The Grunts In Trouble by Philip Ardagh

nodded.
    “Anyway, I don’t think they’d necessarily be the best people to look after Fingers. They’re too …”
    “Weird?” said Larry Smalls.
    “Set in their ways,” said Sunny. “They do everything their way.”
    “Then I want you to promise me something, Sunny.”
    “What?”
    “Whether or not I blow up Bigg Manor – whether or not I go to prison – I want YOU to look after Fingers. He’s yours now. So if you ever decide to part company with – with …”
    Sunny supplied their names. “Mr and Mrs Grunt,” he said.
    “If ever you and the Grunts decide to go your separate ways, you must take Fingers with you. He’s your responsibility. Is that a deal?”
    Sunny was bubbling with excitement. His very own elephant! “But what if Dad has other ideas?”
    “Don’t worry about that,” said Larry Smalls. He took Fingers’ trunk in one hand and Sunny’s hand in the other. Then he put them both together, Sunny curling his fingers round the end of the elephant’s trunk. It was a bitlike they were now holding hands, except that one of the hands was actually a trunk. “You two are together now, and Fingers knows it, don’t you, boy?”
    Fingers pulled the tip of his trunk from Sunny’s grasp and put it round the boy’s shoulders, giving him a kind of elephant hug. He knew it, all right.
    “And even that Mr Grunt of yours isn’t going to argue with an elephant, is he?”
    Sunny supposed not. And now was the time to mention that the same Mr Grunt hadn’t kept his part of the bargain.
    “Mr Smalls—”
    “No time,” said Larry Smalls. “I’ve talked long enough and there’s somewhere I have to be.” The truth be told, he also hated long goodbyes. Now Fingers was safely in the care of the funny kid with the wonky ears and blue dress, and the funny kid with the wonky ears and blue dress was safely in the care of Fingers, it was time for Larry Smalls to move on.

    Of course, if Larry Smalls hadn’t liked the look of whoever it was who was buying the elephant – he’d left those arrangements to Mr Lippy the clown – he would have kept Fingers, and simply wouldn’t have kept his side of the bargain. This probably would have been a comfort to Sunny had he known it.
    “But—”
    “No, really, Sunny. This is goodbye.” He jogged over to a pop-pop-pop motorcycle, over by a wire-mesh litter bin, and climbed on to the seat. “You’ll find some bags of feed and caring instructions over there.” He pointed. “Bye, Fingers!”
    The elephant, standing by Sunny as if theywere old friends, his front leg pressed up against the boy’s body, raised his trunk and waved.
    “Come on, Fingers,” said Sunny. “It’s time to meet the Grunts.”

    Mr and Mrs Grunt couldn’t have been more delighted when Sunny reappeared with the elephant. In fact, the boy couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen them happier (and that included the day they managed to sink each and every remote-controlled boat at the annual Huntsworth Mayday Picnic).
    “You’ve got him!” said Mr Grunt with such a smile.
    “Hello, Fingers,” said Mrs Grunt. She reached out and gave the elephant a hearty pat on the nearest part of him – a knee – which would have been enough to flatten an Irishwolfhound.
    Fingers returned the compliment by feeling her hair with the tip of his trunk.
    “That tickles!” said a delighted Mrs Grunt.
    “Your head could do with a good hoovering!” said Mr Grunt. “Hope you don’t give him fleas.”

    Sunny was forgotten in all the excitement so he slipped inside the caravan to look for hisshoes. He found them in a box on the kitchen table labelled “JUNK”, and put them back on his grass-stained feet.
    When he went outside again, he found Mr Grunt leaning against Fingers as though he were a wall, chatting to the elephant. All the while, Fingers looked at him with his intelligent eyes.
    “So no trouble with Mr Lippy then?” asked Mr Grunt when he saw the boy.
    “No, Dad,” said Sunny.