That’s what I’d do.

Draw painted ladies and peacocks and cabbage whites, and more red admirals if I was lucky enough to see one.

It’d be more fun if Una came too, though.

We could do a picture together.

“Maggie!” Mum again. “Are you up yet? There’s so much to do.”

I got out of bed. Pulled up the blackouts.

I went over to my tiny mirror for some ear-wiggling practice. All the stuff that needed doing would have to wait just a little bit longer.

Five o’clock. My feet ached from being on them all day. My hands ached from beating eggs and kneading dough and crushing mint and pressing pastry. My back ached from lugging chairs and tables and huge, tottery stacks of plates. My nose itched from all the toad flax and bellflowers we’d picked and trimmed and jarred up for the tables.

Don’t worry, Maggie. One day everyone else will be running round, beating and lugging and itching for you.

Maggie the wanderer catcher.

Maggie the hero.

I sat down in front of the Real Jed. The other Jed, home from school now, peeped under the tea towels at all the plates of food we’d prepared.

“Is this … it is! Goldie pie, my favourite – can I have some?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Just scooped up the largest piece and took a crumbly, syrupy mouthful.

I rolled sideways and rested my heavy head on the chair arm.

“It was a great day at school today, Mags,” he said with his mouth stuffed full. “Because there’s two of us going to camp tomorrow we hardly did any proper work at all. All we did was…”

My eyelids sank. Jed’s voice drooped and drawled in my ears. I disappeared into deep red swirling sleepiness—

Knock-knock-knock.

My eyes popped back open.

“That’ll be the first guests arriving,” Dad called out from the kitchen. “Maggie, answer the door, would you? And leave it on the latch.”

It was Elsie and Mr Wetheral. Of all the people I hoped wouldn’t arrive first, here they were. It was impossible to even look at Elsie without thinking about the stolen bottle of trellicillin.

“Hello, Mr Wetheral, Mrs Weather. Would you like to come in?”

“Good evening, Maggie. Sorry we’re so early.” Mr Wetheral ushered Elsie into the house. “Mother likes to get a seat.”

I opened the door wider. My fingers remembered the hard cold feel of the stolen bottle. My leg remembered the shape of it in my shorts pocket.

“In here.” I showed them through to the sitting room. “Would you like a drink? There’s Dad’s homebrew, or some raspberryade?”

A few more people arrived while I was getting the drinks. Mrs Zimmerman and her family, some Parkers and some Stanburys.

I carried two glasses of raspberryade to Mr Wetheral and Elsie.