Free Fleeced by Julia Wills Page B

such a kooky way, isn’t it? Like the old Greeks?” She stepped closer and poked the boy’s shoulder. “He’s real convincing, but the sheep’s a bit moth-eaten, ain’t he?”
    The sheep flared its nostrils. Quickly the boy stamped his foot and after a quick exchange of looks the sheep slumped back down on its haunches, frowning.
    “Guys,” said Rose hesitantly, as Ron tightened his grip on the lead. “Shouldn’t we clear the room?”
    Twenty-three pairs of American eyes, five pairs of Japanese eyes, two pairs of guards’ eyes, the sheep’s golden eyes and the boy’s brown ones all turned to stare at Rose. She felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment and, if you’d asked her later why she chose to speak up at that particular moment,she couldn’t have told you. Perhaps it was because a boy and a sheep turning up to demolish relics in the British Museum was
the
single most awesome thing that had ever happened to her. After all, not even Hazel Praline had her glamorous days interrupted by livestock. Or perhaps it was just because they really looked like they needed some help.
    “I mean,” she went on, “it’d be safer, wouldn’t it?”
    Eric took one hand from the boy and mopped his brow with a handkerchief.
    “She’s right, Ron!” He cleared his throat and turned to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, if we might ’ave your cooperation, please?”
    A moment later, Rose stood holding the sheep’s rope as Ron and Eric ushered the tourists out through the double doors. Aware that the sheep was staring at her and tilting his muzzle from side to side to get a proper look, she turned to face him whereupon he slapped his lips together and concentrated on the ceiling instead.
    A couple of minutes later the guards had bolted the doors and walked back across the empty hall.
    “Forty years,” muttered Eric. “Forty years I’ve looked after that statue lady. Never allowed so much as a lollipop to touch her and now look!”
    “It’s not that bad,” said the boy. “After all,she’d already lost both her arms.”
    Eric and Ron stared open-mouthed.
    “And,” the boy continued, “her stone’s grey. She used to be pure white.”
    “Comedian as well as vandal, are we?” said Ron, his face darkening to a shade of plum. “We’ll see how funny you find it when the police arrive.”
    “Police?” said Rose.
    “Of course,” said Ron. “This here is criminal damage.”
    Rose thought quickly. “But the police won’t arrest a sheep, will they?”
    “No,” Ron muttered coldly. “They’ll bring along,” and here he made a cutting gesture across his neck with his finger, “special services.”
    Aries, who wasn’t much into sign language at the best of times and particularly those from a modern Englishman, had no trouble deciphering this one. Rose heard a noisy gulp from the other end of the lead.
    “That’d be awful!” said Rose.
    “Hardly,” said Eric, reaching for his mobile phone and looking around him. “
This
is what’s awful. One of the museum’s most important finds ruined and me with only three weeks to go till retirement. Where will me invite to the queen’s garden party be now?”
    “Hold on,” said Rose. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t I have a word with my mum? Really, she’s bound to know someone who could fix the statue.” She looked at the shattered mess on the floor. “You know, someone who’s good with glue.”
    The guards looked at her, their interest piqued. Everyone knew how dedicated Rose’s mother was and the hours she spent working on the museum’s artefacts, and slowly their faces brightened. She was as organised as a phone directory. Of course, she’d simply make a list of who to ask and text and phone until everything was perfect again.
    “And,” Rose added, “I bet she could fix things before the museum director comes back from holiday at the end of the week.”
    Ron’s face began to relax. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully he looked at the broken