In the darkness of a Tuesday night, something wet slopped on to the tiles of the Brisket family’s bathroom.
It was Neville.
‘Mum!’ Neville called, wriggling in the toilet water. He clambered to his feet and shook himself off. ‘I’m home!’
Herbert walked into the bathroom and stopped in his tracks. Then he stepped carefully towards Neville and gasped. Marjorie walked in and joined him. ‘NEVILLE BRISKET, YOU’RE LATE!’ she barked. ‘You were only supposed to go down there for the weekend. It’s been nearly two weeks! What about schoo–’
Marjorie’s sour, little mouth suddenly dropped open as she gawped at the little grey-green child, covered in toadstools and stinking of fish guts.
‘Well,’ said Neville after a long moment, ‘that was … fun.’
As if by clockwork, Herbert and Marjorie both fainted.
‘Squibbly!’ said Neville and lowered the toilet seat.
