Page 33 - LonnyQuicke

Hold on – what was that?
A flash of orange, down the end of the garden. Between the trees.
Crock-a-crock-a-crock!
Not those girls again – Erin and Katy?
It couldn’t be, could it?
Crock-a-crock-a-crock!
I squint at the shade between the birches.
You’re going crazy, Lonny. There’s no way they’d
come this far. You’re fretting. Worse than Midge. There – again – a flash of orange. Crock-a-crock-a-crock!
“FOX!”
Grandad? I look back to the house.
“FOX!” He’s looking down the garden through his binoculars, elbows hanging out the window. “GET AWAY, YOU BUSHY-BOTTOMED BLIGHTER! GET AWAY!”
Fox.
Course it is.
It’s not the girls at all. Course it’s not.
A quick nose, a disappearing tail, and the fox is
gone. Not that it had anything to fear from Grandad. It’s been a good year since he even bothered making it downstairs, let alone into the garden. He’s no threat to anyone.
Fox doesn’t know that, though.
“S’all right, Grandad,” I shout up. “It’s gone.” “IT’S WHAT?”
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