‘Yeah, but don’t tell Mum and Dad about it. It’s our secret.’

‘Why? ’Cause it’s magic?’

‘Yes, Ben. ’Cause it’s magic.’

When Maeve got in from sixth-form college she was in a super-good mood too.

She ruffled my hair as she came into the living room. ‘All right, Sam?’

‘Yeah, fine.’

‘How was school?’

‘We got the day off today. Boiler broke down.’

‘That was a result, wasn’t it? Still, it’s not too bad there, is it?’

‘It’s OK.’

‘Listen, I’m sorry if I talked it up a bit, you know. I was only teasing.’

‘No worries. How was your day?’

‘Fantastic!’

‘Why?’

I knew why, obviously, because I’d made a few wishes, but I wanted to hear how they’d worked out.

It was all going swimmingly with Stefan Bumgarner. He was totally crazy about her and went around holding her hand all day, which he never used to like doing, but now it was as if he wanted to advertise his love to the whole world. Also, he’d bought them both tickets to see some weird French circus where they ride motorbikes on tightropes and juggle chainsaws to the accompaniment of loud rock music and crazy laser displays, which she’d always wanted to go and see.

‘Sounds great.’

‘Yep. Life’s sweet!’ She smiled, and I realized how pretty she was when her face wasn’t all creased up in a scowl.

Mum was in the kitchen now, cooking supper, and singing at the top of her voice. She couldn’t wait for Bernard Souter to turn up.

A key turned in the front door and my dad came in. I went into the hall to greet him.

‘Hey Sam!’ He gave me a hug. ‘You’ll never believe what happened to me today!’

‘What?’

‘I have to tell your mum this!’ I followed him into the kitchen. ‘Roger Haggerston came to my office today, and he said I was so good at my job that he wanted to promote me – to his job! He’s going to step down, because he says he knows I’m the better man!’

‘Did he really say that?’

‘His exact words. “You’re the better man by far”, he said.’

‘Amazing!’

‘My salary’s going to double, and I’m going to have a much bigger office, with a drinks cabinet and a view of the river.’

‘Fantastic!’

The doorbell rang. Mum ran to open it, and it was Bernard Souter. He was wearing white trousers and a cream-coloured jacket and a sort of candy-striped shirt.

‘Good evening, Mr Souter!’

‘Oh, please, you must call me Bernard. And I shall call you Susan!’

‘Well, you could, but my name’s actually Nicola.’

‘I beg your pardon, Nicola. Yes, Nicola Polkinghorne is a name that the world will soon know very well indeed! Your wonderful work is like a breath of fresh air in a stale and dusty mausoleum!’