Chapters (38)
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Newsletter Sign-up
“Well, we’ll have to think of something!” said Colin. “I think that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard!”
Marty could have kissed him, and then the others started clapping. Grandad looked over their heads at Marty and winked.
After a quick cup of tea, which they had to take in shifts in order to share the mugs, they huddled around the fire and started to come up with suggestions.
“Have you tried eggshells?” asked Sadiq.
Grandad nodded.
“Beer?” asked John.
“We’ve tried that too…”
Now that everyone knew the importance of getting this thing as big as possible, they started racking their brains about how to do it. The seaweed tea had worked up to a point, but it seemed to need something extra. Something that would get it going again.
“Have you tried reading to it?” came a quiet voice. It was the lady from number 7. “Some people swear by talking to plants.”
Grandad shook his head. “It’s worth a try,” and he jotted it down.
“How about bird manure?” It was Colin this time.
“I have bird manure,” said the lady from number 7 again.
Marty collected the mugs and went to make another round of tea. He’d never seen such a buzz at the allotment. It was like there was a little electricity in the air. A sense of shared adventure. Everyone in on the plan and bound together in secrecy. Every time he thought about Grandad’s adventure, his stomach would quiver. His insides would jiggle a bit. He’d kind of gotten used to the deadening dimness of Mum’s house, but thinking of the sea made him feel giddy. He just wished Gracie was with him so he could talk to her about it. He had imagined telling her in his head. The look on her face. What she would say. He glanced over at her house—there was no life there. No movement. Marty had thought of a hundred ways to say sorry, but none of them actually felt right, so in the end, he’d sketched out the idea for the boat on a piece of paper, as well as the distance to Paris and a wobbly picture of the Eiffel Tower. As he didn’t know what else to do, he found Gracie’s bag at lunchtime hanging on her hook and slipped it in there and skulked away, but days had passed by now and he’d heard nothing. He boiled the kettle and looked back toward the huddled bunch in front of the fire and wished with all his heart that she was there.