After graduating from Cambridge University and working

as a childrens television presenter in Hong Kong, Sadie

lived and worked as a TV presenter, writer, filmmaker and
actress in London, Paris and Los Angeles. She now presents
comedy as Miss Adventure for Radio Television Hong
Kong, while producing her own documentaries. She
recently acted in a couple of movies in LA, West of
Thunder and FLIM. She is the artistic director of non-
profit arts organization Art Saves Lives International and an
ambassador for several youth charities, including Child
Builder, the Princes Trust and Reformed Foundation.

For more on Sadie, visit: www.sadiekaye.tv








Dedicated to the real Mia and Kaz







Sadi e K aye


T H E W I S H I N G M A C H I N E






























Copyright Sadie Kaye

The right of Sadie Kaye to be identified as author of this work has
been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the
publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this
publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims
for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British
Library.


ISBN 978 184963 938 5


www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2014)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LB








Printed and bound in Great Britain



Acknowledgments

First and foremost, Im beyond grateful to my friend and
illustrator Charlotte Farhan for creating the sublime
illustrations for The Wishing Machine. Charlotte, youre an
artistic genius and I hope this wont be our only book
collaboration! Readers, if you are unaware of Charlottes
sensational and distinctive artwork, I urge you to visit
www.charlottefarhanart.com.

My family: Especially my inspirational and supportive parents,
who have read every draft of TWM, flagging up some of my
most inappropriate humour (for a kids book) and correcting
some choice spellings. I am also indebted to my sister Amy,
bro, Rasheed, and wonder-woof (aka Hobo-dog Kaye!)
However, I am especially indebted to my cheeky niece, Mia,
and my angelic (comparatively) nephew, Kaz. Thank you for
inspiring me to write this book and also for enabling me to
misuse your identities for humorous purposes.

My publishers: for their unstinting support and encouragement.

I would also like to acknowledge my parents rambling house
in Devon on which Old Dump is based. It has now been
restored and renovated, although this took them over twenty
years!

I also have a few important extra dedications to some of my
favourite kids who have helped and inspired me!


Foremost, my delightful little Goddaughter, Luna
Robson, her adored parents Anna and Ken, and, for
the sake of quelling future sibling rivalry, the equally
delightful Niko Robson!

Alphie and Edwin Dandridge-Walker and the entire
incredible Cunningham-Dandridge-Walker clan for
their boundless encouragement and love.

Skye Deguttola, 9, and her wonderful parents, Raff
and Simone, who have been so unstinting in their
friendship and made me laugh until I wet myself on
more than one embarrassing occasion.

Jasper and Sebbie Sherry-Hampel and family.

Zreh and Ariya Dhillon and all Shroffs!

Last, but by no means least, I would like to acknowledge my
magnificent friends as yet unmentioned. You may be surprised
to find Ive sat down long enough to write a book (albeit a kids
book), but you have all enriched my life, made me laugh and
contributed more than you know. Big love to Kelly Field,
Richard Saul, Kate Young, Jody Marriot Bar-Lev, Geoffrey
Nganga, Charlotte Hudson, Dan Davies, Katia Michael,
Kushan Zefari, Greg Flynn, Naomi Sherry, Alex & Jen
Giannini, Jacqui Blandford, Niall Fraser, Robert Young, James
Daly, Dean Stalham, Jonny Summers, Ashe Foster, Hugo
Jackson, Melissa Davies, Rupert Foggy Foster, Howard
Raymond, David Frederick, Jess Kedward, Ben Evans, Dave
Flynn, Melanie Bradley, Romy Lisners, Jasmine Flagg, Steve
James, Hugh Chiverton, Johnny Lambe and Jonathan Douglas.


