“Hmmmm. I loved that chocolate ice cream!”

“It was delicious. Although not as nice as the apple crumble!”

“The jelly trifle was incredible!”

“I liked the main course – roast chicken and roast potatoes!”

“So, Jack, shall we get the bill?” said Amy.

The children were sitting round a white-table-clothed table, having stopped at La Rurale Pastorale, an extremely posh restaurant in an old country house just outside Dermot Coillery (the place names in this part of the country sounded more like famous people than rude things; they had passed the villages of Bear Hills, Dredd Sheeran, Huge Bonne Ville and Vince Cable).

Waiters with very noticeable French accents and white silk gloves had served them an amazing repast, with drinks and puddings and lots of side dishes. And they’d stopped here, on the basis not only that Jack shouldn’t be given any more beans, but also that he had said that eating at La Rurale Pastorale would not be a problem, money-wise. He, as the oldest person on board the TurboChaser – virtually an adult, really – would sort it.

“The bill?” Jack replied, to Amy. “I don’t think there’s much point in asking for that.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I thought you had some money,” said Janet.

“I never said that.”

“You said that eating here wouldn’t be a problem!” said Rahul.

“That I did!”

“So, Jack,” said Amy, “what did you mean?”

“I think you’re forgetting that Jack is short for … Jack the Lad.”

“Is it?” said Janet.

“Well, no,” said Jack. “Not technically. But what I mean is, I’m a trickster. I’m a master of the short, and the long, con. I’m the man with a plan. And I have one.”

“Oh good,” said Rahul.

Jack frowned. “That sounded a bit … sarcastic.”

“Might be. I think I’m starting to learn how to do it.”

“We can’t just … not pay,” said Janet. “It’s not right.”

“And she’s not wrong,” said Rahul. “For once.”

“Jack …” said Amy. “I don’t like this.”

“Don’t worry,” said Jack, smiling. “You’ll see.” He beckoned over their waiter, a man with a large moustache. The waiter bent down towards him.

“’Allo, zir. Ah trust you ’ave enjoyed your me-al?”

“Yes, thank you. It was delicious.”

“I ’ave ze bill ’ere,” he said, presenting a little silver platter with a dome. He lifted the dome, and there it was – £127.50.

“Oh my days,” said Janet.

“I wish I’d looked at the prices now,” said Rahul.

“Is zere a problem, zir?” said the waiter.

“No, no,” said Jack. “What’s your name?”

“Mah naime?”

“No, your name.”

“Mah naime?”

“Oh, you’re saying ‘name’. Yes.”

The waiter seemed to think about this for quite some time. “Louis.”

“OK, Louis. Well. If I could be frank. We can’t pay that. We can’t pay anything like that. I mean they’re children, aren’t they? And I’m only fourteen. So we don’t have jobs. So, like, no money.”

Louis’s moustache seemed to twitch.

“Zis is a joke, yes? ’Ilarious Breeteesh sense of ’umour – ha ha ha ha.”

“No. No. Now, I can see you’re getting annoyed. Your moustache is twitching.”

Louis frowned. He put his hand up to it to check.

“But I think you’re forgetting something, aren’t you?” Jack added.

“Ah am?”

“You are. My sister – over there – I think you’re forgetting – she’s in a wheelchair.” Jack started to look very sad. His eyes moistened. “And I can’t believe that this wonderful establishment – La Rurale Pastorale – is going to force a disabled young girl and her brother, and all her friends, who are just trying to help her live her tiny, difficult, problem-filled life from day to day, to sing for their suppers? I mean, really?”

Louis’s moustache twitched again. He frowned. He frowned some more.

“Would you maaained just waitin’ a minute, please? Ah need to ’ave a word wiz mah superioeours.”

“Of course,” said Jack. “You take your time.”

Louis nodded, turned on his heel and went off. Jack turned to the table, smiled, and opened his palms, in a “You see? Sorted!” kind of way.

“Me?” hissed Amy furiously. “I’m your big clever plan?”

“Yes. Sorry about that. I had to lay it on a bit thick.”

“My tiny, difficult, problem-filled life? I love my life! And you know that one thing I never do is use my legs as an excuse! When anyone asks for volunteers to do something, I never stick my hand up and say ‘I can’t! I’m disabled!’”

“As I say, I had to turn on the waterworks a bit. Chill out, sis.”

“Why are you speaking like a middle-aged DJ?”

“All I’m saying is, you’ll thank me when they come back and let us off. You will.” He looked round. Louis was returning. “As they are definitely about to do …”