by Merv Lambert
“It’s her !” snarled the old man, pointing again at the old woman.
“No, it isn’t!” she snarled back, pointing in turn with her bony finger just like a witch at Billy and Jilly. “It’s them! They keep barging into everyone with their trolley and they knocked me into him.” She turned and pointed at the old man.
“Oh, no,” said Jilly. “She rushed straight at us. We couldn’t get out of the way.”
“Oh, yeah?” snarled the old woman again. “You young people have got no respect for older people.”
“Not when they behave like you did,” said the young woman with the baby. “I think the kids have got a trolley with wonky wheels. That’s all.”
“Oh,” said the duty manager, whose name was Mr. Small, despite his being very large.
“Oh,” said the equally large security guard.
“Pah!” said the old woman.
“If that is a bad trolley, let me test it,” said Mr. Small.
“O.K.,” said Jilly.
Just as Mr. Small grasped the trolley’s handle, M decided to join in.
“Oops!” Mr. Small suddenly felt the trolley moving down the aisle. Crash! It smashed into a display of tinned soups. Some of the tins fell on the floor and now had large dents in them. M rushed on. Crash! This time it was tins of baked beans. A lot of extra tins had fallen into the trolley too.
“It seems to have a will of its own!” shouted Mr. Small, as he felt himself being dragged off again. Crash! A display of cornflake boxes went flying and the security guard, desperately trying to catch up, stumbled on them and went flying headfirst straight across the aisle into the milk cartons. More mess! He now had milk all over his smart brown uniform.
Meanwhile Mr. Small was clinging despairingly to the trolley, as it zig-zagged up and down the aisles, swerving wide around corners and narrowly missing the customers. M seemed to be enjoying himself.
“Oh, no! Help!” shrieked Mr. Small, as he saw that he was heading towards the fish counter. M managed to slow the trolley just in time. It stopped. However, Mr. Small did not. He went sailing over the counter and landed on his bottom on a large salmon that had just been sliced up.
“Aaargh!” he yelled. “It’s cold!”
The security guard came trotting up, dripping milk everywhere. Billy had by now grabbed hold of M and was whispering to him to stand still.
Mr. Small pointed at the offending trolley and said to the security guard, “Derek, put that trolley outside. There’s obviously something wrong with it.”
“Yessir,” said Derek, and he was amazed that he was able to push it quite gently with no fuss. “It’s all right now, Mr. Small,” he said.
“Hang on a minute!” came Billy’s Mum’s voice. She had just returned from the toilet and had missed all the action. “What’s going on? Is that our trolley, Jilly?”
“Yes,” said Jilly.
“We don’t want all those tins of soup and beans. Just what is going on?” she asked again.
“Tell you in a minute, Mum,” said Billy.
Jilly was already stacking the unwanted tins on the floor in the corner near the fish counter.
“Well, we just need a bottle of wine for Grandad’s birthday and we’re finished,” said Mrs. Burton.
Ten minutes later they were pushing their trolley out of the supermarket towards their car. M was trotting unsteadily behind them.
Suddenly there was a shout. “There they are!” The youth calling himself Yobber and two of his mates were each standing in front of a very large trolley. They began pushing them at a run towards the Burtons. There were grins of delight on their faces. They loved causing trouble. This was going to be wicked, great fun for them, but not for the victims.
“Charge!” roared Yobber.
His friends tried to take up the cry. “Chaah….”
Their breath was suddenly taken away, as they found themselves upside down in their trolleys being propelled at tremendous speed towards Yobber. M had woken up out of his sleepy state. Crash! Bang! Clang! All three trolleys slotted together in a line. Yobber was sprawled helplessly in the third, as M ran them all into the hedge. They lay there scratched and whimpering, until M with his strong beak lifted them out of the trolleys and dumped them one by one into a builder’s skip that was standing on the edge of the car-park.
“Just the place for them, M,” said Billy.
“Well done, M,” murmured Jilly.
