Goat Pie (2 page)

After school Ulrik sat down to supper with his mum and dad. Mrs Troll placed three plates in front of them, looking pleased with herself.

‘What's this, Mum?' asked Ulrik, sniffing the two orange lumps on his plate.

‘Fish's fingers,' said Mrs Troll. ‘I thought we'd try something new.'

‘Fish don't have fingers,' said Ulrik.

‘Of course they do, my ugglesome. The fingers are the best bit.'

Mr Troll wrinkled his snout in disgust. ‘I'm not eating fish!'

‘Try it, Eggy. It might be tastesome,' said Mrs Troll.

‘Huh!' grunted Mr Troll. He picked up a fish finger and examined it as if it was a nasty insect. Gingerly he bit off the end and chewed it for a moment.

‘Pleugh!'
A half-chewed fish finger landed on the table. Mrs Troll sighed and put it on her own plate. It was the same every time she brought home something new.

‘I don't mind the fingers, Mum,' said Ulrik.

‘Thank you, hairling. So tomorrow is your last day at school?'

‘Yes, not long to Trollmas now,' said Ulrik, his eyes shining. ‘What are we having for dinner on Trollmas Day?'

‘Goat pie,' said Mr Troll. ‘We always have goat pie at Trollmas
¹
.'

Mrs Troll gave him a look. ‘And where for uggness sake are we going to find it? I've tried every shop in Biddlesden.'

‘We'll find it,' said Mr Troll confidently. ‘You can't have Trollmas without goat pie—it wouldn't be the same.'

Mrs Troll put down her knife and fork. ‘Well, it
can't
be the same, can it, Eggy? I mean, not like it is at home.'

‘Bogles to that! We're going to have the best Trollmas ever, aren't we?' said Mr Troll with a wink at Ulrik.

‘Yes, Dad!' said Ulrik. ‘Can we go roaring
²
?'

‘Of course we'll go roaring,' said Mr Troll. ‘We can start next door.'

Mrs Troll frowned. ‘At the Priddles'? Is that a good idea? You know what peeples are like – they get frighted if you sneeze at them.'

Mr Troll waved this aside. ‘I want us to have a proper Trollmas,' he said. ‘Goat pie, presents and lots of roaring. We're not going to change things just because we're not at home.'

‘You sound just like Grumpa,' said Mrs Troll. ‘That reminds me, Ulrik, have you written your thank-you letter?'

‘Yes, I wrote a whole page,' answered Ulrik proudly. ‘I wonder if he will come for Trollmas.'

Ulrik's parents stared at him open-mouthed. ‘Grumpa?' said Mrs Troll. ‘Come here?'

‘Yes, we always see him at Trollmas,' said Ulrik. ‘I asked if he was coming.'

Mr Troll groaned and hid his face in his hands.

‘Ulrik, hairling, try to remember,' said Mrs Troll. ‘What exactly did you write in your letter?'

Ulrik tried hard to think. He didn't know what he'd done wrong but judging from his parents' faces, it was something pretty bad. ‘I just said something like: “Are you coming for Trollmas?”'

Mr Troll's head thumped on the table.

‘Maybe he won't come,' said Mrs Troll hopefully.

‘Why?' said Ulrik. ‘Why can't he come? He always comes for Trollmas.'

‘But that was at home, hairling!' explained Mrs Troll. ‘At home we lived in our stinksome cave. Things are different here. Grumpa wouldn't like it.'

‘Why wouldn't he?' persisted Ulrik.

Mr Troll raised his head. ‘Grumpa's old. You know what he's like, Ulrik. He believes in the old trollish ways. He could never get used to living with peeples.'

‘Besides,' said Mrs Troll, ‘he'd get a bit of a shock.'

‘Why?' said Mr Troll.

Mrs Troll looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, he might have got a bit muddled. There were a few things I put in my letters …'

Mr Troll frowned. ‘What sort of things?'

‘Just normal things. That we live in a cave. That the neighbours are trolls. I might have mentioned we go hunting in the forest every day.'

‘The forest?' Mr Troll roared. ‘There is no blunking forest!'

‘You've been telling Grumpa fibwoppers!' said Ulrik, shocked.

‘Only tiddly ones,' said Mrs Troll.

‘They sound hulking big ones to me!' observed Mr Troll. ‘Why for uggness' sake didn't you tell him the truth?'

Mrs Troll rubbed her snout. ‘I don't know – it just seemed easier! From his letters he obviously thinks Mountain View is in the mountains and all our neighbours must be trolls. I didn't want to upset him. Not after the way we had to leave …'

Ulrik shot an anxious glance at his dad. The reason they left home was a forbidden subject. His dad had been butted off a bridge by a charging billy goat. It was because of the bridge trouble that they couldn't go home. Dad said all the other trolls would be laughing behind their backs.

