Sunny smiled. He could just imagine Fingers pulling along their home as easy as pie. Then his face fell. What would happen to Clip and Clop? Would the Grunts simply abandon them now that they didn’t need them? Hadn’t he heard Mr Grunt grumbling about them getting old and not wanting to do the donkey work any more? A little knot of worry formed in the pit of his stomach. Sunny suddenly realised just how much he loved the big-eared pair.
“Won’t Fingers mind lugging a great big house around?” he asked.
“Mind? He’ll love it,” said Larry Smalls rummaging in his pocket and pulling out a fist full of peanuts (still in their shells). Fingers’ trunk swung into action, snuffling them up surprisingly elegantly and putting them in his mouth, all the while watching them with his highly intelligent eyes. “I rescued Fingers from a rich animal collector when he was a baby,” Mr Smalls explained. “You see, I never took animals from the wild. That would be wrong. He was chained up in a tiny cage, but with me he’s had a life on the open road! He’d pull the circus trucks. Help erect the tent poles for the big top.”
“You used to work in a circus?”
“I used to own a circus,” said Larry Smalls. “Smalls’ Big Top. All our animals had been rescued in some way or other.”
“But isn’t it cruel to make them do tricks?”
“Not the way I did it,” said Smalls. “We let the animals find their own talents. Why make a sea lion balance a ball on his nose if he prefers doing card tricks? Why make a lion jump through a hoop when he might prefer to hold a brush in his mouth and do a little painting?”
Fingers wasn’t waiting for Larry Smalls to give him more peanuts. He put his trunk directly into the man’s other pocket and pulled out some for himself.
“So what happened?” asked Sunny.
“What do you mean?” asked Larry Smalls.
“What happened to Smalls’ Big Top?”
Larry Smalls’ face passed into the shadows. “Lord Bigg is what happened,” he said. “Him and his railings.”
At the mention of Bigg’s name, Fingers stopped chewing.
“I don’t understand,” said Sunny.
“Then let me explain,” said Larry Smalls. “Sit.”
Sunny made himself as comfortable as he could on a nearby bale of straw.
“People often think that fences around enclosures and bars on cages are there to protect people from animals and, of course, that’s partly true,” said Larry Smalls. “But they’re also there to protect the animals from the people. You see, stupid people do stupid things. They try to feed animals the wrong kinds of food. They prod them when they’re sleeping. They flash cameras in their faces. The tease them. Upset them.” Smalls himself looked upset at the thought of this, and paused for a moment. “So bars work both ways. And the metal bars – the metal railings – we used for our cages when the animals were on the move, and for the enclosures when we were camped, were made by the Bigg Railing Company.”
“Lord Bigg makes railings?” asked Sunny.
“Used to,” said Smalls, and he told Sunny all about it, pretty much as I told you many, many chapters ago (though probably not quite so well as I did, what with my being such a brilliant author).
“So did the railings on your cages go floppy after ten years and a week?” Sunny gasped.
“Yes,” said Larry Smalls. “We had no idea that was going to happen, of course. One night we went to bed with all the animals safe and sound. The next morning, disaster! In the night the bars had gone floppy, the animals wandered out and … and …”
“And?” Sunny leaned forward on his straw bale.
“We’d pitched the circus in a field as part of a steam tractor festival. There were huge-great steam-powered machines everywhere … including steamrollers …”
“You mean, the animals …?”
Larry Smalls nodded. “Many of them were as flat as pancakes.”
Sunny imagined a squashed lion in the middle of the road. How terrible! Then he couldn’t help himself. He imagined Mr and Mrs Grunt shovelling it up between them and making a casserole. He could picture the tail sticking out of the cooking pot.
“No wonder you hate Lord Bigg!” said Sunny. “I’m so sorry, Mr Smalls.”
“Thank you, Sunny,” said Larry Smalls. “I knew you were a good kid from the moment you – er – kind of caught me.”
Sunny felt like a fraudster and a cheat, remembering that the “payment” for Fingers wasn’t what Larry Smalls would be expecting. He tried not to think about it. “So what happened to the rest of the circus?” he asked.
“Mr Lippy, who you met, does children’s parties, and he runs the odd errand for me. The Chinn Twins – my acrobats – trim treetops and repair telephone lines. Sammy the sea lion works in a call centre—”
“A call centre?”
