Free Eating Things on Sticks by Anne Fine Page A

reached up to make sure that my mantilla was in place. ‘Hello,’ I chirruped. And then, since Uncle Tristram had lumbered me with ghastly Titania’s name, I thought I might as well take on her personality as well. ‘Thall I thing everyone a little thong?’
    â€˜Beg pardon?’ said Officer Watkins.
    Uncle Tristram moved slightly so he was standing between me and Morning Glory’s boyfriend. He slapped my head, hard.
    â€˜That would be lovely, dear,’ he trilled. ‘You sing like an angel. But now is not the time. Officer Watkins is busy.’
    I grasped a fistful of cream-puff frock on either side and did a curtsey. ‘How about a vewy quick danth, then?’
    â€˜No,’ Uncle Tristram said.
    I cocked my head to one side and took a stance. ‘One little rethitation? I know a thooper little poem about a thongbird who gets trapped in a greenhouse and gradually thtarves to death.’
    Uncle Tristram leaned over to kiss me. ‘You precious little duck!’ he carolled. Then he hissed in my ear, ‘You will be dead yourself if you don’t watch it.’
    I thought I’d better watch it.
    Uncle Tristram turned back. ‘Well!’ he warbled. ‘I’m sure Officer Watkins has work to do. Houses to search, and such . . .’

    That seemed to bring our visitor to his senses. He started looking under chairs and peering around suspiciously. ‘Bit of a mess in here,’ he mentioned, pointing to the heaps of clothes on the sofa.
    â€˜Oh, don’t mind that lot,’ Uncle Tristram chirruped. ‘Dear little Titania and I are still unpacking.’
    â€˜What about all these bits of wool and broken ornaments? Has this room seen some kind of fight ?’
    â€˜No,’ I said. ‘I wath jutht playing a little game with thome of the knick-knacks. You thee, I thent the little china pigs off to the fair, and then thome very naughty owls flew over and they—’
    Once again, Uncle Tristram stepped between me and Officer Watkins and surreptitiously cuffed me.
    â€˜Anyhow, a lot of them got thmashed and torn,’ I finished hastily.
    Officer Watkins peered in the cupboards in a businesslike manner. Then he went to the door.
    â€˜I’ll search upstairs now.’
    â€˜While you are up there,’ Uncle Tristram cooed, ‘would you be a perfect treasure and empty the buckets?’
    Morning Glory followed Officer Watkins out of the door and up the stairs to the landing. Even before the two of them were out of earshot, they had taken up their quarrel.
    â€˜I said I heard voices,’ Officer Watkins grumbled. ‘Why did you tell me there was no one there?’
    â€˜Why should I tell you anything?’ said Morning Glory. ‘You’re not still my boyfriend.’
    â€˜Yes, I am.’
    â€˜ Are you?’
    â€˜I am if you want me to be. Do you?’
    â€˜Only if you want to be.’
    â€˜Of course I want to be. You know I love you. You know I always have.’
    â€˜And I love you as well.’
    Uncle Tristram got up from his armchair and pushed the door shut so he didn’t have to hear them kissing. He turned to me. ‘I hope you’re satisfied. Now I have to sit here in this stupid frock until those two have finished billing and cooing.’
    I jumped to my feet just like Titania would at any such opportunity. ‘I could thing you a little thong! Or do a little danth!’
    He grinned. ‘You’re very good at imitating her.’
    â€˜I’ve had a lot of practice – not with the frock!’ I added hastily. ‘Only the voice.’
    â€˜Well, go on,’ Uncle Tristram said. ‘Amuse me. Do that stupid poem of hers about those pathetic kittens who run away from home and die in a snowstorm.’
    â€˜It wath a dark and fearthome night?’
    â€˜That’s the one.’
    â€˜All right.’ I climbed on the coffee table and, bunching the