Goat Pie (10 page)

Ulrik heard the echo of feet descending the steps. He shrank back in the shadows, putting an arm round Rosemary to calm her. Suddenly the subway didn't seem such a safe place to hide. The footsteps drew nearer and halted.

‘Hello – who's this? Aren't you Ulrik?'

Ulrik nodded. He had seen the policewoman before, the time she had brought his dad home in a panda car.

‘What are you doing here?' she asked.

‘I've run away from home,' said Ulrik.

‘Is that right? And what about your four-legged friend – has she run away too?'

Ulrik nodded. ‘This is Rosemary. My mum and dad want to cook her in a pie.'

‘Oh, I'm sure they don't!' said the policewoman.

‘They do,' said Ulrik. ‘Goat pie is tastesome – at least I used to think so but now I'm a veggytellyum.'

‘I see,' said the policewoman. ‘So you thought you'd better run away. Where were you planning to sleep tonight?'

‘I don't know yet,' admitted Ulrik. ‘This isn't so bad.'

The policewoman sniffed. ‘A bit damp and smelly,' she said. ‘Tell you what, have you had anything to eat?'

‘Only three biscuits,' admitted Ulrik. ‘That's all I could bring.'

‘Why don't you come down the station with me?' asked the policewoman. ‘I'm sure we can rustle up some lemonade and a bit of cake.'

Ulrik considered. ‘What kind of cake?'

‘What kind do you like?'

‘Chocolate,' said Ulrik. ‘Rosemary likes that too.'

‘Chocolate it is, then,' said the policewoman. ‘I'll just radio the sarge and tell him we're on our way.'

An hour later Ulrik was sipping lemonade in a room at the police station. There was a knock at the door. It was Sergeant Blott, who had been looking after them.

‘Someone to see you,' he said.

Mr and Mrs Troll burst in, looking greatly relieved.

‘Ulrik! Are you all right, my ugglesome?' asked Mrs Troll, hugging him tightly.

‘He's fine,' said Sergeant Blott. ‘I've never seen chocolate cake disappear so fast.'

Mrs Troll seized the sergeant in a hug. ‘Thank
you for finding him!' she said, planting a kiss on his bald head. The sergeant turned a deep shade of pink and struggled to escape. He found himself face to face with Mr Troll, who opened his arms.

‘No! No more kissing!' said the sergeant hastily. ‘Just take him home and try to keep him out of subways in future.'

‘We will,' promised Mrs Troll. She put an arm round Ulrik and gave him a squeeze.

‘Come on, hairling – you must be starving.'

But Ulrik hung back. ‘What about Rosemary?' he asked.

Everyone looked at Rosemary, who had finished off the cake crumbs on the plate and was now nibbling the corner of a poster on the wall. Ulrik called her and she trotted over at the sound of her name. Seeing Mr Troll, she sniffed his hand and began to lick it.

‘Ha ha! Stop it – that tickles!' laughed Mr Troll.

‘See, Dad – she's pleased to see you,' said Ulrik. He stroked Rosemary's head.

‘You promise you're not going to eat her?'

Mr and Mrs Troll exchanged looks.

‘We can't, Eggy,' said Mrs Troll. ‘Not now.'

‘Can't we?' said Mr Troll.

‘Look at them!' They both looked. Ulrik had his arms round Rosemary's neck and the goat was nuzzling up to him. She gazed at them with her innocent brown eyes.

Sergeant Blott sniffed and pulled a hanky from his pocket.

‘You mean no goat pie?' said Mr Troll.

Mrs Troll shook her head.

‘Not even on Trollmas Day?'

‘We'll just have to go without this year.'

Mr Troll sighed. ‘Back to blunking bean again.'

‘Does that mean you promise?' asked Ulrik.

‘We promise,' nodded Mrs Troll. ‘Maybe we should take Rosemary back to the farm where she belongs.'

Ulrik ran to his parents and hugged them each in turn. ‘Thanks, Dad! Thanks, Mum!' Sergeant Blott dabbed his eyes and pretended he needed to blow his nose.

‘There's just one thing,' said Mr Troll as they left the police station. ‘How are we going to explain this to Grumpa?'

Not eat her?' said Grumpa when he heard the news.

‘No,' said Mr Troll rather sheepishly. ‘We've decided to take her back.'

‘You've lost your bogles!' said Grumpa. ‘You're mad as a sack of goblins. She's a goat!'

‘I know, Dad, but –'

‘Trolls eat goats,' Grumpa went on, tromping up and down and waving his arms. ‘We hunt them and catch them and cook them in pies. That's what trolls do!'

‘I know …' said Mr Troll.

‘And what about tomorrow? You promised me a pie! You can't have Trollmas Day without goat pie!'

‘We'll open a nice can of bean,' said Mrs Troll. ‘Maybe with some fish's fingers.'

Grumpa gaped at her. ‘Fingers? Bean? On Trollmas Day?'

