Excerpt from The Tightrope Walkers by David Almond, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Days later I was in town buying bread for my mam. I was beside Dragone's coffee shop. Here came Bernard, passing by.

I grabbed his arm.

Stared into his frightened eyes.

"What do yewant?" he said. "Let me bliddy go."

"Why do you let him do it to you?" I said.

"Let who diy what?"

"You know what I mean. Why do you let him treat you like dirt?"

"What he does and what I diy is nowt to diy with bliddy ye."

"He could have killed you with that knife!"

"Oh, no! Vincent could have killed his poor ickle Bernard!"

He sniggered. He pulled away, walked away.

"Squawk squawk!" he squeaked. "Squawk, squawk bliddy s q u a w k ."

He turned.

"And you're jealous!" he said.

"What?"

"Aye. Cos I've got a proper pal in him, and Vincent's got a proper pal in me."

I laughed at the stupid idea.

"And who've ye got, chicken?" he said. "That locked-up crazy witch's daughter! And I've got the one and only hard as nails and scary Vincent bliddy McAlinden." He pointed at me. "And I'll set him on you if you divent bliddy let me be."He laughed.

"Mebbe you're the one he gets to kill!"

Then off he ran, uphill towards the waste.


And I walked by Vincent with Holly Stroud one day, and he was sitting on a stone, and fondling his dog.

"Dom!" he cried. "And his bonny lass!"

He jumped to his feet.

"Watch this!" he cried.

A hen must have escaped from his garden. He ran to it, lifted it up in both hands and held it squawking and frantic in the air above his head. Then crouched and slammed the bird across his knee, twisted its neck, and strangled it right there in front of us. Then held it out to us again as it jerked and shuddered in its post-death throes.

"Tek it!" he said. "Tek it home and cook it for your tea!"

He giggled.

"You're horrible, Vincent McAlinden," said Holly, looking calmly at him.

"Ah well," he answered. "Nen of us is perfect, eh?"

And he lifted the hen to his open mouth as if about to eat it feathered and raw. He went on giggling as we walked away.

"Gannin for a little shag?" he yelled.

We were seven or eight years old.

"Yes!" yelled Holly, laughing loud. "We're gannin for a little shag!"

"I'll come!" he called. "Let me come and I'll join in!"

Holly went on laughing.

"Don't leave me!" yelled Vincent. "You're me mate, Dom! And oh how I love you, lovely Holly Stroud!"

The Tightrope Walkers Copyright © 2014 by David Almond. Reproduced by permission of the publisher, Candlewick Press, Somerville, MA.