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
People were going wild. Phones were clicking. Children were cheering. Marty watched, spellbound.
“Now, we need help; we need to get this pumpkin onto the back of that milk truck so we can take it down to that harbor.” Colin had backed the milk truck onto next door’s allotment. They could then drive it around the road and join the highway to the coast.
Marty had filled the pumpkin with bottles of water and packets of food and the firework that had been left over after last year’s bonfire night at the pub. They were all there, all the familiar faces. Marty even recognized some from school. Mr. Garraway gave him the thumbs-up. The only face he couldn’t find was Gracie’s. He frowned, but was shouted at for dithering.
“Heave-ho! Heave-ho!”
Grandads and grandmas, kids and brothers and sisters and mums and dads helped. Aunties and uncles and friends and passersby rocked and rolled the pumpkin. They pressed their hands onto it, pushed it and pulled it until its fat Buddha belly lolled off the raised bed and sat slung between the planks and the back of the milk truck.
“Heave-ho! Heave-ho!”
They started again. Everyone straining and sweating. Heaving and ho-ing. The suspension on the milk truck sank a foot when the weight started to shift onto the back. For a moment there, Marty thought the pumpkin might flip that little truck upside down like a Tiddlywink. They shifted and shunted, they pulled and pushed until, in the end, the pumpkin sat, fat and squat on the back. A loud cheer went out as everyone celebrated. Several of the tallest people then helped tie the pumpkin in place.
“Right, come on, Marty, we’ll sit up front with Colin.”
They had to leave pronto, as the tide was currently in. If they waited any longer, they’d miss their window of opportunity. Grandad read Marty’s mind.
“Something must’ve come up with Gracie.”
Marty grabbed his coat and jumped into the passenger seat of the milk truck as the engine whined into life. It sounded like a lawn mower engine, straining and heaving against the enormous weight in the back. Colin tapped the dashboard—“Come on, Bessy!”—and then they were off.