BooksBarbecue
Back The Lightning Catcher Save as PDF
Chapters (45)
  1. 1
  2. 2
  3. 3
  4. 4
  5. 5
  6. 6
  7. 7
  8. 8
  9. 9
  10. 10
  11. 11
  12. 12
  13. 13
  14. 14
  15. 15
  16. 16
  17. 17
  18. 18
  19. 19
  20. 20
  21. 21
  22. 22
  23. 23
  24. 24
  25. 25
  26. 26
  27. 27
  28. 28
  29. 29
  30. 30
  31. 31
  32. 32
  33. 33
  34. 34
  35. 35
  36. 36
  37. 37
  38. 38
  39. 39
  40. 40
  41. 41
  42. 42
  43. 43
  44. 44
  45. Acknowledgements

Tombard carried on tearing up the curly vegetables and Kiran found a garden fork, and soon the whole patch was a mass of soil and broken plants. White goo came out of the split stems. It looked exactly like school glue. Some of the prongs fell out of Tombard’s tool and lay on the ground, curling like claws in the middle of the mess. A smell of onions hit my nostrils and this morning’s football game seemed like something nice that had happened to me a long time ago.

‘Epic!’ Matthew said. Noel looked a bit scared, but you could see that they’d do anything as long as Tombard didn’t laugh at them.

‘Alfie, you have to make her stop,’ Sam muttered, without taking his eyes off Tombard’s movements.

I just stared at him like I’d been frozen to the spot, and I think I had. The dread in my stomach was spreading through my veins and I felt sick, shaky, useless.

‘Get her to come out and show herself – that’ll make them stop!’ he said.

‘No! It’ll be fine.’ I tried to pull myself together. ‘Like at the concert, she gets better if you just think happy thoughts. We have to try – concentrate …’

Sam stared at the wreckage with wild eyes. ‘It’ll be fine? How?’

‘It’s not her fault!’ I hissed. ‘She doesn’t understand enough. Not yet. She will one day soon …’

‘She’s getting worse,’ Sam said.

‘She’s getting stronger …’

Then Sam turned to look at something, so I turned too, and saw his grandad striding slowly towards us.

Too late to run or hide. Too late to do anything.

21

Grandad

‘Hey! What are you doing there? Stop! Sam! What do you think you’re doing?’

Sam’s grandad’s shadow fell over the ruined vegetables, and Sam looked down then up again at his grandad’s face as if he didn’t recognise it.

‘Nothing,’ Sam said. ‘I’m not doing anything.’

My heart thumped madly. My forehead was covered with sweat.

His grandad took a step closer. Tombard did not step back.

Sam said, ‘It’s OK, Grandad – it’s nothing – it’s OK.’ I could hear panic bubbling in his throat.

‘It isn’t nothing. This is George Manley’s patch.’

Sam’s grandad turned to Tombard and shouted, ‘Put that down!’ But Tombard didn’t even look at him. He wasn’t bothered.

Sam’s grandad took another step. ‘Good grief, lad! Let go of it – it isn’t yours.’

Tombard stuck the tool in the ground but didn’t let go. He stared at Sam’s grandad. Sam stood still, looking as if he might cry, and then his grandad bent and grabbed the tool near its wiry end and the tug of war began.