“Yes, when people complain to one of the telephone operators and demand to speak to their supervisor, he barks down the phone at them. Most effective, apparently.”
Mr Smalls then went on to list some of the others in their new roles, including Trunk the strongman, who had opened a specialist shirt shop for men with no neck to speak of, and Jeremy the juggler, who now lived in a large fibreglass fruit.
“So Fingers is the only animal you have left?” said Sunny.
“Yes,” said Smalls. He probably wasn’t even aware of it, but he was gently stroking the elephant’s trunk as he spoke. Even in this dim light, Sunny could see the glint of tears in the man’s eyes.
“So why are you selling him?” Sunny wanted to know. “Why don’t you keep him?”
“Because I want him settled in a new life before I go to prison.”
“Prison?” Sunny gasped. “Why are you going to prison?”
“For blowing up Bigg Manor,” said Larry Smalls.
“You’ve blown up Bigg Manor!?!” said Sunny. He was stunned.
“Not yet, I haven’t,” said Larry Smalls, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m about to.”
Sunny found himself with more worries than he knew what to do with: Larry Smalls was planning to blow up Bigg Manor; he, Sunny, was about to take delivery of an elephant that they hadn’t actually paid for; Larry Smalls was planning to blow up Bigg Manor; he might never see Mimi again; Larry Smalls was planning to blow up Bigg Manor; he didn’t know what would become of Clip and Clop; and Larry Smalls was planning to blow up Bigg Manor.
Sunny’s priorities were clear. He imagined sweet-smelling, bright-pink Mimi under a smouldering pile of bricks. “You can’t go around blowing up houses, Mr Smalls!” he protested.
“Oh, but I can,” said Larry Smalls. “The dynamite is in position and everything.” His voice had gone back to sounding like the Larry Smalls Sunny had first met, preparing to throw those rocks at the gate of Bigg Manor.
“But Mimi … Mimi and the others!”
“I’m not planning on hurting anyone,” said Larry Smalls. “I simply plan to reduce the house to rubble!”
“But what’s the point?” protested Sunny. “It’s just an empty shell. Lord Bigg won’t care and you’ll go to prison for nothing.”
“An empty shell?”
“Yes. Sack – he’s the gardener – and Mimi – she’s the boot boy – were telling me there’s nothing in it. So all you’d be doing is destroying a useless building.”
“It’ll still be a Bold Statement though,” said the ex-circus man. “It’ll still Get People’s Attention. Then I can tell the world what a crook Lord Bigg is!”
“But you can’t blame today’s Lord Bigg,” said Sunny, trying to reason with him. “You said yourself that it was his family who started the business, hundreds of years ago, and, from what you say about his father and his father’s father having to sell off stuff, they must have stopped making those useless railings long before he was b—”
A thought suddenly struck Sunny like a Scotch egg hits a frying pan (if you’re playing tennis with them).
“What?” asked Larry Smalls. “What is it, Sunny?”
“The railings last ten years and a week before they go all floppy, right?”
“Right.” Mr Smalls nodded. “Ten years and a week.”
“But the last of the Bigg Railings must have been made long, long, ago. So surely the railings you used for your cage bars would have gone floppy and become useless long before you ever bought them! In fact, you wouldn’t have bought them in the first place!”
“Which is EXACTLY why I hate this Lord Bigg so much,” said Larry Smalls. “A while back, he actually managed to sell the factory but, before he did, he made one last batch of railings with the leftover metal lying around. And, even though he knew we were going to use them for cage bars, he sold them to the circus.”
“But that’s—”
“Criminal?”
“That’s—”
“Outrageous?”
“That’s WRONG!”
“Yes, Sunny. That’s wrong,” said Larry Smalls grimly. “He sold us railings for cage bars that he knew were unsafe, and animals – my animals – died because of it.”
“But blowing up a building is wrong too,” said Sunny.
“One thing at a time,” said Smalls. “First, let’s talk elephant.” He pushed the barn door wide open and sunlight flooded the place, causing all three – two humans, one elephant – to blink. He walked outside and Fingers followed, with Sunny close behind.
‘But, Mr Smalls—”
“Elephant,” he repeated.
Sunny gave a very sad sigh. “Mr Smalls, the truth is, I don’t think my parents—”
“Those people really are your parents?” Larry Smalls interrupted.