Contents

1. The Devon Dream 11
2. Down in the Dump 26
3. A Funeral and a First Day 33
4. Bear Scare 38
5. Speech and a Mini-Announcement 50
6. The Tinkerbell Theory 60
7. Hurricanes and Heartbreak 70
8. Groomed and Doomed 75
9. Magik Moment 82
10. The Little Boy Who Knew Everything About Everything
89
11. The Curse of Celebrity 95
12. The Hex Factor 101
13. University Challenged 107
14. Triumph and Treason 110
15. Dumping the Old 117
16. The Final Wish 121





1. The Devon Dream



Just imagine! Therell be loads of fun things to do in the
summer! trilled Dad, as he swerved the Skoda around a
hairpin bend in the lane, rattling Mums nerves and
everyones teeth.
Summer? But its nearly the end of September, Dad!
Mia protested. What are we supposed to do till June?

Oh, it wont take that long to warm up! Dad claimed,
confidently. This part of Devon is known as The English
Riviera. They even have palm trees! Imagine that, Mia!
As Dad drove through the sleepy Devon village of
Tippleden, Mia tried to imagine it was California, but it
wasnt easy. Faced with the fading leaves on the row of
mournful, wizened oak trees they were passing, her
imagination soon surrendered to bleak reality. Moodily, she
argued, Theres no surfers, no film stars, no limos
Theres not even an ice-cream van. Are you sure this is the
right village, Dad?
Mum scrunched her face as Dad carelessly parked the
Skoda, battering the underside as he unwittingly drove over
a clutter of garden gnomes. Mia elbowed Kaz awake and
the family tumbled out the car, gasping their relief to stretch
cramped legs after the abominable journey down from
London, and exuberant to glimpse their new home, for the
very first time, through an overgrown hedge.
By the time the family had heaved back the rotten green
gates and wandered up the imposing, semi-circular drive,
Mum and Dad looked like half-wits, so gigantic were their
smiles.

Am I dreaming, Dave? giggled Mum, her full-moon
face shimmering with enchanted approval.
Even Mia had to admit it: the house looked very
impressive from the outside. It was nearly as majestic as
Buckingham Palace.

Were home! Dad declared proudly as he knocked on
the door.
Yome, Kaz echoed wistfully, translating Dads
declaration with ease into his own unique language.
Whats he saying, Mia? demanded Dad.
Home, scowled Mia and pursed her lips. When Dad
wasnt even trying to understand his son, it vexed her more

than she could possibly describe in words. What if Kaz had
been born first and Dad hadnt had Mia to translate for
another five years?
To speak like Kaz, youd need to replace the first letter
of any word you wished to use in conversation with the
letter y. Kaz also detested the letters f and s. These
letters hed therefore cunningly, and somewhat deviously,
replaced with the letter d.
Unfortunately, Kazs unusual speech impediment meant
that he had a real problem pronouncing his own name. His
full name was Casey Finchley Fishlock. Mum and Dad had
decided that Kaz calling himself Yaz was cooler
(comparatively) than Yadey.
Old Dump?! Mia scornfully exclaimed. She pointed
to the houses dusty name-plaque, which did indeed read
OLD DUMP.
Not Old DUMP, Mia! Old PUMP! chuckled Dad,
before pointing and saying, Look, you can see where the
bottom of the Ps rusted off.
Did Great Aunt Sadie ever live here? Mia raised a
suspicious eyebrow. It was almost inconceivable to her that
a member of her family had ever been able to afford a
palatial home like this.

She did, briefly. But then she won a fortune gambling
on horses and moved to Australia. The details are foggy and
the stuff of Fishlock family legend, but she blew her vast
fortune in an impressively short period of time and died
alone in a mental hospital, Dad imparted cheerfully.
A charming story to tell two impressionable children,
Dave! Mum hissed at him.
Who lives here now? Mia inquired, engaged and
impressed at last.
Dad shrugged. No idea, but Sadie stated in her will that
they should be allowed to live here for as long as they
wished before I inherited her house! Wasnt that kind of my
Aunt Sadie? Although she was certified as containing 99%
nuts.
Oh, for goodness sake, Dave! Mum barked at Dad.
Lets hear no more about her!
Pressing his ear to Old Dumps front door to listen for
signs of life beyond it, Dad griped to Mum: Theres no-one
here. Theyre out.
And so the Fishlocks were already morosely trudging
back to the car when the front door was finally flung open
by a spectral old man. In a faint, wheezing voice, the

