Max tried not to think too much about the Grabbers after that. Just remembering being tripped up in the relay race was enough to make the back of his neck feel warm, and so he decided that the best thing to do was to forget about it. He had learned that lesson from Grandfather Gus, in fact, who had told him that the way to deal with disappointments was to stop dwelling on them. “The more you think about things you don’t like,” he said, “the more they can get you down. Stop thinking about them, and they go away.”

Max had asked him whether he was sure about this, and Grandfather Gus had replied that he was very sure. “Try whistling,” he said. “Or try making lists of things you like. That’s the way to do it.”

It seemed to work, and Max found that he had not given the Grabbers so much as a passing thought, when his mother suddenly announced that she had a big sandwich-making job coming up – and it was at Grabber Mansion.

Grandfather Gus frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that,” he said. “You shouldn’t be making sandwiches for people like that.”

Molly laughed. “They won’t be eating them themselves. They’ll be for their guests. They’re having a big party up there.”

“I bet their guests will be every bit as nasty as they are,” said Grandfather Gus. “Nasty people often have nasty friends. Everybody knows that.”

“I can’t afford to turn the job down,” said Max’s mother. “There’s not all that much work about these days.” She sighed. “Mind you, I don’t know how I’m going to manage. They want two thousand sandwiches for all those guests they’re having. Two thousand! How can I be expected to make that many sandwiches, single-handed?”

“Get somebody to help you,” said Grandfather Gus. “What about your sister?”

That was Max’s Aunt Elsie – an expert sandwich-maker, known for her fine cheese-and-tomato sandwiches.

“She’s already working that day,” said Max’s mother.

“Or your friend from down the road,” suggested Grandfather Gus.

“She’s gone off to see her sister,” said Molly. “She’s going to be away for weeks.”

Max had an idea. “What about me?” he volunteered.

Grandfather Gus turned to look at him, with surprise. “You?” he said. “But you already have a job, Max. You cut lawns. You wouldn’t have time to make all those sandwiches.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” said his mother. “It’s very kind of you to offer, but you have quite enough to do.”

Max was determined, and would not take no for an answer. “I have plenty of spare time,” he said. “And I really want to help.”

“Bless you,” said his mother. “But I don’t want you to work every hour of the day.”

“I don’t mind,” said Max. “And I really do insist, Mum. You must let me.”

Max’s mother looked at Grandfather Gus. He hesitated, but then nodded. Turning to her son, she said, “You’re the kindest, nicest boy. You really are. And if you insist – which I think you do – then I’ll accept.”

Max was pleased. “Where will we be making them?” he asked.

“In Grabber Mansion,” replied Molly.

“That great big place you pointed out the other day? The one with fountains and statues? That place with all those trees around it?”

“The very place,” said Molly. “Exactly the sort of place you’d expect people like that to be living in.”

“You be careful,” warned Grandfather Gus. “I don’t like the thought of my family going there. I don’t trust any of those Grabbers.”

“We’ll be careful,” said Max’s mother. “You agree, Max?’

Max nodded. “Very careful,” he said.

Although the house belonged to the Grabber family, Max felt excited at the thought of going there. He had never been in a house that large, and he wondered how you would find your way around such a vast building. He also wondered whether he would see Pablo Grabber, and whether Pablo would remember him as the boy he had tripped up at the sports day. He might not, of course, because people like Pablo Grabber were always pushing and shoving anybody who got in their way, and could not be expected to remember every time they did it.

Molly had been told to report to Grabber Mansion early on the morning of the party, which would take place at three o’clock in the afternoon. All the supplies for the two thousand sandwiches had been laid out, ready to be loaded into her van, and Max helped to carry these out of the kitchen. There were two hundred loaves of bread, fifty cartons of butter, one thousand tomatoes, four hundred hard-boiled eggs and forty-five jars of strawberry jam. There were other things too, for what Molly called her “speciality sandwiches” – twelve jars of anchovy paste, twenty tins of tuna and over fifty metres of cucumber. It all amounted to a vast pile of food that would soon be transformed by Molly’s hard work and skill – and Max’s too – into two thousand delicious sandwiches.

As they drove to Grabber Mansion, Molly told Max about the rules of the sandwich-making industry.

“Never cut the bread too thick,” she said. “Nor too thin. A thick sandwich tastes too much of bread and too little of the filling. A thin sandwich tastes too much of filling and too little of bread.”

Max promised that he would get it just right.

“And don’t put too much butter on the bread,” Molly went on. “If you use too much butter it oozes out of the edges, and people will get it on their fingers. You have to watch that one.”

Max nodded. “I’ll be careful,” he promised.

“And when you’re making tomato sandwiches,” Molly said, “make sure that the slices of tomato are not too thick. If they’re too thick, they’ll make the sandwiches soggy – and that’s the worst thing that can happen in this business. If you get a reputation for soggy sandwiches, then you’ll soon find yourself with no work at all.”

They were now approaching the turn-off to Grabber Mansion. “There it is,” said Max. “There are the gates.”

His mother shook her head. “No, they’re not for us, Max. Those gates and that driveway are not for the likes of us. We go in the back way – through that gate over there.”

She pointed to a much smaller gate some distance away. Max swallowed hard. He glanced at the front gates as they drove past; they were very grand, he thought, with a large coat of arms worked in metal at the top. He could just make out the metal letters at the bottom: Let Grabber Win.

“Did you see that?” he said to his mother. “Did you see the motto on the gates?”

“What did it say?”

“It said ‘Let Grabber Win’,” said Max.

“Shocking,” said Molly. “Nobody can win every single time – unless they’re selfish and ruthless, the kind who’d sell their own grandmother if it suited them.”

Max liked that expression. He could imagine Pablo Grabber taking his own grandmother to market, with a sign around her neck saying Grandmother for Sale – Going Cheap.

“I’d never sell Grandfather Gus,” he said. “Not for any amount of money.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Molly. “Money isn’t everything, you know, Max. In fact, the really important things in life just can’t be bought …”

“Such as Grandfather Gus?” Max asked.

“Precisely,” said Molly.