Free The Grunts In Trouble by Philip Ardagh Page A

his quick thinking and clever comment.
    “Aren’t they usually called Jumbo, or, er …?” Sunny couldn’t think of any elephant names other than Jumbo, so he stopped there.
    Very little traffic passed that way that night, and even Sunny slept soundly until he was awoken by the pop-pop-pop of a passing motorcycle at around three o’clock in the morning. Luckily, he managed to get back to sleep.
    First up, Sunny went outside to see whatClip and Clop were up to (which turned out to be chewing things), only to come face-to-face with a middle-aged man with snow-white hair, a yellow checked waistcoat and an arm in plaster.
    “Mornin’,” said the man. “You’ve gotta be Sunny!”

    “How do you mean?” asked Sunny.
    “The way Mimi described your mobile home and your – er – blue dress an’ that,” said the man, finding it difficult to take his eyes off Sunny’s head, with his sticky-up hair and wonky ears (which were probably something else Mimi had mentioned).
    “You know Mimi?” asked Sunny. The world somehow felt that bit sunnier to Sunny, simply at the mention of her name.
    “Know her?” said the man. “I taught her everything she needed to know to become an excellent boot boy.” He put out a bandaged hand. (The one on the end of the arm that wasn’t in a plaster cast.) “I’m Jack the handyman,” he said, grasping Sunny’s hand, “also known as Handyman Jack.”
    “You work at Bigg Manor?” Sunny asked.
    “Yes. I used to be boot boy until Mimi tookover,” he explained.
    “So what brings you this far?” asked Sunny.
    “Far?” said Jack, raising a snow-white eyebrow. “If you carry on down this road another half-mile and take a right, you’ll find yourself on the edge of the Bigg estate.”
    “Oh,” said Sunny. The map had given no suggestion of that. They must have been going around in circles.
    “I’ve been instructed to clear up this mess,” said Jack, looking around at the “BIGG AIN’T BEST”s dotted all over the place.
    “I see you brought a ladder,” said Sunny, looking at Jack the handyman’s vehicle. It was an adult-sized black-framed tricycle with a matching black metal trailer attached to the back, with a large number of ladders either side and a heap of tools in the middle.
    “I certainly came prepared,” said Jack.
    “Would you like a hand?” asked Sunny, looking at the bandage and the plaster cast. “I don’t think they’ll be awake for a while.” He jerked his head in the direction of the caravan.
    Jack tilted his whole body back to look to the very top of the column. “I could do with someone holding the ladder when I go up there,” he said.
    “I’d be happy to,” said Sunny.
    Handyman Jack had to fit all the ladders together to make one long one to reach all the way up to the statue. He slipped them into position quickly and efficiently (despite the plastered arm and bandaged hand), but Sunny still felt a little doubtful.
    “Will that be safe?” he asked.
    “You sound like my wife,” said the handyman, referring to Agnes, the cook and maid back at Bigg Manor. “It’ll be a lot saferthan if you weren’t holding it for me, that’s for sure!”
    Sunny gripped the sides of the ladder and gave it a shake. The top, some twenty or so metres above them, wibbled and wobbled (though I’m not absolutely sure “wibbled” is a real word).
    “Here I go!” said Jack. “That Larry Smalls has a lot to answer for! If I break my neck, there’s only him to blame!” He sounded very cheerful about it. When Jack’s feet were on the fifth or sixth rung – level with Sunny’s eyes – the boy found himself staring at the shiniest pair of black lace-up shoes he’d ever seen.
    Shiny black shoes.

    He also noticed that Jack was wearing one spotted sock and one plain. He found his thoughts returning to his one memory of his father.
    “Jack?” he called up, almost afraid of the answer before he’d even asked the question.
    “Yes, Sunny?” Jack called