sight
Chapter 36: How much of an idiot is he?
Chapter 37: Schropplingythingy
Chapter 40: Extremely dark and muddy
Chapter 43: Some sort of rhythm
Chapter 44: Moonlight motorcade
Chapter 46: Flick. Flick. Flick. Shine. Shine. Shine. Flick. Flick. Flick.
Chapter 47: I’m a guinea pig, for crying out loud
Chapter 48: Stronger than the north pole
Chapter 51: Very loud, and thudding
Chapter 53: Don’t swear in front of my children
Chapter 55: Wobbly and windy and swaying and frightening
Chapter 57: Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, One …
Chapter 59: Birthday Two (The real one)
Chapter 60: Case successfully closed
Chapter 61: He’s always going to be here
Chapter 62: Once a week, at night
Chapter 63: Dash Dash Dash. Dot Dot Dot. Dash Dash Dash.
Sam Green was really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really looking forward to his eleventh birthday.
I mean: really. He couldn’t wait. In the days leading up to it – his birthday was on the eighth of September – he simply wouldn’t talk about anything else.
“Have you sorted your school bag, Sam?” his mother, Vicky, would say in the morning.
“I’m thinking an Adventure Time cake this year, Mum,” Sam would reply. “With Finn, Jake and Ice King figures. What do you think?”
“I think you should get your school bag sorted,” she’d answer.
“Do you want to play football?” his friends would say to him at break-time.
“What about a magic party?” he would reply. “You all come, having learnt a different magic trick, right, and then we each perform it in turn – me last, of course – and then … where are you going?”
“To play football,” they’d answer. “Break’s nearly over.”
“What would you like for dinner?” his dad, Charlie, would say to him and his younger sister, Ruby, in the evening.
Ruby would open her mouth and say:
“Actually” – she said “actually” a lot – “I fancy shep—” but before she got any further Sam would be saying:
“I’d like a telescope. And a skateboard. And new trainers. And a guinea pig. And a tool kit. And an iPod. And some of David Walliams’s books.”
“—herds pie,” Ruby would say.
“For dinner, I said, Sam,” his dad would say. “Not for your birthday.”
Obviously, Sam wouldn’t always say these things (and so, obviously, the people he was speaking to wouldn’t always say those things back). No. Sometimes it would be a different type of cake, a different style of party and a different list of presents (although always including a telescope: Sam was a big fan of Star Trek, and sci-fi generally, and wanted to see as much of the solar system as he could from the window of his room in order to watch out for visiting aliens). Which did mean that he had ended up with a very long present list, and a very long selection of party-theme ideas. Which, in turn, presented a bit of a problem for his mum and dad, both in terms of choice and in terms of money, because they didn’t have a lot of that.
But the thing that never changed was Sam’s excitement about the day.
And then, finally, it came.