Colin and the Little Prince by Merv Lambert

Author:Merv Lambert
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Emu, Colin, kids, adventure, Prince, funny, humour, book, children, young, short story, juvenile, bed time
ISBN: 9781781661666
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2012
Published: 2012-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

How Mr. Jellysox Got His Name

“Come here, you little brat!”

Colin gave a start, and out of habit now looked down at what he was wearing. Oh, that was O.K. – his usual blue jeans that he wore when he was not at work. Olivia’s giggles made him realise that all was not as he thought. He looked at her. She was in an orange flowered dress cut above the knee. Bewildered he suddenly thought, “Did someone just call me a little brat?”

“Oh, Colin, look at yourself in the mirror!” gasped Olivia.

He did so and was amazed to see that he was wearing a shirt and tie that matched his wife’s dress. Both were a light orange colour patterned with flowers and the tie was quite wide.

“Egad! I look like someone out of the 1970s!” He must have spoken aloud, but he was interrupted by the same voice he had heard before. It seemed to be coming from the adjoining room.

“I said, ‘Come here, you little brat!” It was a woman’s voice, angry and harsh sounding.

“Hmm,” murmured Colin. “I don’t know where we are, and I don’t remember the bookmark flashing or even glowing.”

“It must have done,” insisted Olivia. “You had just put your finger on a new photo in the special book. It was of Jez Jellysox.” The latter was Colin’s friend and boss, who had a taste for bright multi-coloured clothes.

Now Colin remembered. “Yes, yes. I called you to come and look at it.”

Their little dog Sammy was sitting with his head on one side, listening intently, and M, their unpredictable computer-generated emu, who was invisible to everyone but certain members of their family, was motionless, standing on one leg, posed as if to strike. He too was aware of something nasty going on.

For the third time the unpleasant voice rang out, but even louder this time. “I shan’t tell you again. Come here!” The last two words were uttered as a screech.

Nothing happened for several seconds, but then the room door was flung open and a small boy about 7 years old and dressed all in drab grey clothing – grey jacket, grey shirt, short grey trousers and long grey socks - dashed in. He stopped and stared wide-eyed at Olivia, Colin and Sammy.

“Who are you?” he said, as a red-faced, dishevelled woman appeared in the doorway.

She snarled at the boy. “Who are you talking to now, you little twerp? One of your imaginary friends? There’s no one there!”

“If you say so,” said the youngster. “But you’re the one that’s drunk!”

“How many times do you have to be told? Give it to me! Hand it over!” A rather large, rather grimy hand was thrust out towards the boy, who took a step backwards. M had twisted his neck round, and from six inches away was staring the woman right in the face. He did not look pleased.

“Why should I?” shouted the boy defiantly. “It’s not yours. It’s mine!”

Through gritted teeth the woman tried one last time, pausing between each word.

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