“What was that?” asked their Mum, as she loaded the last of the shopping into the car. Those silly boys who were playing around seem to have gone.”
Billy just grinned at his sister.
“It was nice of the manager to give us £10 discount because of the wobbly trolley,” said Mrs. Burton, as they drove away from the supermarket.
“I hope M follows us home safely,” whispered Jilly to Billy…..but that’s another story.
4
M Meets the Troll
The Burton family were very excited. It was the end of July, the beginning of the school holidays and they were going to Italy. Usually they went to Spain, but a friend of Auntie Flo had told her about the marvellous time she had had at Lake Garda, and Auntie Flo had booked them all a holiday on the Internet. She was brilliant. She had found the cheapest flights and an old but good hotel. Jilly was a little bit worried though.
“But, Auntie Flo, what are we going to do about M?”
“Oh, don’t worry about him. He’ll be fine. He’s coming with us.”
“What? How will he get on the plane? There won’t be enough space for him.”
“True…and we won’t want him drinking the other passengers’ gin and tonics, will we?”
“No, but…”
“It’s O.K. He’ll travel in my lap-top computer.”
“Does he know?”
“Oh, yes. He’s quite excited. He’s never been on holiday before.”
In fact the children had noticed that their emu had been giving a little hop and skip, as he went around in the house.
Soon the great day arrived. Mrs. Burton checked that they had their foreign money and the other things they needed. “Euros, passports, four cases, Father, kids.”
“What about tickets?” asked Mr. Burton.
“We don’t need them. This is a no frills, cheapo flight.”
When the large airport taxi arrived, Auntie Flo was already sitting in it.
“Ciao, everyone. Italy here we come!” she laughed, patting her lap-top in its case, which she held firmly in her lap. She winked at Billy and Jilly.
The journey to the airport was uneventful. They queued for about ten minutes to check in their luggage. Auntie Flo made sure she was clutching her lap-top computer all the time.
Jilly sat next to Auntie Flo on the plane.
“ Is M O.K.? Won’t he be bored?” she asked.
“No. He’s just resting. I warned him not to give us a repeat of his behaviour at the supermarket and not to start eating the curtains at the hotel.”
The flight too was uneventful. Soon they had passed through the airport and had collected their luggage. Auntie Flo was still clutching her lap-top, as they boarded their coach, which would take them to their hotel, the Paradiso d’Oro (Golden Paradise). Billy and Jilly were still very excited. It was their first visit to Italy.
“I love pasta, Auntie Flo,” said Billy.
“So does M,” she replied. “Particularly spaghetti. Don’t let him steal any of yours. He makes disgusting noises slurping it and it gets wound round his beak. Have you ever seen an emu covered in tomato sauce? It’s not a pretty sight. Besides it gives him terrible wind. People would wonder about the noises, and the smell and since they couldn’t see him, they would probably blame you. It could be very embarrassing.”
“No problem,” said Billy.
“Don’t be too sure
,” said Auntie Flo.
When they arrived at their hotel, Jilly gasped. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she said. It certainly was. Next to the beautiful blue lake sparkling in the sunshine stood a neat white building with ironwork balconies painted gold and red bougainvillea climbing up its walls.
However, something else had caught Billy’s attention. “Mum, look at all those windsurfers on the lake. Can I have a go?”
“Perhaps, but only if there’s an instructor and it’s not too expensive. Let’s get settled into our rooms first.”
“I’m dying for a beer,” said Mr. B.
“You always are,” replied his wife drily.
Soon the family were installed in their rooms. Billy and Jilly knocked on Auntie Flo’s.
“Can we come in?”
“Yes, of course.”
In they went. M was standing at the window, looking out over the lake. He was hopping excitedly from one foot to the other.
“He wants to go windsurfing,” said Auntie Flo.
“What?” Billy was amazed. “That’s impossible.”
“Well, if I pay for a lesson for you, Billy, he could hop on board so to speak.”