decrepit old man stutteringly introduced himself as Mr.
Dawes.
To Mia and Kazs utmost wonderment and
embarrassment Dad insisted on carrying Mum over the
threshold like a new bride, nearly buckling from the strain.
But as they walked through the door and into the hall, Dad
dropped Mum like a sack of mouldy potatoes.
Oh. My. God. Mia groaned with horrified delight. No
wonder Great Aunt Sadie wound up in a funny farm.
Mum was in such a state of stupefaction herself, she
was unable to physically shove Mia back out the door and
shout at her for her disgraceful use of the G-word.
Meanwhile, Dad was clearly struggling to stifle the A, B, C,
D, E and F-word.
Mia took odious satisfaction in watching her parents
beaming smiles distort revoltingly into gruesome masks of
horror as they surveyed the crumbling stairs, the decayed
splintered floorboards, and the weaving maze of wires that
encrusted every surface like creeping ivy.
The inside of the house looked like a bombsite! At least
now Mia was certain Mum would pack her and Kaz back in
the car and the family would gratefully make their escape

back to London. Her parents Devon Dream was finally
over! Yesssss!!!
But to Mias utter horror, her mother gathered herself up
from the broken paving stones, dusted herself down and
proceeded to rhapsodize, Ooh, its lovely Mr. Dawes!
What do you think, Dave?
At which point, Dad was pulled out of his funereal
reverie and instantly returned to his usual overly optimistic
self. It certainly reeks. Of potential! Dad agreed with
Mum. And plenty of character too.
As if the house of horror had a personality.
To Mias shame and disgust, she saw that Kaz looked
every bit as enchanted with the repellent house as her
parents. This was despite her brother making an immediate
beeline to pick up some wires and receiving a sharp electric
shock that propelled him across the hall like a firework
and made his Afro hairdo look even bigger than usual.
So this was Old Dump. Never had a house been so
appropriately, if accidentally, named, decided Mia.
The old man, Mr. Dawes, looked to be about three
hundred years old. The tour of the house took nearly as

long, as the hunched Mr. Dawes tried his best to straighten
his crumbling frame with every miniscule step.
Once they had viewed the living room (shambles),
bedrooms (deathtraps), kitchen (almost non-existent) and
toilet (outside and little more than a hole in the ground),
Mr. Dawes led the family up the rickety staircase to the
attic.
There were so many floorboards missing from the
creaking stairs that Kaz kept plummeting through the gaps
and having to be rescued by Dad. In the end, Dad stuck Kaz
on his shoulders. Which meant it was Kaz who had the first
glimpse, across the broken floorboards, of the top floor
attic.
Whats it like, Kaz? demanded Dad.
Yat! Yat! shrieked Kaz.
Rat! Rat! translated Mia, without even needing to be
asked by Dad.
Mums face dropped. She hated dirty rats. But when
they finally tumbled into the attic, scratching themselves
furiously, they realized it was just a silly bat that had flown
in. Dad shooed it out like Batman.

Feeling Kaz had let her down abysmally by siding with
Mum and Dad over the house, Mia erupted with rage at her
brother: Why cant you talk proper, you stupid baby!
Talk properly, Mia. Mum automatically corrected her,
making Mia seethe.
Kaz, who could understand English perfectly, while
choosing not to speak it himself, called Mia a Yig! and
pulled her long, wavy hair hard, just as Mum and Dad were
engrossed in admiring a rail of moth-eaten 17th Century
(Mia guessed) clothes.
OWW! howled Mia. Then ratted on her brother: Kaz
pulled my hair and called me a pig, Mum!
No, he was saying wig, Mia. Im sure of it. Look!
Mum was pointing to a grotty old wig. Kaz, also, followed
Mums pointing finger to the wig. Then he shot Mia a
wicked smile and gave her long hair another agonizing yank
while nobody was looking.
OWWWWWWWWWW! Bum off, Kaz!
Mum pursed her lips, hearing Mia say this. Having been
banned from swearing by her parents, Mia had taken to
inventing her own rude expressions. Bum off! was her
cheeky new favourite.