For a moment no one spoke. They all sat round the table staring at the cold fish's fingers and thinking what a shock Grumpa would get if he ever came to visit. Suddenly Mr Troll sprang to his feet. ‘The letter!' he shouted. ‘Ulrik, what did you do with it?'

‘I put it in the letter-hole,' replied Ulrik.

‘When? When was this?'

‘This morning on the way to school.'

‘Then maybe it's still there!' said Mr Troll. ‘We could get it back before it goes to Grumpa!'

‘Yes!' Mrs Troll had leapt to her feet too. If the letter didn't reach Grumpa he wouldn't get Ulrik's invitation and he wouldn't come for Trollmas. They were saved!

‘Come on, Ulrik!' said Mr Troll, grabbing his son by the arm. ‘Show me!'

The red postbox was on the corner of the road in front of the old church. Ulrik peered through the dark slot that looked like a yawning mouth.

‘Can you see it?' asked Mr Troll.

‘I can see some letters,' said Ulrik. ‘There's hundreds of them.'

‘But can you see
yours?'

‘I don't know. They all look the same!'

‘Here! Let me look!' said Mr Troll, impatiently.

Ulrik moved aside to let his dad peer through
the hole. He watched as he squeezed his hand through the narrow gap and tried to wriggle the rest of his arm through. It looked very odd, as if the letter-hole was trying to eat him a bit at a time.

‘What if someone comes, Dad?' worried Ulrik. He wasn't sure you were allowed to fish around in letter-holes.

‘Shh!' said Mr Troll. ‘I've almost reached one … Got it!'

‘Is it mine?'

‘Wait a minute – I can't see it yet.'

Mr Troll tried to extract his hand. It had been a tight fit forcing his brawny arm through the hole, but getting it out proved harder still. He pulled and tugged. He faced one way and then the other. He wedged both feet against the bottom of the postbox and heaved as if it was a tug of war.

‘GNNNNHH!'

‘What's the matter, Dad?' asked Ulrik.

‘What does it look like?' roared Mr Troll. ‘I'm STUCK!'

Ulrik took hold of his dad's free hand to try and pull him free. They were so busy heaving and
tugging that they didn't notice a red post van turn the corner and draw up beside them. The postman climbed out. He approached rather nervously when he saw the two trolls – the small one and the big ugly one who seemed to be trying to climb inside the postbox. He left his keys in the ignition in case he needed to drive off quickly.

‘I don't want to interrupt but I need to get in there,' he said.

‘You won't do it,' Mr Troll replied. ‘The hole's too small.'

‘No.' The postman held up a bunch of keys and shook them. ‘I mean I need to unlock it. You'll have to move.'

‘How can I?' said Mr Troll. ‘My arm's stuck!'

‘We were trying to get a letter,' explained Ulrik.

‘Were you?' said the postman, feeling a little less nervous now. ‘It's against the law, you know, stealing letters.'

Ulrik looked alarmed. ‘Oh no, we weren't stealing,' he said. ‘It's my letter. I posted it but now I want it back or else my Grumpa will come for Trollmas and he thinks there are goats in the forest.' This came out in one breath and a bit muddled so that when the postman replied, ‘I see,' it was plain from the look on his face that he didn't.

‘Move to one side, then,' said the postman. Mr
Troll shuffled out of the way as best he could with one arm jammed in the postbox. Ulrik squatted down to watch as the postman unlocked a door and began to scoop the letters and parcels into his sack.

‘All right,' he said, seeing Ulrik's anxious face. ‘I shouldn't ask this, but which one is yours?'

Ulrik gazed at the sack full to the brim with letters. ‘I don't know. It had a stamp on it – a lady in a funny hat.'

‘That'll be the Queen,' smiled the postman. ‘She's on all the stamps.'

‘Hurry up!' moaned Mr Troll. ‘My arm's going to drop off!'

‘Anything else?' the postman asked Ulrik. ‘When did you post it?'

‘This morning,' replied Ulrik.

‘Oh well, I'm afraid you're too late then. It'll have gone in the first post!'

‘Gone?' repeated Ulrik.

‘GONE?' cried Mr Troll in despair.

‘That's right. It'll be at the sorting office by now.'

The postman tightened the neck of his sack and slammed the door of the postbox shut.

‘ARGHHHHHH!' roared Mr Troll, falling backwards.

‘Look, Dad,' said Ulrik. ‘Your arm's come unstuck!'

For the next week the Trolls checked the post every day. They clung to the slim hope that Ulrik's letter might not have reached Troll Mountain. But on the following Saturday, a tatty, dog-eared envelope tumbled through the letter box.

‘It's from Grumpa!' cried Ulrik, hurrying in to show his mum and dad. He tore it open and read out the few words scrawled on the grubby piece of paper.