“He would probably sink me.”
“No. probably not. There’s a place where you can hire the boards. It’s only about two hundred yards along the shore from here. I think they give lessons too. If your Mum and Dad agree, we could go down there this afternoon.”
“O.K.” said Billy. “Thanks, Auntie Flo.”
During lunch M behaved well. He kept trotting round the tables in the spacious, cheerfully decorated dining-room, but he did not seem tempted by the salads or the pizzas. A glare from Auntie Flo steered him away from Mr. B’s second beer of the day and he did not bother the other guests, who could not see him anyway.
“Isn’t this great? I really feel I’m on holiday now,” said Mrs. B.
“Yes. Great!” said her husband, grinning at his beer.
“Mum, Auntie Flo has promised me a windsurfing lesson. Shall I go and put my swimming trunks on?” Mrs. B, feeling very content, just smiled and nodded. Mr. B seemed not to hear but continued to smile into his beer.
“Did you want to try as well, Jilly?” asked Auntie Flo.
“No thank you. I’ll just watch.”
“We’ll meet outside, when your Dad’s finished his beer,” said Mrs. B.
While they were waiting for him to appear, Jilly said, ”Who was that horrible man?”
“What man?” asked Auntie Flo.
“The one in the hotel just now. The one who refused to help those two old ladies to carry their suitcase upstairs. There isn’t a lift, so he should have helped them!” Jilly seemed quite indignant.
“Well, I don’t think he refused exactly. Maybe he just pretended not to see them. Anyway I think that’s Signor Trelloni, the owner. He’s probably just a bit lazy.”
“Just a bit!” exclaimed Jilly.
“Is that the one?” said Billy, as a short stocky man, wearing a check shirt and baggy trousers held up by blue braces, emerged from the back door and carried a large surfboard across the yard before stacking it in a rack alongside several others.
“Yes, that’s him,” said Auntie Flo. “He never smiles, but he scowls a lot.”
“He’s not what you would imagine an Italian hotel owner to be like,” added Mrs. B. “You’d expect him to be smartly dressed, full of flim-flam, chatting up the ladies and joking with the men and not doing much work.”
“What’s flim-flam?” asked Jilly.
“False charm,” replied Auntie Flo. “Not doing much work is certainly true.”
“For once I agree with you, Flo,” said Mr. B, who had just returned from the bar. “He’s a nasty so and so. He grumbles because people don’t buy drinks in his bar, but he’s so miserable and charges too much. It’s his own fault.”
“Oh, let’s forget about him. Don’t let him spoil the holiday. Let’s go and enjoy this beautiful sunny day.”
Shortly afterwards they were all standing at the windsurfer hire stall. The young Italian in charge did speak English. “Yes, of course I can give you a lesson. It will not be easy. You must learn to balance. You will fall off the board many times. The rope it may hurt your hands.”
“O.K. O.K.” Billy was eager to begin.
The instructor was right. It was not easy. Time and again Billy managed to stand up on the board only to slip off, as he tried to haul the sail out of the water. His fingers were sore too, but he was enjoying himself. He was very determined. He was also vaguely aware of M, who hopped onto the board, trying to steady it for him. Although the emu was so strong, he hardly seemed to weigh anything, and at last Billy began get the hang of what to do. He began to balance better and, timing his actions more smoothly, he managed to pull the sail up out of the water. M was learning too. He could put his legs on either side of the board to grip it and hold it steady. He could also grip the rope gently with his beak and help Billy to haul up the sail. Between them they worked out a system so that when the sail was up, M would hop onto the back of the board. Soon they sailed thirty metres before Billy fell into the water. His instructor was delighted.
Jilly watched all this with great interest, for only she and Auntie Flo could actually see M.
Suddenly it all came together. M and Billy went steadily along the shoreline with their instructor shouting encouragement. “Go, Billy! Well done! You got it!”
