Trolls United!

By Alan MacDonald and Mark Beech

Ulrik is desperate to be on the school football team, but he doesn't really understand the rules, and his neighbour Warren Priddle certainly isn't about to explain to the troll next door that wellington boots are not the right footwear, and being Fierce and Scaresome will only get you a red card!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Aug 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781408819036

Alan MacDonald

Alan MacDonald has written over 150 books, including the Devil's Trade and Axel Feinstein series for Scholastic, along with titles in the Dead Famous, Pickle Hill Primary and Double Take series. He is also a regular writer for the Oxford Reading Tree and has had picture books published by Little Tiger Press. Alan MacDonald started his working life in a travelling theatre company. In addition to writing and directing plays, Alan trained as a drama teacher. He has written stories and dramas for the BBC (both television and radio), as well as many children's books. Alan lives in Nottingham.

Book preview

Trolls United!

by Alan MacDonald

illustrations by Mark Beech

To the children of West Bridgford Junior School – A.M.

To my mum, Catherine – M.B.

PRIDDLES: Roger, Jackie and Warren

Description: ‘Pasty-faced peeples’

Likes: Peace and quiet

Dislikes: Trolls

Contents

Grump

Robbers

Foul!

Scrawly Stuff

Two Times Troll

Size Tens

Goats

Temper, Temper

Trial

The Big Match

Job for a Troll

Footnote

Also by the Author

Grump

Thump, Thump, Thump! The sound of Ulrik kicking his new football against the wall echoed through the house.

‘Look, Dad! Watch this!’ he cried. The ball crashed against the wall, bounced on to the table and landed neatly in Mr Troll’s bowl, spraying him with milk and Coco Pops.

‘Ulrik!’ roared Mr Troll. ‘Stop doing that!’

‘Sorry, Dad. It was an accident. I’ve got to practise my shooting.’

‘Practise it somewhere else then.’

‘Oh Egbert, don’t be such a grump! Let him play!’ tutted Mrs Troll. For the past few weeks her husband hadn’t been himself at all. He did nothing but sit around the house all day watching television. Yesterday she’d found him with his nose pressed to the screen talking to people on a chat show called Richard and Judy.

She sat down at the table and emptied out a sock full of coins, stacking them into neat piles. Ulrik came to look over her shoulder.

‘What are you doing, Mum?’ he asked.

‘Counting our peas¹,’ said Mrs Troll. ‘I’ve got to go shopping today.’

‘Are we rich?’ asked Ulrik.

‘I’m afraid not, my ugglesome. Everything costs a pile of peas. That’s why I have to go out to work in the mornings.’

‘Humph! Call that work?’ grunted Mr Troll. ‘Delivering newspapers!’

‘It’s a good thing someone round here does some work,’ replied Mrs Troll frostily. ‘If it was left to you, we’d all be living on Coco Pops.’

‘I like Coco Pops,’ said Ulrik. ‘But there’s never any left. Dad eats them all.’

‘I do not!’ protested Mr Troll. He shook the packet only to find it was empty.

‘Anyway,’ he said, changing the subject, ‘you’re not the only one who can get a job.’

Mrs Troll stared at him. Ulrik stopped playing with the coins on the table.

‘You got a job, Dad? Uggsome! What kind of job?’ he asked.

‘As a matter of fact, it’s in a shop,’ said Mr Troll proudly.

‘Eggy! But that’s wonderful!’ exclaimed Mrs Troll. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’

‘Well, I haven’t got it yet.’

‘You just said you had!’

‘No, I didn’t,’ said Mr Troll. ‘The interview’s this afternoon. But once they meet me, they’ll probably want to make me big boss of the whole shop.’

Ulrik and his mother exchanged looks. In the last month the Job Centre had sent Mr Troll for half a dozen interviews, but not one of them had been successful. Somehow he always returned home in a foul temper and refused to discuss what had happened.

‘What kind of shop is it, Dad?’ asked Ulrik. ‘Do they sell feetball boots?’

‘They sell everything,’ said Mr Troll. ‘It’s that hulksome great shop in town.’

‘Bagley’s?’ said Mrs Troll. ‘Good goblins! You’d better change that vest.’

‘What’s wrong with my vest?’ asked Mr Troll, inspecting the greasy stains on it.

‘At least lick off the beans,’ said Mrs Troll. ‘And when you get to the interview don’t go roaring – you know how it frights peeples. Just speak slowly and softly.’

‘Slowly and softly,’ repeated Mr Troll.

‘And be confident.’

Mr Troll nodded and scratched his enormous bottom in a confident manner.

Mrs Troll glanced at the clock on the wall.

‘Well, I must get to the shops or there won’t be any supper tonight. Are you ready for school, my hairling?’ she asked Ulrik.

‘Yes, Mum,’ said Ulrik.

‘Let me see your fangs.’

Ulrik bared the two small fangs on either side of his mouth.

‘You haven’t been cleaning them again?’ asked Mr Troll.

‘No, Dad.’

‘Or going in that shower?’

‘No, Dad.’

Ulrik tried to squirm away as his dad lifted his arms to sniff underneath. Only last week he’d caught Ulrik in the shower, dabbing himself with a bar of soap.