That night at dinner, Polly’s mum serves up Polly’s least favourite food.

‘Mealworms!’ she moans. ‘Do we have to have mealworms again?’

‘Mealworms are good for you,’ says her mum, pouring herself a glass of juniper wine. ‘They’re full of iron.’

Next to Polly, Winifred takes an extra-large helping of mealworms and dumps them on her plate. She smiles sweetly at Polly. Polly knows her sister doesn’t like mealworms much either, but Winifred loves any opportunity to make Polly look bad.

This is not hard. Winifred is good at everything. Polly is good at nothing.

Winifred has changed out of her school uniform into shiny pink leggings and her favourite spider-print top. Her long glossy hair is twisted up into a high ponytail with complicated loops and sparkly clips and bows.

Polly is still in her crumpled school uniform of a grey tunic and stripy leggings. Polly can’t get through a day without putting a hole in her expensive woollen stockings so her mum lets her wear leggings to school instead. Already her knees are smudged brown and green from her afternoon in the tree. Her knotty black hair is full of sticks and leaves.

Polly pushes a mealworm around in the sauce with her fork. It curls into a ball. ‘Ew, this one’s not even dead yet,’ Polly grimaces.

Her mum smiles. ‘Fresh from the market. I’ve found an old ogre woman who collects them herself. They’re much better for you than the dried ones.’

Polly feels her tummy churn. From the corner of her eye she watches her big sister munching away. Polly helps herself to the thistles and kale from the salad bowl and pours some betel nut oil over them.

Greens aren’t her favourite either, but at least they don’t move.

She jabs her fork into the leaves, careful to avoid any mealworms that might have crawled under, before she puts some in her mouth.

‘Can I please have some more mealworms?’ Winifred asks, pushing her plate forwards.

‘Of course!’ their mum says, happily. ‘How are you going with yours, Polly?’

‘Fine,’ Polly sighs, hiding a wriggling pile of the slime-covered grubs under a thistle leaf.

Polly feels something soft and wet against her knee. It’s Gumpy, their pet bortal. She’s squatting beside Polly, drooling and looking up at her with hopeful eyes.

Gumpy loves mealworms. But then, Gumpy loves any food. In fact, Gumpy will eat just about anything you feed her. When Polly and Winifred were younger, they tested this out. They tried easy things at first: paper, string, plasticine, bubble wrap.

Gumpy had eaten all of them without a fuss.

So then they tried crunchy things that were a little harder to chew. Batteries, teacups, a Slinky and even their mother’s glasses case. With her glasses still in it.

This last one got them into trouble because their mother’s glasses were new. Ever since then, Polly and Winifred have been banned from feeding her.

Besides, Gumpy’s a little on the roly-poly side now, so she’s only supposed to eat special bortal diet food. This makes her cranky and hungry all the time so they have to be extra careful not to leave anything on the floor. The week before, Gumpy had forced her way into Polly’s bedroom while she was at school, and devoured her whole set of My Little Unicorn figurines.

The only good thing about having a pet who eats everything is that Polly’s mum never has to sweep the floor. Anything that falls onto it is vacuumed up within minutes.

When no-one is looking, Polly scoops up a forkful of mealworms and drops them under the table.

‘Mum! Polly’s feeding Gumpy!’ Winifred sings out.

‘Polly!’ says their mum.

‘Winifred!’ growls Polly. ‘You’re such a dobber!’

‘Eat your mealworms,’ says their mum.

‘I’m not hungry,’ Polly grumbles.

‘Maybe that’s because of all the jamcakes you ate with Buster?’ Winifred says, smiling sweetly.

‘Have you been spying on me?’ Polly shouts.

‘Why would I spy on you?’ Winifred says. ‘I can see you from my bedroom window, bug-brain. Don’t worry, you’re not that interesting!’

‘Polly,’ their mum sighs, pouring herself another glass of juniper wine. She pushes her glasses up onto her head and rubs the bridge of her nose. ‘You’re not still playing with that monster from next door, are you? You know witches don’t play with monsters. It was OK when you were younger, but not now you’re growing up. Imagine what the other witches at school would think!’

‘But he’s my best friend,’ Polly says, angrily. Then, a little quieter, ‘My only friend. None of the witches at school like me.’

‘It’s true,’ Winifred says, pushing her empty plate away and picking at her black nail polish. ‘She has no friends.’

‘Winifred!’ their mum says. ‘That’s not very nice. I’m sure that’s not true.’

‘It is!’ Polly says. She stabs at a mealworm with her fork. ‘Nobody wants to be friends with me. I’m hopeless at everything. Especially spells.’

‘She threw wart potion at Malorie Halloway in class today,’ Winifred says, sniggering.

‘Polly!’ their mum gasps. ‘Not Deidre Halloway’s daughter?’

Polly nods.

‘Oh, Polly! Why?’ their mum groans. ‘Anyone but Deidre Halloway’s daughter. I’ll never hear the end of it at the next Committee meeting.’

‘She was laughing at me!’ Polly says.

‘That doesn’t mean you should …’ Their mother throws her hands in the air. ‘Oh, Polly. You really do have to try harder to manage your temper. You’re so like your Aunt Hilda …’

This is what it always comes to. Every time Polly’s mum despairs of Polly, she throws her hands up into the air and says, ‘You’re just like your Aunt Hilda.’

Aunt Hilda is their father’s wild and wayward sister. She ran away at sixteen in a haze of secrecy and scandal, and was never seen again. Polly’s mother never talks about Aunt Hilda in a good way. To be compared to Aunt Hilda is just about the worst thing Polly’s mother can say. Polly feels her throat bunch up and her eyes spring with tears. She pushes her chair back from the table.

‘Polly! Where are you going?’ her mother asks as Polly stands up.

‘Outside!’ says Polly.

‘I’ll bet she’s going next door,’ Winifred smirks. ‘Do you want me to stop her?’

‘Just leave her,’ their mother sighs, as Polly rushes out the front door and into the darkness.

Her heart is hurting and her eyes are stinging and there is only one person in the world who can make her feel better.