stepped through the big doors and paused on the top step to take in the night. It was cool. It was dark. The huge moon hung in the sky. There was nobody around. It was the perfect night for a long, leisurely run. In the distance, she could hear the swish of the sea. Somewhere, there would be high cliffs.
Should she? She was certainly tempted.
But, no. It was a big day tomorrow. Better to stick with a short jog, maybe along the promenade. Shake out all the aches, breathe some good sea air, then crawl into the van and hopefully get some sleep.
She padded down the steps and set off at an easy lope.
No sooner had she gone than a long, low limousine came purring up the street.
Chapter Sixteen
Consulting the Oracle
‘I hope Gareth’s all right,’ said TT. ‘He seemed a bit quiet when we left him.’
There was a little pause while everyone thought about this. They were all spread out on their mattresses. Arthur had fastidiously covered his with a million tissues and was trying to keep his tail from touching the floor. Filth lay on his back, eyes closed, tapping out a little rhythm on his tummy. O’Brian was curled around his Pot. Only Chip was asleep and giving out deep, gravelly snores. Occasionally he gave a little jerk and muttered ‘Uh? Uh!’ Obviously having some sort of Trollish dream conversation.
‘He’s always quiet,’ said Arthur, after a bit. ‘He’s a fish.’
‘That doesn’t mean he’s not communicating.’
‘So you say.’
‘Well, it’s true. Watch the bubbles.’
Arthur was feeling argumentative and wasn’t prepared to let this go.
‘Why? What’s in the bubbles?’
‘Everything. Say anything you like and he’ll give you feedback.’
‘Feedback!’ snorted Arthur. ‘ Feedback! What about you, O’Brian? Have you noticed anything in Gareth’s bubbles apart from regurgitated ant eggs? The Meaning Of Life, perhaps?’
O’Brian said nothing. He was at an all-time low. Curled up in a sullen ball of misery on the worst mattress, which of course was full of lumps and bumps and had springs sticking out everywhere . Hugging his Pot. Imprisoned in a pink T-shirt, trousers torn, hot, queasy and plagued with a guilty secret. Right now, he didn’t want to get drawn into the conversation. If he spoke, he might break down and blab it all out.
‘Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you,’ went on Arthur. ‘He’s just a fish.’
‘You’re wrong,’ insisted TT earnestly. ‘I should know – I live with him. He’s not at all judgemental. It’s a big comfort to get things off your chest to Gareth. He’s got his head screwed on the right way.’
‘Just as well,’ smirked Arthur. ‘If it was on the wrong way, he’d be facing his tail.’
‘You can laugh,’ said TT. ‘Oh yes, you can laugh.’
‘Man, it’s hot in here,’ sighed Filth.
It was too. Even for Fiends and Dragons, who like the warmth. Hot, crowded and uncomfortable. The boiler was blasting out heat like there was no tomorrow. Above their heads, the pipes rattled and banged in a cacophony of dodgy plumbing.
‘No sign of the sandwiches,’ said Arthur irritably. ‘D’you think Tallula forgot to ask?’
‘I’ll bet she did,’ said TT. ‘Got her mind on other things. Mark my words, she’s up howling on the cliff right now. Once a Werewolf always a Werewolf. I don’t care what she says, I know how the moon takes ’em.’
‘Well, it’s not my job to get the sandwiches,’ said Arthur. ‘You’re the one with the manager’s hat on.’
‘I’ve been driving all day,’ said TT. ‘I got us a van and a roadie and a Magic Card, didn’t I? I’m going to make you famous, right? I’ve managed to get us here and managed to get us a room. I’ve managed enough.’
‘Take the hat off, then.’
‘No,’ said TT firmly. ‘The hat stays on. O’Brian? What about you?’
O’Brian hugged his Pot to his chest and said nothing.
‘I’ll go,’ said Filth. ‘Could do with a
Should she? She was certainly tempted.
But, no. It was a big day tomorrow. Better to stick with a short jog, maybe along the promenade. Shake out all the aches, breathe some good sea air, then crawl into the van and hopefully get some sleep.
She padded down the steps and set off at an easy lope.
No sooner had she gone than a long, low limousine came purring up the street.
Chapter Sixteen
Consulting the Oracle
‘I hope Gareth’s all right,’ said TT. ‘He seemed a bit quiet when we left him.’
There was a little pause while everyone thought about this. They were all spread out on their mattresses. Arthur had fastidiously covered his with a million tissues and was trying to keep his tail from touching the floor. Filth lay on his back, eyes closed, tapping out a little rhythm on his tummy. O’Brian was curled around his Pot. Only Chip was asleep and giving out deep, gravelly snores. Occasionally he gave a little jerk and muttered ‘Uh? Uh!’ Obviously having some sort of Trollish dream conversation.
‘He’s always quiet,’ said Arthur, after a bit. ‘He’s a fish.’
‘That doesn’t mean he’s not communicating.’
‘So you say.’
‘Well, it’s true. Watch the bubbles.’
Arthur was feeling argumentative and wasn’t prepared to let this go.
‘Why? What’s in the bubbles?’
‘Everything. Say anything you like and he’ll give you feedback.’
‘Feedback!’ snorted Arthur. ‘ Feedback! What about you, O’Brian? Have you noticed anything in Gareth’s bubbles apart from regurgitated ant eggs? The Meaning Of Life, perhaps?’
O’Brian said nothing. He was at an all-time low. Curled up in a sullen ball of misery on the worst mattress, which of course was full of lumps and bumps and had springs sticking out everywhere . Hugging his Pot. Imprisoned in a pink T-shirt, trousers torn, hot, queasy and plagued with a guilty secret. Right now, he didn’t want to get drawn into the conversation. If he spoke, he might break down and blab it all out.
‘Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you,’ went on Arthur. ‘He’s just a fish.’
‘You’re wrong,’ insisted TT earnestly. ‘I should know – I live with him. He’s not at all judgemental. It’s a big comfort to get things off your chest to Gareth. He’s got his head screwed on the right way.’
‘Just as well,’ smirked Arthur. ‘If it was on the wrong way, he’d be facing his tail.’
‘You can laugh,’ said TT. ‘Oh yes, you can laugh.’
‘Man, it’s hot in here,’ sighed Filth.
It was too. Even for Fiends and Dragons, who like the warmth. Hot, crowded and uncomfortable. The boiler was blasting out heat like there was no tomorrow. Above their heads, the pipes rattled and banged in a cacophony of dodgy plumbing.
‘No sign of the sandwiches,’ said Arthur irritably. ‘D’you think Tallula forgot to ask?’
‘I’ll bet she did,’ said TT. ‘Got her mind on other things. Mark my words, she’s up howling on the cliff right now. Once a Werewolf always a Werewolf. I don’t care what she says, I know how the moon takes ’em.’
‘Well, it’s not my job to get the sandwiches,’ said Arthur. ‘You’re the one with the manager’s hat on.’
‘I’ve been driving all day,’ said TT. ‘I got us a van and a roadie and a Magic Card, didn’t I? I’m going to make you famous, right? I’ve managed to get us here and managed to get us a room. I’ve managed enough.’
‘Take the hat off, then.’
‘No,’ said TT firmly. ‘The hat stays on. O’Brian? What about you?’
O’Brian hugged his Pot to his chest and said nothing.
‘I’ll go,’ said Filth. ‘Could do with a
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