Cover

TITLE PAGE

DEDICATION

For Jacqui C.

PROLOGUE

Our eldest, Jed, got born first out of all of us.

Our youngest, Trig – he got born four years later.

And me, Maggie, I was in-between. The middler, worse luck.

MONDAY
1 SEPTEMBER

CHAPTER 1

I took my summer diary out of my drawer. Nearly all the sheets of paper matched. On the very last page I’d drawn a picture of a red admiral. It had black wings and bright red stripes, just like the ones we’d seen up at the butterfly fields.

I straightened the yellow wool bow that held it all together and ran my hands over the front to flatten it down. I wouldn’t win Best Diary – an eldest always wins that – but maybe I could get runner-up.

I carried it downstairs.

“You ready, Mags?” Trig had the front door open and was leaning right out of it, both hands gripping the door frame. His diary was on the doormat, tied up with garden string. “We should’ve left already. Shouldn’t we, Dad? We should’ve left.”

“Oh, Maggie.” Dad shook his head at my legs. “We really need to do something about that uniform. It’s even shorter than it was before the holidays.”

He yanked at the bottom of my dress. It shrugged back up again.

“Jed! Jed! Jed!” Trig was turning red with all his shouting.

“Just a minute!” Jed’s voice echoed down the stairs.

Mum came out of the kitchen, booted up for a day in the fields. “Leave without him,” she said. “It’s his own fault if he’s late.”

“C’mon, Maggie.” Trig picked up his diary but I wasn’t going anywhere till Jed was with us.

Eventually he appeared, shirt hanging out and jam on his chin.

“Did you remember your summer diary?” said Trig.

“S’in here.” Jed turned round and patted his back pocket. His messy, folded pages flapped out of the top.

Dad went to wipe the jam off Jed’s face, but he ducked under his arm and we all ran through the door into the warm September air.

Trig was hopeless at running. He held his diary right out in front of him all the way to school. Me and Jed had to stop at every corner for him to catch up.

“Good morning, Mrs Zimmerman;

Good morning, Mr Temple;

Good morning, Miss Conteh;

Good morning, Mr Webster;

Good morning, EVERYONE.”

The school hall smelled like the beginning of term. Wood oil and scouring powder.

“Smells weird. Doesn’t it, Maggie? Doesn’t it, Jed? Smells weird.” Trig fidgeted and scrunched up his nose.

“Shhh,” I said.

Lindi Chowdhry was in front of us, all cross-legged and straight-backed and long-haired. Her dress had a new frill sewn round the hem. Jed scooted forwards so he was sitting closer to her.