Mr. Dawes led the family through the dust and rubble
towards the top floors only window, which was small and
arched. They all scrunched their eyes to peer through it into
the mist.


There! Mr. Dawes proudly exclaimed. Everybody
followed his trembling finger out the window, desperately
trying to figure out what it was they were supposed to be
admiring.
Ah yes, the chimney! Dad remarked eventually,
evidently hoping a wild guess might move the tour along.
NO! Mr. Dawes bellowed, with alarming strength.
That there be Dartmoor.
Where? Mia snapped. She was weary listening to her
parents humour Mr. Dawes, just because he had one gnarled
foot in the grave. All she could see was some big blobby
black clouds.
If you can see the moors, its about to rain. If you cant
see the moors, its already raining, Mr. Dawes predicted
pessimistically. And accurately! The rain suddenly started
to hammer down straight through the ceiling.
Is it raining in the house, Dave? Mum whimpered.
Dont worry, love. Just a bit of damp, I expect. As
Dad muttered these reassuring words to Mum, Mia could
plainly see he had his fingers crossed behind his back.
So much for the English Riviera, grumbled Mia.

Mia! Mum hissed warningly, for what felt like the
millionth time that morning. Can you please stop being
such a Moaning Minnie for five minutes?
Ill try one minute, Mia reluctantly compromised.
After inhaling the stench of damp rotting wood in the
house for so long, the family was relieved when Mr. Dawes
eventually led them to fresh air and a chance to view the
untamed wilderness outside.
Lovely garden, Mr. Dawes, cooed Mum, as they
admired the ten-foot weeds and crinkled their noses at the
fetid reek of blocked drains.
They were baffled by the giant wire structure, which
dominated the garden and reminded Mia of a prisoner of
war camp she had once observed on the News.
Whats that? Dad meekly inquired of Mr. Dawes. The
old man stared at Dad in disbelief. Fruit cage, he
disclosed with a grimace that conveyed These Londoners
know nothing.
Ah, yes. Dad nodded sagely, as if it was obvious now.
Kaz, of course, had rushed to pick up the biggest of the
gardens carpet of monstrous sticks. He was now running
around like a wild thing, assassinating fruit trees and

smashing the few remaining panes of glass the dilapidated
greenhouse boasted.
Lots of character, enthused Dad, although it was
unclear whether he was talking about the garden or Kaz.
Urgh. I hate it here, moaned Mia, a mere fifteen
seconds since she had declared this the last time.
How well did you know Daves Aunt Sadie, Mr.
Dawes? Mum chatted on, pointedly ignoring Mia. But Mr.
Dawes reply was completely drowned out by Kazs
unearthly wail of terror.
After charging deep within the fruit cage with his new
best stick, Kaz had been petrified to discover a heinous old
hag crouching amidst the tangled brambles. The hag looked
like she had blood smeared on her hands and around her
mouth.
YAAAAAUHHHHYHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
A! yelled Kaz, as he legged it out of the barbed wire cage
door and leapt into Mums arms.
Kazs hasty retreat from the fruit cage was immediately
followed by the appearance of the wrinkled old hag who
had scared him. As the old woman ambled towards the
family, she wiped her bloodied mouth on her sleeve.

