The Indian in the Cupboard Trilogy. Lynne Banks Reid

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       15: Corporal Fickits

       16: If’n Ya Wanna Go Back …

       17: As Far as You Can Go

       18: Algonquin

       19: The Terror of the Battle

       20: Invasion

       21: Rout of the Skinheads

       Epilogue: By the Fire

       The Secret of the Indian

       Dedication

       1: A Shocking Homecoming

       2: Modest Heroes

       3: How It All Started

       4: Dead in the Night

       5: Patrick Goes Back

       6: A New Insider

       7: Patrick in Boone-land

       8: A Heart Stops Beating

       9: Tasmin Drives a Bargain

       10: A Rough Ride

       11: Ruby Lou

       12: Caught Red-Handed

       13: Mr Johnson Smells a Rat

       14: A Strange Yellow Sky

       15: Interrogation

       16: Panic

       17: The Big Blow

       18: Red Satin

       Epilogue: At a Wedding

       Keep Reading

       Also by the Author

       About the Author

       About the Publisher

The Indian in the Cupboard

       Dedication

      For Omri – Who else?

       1

       Birthday Presents

      It was not that Omri didn’t appreciate Patrick’s birthday present to him. Far from it. He was really very grateful – sort of. It was, without a doubt, very kind of Patrick to give Omri anything at all, let alone a secondhand plastic Red Indian which he himself had finished with.

      The trouble was, though, that Omri was getting a little fed up with small plastic figures, of which he had loads. Biscuit-tinsful, probably three or four if they were all put away at the same time, which they never were because most of the time they were scattered about in the bathroom, the loft, the kitchen, the breakfast-room, not to mention Omri’s bedroom and the garden. The compost heap was full of soldiers which, over several autumns, had been raked up with the leaves by Omri’s mother, who was rather careless about such things.

      Omri and Patrick had spent many hours together playing with their joint collections of plastic toys. But now they’d had about enough of them, at least for the moment, and that was why, when Patrick brought his present to school on Omri’s birthday, Omri was disappointed. He tried not to show it, but he was.

      “Do you really like him?” asked Patrick as Omri stood silently with the Indian in his hand.

      “Yes, he’s fantastic,” said Omri in only a slightly flattish voice. “I haven’t got an Indian.”

      “I know.”

      “I haven’t got any cowboys either.”

      “Nor have I. That’s why I couldn’t play anything with him.”

      Omri opened his mouth to say, “I won’t be able to either,” but, thinking that might hurt Patrick’s feelings, he said nothing, put the Indian in his pocket and forgot about it.

      After school there was a family tea, and all the excitement of his presents from his parents and his two older brothers. He was given his dearest wish – a skateboard complete with kick-board and cryptonic wheels from his mum and dad, and from his eldest brother, Adiel, a helmet. Gillon, his other brother, hadn’t bought him anything because he had no money (his pocket-money had been stopped some time ago in connection with a very unfortunate accident involving their father’s bicycle). So when Gillon’s turn came to give Omri a present, Omri was very surprised when a large parcel was put before him, untidily wrapped in brown paper and string.

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