“Sort of,” said Sunny. “I don’t know who my birth parents are.”
“Aha.” Smalls 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 bit like 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 they were 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 Irish wolfhound.
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 his shoes. 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. “It was Mr Smalls who gave me Fingers, and I think everything’s sort of OK, except for the fact that he plans to blow—”
“Who’s Mr Smalls when he’s at home?” demanded Mrs Grunt. “And what does he plan to blow? A raspberry? A kiss?”
“He’s the man whose hat we threw rocks at,” Sunny said. “The one who ended up hanging from the gates of Bigg Manor, and he’s planning to blow—”
“Oh, him,” said Mr Grunt with a raised eyebrow. “Small world.”
“Smalls world, more like,” Mrs Grunt cackled. “I should be a comedian!”
“You’re certainly a joke,” said Mr Grunt.
“Dishcloth!” shouted Mrs Grunt.
“Earwax!” shouted Mr Grunt.
“Knuckle-head!” shouted Mrs Grunt.
“Herring!” shouted Mr Grunt.
That surprised Mrs Grunt. “You’ve never called me a herring before,” she said quietly.
“I meant spongebag, you old spongebag!” said Mr Grunt.
Mrs Grunt seemed satisfied with that, and they carried on name-calling.
Sunny sighed and took Fingers over to a thistle patch to meet Clip and Clop. He knew he wouldn’t get a word in edgeways when the Grunts were behaving like that, however urgent it was. The donkeys didn’t seem at all bothered by a giant animal with a stretchy nose, and Fingers seem pleased to meet them. He sniffed their faces with his finger-like trunk. So, all in all, Sunny was happy with how that went.
It was then that he noticed a new trailer hitched to the back of the caravan. Not new as in shiny new, but new as in recently made, and new to Sunny. He’d never laid eyes on it before. It was very much in keeping with the caravan itself. It was made in the same style (or lack of style), as in loads-of-old-stuff-badly-put-together.
This must have been what all the hammering and bashing that was going on inside the caravan had been about. But what had Mr Grunt built the trailer for? Storing elephant feed? Sunny seriously doubted that Mr Grunt would be that well organised.
“I see you’re admiring my craftsmanship,” said Mr Grunt, appearing at his side. He was wiping what appeared to be mud off one side of his face.
“Very nice,” said Sunny. “What’s it for?”
>
“What’s it for? What’s it for? Isn’t it obvious what it’s for?” asked Mr Grunt. He was trying to rub off the mud with an oily rag now.
“Not really, Dad,” said Sunny, “which is why I asked.”
“It’s more of a who than a what,” said Mrs Grunt. She had a mouthful of currant bun, having discovered the sack of them Larry Smalls had left for Sunny to feed Fingers.
“Who?” asked Sunny, wondering whether the “who” in question might actually be him, and that the trailer might be his very first bedroom. Sure, it was small and outdoors, but—
“It’s for Clip and Clop, of course!” said Mrs Grunt. “Now that Fingers is going to pull our home, they can have a well-earned rest.” She stared at Mr Grunt. “What’s that all over your face, mister?”
“The remains of that mud you threw at me, wife!”
Mrs Grunt gave a triumphant leer, showing off her teeth – the yellow and the green ones – to great effect. “I had no idea I was such a good shot.”
“Don’t leer with your mouth full,” grunted Mr Grunt, who’d seen more than enough half-chewed currant bun in hers.
Sunny, meanwhile, was feeling a flood of relief. So the two donkeys would still be part of the family…
Family.
Now, there was a word. Because, in their own strange way, of course, that’s exactly what that odd collection of people and animals was: a family.
“A trailer for Clip and Clop! That’s a great idea,” said Sunny. Then he paused and took a deep breath. It was time to try again. “I know you’re not big fans of helping people, but I really, really think we need to get to Bigg Manor as soon as possible—”
“Why on earth should we do that?” Mrs Grunt interrupted.
“The boy was about to tell us when you interrupted him,” said Mr Grunt.
“Then shut up and let him speak,” said Mrs Grunt.
“That’s exactly what I was telling YOU to do, wife!” fumed Mr Grunt.
“We need to warn them that someone is planning to blow up the house!” said Sunny.
The Grunts In Trouble Page 8