Is that your wife? squeaked Mia to Mr. Dawes.
No, that be my daughter, Bertha, Mr. Dawes chortled.
Mias jaw dropped. Her estimation of Mr. Dawes age
had obviously been wildly inaccurate: Mr. Dawes must be
at least four centuries old to have a daughter this geriatric.
Weve loved living here, the ancient woman who was
Mr. Dawes daughter said brightly to Mum and Dad. As
Bertha offered Dad her knotty and bloodied hand to shake,
Dad looked repulsed, until Mum hissed at him that the
stains on Berthas mouth and hands were from picking and
scoffing redcurrants.
Feeling braver, Mia snidely retorted to Bertha, If you
love it here so much, why are you leaving?
All our wishes have come true. Its time to make way
for new folk now. As Bertha uttered these maudlin words,
Mr. Dawes nodded his agreement with his daughter.
What a strange and unsettling answer. Who could
possibly live in Old Dump for four centuries and believe all
their wishes had come true?
As if reading Mias mind, a secretive smile spread over
Berthas face, instantly making her look younger and
marginally more attractive. Though she still had a smile that

reminded Mia of broken tombstones, perhaps Bertha was
not quite as old as three hundred? Perhaps she was 40, or
41?
Yan yee yo yow, Yummy? begged Kaz.
Whats he saying, Mia? demanded Dad.
He says he wants to get out of here and never look
back! Mia translated, not altogether untruthfully. Thank
God. Kaz had finally seen Old Dump as the sinister well,
dump it was.
Its certainly a charming garden! Mum gushed again,
before apologising to Bertha and Mr. Dawes that the kids
were getting tired. Is there anything else we should see
before we go home? By home, it was obvious to Mia
that Mum meant the car.
Follow me! Mr. Dawes chortled, with a wink to
Bertha.
Mia groaned inwardly (and outwardly) as the family
traipsed off to see what Mia desperately hoped would be the
final stop on the depressing tour. Ahead of them was a
narrow wooden staircase, which crookedly descended into
darkness.



2. Down in the Dump


And now, announced Mr. Dawes, with a flourish of his
bony old wrist, my favourite room in the whole house: the
cellar.
As Dad helped the weedy old man shove open the heavy
iron door to the cellar, Mr. Dawes beamed, showing nearly
all of his false teeth. His wrinkled old eyes were gleaming
in what little daylight remained.
The Fishlock family dutifully followed Mr. Dawes into
the swirling, inky blackness beyond the door. Kaz held
Mums hand firmly he was only five and still frightened
of the dark. Dad punched the light switch, but no light
obeyed his command.
Mia decided that Mr. Dawes must be madder than a box
of frogs if this was his favourite room in the whole rotten
house. What was he hoping to achieve, forcing them down
here? There was nothing to see and no light to see nothing
with.

Im only part way through wiring the house for
electricity, Mr. Dawes apologised. It was all Mia could do
not to dissolve into greedy guffaws hearing Mr. Dawes utter
this. Who in 21st Century Britain had ever heard of a house
with no electricity? It was cracked. Nuts. Potty. Cuckoo.
Moonstruck. Mental. Barmy. Screwy. Daft. Fruity. Bonkers.
Bats in the Belfry!


Theres not electricity throughout the house, then?
From the little Mia could see of Dads face in the dark, it
was clear Dad found this just as disturbingly absurd as she
did.
Not yet. I only started wiring in 1974. My late wife
didnt trust electricity. As Mr. Dawes divulged this, he
struck a match and lit a candle. His face looked hollow and
even more ghoulish in the candlelight. Mia shuddered and
Kaz leapt up into Mums arms and buried his face in her
shoulder.
Riiiiiiiiiiiight, said Dad, speaking for everyone.
Lurking in the leaping shadows of the murky cellar was
what looked like a large black metal box. Is that a washing
machine? demanded Mia, though when she thought about
it, it was obvious. It had a round window on one side, and a
row of dials and switches above it. How do you power that
thing if you dont have electricity?
Oh, we have power for that, Bertha cackled. It may
be an old model, but it does the job perfectly.
And what kind of a job is that? muttered Mia.


