strangely, he is,’ said the postman, ‘what with the tree and everything. It’s the complaints, you know.’
‘Err, what is?’ said Howard.
‘People have been complaining about him making them work all through Christmas,’ said the postman, ‘and he hasn’t taken it well. Come to think of it, Howard, he hasn’t been right since that conference you went on together.’
‘Hmm,’ said Howard, guiltily.
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said the postman. ‘Got a thirst on, all those boxes.’
‘Bother,’ whispered Mickey Thompson, to Purvis. ‘If he’s stuck doing all that work he won’t have time to take us to see the tree.’
‘We’ll just have to go by ourselves then, won’t we?’ whispered Purvis. ‘Come on.’
‘What, now?’ squeaked Mickey Thompson. ‘We can’t go now.’
‘Why can’t we?’ said Purvis, starting to tiptoe out.
‘Err, err, Ortrud’s asleep,’ said Mickey Thompson.
‘Well, that’s OK. We can take her to see it another time,’ said Purvis. ‘Come on! Let’s go!’
‘I don’t want to,’ said Mickey Thompson.
‘Yes, you do,’ said Purvis. ‘You said you did, before.’
‘And now I don’t.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Oh, no reason,’ said Mickey Thompson, trying to sound casual.
Purvis advanced on Mickey Thompson and there was a small scuffle.
‘Gerroff!’ said Mickey Thompson, ‘All right.’
‘Tell me,’ said Purvis.
‘It,’ whispered Mickey Thompson, and pointed towards the corridor.
‘What it?’ asked Purvis.
‘That. . . post trolley. It’s. . . there.’
‘Oh, don’t be so soft,’ said Purvis. ‘Come along.’ And he led the way into the corridor, where the trolley was waiting. It was wooden and big, with wheels and shelves, and it was saying something.
‘TEN TWENTY ONE,’ it said. ‘TEN TWENTY TWO.’
‘Hello,’ said Purvis.
CLACK! rattled the trolley.
‘Eep,’ said Mickey Thompson, ducking behind Purvis.
‘Ten twenty seven.’
‘What is?’ asked Purvis.
‘The amount I’m behind schedule,’ said the trolley.
‘Ah,’ said Purvis. ‘I see.’
‘TEN THIRTY THREE. What are they doing in there?’
‘Having a cup of tea,’ said Purvis.
CLATTER! went the trolley.
‘Because of the boxes,’ Purvis explained.
‘Forty one!’ said the trolley, tetchily. ‘Four five six seven nine.’
‘I think you might be speeding up a little,’ said Purvis.
CLACK! went the trolley, juddering.‘ I’M NOT THE ONLY ONE, FIFTY TWO: LOOK WHO’s COMING.’
It was Mr Bullerton, Howard’s boss, steaming up the corridor towards them.
‘Eeeeep!’ went the mice, darting under the trolley just in time as Mr Bullerton arrived.
CLAtter! went the trolley, as Mr Bullerton kicked it.
‘WHAT’S THIS THING DOING OUT HERE?’ he bellowed.
C L A T T E R !
went the cups, as Mr Bullerton entered Howard’s room,where Howard and the postman were drinking tea.
‘AND WHAT’S GOING ON IN HERE? Or NOT, to be precise. Well?’
‘Oh, ah,’ said Howard. ‘Mr Bullerton! We were just. . . err. . . ’
‘Having a cup of tea?’ suggested Mr Bullerton.
‘Exactly,’ said Howard.
‘How nice,’ said Mr Bullerton, kicking one of the boxes. ‘And did you get those boxes I sent you?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Howard.
‘Oh good,’ said Mr Bullerton. ‘And have you finished the work yet?’
‘Oh. No,’ said Howard.
‘Oh dear,’ said Mr Bullerton. ‘And have you started the work yet?’
‘Well, no,’ said Howard.
‘I see,’ said Mr Bullerton, going close. ‘Howard Armitage,’ he said, breathing heavily.
‘Hello,’ said Howard.
‘I do not pay you to sit there saying “oh”.’
‘No,’ agreed Howard.
‘And I do not pay you to sit there drinking tea.’
‘Mm,’ agreed Howard.
‘I wonder,’ said Mr Bullerton, sounding interested, ‘what