‘I'm sorry,' said Mrs Troll. ‘I know it's not the same, but Ulrik's so fond of Rosemary. It just wouldn't be right to eat her.'

Grumpa slumped down into an armchair. The shock was too much to take in. His own family! His own grandson – friends with a goat! What would his friends at home say if they ever got to hear of it?

‘Well,' he said, regarding Mr Troll darkly, ‘I suppose it's only to be expected. He's just like his dad – harmless as a hedgepig.'

‘Me?' growled Mr Troll. ‘Are you calling me harmless?'

Mrs Troll sighed. Sooner or later she knew it would end in an argument.

‘Harmless! Meekling! Hairy weakling!' said Grumpa, warming to his theme.

Mr Troll glared at his dad and the two faced each other snout to snout.

‘Eggy's not a weakling,' objected Mrs Troll.

‘Oh no?' said Grumpa. ‘Isn't that why you had to move? Because he runs away from ninny goats?'

Mr Troll bristled. ‘I didn't run away,' he said. ‘I was butted off a bridge.'

‘And look where it's got you,' said Grumpa. ‘Living next door to peeples! It's shamesome. Since I got here I haven't met one single troll. Not one! So tell me – where are they all hiding?'

Mr Troll sighed deeply. It was no use trying to pretend any longer. ‘There aren't any,' he said.

‘Ha! I thought so. And all this blether about hunting in forests!'

‘I made it up,' admitted Mrs Troll. ‘We found Rosemary on a peeples' farm.'

‘You see?' Grumpa jabbed a stubby finger. ‘Nothing but a pack of fibwoppers! Call yourself trollish? I'm ashamed of you. You're too frighted even to come home.'

Ulrik had been listening while he fed a carrot to
Rosemary. Now he looked up. ‘Anyway,' he said, ‘all trolls get frighted sometimes.'

‘Hogswoggle!' snorted Grumpa. ‘I've never been frighted in my life!'

‘Yes you have, Grumpa,' Ulrik reminded him. ‘Remember this morning when Rosemary got into your room?'

Grumpa suddenly looked embarrassed. He had never actually explained how he came to be hanging from a Christmas tree.

‘That's different,' he said. ‘She woke me up.'

‘But you called for help. You shouted, “Help! There's a wild goat in my room!”'

Mr Troll stared at his dad. ‘You? Frighted by a little ninny goat?'

‘Of course I wasn't frighted!' snapped Grumpa. ‘I was trying to catch her!'

Ulrik frowned. ‘You couldn't catch her climbing out the window, Grumpa.'

Grumpa opened his mouth, but for once he seemed to be lost for words.

Mr Troll burst out laughing. ‘The fearless goat hunter!' he chuckled. ‘Who's been telling fibwoppers now?'

The brave hunter sat down again. He suddenly looked smaller, like a balloon that had gone down.

‘When did you last bags a goat, Dad?' asked Mr Troll. ‘The truth.'

Grumpa's shoulders drooped. ‘Not for years. The goats are so quick, I can't keep up with them.'

‘But it's not just that, is it?' said Mrs Troll.

Grumpa shook his head sadly. ‘It's the way they look when they're about to charge. Those sharp hornses. I suppose I just lost my nerve.'

Mr and Mrs Troll looked at each other. They hardly knew what to say. For years they had listened to Grumpa boasting about his skills as a hunter. He had claimed there wasn't a goat alive that he couldn't catch. Now it turned out his hunting days were over. Mrs Troll thought she understood why he spent so much time in his room. The truth was, a lot of things frightened him – not just goats but probably cars and noise and hairy-faced peeples.

Grumpa got to his feet. ‘Don't worry, I'll pack my bag tonight,' he mumbled. ‘I'll be gone before Trollmas.'

‘Eggy—say something,' whispered Mrs Troll. But it was Ulrik who went over and gave his grumpa a hug.

‘Don't go, Grumpa,' he said. ‘It's all right to get frighted. I am sometimes.'

‘Are you, Ulrik?'

‘Yes, but do you know what I do?'

‘What?'

‘I give a big scaresome roar. GRARGHHHH!'

Grumpa laughed and put an arm round Ulrik. ‘You know what?' he said. ‘I think that roar
is
getting better.'

Ulrik sat up in bed. It felt like he'd been awake for hours but now at last he could see morning light through the curtains.

He wondered what Rosemary was doing on Trollmas Day. He was glad they had managed to smuggle her back to Longbottom Farm the previous night. She seemed pleased to see her mother. He imagined the farmer peeples' astonishment when he found his missing goat back in her pen.

Ulrik looked at his dad's rising-and-falling belly and jumped on top of him.

‘WAKE UP, DAD! It's Trollmas Day!' he yelled.

‘Uhhhh?' groaned Mr Troll.

‘It's six o clock! Can we go downstairs? I want to open my presents!'

‘All right, my ugglesome. Better see if Grumpa's awake.'