“S’all right. You’ve finished now. Nice job too. Why don’t you go and help Dad outside? He’s doing something with the courgettes. Want me to put this in a safe place?”

“Thanks, Maggie.” He ran out. “Dad! Dad! I finished my handwriting!”

I hooked the visiting bag out from under the table with my foot. Pulled it open. Rooted around inside.

Nothing.

No bottles at all.

Not even ones that weren’t antibiotics.

Not even after all that waiting.

I shoved it back under the table.

I took Trig’s writing into the sitting room and put it on a shelf. The Real Jed’s eyes followed me across the room. I saw something in the bottom-right corner of the painting. I stepped closer.

Jed G. Cruise, Eldest Bound for Glory.

H. S. Wetheral

I walked backwards into the kitchen with Jed’s eyes following me all the way. I shut the door after me.

“So.” Mum dropped her rucksack on to the table. Bits of dried mud fell off it and scattered everywhere. “It’s Jed’s party on Friday. We’re going to need some help getting things ready.”

“Me and Maggie never get a party.” Trig pressed his fingernail into a piece of the mud, making even more mess. “Why can’t we have parties too?”

“Jed’s an eldest.”

Dad came over with a wet cloth but Mum swooped an arm across the table before he got there. Pushed all the mud on to the floor. I caught Dad’s eye. He winked.

“There’s a lot to do,” said Mum. “First things first. Trig, would you go over to the Wetherals’ after dinner and get a forecast from Elsie? I don’t want to be using the town hall if I don’t have to.”

Elsie?

“Why do I have to go?” said Trig. “It’s Jed’s party, so he should go, shouldn’t he? Jed never has to do anything.”

Elsie Weather?

“Mum’s asking you, Trig,” said Dad.

Elsie Weather, who – for absolutely certain – has got a bottle of trellicillin in her house?

“But I don’t like going to see Elsie. She never smiles. I keep watching her to see if she’ll smile but she never does. Not even—”

“I’ll go.” They all looked at me. “I’ll go, and Trig can do whatever you were going to ask me to do. That all right?”

“I don’t care who does what, as long as it gets done.” Mum roughed up her hair. It stood up on its ends. “Take her some cheese, Maggie, for payment.”

“Not cheese.” Dad picked up a dish of new potatoes from the work surface. “Flour. Take a jugful of flour.”

“All right then.” Mum swiped a potato from the dish. “Cheese and flour.”

Trig gave me huge great Trig-hug. “Thanks, Maggie.”

“That means you’re making pastry with Dad after dinner, Trig,” said Mum. “A lot of pastry.”