It was a great picture. Gracie spread the paper out onto the table in the shed. Grandad sucked the air through his teeth and gave a deep and hearty belly laugh.

“It’s super!”

The pumpkin did actually look enormous in the picture—it was something about the angle of the shot.

Marty smiled and for a moment wondered whether his mum would see this. They didn’t get a paper delivered, but he wondered if someone, SOMEONE, would tell her. He’d never EVER been in the paper before.

It turned out that the woman on allotment number 7 used to be a midwife. So Grandad borrowed an old stethoscope from her. And, every morning, he listened in on the pumpkin. Not that it had a heartbeat, but Grandad said that he could hear the juices and the waters flowing in it. Once they stopped, the pumpkin would be ready to pick. Well, when he said pick, he meant it would be time to borrow the samurai sword hanging from the wall of the Crown and Anchor and hack through the thick vine that held it onto the plant.

After the picture in the paper, LOADS more people came to look at it. It became almost like a mecca, a shrine, somewhere people wanted to be. Gracie and Grandad had been to the pound shop to get some paper cups and were selling tea and coffee for fifty pence a go too. The piece in the paper had done its job beautifully, and the more people told it their dreams and wishes, the more and more people came. It was as if, for once in their lives, they could speak to something that was listening.

“You all right, Marty?”

Marty couldn’t actually believe his eyes. He had known one or two who had come to see the pumpkin, but it was truly strange to see Mr. Garraway there.

“I’m okay, thanks.”

“Good, aye,” Mr. Garraway replied, looking rather embarrassed. “Where do I put my fifty pence?” he asked.

Marty nodded to the bucket, and smiled as Mr. Garraway circled the pumpkin and whispered something under his breath.