Buried Alive! by Jacqueline Wilson Page A

‘Oh do put a sock in it, young man! Kelly, find my brolly.’
    Kelly nipped inside the caravan and came out with a very fancy spotty umbrella. She aimed it at a stone with a nifty little swing.
    â€˜Watch it, Kelly! Maybe that umbrella’s a bit fragile.’
    â€˜Let’s play golf instead of cricket,’ said Kelly, giving another stone a whack. Then she squealed, her pony-tail waving like a flag as she jumped up and down.
    â€˜
I
know! Let’s go and play Crazy Golf. Let’s, let’s, let’s!’
    â€˜How can you play Crazy Golf now, dear? It’s nearly dark,’ said Mum, looking at her watch. ‘Oh my goodness, we’d better be getting back to the hotel.’
    â€˜No, one of the kids on the site told me, you can play it by floodlight. Oh
please
!’
    â€˜No, I don’t really think—’ Mum started.
    â€˜Just one quick round. And it’s on us,’ said Dad.
    There’d been a lot of adult argy-bargy about who was paying for the pizzas. Kelly’s mum’s boyfriend Dave had won. Mum was mega-fussed about it, so she couldn’t reallyback out of the Crazy Golf idea, seeing as it was now our treat.
    There was just one problem. One huge enormous disastrous drawback.
    â€˜I’ve never played Crazy Golf!’ I said.
    â€˜Neither have I – but it’s great,’ said Kelly.
    â€˜Have you played Crazy Golf, Biscuits?’ I asked.
    â€˜Nope. Like the sound of Crazy. Not too nuts about the Golf bit though,’ said Biscuits, easing the waistband on his straining tracksuit trousers.
    â€˜We all need a bit of exercise,’ said Dad, patting his own tummy. He seized Kelly’s mum’s umbrella and did a fancy golf swing of his own.
    â€˜Oooh, I can see we’ve got an expert here,’ said Kelly’s mum, fluttering her eyelashes at him.
    Dad gave a silly laugh and then patted baby Keanu on the head. Keanu howled harder.
    I felt like howling myself when we got to the Crazy Golf. It was brilliantly lit up by floodlight, with heaps of people playing. The course was huge, with little waterfalls trickling here and there, and all sorts of twisty bits and hidey holes and hillocks. There was a wide wall all the way round the course so thatpeople could peer over and gawp at the golfers.
    Dad was a bit taken aback when he saw how much it was, but he said, swallowing hard, that he’d like tickets for seven players, him and Mum, Kelly’s mum and Kelly’s mum’s boyfriend Dave, Kelly herself and Biscuits and me.
    â€˜
And me!
’ Dean said, outraged. ‘Me play too! I can play, can’t I, Mum,
can’t I
?’
    â€˜Of course you can play. Sorry, pal, I just didn’t realize you were big enough,’ said Dad.
    â€˜I’m
ever
so big,’ said Dean, standing on tiptoe.
    I was huddling up in horror.
    â€˜Dad, just get seven tickets. I won’t play,’ I said.
    â€˜What? Of course you’re playing, Tim,’ said Dad.
    â€˜But I don’t want to,’ I hissed. ‘I can’t play Crazy Golf. I’ll be useless.’
    â€˜Don’t be silly, Tim. It’s
fun
,’ said Dad.
    Everyone else thought it was fun. We were all given golf clubs, big ones for the grown-ups, middley ones for Biscuits and Kelly and me, and a little one for Dean. He waved it above his head excitedly. It caught me on the chin. It hurt a
lot
but Dad gave me a warning glance and I couldn’t say anything much.
    Kelly had first go and she hit the ball so hard it whizzed right across the first green, hit the wall at the end, and went socking straight back to where she’d started. I went bright red on her behalf but she just laughed.
    â€˜That was just a practice shot!’ she said, and had another go.
    This time her aim was perfect. She hit the ball so that it whizzed up the little slope but slowed down in time so that it stopped almost on the edge of the hole.
    â€˜Wow!