SUNK Read Free Page A

of once-white plastic packaging and stands a small object on the desk.
    ‘That’s a microscope?’ I say. It doesn’t look anything like the microscopes we use at school.
    ‘It’s a bit old – Dad had it when he was a child. 1970s?’ He waves the plug at me. ‘Put that in over there,’ he says, fiddling with what might be the lens.
    I plug it in and amazingly nothing goes bang.
    ‘If it isn’t a microscope,’ says Eric, ‘I don’tknow what else it could be.’ He takes the deckchair from my palm and places it on a dimly lit piece of glass.
    I stare, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t so I sit down and squeeze some water from my trousers.
    ‘Yes,’ he says eventually.
    ‘What?’ I say.
    ‘This microscope is either not a microscope or it’s broken. We’ll have to try at school.’
     
    Downstairs, Eric’s dad offers me a kelp and hempseed flapjack.
    ‘Er, no thank you, Mr Threepwood,’ I say, heading towards the front door.
    ‘Eric?’ he says, holding out the plate.
    ‘I’m good, thanks, Dad.’
    ‘Oh.’ Eric’s dad stares sadly at the plate of misshapen brown things. ‘Or a bulgar andwheatgrass smoothie?’ He points into the kitchen towards the blender, which seems to have had some kind of green volcanic accident.
    I shake my head.
    ‘In that case, take a poster.’ He hands Eric the plate and reaches into a wellington boot, pulling out a roll of paper. Striding to the kitchen table, he places a jar of molasses on one end and unrolls the rest.
    He peels a sheet from the top and hands it to me. ‘Do you think you could put it up in the window of the model village?’
    V OTE FOR C OLIN T HREEPWOOD.
    M EDITATION FOR ALL AND FREEDOM
    FROM CONSUMER TYRANNY
    ‘Or you could have this one, it’s snappier.’
    B E POSITIVE. T HREEPWOOD FOR MAYOR
    I stand staring at the poster. ‘Sorry, I don’t quite understand. Are you running for mayor?’ I ask.
    Eric’s dad nods his head enthusiastically. ‘Yes.’ He puts his arm round Eric’s shoulder. ‘I am, totally. Eric, my marvellous son, has persuaded me that I can do it. That I have a lot to offer our community, that I can help lead us into the new millennium with consideration and love and freedom from corporate globality.’
    Eric stands by his father’s side and beams.
    ‘Right,’ I say, rolling up a poster and jamming it under my arm.
    ‘It’s all there, Tom. All there for us to take.’ Eric’s dad stares at me, his eyes big and round. ‘Because, Tom, here, at the heart of Avalon, the astral plane is vibrant.’
    ‘Yes, Mr Threepwood,’ I say.
    ‘You do understand what that means?’
    ‘Yes, Mr Threepwood,’ I say again, wondering what on earth he’s on about.
    ‘Anything could happen, Tom.’
    I nod vigorously. With enthusiasm.
    ‘It’s a wondrous place, this place,’ he says.
    ‘Yup,’ I say, backing towards the door, clutching my poster. ‘Sure is.’
    ‘Tom’s got to go now, Dad,’ says Eric, opening the door behind me and shoving me out into the street.
    ‘Sure you wouldn’t like a flapjack?’
    ‘He wouldn’t,’ says Eric.
    ‘Pity,’ says Eric’s dad. ‘Pity.’

6
Die, Pasta, Die
    Eric’s dad running for mayor is unexpected. Although, perhaps it isn’t really. Perhaps it’s something he’d be brilliant at, but I can’t imagine him sitting in a boardroom discussing blocked culverts or parking schemes. He has a weird way of saying things, not like other adults. I don’t think most of it means anything, but sometimes some of it means something.
    I’m wondering what an astral plane actually is, and about his warning that anything couldhappen, when I pass a huge stack of newspapers outside the post office.
    C HILD EATEN BY HER OWN BUCKET ! in the Bywater-by-Sea Guardian
    W ILD CARNIVOROUS PAIL CHEWS CHILD VICTIM in the Evening Echo.
    And on a copy of the Bywater Globe : B RAVE B EVERLEY’S BUCKET FRENZY !
    A couple of women are staring open-mouthed at the headlines.
    Bucket?
    I wonder