‘Surely you jest? The painting is worth many times that!’

‘Five hundred?’ my dad said.

‘Nowhere near enough!’

‘All right then,’ said my mum. ‘A thousand!’

‘You are determined to rob yourself!’

‘Five thousand?’

‘Make it ten thousand, and we have a deal!’ He took out his chequebook and a silver fountain pen, and made out a cheque to Nicola Polkinghorne on the spot. Then he placed a little sticky red dot on the frame of the picture. ‘That is to signify the painting has been sold, and after the exhibition it will come to me!’

‘That’s fantastic, Mum!’ Maeve said.

‘He should have picked the one of me,’ Ben said.

‘You’re right!’ Souter said suddenly. ‘That is indeed a wonderful painting and I would be an abject fool not to purchase it while I have the opportunity!’ Out came the chequebook and fountain pen again. ‘Shall we say ten thousand for this one too?’

Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I lay in bed the next morning trying to decide whether to go to school or not. Obviously I could have had the day off, or as many days as I wanted. In fact, I never needed to go to school again if I didn’t feel like it. But I decided in the end to go, just for something to do. I didn’t bother with all that getting up stuff though, that was a waste of time. I just wished I was already up and dressed and washed and all that. I never needed to do any of that stuff again. That was one of the weird things about having all these wishes – I kept discovering new things I’d never need to do again.

And the thought crossed my mind: was there anything I needed to do now?

As I went downstairs I could hear Mum singing, ‘Oh, what a beautiful morning, oh, what a beautiful day!’ When I went into the kitchen she was all smiles, and so were Ben and Maeve. (Dad had already left – couldn’t wait to get to his enormous new office with the river view.) It really did make an amazing difference to get up in the morning and see everyone in a good mood, because to be honest at that time of day everyone in our house normally looks about as happy as a bloodhound with a stomach ache.

‘What do you want for breakfast, Sam?’

‘I wish for a full English.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly, there’s no time for that—’

‘’Course there is, look it’s already done!’ I pointed at the heaped plate – bacon, eggs, sausages, black pudding, beans, mushrooms, grilled tomatoes, fried bread – that had appeared on the breakfast table.

‘What? How did that get there?’

‘I wish no one was bothered about that.’