The garden at Groves was dark and quiet at last. The day’s jolly happenings were long past, although a rather generous amount of rubbish and rubble remained scattered beneath the trees. A lone light shone down from the window of Mrs Groves’ parlour.
Fumble the moose had just finished chomping his way through a bucket of red bobbing apples. He was sprawled out on the grass like a large brown angel, a halo of apple cores around his head, an ethereal smile on his soft velvety muzzle. Olive lay on her back, her head resting on Fumble’s belly. She gazed up at the gentle glow of the full moon and hummed a little tune.
‘Fairy floss?’ Eduardo stood over Olive, holding forth a cloud of pink fluff.
Olive stared. She wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s a bit dirty.’
‘Seriously?’ Eduardo chuckled. ‘Your skirt is covered in grass stains, there’s a patty paper stuck in your hair, and your foot is resting on a neenish tart. I don’t think a bit of dirt on your fairy floss is going to make a whole lot of difference.’
Olive giggled and accepted the offering. ‘It’s lovely. Thank you.’ She pulled off a tuft of pink fluff, popped it into her mouth and handed the rest over to Fumble.
Eduardo flopped down on the grass beside Olive, finding a soft spot of moose for his own head.
Fumble burped. ‘Pardon,’ he whispered and licked the remaining threads of fairy floss from his muzzle.
All three gazed up at the stars, smiling, content in each other’s company.
It was Olive who finally broke the silence. ‘Splendid day!’
Eduardo grunted. ‘Yup!’
‘Best school fair I’ve ever been to.’ Olive pulled the patty paper from her hair and tossed it aside. ‘Of course, it’s the only school fair I’ve ever been to.’
She pondered this for a while. You see, until two months ago, Olive had lived far away, in the tiny town of Burradoon, where she had been home-schooled by her granny and pop. And what a wonderful education it had been! Not only could Olive read and write big words like ‘beleaguer’ and ‘colonoscopy’, she was terribly practical and a great problem solver. She could adjust the brakes on a walking frame using nothing more than a soup spoon, change the battery on a hearing aid in fifteen seconds flat and brew a pot of tea that would put a curl in your hair and a spring in your step. She had not, however, had the joy of other children’s company, so plans were made for boarding school.
On arriving at Groves, Olive had been shocked to find it a school for naughty boys, talking animals and circus performers, but most definitely not a school for normal, everyday girls. Mrs Groves was terrified of girls, so Olive had pretended to be an acrobat – a ruse that she carried on to this very day. It was unfortunate that she had stocky legs, an inclination to trip and wobble at inconvenient moments and a lingering fear of heights.
Fumble shifted. An abandoned maths textbook was sticking into his bottom and needed removing. His belly wobbled with the exertion and Olive’s head bumped against Eduardo’s.
‘Whoopsy-daisy!’ She rubbed her head and giggled. ‘Sorry.’
Eduardo shrugged and gave her a crooked smile. Just like he did during acrobatics lessons when she kicked him in the teeth or knocked him off the trapeze.
‘Great speech you gave today,’ said Fumble.
‘Thanks.’ Olive sighed heavily. ‘But there was so much more I longed to say.’
‘You can say it now,’ said Eduardo. ‘We’ll listen.’ He nudged her arm.
Thus encouraged, Olive cleared her throat and began. ‘Welcome to the annual fa– Oh, bother! I’ve said that three times already today. I’ll start again.’ Sweeping her fringe away from her face, she clasped her hands in front of her tummy and looked up at the moon. ‘Groves is a marvellous place, the most wonderful school any student could hope to attend. Here, we have everything we need – fresh air and delicious food, the freedom to laugh and play, lessons that encourage us to take risks and believe in ourselves . . . and friends . . .’ Olive stopped for a moment.
Fumble twiddled her ponytail around his front hoof. ‘Go on,’ he whispered. ‘It sounds lovely . . . and true!’
Olive nodded. ‘Friends. Friends who help you to be the best you can possibly be. Friends who stand by you, even when they are scared out of their pants. Friends who make your eyes sparkle and your heart dance for joy . . . every single time they walk into your day!’
‘Aw, nice,’ sobbed an emotional little voice from nearby.
‘Blimp?’ called Olive, sitting upright. ‘Is that you?’
She watched as a white paper bag rustled and wriggled beneath a rose bush, then ripped down one side. Out tumbled the three rats, Blimp, Chester and Wordsworth, covered in crumbs and cream from the strawberry sponge they had been nibbling.
‘That was beautiful, Olive,’ said Wordsworth. ‘A speech that was truly sincere, honest, profound, ardent, heartfelt –’
‘And pomegranate!’ squeaked Blimp.
Wordsworth slapped his forehead. ‘You can’t say pomegranate!’ he cried. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘It does if you’re hungry,’ said Blimp, and he licked some strawberry jam out of Wordsworth’s ear.
‘What did you think, Chester?’ asked Olive.
‘It was a grand speech,’ he squeaked. ‘But you forgot to say something about buttons. They are ever so important, you know. A world without buttons is like a kite without string, a frog without a pond, a sausage without sauce.’
Olive laughed and flopped back against Fumble’s belly once more. Wordsworth scampered up onto Olive’s shoulder and pulled the label from inside her cardigan. He adored labels, especially those inside clothes. They used wonderful words like ‘launder’ and ‘shrinkage’ and ‘Bolivian cashmere’ – the sorts of words that made him feel all warm and tingly inside.
Blimp and Chester started to gather the apple cores from around Fumble’s head. They would look marvellous in their nest beneath Olive’s bed and would rot to a lovely stench in a week or two.
Fumble began to snore, softly, gently, his velvety lips piffing and poofing in the cool night air.
Suddenly, a lone star, bright and beautiful, blazed an arc across the sky.
‘A falling star!’ cried Eduardo. ‘Did you see it, Olive?’
‘Yes!’ she gasped. ‘We can make a wish.’
Eduardo squeezed his eyes shut. He did not speak out loud, but I suspect his wish had something to do with a brand-new sapphire-coloured unitard and quadruple aerial somersaults.
Olive thought long and hard, not wanting to waste the opportunity. She closed one eye, scratched her head, then closed the other. Finally, she settled on the perfect wish: that she would be able to spend the rest of her schooldays living happily at Groves with all her wonderful friends. She was just about to speak it in her heart when her foot slipped on the neenish tart.
‘Uurk!’ she cried, looking down at her sticky, cream-covered shoe. ‘I wish I had a flannel to wipe that off!’
‘No!!’ shouted Eduardo. ‘You’re not supposed to say it out loud!’
But it was too late. The wish was wasted.
‘Never mind,’ murmured Olive. ‘Of course I am going to spend the rest of my schooldays here with all my friends! Nothing bad will ever happen to Groves.’
And she spent the next five minutes wiping her shoe clean on the grass, all the while feeling completely content and secure, when she should, in fact, have been searching for another falling star.
Earnestly.
Desperately.
As though her future, and Groves’, depended upon it.