THE HECTIC HEADSPACE OF ABIGAIL SQUALL
"The top of her head felt matted and tacky to the touch.
Bashed and leaking. Like the pineapple. Leaking her own red juice.
She wanted to laugh but it hurt too much... "
So hot! The Scottish seaside town of Balemouth Bay has never experienced such a heatwave.
But there is trouble in paradise. Someone is dropping fruit from the bridge on to unsuspecting heads below. And Abigail Squall's unsuspecting head is lost in thought. She recalls the day she cradled her mother in her arms and listened to those mysterious dying words.
The hit and run driver was still out there. Somewhere...
Distracted by the memory, Abigail neglects to look up...
The pineapple bomb hits its target. The blow transforms Abigail’s traumatised mind into a powerful radio receiver, subjecting her to a relentless invasion of rapid-fire news, music and chatter as every broadcast in the atmosphere crams inside her headspace until the blistering volume threatens to split her skull apart.
But just as she slips towards insanity, a familiar voice cuts through the chaos:
“Hello Pookie! Any requests?”
Granddad’s ghost has a plan. To solve the mystery of her mother’s death, fix her broken family
and silence the crippling noise in her head once and for all, Abigail must set off on a quest
to tear down the town's brand new transmitter.
Eyes? Chestnut. Would prefer blue.
Nose? Too big.
Ears? A bit sticky-out.
Hair? A mess.
Knees? Best hidden from view.
Chest? Too small.
Stomach? Flat. Could be flatter.
Backside? Too big.
Feet? Slightly weird.
Keeper of secrets.
Wayward teenage son.
Bass guitar maestro.
Keeper of the peace.
A soft shell with a hard core
She rustles and she bustles.
She hustles and she snuffles.
Sniffing out secrets like a hog sniffs out truffles.
Breeder of dustbirds.
Expert on moonlings.
Inventor of the lemon combustion engine.
Despiser of moths.
Smoker, joker and cabbage grower.