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Back The Trickster
Chapters (74)
  1. The Trickster
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. Preface to the 20th anniversary edition
  6. Introduction
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. Keep Reading
  70. FURNACE
  71. Acknowledgements
  72. About the Author
  73. ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
  74. About the Publisher

Katie was still staring at the hateful painting, unable to believe it came from her son’s hand. The same hand that had painted his parents as bright, colourful stick figures with smiley faces and a sun constantly at their shoulder. The same hand that had written an essay that had made Katie and Sam blush, when it revealed that his Mom and Dad were always kissing and his Mom went all weird when his Dad kissed her slow. That little hand was the one that had drawn this abomination. Dear God. What was going on in his head? Katie looked up at Agnes, fighting for control.

‘No. Not that I know of.’

The young woman was scanning her face for a lie. ‘It’s just that this looks like the work of quite a disturbed child, Mrs Hunt. He won’t talk to me about it. I thought you might be able to tell me something that would explain it.’

Katie replied in a cold voice. ‘I’m afraid not. But thank you for your concern.’ She stood up unsteadily. ‘May I keep this?’

Agnes Root stood. ‘I’m sorry. No.’

Katie nodded and handed it back. The young woman rolled it up and held it to her chest. ‘Where are the gerbils, Agnes?’

‘Second on the left. Follow the smell.’

‘Thank you.’

She turned to go. Katie stopped at the door and looked back. ‘He has dreams you know. They’re just dreams.’

It was Agnes Root’s turn to nod, and it seemed to satisfy Katie as she left the room and went to fetch her dark artist.

Agnes let out a whistling breath. She’d met Billy’s father at the PTA all right. She’d remembered him for two reasons. The first was that the Hunts were friends with Gerry and Ann and she was curious to see who her boss counted as chums. The second was that Sam Hunt was a number one lay if ever she saw it, a man so delicious it made her clench her buttocks at the thought of him. But an Indian lay. And everyone knew what Indians did to their kids, didn’t they?

She unrolled the painting and looked at it again. Katie Hunt’s face had so clearly signalled a lie she would have been more discreet taking out a billboard.

Agnes Root thumbed the edges and decided that if she was right, no matter what it took, Mr Gorgeous was going to be a very sorry Indian. Very sorry indeed.