Glowering at her daughter, before expertly changing the
subject and breezing on to Bertha, Mum claimed, I havent
seen a machine this size since I was a little girl!
Yeah, its practically prehistoric, sniped Mia, even
louder than she intended.
MIAAA! screeched Mum. Her hand was itching to
smack Mias bum.
But Bertha just grinned at Mia as she loaded dirty
washing into the machine and with one deft flick of her
wrist, switched it on.
The washing machine juddered and shuddered into life,
producing a deafening, clattering noise, like a million bums

being smacked. The family suddenly had to dodge out of
the way, as the machine lurched menacingly towards them.
Thats why we keep it in the cellar, Bertha cackled
raucously. Mum and Dad laughed heartily, as if the old
witch had just recounted the wittiest joke in the world.
Mia groaned despairingly. Mum, youre not seriously
thinking of using this crummy old thing, are you? To
demonstrate her disapproval, Mia gave the machine a
petulant kick.
This was the last straw for Mum. Mia, I wish youd put
a sock in it! she fumed.
Thats when the magic happened. Right in front of
them. Only they were too blind to see it in the dark and
dingy cellar.
As Mia rolled her eyes sarcastically and opened her
mouth wide to make a point of yawning, a balled-up sock
flew across the cellar and stuffed itself into Mias gaping
mouth. The sock burrowed its way deep in Mias throat,
causing her to choke and splutter simultaneously!
As Bertha chattered on about spin cycles to a blank
Dad, Mum spun around to give her daughter a fierce
warning look. But Mums expression changed to shock and

dismay as she realised Mia had stuffed a dirty sock into her
mouth and seemed to be in serious danger of choking to
death.
Mum was livid. Absolutely furious! Mia Fishlock, will
you take that sock out of your big mouth and stop behaving
like a spoilt brat? Mum prised open Mias mouth like a
dentist and removed the sock. What do you think you were
doing? You could have choked, you silly girl.
I didnt do it and I was choking! Mortified, Mia burst
into a torrent of tears. Kaz did it! she bawled. It was the
only explanation Mia could think of. And just the sort of
cruel, diabolical thing that Kaz might do.
Kaz was holding my hand! Mum scolded her, her
patience worn to a thread. So unless hes got bendy arms
that stretch like an old piece of Blu-Tack, youre a big
fibber, Mia Fishlock!
As Mum glared at Mia, Mia glared at Kaz. But Kaz was
looking genuinely puzzled, still innocently clasping Mums
hand. How did Kaz do it? How could he even reach Mias
mouth? He was only five and Mia was nearly eleven.
I didnt do it, Mum. It was KAZ, railed Mia.

Yi yidnt yoo yit, Yia! Kaz put his little foot down
firmly.
YES, YOU DID!
Yo, Yia. Yoo yid yit. Yoo yere yeing dilly, Yia!
Hes lying, Mum. Why would I put a stinking, foul-
tasting sock in my own mouth?
Because I told you to put a sock in it and you thought
you were being clever, you silly girl. After exasperatedly
declaring this, chin jutted and teeth clenched so hard her
molars might crack, Mum gave a little nod and folded her
arms (Nod + Arms = Subject Over).
Mia felt a prickle down her spine. Her arms and legs
were covered in goose bumps. In her shock and abject
horror, Mia had completely forgotten that Mum had used
those exact words. Of course, Mum hadnt meant for Mia to
put an actual sock in her mouth. Mum just wanted Mia to
stop moaning.
The washing machine had somehow done a 360-degree
turn. Its flashing button eyes were blinking madly at Mia.
Something was not quite right about this washing
machine. Something was not right at all.