“Yo, Billy. Sehr gut!” shouted a young German windsurfer. “I’m Kurt. I’ll race you back.” Off he went, manoeuvring skilfully across the water. Billy did not even try to catch up.
“You must be joking!” shouted Billy. “I’m only a beginner.”
Kurt floated back towards him. “O.K. See you at the hotel perhaps.” He raced off again towards the middle of the lake.
Billy felt tired now, but M seemed to be smiling.
“Well done, Billy,” said Auntie Flo. “I’ve got some of that on my camcorder.”
“Will M be on it?” asked Jilly.
“Only for the three of us.”
“Thanks, Auntie Flo,” said Billy. “I really enjoyed that.”
“Maybe you can have another go, but not tomorrow. I think we are going to Venice.”
Two days later Mrs. B could not stop talking about that visit. It was not the beautiful buildings or the canals and not the gondolas with their gondoliers, but a strange incident that had happened right before her eyes. They had been standing on a bridge over one of the canals, when a man had dropped some ice-cream on Mr. B’s back. “Oh, scusi, signore,” he had said, and then another man standing behind them had suddenly jumped over the side of the bridge into the canal. Almost immediately the man with the ice-cream followed. Splash! Splash! Everybody craned forward to see the two men dragged out of the water by the police and led away under arrest. What Mr. And Mrs. B did not know was that the two men were a pickpocket team. The ice-cream on the shoulder trick was meant to distract Mr. B, while the second man stole his wallet. However, M had acted lightning fast, and had grabbed each of them and hurled them into the water. Only Auntie Flo and the two children realised what had really happened, but they were not going to say anything. In any case they would not have been believed.
“Mrs. B kept saying, ”It was extraordinary. Both of them jumped into the water with all their clothes on!”
“Drunk, I expect,” said the unsuspecting Mr. B.
Once again they were standing at the windsurfing hire stall. Once again it was a beautiful sunny morning and the lake was sparkling in the sunshine. This time Auntie Flo and Jilly stayed to watch Billy (and M) windsurfing, whilst Mr. And Mrs. B walked along the lake into the village to look for some souvenirs and presents.
Billy was doing well on his board. Suddenly he heard a voice behind him.
“Hello, Billy”. It was Kurt.
For a while they sailed up and down. The young German spoke very good English. “We are staying at the same hotel,” he said. “I looked for you yesterday, but I think you had all gone out.”
“Yes. We were in Venice.”
“Did you like it?”
“Yes, but I like windsurfing better. I…”
“Hello, Krauti and the little Brit boy!” interrupted a mocking voice. It was a stocky young Italian man with curly black hair and very white teeth. “You will be in the race tomorrow, yes?”
“I will be, but Billy is only a beginner.”
“Oh, well, I’ll beat you again,” boasted the newcomer. “I win always.” Then he sped off, manoeuvring skilfully among the other boards.
“Who’s that?” asked Billy.
“Guido Trelloni,” answered Kurt.
“Is he the son of the hotel owner?”
“No, the nephew, but he is just as obnox…obnox… disagreeable.”
“Oh, you mean obnoxious.”
“Yes. Obnoxious. That is a very good word. He boasts a lot. He expects to win the race and his uncle expects to win a lot of money by betting on him.”
“Well, I hope he doesn’t win,” remarked Billy.
“So do I. Besides he cheats. He is very clever. He gives a quick tug, as he passes you and makes you lose your balance a little. He does it so quickly that the race judges never see it.”
Kurt would have been very surprised, if he had known that a rather intelligent emu had been listening to all this.
That evening Kurt came over to the Burton’s table and Billy introduced his new friend to the family. While they were chatting, a young waiter got drawn into the conversation about the race. An angry shout interrupted him. It was Signor Trelloni waving to him to get back to work.
“He’s a real old grumpy guts, isn’t he?” said Mr. B.
“Grumpy guts? Oh, I like that!” exclaimed Kurt. “My friends call him the Troll.”