Inside the Worm Read Free Page A

moving.’
    â€˜And doesn’t it fit?’
    â€˜Oh, it fits all right, but it pins Gary’s arms to his sides. He feels like an Egyptian mummy in there and it’s not safe for him to walk, let alone run. If he tripped, he’d fall flat on his face.’
    â€˜Hmmm.’ Fliss looked at the head. ‘Is the papier-mâché completely dry now?’
    â€˜The thickest parts are still a bit soggy, but it’s OK. Why?’
    â€˜Well, if the neck’s dry we could take a saw and cut two slots in it, one either side. It’d still reach his waist back and front, and his arms would be free.’
    â€˜Fliss Morgan, you’re a genius,’ cried Trot. ‘An infant prodigy. Why didn’t we think of that?’
    The slots were quickly cut, and Gary tried on the head. He couldn’t see yet because they hadn’t made the eye-holes, but they led him on a circuit of the garage and he did some roaring and said he felt much better. Now that the papier-mâché had dried out, the whole thing was surprisingly light. They spent the afternoon painting it, and by half-past four the last scrap of newsprint was covered and the head was a glossy green, except for the inside of the mouth which they’d done with some obscenely pink stuff Ellie-Mayhad got from somewhere. They propped it in a corner and stood in a half-circle, looking at it.
    â€˜It looks like a pensioner yawning,’ said Lisa. ‘It’s got no teeth.’
    â€˜Don’t worry,’ said Ellie-May. ‘My gran’s got some things we can use for teeth.’
    â€˜What sort of things?’
    â€˜Oh – they’re cone-shaped plastic things from where she used to work. Bobbins of some sort, I think. They’re all colours, but we can soon paint ’em white.’
    Trot looked at her. ‘Can you bring them tomorrow?’
    â€˜No problem.’
    â€˜Right.’ He turned to the others. ‘Half-past ten then, here?’
    This time, Lisa left with Fliss. Fliss grinned. ‘Trot found somebody else, has he?’
    Lisa shook her head. ‘I told you – I don’t care about Trot. I care about the play, that’s all. I get a funny feeling every time I think about it.’
    â€˜What sort of feeling? Are you nervous?’
    Lisa shook her head. ‘Not nervous exactly. Sort of shivery. It’s ever since we started the head.’
    Fliss laughed. ‘You scared of it?’
    â€˜Me? No. I don’t need to be, Fliss. It’s you. You’re Ceridwen.’
    Fliss pulled a face. ‘I know. I had a nightmare. Butit’s only a story, so there can’t really be anything to be afraid of, can there?’
    Her friend shrugged. ‘I dunno. Maybe not. Anyway, can we talk about something else now, Fliss?’

CHAPTER SEVEN
    SUNDAY MORNING WAS dull and drizzly, but Ellie-May had brought the teeth. Each tooth was twenty centimetres long and came to a good sharp point at one end. Everybody had come in old clothes and they spent a happy hour with the white paint, slapping it on the cones and standing them in a row on Trot’s dad’s workbench. When the last tooth was done, Trot counted them. ‘Twenty-eight,’ he said. ‘Just right. Seven each side, top and bottom.’
    â€˜How do we fix ’em in?’ asked Gary.
    â€˜Superglue,’ Trot told him. ‘We gouge out sockets in the papier-mâché, smear ’em with superglue and stick the teeth in. Nothing’ll shift ’em once that glue sets. Nothing. But the paint’s got to dry first.’
    They made the sockets while they were waiting. It wasn’t easy. The painted papier-mâché was remarkably tough. By the time they’d finished it was nearly lunchtime and the teeth were almost dry. ‘Near enough, anyway,’ said Trot, testing one with his finger. ‘We can always touch ’em up after if they get fingerprints on ’em.’
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