3. A Funeral and a First Day


Less than three weeks later, the Fishlock family had moved
into Old Dump, while continuing to sleep in the car for
reasons of comfort.
One of the very first things the family had to do was
bury the cat in the wilderness garden. Unfortunately, Tipsy
had not survived the long car journey from London to
Devon. Mum claimed Tipsy was an old cat. Mia suspected
the cat had deliberately died to avoid having to live in Old
Dump.
Fortunately, nobody (except Mum) had really liked the
cat. It had always been a biting, scratchy thing. While it
would be an exaggeration to say that Mia and Kaz were
pleased the cat had perished, it was quite obvious that Dad
was delighted.
It was a Fishlock tradition that Dad would always fib a
few words to God at family pet funerals, telling God how
the dead pet would never be forgotten, before shovelling

earth on the poor pets shallow grave and instantly
forgetting about it.
In the case of Tipsy, Dad was clearly struggling to find
the words to tell God anything about the cat that would not
upset and infuriate Mum. She had always rightly referred to
Tipsy as my cat and was now blubbing all over the multi-
coloured moggy, whose fur had never fully recovered from
Kazs well-intentioned paint job two years before.
Dear God, please look after Tipsy, Dad prayed,
glancing nervously at Mum. She was a pet of ours, he
declared diplomatically, and she will never be forgotten.
Dad then muttered, Thanks to that big ugly scar she left
above Kazs right eye! before continuing in a reverent
voice, Please ensure our vicious
Dave! hissed Mum.
Sorry love, precious little cat always has a good
selection of brand new sofas and curtains to destroy in
Heaven
DAVE! hissed Mum.
Sorry, love. Tipsy loved us so much, God, she would
leave dead mice and other creatures you created as presents
for us each morning. Though her fine hunting ability would

have come in handy now weve discovered a rats nest in
the basement. But that was Tipsy. She died just before she
could have been any use to us the little!
DAAAVE! screeched Mum. After that, Mia and Kaz
followed Mum as she ran sobbing into the house, leaving
Dad to fill in the hole and then do a little dance on Tipsys
grave.

Mia and Kaz were quickly enrolled at Tippleden
Primary School and several weeks passed, during which
time Mia and Kaz both had birthdays. Making new friends,
Mia quickly discovered, was not nearly as fun, or as easy, as
Mum and Dad had made it sound.
There was one nasty boy who wouldnt stop teasing Mia
about her posh London accent, even though posh was
the last thing Mias accent was. Mia thought Nasty Boys
teasing of her accent was a bit rich, considering he had a
stupid Devon accent. But Mia was bright enough to realise
that saying this out loud was unlikely to make her any new
friends in Devon. Ever. Period. Full stop.
But for all her mischief and cheekiness towards Mum
and Dad, Mia was a sensitive girl and the constant teasing
was more than she could bear. She started to hate school.

She desperately wanted all the other kids to like her, even
though they didnt know her. But this was impossible
because Nasty Boy was a bully and the other kids were all
frightened of who hed torment next.
School was a very different experience for Kaz. If there
were children that Kaz, with his innate respect for fairness,
didnt like, he would either punch them or hit them with his
stick. He was probably the only kid in school who wasnt
afraid of anyone (except, occasionally, Mum).
Seeing Mia was upset, Kaz kindly offered to hit Nasty
Boy with his stick. Mia considered Kazs generous offer for
a very long time, throughout lunch-break in fact, before
deciding no, she was eleven now, and she really didnt want
her silly six-year old brother and his childish stick winning
her battles for her.
Mia didnt know how, but she would find a way to
make Nasty Boy like her. Even if it killed her, or before Kaz
killed him.





4. Bear Scare


Like most kids, and many adults, Mia and Kaz cherished
favourite teddy bears theyd had since birth. Mias bear was
called Star Bear and Kazs was called Mr. Cuddles.
Unfortunately, it wasnt just Tipsy the cat who had not
survived the interminable car journey from London to
Devon in particularly great shape. Star Bear and Mr.
Cuddles were barely recognisable.
Mia had dropped Star Bear onto the road when Dad had
lurched the car off the hard shoulder before Mia had
managed to shut her door. Poor Star Bear had then been
inadvertently run over by a lorry that had advertised boring
old washing machines.
And Kaz had managed to spill a litre of sticky, purple
Ribena all over Mr. Cuddles when Dad had crashed the car
into a hedge after spotting a sign for Tippleden that
confusingly appeared to be pointing to a field of cows.