the seafront.
‘ Ladies, gentlemen and offspring ,’ he announces through Mr Fogg’s megaphone.‘ Bywater-by-Sea may possibly have won the Best Beach award – BUT we cannot claim it without an incumbent mayor so we need your votes – go to the town hall, please, now! Was that all right, Tom? ’
He startles the seagulls into flight and makes toddlers cry.
‘Yes, fine,’ I say, watching the first people leaving their families on the beach to trail up to the town hall. ‘Let’s try it in the harbour too.’
Dogs bark at us, and a small boy tries to stick an orange in the front of the megaphone as we announce the election in the harbour.
‘ Could you go and vote please today, if it’s not too much trouble, so that we can win the Best Beach contest? That would be really helpful .’
In the centre of town, it’s easier to tell each shopkeeper in turn, although this time I have a go on the megaphone – ‘ Please, everybody , could you go and cast your vote so that we’ve got a mayor so that we can win the Best Beach contest and make Mr Fogg really happy – did I say please? ’ – and shock someone into dropping a tray of coffees.
Lastly we run up to the castle and shout it from the castle battlements but the battery’s giving out so it comes out a little mangled:
‘ Vote now … town hall … immediately … mayor … please … beach … thanks .’
The ladies in the tea shop agree to go and vote in a rota and so within an hour we’ve covered the whole town.
‘I think we’d better go to the town hall now,’ says Eric, jamming the megaphone in the back of his shorts and breaking into a lolloping jog.
We race down from the castle and cross back into the harbour, peering in at the door of the Trusty Tramper.
‘Oh and I must tell you about the year a hot-air balloon got stuck in the castle – oh how we laughed.’ Cheerful Charlie flashes me a desperate smile and points at the three judges, who are yawning and looking at their watches. ‘Won’t take a moment,’ she says.
We charge away from the café and up the hill to the town hall. Eric heaves and puffs behind me as we crash in through the doors.
‘Sssshhhh!’ says Mum. ‘They’re counting. It’s very exciting.’
‘Yes, shhh, Tom,’ says Jacob, appearing by my side.
‘But you know the result,’ I say. ‘Eric’s dad is the only candidate.’
‘Yes, but there’s still the thrill of the chase,’ she whispers.
‘And the result of the count is: Colin Threepwood, 882 votes.’ The town clerk beamsat Eric’s dad, who smiles and looks
‘Do you think Mr Fogg has a megaphone?’ asks Eric.
‘You ask, and I’ll run and get Mum,’ I say.
‘What shall I do?’ asks Jacob, picking bubblegum from his eyebrow.
I look at him. ‘I don’t know. Whatever you feel you could do most helpfully.’
Jacob stares at me. Slow tumbleweed thoughts roll across behind his eyes.
‘I’ll go and buy some sweets,’ he says.
‘This is all very exciting,’ says Mum.
‘Yes,’ says Eric’s dad, who is wearing his best Hawaiian shirt and mismatched lime-green trousers. ‘It is.’ He doesn’t actually look as if it’s very exciting. He looks as if he’d rather bedigging a deep hole somewhere.
‘And,’ says Mum, ‘you’re bound to win, Colin.’
‘Am I?’ He looks round in astonishment.
‘Well, yes,’ says Mum. ‘I was running against you, and now I’m your vice mayor, and the old mayor has gone. So you’re the only candidate.’
‘We still have to get enough votes to make it legal though,’ I say, repeating something Eric said, which makes me sound wiser than I feel.
‘I’ll get on the phone to the town clerk,’ says Mum. ‘Come on, Colin, let’s get down to the town hall and get it going. Tom, you and your friends get the voters out.’
I run faster than I can down towards the beach, where Eric’s voice is booming from the sand and echoing along the seafront.
‘ Ladies, gentlemen and offspring ,’ he announces through Mr Fogg’s megaphone.‘ Bywater-by-Sea may possibly have won the Best Beach award – BUT we cannot claim it without an incumbent mayor so we need your votes – go to the town hall, please, now! Was that all right, Tom? ’
He startles the seagulls into flight and makes toddlers cry.
‘Yes, fine,’ I say, watching the first people leaving their families on the beach to trail up to the town hall. ‘Let’s try it in the harbour too.’
Dogs bark at us, and a small boy tries to stick an orange in the front of the megaphone as we announce the election in the harbour.
‘ Could you go and vote please today, if it’s not too much trouble, so that we can win the Best Beach contest? That would be really helpful .’
In the centre of town, it’s easier to tell each shopkeeper in turn, although this time I have a go on the megaphone – ‘ Please, everybody , could you go and cast your vote so that we’ve got a mayor so that we can win the Best Beach contest and make Mr Fogg really happy – did I say please? ’ – and shock someone into dropping a tray of coffees.
Lastly we run up to the castle and shout it from the castle battlements but the battery’s giving out so it comes out a little mangled:
‘ Vote now … town hall … immediately … mayor … please … beach … thanks .’
The ladies in the tea shop agree to go and vote in a rota and so within an hour we’ve covered the whole town.
‘I think we’d better go to the town hall now,’ says Eric, jamming the megaphone in the back of his shorts and breaking into a lolloping jog.
We race down from the castle and cross back into the harbour, peering in at the door of the Trusty Tramper.
‘Oh and I must tell you about the year a hot-air balloon got stuck in the castle – oh how we laughed.’ Cheerful Charlie flashes me a desperate smile and points at the three judges, who are yawning and looking at their watches. ‘Won’t take a moment,’ she says.
We charge away from the café and up the hill to the town hall. Eric heaves and puffs behind me as we crash in through the doors.
‘Sssshhhh!’ says Mum. ‘They’re counting. It’s very exciting.’
‘Yes, shhh, Tom,’ says Jacob, appearing by my side.
‘But you know the result,’ I say. ‘Eric’s dad is the only candidate.’
‘Yes, but there’s still the thrill of the chase,’ she whispers.
‘And the result of the count is: Colin Threepwood, 882 votes.’ The town clerk beamsat Eric’s dad, who smiles and looks
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