ext morning, Angus Flint ate my breakfast as usual, and Mum and Dad went out together to make friends again. Leaving us alone with Angus Flint, yet again!

At least there was something, ‘very profound’ on the telly that afternoon. First I ever knew that racehorses were profound, but it meant twenty minutes’ peace. I did some practice. The piano sounded lovely. My song that sounded like dancing elephants was getting better; the elephants had shrunk in size and were beginning to sound like mere dancing tortoises, when the door was torn open. I knew it was Angus Flint and dived for safety.

He was in a very bad temper. I think his horse lost. As I crawled out from under the piano, he sat down at it, grumbling, and started to hammer out a song. I was surprised to see that he knew how to play. But he played very badly. Menace began to whine under his cupboard.

Angus Flint thumped both hands down with a jangle. “This is a horrible piano,” he said. “It’s got a terrible tone, and it needs tuning.”

Rotten slander. I don’t blame the piano for getting annoyed. Its curved black rear shuddered. One of its stumpy front legs pawed the ground. Then its lid shut with a clap on Angus Flint’s fingers. Now I know why Mum got it for only £100. Angus Flint dragged his fingers free with such a yell that Pip and Tony came to see what was happening.

By the time they got there, both the new, ugly little tables were stealing towards Angus Flint for a surprise attack, each with their three legs twinkling cautiously over the carpet. Angus Flint saw one out of the corner of his eye and turned to Stare at it. It stood where it was, looking innocent. But the piano-stool spun itself round and tipped him on the floor. I think that was very loyal of the stool, because it must have been the one piece of furniture Angus Flint had not insulted. And, while Angus Flint was sprawling on the floor, the best chair trundled up and did its best to run him over. He scrambled out of its way with a howl. And the nearest bookcase promptly showered him with books.

While he was trying to get up, the piano lowered its music stand and charged.

I don’t blame Angus Flint for being terrified. The piano was gnashing its keys at him and kicking out with its pedals and snorting through the holes in its music-stand. And it went galloping around the room after Angus Flint on its three brass castors like a mad, black bull. The rest of the furniture kept blundering across his path. Tables knocked him this way and that, and chairs herded him into huddles of other chairs. But they always left him a free way to run when the piano charged, so that he had a thoroughly frightening time. They never once tried to hurt the three of us.

I stuffed myself into a corner and admired. That piano was an expert. It would come thundering down on Angus Flint. When he tore off frantically sideways, it stopped short and banged its lid down within inches of his trouser-seat. It could turn and be after him again before you could believe it to be possible. Angus Flint dashed round and round the sitting-room, and the piano thundered after him, and when the boys had to leave the doorway, one of the new bookcases dodged over and stood across it, so that Angus Flint was utterly trapped.

“Do something, can’t you!” he kept howling at me, and I only laughed.

The reason the boys had to leave the doorway was that the dining-room table had heard the fun going on and wanted to join in. The trouble was, both its rickety leaves were spread out and it was too wide to get through the dining-room door. It was in the doorway, clattering its feet and banging furiously for help. Tony and Pip took pity on it and took its leaves down. It then scuttled across the hall, nudged aside the bookcase, and dived into the sitting-room after Angus Flint, flapping both leaves like a great angry bird. And it wasn’t going to play cat and mouse like the piano. It was out to get Angus Flint. He had some very narrow escapes and howled louder than ever.

I thought the time had come to take the show on the road. I made my way around the walls, with tables and chairs trundling this way and that all around me, and opened the window.

Angus Flint howled out that I was a good girl – which annoyed me – and made for the opening like a bat out of hell. I meant to trip him when he got there. I didn’t want him getting too much of a start. But the carpet saved me the trouble by flipping up one of its corners around his feet. He came down on his face, half inside the room and half in the garden. The piano and the dining-table both bore down on him. He scrambled up and bolted. I’ve never seen anyone run so fast.

The table was after him like a shot, but the piano got its rear castor stuck on the sill. It must be very awkward having to gallop with only one leg at the back.

I went to help it, but the faithful piano-stool and my favourite chair got there first and heaved it free. Then it hunched its wide front part and fairly shot across the garden and out into the road after the flying Angus Flint. The chairs and tables all set out too, bravely bobbling and trundling. Last of all went Menace, barking as if he was doing all the chasing single-handed.

I don’t know what the other people in the street thought. The dining-table collided with a lamppost halfway down the street and put itself out of the running. But the piano got up speed wonderfully and was hard on Angus Flint’s heels as he shot into the next street. After that, we lost them. We were too busy collecting exhausted tables and chairs, which were strewn all down the street. The piano-stool had only got as far as the garden gate, and my favourite chair broke a castor getting through the window. We had to carry them back to the house. And there was a fair amount of tidying up to do indoors, what with the books, the carpets, and Cora’s bed.

Cora’s bed, probably the most insulted piece of furniture in the house, must have been frantic to get at Angus Flint too. It had forced itself halfway through the bedroom door and then stuck. We had a terrible job getting it back inside the room. We had just done it, and were wearily trying to mend the dining-table – which has never been the same since – when we heard twanging and clattering noises coming from the sitting-room. We were in time to see the piano come plodding back through the window and put itself in its usual place. It looked tired but satisfied.

“Do you think it’s eaten him?” Pip said hopefully.

The piano didn’t say. But it hadn’t. Mum and Dad came back and we were all cheerfully having a cup of tea when Angus Flint suddenly came shooting downstairs. We think he climbed up the drainpipe in order not to meet the piano again. I suspect that Cora’s bed was rather glad to see him.

“I’m just leaving,” Angus Flint said.

It was music to our ears! He went straight out to his car too, carrying his suitcase. We all came out to say polite goodbye – or polite good-riddance, as Tony put it.

“I’ve had a wonderful time,” Angus Flint said. “Here’s a football for you, Pip.” And he held out to Pip a flat orange thing. It was Pip’s own football, but it was burst. “And this is for you,” he said to Tony, handing him a fistful of broken plastic. Then he said to me, “I’m giving you some paper.” And he gave me one sheet of my own paper back. One sheet! I’d had a whole new writing pad.

“I do hope Cora’s bed bit you,” I said sweetly.

Angus Flint gave me the Stare for that, but it wasn’t as convincing as usual, somehow. Then he got into his car and drove away. Actually drove away and didn’t come back. We cheered.

It’s been so peaceful since. Mum wondered whether to sell the new tables, but we wouldn’t let her. They are our faithful friends. As for the piano, well, Pip has decided he’s going to be a genius at something else instead. His excuse for giving up lessons is that Miss Hawksmoore’s false teeth make her spit on his hands when she’s teaching him. They do. But the real reason is that he’s scared of the piano. I’m not. I love it more than that coward Menace even, and I’m determined to work and work until I’ve learnt how to play it as it deserves.